#I hope you all like this piece as much as I do.

[aimfor-theheart]

to break first

|| mel medarda x reader, jayce talis x reader, viktor x reader || E/18+ || messy dynamics/hurt/comfort || wc: 6k || ao3 ||

minors and ageless blogs dni, 18+

Your lovers are strange, demanding types.

a/n: idk man. but this revived my writing so. pls take it. dividers by @/cafekitsune

tags: messy dynamics, light smut/smut mentioned and implied, implied rough/hate sex, some hurt/comfort, ends on a hopeful note. not beta read/edited.

You've never liked Jayce much.

And you might just be the only person he doesn't like, either.

He plays nice, though, especially around Viktor. You think Jayce has teeth that he tries to hide, but you catch the flash of them from time to time. He smiles at you and it doesn't reach his eyes. It's just shy of contempt.

It makes your grin cheshire and sharp. You like watching him squirm. You like watching him wrestle with his distaste for you, try to keep his teeth hidden. Especially here, at this gala, all gold and sparkling and pristine, for all the world to see.

Bubbling rosé is bright and fruity on your tongue. You're shoulder to shoulder with Viktor, the two of you half-miserable together, stuffed into formal wear and ripped from your respective labs and studios. Which is why Jayce lingers; he's hovering in that annoying way of his. Bumbling a little. He's trying to make Viktor feel more at home but—

You have something Jayce doesn't.

Only you can do that.

You're Viktor's childhood friend, thick as thieves and twice as inseparable. You're an artist from the Undercity—a painter, a poet, a musician. An artistic genius, the world claims, an artistic savant. And one of the rare, lucky few who has been exalted and raised above your station to be paraded around Piltover like some trophy of success from their lowest. It's mostly Viktor's fault, you claim—the moment Heimerdinger found him, he also accidentally found you.

"Ah, if it isn't one of the most brilliant and groundbreaking artists of our generation." A smooth, easy voice floats through your thoughts. You turn your head to find Councilor Medarda, swathed in what could be a starry sky of silk and gold.

She's even more beautiful in person somehow; if you were to paint her, she'd be all easy, graceful lines, curved and long. A lily stem. The arch of a tiger.

"Just the person I was looking for." She muses.

"Me?" You balk, at the same time that Jayce gaps, "Them?!"

You swing your gaze to glare at him and even Viktor wrinkles his nose. Jayce tries to clear his throat, clear the mistake.

Councilor Medarda raises a brow at Jayce, but then her eyes flicker to you, honing in on you. Hazel and gold and reflective; a kaleidoscope of color. And with such—intensity. You feel it in her. Thrumming. "Yes, you." She says smoothly and she smiles in the elegant way of royalty; perfect and mysterious.

"Are you sure you have the right person, Councilor Medarda?" You joke, "you know I'm just—"

"I'm certain. And please—call me Mel. I'd love to commission you for several art pieces to be displayed in the council chambers."

Viktor whistles a little, impressed, though you can tell it's a little dry.

(He both rambles and rants about Councilor Medarda from time to time and you can never tell if he adores her or resents her.)

Jayce startles at this, but again, he tries to play it off. He places his hand on her lower back, "I didn't know the council chambers was looking to display art."

Mel allows his hand to remain, but she tilts her chin up and her eyes flash somewhat—quick, sharp. There's a silent conversation there that you can't decipher.

But you can tell there is something more than just coworkers happening between them.

"I'm looking to display art in the council chambers." Mel then says.

Jayce looks away, cowed somewhat, tail tucked between his legs in a way that makes you smile.

Mel drifts from Jayce's hands, offering her arm to you, "will you walk with me? I'd love to discuss what I have in mind."

If only to steal her away from Jayce, you finally peel yourself away from Viktor's side and the wall. Your shoulder, where it was touching his, goes cold. But Mel's arm is warm as you twine it around yours.

She draws you away from the scientists, into the fray of swirling, dazzling people.

You glance over your shoulder only once and catch Jayce's eyes, and let your smile curl into something a little smug, almost vicious; baring your teeth as if to gloat at his own, still tucked behind his lips.

***

"Mel's an artist." You say to Viktor, offhand. "A good one, too. You should see her paintings—"

Viktor sighs heavily, snatching one of the little tools that you'd been fiddling with out of your hands. "You sound like Jayce."

You wrinkle your face in disgust, reaching back for the tool and grappling with him a moment for it. You press all against each other, squabbling, before you win out and take it back from him. He stares at you, almost in some form of a glare and you stare back, watching his eyes, dark in the low light of the lab. He glances at the tool in your hands like he might try to take it back, and when he moves, you move faster, and hold it out of his reach.

"Are they together?" You ask.

He gives up on the tool.

Then, he lifts his shoulders in some form of a crooked shrug, eyes going skyward. "One can only assume."

"She's out of his league." You sigh, throwing your weight back in the chair in despair.

Viktor snorts at that, returning to his work, "I'm sure few are in league with Councilor Medarda."

His voice is dry. A little brittle.

"I don't know what you have against her." You then venture, speaking more to the ceiling, returning to fiddling with the tool. It twists in your fingers, the sound of metal whirling and softly grinding.

"I have nothing against Councilor Medarda." He says too evenly.

"You know, I've never been able to tell if it's contempt or adoration you have for her." You continue, as if he hadn't said anything to contradict you. "But either way, she gets under your skin."

"She does not—"

"Are you jealous? She took your big, dumb partner away?" You press, twisting and twisting away at the tool.

"No—" Viktor says sharply, but it rings with a note of truth. It's not quite that then.

You pause. And then.

You crack your eye open, "I think she likes me."

Viktor pauses now too, metal clinking quietly with the sudden stop of his work again. He knows that tone of your voice. His face pulls; distaste. Frustration.

(Jealousy.)

His speech is slow as he tries to parse through what to say, "Councilor Medarda is charming and—"

"She invited me to dinner." You say and now you're watching him carefully, "at her personal suite. Just us."

Viktor rounds on you, "you're going to get yourself into trouble."

You can't help but smile, slow and amused, "I feel like it's good for the art—fool around with a politician—"

"You know, I have always wondered if you would learn your lesson," Viktor continues over your monologuing about drama and passion and politics, "—maybe this time, you'll finally learn it."

He snatches the tool from your hands and throws it down on his desk.

"I love learning." You chirp innocently and he shakes his head, face flushed with passion.

He looks at you again when he can, shakes his head some more, some of the irritation fading from his features. He never stays mad at you for long; doesn't have it in him. Besides, he causes his own trouble. Doesn't learn his own lessons. And when the dust settles, the two of you are still here, beside each other. The artist and the scientist, making messes, breaking things—all for some higher purpose only the two of you have ever understood.

(You've loved him your whole life. Sometimes, you think you carry half of the other's ribs inside one another. He must have twelve of yours, and you must have twelve of his—)

You lift your foot, nudging his calf beneath the desk with it, then up to place it in his lap. An olive branch, of some kind. Your affection is unsurprising to him and he sighs. He drops his hand to your ankle. He squeezes.

"She's going to eat you alive." Viktor finally warns.

"One can only hope."

A laugh startles out of him, rough and raspy, before it dissolves into coughing.

You lurch up to give him water, sitting near you, and bring the glass to his lips on reflex, like you used to as children. And on reflex, he drinks—he doesn't try to take the glass from your hands right away or push you away. Instinctively, you care for him, and instinctively, he lets you.

(You think you're the only one he'd ever allow to do this, born out of years of pressed side to side in the same bed, listening to him weather the nights. Born out of years of your love and stubborn care for him.)

After a moment, he lifts his hand and slowly replaces yours.

You hover over him. He sets the glass down. The water is almost gone. You'll replace it for him before you leave the lab.

He settles back into his chair, eyes returning to the pieces in front of him; all the odd metal scattered like little silver stars in front of him against a vast, dark sky. He picks up one, and then another, and tries to fit them together.

Then another. And another.

You watch him twist and turn, put the puzzle together.

He says, "Lately, I feel as if—" his fingers are careful, almost shaking, as he tries to create something of the scattered, broken pieces, "everything is quite fragile. And it's all just going to—" he presses a little too hard, and the metal all splinters apart, clattering back to the desk, "break. At any given moment."

After a moment, he looks up at you, still hovering over him, "I fear you're heading towards a breaking point."

You hum a little.

"What is it you scientists say?" You ask, running your fingers through his dark hair, thick and tousled. You twirl a strand around your finger, let it fall;

"It has to break first, before you can discover anything."

***

You'd say Mel Medarda is a wolf in sheep's clothing, but she doesn't feign anything so harmless or lost as a sheep.

You do think she's—

A little like Jayce, where she hides her teeth. But where Jayce irritates you because he's certainly trying to seem better than he is, or more harmless than he can be, Mel does so with intention. Mel hides her teeth to lure you closer. She doesn't pretend she doesn't have them; she waits until you're in range before you catch a glimpse of them.

And by then, well. It's too late.

You realize this over dinner, as she laments about what art she'd like from you and she's adamant about not censoring you.

(You're known for you controversy; whether in your physical art, your poetry, or music. Once pulled to the light of the Upper City, you refused to let them defang you. Where Jayce pretends he doesn't have teeth, you bare yours proudly, and sometimes wish you could tear the tender parts of Piltover open.

You strive to do it with your art. And while applauded in some vague capacity, you are also kept on a tight leash. Your patrons are warily supportive of you. Your commissions are strict. You're treated the way you think a wild animal is; with utmost care and fear and awe.)

In fact, her only rule for you, is to not hold back.

Which, given the growing tension between the Upper and Lower Cities, you realize this cannot only be from the goodness of her heart or for the integrity of art but—

You tilt your head and consider her.

"Am I a political move, Mel?"

She smiles in that enigmatic way of hers, her teeth flash, "isn't all art?"

You narrow your eyes, "perhaps. I wonder of it's effectiveness when it's employed by the people it often critiques." You lift your chin and pretend to be hurt—or perhaps, mask your hurt within dramatics to make it seem ironic, "and here I thought you really liked me—"

"I do." Mel assures, "I've admired you a great deal from afar. And getting to know you, your mind, it's—" she considers her words, "it's been nothing short of mesmerizing. Astonishing."

She sounds sincere. But you wonder if she always sounds that way.

She can tell she hasn't convinced you because you've never been able to mask your emotions well, so she leans forward and says, "unfortunately, everything I do is a political move, whether I'd like it to be or not. Both can be true—" she says, "I can adore you. And I can also need you to make a public point, wield you like my own elegant weapon."

"Artists make for disobedient weapons, usually." You say.

She laughs a little at that and agrees, "True." And then she lowers her voice, looks at you through the fan of her dark lashes in such a way that seizes you—arrests you, holds you right there, caught, in her heady gaze;

"But I don't need you to be obedient."

"I can never tell if you're trying to seduce me or persuade me." You blurt out, the words running from your mouth like a rabbit from a wolf. Your desire bursts from you like frightened birds taking to flight, like most of what you feel does, all of it spilling out of you in a gush of rawness.

She stands gracefully and again, you think of how you'd draw her—how you'd capture her in a poem or a song. The sharp curve of her waist, the predatory grace she carries effortlessly. You think her song is a croon from the deep part of your chest. You think her poem looks like an hourglass on the page and she slips from your fingers as easy as time does, too.

She rounds the small table to your side.

You look up at her. Your heart kicks up into a quick dance.

She brings the back of her knuckle to your jaw and gently—with all the carefulness in the world, strokes you.

(She touches you the way one does a bird, as if they know it's fragile. Perhaps as if they know it might fly away.

Or maybe she touches you the way one does an animal they're not sure of; will you bite? Will you lean into the touch?)

"Both can be true." She finally answers.

When she kisses you, it's fiercer than you're expecting; a lightning strike, a blow to the heart.

Your teeth come up against hers.

She gasps when you drag her further down to you, greedier than she's ever known, meeting her fierceness with your own, like the clashing of blades, or the destruction of stars.

And you think, if you don't want obedience, then I'll show you.

I'll show you.

***

"What are you playing at?"

Jayce's voice is a vicious little hush in the caverns of the council chambers. Mel has just left you after peaking over your shoulder to view the preliminary sketches.

You lift your head and blink up at Jayce slowly, dragging yourself from your sketch; from your world of art.

(It sets his teeth to grinding because Viktor makes that same look, when he's so deep into his work and Jayce disturbs him. It's a face he finds endearing on both of you, unfortunately. He imagines your minds are in heaven and he's selfish enough to drag you both back down to earth.)

"What do you mean? For the art piece?" You ask, glancing down at your lap, at the series of gestures and lines that you've been lost in. Maybe you're feigning innocence a little. But you want him to say it, if he's going to pick this fight.

Jayce's eyes flash like the too-hot part of the flame.

You have to bite back a smile.

Come on, you think wildly, say it. Let's fight. Here in the chambers, where you try so hard to be their golden boy.

"What are you trying to get out of Mel?" He asks and it makes you laugh outright, because he's dancing around what he really wants to ask.

Your laugh echoes in the hall, bouncing off all this marble and gold. It's out of place here, too loud, too free.

"The better question is what she's trying to get out of me." You say, "do you think I have it in me to manipulate the Mel Medarda?"

He goes quiet at that.

"Are you doing this to get back at me?" He asks after a moment and it's so close to what he wants to ask, so close to what he really wants to talk about.

"She kissed me first." You answer. "Have you had this conversation with her?"

You can tell by the shadow of uncertainty that passes over his face that he hasn't. You stand, easily setting your sketches and pencils aside, and drift nearer to him.

"Oh," you hum, "you didn't know. She didn't mention some plan of seduction to you? Maybe she really does like me."

He rounds on you so sharply that you are genuinely surprised. You gasp when your back hits the wall and he's got you caged in, a snarl on his lips and you finally get to see those teeth of his—

"You just always have to push me, don't you? In all the years I've known you, you've only ever tried to get under my skin. I tried so hard, for so long, for Viktor's sake to get along with you." He says lowly and distantly, you think, does he cage in Mel like this? With his big arms and broad chest? Or does she have him on a tight leash, underneath her?

"This time, I didn't mean it. Surely, you understand—" you say slyly, "when she comes onto you like that, all honey-voiced and half-lidded. She's hard to resist, isn't she?"

The grip he has on your biceps tightens to a point of pain—he'll bruise you. You'll be tender there, where his big hands gripped you, and it only makes you smile.

"Stop it." He snaps.

But you can't help yourself now, because once you've got something between your teeth, you've never been able to let it go;

"I just want to know if she kisses me the same way she kisses you? Does she play nice with you? She's quite fierce with me—"

When Jayce kisses you, it's a crush of aggression.

You laugh into his mouth wildly as he shoves you harder against the wall, teeth mean in the tender part of your bottom lip so that your laughter melts into a groan of pain. Of pleasure.

You claw at his back and wonder if Mel does, too.

You fight and hiss and snarl, show him your teeth when he sinks his into the fluttering pulse at your throat. You try to draw blood. You think he tries to bruise.

And well, you always wanted to see his teeth—

Just never thought you'd end up with a ring of their mark on your neck.

***

You're not really sleeping—nights are long. Days are longer. You're in the studio too much. This art piece is strangling you, wrestling with you and you're losing. Your lovers are strange, demanding types. Jayce comes to you at his lowest, and Mel at her highest. She licks the wounds Jayce leaves on you, purrs about how good you're being for her, goads you into putting up more of a fight that she likes to quell. She asks, have I stolen your bite? Are you going soft on me? Until you try to wrestle with her, too.

Mel subdues you the way snakes do—constricts and tightens and puts all that pressure on you until you just burst.

Until you go slack in her grip.

Jayce takes his anger out on you and he's not so cunning or delicate as her. You think Jayce struggles with you the way he must with his hammers, with high heat and all his strength.

Your art is starting to look like pieces of them; brutal and brilliant and cunning and beautiful. Tricky to capture, even more difficult to mesh together.

You're covered in paint when Viktor comes to visit you, frustrated with the canvas in front of you, which you think you'll end up scrapping again.

(This is the fourth one. You've been trying to fit all the components and pieces together but none of it's working, all of it's a mess. Splintered apart on the canvas. It looks like a disaster on the page.)

"Have you eaten?" Viktor asks as he comes to stand behind you. He gazes at the canvas n front of you.

You sigh heavily. "Have you?" You return.

He snorts at that, "No. I'm coming from the lab and thought I'd check on you—Mel mentioned you were here."

He pauses and then, "that you'd been here. For awhile now."

You hear the layers in his voice; the worry, but then the—

Irritation? Disdain?

"Are you asking me to dinner?" You say instead, dashing the canvas with a sudden great, horrible X. It's your meager attempt at some sort of joke or flirting, but your voice is perhaps too thin for it. You stare at your canvas, now dripping with that great X, the paint slipping down and marring it further.

When you turn to look at Viktor, he regards you warily. He glances at the canvas you've just ruined, and then back to your face.

He takes in your appearance; your disheveled hair and the paint all over your clothes and skin. And then his eyes skip down to your throat, to your arms. All marked up and bruised, unhidden and worn proudly here, in the safety of your art studio.

"Should I be concerned?" Viktor asks instead and you've always loved his bluntness. His lack of tact is like coming home. It's a relief, when you're constantly with Mel and Jayce lately, who talk in riddles and niceties and flowered language that hides their intentions or feelings.

There is a bitterness in Viktor's voice that you know well, too.

"About?" You prod.

"I'm no fool." Viktor answers, "I know you're sleeping with Councilor Medarda."

"Is that all you know?" You return, tilting your head.

"Is there more to know?" Viktor asks, eyeing you.

"Jayce hasn't said anything?"

You watch a strange shadow pass over Viktor's face as he slowly comes to the natural conclusion that you've lead him to. He's right, he is no fool. And then you watch his eyes catch fire, catch jealousy.

"I warned you—" he starts, suddenly.

"And I told you, it's good for the art—" You joke.

"Obviously it isn't!" He snaps, gesturing to the canvas behind you, ruined and glaring at your back. And then he heaves out a rough, agitated breath, dragging a hand through his hair. "Do you ever think of consequences?" He demands.

"Sure," You say, "I'm exactly where I want to be."

"You know, they are my colleagues. What am I supposed to do if—?!"

You laugh at that, enough that it startles him out of his beginning tirade. He comes up short and his shoulders bunch with tension as he glares at you.

"Is something funny?" He hisses.

"Your colleagues?" You repeat, "that's all they are to you?"

"Well—yes, technically." He stumbles on his words here.

"Are you jealous, Viktor?" You ask. "You don't have to be."

"I'm not jealous—" He refutes, even as his cheeks grow ruddy. And for a moment, you could be twelve with him again, his face flush as he looks at you after you'd kissed him for the first time because he'd never kissed anyone before. Or twenty-two and drunk, kissing one night under the stars when you felt so lost and disorientated in the Upper City—just wanted to feel like yourself again.

Or now, at thirty-two, staring at the man you've loved your entire life and whatever mess you've made out of everything.

You reach out and touch his cheek, glowing with color, and at first he winces away, but when you persist, he relaxes. He presses his cheek to your open palm and looks at you; raw and frank and so Viktor that you can't help the faint smile that touches your lips. Even as he frowns at you.

"What are you meddling with?" Viktor murmurs, turning his face into your cupped hand. You feel the faint brush of his lips, a little dry, and soft. Warm.

"Apparently our political landscape." You respond and that at least gets a laugh from him. You feel it against you and some spark shimmers through you, shudders and opens itself to you.

(Your desire for Viktor is something always with you, ambient, perhaps dormant, that always resurfaces like the great fins of some horrible, huge monster in dark waters. Your desire for Viktor is a symptom of your love. You've never know what to call it except that, except his.)

"Have I upset you?" You ask now as his laughter fades, and with it his amusement.

He sighs deeply and you feel his breath against your skin. You draw nearer. He leans back onto his crutch only slightly, only for a moment, before he allows you further into his space.

"I don't—" He struggles for the words before admitting, "yes, somewhat. For some reason."

"Are you feeling neglected?" You ask and try very hard to keep your amusement out of your voice, lest you irritate him further. He's always had a jealous streak in him, even as kids. If you made another friend, he would pout until you draped yourself over him and showered him in your attention again.

Even your previous relationships had bred some sort of jealousy in him; he's never liked any of your partners.

(It's so endearing to you that you have to tuck your teeth into your own lip and hum a little.)

You lean towards him, ducking your head so that your nose dips to brush against the line of his jaw. You feel his body shudder more than you see it. His breath goes tight. Your eyes flicker, a flash in the sun-spun light of your art studio;

"Do you want me to kiss you the way Jayce kisses me?" You murmur, your lips hovering over his. You watch his face gutter, lashes fluttering against his cheeks. His breath goes shallow.

"Or would you prefer Mel?" You murmur, just before you close the distance and kiss him with a certain fierceness, a meanness that you don't usually have with him. He stumbles back a little with the force of it and your hand that had been holding his cheek, slips into the hair at the nape of his neck.

A groan startles out of him when you tighten your hand into a fist and pull.

You part from the kiss, panting a little, and he looks down at you, eyes molten gold and burning.

You're about to kiss him again, when he murmurs, "I want—" he swallows hard, "I want you to kiss me the way you do—I want—"

You press back into him instantly, suddenly overwhelmed with the thought, with the notion that his desire, his jealousy—

You kiss him like you always have, overeager and desperate and messy. You urge him backwards, towards your workbench, all cluttered with paints. His crutch clatters against the ground uselessly as you grab for each other. You knock over a jar of brushes half-haphazardly placed on the floor.

You're overwhelmed with the thought that his jealousy might've been for you, too.

When he braces his hand against your work bench, he knocks over a cup of paint. You laugh into his mouth as you paw at his stupid, perfectly buttoned vest. When he touches you again, he stains you blue—and later red and violet. Burnished gold and paint so silver it makes the stars look dull.

A mess, he tsks, impossibly fond, as he looks at you and himself and the work space.

At all that you'd done.

***

"You've been pulling strings," Mel says as you lay in her lap, letting her pet and stroke you. Her fingers dance over the ridge of your brow.

You blink up at her slowly, eyes fluttering. "Shouldn't that be my line?" You ask.

"I'm not naive to the way you've been pulling our strings." She muses, fingers tumbling into your hair. She's gentle here, careful as she cards her way through your hair, her fingers nimble.

"Pulling strings is a far too sophisticated thing to call it." You snort and lean into her touch like a cat, preening a little.

"What would you call it?" Mel asks and the smile she wears is less of a mystery to you now, and you can tell there's a fondness to it.

(She does really like you—she is really being sincere, you've learned.)

You think about this for a long moment; you toy with saying a fucking mess. Or digging my own grave. But neither feel quite so full—while true, in many ways, there leaves little room for—

Well, this.

The way she holds you. The cat's curl of her smile, pleased and mischievous. Her fingers, gentle and coaxing, urging you to unfurl and bloom.

Or Viktor's rasping laugh that you can pull out of him. The fondness you hold for him like a pearl held inside a clam, growing and glowing. The way you drape yourself all over him, and he accepts it as easy as the day accepts the sun, or the night accepts the moon into its skies.

And even Jayce and the strangled back-and-forth that the two of you dance; it's still yours. It's still his. And the way he cups your cheek admist the violence or how he let's no one speak ill of you in front of him.

(Or the way Jayce and Viktor's minds work together, or how tactical Jayce and Mel can be; sharpened like daggers and twice as pretty. Or the creativity you pull out of Mel, allowing her to see the world like a boundless piece of art. Or the way Viktor's science influences your art; how your art influences his science. The fierceness you bring out in Jayce—the passion he brings out in you.)

It doesn't quite account for all the parts that make you burn and grow and shake out your great, big wings to fly.

Finally, you say, "it feels like I'm trying to find the melodies and harmonies and how they mesh—or the composition of a painting, or the feeling of a poem, but some of the words are still missing. It feels like when I chase art and try to break it open, to reveal what it wants me to learn—or show me."

"Have you figured it out yet?" She asks and she's genuinely curious, almost quiet in her desire to know.

At that, the door creaks open and there are several hushed whispers before Jayce suddenly strides into the room with all the false confidence in the world. Viktor looks sheepish behind him.

You sit up sharply, trying to detangle yourself from Mel.

"I told you they were here—" Viktor hisses to him, "and we shouldn't—we shouldn't be here."

Jayce isn't listening, though, and he's clearly inflating himself to get out, "I've come on important business of the council."

Mel raises her brows and throws you a sideways glance. She then says, "then come in, Councilor, since it's so important that you've come to my personal quarters. Unannounced."

Jayce at least has the good sense to look a little sheepish now, too. You can't help the laugh that springs out of you.

He throws you a dark look before clearing his throat.

"Councilor Haskel and Salo are seeking to strike down the art deal." Jayce announces and your heart drops a little, sinks in your chest.

You look at Mel. She purposefully keeps her face a mask of coolness. She rolls her shoulder briefly, which is your only tell of irritation or concern.

"Come in, Jayce." Mel finally says, "and you, too, Viktor. Shut the door behind you."

Both wander into the space and it's such a surreal moment, all four of you, for once, in the same room, that you can't help but laugh again.

Mel sighs in a way as if to say, I suppose this would happen eventually.

Jayce and Viktor can't quite look anyone in the eye and they both take uneasy seats int he living room.

Again, you feel like laughing—you're not sure what all the trepidation is for. Each of them have you seen you naked; you have seen them naked.

"What's their angle?" Mel asks, ignoring both Jayce and Viktor's shyness.

Jayce clears his throat, "they don't think it's worthwhile to support an artist from the Undercity at this time."

You wince and Jayce adds, "their words, not mine."

"Well, that won't do." Mel tsks and she suddenly moves to stand, graceful as ever, her robes trailing in a wave of silk and the smell of lillies. She likes to pace when she's thinking, and she pads over the window, to look out at the city.

Eventually, she says, "we'll need a grander plan. Something they can't refuse."

"What are you thinking?" Jayce asks.

She turns and all around her, she's doused in gold light, glowing in the evening sun as if she was born to it. "Perhaps combining some science with it." Now she looks at Viktor, "something symbolic to the current advancements with Hextech, perhaps."

Viktor looks at you, then back at Mel, "I can do that."

"Jayce, I need you to talk to the other Councilors and be sure they're not swayed by Haskel or Salo." She then adds, "and I want more publicity around it—and around our artist and scientist."

Our artist.

Our scientist.

"Ah—" Viktor starts, "I don't want to be in the public eye."

Our, our, our.

"It'll put pressure on Haskel and Salo if the people are behind you both, too." Mel presses gently, though her gaze has softened on him; she's sympathetic to his desires.

To assure him, you chirp, "I can do all the talking."

"Not sure that's our best idea." Jayce remarks.

"I am certain I can name several worse ideas of ours." You quip without thinking, and then you toss one of Mel's throw pillows at him; the beautifully embroidered one that's likely far too expensive and made from the rarest threads.

It hits him with a dull thud. And for a moment, he's shocked. The room is silent.

Still, your heart sings our, our, our.

But then Viktor snorts, before breaking out into his low, soft chuckle. And then the twinkle of Mel's giggles, coupled with your own laughter that bursts from your chest like a bird taking to flight.

And Jayce watches a moment, all of you laugh and smile, and if you could paint him in this moment, you would—

A little awe-struck. Tender around the edges, burnished gold. Breath stolen from him.

(Oh, he does really like you, too. All of you.)

But then laughter rumbles from him, too. And the tension slips from all of you, drains from your bodies with each bubbling sound.

And all of them together—finally together—are the melody you've been looking for, the words you couldn't place. The color on the canvas that finally brings it all together.

It's all the broken pieces like a mosaic, finally put together to create something whole.

And it's all ours, you think, the sun a flare of light and beauty bursting through the room, bathing all of your favorite people in it's gold and glory;

It's all ours.

[harryspet]

buy me presents | r. cameron

[warnings] dark!mafia!rafe x spoiled!bratty!reader, ex-convict!rafe, rafe has a spoiling kink, topper thornton x reader, kidnapping/confinement, bondage, mentions of death/violence, toxic relationship, NONCON, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: merry christmas eve! gif credit: @/janesarahspidey

In which Rafe is more dangerous than ever and he interrupts your honeymoon with your new husband.

word count: 6.2k

rafe cameron masterlist

Somewhere like Greece seemed like a much better option for your honeymoon. Your husband, Topper, insisted that spending the end of year at a cozy, cabin in the mountains would be much more intimate.  Besides that, you’d gotten married so late into the year that a tropical honeymoon was probably out of the question. You bargained for a trip to Greece in the spring and decided not to pout. At least a cozy mountain trip meant cute two-piece lounge sets with fur-line boots and adorable ear muffs. 

That morning, he’d lugged all four of your suitcases into the back of his SUV, and you drove 4 hours from Figure 8 to the mountains. The car heater hummed softly as you stared out the window, the serenity of the trip barely masking your true feelings. You had the perfect winter wedding, a huge oval diamond on your ring, you’d snagged the most eligible bachelor in Kildare, and yet, you were still hoping for more. 

Topper was all smiles when you arrived, chivalrously carrying all your things inside. The “cabin” he picked was less than low-key, which impressed you, from the outside it was covered in snow but you could tell there were at least seven bedrooms. Shivering you followed him inside. The moment the door slammed shut behind you, the noise felt strangely final, like you were trapped in a cage of wood and snow. 

Your husband went to work on the fireplace, and still shivering, you wandered through the luxurious cabin’s living room. It was adorned with over-stuffed furniture, red-plaid blanket throws, deep leather couches, and velvet armchairs. A bear skin rug sat before the fireplace, a deer head placed ceremoniously over the mantle, “I was thinking we could decorate the place for Christmas. Make it real cozy. What do you think?”

You nodded, a small smile on your lips, “Yeah … where are we gonna get decorations?” You crossed your arms as you continued to shiver. Moving closer to him, you were hoping a spark would appear soon. 

Topper glanced over at you, his face lighting up with excitement. "I figured we could take a drive into town tomorrow, get a real tree, maybe a few things for the mantel. It'll be perfect. You know, all the little touches."

The fire crackled in front of you as Topper carefully stoked the flames, his focus on making sure it blazed high. His back was to you, his arms flexing as he worked, and for a moment, you found yourself staring at him. Topper was handsome, successful, and undoubtedly a good man. You let yourself feel grateful that he’d put so much thought into this trip.

Planning your dream wedding had completely consumed your thoughts this year, bringing you unimaginable anxiety. Every decision, every detail had been meticulously planned, from the dress to the flowers, the venue, and every single guest on the guest list. You’d sacrificed sleep, health, and sanity in pursuit of perfection. But now, the wedding was behind you, and the weight of it all seemed to evaporate in the crisp mountain air.

You decided that this was the time to finally let go of the constant pressure and to simply enjoy being married, “Sounds perfect,” You responded, and at the same time, you saw the first spark. Topper stoked the fire, letting it grow, and you finally felt the comforting heat, “The tree has to be at least nine feet, okay? With red and gold bulbs and big poinsettias. I want my sister to totally freak out when I send her photos.” You said it with a small smirk, imagining her wide-eyed reaction to the grandeur of it all. You were already picturing the perfect holiday setup, one that would leave no room for comparison.

“You got it,” He stood up from his place kneeling by the fireplace, dusting off his pants, and leaned in to kiss you softly. His voice was low, reassuring, and you picked out the way his eyes soften at the sight of you. Topper Thornton was madly in love with you, “What sounds good for dinner?”

“Steak?” You offered, leaning back against the arm of the couch. Outside, through tall glass windows, you watched snow fall down on the landscape. 

“Steak it is. I’m gonna make you an amazing dinner and then we’re going to have the coziest night in.” He leaned down to kiss you on your forehead and you watched as he made his way to the kitchen. 

“I will …unpack,” You declared, staring around the room, already envisioning where you would settle.

The master suite was tucked away on the upper floor, accessed by a grand staircase with a dark wood banister that creaked softly under your footsteps. The soft glow from the chandelier above cast a warm light over you. The stairs led to a long hallway that ended in double doors, adorned with heavy brass handles. 

At the center of the room stood a four-poster king-sized bed with a thick down comforter and piles of plush pillows, framed by an elegant dark wood bed frame. Across the room was yet another fireplace and you imagined a warm, cozy consummation of your marriage. You were no virgin, and Topper hadn’t proposed to you before sampling what he intended to lock down for the rest of his life, but you wanted it to be special. 

Your eyes wandered to the private balcony accessed through French doors offered views of the snow-covered expanse but was too cold to truly enjoy. Instead, you turned your attention to unpacking yours and Topper’s luggage, organizing your belongings in the spacious walk-in closet. The expansive vanity soon became a canvas for your collection of beauty trinkets and makeup, each item finding its place as you settled into your new surroundings.

You joined Topper for dinner, the mouth watering aroma already having reached you upstairs. Topper was good at being doting, remembering to pull out your chair for you, making sure your glass of red wine never fully emptied. Part of your heart fluttered, the other, more realistic half was skeptical. You couldn’t help but reflect on the endless conversations you’d had with your therapist. She’d pointed out time and time again that you struggled to let people fully in, even the ones who loved you.

This was the time, Y/N, to finally let someone in. What better person than the one you agreed to marry? 

Dinner was more than pleasant, and as the wine started to warm your cheeks, the conversation turned light. It was fun. Sometimes you forgot how much fun Topper could be. 

Topper’s voice was low and teasing, “If you could switch lives with anyone for a day, no strings attached, no responsibilities, no commitments, who would it be and why?”

You paused, the question hanging in the air for a moment. Topper leaned forward slightly, clearly enjoying the challenge he’d just given you. You could tell he was genuinely curious, but also hoping to catch a glimpse of something unexpected, something about the woman he’d married that maybe even you hadn’t fully explored.

Your fingers played with the stem of your wine glass as you thought, the question pulling you into a brief moment of reflection.

“Hmmm…” you mused, your heartbeat picking up, though you kept your face neutral, “I think… I’d pick my oldest sister. She does everything right. She’s got it all together. At least, that’s what my Mom and Dad always say.”

“Really?” Topper smiled, taking a sip from his wine, “Your sister?”

“Yeah,” Maybe because you felt no judgement at all, you kept speaking, “I mean, it’s not like I don’t love my life now. But all I wanted when I was a teenager was to be the godliest woman, to get married young, and you know, do all the things a pastor’s daughter is supposed to do. And I watched all three of my sisters do it and…they’ve just never approved of my decisions.”

You were sitting across from the only decision your parent’s approved of but you weren’t always Topper Thornton’s wife. For years, they’d considered you “lost”. 

Topper gave you a soft smile. “I’m surprised but it’s kind of nice to … to know you more. I want to know your more, Y/N,” You understood what he meant. You did your best to come across only how you wanted others to perceive you, “You know, you’re exactly where you need to be, right here with me. And I’m sorry, but your parents are idiots.”

You nodded, laughing, before you down the rest of your wine, “I have a surprise for you.”

“Oh?” Topper’s eyes widened, “Is it upstairs?”

You nodded, standing from the table. “Yes. I’m going to get ready. Toss these dishes in the sink, I’ll clean them tomorrow, and meet me upstairs in… five minutes, okay?”

“Can’t wait, Mrs. Thornton,” He winked and you scurried away from the table with a mischievous smile. 

It took you a lot longer than five minutes to get ready and you were lucky that Topper had known you well enough to give you more time. You chose an outfit you’d been waiting to pull out since the beginning of planning for your wedding. The nightgown was crafted from soft, white silky fabric, it’s neck plunged and the neckline was adorned by lace. The hem ended just before the middle of your thighs, teasing yet tasteful, and the robe that accompanied it was made from the same light, airy material. You tied the robe lazily in front, letting the fabric cascade over your body. 

You were applying lipgloss in the mirror when you heard the closing of a car door. You paused for a moment, wondering why he had gone out to the car. Deciding you were presentable enough, you left the room. At the top of the stairs, you heard the shuffling of feet and assumed Topper had made his way back inside. 

“Babe?” You inquired as you made your way down the stairs. Your stomach dropped the moment that your bare feet hit the bottom step. You gripped the stair railing as your eyes tried to make sense of the movement in the dimly lit downstairs. All you could really tell was that Topper was not alone and dark figures had crowded the living room. 

Then your heard a painful grunt and recognized the sound as belonging to Topper. Abort, abort, abort, the little voice in your head said. When you turned around, there was a dark figure standing at the top of the stairs now. You immediately recognized the cold, calculating look in his eyes. He was one of Rafe's men. You couldn’t remember his name, but the air around him was thick with malice. He didn’t need to say a word for you to understand his intent: you weren’t going anywhere.

A scream left your lips before you could cover your mouth with a shaky hand. “Stay still,” the man at the top of the stairs said in a low, gruff voice. His hand moved toward his waistband, and your stomach twisted as you feared the worst.

You moved forward despite his words. The shuffling from the living room intensified, followed by another grunt from Topper, which made your legs nearly buckle beneath you. You were so, so, so close to the door but a few steps in that direction made you realize there were two other men blocking that exit. You turned around slowly, following their line of the sight, and moved in the only direction there was. 

You padded closer to the living room, a crackling fire the only source of light in the room. Rafe Cameron stood, tall and commanding, gun pointed to your husband’s temple. He already owned every inch of the space. 

Topper’s eyes flicked toward you, panic and fear evident in them, but he didn’t speak, not while Rafe’s gun was so close to his head. His jaw clenched, and he shifted uncomfortably in place, his hands bound behind him. Two other dark figures stood nearby and you quickly processed that they were most likely the ones who overpowered your husband. 

Cold, calculating eyes locked on you. Oh god, you thought, you’d really done it now. 

It wasn’t love at first sight with Rafe Cameron. Not even close. But it was fire—raw, passionate, and all-consuming. You were at the end of your rebellious phase, days away from moving back home, and finally agreeing to go to that Christian college your parents always wanted you to go to.

It really started with a pair of diamond earrings. Not a conversation, not a connection, just a gesture that hit you like a freight train. 

He presented them after he’d given you three earth-shattering, bed-frame-slamming orgasms in a row, and you’d dozed off in his bedroom, tangled in the sheets, not caring that it was a late-night rendezvous that was never supposed to mean anything. The earrings were tucked inside a velvet box that seemed almost out of place with the raw, unrestrained chaos of the night.

“Are you paying me for sex? Like a hooker?”

“You’d think I’d buy diamond earrings for a hooker?” His voice was steady, as if he hadn’t just spent hours making your legs shake. “No, this is an investment. I want my future wife to know I can give her nice things.”

"Shut up," you muttered, not trying to keep the sting out of your voice. You weren’t his property. You weren’t someone’s investment.

Rafe only smirked, eyes predatory but amused. You accepted, of course, and you tried them on just minutes later. You’d never owned anything so … sparkly. They were the opposite of modest, the opposite of the world you were so close to entering again. 

There was no amusement in the look Rafe Cameron was giving you now, his black suit molding perfectly to his tall, muscular frame. “And here she is,” Rafe announced, a smile on his lips with absolutely know joy behind it, “The beautiful bride!” 

“Rafe …” You steadied your breathing as much as possible, “What are you doing?”

You couldn’t help but notice his hair—buzzed short, a sharp contrast to the way he used to wear it. It gave him a more rugged and dangerous look, one that matched the quiet menace he often carried in his demeanor.

“What does it look like? I came to congratulate you two.” 

“Put the gun away,” You stepped closer, arms wrapping around yourself, wanting to conceal your vulnerable form from the men in the room, “He didn’t do anything. You know he didn’t. I’m the one who–”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I did consider him a good friend of mine, you know? S’pose to look after my girl while I did my time. Guess you thought I was giving you permission to fuck her,” The barrel of the gun pressed harder into Topper’s temple and you cringed. His icy blue eyes pinned you in place as he scanned over you. You wanted to scream, to throw yourself at Rafe and tear the gun from his hand, but something in you knew that it wasn’t that simple. It never had been with Rafe.

“No, you don’t get to do this,” You declared, raising your voice as much as your body would let you, “You went away. I ended things. You don’t get to tear everything down just because you can’t let go.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched and you could see the nerve you’d struck written all over his face, “She’s not your girl anymore,” Topper spoke through gritted teeth, “You can’t–”

Rafe’s eyes flashed with a fury that turned his features hard and before you could take another breath, he moved with lightning speed, raising the gun in his hand. The crack of metal meeting flesh filled the room as Rafe pistol-whipped Topper across the face, sending him crumbling to the floor.

“Fuck!” You cursed, tears stinging your eyes. You fought the urge to keel over and release the contents of your stomach at the sight of the blood gushing from Topper’s face. A blind rage came over you as you started to struggle to breathe. 

“Neither of you get to tell me what the fuck to do,” Rafe’s eyes bore into you. 

You moved closer, wanting to check and at least make sure your husband was still breathing. Before you knew it, Rafe’s gun was pointing at you. 

“No, leave him. You. Sit,” He gestured the gun towards the leather couch. 

You hesitated and Rafe easily pointed the gun back at Topper. A threat. Shakily, you stepped away from Topper’s figure, and sat down on the living room couch. You tried to steady yourself, stop yourself from vibrating with anger, to calm your nerves so you could think rationally. 

Across the room, Rafe did the same, though his movements were more restless, more frantic. He paced back and forth, his boots thudding softly against the carpet. The gun never left his hand, his fingers curling tighter around it as he muttered under his breath, words too quiet to make out.

It was a scene you had witnessed before. Rafe trying to calm down after doing something reckless. Something violent. You wanted nice things, sure. But not like this. Not at the cost of your peace, your sanity. And certainly not at the cost of your safety.

The realization hit you then. The crazy that came with Rafe Cameron? You had never wanted it, not really. 

“What do you want from us?” You asked, lips trembling. 

“Nothing from him,” Rafe decided quickly, “From you. There is no limit to all that I want from you, Y/N.”

You breathed deeply, “What do you want me to say? You want me to lie to you, Rafe?”

Rafe nodded his head as he thought about your words, “I want that ring off your finger …” He trailed off, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

You look down at your left hand as it sat on your lap. You quickly covered your left hand with your right, “Take if off,” He continued and when you didn’t budge, he added, “I’m not asking. Do it or-”

Angrily, you kept your eyes on him. You pulled off your engagement ring and wedding band, tossing the two at his feet. 

“Good,” he muttered under his breath, his gaze narrowing, though he still smirked. "You’ll regret that."

He leaned down to take the rings into his hand, “Hmm, you always told me you wanted a pear shape. I know you didn’t change your mind that quickly. Let me guess …you mentioned it but he never remembered. And you were just so grateful that he even got down on one knee for you.” 

Rafe’s words stung, his mockery of your past with Topper hitting harder than you expected. 

“I love it. You know all I really care about is a big diamond, Rafe,” You spoke through a painful smile.

“I know I’m not the only man in the world with money,” Rafe said, his voice tight with controlled anger. “But what you don’t understand is, he wouldn’t have anything without me. That new real estate venture of his? The one he’s so proud of now? It started with me. And what does he do? He swoops in, steals my girl, and then steals five million dollars from me. That’s what all of this is about, sweet girl. I’m here to collect what’s owed to me.”

His words hit like a slap, each sentence dripping with resentment and possessiveness. The revelation about the money, about the real reason for everything that had led to this moment, twisted in your stomach like a blade. 

“He didn’t steal me,” You countered bitterly, “I was never going to be yours. You’re a criminal.”

There was a dangerous intensity in Rafe’s eyes. Your arms crossed now out of defiance. Rafe nodded, smiling, “You’re right about one of those things. Wrong about you never being mine. But you’re right about me being a criminal.” 

Rafe crossed the room and your heart leapt from your chest as your leapt from your seat. Rafe Cameron introduced you to a violence you’d never known, and in less than a second, completely broke your heart. Topper, already passed out and crumpled on the floor, didn’t stand a chance. Standing over his body, gun angled to the ground, Rafe shot your husband in the head. 

Another second later, he was handing your rings over to one of his henchman standing nearby, “Go ahead and bury these with him.” 

Your knees buckled at the sight …the parts of his brain that were scattered all over the carpet. our hand trembled as you reached for him, but the second you touched his skin, the realization that he was gone set in.

You heard Rafe’s voice, his focus was elsewhere. You thought you might’ve heard his laugh. The sound was the last thing you heard before everything went still.

Ropes bit into your wrists. You tried to pull yourself up, the softness of the mattress making you sink further, and then you felt a strong hand on your waist holding you in place. Turning your head rapidly, you saw both your wrists tied to the opposite ends of the wooden bed. Looking down, not only did you see your lingerie still in place, but Rafe Cameron was kneeling between your legs. 

He’d remove his clothes except for his slacks though you could see his belt was loosened. You pressed your head back into the mattress, pulling at your restraints, “This is low, even for you,” You breathed out.

“Low? You’re being dramatic.”

“You killed my husband,” you whispered, the weight of the truth settling like a stone in your stomach. Slowly, he crawled on top of your, shirtless and even more sculpted than you remembered. His frame, lean and muscular bathed in the warm glow of the room's lighting. His chest was broad and defined with every line of his torso sharp. Your eyes found his shoulders, broad and powerful, tapering down to a narrow waist. Prison had not only hardened his frown lines, it had hardened every part of him. 

Rafe’s eyes flickered as he looked down at you, a brief flash of something—guilt, maybe? That look was gone quickly, replaced with something colder, harder. 

Unable to hide the panic in your voice now, you continued, “Rafe …don’t … please-” 

He searched your face, “Please?” He raised an eyebrow, “My spoiled brat remembers her manners?”

“I hate you,” You tried to blink away the tears that were forming in your eyes. Rafe caressed your face, thumb dragging over your cheeks, “God, I fucking hate you.”

His hand moved to your neck, his grip tightening there, “You didn’t give a shit about him. I know you. You were settling.”

“You don’t–”

“You forget,” He squeezed tighter, "Stop pretending I don’t know you. I see right through the act. I know what excites you, what gets your heart racing. That ring? It was never what you wanted. This whole life you’ve been pretending to want. You play innocent in front of everyone-”

“Get off me–”

He squeezed harder, his grip forcing your breath to catch in your throat. Your eyes widened in panic, but his gaze never wavered. “You want the private jets, the black card, the shopping sprees that never end, the villas in Italy, the lifestyle that makes everyone look twice when you walk into a room. You want to be the center of attention, the prettiest thing in every room. You want to be seen—on someone’s arm, my fucking arm. You crave the power that comes with being with a man like me.”

“A man who can kill and get away with it. Who has the power to have someone else do all his dirty work,” His voice had grown sensual, and his dark words caressed your ear now. You weren’t breathing right but your chest did not heave up and down, you remained in the trance that his words put you in, “What would I feel if I put my hands between your legs right now?” 

“Rafe…” You whispered.

“What baby?” He purred. 

“You’re a narcissist,” To your shock, he smiled, a slow, wicked curve of his lips. And in that moment, you knew: you’d already lost.

Rafe attacked the side of your face with his mouth, leaving kisses along your jawline, before he forced his lips on yours. He tasted the same, you realized that quickly, and you were transported to a time in your life that you’d been trying to suppress the last two years. You struggled beneath him as he pressed his lower half into your, pinning you fully. 

The restraints were the cherry on top of your misery. Rafe could hold you down with no problem and yet he wanted to remind you that you were being punished. 

“You don’t have to worry about me going away again,” He whispered through warm kisses against your skin, “I’m running a tighter operation, okay?”

Your attempts to turn your face away were futile, as your bare neck became his next target. You already felt betrayed by your body. Your body remembered Rafe, and certainly remembered your weakest spot. You pulled at your restraints, stifling the moan that was threatening to leave your lips. 

“No,” you bit out, yanking at your restraints as if sheer willpower could set you free.

But Rafe only pressed more of his weight against you, pinning you further beneath him. “No?” he echoed mockingly, “You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart. Not until you come for me. A few times, at least,” he murmured, his lips grazing your ear. “Gotta make up for lost time, don’t we?”

You wanted to scream at him, to spit out how impossible his demand was, how utterly absurd it was to think you could find any pleasure with the man who had done something so unforgivable, so monstrous to someone you cared for.

But the words caught in your throat, strangled by the heat coursing through you. His mouth trailed lower, and your resolve wavered. “That’s it,” he coaxed, his tone dripping with smug confidence, “don’t fight it. You know I always get what I want, baby.”

You searched your brain for the right words. “Rafe Cameron. Don’t. I won’t forgive you if you do this!” 

“I don’t need your forgiveness, baby,” He kissed the skin between your breasts, your plunging neckline leaving you vulnerable, “You’re scared you’re going to like it. That I’m right. C’mon, let Daddy take care of you.”

Rafe’s body moved lower and your panic continued. Strong, thick arms, kept your thighs pinned as Rafe teasing kisses on the outside of your thighs. If your thighs were pressed together, you had no doubt you’d feel a stickiness between them. Your body was ready even if your mind wasn’t. 

When he lifted your thin nightgown and pulled your panties to the side, you tilted your head back in defeat. Now, the battle was in not completely losing your mind. Feeling his warm breath against your most sensitive organ made you realize you’d lose that battle too and quickly. His initial movements were a clear attempt to savor you. Slowly, so painfully slow. 

The intimacy was something you weren’t prepared for. The way Rafe Cameron moved his mouth against you was extremely personal. His touch went from light and slow, gradually building up to something that was sharp and intentional. Something that didn’t change, something often left out of yours and Topper’s sex life, was a steady rhythm. 

Unfortunately, you’d been so busy with the wedding, even your wedding night was too chaotic to consummate the marriage. You hadn’t had an orgasm in weeks. 

Your first orgasm came so quickly that you hadn’t realized it was happening until your body started to convulse and a yelp was on your tongue, “Fuck, fuck, fuck” You cursed. You refused to look down at him but you couldn’t bear to look at his wicked grin. His tongue trailed down to your entrance momentarily but soon he was relentlessly attacking your sore bud again. Rafe was consuming you, “Rafe, please …okay, okay, I came. You can stop now!”

“Why would I stop, baby, when I’m giving you everything you deserve?”

He responded to every reaction. Every attempt to pull away, he kept you steady. You struggled as much as you could and let out frustrated screams. Every attempt to pull away, he kept you steady. He pulled you closer to his mouth, using your hips as an anchor. When you inevitably felt you had nothing left to give him, he forced it out of you. 

He talked to you, coaxing you through the orgasms you were struggling to give him.

“When I’m done with you, I’ll take you home, buy you every little thing you’ve ever wanted.”

Warm and wet, that’s all your body could focus on. You were embarrassingly wet. Your entire body was warm. Your toes curled and you breathed so heavily that you thought you were having a panic attack. You were a sweaty, shaking, cursing mess by the time he finally let you go. 

After Rafe, gently undid your restraints, the coaxing continued. “Daddy’s gonna make sure you’re taken care of. Spa days. Vacations. Real ones. Anything for my girl.”

The silent treatment had never been your style. You were outspoken to a fault, the kind of person who always had something to say, even when you shouldn't. But now, the words were stuck in your throat. You curled your body away from him, your knees pulled to your chest, still trembling from the aftershocks of his touch.

The weight of the last 24 hours pressed down on you. You tried to rationalize, to convince yourself you hadn’t done anything wrong. You hadn’t pulled the trigger. But none of that mattered now. Someone was dead, and the blood felt like it was on your hands, too.

You turned your face into the pillow, desperate to block out the sight of Rafe sitting on the edge of the bed, calm and composed as if nothing had happened. Rafe Cameron didn’t earn his money honestly; you’d always known that. But the full extent of his power, the lengths to which his influence stretched, were incomprehensible. He had people who would bury bodies for him, without question, without hesitation. Who was he now? What had he become in the years since you’d last truly known him?

Your mind wandered to the kind of money he must have. Enough to make men loyal to him beyond reason. Enough to buy silence, loyalty, and the kind of life most people couldn’t even dream of. Maybe he was serious about the private jet and villas in Italy. 

You felt it in the hand he placed on your upper thigh. Power. 

 “Gonna run you a bath, baby.”

As soon as he was out of your sight, you pulled yourself up from the bed. Your eyes locked in on your bruised wrist and then lingered on your empty ring finger. Throwing weak and wobbly legs over the side of the bed, you made a dash for the bedroom doors. 

Maybe you could make it. Do the right thing. Get help-

But as you pushed open the door, the sight of a man standing just outside stopped you cold. He was armed, his posture too relaxed for someone holding that kind of power in his hands. He didn’t say a word, didn’t need to. His presence alone was the warning: Don’t even think about it.

You heard stomping, heavy footsteps of a brute you use to love, before arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you backwards. Heavy wood doors slammed and made your heart jump. 

“Running, huh?” Rafe growled in your ear, “After I’ve been so sweet to you?”

You struggled to the point that Rafe had to tackle you to the floor. You thought about Topper. You thought about the man outside the door listening to everything happening in this room. You thought about how gentle Rafe had been with you in comparison to now. You made a mistake. Running was a mistake. 

“Hey!” Rafe’s voice snapped you from your panic and you stared up at him with wide eyes, “You’re okay. These guys are here to protect you. That’s it. No one’s gonna hurt you.”

His words clashed with everything you’d seen, everything you felt. Protect you? From what? From who? The only danger in this room was him.

Rafe released one of your wrists to brush your hair from your face, the gesture at odds with the raw power still holding you down. “I’m not mad, baby,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. “But don’t make me chase you again. Don’t wanna hurt you. Now, you up for that bath?”

There was no choice in the matter, you simply just gritted your teeth. You feared the second option would be to be tied up again. 

To your dismay, you undressed from your thin layer of clothing, and stepped into the bath. The warmth was a reminder of this entire home’s original purpose. Rafe seemed to have no shame about completely destroying your honeymoon. Your body was stiff and you didn’t meet his eyes as he kneeled by the tub, running his fingers through the water, before he caressed your arm, “See, not so bad,” Rafe said, “I missed you, Y/N.”

“I’m sure you missed a lot of things in jail,” Pulling your knees up cover your chest, you kept your eyes focused on the bubbles in the water. 

“I think I missed your smart mouth most of all,” You jumped at the sound of him slapping his hand against the porcelain of the tub. He rose from his kneeling position and turned in the direction of the room, “Finish up. I got you some stuff. Want you to see it.” 

You exhaled shakily, your heart pounding in your chest. The warmth of the bath felt suffocating now, the scent of lavender and vanilla in the air. You sank lower into the water, trying to collect your thoughts. 

You hated him. Hated the way he controlled you, the way he twisted every situation to suit his needs. But deep down, buried beneath the fear and anger, was the part of you that had always craved the kind of life only someone like Rafe could provide. And it scared you to realize that even now, when you should want nothing more than to escape, some small, selfish part of you still wanted to see what he had waiting for you.

Taking your time, you scrubbed away the scent of Rafe, although you still couldn’t shake that feeling of his mouth on you. You felt as if you had completely come undone. A part of you feared that he might have ruined you with how relentless he’d been. 

Taking back some of your modesty, you dressed in sweatpants and a long sleeve t-shirt. He was waiting for you, immediately crossing the room, as you opened the bathroom door. Placing a gentle hand on your back, he ushered you forward, “Been thinking about this the whole time I was gone.”

On the bed was a collection of boxes, neatly arranged like a display in a high-end boutique. Your breath hitched as your eyes scanned over them. Velvet jewelry cases, designer shopping bags, and a shoebox with the logo of a luxury brand you’d only ever admired from afar. 

You turned your head to look up at him. You attempted to convey something serious, a warning, a please stop and yet you were sure you could only display uncertainty in that moment. “Don’t be shy, baby. These are for you.”

Your feet carried you forward reluctantly, your mind warring with itself. You didn’t want to feed into his delusions that he could buy your affection. But the truth was, a part of you wanted to see.

He reached for a small box first, flipping it open to reveal a ring. The diamond was massive, glittering under the light in a pear shape that was both elegant and extravagant, “I know it’s not the ring you got but it’s the one you deserve.” 

“Rafe,” you exhaled, his name slipping from your lips with a softness that startled even you. The sound was far more intimate than you intended, like an instinct you couldn’t control

Like a magnet, your hand moved towards the box. Before you could reach it, Rafe flashed you a smirk, before he took the ring of the box and gestured for your hand. Your fingers trembled. He slid the ring onto your finger with deliberate care, his touch lingering just long enough to make your pulse race.

Your lips parted in awe as you marveled down at the at least. “Oh my god, it’s perfect.”

“Told you,” he said, his voice low and full of promise. “Nothing but the best for you, baby.”

It was so beautiful, so perfect, it almost made you forget the ugliness of how it had ended up on your hand.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, barely recognizing your own voice. Whether the gratitude was genuine or forced, you couldn’t even tell anymore.

Rafe tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were trying to read the thoughts behind your expression. “You deserve it,” he said softly, “You deserve everything.”

You weren’t sure if he was right but he was offering something you knew no one else could. And it scared you how much you wanted it.

Reblogs are much appreciated if you enjoyed!!

[yuwuta]

YOU AND I TOGETHER, WON’T YOU HOLD ON TO ME — YUUTA OKKOTSU

cw mentions of children, pregnancy. so much of yuuta being happy and sappy :(( sorry i haven’t shutup about my little depressed lovesick boy making it out and living a full life. probably won’t anytime soon actually. satoru is alive and well in all my renditions of happily ever after and that won’t change either i fear  

Yuuta talks about the future often. A future with you, and him, and your friends, and a family where you’re all together forever and he gets to love you until the end of time. 

Sometimes, you think he doesn’t realize what he’s doing—dreaming about forever with you; but you can never find it in your heart to break his illusion. The boy who used to dread his next waking moment is dreaming and dreaming and dreaming, and making all of yours come true. 

It’s quiet in this part of the Gojo compound. The gentle sounds of a stream running through the garden, and chirping of birds are the only noises that disrupt your daydreams. 

Or, perhaps, fuel them. 

“I hope our kids aren’t afraid of birds,” Yuuta muses, wide eyes looking past your face up to the tall trees, full of happily singing bluebirds, “There’s so many of them here.” 

You’re gentle when you stroke his hair, taking advantage of his head in your lap to pull the longer pieces out of his eyes. 

Your smile is giddy, unfiltered. “Kids? Plural?” 

Yuuta hums with smile. His eyes remain on the sky, chasing a pair of birds that flitter between long branches. 

“Yeah. At least two, so they don’t get lonely,” he says, “They’ll have us, and their cousins, and sensei, and our friends, but they’re going to need each other at home.”

Yuuta lets his eyes fall to you at the end of his sentence, a sparkling smile on his scarred lips. 

“I see,” you smile, “At least two so they can be friends.” 

“Best friends,” he revises your statement, “So they can train together, too, if they want to be sorcerers. Or not. It’s fine, either way.” He blinks, eyes warm, “I hear that four is the happy medium for a family, but I think three is going to be easier inheritance wise, if sensei is serious about making me clan head someday.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Yeah, but if a fourth comes along, I’m sure we’ll figure it out.” 

“I’m sure sensei will have made more than enough money for them by then.” 

Yuuta giggles, earnestly in your arms at that. “Of course he will.” 

You pause for a moment, committing his laugh to memory. His features flush slightly under your gaze, and you lean down to kiss his scarred forehead. You let your hands resume petting his hair, following in his gaze to look up at the birds. 

“Tell me more about them.” 

Yuuta doesn’t waste a moment, closing his eyes; letting you paint the picture in the sky for yourself as he talks. 

“The gap between the oldest and youngest is six or seven years. I think five might be enough, though. So, that means our middle one is about three when our littlest comes along.” 

“Unless a fourth happens.” 

Yuuta hums in agreement. “Unless a fourth happens. But we’ll have time.” 

You’ll have time, you nod. You have time now, you and him; all the time in the world. 

“A three year old and newborn sounds like a lot of work.” 

“Maybe. But we’ll also have a seven year old. He’s going to want to help with the baby, so we’ll have an extra hand,” Yuuta says, “And that’s not even counting sensei and the rest.” 

“He?”

“I think he’ll be a boy, the oldest. He might look like me, but he’ll act like you, so he’s going to be Kugisaki’s favorite.”

You find yourself choking out a genuine cackle at that. When you look down, Yuuta’s got a smile wider than yours. 

“He sounds wonderful. Like his father,” you confess, “But the idea of pregnancy thrice in a seven year span sounds exhausting.” 

“We can use surrogates. Or adopt. Or whatever,” Yuuta tells you, “Gojo-sensei will help us figure it out if we need help.” 

You have no doubt about that. And now, when you look back up to the sky, you can see vignettes of Gojo-sensei with your your seven year old on his shoulders, your middle child on his hip, and the baby gnawing at his legs. 

And then Yuuji is skipping into the scene, cooing at the youngest, picking him up and consoling him effortlessly. He carries the baby over to a crib with another crying newborn that looks eerily like Megumi, whose green eyes go wide at the stranger, then smile gummy as both babies reach for each other. 

Maki is there too, tapping your eldest on the shoulder with her staff and pretending not to have done it. Nobara holds up a shirt to the middle child, brassy in questioning Gojo why she told her that the baby would fit in this size that’s obviously too big, meanwhile the toddler ignores them both, fascinated with the marks on Toge’s cheeks as he plays peek-a-boo. 

It’s not hard to imagine. The scenes in your head aren’t wild fantasies or unattainable dreams—not anymore. 

“You want a big family.” 

Yuuta nods, reaching for your hand and pulling it away from his hair, and to his lips. “We have the resources for it now. Not just financially—we have time, and lots of friends, and lots of love.” 

Yuuta presses a kiss to the back of your hand, and you smile. He’s right, there’s more than enough love to go around. 

[gothcsz]

December | Pornstar!Javier Peña x Fem!Reader | Part 6 of Unscripted Desire | ~16k wc | Series Masterlist | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: Your winter getaway with Javier.

Tags: alternating pov, javi is having an identity crisis, established relationship, fluff (i cringe), romance (still cringing), smut (no longer cringing), jealous!javi, oh no the triple frontier boys are here, oral (m&f), p in v sex, once again: javi is clipped, filming a sex tape, dirty porn talk, hot tub sex, pussy/dick pronouns, javi puts you in a headlock (i've been influenced by all the headlock fics also stream headlock by imogen heap), breath control play, squirting, clit stimulation, no use of y/n, reader has some vague physical descriptions (mid-sized, curvy, hair that can have fingers run through), any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know okay thx.

A/N: happy holidays ❄️ i wanted to do something fun for the season and to thank everyone who has supported this story so far! i love you guys 🩵 as always, thank you @persephone-girl for reading over bits of this and being my emotional support hehe

You’ve barely shut the door when a loud, frustrated “Fuck!” echoes through your apartment, followed by the unmistakable clatter of things hitting the floor. Your brows knit together as you toss your keys into the bowl by the entrance and hang your bag on the back of a kitchen chair.

The sight waiting for you confirms your suspicions: your very hot, very frustrated boyfriend is pacing in the middle of the room, his broad shoulders tight with tension. Scattered across the coffee table and floor around him are puzzle pieces.

“Javi,” you say, crossing your arms as you take in the scene. “What’s going on?”

He stops mid-stride, scowling down at the pieces as though they’ve personally insulted him. “The fucking puzzle is broken,” he gestures angrily toward the mess.

You blink at him, biting back a grin. “Yeah, that’s kind of the point. You have to put it back together.” Your voice lilts with playful teasing, hoping to lighten the mood he is in.

He shoots you a look that’s equal parts annoyed and sheepish. Stepping forward, you place yourself squarely in his path, wrapping your arms around his waist.

He’s got no choice but to halt his pacing, and after a moment, his arms drop heavily around you. You can feel the frustration draining out of him like air from a balloon.

“Estoy volviéndome loco, nena.” His chest rises and falls in a heavy exhale, hands instinctively finding their place on your lower back. 

You look up at him, resting your chin on his chest. It’s hard not to get lost in his good looks—those dark, soulful eyes, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his hair falls perfectly so, no matter how much he’s been raking his fingers through it.

He could be pissed at the entire world, and he’d still be the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.

He told you he was done with porn, and he meant it. It didn’t happen all at once, he stuck to solo work until he lost the passion for it entirely before finally cutting ties with his agent and declaring himself “retired.”

The checks will keep coming, sure, but they aren’t a permanent safety net. That left your boyfriend at a crossroads, staring down the daunting question of what came next.

“Fuck, I don’t know. What else am I even good at?”

Now, Pornstar Javier Peña is just… Javi. Without the glitz and veneer of his former life, he’s a bit of a mess, honestly. A hot mess, sure, but a mess all the same.

He spends most of his days drifting between your apartment and his place, and more often than not, it’s your bed he ends up in. Sometimes he’s sprawled on the couch, lazily surfing through the channels, other times he’s fast asleep, limbs tangled in your sheets, his brow furrowed even while dreaming.

It’s like he’s waiting for the pieces of himself to fall into place but has no idea where to start.

You have, actually, tried helping him find new interests, with mixed results.

Cooking classes? A bust—too many rules and timers for someone who likes to work off instinct. Hiking? Not his thing, and you’d barely made it halfway up the trail before he declared he needed a cold beer and a hot shower. Pottery seemed promising for about five minutes before a poorly shaped bowl sent him muttering a string of Spanish curses under his breath and he quit then and there.

It’s not that he’s… bad at these things, necessarily, but none of them feel true to him.

“Baby, you’re not going to figure out who you are overnight. It takes time,” you murmur, tilting your head up to press a kiss to the tip of his chin, the roughness of his stubble brushing against your lips.

He grumbles. “I’m impatient.”

“I noticed,” you tease, a giggle slipping out as your hands sneak under his shirt. Your fingers trail along his ribs, stroking the warm, solid muscle there. The quiet hum of satisfaction you let out isn’t for his benefit—it’s for you. He feels so damn good under your touch, like he was built to be admired.

Javier shifts slightly, straightening up as if your hands have hit a reset button on his mood. “How was your day?”

You started a new job with the camera crew on an actual film set, and it’s a sweet gig, the opportunity kind of landing in your lap out of nowhere. Someone you knew from college reached out, and the pay was too good to pass up, even if the work itself wasn’t all that different from what you’ve done on porn sets.

Less dicks and tits, but the same technical work. When you’re not on set, you’re still clinging to the comfort of your shifts at Lucky’s. 

You shrug lightly, nuzzling into him. “Same as always. Nothing too exciting. But I’m glad I don’t have to work the bar tonight. Maybe I can help you with that puzzle.” You tease.

“Or…” His tone shifts so quickly it’s almost dizzying—warm and doting one second, low and sinful the next. His hands drift south, firmly gripping your ass and giving it a harsh squeeze

“Or?” you repeat, your arousal flaring.

That’s all the invitation he needs.

In no time, you find yourself naked and sprawled against the coffee table, the surface pressing into your back while scattered puzzle pieces stick to your damp skin. But none of that matters—not when Javier is between your legs, his broad shoulders holding you open like a prize only he gets to claim.

His mouth is buried in your pussy, wet and eager tongue moving with a purpose that has your thighs trembling. He laps at you expertly, each flick and thrust inside your cunt dragging whimpers out of you, your body singing under his touch.

Javier groans, the sound vibrating against your pussy. “You taste so,” kiss, “fucking,” lick, “good,” suck. Your back arches and you sob his name loudly, eyes fluttering close at how good he is at eating you out.

No matter how many times he does it, he somehow manages to surpass the time before. Men like Javier are a rare thing, and you’re annoyed at yourself for not succumbing to him earlier. You just had to prove a fucking point.

He pulls back just enough to lick and bite at your inner thigh, trying to control himself from devouring you whole, before diving back in. His hands keep you pinned to the edge of the table as you shake uncontrollably in his grasp.

Every obscene noise he makes is matched by the wet, filthy sounds of his tongue working you over and you feel the pressure winding tighter and tighter. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling as you gasp his name, and the pleased growl he gives in response sends you careening over.

He doesn’t stop, not until your body shudders and you’re left panting, your limbs heavy and boneless. When he finally lifts his head, mustache damp and lips glistening, he’s looking at you with that satisfied smirk you’ve grown accustomed to seeing.

“Fuck, I could stay down here for hours.” His voice tapers off into a groan and he doesn’t wait for a reply before pressing soft kisses along your drenched folds, letting his teeth scrape ever so lightly against your sensitive flesh. Then his tongue, broad and sinful, drags a slow, torturous stripe from your entrance to your clit.

“You could… if you wanted to,” you pant, your voice barely above a whisper as your body gears up for even more pleasure. You pull him closer, grinding your hips against his face, feeling the delicious pressure of his nose pressing against your swollen nub.

Javier lets you take what you need, his large hands gripping your thighs to hold you steady while his tongue thrusts back inside, exploring every fluttering inch. His curved nose rubs against your clit with each motion, sending you into a fucking frenzy.

You’re shameless, unabashedly humping his face, chasing the high only he can give you. And he loves it—thrives on it—his tongue relentless as it maps out every curve and crevice of your pussy. The slick, creamy mess makes it easier for you to move, his grunts and your mewling cries swirling together.

“Javi, I want to come on your cock—oh fuck!” The words tumble out before you can stop them, and his answer is a wicked nip of his teeth against your labia, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips.

“You will, nena,” he murmurs, his voice slurred with lust as he adjusts your legs, planting your feet at the edge of the table. He spreads you open obscenely, his dark eyes gleaming as he takes in the sight of your wet pussy laid bare for him. “But first, you’re gonna come all over my tongue again. Puta madre, you’re so fucking hot.”

His tongue flicks over your pearl rapidly and your back arches off the table as euphoria courses through you. You glance down, locking eyes with him, and the pruriency in his gaze sends you tumbling over the edge.

“Javier, oh shit!” You’re left helpless against the onslaught of his mouth, gushing all over his handsome face as he keens in satisfaction.

You collapse back against the table, your body spent and your mind still buzzing. Javier wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning smugly down at you, his girthy cock hanging heavy between you, droplets of precum squirting from the slit and drizzling down the heated shaft.

Pros of dating a pornstar: He can fuck. Cons of dating a pornstar: He can fuck.

It’s like being in a constant state of delicious ruin, where your needs—both romantic and sexual—are met in ways you never thought possible.

But damn, this man knows how to wear you the fuck out.

Sometimes he gets a little too ambitious. Twisting, bending, and pulling you into positions that make you pause and remind him, between panting breaths, that you’re not as flexible as the women he’s been with before.

“Practice makes perfect, baby,” he always says with that infuriatingly charming grin, right before fucking you so thoroughly that you forget how to breathe.

This time is no different. Javier hovers over you with the kind of dominance that makes your pussy clench, his strong hands gripping your body like he owns it.

Somehow, he’s managed to maneuver you on the awkward height of the coffee table, one leg slung over his broad shoulder while keeping your opposite thigh spread wide.

Then, with a sharp thrust, his fat cock splits you open, stretching your pussy in a way that’s so brutally perfect.

The force of it knocks a loud yelp from your lips, your forearms press against the table for balance. You can’t look away from where your bodies meet, watching in filthy fascination as your sticky folds swallow him whole and spit him back out, his cock glistening with the rich evidence of how turned on you are.

“My fucking god,” he growls, words laden with desperation, “you feel better than you fucking taste.” He spits the words out, literally, a thick bead of saliva falling from his lips to land on your cunt.

Without missing a beat, his thumb moves to your clit, pressing down and swirling in tight circles.

The pressure makes your entire body tense, a strained cry of his name tearing from your throat.

Your tits bounce wildly with every rough thrust, and his dark eyes flicker between the hypnotic sway of your breasts and the lewd sight of your pussy stretched tight around his dick.

Your mouth hangs open, brows furrowed as helpless sounds spill out while his cock punches deep into that one spot that has colorful dots blotching your vision. Your toes curl as the overwhelming feeling builds, your body on the verge of complete surrender.

“Right there, baby—oh fuck me, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.” You sound wrecked, like you’ve been possessed by the pleasure he’s giving you. Your back falls flat against the table again, your hands reaching up to squeeze your tits, pulling at your nipples as you let him use your cunt however he wants. 

He deserves it.

Loose curls fall over his face, making him look so sexy while he fucks into you with everything he’s got. His tongue pokes out in concentration, his fingertips dimpling the plush skin of your thighs as he holds you steady. The poor coffee table groans beneath the brutal rhythm, creaking with every hard snap of his hips.

It doesn’t take much more—your body seizes up as you come hard, the orgasm crashing through you so violently that you’re certain you’re going to pass out. Your pussy clamps down around his shaft, milking him for everything he’s worth.

“Fuck, take it,” he groans, his pace faltering as he spills inside you, thick ropes of cum filling your pussy until you swear you can feel it gurgling in your throat. The vicious, overwhelming sensation makes you shudder, your body twitching as his weight settles against you, his cock still buried deep inside your quivering walls.

You feel pulverized, your body humming in content, but all you can think is: God, this man could fuck me to death, and I’d die happy.

Immediately, your calf seizes, the muscle knotting painfully as a piercing cry slices through your throat. Your body jerks involuntarily, hands pressing against Javier’s chest to push him off you.

“Shit, stop— cramp!” you gasp.

Javier freezes, his face instantly morphing from focused lust to deep concern. He pulls out of you carefully, hissing at the feeling, his touch tender as he lowers your trembling leg from his shoulder. “Where? Here?” He’s already massaging the rigid knot in your calf with his strong, calloused hands.

“Yeah—fuck, ow! Right there.” Another pang shoots through you, and you wince, clutching at the edge of the coffee table for stability. “I keep telling you I’m not fit for—ahh, ow!—your crazy-ass positions.”

He huffs a little laugh, though his hands never stop their steady kneading. “It wasn’t that crazy,” he mutters defensively, but one warning glare from you is enough to shut him up.

Once the cramp begins to ease, your body relaxes against the table with a long sigh. Javier’s touch softens, his thumbs now sweeping soothing circles over your calf. He leans down and presses a kiss to the tender muscle, murmuring, “Sorry, nena. Didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Your heart swells at his care, and you can’t help but grin as he kisses his way up your body. His lips trace a slow, reverent path—your pelvis, the softness of your belly, the suppleness of each breast, the hollow of your throat. By the time his mouth meets yours, your annoyance is completely forgotten, replaced by a lazy, bubbling affection.

This is the first real kiss he’s given you since you got home, and it’s the kind that melts you from the inside out. You hum against his lips, your tongue tracing the curve of his mouth, savoring the way he tastes like sex and something inherently Javi.

When the kiss finally breaks, you both sit there for a moment, naked and tangled together, his cum still slick between your thighs and smearing against the surface of the table.

“I’ll try to be more considerate next time,” he says, almost teasingly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

You smirk, dragging your nails lightly down his chest. “You better, or I’ll start vetoing these gymnastic stunts of yours.”

He chuckles, his eyes dropping briefly to where his cum is trickling from you. A rueful grin spreads across his face as he reaches for the shirt he’d discarded earlier and uses it to clean the mess between your legs.

The simple domesticity of the act makes your chest ache in the best way.

As he finishes, you stretch your arms over your head, your muscles still warm and loose despite the cramp. “I need a shower, some real food... and maybe another round later.”

“Only maybe?” He raises an eyebrow, his dimpled, teasing smile returning.

You hum thoughtfully, your gaze tracing the defined line of his jaw as your finger follows. “If you think sex is gonna be a distraction from the mess in your head, think again.”

“It’s the best distraction,” he mutters. “Would rather make my girl feel good than deal with everything else.”

“And while I’m flattered, baby, it’s not the healthiest thing you can do.”

His expression falters, the cockiness slipping away like a mask being gently peeled back. “I’m fuckin’ terrible at this. Always have been,” he mutters, his hands roaming your body as if touching you might patch together all that’s unraveling inside him.

His palms are warm and firm, one cupping your breast in a gentle squeeze, the other sliding down to rest at your hip.

He kneads and caresses you, almost like you’re the one who needs the comfort instead of him. “I’ve spent so much time doing what I thought people wanted from me. Now I don’t even know what I want.”

“There’s no rush to figure it out, you know. No one’s expecting you to and I promise you’re not the only person that feels this way.”

“Feels like I’ve got nothin’ to show for myself, though. Just a pile of bullshit and a broken puzzle.”

You sit up, drawing his focus to you as your hands grip his toned biceps to steady yourself. “Hey.” Your voice is soft but insistent. “You’ve got more than you think. And I happen to like this version of you—even if he’s a grump.”

A faint smirk breaks through the inner struggle that clouds in his eyes. “Yeah? Even when I’m bein’ a lazy ass?”

“Even then,” you tease, grinning back at him.

His gaze lingers, drinking you in with an intensity that makes your stomach flutter. Slowly, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours. You’re weightless, floating in the way only Javi can make you feel when he kisses you like this.

“I don’t deserve you, you know that?” he murmurs against your lips, his forehead resting against yours.

“It’s always nice to be reminded.”

He rolls his eyes playfully, his teeth catching your lower lip in a gentle bite before he finally lets you go. He stands, offering you his hand to pull you to your feet.

As you wobbly get up, a few puzzle pieces that had clung to your skin fall to the floor, catching both your attention. Javi chuckles, a little more relaxed than before. “Should’ve cleaned those up before spreading you open like that.”

“I feel like there’s a metaphor in there somewhere.”

He turns you gently so he can pluck off the remaining pieces, his hand lingering to deliver a playful slap to your ass which makes you giggle.

“You know,” you say after a beat, glancing at him, “this puzzle thing could be good for you. Builds patience.”

He arches a brow, skepticism written all over his face. “Once again, that isn’t exactly my strong suit, cariño.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Your grin is infectious as you nudge him lightly with your shoulder. “But maybe that’s what you need right now. Something slow. Something that’s just for you. And something that isn’t…” You trail off, eyes darting to the box abandoned on the couch. “A hideous horse puzzle. God, Javi, what even is this? I’d be pissed trying to put it together too.”

A scoff escapes him, sharp and playful, his brown eyes narrowing as he straightens. “First of all, it’s vintage,” he says, the mock defense in his tone making you laugh.

“Vintage? That’s not an excuse.” You’re already stepping back when you see the shift in his stance, the way his hand twitches toward you. “Don’t even think about it.”

But it’s too late. His fingers dart out in an attempt to pinch your side, and you squeal, darting out of reach. The sound of your laughter fills the room, loud and unrestrained as you scramble to keep distance between the two of you. He’s, unsurprisingly, quicker, his footsteps closing behind as he chases you down the hallway.

Just as you reach the bathroom door, his arm snakes around your waist, pulling you flush against his naked body. You’re both breathless, his warm breath fanning against your ear as he holds you close. “Gotcha.”

Your heart pounds, your laughter subsiding into soft, breathy chuckles as you twist to face him. The sparkle in his eyes is undeniable and you let him walk you backwards into the bathroom with the intention of piping you down again before finally letting you shower.

The late afternoon light filters through the half-closed blinds, casting warm, golden stripes across Javier’s bedroom. You’re sprawled on his bed, your legs stretched out, absently flipping through a magazine. 

The quiet creak of the bedroom door catches your attention, and your eyes lift to meet his.

He leans against the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame, arms crossed over his chest. His white t-shirt clings to his torso in a way that makes your thighs rub together, the fabric stretched taut over his solid build. There’s a small grin on his lips as he watches you.

“Hey,” he drawls, finally pushing off the door and crossing the room.

“Hi.”

Without hesitation, he climbs onto the bed, his weight shifting the mattress beneath you. He crawls toward you, settling his head on your lap and nuzzling against your stomach. You can’t help but laugh softly, moving the magazine out of his way and onto the bedside table.

“You’re comfortable,” you tease, your fingers threading through his thick hair, twisting a few strands absently around your finger.

His eyes flutter shut at your touch, a satisfied hum rumbling from his chest. “Can’t help it. I’ve got the best pillow.”

You roll your eyes, biting back a smile. “Can I help you?”

He opens one eye, peering up at you with a smirk. “I have a gift for you.”

Your brows lift, curious. “A gift?”

“Mm-hmm,” he mutters against your skin, peppering your jawline with lazy, affectionate kisses. The bristle of his mustache has goosebumps curling over your skin. “Tis the season.” He punctuates the sentiment with a playful nip at your neck, making you squeal softly before he pulls away.

“Come on,” he tugs gently at your hand and coaxes you off the bed.

You let him guide you into the kitchen, your bare feet padding against the cool floor. He pulls out a barstool, gesturing for you to sit as he reaches for something on the counter. With a small flourish, he places a travel magazine in front of you, flipping it open to a glossy spread.

Your eyes land on the page, and your breath catches. The images are of a stunning ski resort, nestled in snow-dusted mountains with cozy lodge interiors and breathtaking views of the slopes.

“You didn’t…” you whisper, your voice caught between disbelief and excitement.

His lips tug into a wolfish smile, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes as he watches the realization dawn on your face.

“You didn’t!” you exclaim, jumping up from the stool and throwing your arms around his neck.

Your momentum nearly topples him, but he steadies the both of you with a low chuckle.

You’d mentioned it what feels like ages ago—a casual, offhand story about that ill-fated trip to the mountains with your college friends.

Everything about it had gone wrong. The busted gear, the unexpected blizzard—but through all the chaos, you’d confessed how badly you still wanted to cross skiing off your bucket list.

And Javier remembered. Not just the story, but the way your eyes had lit up despite the unfortunate circumstances. Now here he is, ready to give you that second chance—the best do-over of all time, with him.

“I had to,” he murmurs by your ear. “Spending a week on a winter retreat with you seems a lot more fun than going home this year.”

You don’t press about his family, knowing it’s a tricky subject. Instead, you let the moment settle, your heart swelling with gratitude for his thoughtfulness.

“You’re the best,” you say between a flurry of kisses, peppering his face until his deep chuckle vibrates against your palms. His eyes crinkle at the corners, happiness radiating from him as he gazes down at you.

“The best for you,” he replies softly. “You deserve this, nena. Workin’ so hard all the time… I just wanted to give you somethin’ special.”

You shake your head, grinning so hard it hurts your cheeks. “Do you know how impossible it’s going to be to top this?”

He laughs, the sound rich and warm. “I wasn’t expecting anything in return.”

“What kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn’t get my man a gift?” You’re already racking your brain for ideas. It has to be something meaningful—something that feels right for him, not just a wallet or some cologne.

He pulls you onto his lap when he sits on the barstool, going over the details. 

Everything’s covered, he explains—all you have to do is pack and show your pretty ass up. Your excitement bubbles over at the thought, visions of cozy lodge nights and snowy adventures filling your mind.

“Guess I need to go shopping,” you say, already making mental plans to call Connie for help picking out the perfect wardrobe.

Javi chuckles, leaning in to kiss your temple. “Just don’t forget to pack a swimsuit.”

“A swimsuit? For a ski trip?”

He grins, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Hot tubs, nena. Trust me, I plan on having a lot of fun with you while we’re away.”

The resort feels like a dream you don’t want to wake up from. It’s only been a few days, and you’re already dreading your departure.

Javier really hadn’t held back, booking a private cabin with sweeping views of the snow-kissed mountain horizon.

A real Christmas tree stands proudly in the corner of the living room, next to the fireplace, its lights twinkling softly against the glassy expanse of the giant windows that line the walls.

Despite the openness, the space feels warm and intimate, like it was made just for the two of you.

And then there’s the hot tub. Nestled in the patio area overlooking the gorgeous scenery, it practically beckons you to defile it, steam curling up against the chilled glass. 

You’ve been biding your time, waiting for the right moment to unveil the gift you have for him. It’s actually kind of genius and the perfect way to help pull him out of his post-porn funk. 

For now, though, you’re content to let the days unfold naturally, filled with skiing lessons, childish snowball fights outside your cabin, and lots of great sex.

The lift sways gently as it carries you and Javier up the mountain, the cool air biting at your cheeks, though you barely notice.

Your attention drifts to him, as it often does—his profile sharp and striking against the backdrop of the rising sun. The golden light casts a glow over the snowy peaks, painting the scene in colors too beautiful to let slip away.

You shift closer to him, the insulated fabric of your jacket brushing against his as you tilt your head to rest on his shoulder. His arm instinctively drapes across your lap, steadying you, his gloved hand giving your thigh a light squeeze.

“Take a picture with me,” your voice is eager, breaking the quiet hum of the lift.

Javier turns his head, a brow quirked beneath the edge of his snow goggles. “Now? On this thing?”

“Yes, now.” You’re already moving to pull the small camera out of your pocket. “The view is perfect, and I want to remember this.”

He chuckles, leaning back slightly to give you space to situate the camera. “Alright, but if you drop it, don’t start bitching at me.”

You roll your eyes, holding the camera up and adjusting the angle to capture the two of you against the sprawling mountains bathed in warm hues, making the snow sparkle. 

You make sure to move both of your goggles so they’re resting atop of your head, your faces on full display.

Javier tilts his head closer to yours, his hand slipping to your waist to pull you snug against him.

“Smile,” you say, though you know it’s unnecessary—he’s already grinning, that playful smirk you’ve come to adore on his pouty pink lips.

The camera clicks as you take a few photos. Smiling, him kissing your cheek, and you quickly check the screen once you’re finished, heart warming at the sight of the two of you.

“See? Perfect.” You declare, showing him the pictures.

He glances at them, mirroring the same doting expression you’d just made. “You make ‘em look perfect, nenita.”

As the lift continues to ascend, you find yourself watching him more than the scenery. 

It’s hard not to marvel at the layers to this man who had once driven you up the wall. You think back to when you first met him—how easily you’d pegged him as cocky and self-centered, someone who wore his charm like a defense mechanism.

It feels surreal now, knowing how wrong you were. Javier wasn’t just the confident pornstar that could command a room with just a look or a smile. He was thoughtful, protective, and deeply giving in ways that made your heart stutter. You can’t fathom how someone like his ex would ever think about cheating on him.

Lost in thought, you don’t realize you’ve gone quiet until he glances down at you, brows knitting slightly.

“What’s on your mind, cariño?”

“You really surprise me, you know that?”

His expression shifts, the teasing edge softening into something more earnest. “Surprise you how?”

“I thought I had you all figured out when we first met.”

His mustache twitches as he bites back a knowing grin. “In your defense, I didn’t let you see more than that.” 

“Yeah, I know...” You laugh lightly, shaking your head. “But I couldn’t have been more wrong. You’re… so much more than I gave you credit for.”

He’s quiet for a second, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “Guess I should thank you for giving me a chance to prove you wrong.”

You lean in, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, nose scrunching as the hairs of his mustache tickle you. “You’ve done more than just prove me wrong, Javi.”

The lift jerks slightly as it approaches the landing, but neither of you move right away. The world feels quieter here, suspended between earth and sky, just the two of you and the golden light.

“You’re going to make me fall for you talkin’ like that.”

You feel warmth spreading in your chest at his words, wondering if it’s too soon to start catching feelings like this.

You smile against his mouth, not saying anything yet not needing to, before pulling back to move your face covering up and adjust your goggles back over your eyes in preparation to go down the snowy hill.

Your shoulders ache slightly from today’s falls, but it’s the kind of soreness that feels good—earned, but nevertheless annoying. Like now, as you pick yourself up from yet another fall, calling it quits.

“You held out a lot longer than I expected.” Javier teases, his voice muffled by his face covering but still carrying that low, raspy timbre that makes your stomach flutter.

“Shut up,” you grumble, and you’re glad he can’t see the smile tugging at your lips.

You take him in—bundled up in his blue snow suit, goggles perched perfectly in place, his broad shoulders and confident stance somehow still exuding that effortless magnetism he carries everywhere.

Even out here, in the freezing cold, with his face obscured, he manages to look unfairly sexy.

Something about him always pulls you in. Maybe it’s the way his energy feels like gravity, anchoring you to every little thing he does. Or maybe it’s how even the simplest acts—like standing on a snowy hillside—become more vivid, more fun, more everything with him.

Your boots crunch through the snow, the skis clumsy but manageable. He’s watching you, his stance casual, hands resting on his poles as if he’s been doing this his whole life.

He had picked up on this activity much quicker than you. The instructor even called him a natural—but you’re certain she was only saying that because she was attracted to him… which, honestly, fair.

“This is your thing,” he says as you approach. “You’re the one who wanted to cross this off your little list. I’m just here for moral support... and to check you out in that suit.”

You burst out laughing, nearly stumbling again as you try to grab the poles you’d dropped when you fell over. “You can barely see anything in this suit,” you shoot back, gesturing to the thick layers of waterproof fabric that make you feel more like a marshmallow than a person.

“Baby,” he drawls, stepping closer, “I could make out those tits and that ass under anything.”

You shake your head, warmth blooming across your cheeks. “You’re such a fucking flirt,” you say, though your voice softens as his gloved hand reaches out to pull you to him.

“And yet, here you are,” he murmurs, leaning just close enough that you catch the mischievous glint in his eyes through the reflective goggles.

“Here I am.”

You’re back at the general area where you’d first gotten your ski gear, adjusting your snow boots while Javier deals with returning your equipment. 

The air is warm inside the lodge, a stark contrast to the crisp chill outside, and the hum of other skiers and snowboarders unwinding after their runs fills the space.

You’re so focused on fastening a particularly stubborn buckle that the sound of your name catches you off guard.

Your head snaps up, brows furrowing, and there he is. Frankie.

He’s making his way toward you, his strides familiar, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, and that lazy, warm smile plastered on his face like it hasn’t been forever since you last saw him.

Your surprise must show because his grin widens slightly as he stops in front of the bench you’re sitting on.

“Frankie, wow, hey.” Your voice is polite, if a little flat.

He wastes no time, dropping down onto the bench beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The sudden weight makes it creak, and though you subtly shift a little away, he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

“Small world.” He’s looking at you with an easy kind of interest, eyes warm and familiar. You have a type. “Didn’t know you were into skiing, hermosa. How have you been?”

Your stomach does a little flip at the damn nickname but you keep your expression neutral, returning your focus to lacing your second boot. “Great, actually. I’m trying it for the first time. Been taking lessons since we got here.”

His brow lifts, amused. “And how’s that going for you?”

You laugh lightly, shaking your head as you tug off your gloves. “I’ve wiped out more times than I’d care to admit.”

He chuckles, stripping off his own gloves, clearly in no rush.

“So what brings you here?” The question feels innocent enough.

“Trip with the guys,” he answers, nodding his head in the direction of a group near a counter. You glance over and sure enough, you see the familiar faces from his circle, all caught up in their own conversation.

“Sounds fun,” you offer, “How’s Elliana? Not too happy her daddy’s missing Christmas, I’m sure.” You smile teasingly, meaning no harm, but the flicker of something on his face makes you pause. His jaw tenses ever so slightly, and the way he drops his gaze feels telling.

“She’s great. Actually, on a trip of her own with her mom and her... uh, new boyfriend.”

You catch the faint cringe he tries to hide as the explanation comes tumbling out. Your chest tightens in an uncomfortable way, not out of sympathy for him, exactly, but more at the reminder of why you two had split up to begin with.

Looks like his effort to “work things out” hadn’t exactly panned out.

“Good for her,” you reply softly, though the exchange feels a little awkward now, like neither of you knows quite where to steer the conversation.

Frankie opens his mouth to say something else, maybe an apology for oversharing or another attempt at small talk, but before he can, you catch a glimpse of Javier weaving through the crowd.

Your heart lifts instantly, as if the room somehow brightens at the sight of him. His tall frame stands out, eyes scanning the lodge, clearly searching for you.

You don’t give Frankie the chance to drag things out any further.

You quickly gather your things, standing as casually as you can. “I have to get going,” you announce, shouldering your bag. “Enjoy the rest of your stay, Frankie.”

He hesitates before he gives you a small nod. “For sure. You too, hermosa. See you around.”

You give him a brief wave before turning and making your way to Javier, your boots thudding lightly against the floor.

His face lights up when he spots you, his gloved hand resting gently on your lower back once he pulls you to him.

“You all set?” he asks, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. The simple affection melts away whatever oddness you felt lingering from your run-in with Frankie.

“Yeah,” you reply, glancing up at him. He looks so effortlessly attractive, his cheeks pink from the cold and brown hair tousled from being under his hat. “I’m ready to get all cozy by the fire.” You purr the words a little, blinking up at him, and it works like a charm.

That sweet smile of his shifts into something sultry, and you don’t miss the way his fingers curl slightly against your back.

“Sounds like a plan to me.” His voice slipping into that seductive, honeyed tone that makes you wish you could fuck a voice. “Lead the way, nena.”

The cocktail table feels like your personal island amidst the ebb and flow of the crowd, the muted hum of holiday music weaving through the air. Warmth blooms across your cheeks from the drinks you’ve nursed through the night, and the haze only amplifies the rich sound of Javier’s laughter.

His hand rests on your lower back, fingertips brushing over the smooth, exposed skin where your dress dips low. The heat of his touch sears into you, enticing enough to have you arching into him.

You giggle as he leans in closer, his breath grazing your ear as he whispers something puckishly suggestive. “You keep lookin’ at me like that and we’re not makin’ it back to the cabin without me pulling this dress off you.”

Your thighs press together instinctively and you bite down on your lip, tilting your head to look up at him, your eyes swimming with the shared heat between you. “Don’t tempt me into letting you do it,” your words are a bit slurred from the alcohol, saturated with desire.

“Oh, I’m not looking to tempt you,” he murmurs, his hand sliding an inch lower. “I’m promising you.”

Your stomach flips, and the idea of staying out any longer feels suddenly impossible, the phantom touch of his hands and lips on you eclipsing all reason.

If there wasn’t an audience, you know you’d already be on your knees with four inches in your mouth, trying to fit the other four like the needy little thing he reduces you to when he gets you all horny.

“Sit tight, nena,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of your lips. “Gotta hit the restroom. When I’m back, we’ll settle up and get out of here.”

You nod, though your brain barely processes the words as your eyes follow him weaving through the throng of people, his presence polarizing even in his absence. 

As you sip the last of your drink, your gaze shifts to the large windows lining the restaurant. 

Even at night, the resort resembles something out of a postcard. The twinkling holiday lights outside illuminating the snow in festive tones. You let yourself sink into the magic of it all, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of your glass, a serene moment settling over you—until it’s promptly shattered.

“Look who it is,” a voice cuts through the ambient noise, pulling your attention.

Your head turns, and there’s Frankie, his easy grin and brown eyes locked on you. He’s not alone, three more figures flank him—Santi, Benny, and Will, each wearing varying degrees of amusement on their faces. The sight of them, clearly under the influence and rowdy, throws you a little.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Frankie quips, his voice carrying that raspy drawl you once found charming.

Your eyes narrow, your posture stiffening. “You keep finding me, wouldn’t necessarily call that meeting,” you acknowledge curtly, trying to keep your voice neutral.

“Once he told us you were here, we couldn’t pass up the chance to say hello,” Benny adds, his grin wolfish as he scans you from head to toe, and you can practically feel his gaze lingering on the dip of your dress. “We miss having you around.”

You know these men. You spent enough time with them while dating Frankie to be able to place them all.

Santi, the smooth-talking charmer who always seems a little too pleased with himself. Benny, the loud, lovable wildcard who you’re sure has never taken anything seriously in his life. And Will, the quiet one with a piercing gaze that could unnerve anyone who wasn’t used to it.

They’re a reminder of why you usually avoid military men. Sure, they’re hot as hell, their confidence and strength undeniably attractive. But beneath that lies a mess of issues—trauma, control, and a certain recklessness that always seems to spill over into their romantic lives.

Frankie had been no different, but he’d wormed his way past your better judgment with that soft charm and rough-around-the-edges allure. And it didn’t hurt that he was real fucking good at eating pussy.

Not as good as Javier, though.

You take a step back, your hand reflexively resting on the edge of the table as though to steady yourself. Their presence feels suffocating, a sharp contrast to the cozy, all consuming warmth you’d just shared with Javi.

“That’s nice of you, but my boyfriend should be back any minute now...”

There’s a beat of silence as your words hang in the air, they exchange looks and you watch Frankie’s expression flicker—something almost smug crossing his features before it’s masked by a crooked smile. “Boyfriend, huh?”

Benny lets out a low whistle, leaning his forearms against the table top. “Didn’t think anyone could tame Fish’s girl.”

“Tame?” You shoot him a glare. “I’m not a fucking animal and certainly not his girl. Not for a while now. So you can all fuck off.”

They laugh at you and that only fires you up even more. Frankie slaps his hand on Benny’s shoulder, shaking him slightly. “Ease up man, she doesn’t take any shit.”

Benny cocks his head, his eyes gleaming with drunken amusement. “Which I think is hot. Definitely wouldn’t have fumbled you like this asshole did. And you do porn?” Another low whistle and you swear your eye twitches.

Before you can respond, Santi jumps in, his smirk as infuriating as ever. “No, no,” he says, shaking his head with mock seriousness. “Camera woman. Not actually a pornstar. Though,” he adds, now his turn to fuck you with his eyes, “I think you’d be a lot better in front of the camera, hermosa.”

“Don’t call me that,” you snap, your patience wearing thin. You can’t stay in this conversation any longer. 

Santi raises his hands in false defense, his grin never faltering. Meanwhile, Will leans over to whisper something into his brother’s ear, and you catch the shift in Benny’s expression as he gives you a once-over, his gaze laced with something that makes your skin crawl.

You grip the glass in your hand tighter, seriously contemplating how much damage it could do.

“Things serious with your new man?” Frankie replaces Will across from you and you roll your eyes.

The audacity. “Yes,” you say through gritted teeth. “Very.” You lean forward slightly, your voice dropping into a cutting tone. “If I were you, I’d leave before he gets back… or before I shove the stem of this glass down your throat.”

Their laughter rises again, whistling and being overly obnoxious about your reply, but you ignore it, your focus razor-sharp on your ex.

“We had our time together, Frankie, and you decided to cut it short by going back to the mother of your child. Whatever, fine, shit happens, but now you’re acting like a real jerk. All of you are and I have no interest in continuing whatever the fuck this is, so, leave.”

You can tell your words hit their mark. Frankie has always respected your no-nonsense attitude, but being on the receiving end clearly doesn’t sit well with him. 

Just as you turn to remove yourself from this stifling mess altogether, Javier reappears.

Javier doesn’t expect to come back and find four men crowding you, their broad shoulders and cocky stances cutting into your space like they own it. The sight stops him cold, but only for a second. Then his back straightens, his jaw locking tight as something territorial flares in his chest.

One of them catches his eye immediately—the scruffy, stray-dog-looking motherfucker he’d recognize anywhere.

That damn Malibu shoot, the tipping point for all the change that came after. The memory of Frankie all over you, the obnoxious flirting, how you had played into it.

Then you left Robbie’s crew and he made his move, securing you as his girlfriend, getting exactly what he wanted.

Javier had no right to feel possessive when it happened, even though every fiber of his being had screamed at him to do something about it. Sure, you shared moments that left him restless and aching for more, but it wasn’t enough to stake a claim, no matter how badly he wanted to, and you were so adamant about not wanting anything to do with him.

So, he’d done the only thing he could—told himself to get over it and buried the jealousy under layers of maintained indifference.

But now? Now you’re his girl. The first real, healthy relationship he’s had since Lorraine, and there’s no way in hell he’s holding back about anything when it comes to you. Especially not when Frankie and his action-movie crew are standing there, eyeing you like you’re some trophy to win.

“What’s goin’ on?” His voice cuts through the noise of their conversation, sharp and unyielding as he closes the distance.

He’s met with four pairs of eyes—two amused, one indifferent, and Frankie’s, which narrow slightly in recognition. Javier keeps his focus steady, his gaze hard as he takes them in.

His confidence has grown over the years, forged by his experiences and the praise from the industry. Yet, there’s still that lingering thread of insecurity that twists in his gut as he watches Frankie make his indifference clear.

“We were just catching up. Saying hello,” Frankie answers almost too casually, but his eyes gleam with something else—a challenge.

Javier doesn’t flinch. Instead, he steps closer to you, his hand finding your waist. “Looks like you’ve said it. Time to move on.”

Beside Frankie, one of the men grins as if he’s enjoying the show. “Easy, man,” he says, his tone teasing. “We’re just being friendly.”

Javier’s jaw ticks, a muscle in his cheek jumping as his grip on you tightens slightly. “Friendly looks more like crowding someone who doesn’t want to talk to you.”

While you’ve never gone into detail about what you had with Frankie, the updates Javier had gotten from Steve are enough to stir doubts. Words like satisfied are currently resurfacing to make him question things he knows aren’t true.

These men are something he isn’t. And even though you’re together now, there’s a small, irrational part of him that wonders if one day you’ll realize he isn’t what you want.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust you—he does, with everything he’s got. But being cheated on leaves wounds that never fully close, scars that ache at the worst times. And seeing Frankie standing there, beaming like he still has a chance, stirs something primal in Javier.

“No need to get territorial, Peña. We were just having a little fun. Besides…” He trails off, his gaze flicking briefly to you before returning to Javier. “She can handle herself.”

Javier’s blood boils, his free hand twitching at his side. It would take so little—a single punch to wipe that smug look off his face. But then your hand is on his chest, soft and grounding.

“It’s fine. I was just telling them to leave.” 

Frankie’s gaze lingers on you in a look he recognizes all too well because he looks at you in the same goddamn way, and that has his vision tunneling.

“No harm done,” He steps back with exaggerated nonchalance. But then he throws one last barb over at you. “We’ll catch up some other time, hermosa.”

Javier doesn’t think, words slipping out before he can stop them. “No, the fuck you won’t. In fact, if I see any of you bother her again, I won’t hesitate to kick your ass.”

“Yeah? I’d like to see you try.”

For a moment it looks like things might escalate. But one of the other men—blonde, with a calmer air about him—steps in.

“Alright, boys,” he says, reaching out to pull his friend back. “Let’s not make a scene.”

Frankie hesitates, his jaw tightening, but he relents with a roll of his eyes. “Whatever.”

Javier watches them retreat, his heart still pounding, until they’re out of sight. Only then does he let his shoulders drop slightly.

“Hey,” you say gently, tilting your head to catch his gaze. “You okay?��

“I didn’t like that one fucking bit,” he mutters, his voice rough.

Your smile is gentle, reassuring, and you lean up to press a kiss to his cheek which melts him immediately. “They don’t matter,” you whisper, your lips brushing his skin. “You’re the only one I care about.”

The words ease the last of the tension, and Javier lets out a breath, pulling you close. “Damn right,” his tone softens as he presses a kiss to your temple.

“Let’s get out of here,” you suggest, a small mischievous smile on your face, “Your gift is waiting for you back at the cabin.”

It’s as if the entire confrontation is forgotten at your words and he becomes intrigued immediately. “Oh yeah? Then what the fuck are we doin’ still standing here. Let’s go.”

“Are your eyes closed?”

Javier leans against the armrest of the couch, his lips curving into a small smile as your voice carries from the bedroom.

“Yeah,” he replies, shifting slightly, his eyes obediently shut.

“You’re not lying to me?”

“No.” He chuckles, the deep, easy sound rumbling from his chest.

There’s the faint shuffle of movement, and then he feels you—the subtle electricity that always seems to spark when you’re near.

His hands are cupped in front of him as instructed, his curiosity piqued. He has no idea what you’ve planned, no inkling of what’s coming.

Honestly, he can’t believe you actually got him anything. The trip itself has been more than enough—a week of unfiltered joy, amazing sex, and waking up to you in his arms. If that isn’t a gift in itself, then what is?

Then you’re standing in front of him, placing something in his hands. He feels the cool weight of it, the texture of smooth plastic beneath his fingertips.

“Okay, you can open them now.”

Javier’s eyes flutter open, immediately drawn to the object cradled in his palms. It’s a handheld camcorder, a glossy red ribbon tied around it like the finishing touch on a present. His brows knit together in brief confusion, but before he can ask, you fill in the blanks.

“I want us to make a tape together, Javi.”

Your words hit him like a freight train. No, they hit his cock like a freight train, and the damn thing stirs to life before his brain even fully registers the meaning.

“You naughty little thing,” he murmurs, his voice dropping into that gravelly tone that always gets a rise out of you.

You bite your lip, a playful giggle escaping. “I figured it’d be something fun for us,” you say, stepping closer until he can smell the faint traces of your perfume. “Plus… I really like how you fuck on camera. Not that it’s any different from what we do, but…”

You trail off with a small, breathy moan that makes Javier’s restraint snap. He sets the camera carefully on the couch before pulling you closer, his hands gripping the hem of your dress and bunching the fabric in his fists as he pulls you between his knees.

“But…?” he prompts, his lips finding the curve of your neck. He kisses, nips, and licks, each touch of his mouth drawing little gasps from you. You taste divine, every inch of you always does.

“But it’s different,” you breathe, your fingers digging into his biceps as his teeth graze your skin. “I want to experience what all those other stars do when shooting a scene with you.”

His lips crash against yours, the kiss heated and possessive. He can taste the remnants of the cocktails you had at dinner, but more than that, he tastes you.

The memory of those old sets pales in comparison to the thought of filming with you.

“I’m all yours, nena,” he growls against your lips, his hands slipping lower to slap your ass then gripping onto the flesh. “This is a brilliant fucking idea. I’ve been telling you how hot you’d look on camera. How do you want to do this?”

Your smile is roguish, your confidence intoxicating. “I want us to take turns filming... directing… Wanna get some good shots of me sucking your cock.”

Your hand trails down his arm, skimming over the muscles there, then lower to pinch his hip before you palm his erection through his pants, his hips jerking involuntarily as he grunts.

“And I definitely need footage of that tongue of yours working my pussy,” you add, your tone sultry. “We’ll figure the rest out as we go. I want to start in the hot tub.”

Javier swears under his breath, his head tilting back slightly as your touch sends a fresh wave of desire through him. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters, voice thick with need.

You smile, giving him one last squeeze before pulling away, leaving him half-dazed and completely aroused. “Get changed and take the camera outside. I’ll join you once I put on my costume.”

“Costume?” His brows arch in curiosity as his eyes track your retreating form.

“Costume might be pushing it. It’s something to set the tone for the amateur vibe I want this to have. Even if we know what we’re doing.”

“Whatever you want,” he’s so desperate to take you, “I’m going to tear you the fuck up.”

You blow him a kiss, your giddiness as palpable as his. 

Javier watches you disappear into the bedroom, letting out a long breath as he stands and moves to his bag which you had purposefully, he realizes, brought out before leaving for dinner.

He pulls out his swim trunks, quickly changing and grabbing the camera again. He can’t help the simper pulling at his lips as he removes the ribbon and flits through the settings, familiarizing himself with it.

Javier slides open the patio door, the soft scrape of the glass breaking the stillness of the night. A cool breeze rushes in, sharp against his skin, but it’s a refreshing contrast to the heat coursing through his veins.

The glow of the string lights overhead reflects off the rippling water of the hot tub. They frame the scene perfectly, tiny stars encircling what already feels like a secluded slice of paradise.

He steps out onto the wooden deck, the chill biting at his bare chest and legs. A small shiver runs through him, but it’s chased away the moment he dips into the steaming water. The heat rises to meet him, coiling around him like an inviting embrace.

Javier lowers himself deeper into the tub, the warmth spreading instantly, soothing muscles. The jets hum to life with the press of a button, sending gentle ripples across the surface. Another tap, and the colorful lights beneath the water bloom, shifting from deep blue to vivid green, then a lurid red.

He leans back against the edge, one arm stretched casually along the rim, the other cradling the camcorder.

The setting is perfect—intimate, cozy, and alive with the kind of cinematic allure that’s been a part of his life for so long. Only this time, it’s personal. This time, it’s with you.

“Alright, I’m coming out,” your voice calls from inside, and Javier’s pulse spikes as if his body already knows it’s about to be wrecked. 

He shifts in the water, the tent in his briefs straining beneath the surface. His fingers move automatically, adjusting his grip on the camcorder, raising it to eye level, his thumb brushing over the small record button.

“Ready whenever you are,” he says, his voice a little lower, raspier.  

Through the steamy glass, he tracks your shadowy movements, catching fleeting glimpses of red that tease him to the point of madness.

The condensation and reflections blur the details, but it only adds to the attraction. He can feel his heart thudding against his ribs, a primal drumbeat that matches the ache in his cock.  

And then you step out, framed by the sliding door like a vision he couldn’t conjure even in his wildest fantasies.  

“Fuck me.”

The red bikini bottoms sit high on your hips, the delicate ties framing your curves like artwork. That vivid, sinful shade of red makes your skin seem to glow, the contrast leaving him weak.

In one hand is a bottle of champagne, the other holding two flutes, and his tongue pokes against his cheek at how festive you’re being.

He zooms in with the camera, starting at your legs then capturing every dip and swell of your thighs, the plushness he knows so well.

The lens follows up, slowly drinking in the soft curve of your stomach, lingering over the way your tits press against the satin ribbon wrapped around them like a present he’s dying to open. The bow tied between your cleavage looks precarious, like it might unravel at the slightest tug.

The silky fabric is no match for the chill in the air, your hardened nipples poking through in a way that makes his tongue twitch in his mouth at the thought of flitting it over the stiffened peaks. 

But then his gaze—and the lens—finds your face, and it’s game over. Your lips are parted, plump and glistening as you lick them, the slight haze in your eyes a telltale sign of the alcohol still swimming in your veins. Your lashes frame your eyes perfectly, their sparkle teasing him as if daring him to lose control.  

His mind is already racing ahead, imagining the way those lips will part as you take his cock into his mouth, the way your head will tilt back when he suckles at your clit, or how your eyes will roll into your skull when he’s buried deep inside your tight cunt.

“You look so fucking good. Shit,” he breathes, his voice shaky. The camcorder threatens to tremble in his hand as he refocuses on you, watching you strike playful poses against the doorframe, snowflakes getting caught in your hair.

Each one is more tantalizing than the last, and when you bend over to show him your sweet ass, he zooms in on how the red fabric outlines your pussy.

“Thank you,” you purr, your voice smooth and syrupy as you turn and saunter toward the tub, setting the drink and glasses aside. You exaggerate the sway of your hips, fully aware of the effect you have on him, and it’s almost too much.

He’s never had a woman make him feel this way.

Javier keeps the camera trained on you, his years of expertise blending seamlessly with his overwhelming desire to immortalize this moment.

The way the light dances off your skin, the ripple against your flesh as you move sensually, your smile—it’s all so perfectly you.

For a moment, he forgets the camera is even there. Every inch of you seems made for him, like a custom design he never dreamed he’d be lucky enough to have.

When you finally join him, stepping into the steaming water, his restraint frays to a thread. He’s gripping the camcorder like it’s the only thing keeping him from lunging at you.

“You’re teasing me, baby,” he rasps as he films you lowering yourself into the tub.  

“I know,” you reply with a flirty smile. “But don’t you love it?”  

“Too much,” he shifts his legs to relieve some of the pressure at his crotch, though it’s futile. He’s already undone, and the night’s only just begun. 

“Keep posing, like you did by the door,” Javier instructs while his dark eyes remain fixed on you, not the viewfinder. Capturing this for later is one thing, but experiencing it now is something he wants seared into his memory for the rest of his life.

“Flirt with the camera using those beautiful eyes, nena.”

You bite your lip, your lashes lowering as you tilt your head, blinking slowly at the lens. You know exactly what to do, and he guesses this comes from watching the other stars do it on set.

The result is undeniably erotic. Knowing that you’ve never done it before like this, yet exude such natural talent, makes the moment infinitely hotter.

The water kisses your skin, glistening under the string lights and making every curve gleam like a jewel. You shift your weight, cocking your hip, arching your back—it’s fluid, seductive. Droplets of water run over your tits and how badly does he want to reach out and lick at them.

He will, he just wants to get enough footage of just you being so damn sexy.

You move with languid grace, tilting your head just so, and then giggling as you reach for the champagne. The sound is rousing, making his cock twitch.

You curl your finger, beckoning him closer, and he obeys without hesitation, the camera steady in his hands as he floats toward you. 

You pour the golden liquid into your glass, bringing it to your lips with a playful flick of your tongue along the rim, a teasing preview of what’s to come.

When you tilt your head back, letting the bubbly glide past your lips, your throat moves with every swallow and he makes sure to let the shot linger there, fixated.

“Mmm,” the sound is a decadent hum that has his teeth sinking into his lower lip. “Tastes so good.”

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty, baby,” he growls, his large hand reaching up to cradle your jaw. His thumb brushes over your cheek, warm and damp under his touch, before sinking his fingers into the soft skin. “Look at how gorgeous my girl is.”

He angles your face toward the camera, showing you off like a precious work of art. You go pliant under his touch, your eyes locking on the lens as you bring the glass to your lips again, deliberately spilling the champagne, letting it cascade over your jaw and his waiting fingers, trickling down his wrist in a sticky, sparkling trail.

“Oops,” you say, your tone dripping with false innocence. Lowering your head, your tongue darts out, tracing the line of champagne from his pulse point up to his fingers.

You take the tip of his finger into your mouth, sucking lightly, swirling your tongue around the pad before releasing it with a wet, lingering kiss.

“Dios mío,” Javier groans, his hips shifting as his swollen cock brushes against your thigh. The soft gasp that escapes you only feeds his need. “Pretty and dirty. A real fuckin’ star.”

His hand trails lower, abandoning your face to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over the damp fabric before tugging at it, unraveling it completely. 

The cool air kisses your skin just before his touch follows, warm and possessive. He doesn’t ask—Javier never does when it comes to adoring you; he just takes, knowing how much you love it.

Especially when he plays with your tits.

You shake them playfully, the soft, bouncing motion making him snarl, the sound rumbling low in his chest.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his hand kneading your flesh, his thumb brushing over your nipple before he pinches it just hard enough to draw a sharp gasp from your lips.

His eyes flicker to the viewfinder, ensuring the camera catches every detail as he lavishes attention on you, pinching and rolling your puckered tips between his fingers until you’re squirming against him.

“Give me the camera,” you breathe through soft whimpers, reaching for it. He hands it over without a second thought, his hands lingering on yours as he relinquishes the device. 

The power shifts, and you waste no time, pointing the lens at him. “Suck on my tits, Javi,” you coo, each word laced with seduction, and his reaction is immediate.

He pulls you against him, your bodies slick with the heat and bubbles of the water, his hard cock pressing insistently between your thighs. His mouth finds your nipple, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak before he sucks it into his mouth, his teeth grazing it just enough to make you whine.

Your free hand tangles in his damp hair, guiding his head and angling his face for the camera as he lavishes attention on you. The viewfinder captures everything: the way his lips move, how his tongue circles your areola, the glistening trail of water droplets and his spit on your skin.

His mouth moves to your other breast to do the same, sucking harder this time.

“So good, baby,” your voice trembles with pleasure. “You’re so good to me.”

He chuckles low against your chest, relishing in your praise and how he’s able to make you react.

His large hands slide up, cupping your breasts as he pushes them together, burying his face between them and motorboating you. The deep, playful groan he lets out makes you laugh breathlessly behind the camera.

“Pass me the champagne,” Javi murmurs, his lips brushing your collarbone.

You loosen your hold on his hair, reaching for the bottle. The moment it’s in his hands, he tilts it back for a quick swig, the liquid catching the light as it drips from the corner of his mouth.

He pours a generous stream over your chest, the cool champagne trickling down the valley of your breasts. His tongue is quick to chase it, licking and sucking every drop, his movements rougher now, hungrier.

You adjust the camera, your arm stretched out to capture the way his mouth trails up to your neck, nipping and kissing as if he can’t get enough.

The wet, desperate sounds of your kisses fill the air, drowning out the gentle hum of the hot tub jets.

It’s messy, all tongue and teeth, as if he’s trying to consume you entirely.

Javier takes the camera back without breaking the kiss, adjusting the angle to film the way your lips move against his. His free hand grips your waist, guiding the both of you backward until his body presses against the tub’s edge. 

Snowflakes drift in on the breeze, clinging to your hair and his, melting instantly against your heated skin.

“You gonna be a good girl and show the camera how much you love my cock? How good you are at taking him down your throat?” he asks, his voice thick with lust, his lips brushing against your ear.

He zooms in on how your mouth parts in an eager smile.

“Yes,” you breathe, nodding with unrestrained excitement.

Javier lifts himself onto the tub’s edge, the chill in the air biting at his skin, but he doesn't care, not with the way his excitement overrides any of his discomfort. His legs remain submerged, spreading wide to give you space.

You move between them, the warm water lapping at your waist as your hands trail up his legs, your fingers kneading the firm muscle.

“I’ll make it extra good for you today, baby,” you promise, and he knows you mean every word.

He lifts his hips up to help you pull down his trunks, his erection bobbing free from its constraints. Javier hisses as the cool air hits him, but it’s quickly soothed when you wrap your fingers around his shaft and he groans, your softer touch feeling like fucking heaven.

You stroke him a few times, and the visual of you jerking his cock while the bubbles from the jets flutter around your bod has him tightening his grip on the camera.

“You’re everything,” he murmurs, more to himself than you, snow falling lightly around you.

But he means it. Every damn word. And as he watches you, he knows—he wouldn’t change a single thing about what got you here.

Not the fights, not the doubts, not the messy way you two stumbled into this, because every moment led to this one.

And this? This is fucking perfect.

You hum, looking up at him through your lashes, giving the camera a flirty wink before your tongue darts out to kitten lick at his weeping tip, his skin flushed a devious red.

You start slowly, teasing the sensitive skin of his spongy head, swirling around it and tasting the saltiness of the precum that beads at the slit. He sucks in a sharp breath, his free hand tangling in your hair to guide you closer.

“So fucking perfect.”

Your eyes twinkle at the praise, taking him deeper, your lips stretching around his girth. The camera captures every second—his cock disappearing into your mouth, the way your cheeks hollow as you suck, the slick sounds of your efforts filling the air.

Javier’s hips jerk, unable to hold still as you bob your head, your tongue working him over. Drool slips from the corners of your lips, mixing with the water from the tub as you take him as deep as you can, gagging, the messy display making him curse under his breath.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, his voice breaking. “You’re so goddamn good at this.”

You moan around him, the vibration making his grip in your hair tighten. You pull back to catch your breath, your hand stroking him while your tongue laves attention along the underside of his shaft, tracing every pulsating vein.

“Messy little thing,” he murmurs, the camera focusing on the spit shining his cock, dripping from your chin as you smile wickedly up at him.

“I like it messy,” you reply, your voice a foxy, hoarse purr before you take him back into your mouth, sucking harder, faster, the wet, obscene sounds driving him closer to finishing.

The camera feels heavier in his hand as he adjusts the focus, trying to capture every detail of this moment, but his heart beats faster when he realizes the truth: no recording, no photo, nothing tangible could ever truly do justice to what he feels right now. It’s more than physical. It’s more than lust.

It’s her. She’s it. She’s everything.

As if reading his mind, your gaze flicks up to meet his, and you fucking smile with his cock in your mouth.

He exhales a shaky breath, barely holding on to his composure when you release him with an audible pop and trail your tongue down his length. The hand pumping him doesn’t slow, but your mouth finds his inner thigh then his balls, licking and biting just enough to make his leg tense under you.

“Where do you want to come, Javi?” Your voice is a soft, breathy rasp, and his whole body reacts to the sound of it. Your hand moves faster, and he’s unable to form an answer before you stop abruptly, making him curse under his breath.

“In my hand?” Your grip tightens around his cock.

“Goddammit,” his frustration turns to a low, guttural noise when you lower your mouth and tap the tip of his cock against your tongue.

“Or on my tongue?” The slick glide of your lips as you tease him is pure torture, but you’re not done. You push your chest forward, letting his dick slap against the humps of your tits.

“Maybe all over these?” Your voice is sweet, almost playful, but your intentions are anything but. The sight of his cock glistening against your skin, the jiggle of your flesh under his weight, makes his vision blur for a second.

“Or are you going to hold it in and fill my pussy?”

The way you say it, so casually filthy, sends a jolt of arousal through him. He bites down hard on his lip, every muscle in his body tightening. You’ve always had a mouth on you, but this—this is something else entirely.

Your confidence, the way you’ve grown into yourself since being with him, sends a surge of pride through his chest. 

“Baby, I’m going to fuck you so full of my cum you’ll be tasting it for fucking weeks.”

Your breathless giggle is music to his ears, and when you lean in to kiss his cock, licking over the tip, his control shatters.

“C’mere,” he sneers, pulling you up into a heated kiss. His mouth is desperate, his teeth scraping against your lips. He adjusts, submerging himself back into the water, being mindful of the device, and pulling your back flush against his chest.

He angles the lens to capture the way your bodies press together, the steam from the water curling around you both. The viewfinder is flipped and shows your damp hair sticking to your face, his lips dragging over the curve of your neck.

“Look at how good we look,” he murmurs, his voice a low rasp against your ear as his hand palms your breast, squeezing roughly.

A smile splits your face, drunk on the taste of his cock and the alcohol. Slowly, you shift on your toes, bending forward just enough to tease him with the curve of your ass, playfully wiggling it as you rub his cock between your cheeks.

“Come fuck me, Javi.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathes, bringing the camera lower to capture the way the bubbles skim over the curve of your body. He smacks each cheek, the sound sharp against the steady hum of the jets, and you huff, arching even more.

When he pulls at the strings of your bikini bottoms, letting the fabric fall away, he curses under his breath. “Mierda,” he hisses, his hand kneading your supple flesh before gripping the base of his cock and slapping it against your skin. 

He can’t help but grin as he shows off for the camera.

When he slides himself along your slick folds, he groans, feeling how wet you are for him. “Damn, suckin’ me off gets you this turned on, nena?” he asks, breathless.

You let out a needy whimper, nodding as your hips push back against him.

He doesn’t make you wait, sinking into you with a grunt that’s half your name and half prayer. The way your walls clench around him, pulling him deeper, makes him swear under his breath as he sets a rhythm that sends water spilling over the edge of the tub.

“Oh, Javi, oh fuck!” Your voice is loud, shameless, and he loves every filthy syllable of it.

“You like that, huh?” he growls, slowing his thrusts to drag his cock out of you torturously slow, the tight suction of your pussy making him grit his teeth.

“Gorgeous fucking pussy doesn’t want to let me go,” he mutters, angling the camera to capture the way your body takes him so perfectly, the wet sounds of him sliding in and out of you echoing around you.

He licks his lips, the phantom taste of your tangy sweetness haunting them, and the thought of you spread out while he loses himself in eating you out burns through him like fire.

The way you whimper in protest when he pulls out is enough to make him consider sinking back into your tight, sopping heat, but he reins himself in. Instead, his hand comes down on your ass, the sharp crack echoing in the chilled night air.

“None of that. Let’s move this party inside. I need to taste you.”

You bite your lip, shivering from the combination of his words and the cold air biting at your damp skin. 

Both of you are dripping water as you climb out of the hot tub, the biting chill of the night air wraps around you, sending goosebumps racing across your skin.

Javier notices, of course he does, and he drags his hands over your arms, a fleeting attempt at warming you before snagging the nearest towel.

“C’mere, nena,” he mutters, pulling you close. The towel is large, but his hands are clumsy as he rubs it over your body. The motion is both tender and hurried, his fingers lingering on the curves of your hips, your nice tits, and the slick heat between your thighs. “Can’t have you catching a cold now, can we?”

You giggle, your teeth chattering as you take the camera from him as he brings you inside. You stumble over the threshold, recording every imperfect second.

The contrast between the icy air outside and the inviting heat of the cabin is immediate, the crackling fireplace casting a golden glow across the room.

Javier wastes no time, pulling you toward the plush rug in front of the flames. You lay on your back, taking a moment to admire your boyfriend.

He’s a masterpiece carved by desire, every part of him sculpted to make you ache.

You handle the camera in your hands, the viewfinder framing Javier like the sex god that he is. You’re practically purring as the lens lingers on his thighs and how they flex subtly when he shifts his weight.

The camera pans higher and you feel that insistent heartbeat at your pussy.

His cock stands heavy and proud, the firelight casting shadows along his delicious length and girth. He’s gorgeous—thick veins trailing up velvety skin, the head angry and eager to punch into your cunt, his balls heavy with the load he’s already promised to fill you full of.

Continuing your digital ascent, you capture the sharp planes of his torso, his golden-brown skin glowing in the warmth of the flames. His chest rises and falls with slow, steady breaths.

Finally, you settle the shot on his lips, looking plush under that sexy ass mustache. They have ruined you time and time again with words, kisses, and the way they dote on every part of you.

“He’s so fucking good at using those.” You whisper to the camera.

“You done admiring?” He asks with playful arrogance, as if he hadn’t been absolutely eating up every reaction you had given to the body he’s sculpted into a living, breathing fantasy

“Never.”

He leans down to kiss you, sticky precum brushing against your lower stomach. Slyly, he takes the device from your hands, now his turn to marvel at you.

His lips part slightly as he looks at you, the flames illuminating every curve and dip of your body, painting you in shades of gold and amber.

“Most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

You bite your lip, your cheeks heated under his gaze. Javier adjusts the angle, zooming in on the way your thighs press together, craving him again.

“Spread your legs for me, nena.”

You hesitate, suddenly shy under the intensity of his gaze, but he makes it impossible to deny him when he looks at you like this.

Slowly, you part your legs, exposing yourself to him fully.

“Goddamn,” Javier growls, his free hand sliding up the inside of your thigh, his calloused fingers trailing to where you’re still sticky with arousal from how he’d taken you outside. He uses his thumb to spread open one of your pussy lips, revealing your pretty cunt to the camera, his thumb pressing down on your clit, smearing your juices around.

“You know how perfect you are?” he asks, his voice low as he sets the camera down at the perfect angle to capture what he’s about to do next. “Every fucking inch of you drives me crazy.”

Javier leans over you, his lips trailing down your neck to the hollow between your breasts. His hands spread you open further, his breath hot against your skin as he settles himself between your thighs.

You shudder as his lips press against your inner thigh, sinewy fingers keeping you spread open so the camera gets a good view of his tongue doing what it does best between your legs.

The fire crackles beside you, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his mouth as he begins to devour you, his tongue and lips coaxing soft moans and gasps from your lips.

He doesn’t rush. He takes his time, savoring every sound you make, every tremble of your body. He pulls back briefly, some of your slick clinging to his lips, just long enough to grab the camera again, angling it to capture your flushed face and the way your body arches toward him before handing it over to you.

You almost drop it from how fucking lightheaded he’s left you, but manage to hold onto it, doing your best to record this handsome man going down on you.

“No one else gets to see you like this. Just me.”

The possessiveness in Javier’s voice is laced with an edge of jealousy, a dark fire stoked by earlier moments that now claw their way back into his mind. Flashes of other men crowding you, eyeing what’s his, swirl in his thoughts, blending with images of you and Frankie tangled in your sheets. 

The thought ignites a growl deep in his chest. His fingers grip your thigh harder, nails biting into your skin as he buries his face between your legs with renewed intensity. 

His tongue swirls and flicks over your clit, his lips sealing around the swollen nub with a pressure that makes your toes curl.

He’s punishing those images, driving them out by proving how thoroughly you belong to him.

“Just you, Javi, no one else,” you gasp, your back arching off the plush rug. With one hand on the device, your other lets its fingers twist into his thick brown hair, tugging hard enough to make him grunt against your slick heat.

The vibrations ripple through you, sending you closer to the edge, your walls fluttering with anticipation.

You’re close—he feels it in the way your thighs shake, the way your breath stutters. Determined to pull you over the edge, he buries his face deeper, his nose nudging your clit as he shakes his head back and forth.

The scratch of his mustache against your tender flesh only intensifies your pleasure, and when his lips seal around your swollen clit and he sucks harshly, it shatters you.

“Oh my God, Javier!” you scream, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash through you, the camera shaking violently in your hand. The heat of the nearby flames amplifies your euphoria, sweat beading on your skin.

“Pussy tastes so fuckin’ delicious,” his voice is muffled but heavy with want. Javier has always loved going down on women, but there’s something about you—your taste, your scent, the way your body responds to him—that drives him wild. 

His cock thrums painfully, desperate for relief. He’s grinding against the rug without even realizing it, his need to claim you consuming every thought.

Even as your thighs twitch in the aftermath of your orgasm, he laps up every drop, greedy for more, his tongue sweeping over your oversensitive flesh until you’re gasping and squirming beneath him. Only then does he pull away, his lips and chin glistening with your essence.

Taking the camera again, he points it at you, capturing the sight of you sprawled across the rug, utterly spent. Your chest rises and falls, your eyes half-lidded with bliss.

“¿Todo bien, nena?” he asks, gingerly yet smugly satisfied.

“Mhm,” you hum, stretching languidly under his touch. “Just need a minute.”

He strokes your face, his thumb brushing over your kiss-swollen lips and you kiss the rough pad softly. 

Wordlessly, he adjusts the lens, zooming in on your face, capturing the blissed-out expression that is all his doing. It makes him want to kiss you, so he does, bending down, his lips brushing yours in a smoldering liplock.

“Such a good kisser, Javi.” You chase after his mouth when he pulls away, bringing your hands up to cradle his face to keep your lips on his. He lets you, lost in the feeling in the same way you are, that poor camera idly recording the blur of your moving heads.

When he does finally pull back, he moves with purpose, setting up the camera on the coffee table, his fingers steady despite the heat thrumming through his veins.

He flips the viewfinder to showcase the two of you, positioning it to capture the perfect scene: the crackling fireplace, the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree, the snow-kissed mountains visible through the frosted window, bathed in the silver moonlight.

The setup is a masterpiece, the kind of shot you’d call pure art. You’ve teased him about this before—how his talent for making things look so effortlessly beautiful extends even to his most smutty creations.

When Javier returns to you, his breath hitches. You’re stretched out on the rug, naked as the day you were born, your skin kissed by the soft illumination of the Christmas lights. You look up at him with a cheeky grin that makes his chest tighten and his cock throb.

“Hey, baby,” you say, your voice teasing yet soft, inviting him closer.

“Hi,” he murmurs back, his own lips shifting into a smile that mirrors yours.

He lowers himself to you again, cradling your jaw as if you’re the most delicate, precious thing he’s ever touched. “You havin’ fun?”

“So much,” you reply with a laugh that’s pure music to his ears. Your teeth catch his lower lip playfully, and your hand sneaks down between you, wrapping around his pulsating cock. The sound he lets out vibrates against your lips, and the look in his eyes is molten.

“Now fuck me full, Javi,” you whisper, your words bold and needy, a demand he’s more than eager to fulfill.

His hands are on you in an instant, pulling you up and shifting your body until you’re perfectly centered in the shot.

You look like a vision, his personal angel.

Javier kneels behind you, his strong hands gripping your hips, the pads of his fingers pressing into your skin just hard enough to leave marks he’ll admire later.

His cock teases your entrance, the slick head gliding over your swollen clit, and you mewl, your body quivering with anticipation. He watches, mesmerized, as you arch your back for him, offering yourself up completely.

Slowly, he sinks into you, savoring the way your walls envelop him, the tightness making him hiss through his teeth.

His grip tightens as he thrusts deeper, the stretch and fullness making you sob. The sound shoots straight to his cock, and he growls low in his throat, his hips snapping forward, burying himself to the hilt.

Your cries rise in pitch as he sets a brutal rhythm, each powerful thrust sending your tits bouncing uncontrollably. 

Javier leans back slightly, angling his body just so, ensuring the camera captures every detail—the way your pussy clenches and drips around his cock and how obscene the sounds of your bodies joining echo in the cabin.

His nose skims the side of your neck, his breath hot against your damp skin. He bites down gently, soothing the sting with his tongue, before whispering filthy promises into your ear, each word making you tighten around him.

“You were made for me,” he declares, “This tight pussy, fuck, no one else gets to feel how perfect she is. Just me. All mine.”

Something about being inside you triggers this untamed passion in him, an insatiable desire that no amount of good fucking can quench.

He’s relentless, taking and taking, chasing the pleasure that only you can give him. The thought of you creaming all over his cock, screaming his name, and begging for more while teetering on the edge of oblivion has him thrusting harder, deeper.

No one else has ever felt like this—like home and sin wrapped into one. Fucking you is better than anything he’s ever known.

It doesn’t even have to be elaborate or kinky—though he certainly doesn’t mind. He loves it all, from nights like this to the slow, sleepy mornings when he wakes you by sliding his cock into your warm, welcoming body, loving the way you melt against him with soft sighs.

Now, though, it’s anything but slow. His hips piston up into you, his balls slapping against your clit with every thrust, and you’re crying out his name like a prayer.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, his voice rough in your ear as his pace falters momentarily.

You’re too lost in the haze of bliss to respond right away, your whimpers spilling from your lips in broken waves. Javier slows, grinding into you, letting the friction bring you back to him.

“I said, do you trust me?” he repeats, his tone firmer.

“Y-Yes,” you stammer, your voice a breathy plea as your pussy clenches around him.

A dark, satisfied smirk spreads across his face. “I’m gonna put you in a headlock, baby. Keep you right where I want you while I tear this pretty pussy up like I promised.”

You mewl, the sound making his cock twitch inside you. He nips at your ear, his breath fanning against your skin. 

“If it’s too much, tap me three times, okay?” His voice softens slightly, a thread of tenderness weaving through the raw desire.

You nod eagerly, your voice trembling as you beg, “Please, Javi.”

When you turn your head to look at him, the vulnerability and trust in your eyes make his heart clench. Fuck, I love her.

Without another word, he surges forward to kiss you messily, his lips claiming yours as he loops a strong arm around your neck. The position pulls you flush against his chest, your back arching as he adjusts his knees, locking you into place.

“I’ll start slow, get that pussy purring,” he teases, his breath hot against your ear.

His cock drags against your walls, unhurried, and you shiver as he finds that spot inside you that makes your toes curl.

“Right there,” you gasp, your voice hitching as your body tightens around him.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” he groans, his arm tightening just enough to make your head swim in the most delicious way.

With a growl, he picks up his pace, pounding into you with enough force to get your body jolting against his. The rug beneath you rubs raw at your knees, each wet slap of his cock driving into your soaked pussy sending ripples of heat through your core.

Javier watches the way your body reacts to him from the viewfinder across the way. “That’s it, nena,” he clenches his teeth, his own release building as he claims you over and over again. His large fingers move from your hips down to toy with your clit. “Take it all. Take every. Fucking. Inch.”

Your hands shoot up to grip Javier’s arm, manicured nails biting into his flesh and leaving streaks of angry red lines down the muscled curve. The sting only fuels him, a feral satisfaction curling in his chest as you claw desperately for purchase.

Drool slips from the corner of your lips, pooling in the crease of his elbow, and he can’t help but smile smugly at the camera, his ego swelling alongside his cock. He’s unraveling you, making you fall apart so completely that you’re losing control—going stupid for his cock.

The slick sound of your bodies meeting fills the room, drowning out the crackling fire. You’re soaking him, your pussy so wet that the coarse hairs at the base of his cock are drenched, shining with your mixed juices.

He tightens his grip around your throat, your voice reduced to breathy, incoherent gasps. The pressure is perfect, the lack of air sending your senses spiraling as he pounds into you with reckless abandon, fingers relentless against your puffy clit.

It’s enough to coax your submission further, and he feels your slick walls start to quake around him. Your pussy flutters, gripping him so tightly it takes everything in him not to lose control right then.

“I—” You try to speak, but your words dissolve into an unintelligible cry as your orgasm slaps you right in the face.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Javier growls, his voice low and rough. He drives into you harder, faster, the head of his cock hitting that devastatingly deep spot that only he has been able to touch. Your eyes roll back, your cunt clenching him like a vice.

Your body trembles on the edge of euphoria and exhaustion. You lift your hand to tap out, but before you can, his own climax barrels through him like an angry bull.

His hips snap wildly as he spills into you. Hot spurts of cum fill you, thick and endless, his curses mixing with your cries as your body trembles uncontrollably.

The second he loosens his hold on your throat, air rushes back into your lungs, and with it comes a blinding, second wave of pleasure.

“Ah—fuck me!” you yelp, your body spasming as an intense pressure bursts inside you. Liquid heat sprays out of your pussy, soaking his lap and the carpet beneath you.

You fall forward, about to collapse, but Javier catches you, holding you close for a moment, his own body shaking as he fights to catch his breath.

The sticky warmth of your release and his cum pooling between your thighs has him grinning like a devil. “Fuckin’ hell, baby,” he pants, pulling out slowly, hissing at the tight drag of your walls around him.

Gently, he lowers you forward, your cheek pressing against the soft carpet. He goes to caress you, but your body twitches, still caught in the aftershocks, and you let out a weak, incoherent whimper.

“Too much. Don’t touch me. Don’t even look at me.”

He laughs, a low, heady sound, still lightheaded from his own climax. “Whatever you say,” he mutters, reaching for the camera. He adjusts the viewfinder, pointing it at your wrecked body bent over in front of the fireplace.

“C’mon, nena,” he coaxes. “Roll over for me. Gotta get a good shot of my cum dripping out of this perfect pussy.”

His vulgar words make your clit tingle but you know you can’t go for another round right now. Or any time soon, really.

With a soft huff, you roll onto your back, spreading your legs wide despite the exhaustion weighing down your limbs. Tears of pleasure still cloud your vision as you gaze up at him, your chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

The camera captures everything—your swollen, glistening folds, the obscene trail of his cum trickling from your hole, evidence of how thoroughly he’s claimed you.

A lewd gurgling sound fills the air as the thick, creamy fluid bubbles out of you, sliding down to smear across your puckered entrance.

Javier is transfixed, his cock twitching despite his exhaustion. The urge to stuff his spend back into you with his fingers is almost overwhelming, but he reels it in. You’ve tapped out, and he respects your limits.

“So fucking hot,” he murmurs, his voice reverent as he watches. “Blow a kiss to the camera, baby.”

You smile weakly, giggling through your exhaustion. Licking your lips slowly, you pucker up and blow a kiss toward the lens, finishing with a playful, fucked-out wink.

The action is pure lust and sweetness combined, and he lets out a satisfied hum before finally stopping the recording.

“My girl, you did so well,” Javier murmurs, his voice soft and full of admiration. His praise seeps into your skin like balm, soothing you with the warmth of his presence.

He reaches for the couch pillows and the throw blanket, crafting a cozy nest right there on the floor by the fire. 

He doesn’t care that you’re both sticky with sweat and the remnants of your passion— all he cares about is making you comfortable.

Feeling the fog of pleasure begin to lift, you roll onto your side, your body aching in the best way possible, reaching for him instinctively.

Javi doesn’t hesitate; he scoops you up with ease, settling you on his chest. Your head rests between his pecs, rising and falling with his steady breaths. His calloused fingers trail up and down your naked back, a calming rhythm that lulls you into serenity.

“I can’t believe I squirted,” you admit, your voice muffled against his chest. “Isn’t that…you know…piss? Shouldn’t we be in the shower right now?”

The question pulls a laugh from deep within him, a sound so rich and full that it vibrates through his chest and onto your cheek. “Eh,” he says, shrugging lazily. “Doesn’t really matter. What I do know is that I’m so damn proud of you, baby. I know the tape is goin’ to be fuckin’ gold.” His tone drips with adoration, each word laced with pride.

“But if it makes you feel better, we can always get back in the tub.”

You hum in response, nuzzling into the curve of his chest and letting your lips wander, pressing soft kisses over his golden skin. “That sounds really good, actually,” you murmur, your voice still laced with a dreamy haze. “But I don’t think I can walk.”

He lets out another laugh, his arms tightening around you. “I can carry you,” he offers, ever the gentleman, even now.

“Or,” you counter with a playful grin, trailing kisses up to his collarbone and then his jaw, “we could stay here, take a quick power nap by the fire, and then…” You pause, your lips brushing his as you whisper, “I can ride you.”

Javier groans, the sound low and full of mock exasperation. “You’re definitely trying to kill me.”

Your laughter mingles with his as you capture his lips in a kiss, slow and unhurried. The world outside fades away, leaving only the two of you entwined by the warmth of the fire. His hands cradle your face as yours slide into his hair, fingers weaving through the dark strands.

The kiss deepens, turning languid and exploratory, a perfect blend of tenderness and desire.

With you in his arms, he feels whole, like every piece of you was made to fit into his. Time seems to stretch and stop, the crackling fire and the soft hum of your breaths the only soundtrack to your moment.

Here, in his embrace, you’re not just his lover; you’re his everything.

i have a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

🏷️ : @almostempty . @thundermartini . @auteurdelabre . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @almodovarispunk . @southernbe . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @pedrito-is-punk7 . @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @lover-of-books-and-tea . @mysterious-moonstruck-musings . @yourmommycallsmemommy . @larascorneroftheworld . @letsmeetintheafterglow . @lunatiquess . @myownwholewildworld . @pasc4lfuzz . @sjc7542 . @almostfoxglove . @shy-taylorsversion . @theredvelvetbitch . @xxbadchoicexx . @lumpatto . @haylee-e . @guelyury . @doblasftcisco . @ashhlsstuff . @kluvspedro . @goodvibesonly421 .

[theereboseffect]

art vs artist 2024!

i used sooo much blue and yellow this year, maybe next year ill branch out to more colours but i cant help that blue and yellow are just the best colours for drawing.

here are my favourite works for each month of 2024!

january:

I used colour layer modes instead of colouring 'organically', but this was the first time I made a drawing in full colour and actually really liked it. this was before i started painting colours directly into my drawings but its a great effort and i learned a lot about colour layer modes here!

february:

didn't make much great art this month but this sketch scratches my brain correctly. the contrast the hatching the lighting!!!! this was where i started being obsessed with the different forms you can manage to portray with just a little rimlight

march:

possibly one of my favourites of the WHOLE YEAR. Inspired by Andrew Salgado's work, I'm a huge fan of his stuff. In this I learned that colours are literally stupid and if you don't care about logic, you can actually make something very distinctive and somewhat abstract work. Kick-started my whole journey to learning colours so this was probably one of my most important pieces i've ever made

April:

again, not much good art but this is nice I guess. drew this for the anniversary of senna's death, i like the polaroidy feel

may:

I LOVE my may era. Most of everything was done with this oil painter brush I found and it just went very painterly and kinda abstract with strokes and colours, was a month of experimentation for sure

june:

I didn't like this very much when I made it originally, but looking back I love the kinda creaminess of this piece. I haven't really been able to recreate that effect so far though, so this one stands out to me for sure

july:

Not a fantastic art month for me, but I was experimenting with textures in this piece and learned a lot of what I SHOULDN'T do. Very useful

August

I made this piece because I hadn't spotted any other lesteban enjoyers in the wild. Idk the colours in this just came out very easily which is always enjoyable

September:

GRAHHHB the colours in this have me in a CHOKEHOLD the DESATURATED BLUE SHADOWS and PINK CHEEKS!!! This definitely isn't my best of the month but it BRINGS ME A LOT OF JOY OKAY I suddenly turned into an Esteban superfan in theast fiveish months of the year. so dumb that like one of my favourite pieces ever was a shitpost

November:

the textures the eyelash shadow. PERIODD!! the first of my f1 x gladiator series, i just love this a lot even if it doesn't look like max

december:

one of the best of my whole year tbh. Like the final boss where you use all the stuff you learned throughout your journey. The jewellery okay divaaa

okay very long post but i hope you guys like it!! thank you everyone for the support i've received this year you guys are the best

[star-suh]

Movie Night and We’re Not Watching the Movie but is Still a Movie Night

Seok Matthew x Male Reader

cw: dom top matthew, degradation, sweat, spit, bareback, hole slapping, fingering, rimjob, facesitting, breeding, feminization, chest play, musk kink, impregnation kink.

an: if i took a shot every time i wrote matthew/matt in this fic i would’ve already died of an ethylic coma or wtv that’s called.

—

matthew is hosting a movie night with all his friends, they were planning to watch a horror movie, after all halloween is just weeks away. due to some inconveniences only yn showed up at the front door of matthew’s apartment. “did i come too early?” an oblivious yn asks, “not really, the others have to stay in their jobs or do some other important things.. so it’s just you and me tonight”. “ok” yn step inside the other’s house and plop himself down on the coach in front of the big tv waiting for matthew to arrive with food and drinks.

“no no no no don’t go there!!” yelled yn grabbing matthew’s arm as if it was some mystic shield to protect him from the evil spirits of the movie. this action drew a smile from matthew who kept on eating the popcorn. “you are a scaredy cat, why did you even accept a horror movie if you don’t like them?” matthew blurted out, receiving a punch from the aforementioned, “horror movies are best if you watch them in company” and as he finishes his phrase a loud bang was heard on the house causing both men to jump in surprise and hug each other in fear, “what was that?” yn questions, “i don’t know” matthew answers, “let’s find it out” he adds.

after walking around the living room in tippy toes they find out what the sound was, the ac just broke and stopped working, “oh my god. not now please” matthew hit the device multiple times hoping that it could go back to work again, “matthew it's no use in doing that. you have to wait tomorrow so the technician could come and fix it” yn says grabbing matt’s shoulder.

they decided to watch the movie till the end but the heat was getting uncomfortable, “is night now but it's still hot, what the hell” yn spoke, fanning himself with his hand. “yeah” matthew did the same but with his tank top, “is so annoying” immediately afterwards he gets rid of the piece of clothing, remaining shirtless on the sofa besides yn while using the clothing to cool himself down a bit. this took yn by surprise who couldn't help to glance at certain occasions at the other’s sculpted body. his big sweaty arms touching his, his sweaty tits sitting pretty there and his toned abs with beads of sweat rolling down to his crotch area. “fuck” matthew says out of nowhere, clearly annoyed, “this fucking hot is getting on my fucking nerves”. “woah buddy what was that, angry much?” yn says. “shut up, i don't like being all sweaty and sticky” matthew wipes the sweat off of his forehead and slicks back his hair so it won't stick on the already wiped out surface. “you look sexy tho” seconds later yn realized what he just said when matthew looked directly into his eyes, “did i say that out loud?” he asks, embarrassment present in his tone. matthew just nods, “oh” is the only thing that comes out of his mouth.

“well, who would've thought you were a slut yn” matthew says, breaking eye contact and looking towards the screen, “what?” something inside yn lits up, why did he like being called a slut? is it because such a hot man said it?. “we're here watching a movie and enduring this heat and the only thing that crosses your mind is my body. you're a slut” he remarks. “well damn, sorry for speaking my mind” he replied turning his head to the side to not look at matthew, “you know what's the worst?” the other guy asks, grabbing yn by the chin and turning his head so they can make eye contact again, “you liked it. i saw your blushed cheeks. you can deny it but your body is betraying you” matthew gently pats yn’s bulge with his index finger “didn't know you were into that. slut” he whispered that last word near yn’s ear. god, yn swear he could've cum right at the spot by just that word, seeing this side of matthew lit a fire inside yn, something that till now only matthew has been capable of doing.

“what the” yn mutters embarrassed, “ma-matthew wait it’s not what it looks like”. “cut it. i know what you are” matthew sexily cups one of his tits with his hands “and i know what you deserve”.

matthew was the first one to attack, latching his lips on yn’s, kissing him passionately, with hunger, his tongue dominating the other’s, saliva spilling out of their mouths. the messiest kiss they probably had in their lives. “matt-” yn tried to stop him but he couldn’t, his cheeks painted in a bright pink hue. “what happened to the whore of before? too much to handle?” matt questions, “typical sluts, they go out whoring themselves out but when they finally get some dick they back out like pussies” . after that matthew puts his middle and index finger on the other’s mouth, “be a good bitchboy and lick them good” meanwhile he starts to undress him by ripping his shirt and pulling out his shorts and underwear, “slutty body” he murmurs. yn gagged on matthew’s fingers, tears pooling on his eyes. he then pulls them out and yn coughs, the top lifts up the underwear barely so the bottom’s hole is uncovered, “let’s make this pussy slick”.

he firstly caresses around the ring of muscles covering in yn’s saliva, then puts the middle finger right on the hole, slapping it lightly and gently, “mmm warm pussy” he licks and smacks his lips. the first digit entered yn’s back entrance, “hngh ahhh” yn moaned, matthew brushed his lips against yn’s, the latter opened his mouth to kiss the other but matthew didn’t comply, he only teased and then put the second digit inside. “matthew too much” yn drooled, “pfft” the top replied “weak whore”, he grabbed yn by the back of his neck and pushed him against his tits, “suck them, and lick all the sweat off of them”. while yn licked those pretty manly tits matthew keeps fingering him with now 4 fingers inside. both moaned in unison, the pleasure being immeasurable already. next, matthew leaned on the coach while yn lowered himself slowly, sitting on his face. his already fingered hole clenching right away when it feels the top’s tongue barely touching it, “sensitive already?” matt laughs.

with his strong sweaty arms around yn’s hips, matthew guided him to ride his tongue, pushing him up and down with threads of saliva connecting his mouth to the other’s hole. tasting that warm sweaty pussy, “mhn i love this”,the room echoing with sloppy, gushy sounds. when yn goes up, matthew rubs his dilated hole and slap it harshly and when he goes down, the top’s tongue enters completely past the rim and wriggles inside, sending waves of pleasure throughout yn’s whole body.

yn has now completely given into pleasure and matthew’s domination, “who’s a bitchboy?” matt asks slapping the pink tip of his dick on yn’s puckered hole, “me, i’m a bitchboy” the bottom replies and is rewarded with matthew putting his dick inside all at once, “yeahh” they both say in unison, yn rolled his eyes back. “you like this, don’t you, needy cockwhore?”, the other nodded. matthew rams himself inside yn, not an ounce of pity nor concern on his thrusts. “how’s my sex toy doing, want more?” matt asks, “yes please” at this point yn looks like a gooner “look at you, all dumb over my cock”.

yn loved how verbal matthew was, degrading him left and right, calling him all types of names like pathetic slut, manwhore, cockslut, sex toy, human cumdump, all of them sounding like pretty words to yn, ringing in his ears like a beautiful melody. “i wonder if they all had made it to the movie night you would be acting like a manwhore too”, he pants, “because that’s what you would like right. being passed around by everyone, you wanna be their personal fleshlight?” each word was laced with venom, even a bit of jealousy deriving into hard thrusts that made yn’s ass recoil, his legs trembling and wiggling as if they were made of jelly, making him almost incapable of maintaining his position in all fours. their passionate encounter was the only thing in their minds that they forgot about the heat, the sofa was soaked in sweat, their bodies dripping on it. each thrust splashing some of the salty beads everywhere. yn turned around to face matthew and leaned on the coach, matthew spits in between his dick and yn’s hole resuming his thrust right away, “give me some of it” yn begs, “sure” a thick thread of spit falls down matthew’s mouth right on yn’s mouth, he swallows it and sticks his tongue out, asking for more. therefore they began to spit and swallow, matthew collects saliva inside his mouth then yn opens his mouth to receive it, matthew spats and yn swallows savoring it. sometimes matthew just spits on yn’s closed mouth and they shared a sloppy kiss, when their mouths separate strings of saliva falls down their chins and onto their bodies.

yn appreciates the top’s hot body drenched in sweat that consequently drips onto the bottom’s ass and his musky scent being spreaded in the air. it’s so manly, it feels intoxicating for yn, like a drug he’s not going to be able to forget anytime soon. matthew plunges his thumb alongside his shaft on yn’s ass, “i want to break this pussy yn, make you beg for my dick, beg me to put my loads inside you”, his hands snaking around yn’s neck “tell me you wanna be my cumdump” he presses lightly around it, cutting yn’s breath support making him feel lightheaded, “yeshh pleasseee” he slurred, cockdrunked. “fill me upp.. fill your whore up with all your cum.. make me pregnant”. that was matthew’s last straw, he couldn't contain himself anymore and with an almost beastly grunt he came inside, his ass contracting while he made sure to leave the last drop secured on the other’s abused walls, “i fed your pussy with my milk” he pants, “you better not waste it, i’ll be sure to pump more inside until you are fully knocked up” he touches his lower tummy. yn happily nods ”that’s the only purpose of your whore matt, to always carry your loads” yn stands up and massage his friend’s balls, “we should buy a plug so not a single drop escapes that loose pussy” matthew proposes “and we should finish the movie too” he adds, somehow embarrassed realizing how he acted. “i’m looking forward the next movie night” yn stands up and goes to the bathroom to clean himself a little, leaving a flustered matthew sitting on the couch with his dick getting hard again after seeing his cum sliding down yn’s legs.

[ohsweetmiko]

daisuke headcannons

daisuke [mouthwashing] headcannons!

happy holidays everyone! hope this brings you some joy during this holiday season. remember you are loved, and that people look forward to you. <3

warnings: implied fem! reader contains sfw, as well as nsfw. please read with caution!

loves and reblogs appreciated ❤️

SFW

· even if you guys are only just friends, he is always the first one to say good morning to you.

· wants to be the first one to put a smile on your face, especially on your bad days.

· hates sharing food, will swat away any hand that even comes close to him. however, only for you he will let his guard down.

· is obsessed with matching jewelry, especially necklaces, earrings and rings. letting you switch out his earrings is a must.

· loves being the little spoon. he just wants to ramble about his day as you hold him close to your chest. it’s always the best part of his day, aside from seeing you!

· pet names would include: love, baby, ma, sweetie, sweetheart, sugar, sweetener, mommy

· is obsessed with your scent. would openly just take a whiff, which would make you giggle. whatever shampoo you use—he needs to know. he’d randomly ask you during a cuddle session “how do you smell so good?”

· is an absolute gentleman. we all know this. will always hold the door for you and pull out your chair with a smile.

· loves watching you as you do something your passionate about. he loves to see you happy and smiling.

· he never really gives effort into his looks, but when you guys go out—thrown out the window. he’s panicking like crazy hoping he’s not underdressed.

· lives for when you play with his hair, especially while cuddling. he loves how relaxing it is for both you and him, as you trail your hand through his brown locs. loves when you pull it too

NSFW

· like i said, is obsessed with your scent. it turns him on so bad—even when you don’t even mean to. you guys could just be cuddling and suddenly he gets all hot and bothered muttering “..you smell nice.”

· mommy kink definitely. should’ve been expected as he has some bad mommy issues. one day you guys were fucking and it must’ve just slipped out. he was so relieved when you said it was fine and that it actually turned you on—is now his #1 pet name when making love.

· poor baby, please praise him. he loves hearing that he’s pleasuring you and that it feels good. it makes him so happy when you whisper how well he’s doing and how proud of him you are.

· hear me out—switch, but leaning bottom, a lot. i feel he’d be the best soft dom if you just need to relax and want him to take control that day. however most of the time your topping from the bottom, haha.

· very vocal in bed. he’s loud in and out of bed! huge, and i mean huge whiner. loves to whimper, as well as to be muffled by you. loves to be muffled by your pussy and chest.

· i think all mouthwashing writers agree he’s the aftercare king. like he’ll prepare a warm, soothing bath for you both and give you a nice massage after. of course it ends with a relaxing cuddle session, as well !

· loves your chest. sucking, squeezing, licking, anything as long as he’s touching your chest. loves putting hickies, definitely some of the deepest ones here.

· loves marking you. it messes him up so bad. he just loves showing everyone he’s yours and you’re his. also wants you to look in the mirror and remember he loves you. loves when you exchange the favor as well,

· makes him so flustered when anyone points out ones he thought he hid, or ones on his partner and they put the pieces together and find out what happened last night. (especially if you guys keeps your relationship low profile.)

· overall, this man is a walking green flag. i literally love him so much he’s my baby 🥹❤️

[solbaby7]

Sugar Kisses

warnings: sexual themes (not really smut but def alludes to it) , swearing, oral fixations, poor poker descriptions, idkkk i just picture cassian to be soft and flustered on the outside when he’s down bad but lowkey obsessed asf on the inside 🙂‍↕️

summary: Cassian has a sweet tooth for you and the things you do.

—

Cassian had come to the conclusion that lust was a shapeshifter.

Tonight, it seemed to favor you—setting up shop in the curves of your body and easing into the strappy little tank tops you favored and those flowy lounge pants that accentuated the curve of your ass.

Such simplicity and yet Cassian couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Utterly hypnotized—fixated solely on your mouth and the bright pink gum stuck between pearly white teeth. The slightly obnoxious chewing is soothed by the slow swipe of your tongue flattening it out, full lips parted, cheeks slightly puffing and the fruity scent blows his way when the bubble pops prematurely.

Your nose wrinkles in displeasure, tongue retrieving the remnants and tucking it back in your mouth to restart the process.

He’s hooked. Fingers digging roughly into the leathers on his thighs, worn fabric straining under the pressure but it holds strong. “Can I have another one?” Cassian hears you ask, a grin growing on your face when Azriel complies without even sparing a glance away from his cards. He pulls another from his pocket, handing it over with nothing more than a ruffle of the wrapper.

Mor huffs from her spot beside you, possessively hiding her cards as the game finally starts getting good. Her leg crosses over the other, upper body sinking further into the soft cushions when she cuts her eyes to Az and the pocket of treats he’d been steadily loading you with the whole night. “You’ve given her two already—if I have to hear her jaw smacking through this whole game, then I quit.”

Azriel breaks a smile, peeking over seven cards. “Was that a formal forfeit?”

And so it begins, that familiar banter that filled the living space once a week when the entirety of the Inner Circle gathered for family game night. It had been Azriel’s turn to pick and he always chose poker—robbing the High Lord and Lady of more gold coins than they cared to admit before deciding to sit the next round out to nurse their drinks instead.

They’re all so lax; so casual. While Cassian’s heart thudded like a bass drum against his chest, unable to stop noticing the way you were draped across the couch, taunting him with your every move. Painted fingers peel away at the faded red parchment before another bright ball of bubblegum was popped in your mouth.

It takes two whole minutes for you to smoothen everything out, all three pieces combining into one giant blob. Your cheek bulges on the side you chew on, lips sticky and tongue tinted. “That’s disgusting,” Mor whines, muttering complaints about the affects so much sugar would have on your teeth.

You take it in stride, rolling your eyes playfully as you pull your feet from her lap to move elsewhere. “Fine,” The lingering scent of your body wash fills Cassian’s nose when you plop down beside him with no regard for personal space or knowledge of the complete filth running rampant in his brain. “I’ll be disgusting over here—you don’t mind, do you Cass?”

Wide eyes framed by thick lashes peer up at him. They’re glassy, a side affect of the whiskey no doubt and an easy smile grows across his cheeks, body shifting to make room for you. “Not at all,” He answers softly, hoping that you don’t notice the way he all but shoves a pillow into his lap before your head finds a home there.

It’s not unusual. You were always the most affectionate when you were a little tipsy; five times more inclined to settle into whatever warmth you could find no matter who it came from and usually Cassian wouldn’t have minded. But you’re all sprawled out, hair fanning messily down his thigh with your neck bared and cheeks rosy.

The perfect temptation just within arms reach.

Tunnel vision takes over, golden eyes catching on the flimsy dip of your neckline. The soft fat of your breasts spilling upwards and Cassian actually finds himself jealous of the shiny gold necklace that rests between them.

“Why aren’t you playing?” Your voice pulls him from the trance, dragging his gaze back up to your eyes and a distinct warmth creeps up the back of his neck. “Usually we have to drag you away from the table.”

“Saving my luck for something more special.”

Someone more special, was more like it.

You hum in acknowledgement, finger twirling around the gum until bright pink fades into dusky hues from the strain. “Like what?” Cassian follows the hypnotic wrapping of your finger in the sweet treat, the pretty color a stark contrast to the dark polish on your fingers. Hearty laughs and soft chatter weaves a comforting symphony in the background as ice cubes melt in crystal glasses, watering down aged booze and creating a ring of condensation on the polished wood table. “Did some pretty little thing catch your eye?” You mean it as a joke and yet even after a few drinks you’re still terrifyingly attuned to Cassian’s shift in body language. His mouth clamping shut, hazel eyes drifting off to anywhere else—and maybe it was the firelight but you were certain you’d caught soft peachy tones beginning to warm his cheeks.

“Maybe.”

A flicker of emotion darkens your eye but it’s gone before Cassian can name it. “Do tell—I can keep a secret.” The same finger wrapped in pink raises to your mouth, glossy lips wrapping around until it disappears down to the knuckle.

Moisture coats his tongue, golden eyes shadowed with desire directed towards you and you alone. Maybe it’s the distraction that has the truth spewing from his mouth as if he’d injected a truth serum. “She’s—“ The crackling heat from the firelight feels slightly less comfortable now and Cassian can’t resist the way his body adjusts, hips bucking to settle better into the cushions. “Sweet.”

“That’s it?” You deadpan, the gum chewing momentarily pausing. “Come on, Cassian. I know you can give me more than that.”

It was a poor choice of words, like fuel being added to an already blazing fire. Need burns under the surface of Cassian’s skin, singing away at his self-control and his fingers itch to swipe away the strands of hair that tease at your collarbones. “She tests my self-control,” He answers vaguely, listing superficial features to mask the way honeyed eyes melt from the warmth lacing every word. “Wears my patience thin but otherwise a total dream.”

A total dream.

Your lips part to reply when Mor shouts her displeasure, throwing her hand of cards to the table while Az greedily slides his winnings to his side, shadows swiftly stacking like coins in neat piles. “You have to be cheating!”

“Come on, Mor. Don’t be a sore loser.”

Her wine sloshes over the rim of her glass, bright red seeping into a similar shade on her dress but Mor doesn’t mind a bit. Pointing an accusatory finger your way, her cheeks flush in frustration. “He cheated and you were an accomplice with that stupid gum.”

“If that’s all it takes to distract you then shuffle the deck,” You muse, making a show of blowing bubbles through your teeth and Cassian has to hide his laughter behind his knuckles when Mor flinches at the sharp sound. “I’ve been eying a pair of earrings in town— it’ll be the sweetest treat to purchase them with your money.”

“Oh, you’re on. If I win, you’re going to buy those earrings and then you’re going to give them to me.” Her heels are kicked off, the hem of her dress bunched up to make enough room for her legs to cross comfortably on the couch. “But, you have to spit that shit out first.”

With an eye roll you comply, showing off your tongue in all its stained glory. “Happy now?”

“..you swallowed it?”

“Spitters are for quitters.” Azriel spares his brother a glance, noting his fixed stare and that barely restrained clench of his jaw. The grip on the throw pillow conveniently placed in Cassian’s lap tightens, though it doesn’t hide a thing with the spicy scent of arousal tinging the air. “And, I don’t like to lose.”

Mor pauses her shuffling, eyes a little bleary and hands shaky from the alcohol. “Hm, maybe I should just forfeit before you end up conning me into giving you my apartment.”

“I do love your balcony.” You mumbled thoughtfully. “Private and with a view.” Crisp cards rustle against one another while you adjust the unruly ones and split it in two to shuffle. “The things a girl could do.”

Now you’re just being cruel, Cassian thinks. Mind wandering to the picture you’ve painted. You dressed in some skimpy silks or see-through gossamer, the winds chill cooling sweat slick skin after the rigorous physical activity the General would make you endure.

He gets stuck fantasizing about flushed cheeks and unbound hair. Lacy panties left in a messy heap on the floor and duvet sheets that reek of sex. Breakfast in bed with a sappy sunrise illuminating mouth shaped bruises along your neck while hand feeding you chopped fruit.

A fools dream. A sinners fantasy. A need that refuses to go unfulfilled.

“We doing this or not?”

Complying ends up being Mor’s downfall, with every second that passes you conjure up some new way to goad her on—adding to the stakes and then grinning like a fool when sliding the earnings over to your side. A shiny gold key dangles from one of your fingers, palms cradling a pouch of coins, a triumphant glow gracing your cheeks. “I hate you,” Mor grumbles but it only makes you laugh harder, hips shimmying in a little victory dance. “I’m going to bed.”

“Enjoy my sheets,” You tease, jubilance evident in the grin you sport as you wave her goodbye and even Azriel can’t fight a smile at the antics, your joy too contagious. “I’ll definitely be enjoying yours!”

Cassian tracks your exit, grinning to himself about the pep in your step and once you’ve finally gotten out of earshot he faces his brother. Azriel’s already looking, a knowing expression lingering in his eye as he pockets his winnings. “She can’t winnow, you know.” Cass’ brows furrow in confusion. “It’s dark out,” Az continues, tone holding a restrained amusement. “And awfully late for a female to be out travelling alone.”

“I don’t know what you—“

“Take her home, Cass.” There’s an annoying amount of smugness settling into the line of Azriel’s shoulders. It festers in his stride, steps casual and lacking any real urgency as if he wasn’t unveiling the crush his brother has had on you for years. “I know you want to—whole room fucking stinks of it.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“No, fuck her. Seriously, the sexual tension is making dinners unbearable.”

Az leaves him there, lips parted in what appears to be shock but Cassian identifies the feeling that emerges rather quickly.

He knows he shouldn’t haven taken it the way he does.

Like permission.

As if the locks to his cage had been picked open, iron bars creaking agape; urging Cassian forward, crooning for him to seek out what he’d fixated on during the entirety of his imprisonment.

Colorful candies and the stain they leave behind. Sticky lips, sugar kisses and coy smiles. Strappy pajamas with pretty lace trim. Dainty gold jewelry. Unbound hair and soft skin that smells of cocoa butter and comfort.

A sweet thing that Cassian’s just dying to sink his teeth into. He barely notices the way he seeks you out, body moving on autopilot; nose greedily huffing in the trail of your perfume until he sets eyes on you and the duffle bag at your feet. “Make a wrong turn, General?”

“M’not that drunk.” He hides the greedy flinch of his fingers by grabbing your things instead, just barely grazing the curve of your ankle—he thinks his hand would make the perfect chain around it. All his. Locked in place; to do with as he pleased. “Just here playing escort.”

“Only playing? Could’ve sworn you were trying your luck on something sweet.”

That makes him double-take. A brow raising as he’s frozen in place, watching the swish of your hips while you walk down the hall.

He���s certain he’s imagined it; the teasing way you’ve dangled a hot meal before a starving animal. But he can smell the sustenance, swears he can feel a hearty supper filling his maw and settling in his belly. Watches the way you peer over at him through half-lidded eyes, tongue stained red when it wets supple lips. “Hurry now, Cassie.” The strap of your shirt dips down the curve of your shoulder, lashes fluttery and flirtatious when you lean against the doorway. “Luck runs out.”

[changingthingslikeleaves]

Buck keeps busy. He helps Eddie pack the house. The landlord in El Paso covers utilities, but he changes the billing address on Eddie’s NFL+ and MLB.TV subscriptions, reminds Eddie that the password to Buck’s Disney Plus account is in the email that Buck sent him the day after he signed up for it. He calls movers and gets quotes, finds Eddie a place to do the 60,000-mile service on his truck, maps the three closest grocery stores to his new house like Eddie didn’t spend the first eighteen years of his life in El Paso and is incapable of feeding himself.

It's what Buck does. He has to be useful, anticipate what Eddie needs, because that’s all he can do right now. Of course Eddie has to go, no matter what, because of course Christopher is the most important thing.

Keeping busy gets him through it all, from that first house viewing on Eddie’s couch to the last piece of tape on the last box. He doesn’t see Eddie off when he hits the road at 10 A.M. on a Saturday, because it’s hard enough saying goodbye at 8 A.M, when Eddie leaves after spending the night at Buck’s loft, his own bed packed into a U-Haul trailer attached to his truck’s towing hitch. Eddie’s got a couple final errands in town and then he’s getting on the 10 headed east.

And when Eddie’s gone, he finds stuff to do around his loft. He could go over to Maddie’s and help her sort through Jee’s old clothes and toys to figure out what she can use for the new baby, but it’s a better idea to stay home, at least this first day, to hide his red eyes. He rearranges his pantry, goes through his spices and throws out anything over two years old, moves his bed and nightstand to dust behind them.

Somehow he finds enough to occupy him the whole day, with occasional breaks to watch the most brainless documentaries he can find on Netflix. At midnight he falls into bed, hoping he’s done enough manual labor to exhaust himself and quickly drop off to sleep. At 12:03, his phone pings with a text.

9342

He stares at it a second, trying to parse why Eddie is sending him a random string of numbers.

everything ok????

this house has an electronic door lock that’s the code to get in. i guess it saves me from having to mail you a key

Buck’s surprised how much it hurts, the pain of Eddie being eight hundred miles away and yet right next to him, connected by cell phone towers and a bond that won’t break, no matter how much it’s stretched.

*

Eddie can’t be late on his second day of work. He should have had plenty of time, but when Christopher had called—actually called, on his phone—he’d dropped everything to have a conversation with his kid before his school day. By the time they’d made plans to meet up on Eddie’s next day off, his cereal had gone soggy and his coffee had cooled. He hasn’t stocked up on protein bars or shakes yet, so he’ll have to wait for whatever is available at the station.

As soon as he pulls the front door shut behind him, patting his pockets to make sure he has everything, he realizes that his phone is still in the house. The house, protected by the electronic lock, with the code carefully saved on his phone.

“Shit, code, what’s the goddamn code,” Eddie mutters. Four digits, can’t be that hard. After a few more days it will be worked into his muscle memory, but he’s only used it three times so far. 9234? No luck. 9423? Still no. At this rate he really is going to be late for work, and he reaches for his phone to call his captain, but the phone is still inside the house and the door is still locked.

“9342.”

Eddie starts in surprise. It’s not the voice of a helpful neighbor, or his landlord arriving in the nick of time, or even a divine intervention to help him get to work on time. He knows that voice, even before he turns around to see Buck, leaning against the side of his Jeep, legs outstretched and arms folded like the hero of a teenage rom-com. The captain of the football team, waiting outside the auditorium to surprise the gawky girl with the lead in the school play.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Buck unfolds his arms and walks toward him, his long legs closing the distance in five quick strides. “You sent me the code. I had to make sure it worked.”

He leans past Eddie and punches the numbers in the lock, which clunks satisfyingly open. Buck doesn’t move, his chest brushing against Eddie’s, his mouth a breath away.

“Good thing you did,” Eddie says, not even listening to the words as they come out. How can he pay attention to anything else when Buck is here, right in front of him, right where he’s supposed to be?

“You should probably write it down.” Buck moves somehow closer, and his hands settle on Eddie’s hips. “In case you ever lock your phone inside again.”

“I don’t think I’m gonna be here very long,” Eddie says, closing that final inch between them in a kiss that’s sweet for a second before Buck sighs and opens his mouth, and Eddie is officially late to work, and he doesn’t care.

and well in a world where eddie does end up getting a rental in el paso for a little bit; buck is receiving a text from eddie the first night he’s gone that just inexplicably contains 4 random digits and nothing else. he is instantly replying: everything ok???? to which eddie responds with: this house has an electronic door lock 😐 that’s the code to get in. oh well. i guess it saves me from having to mail you a key. and buck has to actively rub at his chest to comfort himself over the fact that the only person he has ever felt so emotionally and intimately close to is now so physically far away.

[eroscomet]

Picking Up Pieces That Aren't Yours

Chapter three- Closer

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Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Warning: Explicit, Warning 18+ content, swearing, fingering (Tara receiving), kissing.

Word Count: 2.3k+

A/N: Hey, lovelies, needed to update this real bad. BEAR WITH ME YALL, this is my first like smut that I have basically officially put out there. I hope you guys enjoy it and honestly, I was very nervous to post this update but I have left you guys starved of this story for too long. Making this chapter was a rollercoaster of emotions for me, I did not know that writing smut could be so bashful or even sheepish, but it really was. Good news as well, Make it Right will have an update soon! Very nervous to put this chapter out there but it was going to happen sooner or later. By the way, for future reference, this will be a g!p reader. Just letting you guys know that. Thank you so much for all the support and this one's for you guys!

Proof read.

Minors DNI

╰┈➤ Series Masterlist

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Your head felt like it had been reeling since the moment that you and Tara were back in contact. You felt wrong for allowing her to get the better of you when she had been somewhat intoxicated. The guilt was practically eating at you because not only had you hooked up with her, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. Throughout each of your classes, every time you tried to force yourself to focus on the teacher's words or even the work in front of you, all you could think about was that night.

Your mind was plagued by all that the shorter girl had become under your touch. It felt selfish to have done such a thing and still think of her this way afterwards. No matter how long you tried to shove every image of the girl that night, heat pooled in your lower stomach. It was undeniable. Yet, every time that you had been around the girl from then on, you felt the care for her far stronger than any lust. It was easy to create a fantasy of her but when it came down to it, face to face, all you could do was want to protect her and care for her any way that you could.

“You stare a lot.” Tara said with a hum, she hadn’t even been looking up. She was instead focused on the textbook in front of her, still she felt your eyes on her.

“Ah, sorry..” You replied bashfully as you let out a small breath. Part of you wondered if she had even remembered that night. Maybe she had been angry that when she woke up, you hadn’t been there.

The thing was that when you had woken up the next morning after that night, the more you stared at her peacefully sleeping face, the more guilty you felt for having let yourself lose control. You’d spent an hour that morning, wondering what you should do before having finally settled on leaving some water bottles on her nightstand as well as some pain-killers to take when she’d wake up to a headache she would be bound to have. You didn’t know whether she’d remember, so you left a simple note saying that you had taken care of her the previous night.

“I wasn’t saying that I was bothered by it,” Tara said as her eyes flicked up to where you were sitting in front of her.

“Oh..” Was all you could think to muster up in reply. Should you ask if she remembered? Should you wait until she brings it up? You didn’t want to be a dick and make her think that she was a simple hookup and that was all.

An awkward silence fell upon the both of you as the two of you continued to study. That was until the silence was broken by Tara.

“So…” She began as she scribbled some notes into her notebook, her eyes pried away from yours at all cost, “Do you remember-”

“Yes.” You replied, not even knowing if she was asking what you were thinking she was asking. Her eyebrow had momentarily shot up at the quick reply.

“You didn’t even let me finish.” She said with a light laugh, “Unless, something’s on your mind?”

“Uh,” Your throat suddenly felt dry as you tried to think of the right words to use, “What happened a couple of nights ago..?”

“Hm.”

Her reply seemed too dry. Maybe she didn’t want to talk about it? Maybe she was in fact angry at you for having left?

“What?”

“I just..thought you didn’t remember, that’s all.”

“Of course, I do.” Your reply felt pathetic to your own ears. It left you feeling as if you were desperate. Despite your inner thoughts, a small smile played on her lips.

A silence fell upon the both of you before you had spoken up again, “I’m sorry for leaving that morning. I didn’t know if you’d want to.. I don’t know. I guess I didn’t know if you’d want to remember what had happened.”

“I’ve always thought of you too sweet, that’s why I felt a bit suspicious of it.”

“I’m not the type to do that, I promise. I just thought it was more on your end… I was confused, you know? Confused if you think it's a one-time mistake.”

“Doesn’t have to be. I mean, I don’t think it was a mistake. I’m sort of…glad it was you.”

You felt your heart almost beat out of your chest at the revelation that you hadn’t thought about. It felt like what you had heard was a part of another restless dream where Tara felt the same way about you. For a moment, you were stuck in your thoughts as you contemplated whether or not this was a dream or a joke. That was until you felt your pencil being taken from your hand as you turned your head to look over at the girl, you were sure that now you had somehow died and been sent to heaven.

The look in her eyes, she was close enough for you to count every freckle that adorned her cheeks perfectly. The way her lips had slightly twitched as if she were about to speak but instead decided not to. The two of you spent a moment staring at each other, your face drawing impossibly closer to hers. The feeling of her breath mingling against your own, her eyes darted down at your lips allowed your mind to begin wandering places. Taking action to one of those many thoughts as you shut your eyes and leaned forward into a kiss.

After feeling Tara returning your kiss, you hummed into the kiss, leaning into the touch of her hand on your cheek. You felt weak, weaker than you ever had. It felt almost helpless the way that your mind couldn’t draw any other thought but the dark haired girl kissing you. Kissing you as if she wanted you just as badly as you wanted her. Your hands felt limp, futile to every attempt of moving them to not seem awkward. It felt as if Tara had been reading your mind because her hands had grabbed yours and guided them under her shirt.

“Wait-” You managed to mutter breathlessly as you pulled away from the kiss, “Are you sure about this?”

“Still as caring as ever. Gosh, yes, L/N, I’m sure.” Tara replied with a breathless laugh, slightly shaking her head. “Must you always be so good?”

A soft smile on your lips as you felt her own on yours once again before you could’ve replied to her words. You returned the now hungrier kiss.

“There’s nothing wrong with being good.” You had mumbled against her lips as you continued to kiss her.

She hadn’t replied this time, her hands simply guiding yours further up her shirt and to the curve of her clothed breast. Your fingers had toyed with the hem of her bra, a small whine came from her in response. Her hands moving away from yours and up your own shirt, feeling out the planes of your skin. Her fingers felt persistent, whereas your own took their time and were more gentle. Unaware of the girl’s growing impatience, your hand moved to the back of her bra, carefully unclasping it. 

It had now hung loosely to her skin under her shirt, you took this as your chance to gently allow your thumbs to focus on the buds of her nipples. Immediately receiving a reaction from the girl, a soft whimper against your lips that felt all too sweet. Your mind had temporarily fled to the thought that someone else had too been in this position. You felt your gut slightly twist before pushing away the thought and allowing yourself to at least enjoy this while you can. While she had graced you with the opportunity to do so.

Your nimble fingers were quick against her buds, her breathing becoming ragged. Her mouth felt hot and wet, a reflection of your own as the kiss came to an end. Her eyes were fluttered shut as she allowed soft sighs to escape her, enjoying your touch. You’d seen and felt her back arch slightly with twitches into your touch. Her own hands had paused under your shirt, seemingly had lost its focus and purpose she’d once had with the touch. Quickly, one of your hands had left from under her shirt, moving to your lips where your tongue darted out to wet them before returning it to her nipple.

Tara’s head slightly tipped back at the newfound sensation you’d given her, your other hand moving down her abdomen to the hem of her sweatpants. You knew better than to tease the girl but you couldn’t help yourself, your fingers gently pressing against her clit over the fabric. The soft gasp that left Tara’s lips and the expression on her face made you want to examine every expression and sound she’d offer you with every touch you gave her.

“Don’t tease. Please.” She had breathed out ever-so-softly. Who were you to go against what she wanted? You wanted nothing but to please the girl of your dreams.

You were quick as you had carelessly pushed aside her notebook and text book that was on her desk. Swiftly lifting the shorter girl onto the desk, she lifted her hips slightly, giving you access to pull her sweats down. Your eyes were trained on her as you disregarded her sweatpants onto her bed. One of your hands pushed apart her legs as the other pulled aside her panties, not caring to remove them. You could hear every sweet sigh and soft whimper that escaped her mouth at your every touch, and it drove you completely insane.

A finger swiped through her folds, feeling the wet mess that she had become. You felt a surge of pride and a want– no, a need to give Tara everything she wanted. You allowed two fingers to delve past her folds and into pussy, a soft groan leaving your own lips at the tightness. A guttural moan leaving her, you watched as her head tipped back against the wall. Your fingers were quick, pumping to her every moan and obvious need with the way her hips had begun to buck against your hand. Your thumb pressing circles into her clit as your fingers continue to pump, your other hand raising her shirt to focus on her breasts as well.

With another lick of your fingers, you toyed and played with the bud of her nipple. You wanted to give her all the pleasure you knew she was deserving of. Your lips finding hers as you pulled her into a kiss, muffling her kisses that she now let out into your mouth. With the quickened pace of your fingers from each hand, you took note that it was getting harder for the girl to keep up with the kiss. You pulled away and immediately began working on peppering kisses against her neck, trying and finding her sweet spot. Your teeth grazed her neck as your mouth began to suck on the sensitive part of her neck. 

You felt her back arching into you and her body buzzing and writhing with pleasure from your touch. Taking note of how Tara was getting closer by the way her moans and breath fell relentlessly from her lips.

“Close-” She managed to say, pairing with a broken moan which only pushed you to quicken your pace.

“Shit, shit, shit- I’m cumming!” Tara’s voice cried out as she shut her eyes tightly, her body uncontrollably shaking under your touch.

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 A few minutes later and the two of you were sitting together at her dining room table eating pizza which you had ordered Tara.

“A true gentlewoman.” She said with a hum before

taking a bite of her pizza.

“Aftercare is important.” You replied with a small shrug as you took a bite of your own pizza.

“So, you're saying that you’ll stay longer?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Is that even a question?”

“Maybe you're right. I'll stay then.”

After the two of you had finished eating, you made your way back over to her room. Now, your arms wrapped around the shorter girl who buried her face into your chest. All felt calm, a stark contrast of what had happened about an hour or two earlier. You felt yourself wanting to stay in this moment, in the safety of the bubble you two created in her room. Tara was slowly falling asleep, you took it upon yourself to further soothe the girl by rubbing her back gently and pressing gentle kisses to her forehead. 

“Thank you for this.” She mumbled softly against your chest, slightly muffled.

“You don’t have to thank me, Tar.”

“Tar. I always liked when you called me that.”

“I'll forever call you that if you want me to.”

“I’d like that.”

You itched to ask the girl what all of this meant. What your relationship was like now. Is it friends? More than that, friends with benefits? Maybe…it could be something more than that as well, lovers? You pushed down the thoughts and the itch to ask, wanting to not ruin this perfect bubble the two of you have created.

“Tell me something. Anything.” Tara murmured softly

“You're soft.” It was the first thing that came to mind and the first thing that fled your mouth. A small light laugh had escaped Tara’s lips.

“What’s funny?” You asked curiously.

“It’s just that… I'm not sure I've ever been called or described that way.”

“Glad to be the first, and it’s true.”

“You're sweet.” Her words made a soft smile creep onto your face.

“Look who’s talking.”

“Oh, you're just a flatterer.”

“Can we not flatter each other?”

“I suppose so.”

“Sleep, you're tired.” Your eyes scanned the girl’s face, she was obviously a bit drained. A hand came up to gently caress her face as the other one continued to rub her back. Which had lulled her further into a sleepy state, she only nodded at your words. For the entire time that you stayed at her apartment, you held her and whispered sweet nothings that you knew she couldn’t hear in her sleep, but whispered them anyway.

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A/N: I'M NERVOUS BUT I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOYED. Again, thank you for all the support and also look around for Make it Right chapter three coming out as well. Bear with me and this, this is my first smut published. However, I had to get it out of the way for upcoming chapters. Thank you all so much for everything, bye lovelies!

[ajellybee]

I am a firm believer that sex is NOT the only gift you should give someone as a gift HOWEVER...

imagine a full day of festivities on Christmas day with your husband, Nanami. You guys exchanged gifts almost feeling like you were trying to top each other with the next gift you watched each other unwrap.

You got Nanami the watch he showed some interest to -> he handed you the little wrapped box of the newest Vivienne Westwood drop

You watched him unwrap a new standing mixer -> he pushed a box towards you that contained your favorite perfume that was discontinued years ago.

Do you get the gist now? BUT!! you had one last card up your sleeve, after having a dinner full of giggles and laughs you stand up abruptly. Nanami raised an eyebrow but didn't ask where you were going.

"Could you clean up here, ken? I have one more gift I wanna give you" You smile softly at him, trying to look as innocent as possible

"Honey, that's no fair you're giving too much" he furrowed his eyebrows realizing you gave more than he gave you

"no no, it's okay, my love. It's something small don't worry" Again you give the same innocent smile and instead of questioning further Nanami sighs and nods, moving to clean the dining table. "Okay give me like 5 minutes" You run upstairs to your shared room and get to work. While in the shopping district, you ran across a small intimacy store. From the open door, you could see some of the lacy pieces so you decided to check it out, and it's a good thing you did because you found the sexiest set ever, dark forest green with intricate embroidery. It left nothing to the imagination and you knew it was going to be Nanami's favorite set.

after doing a once over making sure everything was perfect it was go time.

"Okay, ken- honey. I'm done" you called for him and right when you finished your sentence the said man opened the door, seems as if he was waiting for your go-ahead to walk in.

"Oh, my love..." In three big strides, he makes his way to you, large hands finding themselves on your waist, rubbing up and down. "Gimmie a spin yeah?" giggling you do as he asked slowly twirling in a circle so he could take everything in. "this is your 'something small'?" he scoffed. Because to him this was anything but. His favorite color looks heavenly against your skin. And the way it fits so snugly against you, highlighting all your soft curves, he was practically drooling. Nanami pulls you in for a kiss groaning as his hands roam down to cup your ass, squeezing the soft flesh. You pull away and make your way to the bed and set on the edge. Nanami watches as you spread your legs apart revealing what he wanted to taste most at the moment, and much to his surprise (and satisfaction) the slit in the middle of your lingerie exposed your glistening folds and he falls to his knees immediately ready to devour you.

"Merry Christmas, Ken"

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

small Christmas piece I wanted to do. Happy holidays!! and if you don't celebrate anything I hope you have/had an amazing day !!! <333

[winonaparadise]

Maybe I’m somehow super unaware that I missed it but where’re you posting GWH nowadays? ;3;

Thank you for asking, and thank you for reading GWH! Unfortunately, it basically doesn't exist right now outside of like, the things I'm trying to make behind the scenes. I lost a lot of steam when the new format I worked really hard on lost a lot of traction and didn't sell as much as i had hoped (not anyone's fault besides my own and, maybe also Elon Musk's for kind of fundamentally destroying twitter dot com as we knew it) and also the second installment of it being 90% finished and then just being entirely lost to a hard drive failure also really just sent me into a spiral. And I also kind of just started hating my own work and art after that, have been working to try and improve, and keep my chin up despite watching a lot of my peers find success before me. Which is admitting one of my very selfish, ugly thoughts - but I do feel like maybe my webcomic was stupid and a waste of effort because it was never "legitimized" via publication like a lot of others surrounding me have been.

I've been kind of struggling with what to make lately. I have tried a lot of things that didn't really take off and it's left me confused about what to do. I feel like every shot I take at something isn't really met with much enthusiasm (again, nobody's fault but my own but if you want to blame this one on Musk as well sure why not) and I don't know how else to gauge if I'm doing the right thing. I think and write something for GWH almost every day, though. I am slowly chipping away at this vague idea of a "visual novel" version that will hopefully allow me to tell a contained story in one piece rather than falling off like I've done in the past. I really, really want to make that.

And in all total complete probably unsurprising honesty I'm just very depressed. Like seriously-considering-suicide-every-week-depressed. I'm sorry if that is a flippant way to express it, but I don't know how else to than to try and couch it in some flippant language. I don't have a lot of money, my health hasn't been very good, and I spend days and sometimes weeks entirely by myself. Making stuff is very difficult with these conditions and unfortunately (fortunately?) the cure to at least some of that is probably making more stuff! It's just taking some time and I really apologize for that. I hope you can forgive me and you'll like whatever I manage to make next. Thank you.

[mlyscha]

𝒥𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗅𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗌, 𝗌𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄𝗅𝖾𝗌 & 𝖺 𝖻𝗎𝗇𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝖿 𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗌

( ENHYPEN ── 𝒻𝗼𝗿. 𝓜OMENTS. ) ౨ৎ ℐ𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 . . . they make christmas gifts with their own hands (with you). 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾 : fluff, festive. 𝓌𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌! simple and resumed writing. ( 𝗐𝖼. 9OO ) 𝓮𝘅𝘁𝗿𝗮' … 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗈𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽, 𝖾𝗇𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁 𝗂𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗆𝗒 𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋-𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗀𝖾 ༘ . 𝒻! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋.

𝒶-𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲. happy christmas everybody!! enjoy some time with your family, friends and beloved ones. i hope many many good things reach you! and if you don't celebrate christmas, i wish you a great day full of happiness! <3 and by the way, i am on a vacation so this might not be thaaaat good but try to enjoy this christmas headcanon i wrote with so much love.

𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍! ♡ 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾&𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀&𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍.

𝒽eeseung ( 희승 )

YOU AND HEESEUNG WERE PLANNING to do something memorable this christmas, celebrating not just the presents, but love.

therefore, heeseung decided to craft essences with you and then trade perfumes. you had never heard of that kind of craft shop before, but it was pretty amusing.

it was cute watching him all cute listening to the instructions, making sure that your perfume was matching your vibe and how he liked it ─ of course.

in the end of the “class”, he gifted the perfume in a small white box, adorned with a loose pink ribbon─ because he couldn’t tie it right. meanwhile, you gifted his in a small black box adorned with a red ribbon. also, you could write a letter to yourself or your loved one, gifting love to the one you love. with that, he couldn’t hold himself but write: For this and lots more christmas, I love you forever, Heeseung.

𝒿ongseong ( 제이 )

JONGSEONG LOVES PAMPERING YOU WITH gifts, but this christmas, you told him you wanted to create memories: going to a fancy necklace craft shop.

the necklace shop offered crafting silver or gold jewellery that could last for life— meaning that it wasn’t supposed to get oxidised.

there was a plenty of fun ways to create your jewellery. therefore, you and jongseong decided to go for a digital print design with a simple note on the back.

you went for a gold piece because you thought it made your boyfriend’s skin and beauty pop, getting your digital print done and writing: Mine, yours, ours forever. meanwhile he wrote: I love you, thank you, forever— simple but meaningful, for sure.

𝒿aeyun ( 제이크 )

JAEYUN LOVES SPENDING TIME WITH you, and nothing better than gifting him quality time while crafting gifts for each other; for christmas. with that, you brought him to a pottery shop, hoping he would enjoy pottering like the last time— on valentine’s day.

and oh boy, jaeyun liked that. besides him looking at you in a certain way while carving the bottom of the pot with his hands, it was overall very amusing and cute.

in the end, after the pottery was completely dry, a beautiful painting could be created. and of course, jaeyun with his cheesiness problems, painted you and him with a christmas tree on the side, writing: christmas with bae! 12/25. ( y/n is the cutest <3 )

𝓈unghoon ( 성훈 )

SUNGHOON BROUGHT TO A RING crafting shop, because he thought: i want matching rings, ‘cause— pffftt… just one couple ring isn’t enough!

with that, you two went to a fancy ring crafting shop from a luxury jewellery brand. you both went for the silver ring— since it is a dating ring —and then added each others initials in a tiny font (to keep it more discreet and elegant); and then wrote on the side of the hoop the date and a little note: Forever our love, forever us.

and by the way, sunghoon while crafting this ring with you, couldn’t be more excited to one day make this a big surprise, asking you to be his fiancé.

𝓈unoo ( 선우 )

SUNOO IS A SOFTIE FOR handmade things, always writing a letter for you besides the present he is giving to you. and this time, for christmas, he decided to buy a bracelet kit— in which you could create your own bracelet.

you were so excited because it reminded you of your childhood and now you are complementing this memory with your loved one.

after many laughter, smooches and enthusiasm, you both finished and gave it to each other. both of you tried to match each others vibe, and it was successful!

sunoo loved the bracelet you made for him and you absolutely loved what he design for you, focusing on your name formed by the beads he carefully placed one by one. this is the proof christmas is more than presents, but about moments and simplicity.

𝒿ungwon ( 정원 )

JUNGWON REALLY WANTED SOMETHING MEANINGFUL and beautiful to gift for you for christmas.

his idea was lovely: bring you to necklace shop in which they take a very close-upped picture of each other’s iris and turn it into a beautiful memory that can be hanged around your neck.

you found the idea pretty amusing and beautiful once you heard about he’s plans, so he counted your amusement and brought you to the crafting shop— a fancy place, by the way.

you could choose between silver and gold jewellery and you matched his choice. overall, the picture came out really pretty and the necklace is kept around jungwon’s neck forever since; saying he is bringing a piece of you with him everywhere.

𝓇iki ( 니키 )

RIKI WANTED TO GIVE YOU something useful but at the same time meaningful. thinking like that, he decided to personalise a hoodie that at the same time matched his— couple like outfit.

so he took you to this cosy personalisation crafting shop and asked them to personalise a hoodie, describing what he wanted to write and the vision he was going for; letting the shop take it on their own hands to design it.

however, riki precisely asked to be the one painting it— with you, of course.

in the end, the hoodies came out so cute and a memorable moment was created. the design matched christmas and each other, but at the same time it looked kind of romantic and soft.

and of course, can’t forget about a specific part of the design in which his hoodie says: I love christmas. and yours said: I am christmas!

© 𝓪𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝓮, 𝗺𝗹𝘆𝘀𝗰𝗵𝗮 𝗌𝓽𝓾𝖽𝗂𝗈𝓼. ⋆ 24.

[thesassypadawan]

Toyland (Stephen x FemReader) *Blurb*

Summary:  You’ve been good all December long, hoping that your daddy would shower you with all the toys on your wish list.  Make it a truly magical and memorable Christmas Eve for you.

Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there sooo much of the smut.  Bit of a dom nerd, fun toys, special ‘playtime’, and… Stephen’s cute, big dick.

Notes:  Happy Holidays, lovelies!  Welcome to track four of my special holiday mix, Toyland! ❤️💚

- All too familiar feeling tug, pull at the pit of your stomach.  Growing stronger and more feverish as you slip that naughty, buzzing device between your soaked folds.  Further still until it plunges into, stretches your velvety walls.  Excited, elated giggles bubbling and spilling out from around your bright red ball…gag.

- “Like your new toys, angel?”  Perched, lounging on the plush couch.  Stephen smiles smugly, knowingly over the rim of his coffee mug.  “Of course you do.”  Watching with keen interest while you wriggle and writhe on the rug, in front of the tree.  “My little slut loves it when both her stockings get stuffed extra full.”  How you squirm and kick your legs happily when…

- Clicking the tiny remote twice…high-pitched, muffled squeals echo off the living room walls in response.  The vibrations in both your greedy holes becoming greater, so powerful that the humming practically rings in your ears.  Makes your teeth chatter, brain go a tiny bit dumb.  Toes curl ever so slightly.

- “That’s what I like to hear,” he chuckles, hint of condescension in his tone.  Taking one last long sip, he sets aside his drink.  Leaning forward, looming above you.  Free hand winding and encircling his big cock.  “Now why don’t you be a good girl.”  Pumping it slowly…fat tip an angry red, glistening with snowy beads of pre oozing from the slit.  “Show daddy how much you enjoy them.”

- Eagerly you obey, fingers fumbling.  Clumsily sinking your plaything in and out of your cunny.  Thumb sloppily circling and teasing your throbbing nub.  “Go on…”  Hips twitching and rocking in time with his steady strokes; your choppy, uneven thrusts.  Desperately trying to get it to drive deeper, to kiss and bruise your aching cervix.  “Let me see…”

- Another two clicks and your eyes start to roll, vison filling with blinding stars and fading to white.  Back arching slightly off the floor, thick thighs trembling.  “Come, sweetheart…”  From the overwhelming pleasure that shoots up your spine.  The effort and strain of your bouncing body, supporting your burdening weight.  The intensity of Stephen’s hungry gaze.  “Make a nice, big mess…”

- Chest rises and falls frantically.  Shallow, deep breaths and pants escape through your nose.  Teeth biting into, leaving faint impressions in the ball gag; taste of rubber, along with all those sweets you gobbled up earlier, flooding your mouth.  “Maybe then I’ll let you open, use another present…” 

- The coil inside you is so tight, the heat stifling.  Holes flutter and clench like crazy at the sound of rapid, wet slaps.  The symphony of gruff moans, low snarls.  “One that I’m sure…”     Slick trickles down your plump bottom, dripping onto the pile of strewn pieces of festive wrapping and bows beneath.  Mixing and mingling with his juices, to create a jolly cocktail.  “My babe will love even better…”

- Yet again he clicks twice.  Causing you to scream and cry quietly in joy all because…  You're spending a truly magical and memorable Christmas Eve.  Exactly how you wanted…  Spoiled rotten by your dotting daddy…  Surrounded, dwelling in your own personal Toyland…

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @laylaplease, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16, @loverforoldermen, @adorbzliz, @sythethecarrot, @divineani, @fuckmyskywalker, @jediavengers, @anisangeldust, @anakinstwinklebunny, @xhunnybeeex

@hearts4sammonroe, @pitas-star, @sythethecarrot, @naberriess, @steven-grants-world, @valyna27, @elcaballerodragon, @yayyy5678, @anakinsrilgirlfriend, @padme-urlove,  @brattyyybbg, @mrschr1stensen, @rosie-chan92, @beresfordsgirl, @darthdaddi, @icosmiclou

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles.

Along the Chimney with Care

Prompt Day 24: Stocking | Word Count: 550 | Rating: T | CW: None | Tags: Future Fic, Established Relationship, Learning New Skills, Teamwork Makes the Dream Work

"What are you doing?" Eddie asks, as he leans over Steve's shoulder as he sits at the dining room table. 

"Practicing," Steve answers, as he looks at the scrap of fabric in front of him at the sewing machine that he's dragged out of the deepest recesses of some closet.

"Practicing what?" Eddie asks, because it just looks like a bundle of tangled up threads.

Steve flips it over. 

It's a kind of badly done embroidered version of Eddie's name, but it makes him smile. It might not be anywhere near perfect, but he likes the effort Steve's clearly tried to make. Steve could have ordered them custom-made from somewhere else, or even gotten iron-on letters, but instead he's chosen to do it this way, for better or worse.

"What's this for?" Eddie asks, smiling.

"Stockings for Christmas. I mistakenly thought this looked easy. It is not easy," Steve says, and Eddie sits down.

"Let me help," Eddie offers, even if he has no idea what that will entail. But surely they can figure it out together. They've always been able to figure anything out, as long as they've done it together. Two heads are better than one, and all that shit.

Not to mention, Eddie can sew. In theory. By hand, for sure, and Wayne had an old machine Eddie used a few times while making vests and other shit. He's never made a stocking, but he's willing to try.

"It keeps tangling on the back," Steve laments, and Eddie slides the practice piece of fabric towards himself, so he can look at it more closely.

"Is there a manual?" Eddie asks, and Steve shakes his head. 

"Not that I've ever seen," Steve answers.

"Hmm," Eddie says. He understands the basics, maybe, but he's not sure he can do much by way of troubleshooting.

But he bets he knows who can.

"Joyce says to check the bobbin," Eddie says from the kitchen, holding onto the phone. 

"What's the bobbin?" Steve asks, standing up and looking at the top of the machine.

"What's the bobbin?" Eddie repeats.

Joyce laughs in his ear, "Oh, dear."

But she walks them through it. They take it out, rethread it through the machine, and then test it out.

It's better. It's definitely better.

"That fixed it!" Steve says, pumping his fist in the air, hollering, "Thanks, Joyce!"

"He says thanks," Eddie repeats to her over the line. 

She heard him. The whole block heard him.

Eddie sits on the couch and watches Steve hang the stockings along the chimney with care. They aren't perfect. Far from it. But they do have their names on them, and Steve made them. He also let Eddie sew patches on them, which makes them even more personal to each of them.

A joint effort. Eddie loves them in all their slightly wonky glory, and he hopes they use them for years to come. 

"Okay. They're Santa ready," Steve says, and Eddie grins. 

"I can't wait to see what Santa brings me," Eddie declares, rubbing his hands together in anticipation, and Steve just smiles like he has the biggest secret. 

"Coal, probably," Steve teases, and Eddie laughs, big and bright.

Steve's got something planned, something up his stocking, as it were, and Eddie can't wait to find out what.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun! 🧦

[happilyhertale]

Captured Moments – Modern Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Summary: Daemon has to go on a business trip again. You hate it every time he leaves you alone for a long time. But to make his alone time special, you plan to make him a little film.

Pairing: Modern Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; Fingering; Dirty Talk; Sex (p in v)

Author’s note:

This is my last story for this year's Smuffmas Challenge. It was great fun creating all these little stories and reading your comments on my stories. Thanks for reading!

I hope you'll also like my last Daemon story.

Word count: 2.2 k

Other stories of mine

12 Days of Smuffmas

12 Days of Smuff

Daemon is a man of many complexities. With the sleek, tailored suits he wore to business meetings, you almost forget that there is a certain fire beneath his cool exterior. He isn’t the kind of man to show his emotions easily, nor was he the type to stand still when there is a task to be done. But when he is with you, all of that seems to melt away.

But now, you are facing the reality of his business trip. The one he has to leave for so soon. You don‘t know how long he’d be gone, and that is the hardest part. He would normally give you exact dates and let you in on his plans. Usually to rant about his business partners. But this time, he didn't know how long he would be gone. And you hated it. You hate the uncertainty, you hate the distance that it created. And yet you know he has no choice. Duty, work, all of it… it doesn't make it any easer though.

You are in your bedroom now, your mind racing. The soft lighting in the room creats a sensual atmosphere, and as you gaze at the old camera on the dresser, the thought of giving Daemon a farewell gift consumes you. You aren’t the type to be overtly emotional, but this is different. You want to leave a piece of you with him, something tangible. Something to make him smile when he is far away.

You move to the bed, your fingers grazing the smooth silk sheets. Carefully, you strip out of your clothes, leaving only your lingerie—a white lace that clings to your skin, accentuating your curves. You aren’t trying to seduce him in the usual way; no, this is different. This is something deeper. You are offering him a part of yourself, a memory of you when the distance felt too much to bear.

You take a deep breath, adjusting the camera just so, making sure it has the right angle. This is the first time you are doing something like this, and a slight nervousness creeps in. But you push it down, telling yourself that Daemon would love it. After all, he appreciates the unconventional, the unexpected. You are certain this would be something that would make him smile when he was alone in some hotel room, far away.

The camera rolls as you lie back, eyes fluttering close for a moment as you imagine his reaction. You shift slightly, adjusting your position, arching your back slightly so the lace clung to you even more. You want him to feel your presence when he watches this. You want to be in his thoughts, every moment, every second.

What you didn’t realize was that Daemon was already closer than you thought.

Daemon is walking down the hallway when he hears a faint sound. He knows you are in the bedroom, but he hadn't expected this. Curiosity draws him closer, each step silent as he approaches the door. He peers through the crack, his heart beating slightly faster as he sees you lying there on the bed, dressed in nothing but lace and silk, the camera trained on you.

He grins. The look on your face—soft, sensual, and unaware—make something deep inside him stir. You have no idea he is watching.

His breathing slows as he leans against the doorframe, unable to avert his gaze. The way you move, the way the fabric of your underwear caresses your body, it's like a slow, seductive dance just for him. His eyes take in every detail, the way your chest rises and falls with each breath, the softness of your skin, without you noticing his presence. He feels his desire stirring, his length twitching.

Daemon is just standing in the doorway watching you. Your eyes are closed as your fingers glide over your body and you sigh softly. Do you imagine that they are his fingers? He feels his member twitch slightly again, but he just watches you. Your fingers glide over the fabric of your panties and you sigh again. You press against the fabric and he knows you are pressing against your bundle of nerves. Your hips move slightly as your fingers glide over the fabric in circles. The camera captures everything, every sigh and soft whimper as your fingers pick up speed.

He knows it is wrong to just stand there, to not make his presence known, but a thrill ran through him. He lets himself enjoy the moment—before stepping forward, slowly, deliberately.

With a deep breath, Daemon walks into the room, his footsteps silent as he approachs the bed. They haven't noticed him yet, but the air has changed as soon as he walks further into the room.

The cool confidence in his stride, the intensity of his presence—it is impossible to ignore. Slowly, he enters the room and watches you closely, but you don't notice. “Are you already preparing for my absence?“ His deep voice suddenly sounds. Your eyes flutter open and you gasp, "Daemon!" You sit up slightly and breathe a little heavily. “No, no... don't let me disturb you, go on,” he encourages you with a small smile around his lips.

“I wanted it to be a surprise for you!“ you pout a little. “Oh believe me, this is a surprise,“ he says and starts to unbutton his pants. “Daemon...” you start, but you can already feel the throbbing intensify between your thighs.

“And where did you dig that thing up?” he mumbles, while his pants slide down and he tilts his head in the direction of the camera. But you don't answer immediately, your attention is focused on his boxer shorts, which are already sliding towards the floor. His hardness springs free and the throbbing between your thighs becomes unbearable. You squeeze your thighs together. “I wanted you to have something to take with you on your business trip...“ you say, earning a chuckle from Daemon as you let yourself fall back onto the mattress. ”Well, I could watch a video of me keeping you company instead,“ he mumbles and crawls onto the bed. ”What...?” you start, but then you understand, “Oooh…“ you say.

But then he grabs you by the back of your knees and pulls you towards him. You let out a small squeak, but you can't stop smiling. Your legs wrap around his waist as if by themselves and you pull him closer. His scent envelops you as you press your face into his neck – his growl fills the room as he grinds his length against your core.

Your teeth dig lightly into his skin as his hip grinds against you in rhythm. His eyes flashing with primal desire,“Get them off, ” he mutters. Slowly, torturously, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and begins to drag them down your thighs, exposing your most intimate area to his hungry gaze.

He tosses your discarded underwear aside carelessly. His large hands skim up your sides, pushing your lingerie up to reveal the soft swell of your breasts.

Leaning down, he captures one pebbled nipple between his teeth, suckling and nibbling as his fingers find your slick folds, stroking teasingly. "So wet already, just for me... I bet this tight little cunt is aching to be filled, isn't it baby?".

You just whimper, ending in a desperate moan, your back arching slightly as Daemon teases your nipple with his teeth and tongue.

He smirks wickedly at your breathy moan, reveling in the power he holds over your pleasure. Slowly, deliberately, he sinks two long fingers knuckle-deep into your sopping wet heat, pumping them in and out at a maddeningly slow pace

"Fuck, you're dripping, babe," he groans, curling his fingers to stroke that sensitive spot inside you. "This greedy cunt is sucking me in, like it never wants to let go."

His thumb finds your clit, circling the swollen nub in tight, fast circles as he increases the speed of his thrusting fingers. Leaning down, he laves his tongue over your neglected nipple again before drawing it into his mouth to suck hard, which makes you moan.

"That's it, let me hear those pretty noises," he demands huskily against your breast.

Releasing your nipple with a wet pop, he starts trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck, occasionally grazing his teeth over your racing pulse point.

"I'm going to ruin you for anyone else," he moans and you whimper in reply, your hips moving against his fingers as you want to feel him deeper inside you.

He just smirks wickedly at your wanton response, enjoying the sight of you writhing beneath him, flushed and panting with need. Sliding his two long fingers deeper inside your dripping channel, he curls them just right, rubbing against that sensitive spot within. Your pussy is dripping and you feel your walls flutter around his fingers. Daemon's teeth dig into the soft skin of your neck and you moan out again.

"Mmmm, such a responsive little thing you are," he groans approvingly, pumping his digits slowly. "Clenching so greedily around my fingers, like this greedy cunt is starving for my cock."

And in that moment, Daemon pulls his fingers out of your dripping heat. You whimper in protest and look up at him as he sits up slightly. He grins cheekily as he sees you lying there, breathing heavily and spread for him.

He fists his length in his hand, pumping it a few times, your slick on his fingers aiding the motion. You watch his long and thick manhood as he strokes it, and your pussy clenches around nothing. Even in the dim light of the room, you can see a pearly bead of liquid forming at the tip, and you bite your lip in anticipation. He grunts as he fucks his fist, biting his lip as well as his eyes roam over your naked form.

He leans down again, letting the tip slide through your pussy and you whimper again as he thrusts shallowly against your opening. You try to push your hips towards him because you finally want to feel him inside you.

A stifled groan escapes his lips as you grind your folds against his cock.

“So impatient,” he murmurs, but then he gives in and you feel the stretch. You gasp as he penetrates deeper inch by inch. He growls as he feels your pussy clench and pushes deeper. The way your walls wrap around his shaft, drawing him deeper and deeper inside until his swollen tip presses against your cervix. You're so tight and wet, you're leaking all over his cock.

He gives you a moment to adjust to his size before he slides out almost completely and then pushes into you again. His thrusts get faster and harder, making you moan and gasp. His balls slap against your ass with every powerful thrust. The tip of his cock hits your cervix with more force and you cry out slightly. The bed creaks with every movement and your back arches slightly, wanting to feel him deeper. When Daemon suddenly grabs your legs and puts them over his shoulders. You gasp and look at him, but before you can react, he slides back into your pussy. You moan and your eyes roll back into your head. Daemon growls, he feels your pussy fluttering around his cock. He thrusts deeper into your heat, leaning forward a little to make you scream. “Daemon!” you scream, and he grunts. He stretches you out, deepening the angle even more. “YES! Let me hear how deep you need it!” he grunts.

He pulls out for merely a second before slamming back in with full force, electrifying every nerve in your body and coaxing more sounds out of you. Your legs are still over his shoulder, he has a firm grip on you while he fucks hard into you. Tears form in your eyes as Daemon holds your thighs. His grunts get louder and louder as he feels your pussy start to milk his cock.

He can feel how close you are and his fingers glide to your clit. He rubs your clit wildly, playing with your clit, his fingers drenched from your slick, making you see stars while you clench hard around him. “Come on, come on my cock!” he growls and you whimper as he thrusts deeper and you can't hold back anymore. You come and feel your orgasm rush through your body as you moan. Your pussy clenching hard around his cock and he grunts. He slides in and out until he spills his hot seed within your clenching cunt. He cums hard, his cock throbbing inside you with abandon as he grunts and groans. Part of him delights in the thought of marking you, of filling you with a hot, sticky reminder of him.

His motion becomes sloppy and he growls until every drop is milked from his cock.

You are breathing heavily, your eyes are closed. Daemon lets your legs slide off his shoulders before he leans down and kisses you. Almost gently, in contrast to the previous moment. After he breaks the kiss, your eyes fall back on the camera that has captured all this. But before you can say anything, you hear Daemon's hoarse voice. “Now I have a great video for those lonely moments,” he murmurs against your skin and you giggle slightly.