#but i might switch it up around… sometime…
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myownwholewildworld · 2 days ago
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AAAAHHHHHHLASDJLAHDSNNSPÑ1DE
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the way these two make me fucking feral is ALARMING, KAT!!!! how you write Javi and this reader has ME on a fucking HEADLOCK TOO, like wtf???? how can i be jealous of myself while reading this?? because I AM. damn. she’s a tease and he’s a flirt, a match made in heaven i’m telling ya!
i knew the whole winter getaway trip was gonna be una puta delicia and girl, you. delivered. real. hard. i love this reader too, because “God, this man could fuck me to death, and I’d die happy” is so fucking relatable it’s scary really. i loved the part where Frankie reappears in the bar and how the POV switches to Javi, so we get to see how much he truly cares for reader, how he loves her (screaming crying throwing up i need a goddamn love confession or i’mma cry my eyes out). i tend to love PP boy’s POVs more than reader’s in most stories (oops i might be alone here lmao) and THIS IS WHY.
anyway, the smut was perfect, them filming each other and passing the camcorder around and forgetting about it sometimes because the passion was too strong? yeah. YEAAAAH. and the HEADLOCK. NAH, BURY ME BC I AM DECEASED. i need them biblically, carnally, wholeheartedly.
muchas gracias por compartir esta obra de arte con nosotrxs asdfghjklñ 💖
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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.
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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.”
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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.
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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.”
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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.
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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.”
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“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.
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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 .
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vidals-harkness · 2 days ago
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i’ll come back to you (lilia calderu)
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summary: lilia meets agatha, and has to convinve you--her inexhaustible 'stray' baby witch--to allow her, before she embarks on a journey to the witch's road.
fic type: angst/fluff
pairings: lilia calderu x fem!child!reader (family)
warnings: reader invading agatha's personal space, some crying, so much soft lilia you might just weep <3
word count: 1.4k
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Afternoons in the sleepy town of Westview were very often uneventful.
A gentle breeze carded through the curtains, ruffling the papers on the table, eviction notice included. The birds twittered faintly outside, along the cars which rolled past with a steady, quiet rumble. The windchimes jingled softly, caught in the wind's dance, the suncatchers on the windows casting tiny rainbows on the hardwood floors.
The kettle rattled as you kept an eye on it like Lilia had asked. Beside it, a pot stood full of dinner--contents of it long gone cold.
Through the quaint shop in the front, you heard a jingle. You reached up and switched off the kettle, following Lilia as she took her place through the beaded curtain.
The front room, or, the shop, was lit with candles, Lilia's magic keeping them from overheating the place. The scent of essential oils and incense was strong, but comforting. You took your place beside the nearby shelves, ready to help Lilia.
"Welcome to the curious," she said mystically as two people--a boy and a woman who had a strange energy around her. You didn't like it. Or rather it took you longer than usual to get used to it.
"Good day, madam," said the woman in a thick Southern accent. "Oh, thank you so much for seein' us,"
"You look strange," you admitted, coming up to her and touching her shawl.
"Y/n, sweet little, if you could please step away," Lilia smiled, noting the look of scorn and disgust on Agatha's face as she yanked the shawl out of your grasp. Trying to quell the situation, she added, "Don't mind my apprentice, she is young, a bit too curious sometimes,"
"That'll get her in a few spats," Agatha muttered, hissing at you like a cat, making you frown.
"Y/n, can you go out back, find me my special deck of tarot cards?” Lilia smiled, looking at you pointedly.
You nodded immediately, rushing out back to find the special deck--the one which felt like her, the one which made you feel safe.
"Miss L--huh?" You skipped back to the reading room, to find her nowhere to be seen.
You heard pained yelling from the kitchen and saw her--golden aura around her head like a halo, making you concerned. You hurried over, tugging at her sleeve for her attention.
"Miss Lilia," you whispered, poking her slightly. "It's just your mind, it's making up silly stuff,"
She took a deep breath, smiling down at you. "You're such a darling, sweet little," she chuckled.
"So you’re a bit of a kook. Every witch has their process," Agatha butted in. "You showed some real skill out there,"
"I didn’t read your fortune. I read your reputation," Lilia said, turning to her, placing a hand on your chest to push you behind her protectively. "Witches like you are the reason people think we poison apples, and steal children, and eat babies,"
"You eat babies, Miss Lilia?" You gasped, looking up at her, tiny brows furrowed with worry.
Her nose scrunched a bit as she smiled and shook her head. "No, sweet little, I don't,"
"I do," said Agatha. "Babies are delicious,"
"Ugh," Lilia groaned, going over to the stove to start with dinner.
You went over to Agatha where she sat on the sofa, poking at her inquisitively. "I've never met a baby-eating witch before..."
The chaos witch made a face at you. Despite her ease around children, you made her regret ever having an affinity towards them. "No, shoo, get away," she said, flicking your nose.
"Ow!" You exclaimed, pushing her shoulder.
"Y/n," Lilia warned without turning around. "What did I say about space?"
Agatha made that hissing noise at you again, which you countered with a blown raspberry before you stood next to Lilia again.
"How old are you? 410? 415?" Agatha asked, giving the older witch a once-over.
She turned sharply, offended. "How dare you?"
"Oh, I apologize," she chuckled in return. "You don’t look a day under 450,"
"Years old?" Teen asked, baffled.
"Mhm, Miss Lilia is very old," you nodded at him, which earned you a sharp but gentle smack upside the head.
"You get, what, maybe two suckers a day in here, and 20 bucks later, you’re sitting on a bed that’s also your wall," Agatha pointed out, her hand gesturing at the bed you and LIlia shared. Which, to be honest, was indeed a bed that was also a wall.
Agatha stood up, trying her hardest to convince her. "Don’t you miss the glory days?"
"When I was chased out of every village I passed through for accurately predicting tragedy?" Lilia asked, heading towards the kitchen. "No, I do not. Beat it, Harkness,"
"Yeah, beat it, Harkness," you said, crossing your arms to give Agatha a once-over.
"Tell your familiar to watch it," Agatha snapped.
"Absolutely not, you heard her," Lilia scoffed. "Beat it,"
"I’m gonna walk The Road," she finally admitted.
"The Road is a death wish,"
"I survived,"
"Yeah? Where’s your power now?"
A beat passed. She'd hit a nerve.
"Time to restock," she countered finally. "I need a Divination Witch,"
"Are you honestly asking me to coven up with the single most infamous witch on this continent?" Lilia laughed.
"Oh, please. Name a badder bitch in South America, or Europe," Teen said, crossing his arms.
Lilia gave him a look, scrutinising him. "Who is this child?"
Before he could reply, Agatha butted in. "My pet. This is my pet. Say hi, pet,"
Looking like he'd have rather swallowed nails, he sighed, "Hi,"
"Hi, pet!" You smiled, giving him a high-five.
"Y/n, sweet little, why don't you go play outside?" Lilia asked, patting your head gently, her gaze fixated on Agatha's.
You huffed, but nevertheless obeyed, grabbing a stick to play with as you went outside of the shop to play in the empty street outside.
Eventually, Agatha left with a disgruntled hiss at you, which you again countered with a raspberry, stomping back inside.
The candles were dimmed, and there came the sounds of Lilia singing soft Sicilian love songs in the kitchen. The pot bubbled, the refrigerator hummed, the lights buzzed and flickered.
"Sweet little, would you be a dear and set the table for me, please?" Lilia asked with a soft smile, turning to you, her song ceasing momentarily.
You nodded, grabbing the plate for yourself and placing it on the table. You sensed a variation in her energy, and asked, "Miss Lilia, why was Miss Harkness asking about the Witch's Road?"
Lilia paused, plating up the pasta she'd made. Her expression was thoughtful as she sat, handing you a fork.
"Well...Miss Agatha needs me for a sort of...plan that she has," she explained as you started to eat.
"Why does she need you?" You asked, swinging your legs a little as you ate happily.
Lilia's heart swelled--such an adorable thing you were, and she'd have to leave it behind. She didn't want to, but she had to.
"The process to begin the plan involves me, sweet little," she said, standing up as you did, too, plate in hand.
"You're super important then," you said, yawning a little. Afternoon nap time.
"Mhm," she hummed, scooping you up in her arms, grinning aas you squealed. "Super important,"
"I think that's so cool, Miss Lilia," you giggled softly.
"Problem is, sweet little, I'll be gone for some time," she whispered, laying down with you in bed, you flat on your b ack while she lay on her side, head propped up on her fist.
Your heart stopped. "G-Gone?" You whimpered, hand coming up to grip her shawl. "I don't want you gone,"
Her heart broke. "I know my little dove," she said, stroking your hair soothingly. "But I'll be back before you know it, I promise."
"No, no, no," you shook your head, tears streaming down your soft cheeks. "You're not gonna go!"
Lilia was quick to pull you close, your head on her chest as she soothed you by rubbing your back in gentle circles. "I have to go, sweet little, but don't fret, I'll come back..."
"But--but--" you began to protest, but her voice was firm.
"I will return to you," she said. "Have I ever broken my promise?"
You sniffled and shook your head. "N-No, Miss Lilia,"
"Have I ever lied?" She asked, making you face her, one hand wiping your tears.
You shook your head again. "N-No, Miss Lilia..."
"Precisely," she chuckled, kissing your forehead. "I'll come back to you, I promise,"
You nodded, eyes drooping as she rocked you to sleep, your worries washing away slowly as the tide of drowsiness dragged them away. One thought was what kept you content, one simple thought.
She'll come back to you.
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hi my bao buns! jace here! i'm so sorry i've been mia for so long, but i'm back now! i would like to thank my anon bao buns as well as @lilia-caldareyou and @evildin0saur for motivating me to write again <3 thank you all!
love, jace
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librarisxng · 1 day ago
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ATEEZ SMALL PERFUME REVIEW: KILIAN — BLACK PHANTOM
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disclaimer: this is not meant to be a serious perfume review, this is something fun for me to do as I love perfume. each and every one of us have different tastes and preferences when it comes to fragrances. what works for me might not work for you, vice versa. I’ll try my best to describe the scents but I will always suggest for you to go and smell them yourself before purchase. if you want to try these perfumes, please test or get a sample before committing to the bottle. picture credits to all owners.
ateez member: mingi
fragrance family: gourmand woods
notes:
top — rum
heart — coffee, cyanide
base — vetiver, sugarcane, sandalwood
my scent experience:
the fragrance starts off smelling like chocolate. there is a sweet element to it, from the rum but it’s overpowered by the overwhelming scent of chocolate and if anyone is familiar with my reviews, we know that chocolate isn’t my favorite scent. as it settles, it starts smelling like coffee and almonds which fun fact, is what cyanide smells like. well, some cyanides are odorless, but some are known to have a bitter almond scent. I was thinking to myself why this perfume had an almondy element to it but then I remembered this fact. also, I’m pretty sure it’s cyanide accord, meaning there’s no actual cyanide in the perfume but a mixture of scents created to mimic that particular scent. the dry down is warm and woody from the vetiver and sandalwood which is perfect for the colder season. think of a mocha that’s heavy on the chocolate with a bit of almond.
the projection is quite strong as anything that smells like chocolate tends to be overpowering when I wear it so I was a walking chocolate bar for a moment. the longevity is pretty good, it lasted around 6 hours on my skin. well for a kilian perfume I expected it to stick around for a while. that being said, can’t say I enjoyed it at first but towards the end, I didn’t mind it. this is a scent you definitely need to test out before purchasing it as it can be nauseating even for intense perfume lovers like me.
additional notes from me:
I was honestly surprised that Mingi uses this perfume as he tends to go for light and citrusy scents. this being in his collection means that he likes some sort of variety in his scents and switches it up from time to time. I’m definitely someone who encourages people to have a variety of olfactive families in their collection because sometimes you want to smell different. sometimes having only one scent family can be boring or might not be suitable for a particular occasion or season so having different types of scents is ideal if you want a small, curated collection. but of course, you can own multiple scents within the same olfactive family.
who would I recommend this to?
anyone who likes the scent of chocolate and coffee.
those who want a dark gourmand and are willing to splurge on a bottle.
anyone who wants to try Kilian fragrances.
if you’ve made it to the end, thank you for reading this review!! apologies for getting a little sidetracked with the whole cyanide talk but it is an interesting note to add into a fragrance. this is the last review of year so I hope you have a wonderful new year and hopefully 2025 will be a better year for everyone!!
review written by librarisxng 2024
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aka-indulgence · 3 months ago
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OOOO WHAT'S THE NEW HAIR LOOK LIKE!! 👀😍
Something like this!
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brb going to look for some monsters to smoch
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salemontrial · 9 months ago
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Why the FUCK didn't Sasha apologize to Quinni.
#no im so pissed about that.#dude you don't give an autistic person a meltdown that big over something that hurtful#and just#walk away scot free#last time someone gave me a meltdown that hardcore I cut them off for a month.#that might just be the bpd tho#but still#quinni doesn't seem like the type to just. be chill without an apology and hearing sasha explain herself#and then she makes her her vice??????????#she already acknowledged sasha is only in it for the power trip#sasha didn't even do anything in the investigation she just followed quinni around#which as she should#but she hasn't made up for how she treated quinni AT ALL#in fact she's just gotten MORE of a performative activist#like why the fuck was she such a bitch to missy abt spider#i get it yea. ur friends sometimes have dogshit taste in men but you don't need to make them feel like trash abt it#and the way she was like 'he fetishizes u for being black omg its probably asian girls next omg i dont feel safe'#THIS ISNT ABOUT YOU????????.#also she 100% jumpstarted quinnis identity crisis#with how she was constantly switching between infantilizing her and undermining her autonomy over her own decisions#and treating doing things quinni wanted to do and the specific way she needed to do them as a chore#and then victimizing herself!!!!!!!#like from experience that relationship dynamic IS abusive to autistic people it just is#idk if nt people get it but it's really fucking awful to come from your partner#anyway. until sasha apologizes to both quinni and missy this will continue to be a sasha hate page.#heartbreak high#heartbreak high season 2#quinni gallagher jones#sasha so#missy beckett
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keeps-ache · 2 months ago
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buttered noodles 💫💛🍜
#just me hi#it's just a Lot of butter cuz i don't like having pasta sauce w/ parmesan (something wrong w/ that idk hfbshv) so :3#i was thinking of putting garlic in it but idk if that would be good... do i wanna take the risk.. i mean you can't really go wrong with#garlic... Hmmmm....#//oh yea i am definitely gonna switch up my main blog theme ehe :3#and maybe my rb blog's theme too cuz i liked it when the colours were matching lol#maaaybe to blue.. i don't remember if i've ever had a blue theme so this might be the first blue theme ehe :3#i just like to have an Image for the banner so i need to figure out what i'd like that to be.. hmnmnmnmnm!#//alright you know what i'm gonna put garlic in this one second lolll#okay i put black pepper and garlic in it's not too bad :)#prolly shoulda put more salt in too cuz i'm craving it. salt <3#/having spaghetti cuz the meal is actually supposed to be eggs and i cannot have that lol#some people are upset about this! like my dad. and my brother who is making the food lmfsh#i didn't know food was being made i am innocent in this !! probably anyway#like nobody is more displeased by this than me dude. i wish people could actually like. describe what some foods taste like so that i could#actually see why they like them#but you ask and they say 'what are you talking about? it's just egg' but 'Just Egg' SUCKS dude what is Your Egg like. pretty please kfshvjg#and grapefruit? grapefuit sucks but my mom likes it and i can't understand Why#and i wanna ask what it's actually like and why she likes it but she only says 'idk it's good with salt' what does that MEAN#how does the taste change?? how would you describe it before that ? clearly it was good enough before the salt or you wouldn't have tried i#with that!! i just wanna know !!!!!#dark chocolate ?? Please ??? do you like the taste of restrained anger and resentment cuz that's what it tastes like lmao ???#Coffee ??????? i can't understand coffee without a bajillion tons of sugar (+ other things) masking the taste how do you. Deal#not even deal- Enjoy !! how are you enjoying it !!! Why !!!! and why does everyone think i'm trying to convince them it's bad when i ask#LMAO--#like i'm not trying to say it's bad i'm trying to figure out how it's good please. Please Man lmfvshjfvhgfks#okay so clearly i have thoughts on all that LMfvshgjhfs#bitter stuff sucks and i barely like sour stuff Sometimes. food is all around good though so lol 👍#//alr i'm gonna. [starts scooching away]#i am almost out of tags (rip unlimited tags i miss you so bad hfsvh <3) edit: i ran out LMFVHS ; TOODLES !!
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icewindandboringhorror · 8 months ago
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If you became super rich and could design your own house, but could only add THREE unnecessary/random/expensive home additions (like how people will have bowling alleys, movie theatres, closets with museums of shoes, car display rooms, spa rooms, wine cellars, etc. in their mansions) - what three would you choose?
#I think I would have: an indoor pool (but like heavily customized with a faux weather system so I could get the feeling of swimming in#rain or fog or snow etc.). a very small arcade consisting only of skee-ball and DDR machines. and an old Library Room with authentic#historical furniture/interior design to store old books/tapestries/study room equipment/whatever other antiques I'd collect. It'd be#like some fully intricate movie set or something that would feel completely like stepping into another world/time.#Though I might would trade out the arcade for a roller skating rink.. i DO love skating....#And I wouldve put rock climbing gym because I love indoor rock climbing but.. as I understand it they have to change out the rock things#on the walls every once in a while so that you can have new routes and it doesnt get boring. and I'd rather have an activty room thats like#self sustaining and doesnt require me to hire some person to come switch things around once every month. Otherwise I would#totally do that instead.#I'm also personally not counting ''craft'' type stuff like having a pottery room kiln sort of thing because#that doesn't count as 'unnessecary' to me. since stuff like that would not at all be just a hobby I 'happen to#do sometimes for fun'#but would definitely be a career sort of thing. Like if I had the money for a fully stocked sculpture room and and a sewing room#with a good machine and etc. then I would literally be professionally selling pottery and designing clothing and etc.#so I wouldn't count it as 'just a random side room I dont need' etc.#The same way that if I played tennis professionally or as a very intense hobby that takes up most of my life/time#then I wouldn't count having a tennis court in your house to practice in as 'unncesscarry' etc.#wow that is the worst I have ever spelt that word ghbjh#Un Cess Carry#ALSO would obviously have an underground bunker of some sort with food and emergency supplies which also does not count as unnecessary to m#since it's literally like... survival.. And I thought most health organizations literally reccomend that even#the common person has a small 'go bag' prepared in their house. and like an evacuation plan in case of fire or other things#It WOULD be an unnecessary rich person thing to have a full on undergRound village or something stocked with 9000 guns and#whaetever. but I think just a basic emergency room with basic supplies could still be counted under the 'not unnecessary' requirement.#Like I would say that a sprawling courtyard of flower gardens and fountains and hedge mazes that takes up like a hundred thousand#dollars a year in maintenance would count as one of the three 'unnecessary and expensive' things. But having a small garden in the#back yard with a few planters in a little greenhouse or whatever would not. The 'excessiveness' of the thing matters lol#ANYWAY!!!#Just curious what other peoples Three Main things would be... hrrmm
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undyinglantern · 2 years ago
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the amount of surprised pika “wait people actually shave their arms?” comments on posts about body hair are so funny like I unironically am so happy for you that you weren’t laughed at by a classmate for having hairy arms “like a man” in like 4th grade this is why I wish body hair conversations would stop centering around armpit hair
#okay that’s the tldr but the way I actually remember it is that the classmate (a boy) pointed out my arm hair and ask why so hairy#and I genuinely was so confused I was just like idk??? and then later at home that day I asked my mom about it and she was like#It’s bc your dads side of the family is hairy so then I later talked to that guy again like ‘I take after my dad’ or whatever#And /then/ is when he laughed and was like ‘but you’re a girl’ about it#Granted I’m non-binary but like I didn’t know that in elementary#Plus I didn’t stop shaving until around mid 2010s and was still self conscious about it for years#Like I remember feeling embarrassed during college (2018ish) if I had to use the rest room and someone else was in there when I would roll#My sleeves up to wash my hands#Anyways I eventually stopped caring about it sometime within the last year or 2 but see how long that took? It really shouldnt#Like some of us just genetically have more darker thicker visible body hair than others and we shouldn’t be shamed for it#One thing at a time though because even I’m still working through leg hair shame#I don’t shave them anymore but I also haven’t worn shorts outside of my bedroom in years#I’ll literally switch into shorts if it’s too hot right before bed and switch back into pants before stepping out of my room in the morning#I’ve been feeling cute the past few days and it’s starting to warm up again plus also had a convo w mom recently so#I might change that soon but only within the house still bc baby steps <3#Anyways I’m just rambling now so I should stop. Good night !!
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p5x-theories · 1 year ago
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Hey this guy is a native speaker and you can hear him say the names of the new thieves. Yui, Hina Nishimori, Toshiya Sugai, and Miyu Sahara. Idk if he’s speaking 8n Chinese or Japanese but the names sound clear. https://www.youtube.com/live/6fQz402kUg4?si=RId-nY6Gk7ju9RL2 at 40:43
Oh, haha, I was just about to post a link to his stream of the preview livestream, for anyone else who was curious to see it!
He's speaking Japanese, which means his readings of the names (which are written in Japanese) are probably a more accurate guess than what I'm doing with my dictionary, yeah. The kanji characters that Japanese names are usually written with often have multiple ways they can be read, though, and my understanding is that even if you're a native speaker, the first reading of the name that comes to mind may not always be the correct one, in the same way you could misread a name in English because you've heard it pronounced one way, but the person whose name it is pronounces it another way.
Which isn't to say I think he's wrong necessarily! Just that (at least as I understand it as someone learning Japanese) it's still not 100% confirmation those are their canon names, so I'll hold off on calling anything "confirmed" until I hear the names in-game, just to be safe.
(Though, to be clear, I do consider Yui confirmed, since they write that name in English in some cases as well, haha. The above explanation applies to the three names written in Japanese.)
But thanks for sending this in, all the same!
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cyrsed · 1 year ago
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sherbovania · 2 years ago
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i'm workin on sami's lore post as we speak but i got a lot of miscellaneous and unorganized thoughts pertaining to her that absolutely do not belong anywhere except the Sapphic Brainworms Containment Zone (right here). also strategically posting this late into the night so the normans that follow me are less likely to see it (it is a tiny bit embarrassing sorry)
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wereh0gz · 3 months ago
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Started replaying sonic frontiers and have been having a blast but also why is the switch version so fucked
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youssefguedira · 4 months ago
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watching ripley again while normal IS changing my opinion on the show somewhat. very silly still fun to watch but like. it is SO stripped down and sometimes a liiiiiittle bit robotic and i GET that's what they're going for but on this watch i am sometimes not vibing with it. however i think this is in turn making the show all the more compelling for the fact that i cannot decide how i even feel about it
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prismit · 1 year ago
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a couple treat/sweet thieves tips for playing offense:
have nametags on so the defenders can't ambush you
remember that it's fall guys, you don't need to have sneak 100, just juke em out and it works most of the time :p
#fall guys#more tips which are irrelevant to the clip (including defender tips) in the tags:#also best way to use sneaking imo:#grab a candy while a defender is watching but not too close to you. run a little bit in one direction. then go invisible and turn around#unless the defender is super dedicated to their post they'll start chasing where they THINK you're going & you can safely go the other path#and if they ARE dedicated to their post you can still get away with it because. they're not chasing you at all#btw i haven't played regular sweet thieves at all yet because i only just started playing again so idk if it's different aside from theme#also my tips for defense is: jump-dive-grab seems to work better than just dive-grab. also look where everyone runs at the start#the side without walls is obviously easier to steal from but you still need to check the walled side regularly#jail button is way easier for the offense to get to than people think so it's best to only defend that if there's only a couple people left#but going to the button is of course still good as a scouting point to see if there's a weak point they're exploiting#this is a game of mind games so just directly chasing someone usually won't get you anywhere#don't hesitate to give up a chase and focus elsewhere because you might be falling for a distraction#also sometimes it pays off to just randomly grab around a little in case someone's around relying way too much on invisibility#other than that unless you're in call with friends it's pretty luck based since if you get teammates who don't know how to defend well...#you can't really catch 8 people by yourself lol#and in my experience offense is way easier than defense#so unless you get a lot of switch players who have to deal with forever jail then defenders seem to generally be at a disadvantage#unless you're playing defense with a team of friends of course. that ability to properly coordinate really goes a long way
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gloomwitchwrites · 7 months ago
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You introduce your husband as your "boyfriend" to annoy them.
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Anon! This prompt has me screaming! I really enjoyed writing for this one because it's such a fun idea. Sure, our 141 boys might be a little mad that they aren't being called by their proper title, but you know they'll just love punishing you for it.
I went a little different with this one. Instead of introductions, I made it so that reader is constantly referring to them as "boyfriend" in public settings. Depending on the situation, introductions wouldn't make sense if it was with friends, family, or coworkers because they would likely already know that they're "husband" and not "boyfriend." So i changed it up a bit in that way!
Some of these fall into spicy territory without being descriptive.
For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE
Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical swearing, suggestive themes, non-descriptive mentions of sex, fade to black, brief dirty talk
ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if series masterlist
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Simon "Ghost" Riley
Simon shakes his head and you roll your eyes.
“We can ask someone for help,” you suggest, scanning the massive wall of televisions.
Simon grunts and crosses his arms. “No.”
Sometimes Simon’s stubbornness is cute—even sexy—but right now you’re just annoyed with him. It makes you want to stir up trouble, to cause a little chaos just for the fun of it. Pouting, you turn, eyes narrowing to find an associate of the electronics store. When you spot one near the HDMI cables, you take off, not caring if Simon follows.
“Excuse me.”
The man’s head perks up. “How can I help you?”
You gesture behind you, your hand smacking into Simon’s chest. “My boyfriend—”
“Boyfriend?” growls Simon, but you ignore him.
“—can’t decide on a television.”
Simon is not your boyfriend. He’s your husband. But he’s being stubborn, not making a decision, and you want out of this store.
Shifting, you place one hand on Simon’s large bicep, grinning like you haven’t done anything at all. Simon’s hand immediately grabs your ass, squeezing hard. A warning. One that you ignore.
“I can help with that,” replies the associate. You glance at the man’s nametag. Jim.
“Thank you so much, Jim.” You lean against Simon, giving Jim your best smile. “Getting this guy to commit to anything is so hard sometimes, ya know?”
Jim makes a noncommittal noise as he walks toward the wall of televisions. You start to follow but Simon’s hold on your ass tightens, keeping you pressed against him. Simon leans down, his lips brushing against your ear.
“What are you doing?” he whispers.
You elbow Simon in the side but it’s not hard. He lets go, keeping close to you as the two of you follow Jim over to the televisions. Standing back, you watch with glee as Simon is forced to talk to Jim. You stay out of it, but notice Simon’s gaze switching to you every so often.
You already know what he’s thinking. He’ll likely want to punish you, and sometimes those punishments are so sweet.
Once Simon selects something and the two of you are at the car, there is no safety net. Simon shuts the trunk and then you’re pressed against the car, your body trapped between it and Simon’s massive form.
“Boyfriend?” he accuses.
You shrug. “What do you mean?”
The growl in Simon’s throat comes out a groan. “Get in the car.” He lightly slaps your ass as you open the passenger door.
As you start to slide in, Simon’s hand returns, this time slipping under your skirt to find your thin, lace underwear. He tugs sharply, ripping the fabric.
“Simon!”
He stuffs the underwear into his pocket. “You don’t need these.” You feel your face growing hot.
Simon shuts your car door and walks around the driver’s side, hopping in. He reaches out, placing one large hand on your bare thigh. It roams upward, squeezing, sending a shiver of lust up your body to make your head spin. “When we get home, I’m fucking that boyfriend nonsense right out of you.”
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
“I’m so sorry, but this isn’t what my boyfriend ordered.”
Kyle frowns and glances up from his phone’s screen. That’s your voice he hears, but the term of address isn’t right.
Boyfriend. Not husband, as it fucking should be.
Kyle glances in your direction but you’re not looking at him. You’re smiling sweetly at the barista behind the counter.
“It should be hot. Not iced. I might have messed up. I’m so sorry. I can pay for another.” You raise your hands in a placating gesture but the barista doesn’t appear fazed at all.
“No biggie. Keep that one. Won’t take me more than a minute or two.”
“Thank you so much.” You glance at Kyle, and your smirk tells him all he needs to know.
You’re being a tease. You’re doing this on purpose. The drink order is wrong, and you’re using this as an excuse to poke at him.
Kyle locks his phone and casually slides it into his pocket. Do you think you’re going to annoy him by doing this? Maybe. The little smirk on your face tells him that’s entirely what you have in mind.
But the joke is on you. Doesn’t matter if you refer to him as “boyfriend,” because all it’ll earn you is a punishment.
As the barista slides the new drink across the counter to you, you thank them profusely. “Thank you so much. My boyfriend will really appreciate it.”
The barista only nods and turns back to the espresso machine.
As you approach with the coffee, Kyle gentle removes the drink from your grasp.
“Boyfriend?” he asks, amused.
You shake your head like you have no idea what he’s on about. “What?”
Kyle laughs and snags the other drink from your hand. With shock on your face, he strides up to the counter. “Can you set these aside for us? Be right back.”
They only nod and continue working. Kyle snags your wrist and drags you to the little hallway that curves out around. There are a few private corners in there, and the hallway itself opens up into the nearby bookstore.
Kyle checks the handle on the unisex bathroom. Finding it unlocked, he draws you inside.
“Kyle,” you hiss, but he’s not having any of it.
Kyle engages the lock and presses you up against the door.
“You owe me an apology,” he says.
“For what?” Kyle tuts, his hand sliding to the back of your neck. “Get on your knees,” he murmurs, undoing his belt buckle with the other hand. “Apologize with that gorgeous mouth of yours.”
John Price
John leans back in his chair, agitation irritating his spine.
House hunting isn’t something he’s particularly excited about. He is happy that it’s with you, his wife, but the tediousness of it all is exhausting to him. John would rather have you select a few places to tour and then be done with it all. Money isn’t the issue. He just wants you to find a place you like and the two of you can go from there.
He’d live in a tent if that’s what you want.
“My boyfriend isn’t all that picky.”
Boyfriend? John is tugged from his inner musings by your voice and that term of address. Boyfriend. Why the fuck would you call him that? John isn’t your boyfriend. He’s your goddamn husband.
You reach out, planting a hand on his thigh. You squeeze softly as you always do when you’re trying to reassure him, but John frowns down at it, and then looks up at you. You’re not looking at him. You’re staring at the realtor, completely ignoring him.
John licks his lips, considering whether to correct you or not, or leaving it up to a simple mistake, but you do it again.
This time, John didn’t mishear you.
Your hand squeezes his thigh again and Price rests his hand over yours. His fingers enclose your palm and he holds firm. You glance at him and John shoots you his best warning look. You don’t even react. Don’t event blink.
No. He’s going to correct you. He is absolutely fucking correcting you.
The realtor pivots the computer monitor. “I think any boyfriend would agree that these are excellent selections.”
That’s fucking it.
Price shoots up from his seat, keeping a tight grip on your hand. “I need to speak with my—” John pauses, swallowing down his annoyance. “Girlfriend. Privately.”
The realtor shrugs, smiling, but John is already turning around, dragging you out the door. Outside, the stuffy, summer air does nothing to soothe his annoyance.
“Boyfriend? Fucking boyfriend?” John crosses his arms over his chest, looming over you.
You shrug. “What’s the problem?”
“Behave yourself,” he says, lowering his voice.
“Or what?” you ask in mock innocence.
So, this is what you want. John understands the moment the words leave your mouth. You’re fucking teasing him. Fine. He’ll make you learn.
“We are gonna go back in, thank the kind woman for her time, and then we’re leaving.”
“No. I want to stay.”
John leans in but he notices the way you glance away from him and back, clearly flustered. “Good girls don’t play games.”
“Funny,” you reply, head tilting slightly. “That as my boyfriend you have any authority over me.”
John pivots, blocking the view of the front door from you. “I will bend you over that bench so fast, wife.”
“You won’t,” you stammer.
John arches an eyebrow and you visibly swallow. “Want to test me?”
You pout, and then playfully shove him in the chest. “You’re terrible.”
As you turn for the door, John grabs your waist pulling you close. “You started it.”
John "Soap" MacTavish
“My boyfriend and I are redesigning our bathroom.”
Johnny’s attention splits. The associate showing him floor tiles is a distant thing. He might be talking about the newest ones on the market, but Johnny is no longer interested.
Did he just hear you right? Did you just call him boyfriend?
“That’s wonderful,” comes a reply, and Johnny notes an older woman talking to you near the laminate flooring that mimics wood. “Where is he?”
“Over there,” you wave at him, a smug smile on your face.
Boyfriend? Johnny is your fucking husband.
“Sir?” prompts the hardware store associate. “What do you think of these?”
Johnny grunts. “Fine. We’ll come back.” He waves the man off and starts for you even as you continuously refer to him as your boyfriend.
You’re doing it on purpose. You’re doing it to annoy him.
And it’s fucking working.
Johnny saddles up beside you, snaking his arm around your waist, pulling you taut against him.
“This is the boyfriend,” you begin, smiling.
“Husband,” corrects Johnny, flashing the same devious grin. He holds up his left hand, showing off the simple gold band. “Happily married to this one.”
The older woman’s eyes round.
“She likes to joke,” continues Johnny. “Come on, love. Better get home.”
Johnny easily guides you away. He leans down, whispering. “You little terror.”
“Bite me,” you reply.
“Oh. I will. Everywhere. When we get home.”
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ceilidho · 1 month ago
Text
Buttermilk
It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au
Part 2 | masterlist
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Sweat beads on your brow as summer approaches its zenith. Its hottest point. You splurge on an iced caramel latte from the gas station on the way over and pick one up for John as well. Your arm is already stretched out when he opens the front door to let you in, offering it to him. 
“I, uh…thought you might want one as well,” you explain, stuttering through your words. Crumbling under his amused expression. 
You crave it though. His approval. That fond smile that seems reserved especially for you. The rare murmured good girl, his hand sometimes coming down to ruffle your hair. Even the memory of it makes your breath get lodged in your throat. You covet every crumb of it.
He takes the iced latte from you though before heading out for the day. Gift received. Even squeezes your shoulder in thanks before he shuts the door behind him, and you manage to keep from swooning until you hear his car pull out of the driveway. 
You stand by the window with the baby pressed to your chest for so little that you can’t blame when a little fist tugs at your hair. 
“Sorry, lovie,” you whisper into his fuzzy hair. Inhale deeply. 
It’s not as though you’re starved for things to do. Were John’s son a few years older, you might have your work cut out for you, but there’s still plenty to do around the house even when you put the baby down for his morning nap. You save the vacuuming for when baby is awake and you’re not in danger of hearing him suddenly start crying through the baby monitor, but you dust and fold laundry and start the dishwasher and take the recycling out and by the time the baby is ready for lunch, you’ve already broken a light sweat. 
Let no one tell you that babysitting is a walk in the park.
That being said, you do put the baby in his stroller for a walk in the park after lunch. 
The park isn’t terribly far from John’s house, so coupled with the short path around the park and the walk back, you’ll get a good amount of steps in today without risking the baby being late for his mid afternoon nap. 
It’s hard to not have an accidental, forbidden thought. Something like I wonder if anyone thinks I’m the baby’s mom when you push the stroller past a group of moms gathered together near the jungle gym, their kids sprinting on wobbly legs and climbing like dexterous little wildlings. 
Those thoughts are dangerous though, best kept under wraps. Clandestine. Because once you start having those thoughts, they never really go away; they just get relegated to a part of your brain that switches on when the lights go off and you think about what it must have been like to carry a baby in your stomach for nine months. 
You’re in danger, girl, a small voice in your head warns you. It’s hard to hear her clearly these days. 
John comes earlier for once, around midday. It takes you by surprise. You jump when the door opens, the sound ricocheting off the walls like a gunshot and, in that same second, a wave of terror and rage washes over you, your heart already racing at the thought of someone breaking in while it’s just you and the baby home. You spring to your feet, hands already trembling by your sides, and then his familiar shape walks into the room, boots still on and all.
He pauses when he sees your shoulders slump with relief. 
“Sorry,” you breathe, heart still racing. “I thought you were…” Your voice trails off towards the end because you don’t know how to say it without sounding silly. 
His eyes cut to the baby in the bouncy chair behind you, your body still stood protectively in front of him, and then they soften. 
“No, that’s on me—should’ve given you a ring before I left,” he says, a light apology in his voice. He throws his keys into the bowl in the foyer before stalking towards you. You stare up at him wide eyed, only blinking when he ruffles your hair before bypassing you to go pick up his son. 
“How’s my baby?” he asks, pressing a kiss to the baby’s milksoft cheek, and your heart spins and cartwheels in your chest. All sorts of tricks that keep you rooted in place, unable to manage a single word. “You been good today?”
I’ve been good, you almost croak out, the words on the tip of your tongue. You swallow. Force them back down. You’re not his baby. 
Another dinner invitation that you can’t turn down. Not because it wouldn’t be polite but because you couldn’t muster up the will to refuse even if you really did have plans. Lucky that you don’t. 
When he puts the baby down to sleep for the night, you linger by the door, sure you’re a platitude or two away from being shown out for the night. John calls your name from the kitchen though, drawing you deeper into the house again. 
“Go put something on,” he instructs when you idle under the archway of the door. With his back to you, you can’t make out the expression on his face, leaving you no choice but to gawp at the undulation of his shoulder muscles as he washes out the dishes before stacking them in the dishwasher. “You want something to drink?”
“Just, uh—” you rasp, clearing your throat. “Just juice, thanks.”
You can’t settle on anything to stream, nothing perking your interests; or maybe you’re just too antsy to make an informed decision on what to watch right now. 
There are other things to worry about. Like John moving around in the other room or the way your denim shorts ride up when you sit down, bunching up at the crotch. You make an attempt to lift your hips and pull them back down as much as you can, but you panic and abort your plan when John comes into the room, embarrassed at the thought of being caught readjusting yourself. 
The cushion under you bounces slightly when John drops himself down onto the couch beside you, the motion making your shorts ride up even more. You wince when the seam presses tight against your clit, on the edge of mildly painful and turning you on. 
“Here, sweetheart,” he says, putting his own drink down on the coffee table before handing you your glass of juice. 
“Thanks,” you bleat, taking a sip almost instantly to mask the look on your face, afraid he’ll read the panic there and press for details. 
He sits closer than usual, as he always does these days. It’s not something you ever discuss. It just seems to happen. Slowly, like ice sheets drifting over water. One day you’re sitting on opposite sides of the couch and the next he’s all up in your space, thigh to thigh with you while the living room goes dark and the TV glows, the reflection throbbing against the glass. An ever-flickering light that illuminates the side of his head when you peer up at him.
Your tongue rests against the roof of her mouth, dry; sparing.
With his arm resting on the back of the couch over your shoulder, the scent of him is almost smothering. Each inhale makes your head spin. If you were to tilt your head to the side, you’d be level with his armpit, his scent strongest there, and that thought spins in your head like a merry-go-round until someone in the movie you’re supposed to be watching shouts, dragging your attention back to it. 
“Christ, these are little, huh?” John grunts, suddenly reaching over to pinch the frayed ends of your shorts between his fingers. “This what the kids these days are wearing?” 
You don’t know how to respond to that. Your body’s so hot that you feel like you’re swimming in heat, sweat prickling at your hairline and on the back of your neck. 
“I-it’s hot out,” you stutter, your whole body suddenly hot. With how high your shorts have ridden up, his fingers are precariously close to your core, just a hairsbreadth from skimming up your inner thigh and brushing against your folds, now plump and sensitive. 
You wonder if he can make out the outline of your pussy from underneath your shorts. They hug into the seam of your legs, pinching the skin of your inner thighs. You don’t dare glance down. 
He hums, pulling his hand away and you stare wide eyed at the television in front of you when you shift and the glide between your legs tells you just how wet you are. Sitting on the couch next to your boss twice your age with a wet pussy. 
You lean forward to try and readjust, masking the movement by reaching blindly for your glass on the coffee table at the same time. You must pick up the wrong glass by accident though because when you go to lift it to your lips, John’s hand stops you, fingers curling around yours and easily tugging the glass away from your mouth. 
“No, baby, that’s mine; bit young for a drink, aren’t you?” John chuckles, eyes squinting with his smile. 
“I’m legal,” you frown, pouting. 
He acts like that sometimes; like he doesn’t keep track of how old you are. 
“All right, but only a sip, got it?” he cautions, handing you the glass. 
You don’t know why you take it. You would’ve been better admitting to your mistake and putting the glass back down. 
He chuckles when you wince on your sip, nearly spitting it up. Horrifically embarrassing because it’s not like you’ve never had a drink before. You’ve gone out for drinks plenty of times with friends. 
“Yeah,” he rasps, taking the glass from you and flicking his knuckle against your bottom lip as he does. “That’s what I thought.”
And it happens again and again. Head resting on his shoulder when you drift off on the couch before he shakes you awake. In the grocery store, he comes up behind you while you’re pushing the cart and puts his arms around to steer you down another aisle, his broad chest pressed against your back. 
You hold your tongue. Bite off and chew the words. Because it’s nothing; it’s innocent. You’ve known from the get-go that John is more of a man of action than words. If anything, you’re the one reading too much into things. Little touch-starved girl from the bad side of town. It’s not his fault that you preen when he praises you; that you bunt your head against his hand when he ruffles your hair. Every drop of affection soaked up, savoured. Nourishing your heart and your soul. So lonely, so wanting. All those years holed up on your own, no warm body in the bed beside you. 
Then John Price waltzed in and you expected to keep everything sealed up tight in your chest.
So it’s no wonder you gorge yourself on his touch and hope he doesn’t notice the way you lean into it. The rabbit-quick beat of your heart. Your want simmering under your skin, a disgusting, base thing desperate for gentleness. 
You wonder if he sees the same thing when he looks at you.
In the heat of summer, John invites you to join him and the baby for a weekend at the beach in Portugal.
You only say yes because it’s the dog days of summer. At the beach, there’ll be umbrellas to sit under and beer coolers of cold drinks and the ice cold Atlantic to swim in. Plus, you’ve had little opportunity in your life to travel—you’ve barely stepped foot in France, never mind Portugal. But John has friends with a house in the Algarve that have graciously offered him the week, so who are you to say no to such a thoughtful gesture? 
The only reason you consider not going is because you can’t shake the sense of foreboding. 
“Baby, can you get my back?” John asks when you arrive at the beach the first day of your trip, and when you turn back to him, you have to act quick to catch the sunscreen lobbed your way. 
That’s how you find yourself kneeling in the sand behind him, rubbing sunscreen on his back. His shoulders flex under your hands, and you can feel the muscle bunching and relaxing with each swipe across his shoulder blades. The worst is when you get to his low back. John’s groans are obscenely loud, guttural rumblings from the back of his throat. Ravenous. 
“Okay, that’s everything,” you chirp, rubbing the excess off on your thighs. 
“Good,” John says, twisting around. “Now it’s your turn.”
Your eyes widen.
“Wait—I don’t need to—”
You don’t know quite how he manages it, but a couple minutes later, you find yourself lying flat on your stomach on your beach towel, John squirting a good amount of sunscreen onto the middle of your back. All you get as a warning is the sunscreen bottle tossed to the ground beside your head before two big hands come down to your back to massage the cream into your skin. 
There’s nowhere for you to go when John throws a leg over your hips to straddle you. He holds the majority of his weight off you, but despite his best efforts, you can still feel his dick against your ass, his loose swim shorts doing nothing to hold him in place. 
He doesn’t ask for permission before undoing the knot holding your bikini top together, one quick pull and then the garment loosens around your chest. You can feel the fabric pool around you on the towel. 
“John, you—” you start, almost coming up onto your elbows before realizing that your top won’t be coming with you if you do. 
“Just gotta make sure I get your whole back, baby,” he reassures you, both hands gliding up your back to curve around your shoulders before dragging back down. “Won’t be more than a minute.”
It’s no use calling him out on the lie because there’s nothing you could do even if you did.
With hands as big as his, his fingers can’t help brushing the sides of your tits every time he smooths his hands down your back. You bite your lip nearly raw to keep from letting your moans escape, toes curling in the sand underneath you and thank god John is facing the other way or else your arousal would be clear as day to him. The gusset of your bathing suit is already damp and you haven’t even gotten in the water yet. 
His hands drag up and down your back, lathering the lotion into your skin, massaging it into the muscle. Each pass of his hands making your eyes roll back, breath coming out in choppy pants. Tweaking when the palms of his hands easily encompass your shoulders, nearly tickling under your arms.
“There we go. All done,” he announces, jolting you out of the lustful fog you’d slipped into during his ministrations. 
“All good?” you ask, a touch breathy. 
“Mhm,” John rumbles, smoothing a hand up your back one last time, just to double check. Only clenching your fists until the skin around your knuckles tighten keeps you from shuddering at his touch. “Lemme just—” 
Your throat constricts when you feel him reknot the back of your bikini top, fingers quick and deft for their size. He’s tied knots before. It’s better not to let that thought sink in too deep. 
Turning over onto your back takes a near insuperable amount of energy, the rest wrung from your body by the hands now preoccupied with readjusting his shorts. 
“You alright if I take him for a swim?” John asks, holding his squirming son against his bare chest. 
You wave him off, a hand coming up to shield your eyes from the sun. 
You can’t help but stare at his ass as he walks away, practically mesmerised. In the water, he wades up to his knees with his son still cradled in one arm. The ocean water laps at his shins, dappled with light, low waves in the distance scintillating at their peaks. The ends of his swim shorts cling to his legs as the water leaches into the fabric. 
Trying to keep your eyes off him is a losing game, not when John’s clad in nothing more than a pair of swim trunks, broad shoulders and chest on display, and now your hands tingle with the memory of how they felt rubbing suntan lotion over his skin. His trunks are pulled taut around thick thigh muscles, just barely loose enough to keep from being indecent. 
The panic returns when you catch some nearby women ogling him, one angling her body towards him like she’s considering walking over, and that’s when your heart beats too fast and you stumble to your feet, leaving your beach towel and umbrella behind to go join John in the water. 
“Hey sweetheart,” he greets when you’re only a few steps away, shivering when the cold water touches your feet. “Missed us, did ya?”
He reels you in with his free arm, pulling you into his side before transferring the baby into the cradle of your arms. Doesn’t even flinch when your breast is pressed against his side, as if it’s nothing out of the ordinary. As if your cheek wasn’t nearly flush with the pelt of dark hair growing in whorls on his chest, your eye level with a dark, flat nipple. 
The girls hovering nearby scrunch their noses up when they notice you snuggled up against John’s chest. Assuming you must be someone special for him to be holding you that way; like a girlfriend or a wife—
You choke off the rest of that thought before it can take root. 
The rest of the trip is no better. You’re a right mess made worse by the cloying heat and the forced proximity. At the restaurant, John pulls your chair out for you and then sits right beside you, arm resting on the back of your chair while he talks, cologne clotting the air around you. He’s popular wherever he goes—easy candour and winsome smile able to make anyone, from the servers to the other patrons, want to get to know him better. 
All you can do is bask in the radiance; a sun in the middle of any room. 
Back at the house, you sleep in the other room, only a single, flimsy wall between your room and John’s. The walls are so thin that you can hear every groan and snore and snuffle, head ringing with his sounds until you fall asleep and they permeate your dreams instead. 
At seven in the morning, you wake to the sound of him rolling over in his bed, the mattress squeaking under his weight, and taking himself in hand. The sound of flesh against flesh; the groans bitten off too late for you not to catch them, sweat beading on your hairline as you stare at the white wall and picture John on the other side, big chest panting with his breaths as he tugs on his cock. You listen until his final groan, fingers petting at your clit until you have no choice but to turn your head into your pillow to muffle your sobs. 
As best as you try to put it out of mind, you can’t meet his eyes at breakfast. 
You flinch when the same hand that he must’ve used to jerk himself off comes down onto the top of your head when John goes to refill his mug of coffee. “Sleep well last night?” he asks, deep voice still coated in sleep. 
“Not bad,” you whisper. 
Shivering when he drops his hand to the junction between your shoulder and your neck and gives it a squeeze.
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