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kneelingshadowsalome · 10 months

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I Never Missed You 1/3 (Bodyguard!Ghost x F!Reader)

Word count: 3.5 k

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Romance, eventual smut, fluff, light angst, banter, pining, flirting, minor injuries, major character death, HFN ending. Lady/Knight dynamic. Unequal pairing trope. Bodyguard AU. Reader is a rich bitch (how else could she afford a PPO?)

Summary: 1/3 You hire a bodyguard to protect you and hunt down the one who's been sent to take your life. This man was your lawyer's first recommendation, and you never even looked through his file because you had better things to do. But it soon turns out that this man – this Simon Riley – is very talented... Talented in driving you crazy.

A/N: A three part fic based on this request. The first chapter features banter and pining. If you're here for smut, stay tuned. There is an entire chapter of it coming right up.

Your lawyer says it would be a good idea. He even dares to look at you from under his brow like you're a child who doesn't know what's good for her.

And you don't.

Because that's exactly how you feel like: a grown woman who's stunted to a kid, now being supervised by adults.

The bodyguard they assigned you - the one you accepted because he was your lawyer's first choice - is exactly the broad, brooding type you have always imagined bodyguards to be like.

But he's not wearing sunglasses, and he's not wearing a suit. He says the point of a bodyguard is that they don't look like a bodyguard.

The first thing you actually pay attention to is the milky-white eyelashes. Only days after you hear that this man rarely shows his face. You were given a file on him, but you never peeked inside it because you were pissed that such drastic measures had to be taken in the first place. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Now you pry it from the pile of papers you buried it into, open it, and the first - and only - photo you see is a perfect portrayal of what Death looks like.

He's the Reaper himself when adorned with that human skull. Keen but emotionless eyes stare from the pits of the sockets to somewhere in the distance, but that look is a stare into the past. The photo raises thousands of questions, and not only the need to know why this man prefers to wear human bones when he's shooting people.

Because apparently, that’s what he used to do before he became a bodyguard. He's buff, that you already know. But in that picture, he looks even more packed, with what you suppose is a bullet vest beneath that blouse. He’s holding an ugly-looking gun – not a pistol, but a rifle of some sort. The gear on him no doubt weighs something close to 60 pounds. His sleeves are rolled up and expose the crisscross veins on his forearms along with war-ugly, crude tattoos, and you swallow.

Were you really looking at a picture of a barbaric soldier like it was some peculiar soft porn now?

You flip the file closed and toss it on the table, rather disgusted with yourself.

The next time you see him, you look into those brown eyes a moment longer. That stoic stare is the only thing you recognize as that of the man in the picture. That, along with his size, although photos really can't convey how this brooding grunt makes you feel: small and insignificant. Nor do they illustrate how the man looks like he’s the most graceful bull in a china shop when moving inside your house.

You suppose he grew up poor, the way he looks at your furniture, your half-a-mile bookshelf, and the latest art piece you got last month in your living room. He's judging you.

You're posh. And clueless. And a child.

And this brute lives with you, for now. He's placed downstairs until the target is neutralized. And he's not just a bodyguard: he's hunting the hunter while you're the bait.

It should give you a thrill; your friend giggles when you two gossip about him over a lunch while he's standing only a few feet away. But this situation does not give you a thrill. It just makes you pissed.

And it's not just the situation, it's this... Simon Riley who makes you pissed.

Couldn't they teach manners, some conversation skills at the bodyguard school or wherever the hell this pale, emotionless Hulk came from?

You recheck his file and snoop some more details about his past. He didn't go to bodyguard school (of course he didn't); he used to work for some PMC. The brute's a cold-blooded, cold-hearted mercenary. To put it more eloquently, he's an elite soldier of some tactical unit. But all of that is classified, as is almost every other detail about him. The only thing you are left with is that he's British through and through, but you can already tell that by his accent - the thick Mancunian that makes your stomach and heart flip.

It's gruff – of course it's gruff – and sometimes chafes your ears like they were being grated with the softest grater. You find yourself thinking about him while you're in the shower, when your fingers start to drift and wander.

And for the love of god, you are not thinking about that accent and those eyes while you're masturbating. You're not going to mourn the fact that he never rolls his sleeves when he's with you. When he's at work.

"I saw your file," you start to chitchat over breakfast one day.

"I reckon."

He won't even touch the coffee you poured him but proceeds to drink almost all the tea. The delicate china looks miniature in his hands as he pours the Earl Grey into his cup. The cups are dainty, too – this savage would prefer a large, black mug, perhaps, from which to gulp his tea.

"So. What made you become a soldier?"

"Joined the SAS when I was 17."

And another thing he won't do is look at you when you speak. No manners at all in this man, only rough, sharp edges. He sits as far from you as he can, at the other end of the table, as if you were in a meeting. Or a war council.

"That's not what I asked."

"I know."

You roll your eyes. Conversation skills, god. Just give this man at least some charm…

"I'm going to do some shopping," you declare. "You can stay here."

Finally, he raises his stare. It's full of tired distaste.

"Nah. That's not how this works."

You rise from the table, gracefully and with a neutral face, indicating that you are an adult and won't be needing a babysitter at a store.

"Lady."

The command is dark and stops you before you have taken one step from the table. It's a slur, almost.

He rises from the table too, and you almost feel sorry, noticing he hasn't yet finished his toast.

"You hired me. And I'm gonna do my job."

He looks big and broad, like a beautiful storm, with that piercing stare and the most alluring lashes you have ever seen on a man. Your voice turns into a meek, pitched attempt to reason with a giant.

"...I'm just going shopping."

His head tilts with a mock: you're only a child in his eyes.

"Then let's go shopping."

…......…......

Sitting next to this giant in a taxi must be a hilarious-looking scene. A charming, vibrant lady and a sullen, intimidating Theseus – what a pair.

You've also never been this close to him. The man always sits with a wide spread. One heavy thigh almost touches your knees, which you have turned towards him for some unfathomable reason. You were taught to sit with knees closely set together, and that’s what you’re trying to do now: make yourself as small and feminine as possible. It only accentuates this man's size compared to yours. There's a pile of shopping bags between you two, and your gaze is directed outside the window, but you can feel his presence like there's a thrumming monolith beside you.

And he's always dressed in black. You kind of enjoyed how you two looked at the store: you in your heels and a pearl white suit, he in black, tactical ripstop and boots. You wouldn't define the man well-dressed… but he is sharply dressed in his own field, that's for sure. Even a commoner like you could see that.

He had complained about your clothes. White draws too much attention and makes for a bigger target. You had brushed him off with a scoff. You’re not going to change the way you dress because of this.

"You're from Manchester, right?"

You're only trying to make the journey home more enjoyable, but feel like you're snooping again, this time from the man himself. The less you know about Simon Riley, the more you want to learn who he is. It is only natural to get a little curious when his file barely had two paragraphs and a photo. You suppose even that single picture was taken and given forward with reluctance.

And the only thing you learn is that small talk is a completely foreign concept to this man.

"You're quite the Sherlock," he mutters with that fat accent that gave him away the minute you two shook hands. You Sherlock about some more, look at the left hand that rests on his thigh.

There's no ring. Not even a tan line. He must be lonely: no relationship could stand working hours like these.

"Do you still live there?"

"...No."

"Do you miss the place?"

"No."

The short answers are guttural and spoken from the back of his throat. You don't know if he's doing it on purpose, or if this Simon is like this with everyone. He's not annoyed, though, not the way you're beginning to be.

"Aren't you a chatty one…" you mumble while watching cloudy London pass by. You figured he might hear it, and perhaps that was your purpose, even if your voice was barely a whisper.

"I'm not here to talk. Ma'am."

…......…......

You are told to stay away from the windows. The dinner table is moved so no one can aim at your head through a glass. And even then, most curtains must be closed at all times.

He goes through doors first, and advises against going out at all. You get a list of things you should take into consideration if you do go out.

And you’re not going to give in to fear.

You simply take different routes to your friends and family, have lunches at different restaurants than usual. He says you should get an armored car, but you don’t have a license. Of course your brooding bodyguard could drive, but what will you do with some armored tank after you're finally through this thing?

What's far more interesting is that it turns out this Simon Riley is a smoker.

Disgusting, you think at first, then think about him all sweaty and grimy after some gunfight, reaching for a cig, curling those thick fingers around a pure-white coffin nail. No, wait – he had gloves in that picture; he wouldn't bother to take them off before he smoked, he would just lean on his gun and on some crumbling wall and sigh from the joy of being alive, of being bloodied and dirty and victorious before taking a long drag from his cigarette.

Ugh.

Reluctantly you agree that perhaps there is an odd charm to this man after all. Either that, or then you are in need of some serious therapy.

Breakfasts are torturingly quiet with Simon, and you can hear the slow roll of eyes every time you make plans to go to a party or an art gallery.

Once, a zipper gets stuck and you have to ask him for help. It’s mortifying, and he doesn’t say a word, only mocks you with his eyes as you turn around for him to place a warm hand on your hip and another on your back to pull up the zipper you had fought to reach and drag up by yourself for at least 10 minutes.

A week passes, and he’s buried in work, not only because he’s guarding your body 24/7, but because he’s trying to locate the hitman. The fact that Simon Riley is technically speaking a hitman too - to think that you have hired a killer - is something you don’t have the mental strength to delve into right now.

"Found the one who's hunting you."

Another file is dropped before you at the end of the week. The man marches into your office like there's no door there at all. Doesn't even bother to knock.

This isn't what you meant when you politely told him to make himself home…

You roll the glass of water on your temple and sigh. The file reveals another photo, this time of a man who looks like an executioner.

"Goes by the name König," he says and clasps his hands over his crotch while taking a wide stance in front of your desk. "Austrian war criminal. Skilled with knives… Likes to torture people first."

Nice. More brutes.

"Why are you telling me this?"

You're tired, there's a headache approaching, and you really don't care to go over some details about a professional lunatic killer right now. But Simon Riley - codenamed Ghost, you’ve lately learned - looks down at you like a storm cloud over a carefree meadow.

"Because you clearly don't understand the danger you're in."

He adds "Ma'am" as a footnote. Purposely forgotten...

And you wish he would forget that silly, overly courteous term.

"Well–" you sigh your frustration in the air between you two, then realize that perhaps you're being treated like a child because you behave like one. "What are you going to do about this man...?"

"Gonna kill him," he simply shrugs, the eternal, distant look in those eyes gaining a smug tone to them.

He enjoys this. Enjoys killing, but what's even worse, enjoys seeing how his ruthlessness makes you shift uncomfortably in your chair. Or perhaps he just likes shocking you with that file with an image of a lyncher in it. You know perfectly well that you're in trouble and under threat. That's what you've tried to forget, but no one lets you forget.

Simon takes a deep breath before placing his humble petition before you.

"Ma’am. I'm gonna need your help."

And nothing in this man is humble. Even though he rarely speaks and never shows his talents, not to talk of showing off, he reeks of pride and testosterone.

You set the glass on the table and straighten the file to align with the leather pad on your desk. Your fingers are not trembling. Yet.

"What do you mean?"

He gives a hoarse laugh. The sound drills straight to your core and starts to bloom there. You realize you have never seen him smile before. And he's not smiling now: the short laugh is just a dark chuckle that mainly stays inside his chest; it only makes those stocky shoulders rise and fall.

"Not like that," he looks down at you with a tad of mercy. "You're gonna serve as bait."

"Isn't… that what I've been the whole time?"

"Yeah. But this time, we're gonna lure him in."

The way he talks makes your thighs rub together without your consent. You wonder what it would feel like if you were trapped between that solid chest and a wall, what it would be like if those hands woke you up with a calloused caress of a thigh.

You don't quite understand the difference between bait and a lure but find yourself willing to do whatever you can to help him. Help Simon…

"Sure... I'll help you," you say as if this man wasn't on your payroll.

"That's the least you could do."

That barely hidden bite in his dry retort doesn't escape you. This man's audacity buries whatever odd want you have started to feel for him and replaces it with searing, womanly fury.

He could be a little more sensitive.

You're the one who has a target on their back. You're the one who fears going to sleep at night and feels lucky they're alive come dawn. If he wasn't so crude and uncaring, you would've asked him to sleep in the same room with you from the start. But he has to be a brute, has to follow and mock you with those ink blot eyes at every turn.

You rise from the chair when he turns and walks toward the door. It's almost a snappy jump, an attempt to reclaim your power. You're sore and thoroughly peeved.

"I never wanted this," you tell him with an annoying timbre in your tone. He stops right before the door but doesn't turn.

"Neither did I."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Could be somewhere warmer with no damsels giving me their cheek."

The BDU blouse you saw in that picture was yellow, burnt yellow. Desert wear… He wants to be in a hot desert with a cold gun in his hand. Dropped straight from some plane, working alone, in a place where damsels aren't giving him their cheek. Where there are no damsels at all.

You're relatively sure there is no Mrs. Riley. No woman could stand this man.

"Then go somewhere warmer," you snap, almost stomp your heel on the soft carpet. This man is simply intolerable. The way he never reacts to anything makes you want to throw things at him.

He must be trained to be so calm, but you're not. You're used to making men a little stupid and flustered. You're used to men eating out of your hand. He's not behaving at all like he's supposed to. Simon Riley is just a mountain without emotion.

He turns with that eternal, downgrading look in his eyes. There's a flash of amusement there, too.

Soddy bastard…

"Nah. Not until I've done my job."

His voice is warm now; the gruff and gravel make way to a smoothness that goes directly to your knees. Your lips part, and his eyes fall on your mouth just before he lifts his chin a hair of an inch.

"Your job…" you breathe, too furious to even rage or shout.

Your fucking job.

Why did you even want this job if it's so–

"Yeah. My job. Some people got one."

You have to take support from the table with your fingertips.

"Excuse me?"

There's the tiniest curve at the corner of his mouth before he takes his leave.

"Good night, ma'am."

…......…......

The next day, you start the breakfast by apologizing.

You barely slept that night, first because of this man's utter nerve, then because your wrath eventually cooled down into a bleeding consciousness of how you must look in his eyes.

He has accepted this job, something different from what he usually does, for reasons unknown to you. He might not be on some faraway battlefield where bullets fly past, but this is no less risky. The picture he showed you, the file on König, haunted your restless sleep last night – when you finally did get some sleep.

You have been running around like everything’s normal when it’s not. The man’s just trying to do his job.

And you're the one who hired him. Not your lawyer.

"I want to make peace," you coo while spreading some jam on toast. You expect Simon to finally melt a little. You might even get a smile. You secretly hope your reward is that this brute turns into a tamed lap dog you can feed some treats every now and then.

The situation is thrilling: the beefiest man you have ever seen is going to kill someone for you. Even if he's being paid to do so, he is prepared to die for you. There's something incredibly sexy about that.

But there is silence at the other end of the table. Only the crunchy sounds of toast getting sugar on top can be heard.

"That so?"

He doesn't sound like he's melting. He doesn't sound at all domesticated. He only sounds more and more amused.

"Yes. I'm happy that you're here," you put the toast down and turn to look at him with angel eyes.

He laughs. When he stops, he looks you up and down, then laughs some more, a silent, shoulder-shaking chuckle.

"I'm… I'm serious," you hurry to add. "I mean it. I haven't been treating you the way I should–"

"That's for sure."

You see more warmth in those eyes. But it's not because of your humble apology.

His eyes are trekking down the neckline of your blouse, and to your horror, you notice – feel – how one of the top buttons has opened, revealing much more than just some skin. You're pretty sure he gets an ample view of the fuchsia bra you're wearing underneath.

If you reach for that button now, you underline that he's not supposed to look, even if it's your mistake that you're so obscenely exposed. If you close it now, you tell him he's not allowed to look. And that's not entirely true.

"Will you forgive me?"

You feel like you're offering peace, or at least a truce, with more than just that peepy question. Because your breasts swell inside that blouse. They rise and fall with your breaths, your nipples grow hard from that look that stays down a bit longer before drifting back up.

"There's nothing to forgive," he says, voice dropping a note or two.

"Good," you swallow. The following sentence comes out so weakly that it's almost a whisper. "After all, I hired you."

"Ain't that the truth."

The dim glint in those eyes still holds you as a prisoner, and his tea is growing cold.

"Are we going shopping today?"

"No," you utter, dreading the next inevitable question.

"What then?"

"I… I have a yoga class."

"Of course you do."

…......…......

Taglist: @cumikering

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley imagine #ghost x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost smut #simon riley smut #cod fanfic #mw2 fanfic #simon riley fanfic #simon riley x female reader #ghost x female reader #bodyguard au #bodyguard!Ghost

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fitbearcatcher · 11 months

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Beefy pit

#arm pits #furpect #hairy chest #furry chest #man fur #hot muscle #furry pecs #hot hunk #bearded #handsome #scruff #inkedup #doglover #corgi #hairy body #hairy bull #tattoos #ink #fit dudes

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iovesia · 1 year

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IN THIS DARKNESS.

❥⠀masterlist. ⠀:⠀ ( keanu reeves masterlist. & gif credit. )

synopsis : sfw & nsfw dating john wick headcanons.

warnings: fluff. breaking up. angst. smut. canon typical violence.

pairings : john wick 𝒙 fem!reader.

josie’s note .⁺ ˖ ⌒ holy fuckkkk, the new john wick movie ignited something in me. i was straight up biting my lip off in the movie theater. enjoy these little headcanons while i try to come up with an actual fic. your media consumption is your own responsibility, read the warnings and enjoy! — reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated !! ♡

⠀

SFW.

Number #1 Gentleman™. Outside of his profession, he’s quite literally the nicest guy you’ll ever meet, and he'll really try to woo you when you first start dating.

Like, holding the door open for you, carrying your bags, giving you his jacket when you’re cold, paying for dinners, and even buying you expensive gifts.

This man is 100% loaded. Expect him to be buying you all kinds of trinkets and gifts. Whenever he notices you staring at something, or briefly mentions something, he’ll remember it forever.

John is super observational, he notices all the little things. His quietness (and lowkey awkwardness) make him an amazing listener. Because he lives such a chaotic life, in contrast to the one with you— he loves to listen to you ramble about everyday shenanigans.

He has a dry ass sense of humor.

Pet names consist of: sweet girl, and honey. He's a little old-timey like that.

Super protective over you. Like, second shadow level protective— man will not let you out of his sight. He's lost so much in his life, and after Helen, he just can't stand the thought of ever losing you.

While he would try to stay out of fights when he's around you, he'd wouldn't take shit from anyone who tried something with you. He's John Wick after all, so trust that he'd kick their ass.

Not a fan of PDA, and gets a little awkward about it in the early days of your relationship. Growing up in the Ruska Roma, physical affection wasn't exactly number one priority. So he's a little surprised (and touch-starved) when he notices how clingy you are.

Always walking his his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. Random sidenote, but I headcanon that John is warm all the time. Mans is a walking furnace.

You spend all your nights tangled in each others arms. He's always the big spoon, letting you rest your head against his chest and listening to his heartbeat as he encapsulates you with his strong arms.

John loves having you sit in his lap. The two of you could spend hours together, even if it was in silence, just enjoying each others loving embrace.

You end up getting a dog together, and you constantly tease John for his terrible choice in names.

"John, c'mon, don't be boring!" You giggle as you kneel down, rubbing the cheeks of the cutest pit bull you've ever seen. "We can't name the dog, Dog."

"You have any better ideas?" John smirks, kneeling down next to you, pressing his lips to the side of your head.

It'll take a while before he talks about his past and profession with you. He doesn't want to inadvertently drag you into his life of crime, and put you in any danger.

But, soon enough, the walls will lower and he'll let his guard down. John will confess secrets about himself, bit by bit.

It'll be on a random night, when you start tracing his tattoos with your finger. In a quiet whisper, you'll ask him what the one on his back means.

"Fortune favors the bold," he whispers with a raspy voice, his thumb rubbing your forearm, as you lean your head into the crook of his neck. "I got it when I was younger."

You always ask him to teach you some moves, and he's happy to do so, under the guise that it's for self-defense (and not at all that his muscles and figure look amazing when he's doing martial arts).

He can only keep running from the assassin life for so long, until it eventually comes to bite him in the ass. So to protect you, he forces himself to break up with you.

John, unfortunately, carries a large sense of self-loathing. He thinks and knows he doesn't deserve you. For the heinous things, he's done, he knew it was too good to be true.

You cry, and beg him to explain why he's doing this. But, in true John nature, he holds himself together and presses a soft kiss to your forehead before walking out.

You don't see him crumbling, and breaking down as he shuts the door behind him.

⠀

NSFW.

Size kink. Size kink. Size. Kink.

John is 6'1, so you'll be climbing this man like a tree.

He loves how big his hands look, when he presses your wrists down on the bed, or when he grabs a handful of your breast.

Missionary position is his favorite. He loves the intimacy, and being as close to you as physically possible.

You wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him in closer as he leaves several hickeys along your collarbone— Lord, he can't get enough of it.

Corruption kink, I can't lie.

He's a big, scary, assassin— and his moral integrity is a little murky. John almost gets off on the idea of slowly corrupting you, and turning you into his dirty girl.

He is hung. That's all I have to say.

Again, super possessive. Do not ask him to share, he will shut that down.

For someone who never talks, he's suddenly dirty talking in your ear the whole time. His lips pressed against your ear, mumbling all kinds of things that make your cheeks burn.

"Hmm, what was that?" He hums, sending vibrations through your body. "Tell me what you want, sweet girl."

Breeding kink.

Not fully for the reason of wanting kids (although, he'd love to start a family with you and really settle down), but again for the intimacy.

He loves to mark you with his cum, another result of his total possessive protectiveness of you. You don't miss the way his eyes darken when he empties inside you, watching as it comes pouring out.

#john wick x reader #john wick imagine #john wick chapter 4 #john wick #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves imagine #keanu reeves #john wick 4 #jw4

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azzurra-hardtek · 2 months

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#blonde #azzurra hardtek #tattooed #inked #tattooed girl #tattoos #inked girls #inked up #tattooed women #pit bull

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chrollohearttags · 1 year

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omg can you influencer y/n x musician Eren where they do a vlog like day in the life cause I just love those little drabbles you do when Eren and y/n spend time together cause their literally so cute 🥹🥹

ahhh!! yes!! 🥹🥹 they would be so adorable. (Y/N) would have a tiktok full of all the most adorable videos, showing off her outfits, doing hauls and different challenges but the one thing you get requested for is a ‘day in the life’ with you and your husband. He’s not much for having a camera in his face all day but for his baby? He’ll go along with it!

(Y/N) starts the day out in a big t-shirt, panties and a bonnet, just like a lot of women; “borrowed” from Eren. You begin by cooking breakfast for the two of you and he always comes in to give you a kiss on the cheek.

after the two of you eat, you’ll work out together sometimes, for like an hour or so in your home gym. He likes to show off so he lets you sit on his back as he does push-ups.

you get ready for your day, doing your makeup and hair. Yes, he comes and helps you lay your lace down or blending your eyeshadow because it’s fun.

Eren doesn’t really know what an off day is so you had to take him out and show him a good time.

You guys always have the CUTEST coordinating fits; you in some pretty little two piece with heels and him in the newest Dunks with a hoodie and joggers. And you guys take a few pictures of him towering over you in the shot.

most of the time, Eren will drive while you sit pretty as his little passenger princess. He never lets anyone else control his music but for you, he does and the two of you have the best time, singing and dancing in the seat.

the first thing that you guys do together is a little shopping. Walking hand in hand down the Design District or Bayside..picking up some new shoes or another piece of jewelry to add to your collections. Even grabbing a drink that you flash in front of the camera. (He so gets all flustered that you showed the world that his favorite is the Pink Drink) Sometimes, you’ll get stopped by fans asking for photos but it’s still a good time.

you then talk him into going to one of the most illustrious, upscale spas in the city for a little R&R. Eren thinks it’s a bit girly but his mind changes when they get him on the massage table with hot rocks on his back or in a robe while getting his feet rubbed.

“Y’all, look how happy he is. Getting spoiled and shit.” flashing the camera in his face to see him smiling.

(Y/N) shows off your nail sets. His perfectly manicured fingers with rings and tattoos and your pale pink coffin tips.

then it’s off to grab lunch at one of your favorite spots, and the two of you enjoy some very good food before taking off to go find something else to do.

There are all types of activities happening around the city. And although you guys enjoy the finer things in life sometimes, you want to have fun on your day off!

“So there’s this golf course and arcade in South Beach that has everything. They have go cart racing, mini golf, batting cages and yes, I be whooping his ass every time. Don’t let him tell y’all any different.”

you show him shooting baskets in the arcade and he isn’t missing a single one. Showing off for his baby and determined to win you that giant teddy bear they had hanging above the counter.

“Told you, I could go pro, baby. Don’t play with me.” making you giggle from behind the camera.

You’ll then head home for a little while, just spending some alone time with one another, whether you’re taking a swim, a much needed nap or playing around with your pet pit bull puppy, Chino (who he calls his son and he’s had long before you guys got together).

once it gets a little later, you guys get ready for round two of your night on the town with reservations at the most prestigious eatery in town. Indulging in hundred dollar steaks and pasta dinners while being all dressed up. Snapping another photo of the beautiful outfits you have on.

after dinner, you might enjoy a little wine tasting, a walk through an open art gallery or a late night stroll on the boardwalk. Even sharing a kiss under the stars near the sparkling ocean.

You guys then finish out the night doing some skincare and getting ready for bed. Closing out a practically perfect day with your honey. And seeing him happy was all the more worth it.

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