#or is it fine to just leave them loose in the envelope and hope they don’t bend? should i bubble wrap them??

[sillyblues]

the ocean and the wind. (4)

ੈ✩‧₊˚ synopsis: tonowari is the ocean and ronal is the wind. where does it leave you?

ੈ✩‧₊˚ notes: you guys thank you SO MUCH for your support!! wth i received like a lot of notes after just hours of posting it and its is still growing!! i can't believe it wth you all got me blushing and giggling. as thanks, part 4 will not be the final part anymore! you'll have at least two more parts i think but you'll be getting more than what i initially planned for totw. ily guys sm MWA hope you guys enjoy xoxo

part 1 ✩ part 2 ✩ part 3 part 4 (here!) ✩ part 5 ✩ part 6 ✩ part 7 (final part)

Tonowari loves you like the ocean.

He could barely remember how he gained his first consciousness, awakening into the reality of his surroundings and of himself. He could barely remember his first memories of the land, how the grassy soil and the crumbly sand feels under the pads of his feet or how the air travels through his lungs as he breathes in and out. He could barely remember his first memories of the sea, how the water felt on his skin as it envelops his body or what the reefs looked like as a young child.

But he remembers you.

He remembers how he first met you, so very shy as you hid behind your parents’ legs. Your family and he knew each other personally. Your father is the Olo’eyktan’s right-hand hunter and warrior and your mother is the Tsahik’s friend and a teacher of the way of the water of the clan. He and your parents found it best to introduce both you and him to each other and to this day, he thanks Eywa and them for allowing him to meet you.

You covered yourself with your father’s large tail, letting it drip over your head and conceal your figure from the eyes that looked at you. Even so, it did not hide your big eyes as you peeked out ever so slightly and met his stare that looked at yours with wonder and curiosity. 

Your mother laughed before kneeling down to coax you out of your hiding and his parents let out a chuckle, his own mother teasing him to be cute as you.

You refused your mother, with whimpers and big tears that welled up in your eyes. You shook your head to the side, away from your mother. Your father crouched as well and opened his arms to comfort your tiny sobs. Panic blew up inside him. Was he that scary? Was he that terrifying?

“I’m sorry,” he suddenly blurted out.

You raised your head to look at him with wide eyes and a sniffle, a pause from your cries. Now, the eyes were on him. Everyone was awaiting his response and he felt that there was a slight weight on his shoulders. Was this how you felt back then when everybody was looking at you? He pushed the pressure he felt on the back of his head and focused on you, you who was looking at him with wonder and curiosity.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” he continued unhurriedly, not wanting to scare you. He gripped his hand into a fist and hid it behind his back. He gave you a soft smile. “You don’t have to force yourself to meet us.”

You blinked slowly at his words. You were quiet as you stared at him. It wasn’t until you broke the silence that cut off his racing thoughts and heartbeat.

“You’re not scary.” You murmured.

At that, Tonowari’s eyes widened. His fist slowly loosed and fell to his sides. Joy burst in his heart and before he could stop it, it travelled throughout his body. He broke into a smile and grinned so hard that his cheeks hurt. His tail swayed and his ears tilted back just slightly.

He might not remember everyone and everything else back then but he remembers you and that for him, is more than enough.

Then, time passed by you two. You both grew up together and memories of you increased. He once thought that he might really not remember who he is or what outside of you is with you filling his head constantly, leaving little room for others to spare, but he also thought he is fine with that.

You are emotional, he concludes one night as he lays down with Ronal in his arms under the night sky and in the inner forests of the island. You are easily overwhelmed by your emotions. You are easily driven by your feelings.

He closes his eyes as he remembers how you joyously celebrated every single little thing that happened. A pretty little shell that you found? You let out a squeal and swayed your head and tail from side to side. He thinks you’re much prettier. 

A shoal of fishes that danced around you underwater? You smiled, enchanted by the view and beauty of Eywa before you. He thinks you’re much more enchanting. 

Berries that you picked and ate as you two did nothing all day but spend it with each other? You grinned, happy from its sweet and delicious taste and shared it with him. He thinks you’re much sweeter.

He opens his eyes, almost grinning at the memories of you. You were not with him as of that moment, but he could almost feel your presence. You and he were by each other's side all the time and even though he was alone, he didn't completely think you were away from him. Not only that, but Ronal is by his side.

Ronal is a surprise. Like how he and your parents brought him and you together, you brought her with you two together. When you introduced him to her, there was instant recognition between him and her. He knew her from the stories you told him, how shy she is underneath her intimidating exterior, how sweet she is through her actions rather than words, and how happy she made you. And he had a feeling she knew of him too.

It was thanks to you that talking with her was no problem at all. You helped him know how to understand better, how to not overwhelm her at first so she would not be suspicious of his well-intents, how to talk to her without saying the wrong thing but not treating her as if she was fragile, and how to include her in the adventures you all had and making her feel like she belonged with you all. 

It was thanks to you that getting close to her was no problem at all. You are mostly the subject of their conversation, how kind and so very sweet you are to both of them with the way you touch them so softly, how you heal them with your very presence that you being by their side is enough for the worries and stress to fade away from their classes, and how contagious your joy is that a simple smile from you is enough for them to smile as well.

It was thanks to you that they knew each other’s fondness and love for you.

From then on, their love for you blossomed into a love they have for each other as well. It was fast. Very fast that he is even surprised how he and Ronal manage to care for each other in just months. But he does not doubt. He does not doubt a love that is formed from yours.

“I wish [Name] was here.” Ronal suddenly murmurs against the skin of his chest.

“I know,” he places a soft kiss on her forehead. “I wish [Name] was here too.”

Tonowari wishes nothing more than to envelop you in his arms as well. To have you against the opposite side of Ronal and feel the breaths of your giggles against his chest. To have you touch him and twirl whatever you want on his skin. To have you kiss him and kiss you in return.

He wants nothing more than to outwardly express his affection for you. To do more than hugs under the name of friends. To see more of you. He wants nothing more than his emotions to roar out, its mighty waves loud and proud. Its endless water celebrates the freedom of passion that has been finally granted to him. Its animals and reefs dance in the festival of your name alongside his and Ronal’s own.

But he remembers you are emotional. If he told you how he feels, would you avoid him again? If he confesses his endless memories of you, would you turn away and hide from him? If his waves are finally free from the constrained cries of your love, would you be terrified and swim away in fear of drowning?

“Soon, we will tell them.” He is silent. Does he dare to risk it all?

“Soon,” Ronal rises from his embrace and looks at him pointedly. Under her gaze, he relents. He leads her head back to his shoulder and squeezes her hand thrice. 

“Soon.” He repeats with finality. Despite his initial hesitation, his heart beats loudly. He closes his eyes and sees not the sullen waves of the sea. He sees not the darkness of the limitless ocean. He sees not the sombre emptiness of the water that suffocates him out of his breath.

That night, he sees the peaceful and serene waves of the sea. He sees a colourful and magnificent ocean. He sees the vibrance and full of life of the water that leaves him breathless of its beauty.

That night, he dreams of you.

.

.

.

Ronal loves you like the wind.

Ronal could remember her childhood crystal clear. She could remember the first child she made cry and the panic she felt, the want to console them but not even knowing how to in the first place. She could remember the first hiss and snarl thrown at her and the fear that gripped her heart, the sob that escaped from her chest until it left her a puddled mess. She could remember her parents' tears and silent fury for her and the sense of uselessness, the feeling of worthlessness that she could nothing about herself and for them.

She could remember the prayer she chanted each day and night to Eywa. With eyes shut tightly and lips bit, she prayed for someone who could see her for herself. Someone who could hear her inner thoughts and what she wants to say with just one look because she herself does not know what to say. Someone who could stay by her side and mind not how she looks but how she acts. Someone who could see her.

From her earnest prayers and the Great Mother’s grace, She gave her Roa.

Roa is a Tulkun, her spiritual sister. She could remember how she met her. It was during an unsuspecting day when she isolated herself in her family’s pod as usual. Suddenly, the horns blared and bells clanged. The calls of her clan were loud and boisterous in joy and excitement.

“They have returned! Our brothers and sisters are finally here!” 

She was not unfamiliar with who they talking about. The Tulkuns. The spiritual brothers and sisters of their tribe. She had seen them multiple times before. Her mother and father proudly showed her off to their siblings and their family. Not only that but her mother told her stories of their history and how she and her siblings came to what they are now in the present. His father also told her of his sister, a mighty warrior of their clan and how she saved him from danger.

“Would you like to come with me or with your father?” Her mother knew she had yet to form a bond with a Tulkun so she brings her as she talks with her siblings or her father brings her with him to his sister. She refused, she didn’t want to see others with a friend, a spiritual bond, someone, by their side and be reminded of the fact that she had none.

Her mother did not pry and instead let out a hum as she looked at her with sadness and pity. She kissed her forehead and went out to them, leaving her alone once more. She was not unfamiliar with the empty and hollow feeling in her heart but she felt it sink deeper and its weight heavier than usual then.

Ronal let time pass by and the hours have then gone by. The moons have risen to their fullest and coated the sky dark and blue. The fire from the celebration of the tribe’s spiritual family’s return has become ashes. The winds slowed down and whispered and the waves returned to their dreamy sighs.  Only the bioluminescent of Eywa’s grace continued to glow and light the island. 

Normally, she would be asleep at this time. But that night, she was wide awake and energy that she hadn't felt in a long time coursed through her veins. She tried to ignore it, let the feeling bubble down and disappear. But the call was too strong, the sense of longing pulls her limbs to go outside and search. But search for what? She didn’t know.

So she did. Her Ilu was asleep in their pen and she would not wake it up for it would surely awake the others and alarm both of her parents. Without anyone by her side but the arms that guided her, hushed and murmured words that made no sense rang in her ear, she swam towards it.

She swam until she had forgotten the need to go back to the surface to breathe for oxygen. She swam until she had forgotten that she was so deep and far out into the sea. She swam and swam until she found the source of the call, which she later on realized was Eywa’s voice guiding her to her sister.

There, she found a Tulkun. She was large but compared to the others she had seen, she was small. The glow of the plants underwater shined brightly on her skin. She was alone but she did not seem lonely, as if she was waiting for someone.

It did not take a while until she took notice of her staring. She hummed in greeting. 

I see you.

Ronal felt tears coming out. Such a simple greeting but she waited for a long time to hear that from someone other than her parent. She waited for a long time to have a friend. She remembered the prayers she begged Eywa each day and She gave her a sister.

I see you, she signed back.

Now countless years later, she swims in place in front of her sister named Roa. Their return was announced not too long ago and she immediately swam to look for her. She had barely signed a word of greeting to her sister before she teased her with a song and looked at her with a sparkle in her eyes.

You have found someone, sister.

Do I look that obvious? she signed slowly. She looked at her with wide eyes, bewilderment across her features.

You are much clearer than the surface water of the sea, she chuckled. In embarrassment, she pats her sister away with a frown.

Two actually, she signed with her head rigid as she stared her sister straight in the eyes and lips pressed in a hard, thin line. I found two.

Tonowari is an oaf, but he is strong and wise. [Name] is stubborn, but she is kind and full of love.

But you are not happy. There is something wrong. She observes correctly. Ronal looks at her with a sense of helplessness for nothing could escape her keen eyes and nodded.

I am happy. Tonowari has already accepted me. But [Name]…her fingers slowly stopped. She does not know yet.

Roa gently swims back to the surface, letting herself and her sister breathe for oxygen. Ronal breathes with a silent gasp and swims to her body to hug her fin. Her hair long hair serves as a blanket over her body as she rests on her.

“I am scared, sister,” she admits. “I am scared to know if she does not see me.”

But Tonowari sees you, does he not? What makes you say that [Name] does not? Roa hums as she swims languidly on the surface. Ronal is silent. To have one accept her as someone more than just friends, to have courted her, to see her, is already a miracle. She cannot believe one more. The scars in her heart tremble and she clenches her fist over it.

Do you see her? she asks.

“I do.” Without thinking about it and with no hesitation, she instantly replies. Seeing her is not just enough to describe her affection [Name]. It is like a wind that sings and calls your name over and over again. It rustles and sways, hoping to find your being in its arms to hold and touch you. It wails and cries without you for it loses direction without you to follow.

Then trust yourself, her voice vibrates and shakes her out of her hesitation and doubts, Trust what you see in her and let her see you.

Trust that Eywa has answered your prayers once more.

As Ronal and Roa continue to swim unhurriedly, she feels not the turbulent and raging wind that painfully hits her. She feels not the cold wind that harshly nips her exposed skin. She hears not the sobs and whines of the wind.

As she swims, she feels the gentle breeze that caresses her. She feels the freshness of the wind that kisses her face with enough warmth. She hears the soft murmurs and cheers of the calm air.

As she swims, she feels you.

series taglist: (tags in blue means tumblr won't let me mention you, please let me know if you changed usernames!) @totesnothere04 @ducks118 @narutoboi @yeosxxx @fanboyluvr @ladylovegood-69 @northsoulss @thatfictionalwh0re @ghostlyworld @toodaloo432 @lovefromjazzy @greendino7

[asnowfern]

Everything is fine when your hand is next to mine

A soft nessian drabble because that is all my completely exhausted being has the energy for.

WC: 743, Modern AU setting

The dread of realisation rose in Nesta with the increasing strength of the tidal waves. The ferry that transported them to the island was nothing more than a floating speck, helpless against the vast body of tumultuous water.

It was a short ride to the resort island that housed their team retreat: not even a mere hour.

While prone to often bouts of terrible nausea, Nesta’s seasickness had never devolved into the realms of vomiting. So she never found a need to medicate herself, choosing instead to rely on time trusted practice of a light meal and comfortable clothes that gave her chest and abdomen ample breathing room.

Though she had still hoped when she spotted the charcoal threat of cumulonimbus clouds in the faraway distance that it would wait the hour, not striking down its wrath until they had safely docked at shore. But alas, it was not to be - the waves grew just a little taller with each push and pull, the speed at which the ferry climbed and fell with the waves a jumbled inconsistent mess.

Nesta’s stomach lurched at the next descent and she squeezed her eyes shut, her mouth pursed into the slightest of an oval, pushing out a slow steady stream of air. Her meditative habits kicked in on instinct.

I am the rock against which-

Oh, for goodness sake. She couldn’t even complete the sentence without her abdomen clenching at the mere thought.

“Hey, Nes,” the voice dripping in pure swagger greeted as the cheap leather seat grumbled at the sudden weight.

Her brows knitted on its accord, annoyed. Nesta kept her eyes closed in pure refusal to acknowledge the business development executive. Maybe if she stayed quiet long enough, he would go away.

He didn’t.

He said nothing for a while, letting the little squeaks of leather alert her of his continued presence.

“Nes?”

“Now’s not the time, Cassian.” She sighed wearily, her jaw clenched as her belly threatened to push acidic bile up her throat. She took a shallow breath in and released a long shuddering exhale, forcing it under her control.

One, two, in.

One, two, out.

“You ok?”

One, two, in.

“I’m fine.”

One, two, out.

One, two, in.

“You don’t look fine.”

Silver blue eyes flew open as she whirled on him, snapping with the exhale, “Would you just leave me alone?”

It was uncalled for. It was rude but Nesta refused to backpedal even as something within her chastised her for chewing him off for no good reason. She ignored the voice and levelled a withering gaze at slightly widen hazel eyes, pretending not to notice the flash of hurt in them.

He slipped away when the moment broke, brushing her off with a wry smile that masked any other emotions, “I’ll be back later.”

And Nesta was alone again.

She fished her phone out of her bag to take note of the time - another thirty minutes to go, and sighed.

Leaning back into the seats, her knuckles turned white as her fingers gripped onto its handles. She forced it loose in hopes of loosening her tightening stomach. Her eyes stuttered shut and resumed her control of gated entry of air into her lungs.

Warm rough fingertips gently enveloped the back of her palms, rousing her from the fitful sleep she hadn’t realised she had fallen into. Dazed eyes drifted to the paper cup he extended to her, nothing but soft understanding on that ruggedly handsome face. Nesta accepted it wordlessly with a slight downward jerk of her chin, surprised at the heat from its papered surface. It was beyond her how he managed to find any hot drinks on this small transport ferry.

Cassian smiled and settled back into the seat next to her. Nesta lifted the edge of the cup to her lips, cautiously sipping its hot content. Immediately, a warmth spread in her chest and stomach. The gentle bitterness of the oolong tea soothed the churning.

Shifting her grip of the drinking receptacle to one hand, she slipped slender fingers over broad ones and soft palm over the back of the much larger hand.

“Thank you.”

His hand moved under hers, flipping so that their hands are clasped together. With the smallest of a smile gracing her lips, her shoulders relaxed into the seat and she let the comforting heat of his palm and the soothing presence to tie her through for the rest of the ride.

[peanutbutterandbananasandwichs]

Sam clambers out of the Impala, all long gangly limbs that still don’t quite know what to do with themselves and nearly trips over his own feet in his rush to get to the door of the house, duffle slung over his shoulder and strap grasped tight between his fingers. 

“What are you in such a rush for?” Dean nudges him sharply in the ribs as he hurries to catch up with him.

“Just want to get the best bedroom before you nick it jerk” Sam replies, turning to face Dean, and he can't quite keep the grin off his face. 

“Sorry Sammy, oldest get’s the best bed, just the way the world works”, Sam shakes his head, 

“Ok fine. Whatever.” He continues at the brisk pace through the hallway. 

“Ok...you're still grinning, what gives?” Dean grabs Sam’s elbow, pulling him to a stop. 

“What, so I'm not allowed to smile now?”

“No, you’re allowed, just not when you're supposed to be moping and pitching a bitch fit about moving again right about now.”

The smile slips ever so slightly from Sam’s lips and he clutches hold of his duffel strap even tighter, as if it’s something grounding. “Shut up Dean” he mumbles before pulling his elbow free and pushing open the door to the living room, with rather more force than he'd intended, and dropping himself down on the slightly moth eaten sofa, reaching into his duffle and pulling out a thick leather-bound book.

“Ah there’s the Sam we know and....”

“...Come on boys, no time for fucking about...” John appears at the doorway to the living room, clapping Dean on the shoulder as he speaks, “Dean go get the gun case from the truck.”

“Yes sir!” Dean hurries off back in the direction of the front yard. As Dean leaves, John rounds on Sam. “Not a hotel Sam, research to be done. People are dying whilst you're lazing around.”

Sam blows his bangs out of his face and scowls back at John. He's sure dad's needling him deliberately, they'd been on the edge of a blowout argument for a week now. He wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. Wasn't going to let anything kill the buoyant seed of hope he was nurturing in his chest. He holds up the book, lips tight as he responses tersely “sorry I didn't have it open yet. I'll be quicker next time. Sir.”

John huffs and stomps half out of the room, before calling back “I want something usable in less than an hour, not any of your usual ‘well it might be’ crap. Ok?”

Sam dips his head, he hates how small dad makes him feel sometimes, “I just like to be sure.”

“An hour Sam.”

John leaves the room and Sam waits until he hears the firm slam of a bedroom door, glancing warily around, before fumbling a envelope from where its tucked securely in a split in the book’s back cover.

Sam pulls his knees up, leaning the book between his stomach and his thighs. The corners of the envelope are dog eared from being stuffed into a slightly too small hiding place, Sam gingerly smooths them down, pressing the paper against the book cradled in his lap.

Thumbing over the already loose flap he slips it open and tugs the folded paper out, his fingers trembling as he goes through the same ritual of smoothing out the page. Almost as if he’s avoiding having to actually look at the contents, which is dumb, he’s read it before, last night, back at Pastor Jim’s place. But still, it doesn’t feel quite real yet and maybe he read it all wrong last night, maybe he dreamed it.

There’s a loud crash from the front door and Sam nearly jumps out of his skin, hastily stuffing the letter back inside the envelope and cramming it, in direct opposition to his fastidious care of mere seconds ago, roughly back into the slot between the peeling binding and the cover, flipping to a marked page and making an effort to look sufficiently studious.

“Budge up.” Dean slouches back into the room, dropping the gun case down at the foot of the sofa. Sam curls his feet in further under his body as Dean sprawls himself across well over half the sofa. Sam watches out of the corner of his eye, as he flips the gun case open with a toe and then reaches down to pull out Dad’s pistol, ready for cleaning. “Found anything?” Dean asks, leaning over to squint at the tiny, cramped font of the tome. “Damn, this is why you do the research lore boy.”

“Not yet, working on it” Sam mumbles in response, “or I was until you came crashing in.” He silently wills Dean to get the hint and go finish up in the kitchen or something, that or shift enough to let Sam wiggle out from the tiny corner of the sofa he’s been relegated to. He just wants somewhere to read the letter again in peace.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Evil Queen x Fem!AFAB!Reader ll Drabble

Plot: 💋💋💋 Hilda in the 🛁🛁🛁 at 🌓🌓🌓. Also some 💕💕💕.

Warnings: Graphic makin' out naked in the tub. That's it.

Tagging: @disney-android-foundation , @marinerainbow , @ryantryan6969 and @spookiifi . Hey guys! I hope y'all like it and have a wonderful day ^^ 😅💜💜💜

Water sloshed out the sides but you barely even noticed, settling down in your fair queen's lap and connecting your lips. Your legs hang over her hips and interlock at the ankles around her back, and you feel encompassed by soft soft skin- you think if God truly thinks that there is something wrong with this, then you and the Devil may get along after all.

Hilda's sharp fingernails graze up your body, leaving gentle trails of water and her touch along your skin until she finds your hair clip. After slipping it out of your hair, letting it loose from the tight bun it was in so it falls softly over your shoulders and your back, just the tips becoming wet from the water, she discards the thing over the side of the bath. It makes a light clatter on the stone floor but you're far too preoccupied to think about it. To care.

The warm water envelopes you, filling in all the empty places, and her lips are so soft. You're barely kissing yet, just brushing against each other, but you know your lady; And this wont be enough for her, not for long.

"Its been a long week, pet... I don't have the patience to offer for your teasing that I usually do... "

From under heavy eyelids, Hilda gives you a heated look that's needful and threatening in equal measure and her fingers that have made their way back down under the depths- squeeze and scrape against your sides, drawing you into her. A gasp slips out of you from the pain (Or did you fake it? Give her an opportunity?), and she finally seals her lips with yours and slips her tongue into your mouth.

No pretenses. Hilda doesn't hold anything back, ever. And you are in no position to deny her, the heat in the pit of your belly growing so much hotter and the knot tightening exponentially as you feel her taste you; Tilting your head and parting your lips further for her. You moan and you try to fight her, taste her back, make her just as much a mess as she so damn effortlessly makes you. But she just takes, and takes. Whatever you give, she swallows down, tasting every part of your mouth that she can find. Her tongue isn't nearly as purposeful as the rest of her, it runs completely on instinct, but that's all-the-more endearing to you. She knows what she wants (You, its always you) and she's fervent in stealing it. Making you give it. After all, she's a queen... if she wants it, it already belongs to her.

Including you; You belong to her. You're fine with that.

Continuing to feel her lips and lick her tongue, you cant help yourself from reaching between you both to cup your hands around her chest; Perfectly round handfuls, and you feel obscene- but you just want to feel them. So heavy, you love to squeeze them and rub her soft nipples with your thumbs.

That makes her even more rabid for you, too. She raises her neck off the lip of the tub in order to crash her lips even more firmly against you, the feeling of your self-indulgent hands on her tits spurring her on. She wants you. She so, completely, unadulteratedly wants you.

And god, god, god (Satan, satan, satan)- you need her, damnit. With her breasts in your palms for you to kneed and feel and gently squeeze, and her core sitting tantalisingly against yours (wet in more ways then just the one), and the whole room lit up by candles around you both... you feel starving. Desperate. Aching for something apparently unholy, that only she can provide.

And she has to provide it right now. You need it as soon as possible. The little demon in you is impatient and crude and insatiable.

... But you'll force it quiet, mash it down, curb its screeching. You want this to last.

This is the best feeling in your twenty summers and you wont see it off so quick as that little bastard deep inside you wants to feed.

Your kisses have become languid, now, boiling hot and all-tongue. You're a moaning mess in her mouth and the knot feels like it is completely ablaze inside you. Meanwhile Hilda has the situation completely under control; She has you by the tongue and by the skin of your thighs under her misleadingly dainty-looking, strong fingers (Little-known fact about your fair lady; Years of piano have made her fingers tough like rope. You love to hold them when you're alone... when she's not gripping you, like this), and she's taking,.. taking,.. taking.

You're a weak, moaning creature draped over her lap and she loves it. She begins to smirk against your mouth, when suddenly- one of those hands snaps around your throat and you stop kissing.

It takes you a moment to come back from heaven (Or was it hell? You're all turned around. Is Hilda an angel or a devil?), but when you do (Eyes cracking open again hesitantly, to see her vibrant green ones glaring at you- you don't think she knows how to look at someone in another way. You don't mind it; You like it.) you feel a rush of heat race straight to your core. The water in this bath has to be at least part you, at this point.

The look on her face is completely sinful (So she's a devil, then. ... You find you don't care nearly as much as you should. Or, at all), contemplative and mischievous. Its the look she takes when she's gazing over her maps, taking in her land; And deciding what to do with it. How to manipulate it for her gain.

"Mm... yes... "With a thoughtful look in her poisonous green eyes, Hilda raises her chin. "That should have done it... "

Blinking, still half-lost, you look at her in confusion. "... What?"

"I'm sure you're fully ready for me now, is all my pet." She smirks, and as her hand under the water slides against your hard slit your eyes light up immediately with realisation; Your hips buck the tiniest bit, too. "Of course, I was right... little whore... "

As her fingers sink slowly, deep into your heat, your mouth falls open and she watches your reactions like a snake; A predator underneath all those lotions and lip tints.

A very fair predator, that you're totally in love with.

[simonsrosebud]

Hii, hope I'm not too late for WIP Wednesday. I'm hooked on next gen foxes (one elliot min-jos has no right to be so funny) and intrigued by brussels, so I guess I'll leave it up to you? Thankss

Have a nice day : )

I’m gonna give you some of the night that Elliot and Abram first hook up..... (if that's news to anyone reading this then reference this)

-

Elliot doesn’t mind parties like these.  Scant lighting, people everywhere minding their own business, some playing drinking games in the kitchen, way too many shoved into the dark living room shouting over the music pulsing through all of their veins.  Bodies pressed against one another while some danced to whatever throwback was playing, others flirting with people who were either interested or oblivious.

He and Abram sneak in from outside, winding through people and trying not to get beer spilled down either of them.  Elliot pulling him through with a tight grip on his hand, shouldering his way into as much of a clearing as he can manage.

He trips over someone’s foot and curses under his breath as his heart drops.  Abram uses his free hand to grab the back of Elliot’s shirt to keep him upright, and settles it on his waist to stay close behind, and Elliot doesn’t have the courage to glance back at him.  The touch on his waist is enough to send hot sparks through his skin.

Elliot hides his drunken grin, hides the excitement just from the touch.

They only get as far as the front door before they end their search for space.  It’s not big, but it’s enough of a pocket to breathe in until the rest of their roommates eventually fine them.  Knowing them, it could be all night.

Abram has already announced that they were all heading out, the responsible mother hen he is.  From there on it’s up to the others to actually make it out of the house alive.

“They’re never getting up here!”  Elliot laughs, head swiveling to search for their friends.  He shakes his head in disbelief, hiccuping and humming as he leans it back against the wall.

Abram stands turned to the side beside him, his chest pressing to Elliot’s shoulder.  It’s an intimidating sight, Abram with his arm up above him on the wall, almost looming over him.  Elliot forces himself to look away.

But because he’s drunk, Abram’s voice in his ear startles him.  “Hey.”  He turns his head.  His face comes way too close like that, but he doesn’t have the courage to move it.

“Hey,” he repeats.  Abram smiles softly, drunken eyes squinting a bit.  Elliot has no idea what he wanted to say, not in this state of mind, at least, but he bites his lip and unapologetically scans Abram’s face.  He flicks his gaze down to his mouth and wills himself to keep breathing.  How much has he drank?

“Hey, that thing you posted,” Elliot slurs.  “Were- was that true?”

Abram doesn’t tweet as often as Elliot does, that’s for sure.  And surely not personal or inappropriate things.  For him to post, “just when you think you’ve hit rock bottom, you want to fuck a blonde guy” is definitely, in Elliot’s opinion, outrageous compared to his usual content.

Abram’s tongue darts out and over his bottom lip, then he bites it softly afterwards, slow and teasing.  He nods at a snails pace, humming in agreement.

He looks down at Elliot’s mouth- or was it just his chin?  Was there a difference?  Regardless, Elliot’s body is a mess.  Swaying under the influence of alcohol, sweating slightly from the overpopulation of the house, chest constricting and heart pumping loudly in his ears.  Whatever song playing through the house sounds like garbled nothings to him.

His breath hitches heavily when Abram’s hand slides onto his waist, thumb pushing into his belly and smoothing over his covered skin.  The pressure sets his skin ablaze.  He knows that Abram has big hands, but there’s a difference between holding it himself and feeling it envelop virtually his entire waist.  God, is he lightheaded?

Elliot loosely hooks his finger in Abram’s belt loop before he even recognizes doing it.  He swallows and tilts his chin up, just barely, balling his fists behind his back and trapping them against the wall.  

Abram’s breath is warm on his cheek, smelling of the same beer Elliot has been drinking ago and a hint of the toothpaste he’d used just before they left earlier.  His forehead brushes against Elliot’s, not quite pressing together but teasing the touch, and if he justleans a bit further then-

“Yo, we looked everywhere for you fucker!”  Colin and their other roommates pop up unexpectedly, nearly tackling them with their alcohol induced excitement, jumping and cackling and hollering.  Elliot lets himself be wrenched away and out of Abram’s touch, starting out the door without a second thought.  His heart still overworks itself, setting a beat far too fast for the song playing and warning him of what he almost just did.

What they almost did?

[vizishereig]

28 for ship of your choice for the sleepy prompts 🫶🏻

hi, hello, hi! valeveira, for you <3 hope I did them justice, bc i haven't written them before :D

28. "So then I- oh, you're already asleep." from this prompt list

Jill is exhausted. He can see it in the way she’s carrying herself, shoulder’s hunched ever so slightly (the distinction so small that it took a while for Carlos to pick up on it), eyes fluttering slightly, a darkness smudged under her eyes. He sighs, walking forward, making sure she knows he’s coming, and envelopes her in a hug, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Bad mission?” He mumbles, keeping his voice low. Jill had been rubbing her fingers into her temples as she walked in, a clear sign of a headache or migraine. She hums quietly, shrugging.

“It wasn’t… terrible. Nobody died or got injured too badly. Just… there were kids,” she replies, leaving it at that. Carlos inhales sharply, holding her a little tighter, then letting go.

“C’mon, let’s get you to bed. You look like you haven’t slept in days,” he urges, changing the subject. Jill can, and will, beat herself up about it tomorrow, but he refuses to let her now, when she looks like she’s about to pass out on his shoulder. She nods in response, letting him lead her to the bedroom.

She seems to liven up a bit in the bedroom, grabbing clothes and going to take a shower. When she exits a few moments later, she looks more awake, which is the exact opposite of what he wants.

“I have to write up a report on what happened, so I’ll be a bit before I can join you,” Jill says as she tosses her clothes into the hamper.

“Yeah, no. Come here,” Carlos says, holding his arms out. She huffs, but acquiesces, allowing herself to be gathered in his arms.

“You’re such a dork,” she complains halfheartedly, letting him drag her to bed. “You know I won’t be able to sleep, right? That shower woke me up.”

“Mm. That’s fine, but at least rest up a bit in bed with me? We can talk or something, I don’t know,” he replies, letting her go as he lays back on the bed, Jill moving to rest her head over his heart. Probably listening to the steady thump of it, a reminder that he’s okay.

“You can talk, I’ll listen. Not really in the mood to speak,” she says, blue eyes meeting brown.

So Carlos does. Talks to her about mundane shit that happened throughout the day. Nothing heavy, nothing work-related. He’s hallway through a story about a girl who got upset with him in the grocery store when Jill stops making the small sounds that signalled she was listening.

“So then I-” he pauses, looking down, noticing her eyes have closed and her breathing has evened out. “Oh, you’re already asleep, huh?”

She doesn’t crack her eyes open to prove him wrong, doesn’t do much other than shift a little, one hand twitching where it’s curled against his shirt loosely.

“Night, supercop,” he says, voice quiet, unwilling to wake her up, chest warm at the ease in which she dropped off. It took forever to get to this point, where she felt safe enough to be so vulnerable around him, especially after everything that happened.

He shifts a little, getting comfortable as well, and falls asleep soon after, one arm loosely holding her side. Peace at last.

[angelhotchner]

Comfort of Strangers - 2

Comfort of Strangers - Part Two

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!OC

Style: Multi-Part

Contents: Fluff, Adult Language, NSFW

Word Count: 1.3K

Life ain’t easy when you’re pining.

Masterlist

“Come on, you’re funny when you’re drunk,” She was still trying to convince you but you just shook your head. When you turned back around to face her, bag in hand, you found Derek and Emily stood next to her with raised eyebrows.

It was Penelope’s idea to go out that night. You weren’t too keen on the idea - your couch had been calling your name since you arrived at the BAU that morning and you had plans to binge watch Law & Order that night with a pizza. Your mouth was watering at the thought of it. Besides, you assumed you wouldn’t be missed all that much if you took a rain check considering you didn’t feel like you had a strong bond with any of the team members yet.

“But Harris, you have to come with us!” Penelope pouted.

“Nah, I’m good,” You shook your head, turning towards your desk to gather your things.

“It’ll be fun,” Emily coaxed.

“We need it,” Derek shrugged, his head tilting at you. You were about to say no, thank you for the offer, but my couch and I have a date planned, we’ll have to reschedule, blah blah but Penelope had one final thing to add.

“We convinced Hotch to come. If Hotch is joining us, you are too, honey,”

Shit. How could you pass this up now?

“Fine. Fine. I’ll go,” You said with a small sigh. Penelope squealed and enveloped you into a huge hug which surprised you and rendered you unable to move for a few seconds, but you hugged her back loosely.

“You don’t have to look like we put a gun to your head, Harris,” Emily giggled. “Although next time you try to turn down a night out, we might,”

Her quip awarded her with a very small smirk from you - one that she caught onto quickly and she chuckled in response.

Hotch didn’t usually go out with the team. He did when he had Haley but that was a different story, it was difficult now - although a lot of time had passed since her death - to go out without feeling a little guilty for enjoying himself. It had become easier over time but he still got that niggling feeling every once in a while that something didn’t feel right, it was usually the lack of her beside him.

He was the last one to leave the bullpen, nodding graciously to Rossi as he held the elevator door open for him. He spotted you in the corner, staring at your shoes like you were trying to figure them out, and managed to hide his smile.

There had only been one time that you’d joined the team for a night at the bar and it was the first time anyone had seen you smile. Hotch secretly hoped that he would see it again. As the elevator descended, he tried to think of things that could possibly make you laugh once the alcohol had loosened you up. He had gone through half of the dad jokes in his brain when the elevator doors opened on the ground floor. None of them were good enough. Shit, he wasn’t really funny. 

Even Jack didn’t find him very funny.

The bar wasn’t too busy when you arrived. It was an inviting and welcome setting, the lights in warm hues of red and orange and the music loud enough to enjoy but quiet enough to still be able to talk without yelling. You were the last one to order your drink and the only seat available was on a low stool with your back to the bar, next to Hotch.

You thanked the universe for that.

You were quiet as your nursed your first drink. You listened to everyone else instead, a few smirks pressing into your lips as the team told funny stories and roasted each other - mainly Emily, Morgan and Reid. Hotch noticed the smirks from the corner of his eye and wished you weren’t sat beside him. He wished you were sat right in front of him so it wouldn’t be obvious that he was desperate to see your face in a state that wasn’t a frown or expressionless.

You were chattier as you drank your second drink. When you chugged your third drink and had already started sipping on your fourth drink, you were giggly.

Hotch hated to admit to himself how much he was enjoying hearing you laugh. He knew he was down bad for you now. It was highly inappropriate, thinking about one of his team members 24/7 and wishing he could get closer, but he just couldn’t stop.

It all started from a hug, albeit you were straddling his lap at the time. Maybe it was because it was so unexpected, maybe it was how warm and safe you felt to him - he had no idea, but it had caused this chaos inside of his brain. A small voice in the back of his mind was telling him that it wasn’t going to end well, but he repeatedly pushed it even further back. He didn’t want to think about what could realistically happen, he just wanted to imagine what could happen in a perfect world. It was peaceful.

When you came back from the bar with your fifth drink, you had made an unwanted friend. Some fucking idiot couldn’t take the hint that you had no interest in talking to him - following you as you walked back to the booth. You were maybe a meter away when you felt a hand grab your ass cheek.

“Don’t touch me,” You yelled sternly. Hotch’s ears pricked up at your tone and he turned to watch some drunk, handsy man run his hand down your waist and grab your hip.

Immediately, Hotch could feel rage in his blood. He stood up, face of thunder, to give the guy a hard lesson but you already had it covered.

“Hold this,” You pushed your drink into Hotch’s hands as he stood up, leaving him to only watch as you grabbed the guy’s crotch area tightly - so tight that he could almost feel the pain in his own balls - and slowly raise your knee until it was mere centimetres from the guy’s trapped genitals. 

The guy was screeching, high pitched and pained.

“When I say don’t touch me, I mean it,” you spat. “Will you do it again?”

The guy tried to answer but you squeezed harder. He yelped a ‘no’, but you didn’t let go straight away - not until the guy was begging for forgiveness. 

Hotch couldn’t decipher why his stomach burned as he watched the guy hobble away, cradling himself. Jesus, it was a nasty move - but the guy deserved it. 

The burning made sense when he saw you turn back around, a smile on your face at winning the battle. It was a smug smile, lazily devious, and it made his mouth water. How the fuck was that so attractive?

”Damn,” Emily smiled, motioning her head towards the guy. “I don’t think he’ll be doing that again,”

”You good?” Morgan asked. He’d noticed what was going on and had the same idea as Hotch, but was left stuck standing behind the table as he watched you handle the situation.

”Fine,”

Then you sat down and it ruined Hotch: one hand on the stool as you spread your legs and straddled it for a second, before getting comfortable and slowly closing your legs in front of you.

He saw you in his head. Straddling his hips like that stool as he lay down in a bed, you on top of him with that smug smile on your face. He couldn’t stop picturing it - the worst daydream he could possibly have right now - as he sat next to you with the rest of the team around him, drinking and talking.

It quickly became his favourite guilty pleasure.

------

taglist:

@lostinthefandoms11 @babymango-writes @mynotesapptbh @ssamorganhotchner @ssahotchsbitch @howabouticallyou @hotchnerxo

[bagsybaggins]

Chapter 8: Taste of Bitter Almonds

Valentine's day was a day that Atropos had entirely forgotten about until it was just around the corner, and everyone was buzzing with excitement in hopes of receiving something from someone they admired. As Atropos entered the great hall, she was surprised that the floating candles had been replaced with floating glowing heart-shaped containers. Atropos and Poppy shared sly grins as they rushed to the table, taking a seat on the bench they deemed theirs. And just like they thought, heart-shaped foods, including pancakes.

Poppy immediately dug into the pancakes and the fruits, while Atropos began to fill her goblet with cranberry juice, waiting for Poppy to leave the pancakes alone.

Arms wrapped around her and a kiss was placed on her cheek. "Good morning Sweetheart, Happy Valentine's day."

"Happy Valentine's Sebastian-" She paused as a box blocked her vision, "What's this?"

Sebastian grinned as he moved and sat beside her, resting his left arm on the table as he straddled the bench. 

"It's a gift for you."

Atropos turned to him as Poppy popped a strawberry into her mouth as she watched the interaction.

"Sebastian, you didn't have to get me anything- I didn't get you anything-"

Sebastian shook his head, "That's perfectly fine, I should be able to spoil my girlfriend from time to time. Go on, open it."

She pressed her lips into a thin line, untying the blue ribbon from the black box, and lifted the lid. Air became lodged in her throat, refusing to move as she stared at the necklace in the box. A simple silver chain with 3 green jewels in the shape of stars, two with six points, and the one in the middle with four points. She smiled, knowing they were representing the sparks from their lake date.

"I love it, thank you." Atropos's eyes shined as she turned to him, a pleased grin on his lips. "Put it on me?"

She held it out for him, and he took it out of the box carefully. Standing up, he moved behind her and unclasped it, moving it so it rested against her neck as she lifted her hair. As he clasped it, he leaned forward and placed a small kiss on the nape of her neck.

"Oi! Sebastian! I hope you don't mind me borrowing your potions homework! I forgot mine!" Garath yelled from his table, holding up Sebastian's book that had loose parchment sticking out of it.

"No- Garath give that back!" Sebastian yelled, chasing after him as Garath ran out of the Great Hall. 

Poppy rolled her eyes as scattered laughter erupted from the tables and Atropos's fingers rested on the stars that sat on her collarbone.

Owls began their morning routine of delivering mail, dropping envelopes and packages in front of the ones they were meant for. Poppy stared at the package that was dropped in front of her in confusion, a pink heart-shaped box. She looked at Atropos, and hesitantly picked it up, turning it over in her hands, as well as giving it a gentle shake.

"Maybe you have a secret admirer?" Atropos suggested, "See if they left a card inside."

A look of apprehension passed over Poppy's face, and Atropos frowned as she noticed her friend's discomfort. 

"Is something wrong, Poppy?"

Inhaling deeply Poppy nodded her head, "I've heard stories that sometimes, people have gotten the love potion inside gifts given to them on Valentine's day."

Atropos nodded in understanding, "Would you like me to do it?"

"But what if it is and you end up falling under the love potion, I would feel so guilty for giving it to you-"

Snatching the box from her, Atropos opened the box, revealing 11 chocolates with nuts. And a single slip of parchment, 'To Poppy Sweeting, From a fellow beast lover.'

Poppy and Atropos share a look of confusion at the note before turning to the chocolates.

"Well, I can't even have them, I'm allergic to nuts," Poppy stated as Atropos lifted a chocolate to her nose.

Frowning heavily, Atropos shook her head. "It doesn't smell like anything other than chocolate and almonds. Doesn't amortentia supposedly smell like whatever you love?"

Nodding quickly, Poppy furrows her brows as Atropos rolls the chocolate between her index and thumb. "Yes, but maybe it would be best if we throw it away, just to be safe."

Pressing her lips together, Atropos shakes her head. "It was delivered to Hogwarts, I doubt it's anything dangerous." And she tossed it into her mouth, ignoring Poppy's warning.

"Atropos, why would you do that?" Poppy panicked, standing from her seat. "Do you feel any different? Are you in any pain? How do you feel right now?"

Atropos swallowed and shrugged, "I don't really feel any different, but I think they're perfectly fine. Don't worry Poppy, if I feel any different, I'll head straight to the Matron. I promise."

Staring down at her, Poppy sighs heavily. "Alright, but you better head straight there. No detours if you feel like you're in love with someone else, or if you feel sick."

-

Ominis didn't dislike Valentines, but he certainly didn't enjoy it. And this Valentine's was no different.

In the History of Magic with Professor Binns, Ominis found it difficult to focus on what Professor Binns was saying, his monotone voice often putting himself and others to sleep. Atropos chose to take the seat beside him, something he was glad for, not wanting to end up with someone he wasn't comfortable with. However, Ominis couldn't pin down the smell that was emitting from her. It wasn't pleasant, that he was sure about, but he could faintly smell chocolate on her as well.

"Atropos," Ominis whispered but got no response. "Atropos, are you alright?"

Ominis could hear her breath hitch as her head turned up toward the front of the room, her heartbeat speeding up as her hand flew out and grasped his arm.

"Atropos? What's wrong-"

"The chocolate, something was in it. I can't-"

His blood froze in his veins as he heard her words, and her panicking state started to shift as she began hyperventilating. Her hand had a death grip around his wrist, bruising the skin, but barely felt it. He placed his hand on her left shoulder turning towards her, only for her to shake his hand off.

"Atropos! ATROPOS! Look at me-"

"I can't! Everything's wrong- You look wrong!"

Ominis's eyes widened, she wasn't seeing things correctly. They were wrong, hallucinations!

"Atropos, how do you feel, right now tell me!"

"What is going on here?" Professor Binns asked but was ignored.

"Scared, I'm alone, everything's wrong!"

"What else Atropos!" Ominis pushed, grasping her shoulder tightly, not letting go as she struggled.

Atropos whimpered, tears dotting her eyes. "Water- I need water-"

"No, no. What else, Atropos what else!" His thoughts raced, worry and fear pushing their way up his throat.

He had an idea of what she could be poisoned with, but it was difficult to tell. She wasn't focusing on him because of her own hallucinations, hyperventilating and trying to escape his grasp, but he held on.

"Hopeless." That's all she said before passing out into Ominis's arms.

And Ominis knew that it was just as he had feared.

[xansmenagerie]

Traveller Pt 11

CW: Character death.

She hears the shot that kills her, although she doesn't know it. It's not until the last man is dead that she feels the pain in her chest, sees the blood slowly spreading across her shirt. The sword drops from nerveless fingers. She slumps to the floor, and as the darkness takes her she hopes that he will be alright without her.

---

He hears the shot that kills her, although he doesn't know it. Lowering the staff he looks around to check that the others are alright, only to see both woman and wolf bleeding on the floor. He can tell before he reaches her that she's already dead; she's not glaring at him for one thing, daring him to comment. He kneels by her body, wondering what to do. The bear walks over and nudges him comfortingly; he stares into the distance for a long moment, then looks down at her again, suddenly sure of what must happen next.

The coat and boots go into the bag, as does the sword hilt. He doesn't know if anyone else will be able to use the sword, but it feels wrong just to leave it. Carrying her body up to a nearby rock is surprisingly easy, she weighs less than he thought she would. What's harder is prising the wolf's jaws from the throat of one of the enemy; from the way the man's gun is pressed to the gaping hole in the wolf's chest, it looks like the kill was mutual.

He arranges them both side by side on the top of the rock. It's a little pointless; the vultures and other scavengers won't care how dinner is presented after all, but the gesture makes him feel better. He looks on in silence. There are no words to be said. Finally he climbs back down the rock, scuffing out the blood trail as best he can as he goes.

The bear waits for him by the bags, eyes unreadable. He picks up the bags and slings them over his shoulder, picks up the iron bar in his free hand. He looks around. The falcon looks back at him from a twisted stick of a tree. "You coming?" The hawk just stares at him. He shrugs. Man and bear set off along the road, leaving the dead behind them.

---

She watches them go and smiles. He'll do just fine. Strong arms wrap around her from behind; the smile only widens. She asks without looking, "Where now?"

His laugh is deep and warm. She twists and looks at him, seeing the amusement in the golden eyes. "What's so funny?"

The amusement carries into his voice, rich and golden-brown. "In all the time I've known you, that's the first time you've ever asked me that."

She stares at him for a moment, the corner of her mouth twitching as she tries not to give in. It doesn't work; she cracks up completely, doubling over with laughter of her own.

When she finally gets herself back under control, she offers him her hand; he takes it, enveloping hers completely. "Shall we then?" she asks. He nods. Woman and Wolf walk off along the road, leaving the living behind them.

All is still and quiet, save for the flies on the corpses on the road. The eagle launches itself into the air, circles the rock once and drops for landing.

The man lands neatly in a crouch, his cloak swirling, the mask loose in his hand. He looks at her fondly and strokes her cheek. "Thus ends the Harlequinade," he murmurs, standing up once more. He looks out into the distance, past the blue-gray horizon, and smiles. There will always be another to take up the role. "Goodbye, Fion." He leaps off the rock, pulling on the mask as he falls.

The falcon catches a thermal and soars into the air, leaving the world behind it.

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

II ║ Buckskin

Jack Daniels x f!reader

{ << Part 1: Palomino | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 3: Dapple Grey >> }

Rating: E (18+ only)

Summary: It's an eventful first day on the trail, to say the least.

Warnings: Flirting, yearning, insecurities, sexual tension, gratuitous descriptions of the male body, sexual innuendoes, inappropriate thoughts of a saddle horn (I'm sorry), masturbation (m and f), language, mention of food, mention of breakup, no use of Y/N

Word count: 6.8k

Notes: All of you have literally blown me away with your thirst (affectionate) for cowboy Jack, thank you for encouraging me to be as self-indulgent as I want with this fic 🥰 I hope this was worth the wait, I had a blast writing this part! Picks up immediately after Part 1.

Buckskin: A colour that resembles tanned deerskin. A buckskin horse has a tan or gold coloured coat with black points - mane, tail, and lower legs.

Day 1

‘I hear you were meant to come with someone.’

You arch an eyebrow and quip drily. ‘No secrets on this ranch, huh?’

Jack gives you an apologetic tip of the hat. ‘Sorry, you’ve met Champ - he’s not exactly discreet. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.’

Your fears that you would run out of conversation within the first hour of the day proved unfounded. Jack is an attentive guide, his experience and knowledge of the area obvious as he leads you deeper into the mountains. He tells you about the local geography, points out native trees and flora to you when he notices your gaze lingering in interest, and entertains your questions about the ranch and the people in it. 

The morning passes as quickly as the temperature rises, and soon you both shed your jackets, stopping briefly so Jack can affix the loose items to one of Bourbon’s saddle bags. He rolls up the sleeves of his plaid shirt before hopping back into the saddle.

You try not to stare at the way his forearms flex with the movement.

You want to live in the moment and all that crap, but you soon succumb to the temptation and pull out your phone to take panoramic videos of the stupendous vistas. Sweeping from left to right, the camera takes in grassy knolls, patches of wildflowers in full bloom, clear skies and the ever-looming presence of the Bighorn Mountains.

It’s not your fault that Jack just happens to be in the tail end of all your videos. He even turns his head just in time in one of them, granting you a perfect shot of his profile. 

If anything, he’s in the way of the views. How dare he.

The timing works out according to Jack’s plans. Just as the heat starts becoming overbearing, a formidable line of trees comes into view after you crest the steepest incline of your journey so far. 

The old pine forest envelops you in a balmy coolness, and you sigh at the earthy scent of leaves and bark as Scotch continues sure-footedly on the soft woodland path. Filtered through the treetops, the midday sun loses its harshness, instead throwing dappled beams under the horses’ hooves.

You’re a city girl at heart, but if you’re not careful, you can really get used to this.

After a no-frills lunch - a hearty baguette sandwich stuffed to the brim with ham, cheese and leafy greens, and an apple to finish - you want to press on, but Jack insists on a half-hour break so that you can stretch out your knees and hips, knowing that you would pay for it the next day if you didn’t.

The afternoon leg of the ride has just resumed when Jack brings up the subject.

You realise you’ve fallen quiet a tad too long to be considered comfortable, so you compensate by flashing him a reassuring smile. ‘No, no, it’s fine. My ex-boyfriend and I booked this trip together. It was supposed to be a little getaway for my birthday.’

‘I’m sorry.’

You shake your head. ‘Don’t be. To be honest, it would’ve been boring with him here. He would’ve whinged about the horses smelling and we definitely couldn’t have gone any faster than a trot. He doesn’t ride.’

Jack chuckles. ‘Sounds like a keeper, whatever possessed you to leave him?’

‘I wish I did - he left me.’

‘Pardon my language, but he sounds like a fuckin' idiot.’

Your laugh rings in the quiet of the woods, and he looks pleased at your reaction, his warm eyes resting on you easily. Since it’s only fair that he should share something with you too, you ask conversationally, ‘What about you, cowboy? Do you have some sad sob story that brought you to the Statesman?’

You should’ve guessed, by the way his lips purse, and the smallest dip in his smile. But what comes out of his mouth in a quiet rasp still stuns you. 

‘My wife - she died eight and a half years ago.’

The blood literally drains out of your face. Of course - you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t put your big foot into your bigger mouth in front of someone you’re about to spend the next seven days with.

‘I’m sorry, darlin’, I didn’t mean to unsettle you -’

‘Oh god,’ you blurt out, brows knitted together in distress and stumbling over your words. ‘Why are you apologising to me? I’m a complete idiot. I’m so sorry, that was so insensitive of me -’

‘Darlin’ -’

‘I shouldn’t have phrased it that way, I didn’t mean to upset you -’

‘Darlin’, just let me -’

‘- I swear I didn’t mean it, Jack, please forgive me -’

Firm fingers close around your right wrist, and when he calls your name, your eyes snap to his, jolted out of your ramble. A gentle thumb brushes your pulse point and he smiles at you. ‘You run your mouth at a gallop, don’t you?’

‘I’m sorry,’ you answer in a small voice.

‘There's nothin' to apologise for. You didn’t know, and the joke would’ve landed with anyone else,’ he comforts you.

He lets go of you slowly, as if not to spook you, and you duck your head. ‘I’m still so sorry, Jack.’

His knee bumps into yours, startling you, and your stirrup irons clink sweetly when they touch. You didn’t realise he’s pulled in so close into you. It’s oddly intimate, riding this close to someone else - close enough to trade secrets. 

‘Please, darlin’, don’t be. Eight and a half years is a very long time ago. I’ve been dating casually for the last few, actually,’ he confides in you with a sheepish smile, which goes a long way to set you at ease. ‘But it’s hard to meet people when there are about five single women who live in a three-hour radius from the ranch.’

‘No Tinder around here?’

His brow furrows below his hat. ‘Tinder - what?’

‘Tinder. The online dating app?’ you repeat. At his shrug, you tease, ‘Not big on technology, are we?’

Winding the reins around the saddle horn, he holds up one finger at you in a silent wait a second, while fishing for something in one of his shirt pockets, which he presents to you with a ta-da.

‘Um, Jack… what’s that?’

‘I’ve been told that it’s an iPhone,’ he replies, turning the last word slowly on his tongue, as if it sits uncomfortably. At your incredulous look, he asks, ‘What’s wrong with it?’

You take it from him, looking it over with a snicker. ‘It’s literally held together by scotch tape. Did you pick it up from the side of the road after it fell out of someone else’s car?’

His fingers brush yours when he takes it back, sticking his nose up imperiously. ‘I don’t need a smartphone, or Tinder. I do things the old-fashioned way.’

You bite your lip, amused. ‘Oh? And what might that be?’

Jack winks at you. ‘I pick up women at a bar - the closest one is two hours’ drive away.’

‘Two hours?’

‘If I don’t pick up anyone, I have to sleep in my car since it’s too far to drive back. It’s a surprisingly effective incentive.’

You study him closely, but you don’t know him well enough to judge if he’s joking or not. ‘You cannot be serious, cowboy.’

‘Gotta keep those time-honoured traditions alive, darlin’,’ he replies, happy keeping you guessing. 

‘That’s ridiculous. I’ll teach you how to use Tinder, it’ll be fun!’ you insist. ‘It will also save you a ton of gas money.’

‘How? There’s no signal in the mountains.’

‘What about at the Halfway House?’

He begrudgingly admits, ‘Fine, there is wifi there. And you’re the guest, so technically, I can’t say no to you.’

You don’t hear the ‘you’re the guest’ and ‘technically’ though. Your heart is pounding at this cowboy telling you that he can’t say no to you.

Before you’ve recovered, he asks, ‘What about you? Are you ready to get back into the saddle, so to speak?’

You let your eyes linger over him, and your lips twitch. ‘Yeah - I’m beginning to think that I am.’

In the summer, the Statesman leads pack trips into the mountains every week. Jack and Tequila look after the guests on alternate, usually with a backup rider or two, depending on the size of the groups. While the routes are not set in stone, they set up makeshift campsites at certain spots every summer to make logistics easier, which are dismantled in the fall when tourist season winds down.

Jack glances at his watch as the lakeside camp comes into view. Perfect. There’s still a couple of hours until dinnertime.

This particular camp has a stone fire pit and a pile of already chopped logs kept dry under a tarp. Wooden posts have been hammered into the ground for holding saddles and tack. A bale of hay for the horses has been strung up in a net, hanging from a nearby tree, which was delivered earlier in the day by Tequila.

Your knees protest when your feet hit the ground, and you wince at the tightness in the joints. It doesn’t escape Jack’s notice, and he asks, ‘You alright, darlin’?’

You wave away his concerns. ‘Just a bit stiff, that’s all.’

‘You’ll need to do a lot of stretching tonight, or you’ll really feel it tomorrow.’

You’re distracted, unbuckling Scotch’s girth as you reply offhandedly, ‘Yes, sir.’

Jack’s head whips towards you so quickly he nearly pulls his neck. You’re not paying him any heed though - you’re balancing on your tiptoes to grab the saddle with both hands, your shirt riding up, baring the small of your back. You gently drag the saddle and the sweaty pad underneath off Scotch.

The thud with which the saddle lands on the wooden post shakes Jack out of his thoughts. He clears his throat and busies himself with untacking Whiskey.

‘I was thinking we could have a swim before dinner,’ he suggests, pointing behind him. ‘There’s a lake just beyond the trees, I think we could all do with a cool down and then a shower, including the horses.’

‘They like water?’ you ask, surprised.

Jack joins you on the opposite side of the post with Whiskey’s tack. ‘These three are basically fish, but with more legs and hair.’

You hang Scotch’s bridle on the edge of the post, one hand on your hip, and lament, ‘I didn’t bring a swimsuit, though.’

He really shouldn’t have, but the words come out without going through his brain. ‘Don’t you wear underwear, darlin’?’

You give him a look that has the tips of his ears turning red under his hat. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know, cowboy.’

Jack gapes at you, the rug pulled from underneath his boots too quickly to wrap his head around it. You let him flounder for just a few moments before you put him out of his misery, breaking into a chortle. ‘I’m messing with you - of course I do!’

Jack shakes his head, letting out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. With a chuckle, he watches you walk away to help with unloading Bourbon.

It looks like he will have to keep his wits about him this week.

The grass is long and soft under your bare feet, finally allowed to breathe after more than seven hours in the saddle today. The short walk to the lake is already doing you good, you can feel your back and hip muscles stretching and loosening.

You giggle when the horses spot the lake, and with excited neighs, they start at a canter to race each other to the water, leaving you and Jack behind.

‘They’re ridiculous,’ you say fondly, glancing at Jack, who’s also taken off his boots.

‘They know the good life,’ he quips.

You stop by the edge of the lake, under the shade of a tree with low branches. Jack hangs his towel on one of them, and you follow suit, then your hands waver over the hem of your shirt, fingers curling into your palms. You don’t remember the last time anyone saw you in your underwear other than your ex. Even though you’ve shaved and exfoliated in the comfort of your lodge last night, and you’re actually wearing a matching set of underwear - just in case, you told yourself - you hesitate.

Thankfully, Jack doesn’t seem to pick up on your awkwardness. In fact, he’s not looking your way at all - he’s watching as the horses splash in the shallows. 

The hat comes off first. You haven’t seen him without it yet, he was wearing it even at dinner last night. A large hand rakes through the roots of his hair, leaving a dishevelled, sweaty mess in its wake. His dark hair is cropped short, but from the way the stray wisps coil against his forehead, you can tell that it would grow long into thick curls if allowed to do so. 

His plaid shirt is next, the small buttons undone in quick succession under his nimble fingers, until it hangs open and loose over a firm chest and soft stomach. With a smooth roll of his shoulders, the sweat-stained shirt falls to the ground and your jaw drops.

You know you’re staring disrespectfully, but mother of god you’d have to fling yourself, fully clothed, into the water to stop yourself, and that would be a tad dramatic - even for you. 

He’s tanned all over, his forearms darker, presumably as he usually rides with his sleeves rolled up. His frame is broad - so broad you’d barely be able to wrap your arms around him if you tried. You can see the sweat dotting his skin, salty beads sliding down the contours of his back. The subtle firmness of his body speaks to the physical nature of his job, long hours in the saddle, riding and wrangling over days and years.

You’re suddenly painfully aware of eyes on you. Snapping your mouth shut, you can only bear to briefly glance at Jack with an apologetic half-smile.

Busted.

He winks at you, his big hands hovering over the ridiculous flask-shaped belt buckle you haven’t yet had the chance to quiz him about. The lines of his arms have no business being so defined. Is it just you or is he flexing under your scrutiny? 

Finally, he rasps, ‘You’re makin’ me blush, darlin’.’

‘Sorry,’ you squeak, feeling your cheeks burn as you spin around to give him some privacy.

Jack grins to himself, standing taller from the way you’re looking at him. He makes short work of his jeans and heads to the lake in his boxers, leaving you to disrobe. ‘I’ll see you in the water when you’re ready then.’

Diving in, Jack swims into the middle of the lake with easy strokes, sighing deeply as the cold water brings down his body temperature. Breaking the surface, he runs his fingers through his hair to push it back from his face, and takes stock of Bourbon and Whiskey on the other side of the lake, while Scotch rolls on the grassy bank, scratching his back.

He picks up on a quiet ripple of the water behind him, and he wades around at the small yelp you let out. You’re swimming in his direction, a beam lighting up your face. ‘It’s so cold - it feels amazing!’

Jack smiles back, paddling on the spot. ‘It’s the only lake on our route, so you better enjoy it, darlin’.’

You take your time, drifting through the water in a lazy breaststroke, which allows you to admire the views as you swim. The surface of the lake is a perfect mirror of the late afternoon sky, surrounded by lush grass that Scotch and Whiskey are now grazing on. You’re not a particularly strong swimmer, and you become winded after a few laps around the perimeter. Spotting Jack taking a break, you join him.

The slopes of his strong shoulders bob above the waterline, his wet hair slicked back, and he smiles at you. ‘Tired?’

You huff a laugh. ‘Let’s put it this way. The last time I went to the gym, Tinder hadn’t been invented yet.’

‘I couldn’t tell at all. You’ve done well, darlin’,’ he compliments you. 

His praise goes straight to your head like champagne on an empty stomach, and you hope it doesn’t show. You shrug nonchalantly and jest, ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, cowboy. The real test is whether I can get up tomorrow.’

Kicking your legs, you propel yourself upwards, your eyes slipping close as you come to float weightlessly on your back, soothing the ache in your muscles. The sun is warm on your skin, and you leisurely glide your arms and feet through the water to stay adrift. Your ears submerged, it drowns out the noises of the mountains - the birdsong, the rustle of trees, the horses. You listen to your own breathing and the trickle of moving water.

It’s strangely still. Has Jack swum off?

You tilt your face to the right, the water cool on your cheek, and open your eyes to find him looking straight at you.

‘What?’ you ask, somewhat self-consciously.

His gaze skims not so subtly across your floating form, before returning to your face. He shrugs casually, ‘Nothing, you just look very - comfortable.’

The way the word rolls off his tongue sends a shiver down your spine.

Not that he’s interested in you. You have to be real with yourself - he can’t be. He’s way out of your league, and then by some distance. A man who looks like that doesn’t go for girls like you. He’s just been flirting with you because that’s what cowboys do. It’s part of the dude ranch experience, how they get customers coming back - you know how it is.

You swallow thickly, and you don’t miss the way it catches his stare. The tension that had flared up during the hat fitting yesterday rears its head again. Your lips part in anticipation as he drifts closer to you -

- when something heavy knocks hard into your left leg, throwing you off balance and sending you plummeting into the water.

‘Oh my god what was that?’ you screech, flailing about in panic, rubbing water from your eyes.

Jack almost looks amused at your reaction. ‘Don’t worry, darlin’, it was probably just a fish.’

You watch the lake for signs of life, but you cannot see beyond the dark surface. ‘Probably a fish? What do you mean by probably?’

Even the horses are watching the commotion. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Bourbon standing on the edge of the lake, water dripping from his mouth as you disturbed him mid-drink, ears pricked forward in curiosity.

You feel another powerful underwater current of disturbance near your feet as you paddle, and in genuine fear, you scream and splash clumsily in Jack’s direction until you’ve clambered onto him, your legs curling around his waist instinctively. He sinks briefly from the sudden weight of you before he regains his composure, treading water to keep you both above the water, hands gripping your hips to steady you.

‘Whoa, easy there, darlin’ - you ok?’

‘How did the fish get into the lake?’

Jack’s mouth opens and shuts, and opens again in absolute bewilderment. ‘I beg your pardon?’

You ask louder. ‘How did the fish get into the lake?’

Jack is torn. Are you really asking him about fish when you’re crowded up against him, all wet and slippery curves? Your nails digging into the meat of his shoulders, your breasts - barely contained in a lacy black bra - so soft on his chest?

You seem completely oblivious to your physical proximity to him, pressing on, ‘Did it walk into the lake from the nearest river? Did it fly? How could there be fish in a lake that is completely surrounded by dry land? And that felt bigger than a fish. If it’s not a fish, what is it? It’s preposterous -’

Reaching up, Jack slips one hand behind your head, fingers burrowing into your hair, thumb brushing your cheek to get your attention. ‘Darlin’!’

You stop abruptly, blinking at him as your alarm recedes, chest rising and falling rapidly.

‘It was just a fish, I promise,’ he breaks the silence with a reassuring smile. ‘They don’t bite.’

Oh god. You’ve been ranting about fish - out of all things - like a stark raving lunatic. 

You wince, realisation dawning on you that you've basically sunk your claws into his broad shoulders. You slowly release your grip, and despite his best attempt to hide it, you catch the small flinch that flickers across his face.

‘I’m so sorry, you must think I’m insane,’ you say finally, biting your bottom lip in embarrassment.

Jack grinds his teeth as his stare drops to your mouth, when you suddenly slip in his grasp. His hands catch you by the upper thighs to keep you above the water, his cock fucking twitching as one of your small hands grabs the back of his neck on reflex to right yourself, the other landing on his chest. Your noses knock together, and he prays that you don’t feel his heart beating out of his rib cage under your palm.

His words come out in such a husky slur that they’re barely intelligible. ‘You know I don’t think that, darlin’.’

He feels your fingers curl into the nape of his neck, your eyes unguarded as you watch him in surprise. ‘Oh?’

Jesus Christ. You have no poker face whatsoever. He’s not proud of it but that fucking turns him on. There’s something so open and untouched about your honesty, which he doesn’t deserve -

‘Jack?’

He clears his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing. ‘Yes, darlin’?’

‘Can you get me out of the water? Please?’

He smiles - and he hopes you don’t see the strain in it. ‘Alright, hang on tight, now.’

It’s not easy to swim with his arms full of you, one hand on your middle to secure you in place so he doesn’t give away his throbbing erection. But by some miracle, he makes it, and when the water is waist-high, he releases you carefully to ensure you don’t brush against his front. He swallows dryly as you wade towards the bank, your bare skin emerging from the lake, inch by inch.

Crossing your arms, you give him a small smile. ‘I hope I didn't completely freak you out, cowboy.’

If only you knew how far from the truth that is.

Jack tries his best to keep his focus on your face, resisting the urge to follow the droplets of water sliding down your body when you shift your weight from one leg to another, the lovely swell of your hip popping.

He needs to calm the fuck down.

So he tries to winks at you, though it probably comes across as a grimace. ‘Don’t worry your pretty head about it, darlin’. I’ll just - do some swimming and I’ll be right back.’

You turn to leave, one last look tossed over your shoulder, and he has to snap himself out of it, plunging back into the water so he doesn’t watch you go like some deviant.

He swims lengths, from one end of the lake to the other, for Christ knows how long until his mind clears and the strain in his boxers eases. Judging by the position of the sun, he should fill up the portable shower for you and head back to camp so you can clean up while he makes a start with dinner.

Scrubbing himself dry with his towel, Jack grabs the portable shower - essentially a bag with a handle so it can be hung from a tree, fitted with a detachable shower head - and dunks it into the water until it’s full. His clothes in one hand, the shower bag in his other, he whistles for the horses to follow him, walking back to camp with his towel slung low on his waist.

When it comes into view, he calls out, ‘Alright, darlin’, it’s shower time -’ 

He looks up and his words die on his tongue. 

You haven’t bothered changing into clean clothes - the shirt you were wearing is now tied around your waist like a sarong, and he can see your soaked bra through the white tank top you were wearing underneath the shirt during the day. You’re standing at the wooden post hovering over Scotch’s saddle, gently running a washcloth over the seat to clean the sweat and grime from the leather - 

And your other hand is wrapped firmly around the base of the saddle horn.

His cock fucking lurches at the sight. 

You choose that moment to meet his eyes and ask, ‘Did you have a good swim?’

He has to physically dislodge his tongue, stuck to the roof of his mouth, to answer you, ‘It was fine. You want to take a shower now, or -?’

‘Yes sure, once I finish cleaning the saddle.’

Dropping his clothes in a pile on the ground, he reminds you, ‘I told you, darlin’, you really don’t have to -’

You cut him off with a smile. ‘And I told you - I want to.’

He swallows at the word want. ‘You’re the most impervious guest I’ve had the pleasure of meeting, ma’am.’

You shoot him a cheeky grin, and it only makes him harder.

He usually doesn’t bother with the portable shower in the mountains, preferring a quick scrub in the river instead, but he needs an excuse to get away from you right now. Scratching the back of his neck, he stammers, ‘I’m - uh - I’m going to take a shower first then, if you don’t mind.’

The look of surprise you send his way has him hesitating. ‘Oh, but Ginger said that you -’

‘What?’ he prompts when you stop abruptly.

You shake your head and turn back to your task at hand. ‘Never mind. Enjoy, cowboy.’

If only you knew.

He grabs a bar of soap from a saddle bag and practically sprints out of the campsite and into the forest, deep enough that he can no longer see or hear you and the horses. Finding a private spot surrounded by bushes, he hangs up the portable shower and secures the shower head by slotting it into a fork of a branch, then he turns the valve to get the water flowing. 

Towel and boxers hitting the ground, his hard cock springs free, and he steps underneath the weak water stream, finally wrapping his hand around himself with a low gasp.

It’s been too fucking long.

Lathering the soap between his rough palms, he starts working his fist over his cock, the other hand flat on the rough tree bark, steadying himself as he hunches over, gritting his teeth to stop from groaning aloud. He can’t remember the last time he even bothered seeking out pleasure - alone or with anyone else. 

It was supposed to be another week on the job. A rowdy trip with old regulars and typical Kingsman hijinks. Heavy drinking, all-night poker games and painful hangovers. Safe, predictable.

It wasn’t supposed to be you, with your wicked sense of humour and soft curves and just a bit of hurt lurking under the surface of your easy smile. The way you look at him - he’s forgotten how his blood could thrum under his skin and roar in his ears.

It doesn’t take long - embarrassing really - before he feels his balls draw up and his whole body pull taut in tension. He thinks of your small hand wrapped around the leather saddle horn when he lets go, a deep moan in his chest, cum spurting thick and fast over his fingers, panting as he watches it drip slowly down his wrist and forearm.

He runs his other hand down his face. Fuck. It’s going to be a long week.

The portable shower is a surprisingly nice way to end the day. By the time you’ve shampooed and washed off the smell of horses and leather from your skin, the sun has dipped and the evening chill is creeping in. You rub your hair dry as best as you can without the creature comforts of a hairdryer, shimmy into cozy sweatpants and a hoodie, then make your way back to camp.

The sky is turning violet, the sparse clouds glowing pink on the underside. The horses are tucking into their supper, and you check if they’ve dried their coats in the sun, in case they need a towelling down. Satisfied that they don’t, you bid them good night and carry on towards the warmth of the fire pit. 

At the sound of your footsteps, Jack looks up, the golden flames softening his features. He’s sitting on a log, a chopping board balanced on his lap as he cuts up mushrooms. A frying pan sits on a grill over the pit, the smell of caramelising onion sweet in the air.

‘I hope you like omelette,’ he says.

‘Perfect,’ you sigh when you take a seat on the log that he left out for you, your feet needing the rest. ‘Anything I can help with?’

Jack gives you a playful scowl, leaning forward to scrape the mushrooms into the frying pan. ‘Now, what did I say about guests helping with things?’

‘That you like it?’ you poke fun with a shrug.

‘Such insolence,’ he teases, stirring the vegetables with a wooden spoon. ‘If you must, you can help slice and butter the bread, we’ll toast it in the pan later.’

The quiet lull between you is comfortable, punctuated by the snap of burning logs and the sizzle of the pan. You cut the baguette in neat diagonals and try not to overthink it, but you can’t help being conscious of the fact that you’re basically wearing pyjamas, with not a stitch of makeup on, in the presence of someone as handsome as this cowboy. You cast your eyes over him briefly. He looks comfortable in a fresh pair of jeans and a sweater, his hair still wet from his shower. 

He catches you staring - how many times has it been today? - and he smiles at you like he doesn’t see anything wrong with you.

The omelette is deliciously cooked, barely wobbly in the middle, seasoned just right and topped with fresh parsley. The toasted bread, which Jack tops with tomatoes and basil, fills the hole in your belly left by the day’s long ride.

Over the course of the dinner, the sky loses all colour. The darkness consumes everything but the immediate circle of the pit, warded off by the flickering fire. Save for the dizzying starscape that looks like it’s been carelessly splattered onto black canvas by a silver-dipped paintbrush, all is cloaked in the cover of night, even the horses are just distant sounds in the dim.

You try to take the dirty plates and cutlery, but Jack jumps onto his feet and physically restrains you by pushing you down into your seat. You don’t have to look to know his big palms easily span your entire shoulders, his fingers grazing your collarbone as he chides, ‘Don’t you dare, darlin’. But if you don’t mind, you could lay out the bedding while I wash up.’

Keen to move about at least a little bit after the big dinner, you find the plushly padded sleeping bags in a neat pile, and after a moment’s consideration, you roll out one on each side of the pit. There are also two camping pillows already inflated, and an extra blanket each. You roll the log you were sitting on right up against your sleeping bag as a backrest - you can use the support. You’re making a nest for yourself when Jack comes back and lays out the clean plates to dry.

He chuckles at the comfortable sight you make. ‘You look ready for bed. Or would you like a nightcap?’

You grin. ‘Nightcap sounds good.’

‘You like whiskey?’

‘Only if it’s Statesman brewed,’ you wink.

‘Flattery will get you everywhere, darlin’,’ he laughs and grabs the whiskey from a saddle bag. The cork pops with a velvety echo, and Jack makes a face of satisfaction at the sound. ‘I don’t have glasses, do you mind if we share the bottle?’

You shake your head and pat the space next to you on your sleeping bag. He takes a seat on the other end, a respectable distance between you, legs bent at the knees. He hands you the bottle. ‘Ladies first.’

You don’t know a lot about whiskey, but this one goes down smoothly and pools warmly in your full belly. Relaxation seeps into your bones as the alcohol works its way through your system. You pass it to Jack as you sag against the log.

‘So, how would you rate your first day?’ asks Jack casually, taking a sip.

‘What, like, out of ten?’ you quip.

‘If you like,’ he chuckles.

‘Don’t let it get to your head, cowboy - but it’s pretty close to ten.’

Jack blows a low whistle. ‘I’m afraid it’s all downhill from here, darlin’. I exhausted all my tricks today.’

You laugh, which echoes loudly in the stillness of the night, when he gives the bottle to you again. ‘You know, it’s so quiet out here I can hear it. It’s not an absence of sound, I can actually hear it.’

‘Hard to come by in the city, huh?’

Tilting your face upwards, you marvel at how big the sky is here. ‘You don’t really see stars in the city either.’

‘Do you know your constellations?’

‘Can’t say I do.’

He takes the bottle when you offer it to him. ‘There’s a telescope at the Halfway House, we can really get into it there.’

You peer at him. ‘You’re just a nerd under that dashing cowboy exterior, aren’t you?’

‘Can’t say I’ve been called a nerd before,’ he chuckles, then sends a roguish grin your way. ‘So you think I’m dashing?’

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. ‘Don’t fish for compliments, cowboy. It’s unbecoming.’

‘I think you’re drunk, darlin’. I should stop you now.’

You grab the bottle by the neck and take a swig. ‘Shut up, I’m not.’

‘You don’t want to be hungover tomorrow. We’ll be riding through some of the best views of the trip,’ warns Jack. ‘Did you bring a proper camera, or are you an Instagram kinda girl?’

You cock your head to one side. ‘You’ve heard of Instagram? I’m impressed.’

‘I don’t use it, but I take photos for the Statesman Instagram account. Tequila does the uploading and hashtags.’ He makes a face at the last word, like it tastes funny.

‘How? The camera lens on your phone is cracked!’

‘I use a real camera,’ he retorts in jest.

‘Fancy,’ you tease. ‘Can I look through your photos?’

He shrugs a bit reluctantly. ‘They’re nothin' special.’

You nudge him in the side with your elbow. ‘C’mon cowboy, don’t be shy.’

Peering at you from under his dark lashes, he gives you a lopsided smile. ‘As I said, can’t say no to you, darlin’.’

The heat that flashes across your face has nothing to do with the fire or the whiskey. 

Rummaging through one of the saddle bags, Jack pulls out a bulky digital SLR camera and hands it to you before sitting down again, this time closer to you, shoulder to shoulder. You can almost taste the whiskey on his exhale as he watches you switch on the camera and start flipping through the photos on the small screen.

As if to manage your expectations, he says almost bashfully, ‘It’s just a secondhand camera I bought off a guest a few years back. Never took lessons or anything, it’s mostly point and shoot.’

His insecurity is endearing. You give him a pat on the knee and a playful smirk. ‘My bark is worse than my bite. I’ll be gentle with you, cowboy.’

Jack watches over your shoulder, scooting in as you go deeper into the archives, his arm on the log behind you so that you feel his chest against your back. When you stop to take a closer look at a photo, he chimes in to tell you something about the shot, fingers brushing aside yours to zoom in, pointing out details not immediately obvious. The well-composed pictures are mostly of scenery and guests, and you can tell that he has a particular knack for shooting in tricky lighting. Your breath catches at a shot of Whiskey, a magnificent sunset in the backdrop.

You turn towards him. He’s so close that you can see every soft line on his face. ‘I actually work in the creative field, and I’m sorry to break it to you, cowboy - your stuff is really good.’

‘You don’t have to say that,’ he huffs, clearly embarrassed, bringing the bottle to his lips.

You wink. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not flattering you or anything. I’m sure your ego doesn’t need any more stroking.’

He chokes suddenly, his body knocking into you, amber drops of whiskey trickling down his chin before he swipes at it with the back of his hand. His eyes are dark, pinning you with a look you can’t quite decipher. His words come out in the deepest, smokiest baritone. ‘I wouldn’t say no if you offered to stroke it, darlin’.’

There it is again. The pendulum that’s been swinging between the two of you since the moment this cowboy knocked on your door. It runs you off your feet one moment and then him the next, neither of you finding solid ground with each other. The back-and-forth has you grasping for straws one minute and him thrown off balance the next. 

It shouldn’t excite you this much.

You grab the bottle from him, not caring that your fingers scrape deliberately over his, making him shiver. You take a big gulp, eyes watering at the burn of the alcohol, but you need the liquid courage to deliver your next shot. ‘Are you talking about your ego or something else, Jack?’

You feel rather than see the shudder that runs through him at the sound of his name on your lips. The way his knuckles turn white on his knees, his nostrils flare before taking a sharp intake of air has you holding your breath. His reaction thrills and confounds you at the same time. He can’t possibly want you - can he?

He keeps his gaze on you as he licks his bottom lip and plucks both the bottle and camera from your hands. You jump when he brushes the crook of his index finger under your chin, and you can’t read his suddenly shuttered expression. ‘Get some sleep, darlin’. Tomorrow will be a long day.’

You don’t say another word as you watch him go.

Of course you can’t sleep. You’re thinking about Jack’s body pressed up against yours in the water. The skim of his fingertips when you pass the bottle to and fro. His breath hitting your cheek while he leans in close to point out something on the camera.

Tossing and turning, you don’t know how much time has passed, but Jack eventually makes it back to his sleeping bag, just yards from you. You listen to him getting in quietly, fabrics shifting as he settles, until everything falls still.

You twist around to look behind you. The embers are burning low, barely throwing enough light to see beyond his back, slowly rising and falling. He seems to be sleeping.

You can risk it, right? You’ll be quick. You’ve been wanting release for hours, even before the tipsy, fireside exchange. It’s been months since you’ve even wanted this at all… probably the first time after the breakup.

The whiskey in you makes you reckless.

You slide your hand under the elastic band of your sweatpants and into your panties. You’re already slippery and sensitive, and your mouth parts in a wordless whimper as you trace a finger through your folds. Jack’s all the way on the other side of the fire, but now that you’ve known the weight of him against your side and the scent of whiskey on his lips, it doesn’t matter.

Dipping one finger into your pussy, you smear your clit with your own arousal and rub yourself with two fingers. There’s no time for finesse, it’s messy and desperate. You haven’t touched yourself for even a minute before you cum, back arched and the blanket twisted in your grasp as the tension in your body snaps. The release leaves you both satisfied and not, the whole thing over too quickly for the endorphins to reach your head. 

Panting into the crook of your elbow over your lips, you just hope you’ve been quiet enough.

But you haven’t.

As you fall silent, Jack lies wide awake, cock heavy and aching between his legs. He digs his nails into his palms and steels himself for a long, sleepless night.

More notes: I haven't quite decided yet, but I'm thinking of doing one part on each day of the trip, which means there will be at least 6 more parts coming. I haven't sketched out anything beyond the 3rd and 4th parts though, so we'll see! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, comments and reblogs would be very much appreciated as always! I'm always up for a good screeching about cowboy Jack 🥰

Horsey notes (optional reading): It's important to take care of tack, especially leather tack, which can be very expensive, especially if they're custom fit. Tack that isn't cleaned and conditioned properly can easily crack and break. Leather saddles and bridles should be sponge cleaned to remove sweat and dirt, and then saddle soap should be applied to moisturise the leather. I still remember the most dreaded test for me in Pony Club exams was taking the bridle apart for cleaning, then having to reassemble it!

[theweasleysredhair]

In Safe Hands [G.W.]

Character: George Weasley

Word Count: 4339

Requested?: Yes/No

Summary: George is just very attractive and his hands are even more attractive.

WARNING: this is NSFW, 18+, smutty, sexy times, idk how else to say it. including oral (female receiving). also a lot of mentions of hands, arms and veins bc i canny control myself apparently.

Tags: @gracemayhateyou @acciotwinz @rexorangecouny @mischi3f-manag3d @obsessedwithrandomthings @whizbangs-78 @heart-of-tempered-steel @harrysweasleys @ickle-ronniekins @wand3ringr0s3 @theweirdsideofstuff | message or send an ask to be added to my smut taglist - you must be 18+!

Disclaimer: Gif isn't mine, credit to whoever made it

A/n: i put two requests for my event together as i decided to write a full fic based on george’s hands purely because prompt 9, which both requesters selected, refers to hands - enjoy!!

Prompts used:

3. “I may or may not have left some... marks.”

9. “God I love your hands.” “Let’s put them to good use then.”

23. “Didn’t know you wanted to get into my pants that badly.”

49. “Behave.”

~*~

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK! REBLOGS ARE ABSOLUTELY FINE! <3

+ + + + +

You’d always liked George - why wouldn’t you? He was funny, charming, handsome. You’d be stupid not to. It had started back in Hogwarts - you were friends with the twins; close friends. And that’s all you thought of them as, until one fateful day in your 7th year where you made the regrettable decision to meet the twins after one of their last games of Quidditch before Umbridge had banned them, and George had emerged from the Gryffindor tent freshly showered, shirt hanging over his shoulder, trousers low on his hips.

And that’s when you’d realised you liked George as much more than just friends.

You hadn’t known how to deal with him at first, how to act around him, once you’d realised how you felt. Because every time he laughed, every time he ran a hand through his hair, you felt yourself positively swooning, as cliché as it sounded.

It took a lot not to accidentally blurt out your feelings to him, not that you were helped by Fred, who noticed the slight differences in your behaviour - holding onto hugs from George a tad longer, the way you looked at him when he didn’t realise, how flustered you got when he’d rest a hand on your knee - and made it his mission to make your feelings as obvious as possible in front of his brother.

George must’ve been the most oblivious person however, as he never noticed the hints or the longing smiles. Or maybe that was because he was busy trying to stop Fred from making his own crush on you so obvious, trying to hide his own longing smiles, and the way his eyes lit up when he made you laugh.

The twins had left Hogwarts soon after you’d realised your feelings, in a fit of fireworks, and then suddenly you were dealing with Umbridge alone, with her detentions alone. Not that you blamed them for leaving at all - you knew they were out living their dream and all you could wish to do was support them. It didn’t make being at Hogwarts any easier though, dealing with all the Educational Decrees. However, you thought the space and distance would help you to get over George, and it did.

Until you saw him again in his shop. The twins had sent you a letter in the middle of your NEWTs asking you to come and work for them, an offer that you gladly accepted, however arriving at their store on your first day - after the initial overwhelming feeling of pride at seeing how well their store was doing, how successful they were - you knew you weren’t at all over him.

He stood there, a smirk etched on his face, suit fitted to him as he crossed his arms over his chest, standing on the stairs in the shop as he looked down at you, and your felt your heart racing, cursing yourself over still being so hung up on the man.

His eyes slowly took in your appearance - you’d worn a cute sundress, due to the warm weather, your hair falling loosely around your shoulders and George felt his own heartbeat quicken.

He’d fancied you since his 6th year, most likely before that, the realisation hitting him when he had seen you dancing with some prat from Ravenclaw at the Yule Ball, when you should have gone with him. After that, after seeing how utterly stunning you’d looked that day, with your ballgown and hair done, he knew he’d never be able to look at you the same.

And even now, after not seeing you for months, you didn’t fail to leave him speechless, so effortlessly beautiful in his eyes that he couldn’t help but look at you as though you’d hung all the stars in the sky.

“Long time no see, eh love?” He spoke, moving down the last couple of steps and towards you, “Still gorgeous as ever.”

You grinned at him, “Always the charmer, eh Weasley?”

He chuckled, opening his arms to wrap them around you to bring you into a warm hug, one you gladly accepted as you wrapped your own arms around his waist, taking a deep breath as the familiar scent of his cologne enveloped you, making you grin. He rested his chin on your head and closed his eyes, smiling as he felt you nuzzle into his chest.

Merlin, he thought being away from you had lessened his feelings for you but in that moment, with you in his arms, he was struck with the same realisation he’d had in his 6th year - that he was in love with you.

And, unbeknownst to him, as your grip around him tightened a little, the hug lasting a tad too long to be friendly, however neither of you mentioning anything about it, you’d come to the same realisation.

Which brought you to now.

Being around George again was amazing, you had to admit. And whilst you hated the way you kept fumbling with products, or how clumsy you’d get around him - something Fred still loved to tease you about - you also adored how he made you feel, how happy, how content - he made your life that much better, a light in an ever increasing darkening world.

You’d been working with the twins for a few months, and it was amazing, truly a better job than you could have predicted. What made the job difficult, however, was trying to keep cool when George walked around looking like he did, interacting with the guests, making the children laugh at his jokes.

Godric, could he get any more attractive?

He’d seemed to up the ante this week, almost on purpose you swore, constantly walking around in just his shirt and tie due to the summer heat, the lack of a jacket meaning you were faced with doing your job and working with customers whilst also trying not to stare at the way his shirt fit snugly around him, or how his forearms were showcased due to him rolling his sleeve to his elbows, veins appearing any time he tended his arms, whether that be due to moving things around the shop, demonstrating how certain products worked, or lifting and moving heavy equipment.

The latter of which currently occurring, as Fred had left George alone to deal with a delivery after the shop had shut.

You were stood at the Pygmy Puff display, moving cages around and making sure they were well looked after when you heard some grunts coming from the store room, as if someone had picked up something with a lot of weight. You then heard footsteps behind you, making you pause with the last - feisty - Pygmy Puff in your hand, the rest having been put into their cages.

You turned around, breath hitching in your throat as you took in the sight before you. Namely, George Weasley holding what appeared to be quite a heavy box, if his staggered breathing was anything to go by. He’d shed his jacket somewhere in the back, along with his waistcoat, leaving him in just his shirt, which was tightly fitted and, you noticed as he placed the box down on top of another cardboard box, stuck to him a little with sweat from the heavy lifting. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, showcasing his forearms, and you found yourself gulping as your eyes wandered down the prominent veins, to his large hands, one of which was pulled through his messy ginger hair, pushing the strands out of his face.

And he had no idea.

He had no idea at all that suddenly you couldn’t focus, that suddenly all the breath had left your lungs, that suddenly all you could think about was how his hands would feel on you, holding your waist, gripping your hips, squeezing your thighs. How his fingers would feel inside of you.

George looked over at you and shot you a grin, one that made your heart race even more than it already was, “Bloody big delivery today, eh? ‘S what happens when I let Fred order the ingredients.”

You gave him an almost starstruck smile, which he accepted gladly, before reaching up and undoing the top two buttons of his shirt, pulling at his tie to loosen it, your jaw dropping almost comically as you secretly watched him.

He noticed halfway through his action that you’d gotten extremely silent, your mouth open ever so slightly and George wondered if it was because of him. Merlin he hoped so, because if you wanted him as much as he wanted you, well, he’d be happy to take you right there and then against the till counter.

He turned away to disappear back into the stockroom, biting his lip as indecent thoughts filled his mind, heading to grab the next couple of boxes.

Back on the shop floor, you took a deep breath, rubbing your eyes and cursing yourself. You should not be stood ogling your best friend, much less your best friend who was also your boss, no matter how attractive he happened to be. You should be going through the boxes to separate ingredients out, helping with the displays and doing your job.

But no, instead you were stood, still holding the Pygmy Puff that was now trying to escape your hands, imagining all the things you wanted that man to do to you. And what you wanted to do to him.

Merlin.

You popped the Pygmy Puff into the cage, and wandered over to the box that George had just brought in, trying to push the thoughts of how you could see the outline of his abs through his shirt away as you began pulling out different ingredients.

He came back around the corner, holding two boxes this time, the top one covering most of his face due to the size, allowing you to stare longingly at the way his fingers were wrapped around the edges of the boxes, gripping tightly. You bit your lip as he turned from you to place the boxes down, watching as the shirt moved closely against his back, accentuating his shoulder blades as he bent down and Merlin did you wish you could see his muscles without the shirt.

“Need any help?” You managed to stutter out, trying to act as if you hadn’t been staring at him. Still bending over as he sorted out the boxes, he paused his actions and looked up at you, shooting you a cheeky grin. “Don’t you worry at all, love, I’ve got it, I am extremely strong after all,” he winked, and Godric, didn’t you know it, “You just stand there looking your best, that’s all the motivation I need.”

And suddenly you’d forgotten how to speak, how to breathe. You just nodded, though he didn’t see as his attention was back on the box in front of him. You watched him sift through the products, fingers moving nimbly, occasionally bringing out the odd jar or packet, sometimes throwing it in the air and catching it before placing it to one side.

He brought out a smaller box of vials, which he held from the top, placing it in front of you and gripping it tighter to emphasise his hands when he saw your gaze lingering.

He smiled to himself, pushing his sleeves up - making you swallow harshly - as he pretended not to know you were watching him, all the while flexing just for your benefit.

You couldn’t help the way your eyes kept drifting over to him, couldn’t help that watching him be so efficient with flipping glass jars in the air and holding different ingredients made you that much more attracted to him. You couldn’t help your thoughts racing, thinking about asking him to use his hands on you and-

“Godric, I love your hands.”

Your eyes widened in shock as his head turned to you, your own hand covering your mouth as you realised what you’d just said, and you began stammering out, “I-I... I didn’t mean- I- George-“

George gave a pretend look of shock, as if he hadn’t purposely been working you up for the last however-long. “You like my hands?” He asked with a smirk, glancing down at them before his gaze fell back on you, taking in the sight of you being so flustered. You got lost in the way his eyes held yours, and you could do nothing but nod slowly, making George bite his lip and step forward.

His heart was racing at your confession, not quite believing it was happening but very much wanting to do something with that information, “If you like them so much, let’s put them to good use.”

“W-what?”

George looked you up and down, his tongue darting out to wetten his bottom lip, “You like my hands, and I wanna use them on you, darling. You going to let me?”

You took in the way he was looking at you - like all his dreams had come true, like you were the only thing he cared about, like he loved you. “Absolutely,” you breathed out.

And suddenly his hands were on your waist, bringing you closer to him as he brushed his lips against yours, savouring the first few moments of you being so close to him, before kissing you properly. His lips were soft, moving against yours in a way that, had you not have known any different, you may have thought he’d been kissing you for years. It felt familiar, yet with an added layer of something new. A kiss that made your skin feel like it was on fire, that, as he angled his head to deepen it, made your stomach flutter, and mind race.

It was so perfect, even with the occasional bump of your noses - so perfectly George - that you didn’t want it to end. He pulled away a little, pressing more kisses to your lips before he began moving down to your neck, pressing open mouthed, hot kisses to your skin, making you let out small, breathy moans, feeling him smile against you.

You ran your hands down his chest, playing gently with the buttons and pulling his tie completely off, and heading towards his belt as he licked the skin just below your ear.

Beginning to unbuckle his belt, you also “accidentally” brushed against the evident tent in his pants, and he pulled away from you to grin, “Didn’t know you wanted to get into my pants that badly, love.”

You rolled your eyes playfully and bit your lip at him, making his heart beat a little faster, “Your fault for bringing that delivery in so attractively.”

You’d managed to unbuckle his belt and pulled him back in for a kiss, him mumbling against your lips, “Might get Fred to order stock more often then if this is what happens.”

He led you over to the stairs, stumbling a little up the bottom two steps before trapping you against the banister for a moment, holding you close to him as he continued to kiss you, his tongue easily gliding into your mouth.

Between kisses, and George pulling your shirt off, you made it to the apartment above the shop, heading down the hallway and bumping into the cabinet that was stood between the bathroom and Fred’s room, before arriving at his bedroom door, which he nudged open with his feet, bringing you inside.

He held you by the waist, fingertips tightening a little as he pulled away from the kiss for air, and to lift you up so he could throw you onto the bed, the impact making your breasts bounce and George breathed out a, “Fuck, c’mere.”

He crawled on top of you, your back arching into the mattress as your arms looped around his neck, playing with the tufts of ginger hair at the base of his neck as you brought him back in for another kiss. Your hands moved down to begin unbuttoning his shirt, something you’d been imagining all day, before throwing it to the other side of the room, George doing the same with your bra.

A few moments later, you’d both shed the rest of your clothes, leaving you bare against him, breasts pressed against his chest, his arms either side of your head, supporting his weight above you. You could feel his breath hitting your hitting your lips, his face centimetres from yours.

In stark contrast to the compromising position you were in, George looked down at you with love, a look that warmed your heart as you gave him a small, almost shy, smile.

“You know I- uh- I love you, right? I’m in love with you, darling.” He looked almost vulnerable as he said that, his eyes flickering across your face as his lips parted a little.

You lifted your head up so your forehead rested against his, hands clutching his shoulders, “I’m in love with you too, Georgie.”

“Me or my hands?” He joked, making you shake your head and laugh. You pretended to think for a moment before replying, “Maybe both.”

“Let’s see if I can make you come from just my hands then, shall we?” He grinned, making your heart race as his fingers danced down your stomach before pressing against your clit.

“So wet for me,” He commented, circling it slowly, smirking at the way you let out little breathy moans, before he entered a finger into you, taking advantage of the way your back arched in order to take one of your nipples into his mouth. He sucked on it, gently nibbling as he pushed his finger in and out of you, before adding a second finger, stretching you out a little.

“George,” you breathed out as he moved to your other breast.

He continued moving his fingers against you, in you, and you felt the familiar feeling of pleasure building in your stomach.

After being so wound up from watching him, you knew it wouldn’t take much more to reach your high, and as he continued to kiss your breasts, you breathed out slowly, almost embarrassed at how quickly he’d managed to turn you into a pile of mush at his touch.

“I’m close,” you whimpered, as George moved from your breasts to your collarbone, his thumb adding a little more pressure to your clit as his fingers moved.

Picking up his pace ever-so-slightly, he brought you closer to your high. He felt you clench around his fingers and pressed a kiss to your jawline. “Come for me princess,” he whispered against your ear in a low tone, making you shiver.

George watched the way you closed your eyes, mouth open and head tilted back as your high washed over you, pleasure running through you, and felt himself harden at the sight.

His fingers continued moving against you, although at a slower pace, and your hips jolted towards him at the overstimulation, “‘S a good girl.” He leant forward, pressing his body against yours as he kissed you gently.

“Think you can come for me again, love?”

You were breathing heavily from your first orgasm, though with the way his fingers were moving against you, you knew you’d be reaching your second before you could properly catch your breath. You nodded at him before he began trailing back down your stomach and settled himself between your legs.

You shivered as he lightly pressed kisses on the soft skin of your inner thigh, his hands squeezing your hips, before he licked into you, making you gasp out and clutch the bedsheets tightly. Letting out a moan as he pushed a finger back into you, you closed your eyes, head falling back against the headboard as you breathed out heavily from the way his tongue was moving against you.

You bucked your hips against him involuntarily, causing his free hand to push your hips back down and he looked up from between your legs, his eyes catching yours as he smirked against you, “Behave, darling.” You moaned as the vibrations of just those two words travelled through you, the hand not enclosed around his heading towards his messy hair and running through it, pulling at strands as you felt his tongue flatten against you.

Feeling your second orgasm creeping up on you, you wrapped your legs around his head and let out a moan as you felt George groan against you. Your second high felt more intense than the first, and the feel of George’s tongue pushing inside you made you moan out loudly, the feeling taking over you before you relaxed against him, legs falling onto his shoulders.

“You look so pretty when you come,” he grinned, moving back to hover over you. He pressed himself against you, rocking his hips against yours, arm muscles tensing as he held himself up over you.

You whined a little at the feel of him moving against your sensitive clit, making him smile.

“You ready for me, princess?”

You wrapped one hand around the back of his neck, the other reaching for his hand to intertwine your fingers together, “Always, Georgie.”

At your go-ahead, he pressed a kiss to your lips and eased himself into you, making you both moan out. “You feel so good wrapped around me, love,” he praised as he pulled out of you before pushing back in again, “Taking me so well.”

He moved against you, skin brushing against skin, his spare hand moving to touch any place he could, running his fingers down the curves of your body, before biting his lip as he pulled his hand from yours to grab your wrist, taking your other one from around his neck and holding them above your head, making you whimper as his arms flexed.

“Do you like what my hands can do to you, love? How I made you come from nothing but my fingers?” He groaned against you, feeling himself edging towards his own high.

“Yes... yes!” You breathed out, your eyes closing as you felt your high arriving fast, “George you feel so good.”

George groaned again, feeling you clenching around his cock in the same way you did around his fingers. He leant forward to kiss you, still holding your arms above your head and suddenly pleasure coursed through your body, and you sighed against his lips, him twitching and coming inside of you soon after with a deep growl.

He fell against your shoulder, pulling himself out of you before laying beside you, letting go of your wrists as you instinctively curled towards him.

George’s eyes wandered over to you, a smile small playing at his lips, taking in the way your hair was falling across his pillow, your eyes shut as you breathed heavily, eyelashes fanning across your cheeks, your hand resting on one of his biceps.

His gaze travelled across your neck and down to your collarbones, then across your breasts, a smug smile gracing his face. You opened your own eyes, catching his shit-eating grin and raised an eyebrow at him wearily, “What’s that look for?”

“I may or may not have left some... marks,” he replied cheekily, biting his lip, pupils blown wide as he took in the sight of you marked by him, pressed up next to him.

Your jaw dropped a little and you shook your head with a laugh, “Oh bloody hell, Georgie!” You stood up quickly and headed to the mirror across the room to check, fighting the urge to both laugh and smack him when you saw the red and purple marks littering your skin.

George sat back on the bed, eyes raking over your body, enjoying the sight of your bare bum and back, and found himself biting his lip and imagining all the things he wanted to do to you that night. His eyes lingered on the curve of your bum and he fought the urge to grab you again and pull you down onto him.

“I like them on you, they look hot,” George said with a grin, and you playfully glared at him in the mirror.

“You would think that.” Turning back around to him, you just missed the way his gaze flickered to the marks on your breasts and up to your neck, George feeling extremely proud of himself and his work.

“Yeah, it just shows people you’re mine I guess,” he shrugged unapologetically and gave you a smug grin, looking you up and down as you walked back over to him.

“Oh I’m yours, am I?” You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest and unintentionally accentuating your breasts to him, making him let out a groan as he reached for you.

“Of course you are.”

He pulled you back down onto him like he’d imagined before, your bare chest against his own, his large hands holding your waist as your nails gently scraped down his arms.

“Fancy a round two?” He asked, one of his hands already beginning to head back towards your clit.

Your eyes closed as you sighed contently as you felt his fingers press against you, enjoying the feel of him, “I could be convinced.”

As you were straddling him, you felt him harden more than he was against you, and you opened your eyes to meet his own, darkened with lust, his fingers still moving against you as his other hand gripped your hip.

“Oh princess, how about I make you come for a fourth time tonight? And then again. And then again. And again after that. Would that convince you?”

You bit your lip, pushing yourself against his hand and grinned at him, “I reckon it would. Or maybe I’ll just ride you instead.”

He picked up the pace of his fingers against you, and you let out a moan from above him as one of your own hands covered his on your hip, making him smile cheekily at you,

“Ride me then, darling, and then I’ll make sure you can’t walk in the morning.”

[itsdanii]

Hurting his s/o’s feelings pt.2

genre: slight angst to fluff

ft. tsukishima kei x gn!reader

throughout your 8 months of relationship, you've been nothing but patient to your boyfriend but sometimes, you wish that he'd show you more affection.

ushijima’s part

People often describe your boyfriend as cold and mean but you never minded them. After all, why would you listen to other people's unwanted opinion if you knew Tsukishima better? You were his girlfriend, not them.

You love Kei. In fact, you learned to love him more than you expected. The playful banter between the two of you, the sight of his flushed cheeks everytime he was embarrassed and even the smirk he always had when he was flustering you. Everything about him made your heart flutter.

But sometimes, Kei's lack of affection towards you made you feel sad. No matter how much you tell yourself to be patient because you knew that it's hard for him to open up to other people aside from Yamaguchi, you can't help but crave his touch.

Maybe it was because you kept seeing couples holding each other's hands when they walk, or the sight of other girlfriends wearing their boyfriend's jacket when they're cold. You don't know for sure but it was there - the feeling of insecurity.

-

Despite the lack of sleep, a smile was present on your face as you made your way to the gymnasium where you knew your boyfriend was currently practicing.

Packed in the bento you were holding is a combination of riceballs and some strawberries, knowing how much your boyfriend loved them. You also brought some fresh strawberry milk that you made yourself to warm him up for the cold weather.

You sneezed as the wind blew, your thin uniform the only thing covering you from the cold. You were quite in a hurry when you left home, making Kei's breakfast and forgetting to set an alarm last night.

The consequence? The dark circles under your eyes that you tried hard to cover with make up. You even forgot to bring your own jacket.

As you entered the gym, Hinata was the first one to spot you, jumping and squealing your name as he rushed towards your direction. You can't help but giggle at the adorable tangerine boy.

"Hey, Sho. Is Kei there?" You asked, looking behind him to spot your boyfriend.

"He went to the restroom, I think? He was grumpy this morning!" Hinata complained. "Well, he's always grumpy...but extra grumpy today! Like super grumpy grumpy!"

"Grumpy? I wonder what happened," you said with a small pout.

"Oi, Hinata-boke! Stop bothering Tsukishima's s/o and finish your lunch!" Kageyama scolded.

You could only giggle as you watched the two start to bicker among themselves.

When Tsukishima arrived, you immediately stood up and held out your arm, presenting the bento you made for him. "I made you lunch!" you said happily.

"I thought I warned you not to visit me during practice," Tsukishima said while looking at you with a small scowl.

Your confidence immediately deflated at his tone and choice of words. You knew that he often tells you not to visit practice, claiming you as a distraction. "Sorry, Kei. I just wanted to surprise you with some food. I even made strawberry milk for you! It's warm and-"

"I didn't tell you to make me lunch though. I already ate with Yamaguchi."

Yamaguchi's eyes widen at the mention of his name. "O-oh...right. I didn't know you were coming so I invited Tsukki to have lunch with me at the cafeteria. Sorry, y/n."

You gave Yamaguchi a small smile and looked down at the bento you were holding. "Is that so? Then...maybe you can eat this with me? I'll have the food and you can have the milk. I promise it's good," you said hopefully, fingers fiddling with the wrap covering the bento.

You heard your boyfriend sigh and you immediately looked up.  "I don't want it. What part of I already ate can you not understand?"

"Oi, Stingyshima! I think that's too much!" Hinata interrupted, "I'll eat it for you, y/n!"

You ignored the orange head and gripped the bento tightly, your lips becoming wobbly and tears starting to gather in your eyes from the humiliation. "I shouldn't have come here."

You turned around and ran out of the gym, ignoring the shouts of the volleyball team.

-

When the classes ended, you felt like a literal zombie. Maybe you should've just slept more this morning instead of making your boyfriend's bento. After all, your efforts were not appreciated.

You exit your room and made your way to the school clinic, hoping to get some medicine for headache before you go home. Your head was pounding that you think you won't be able to make it home without taking any medicine.

As you entered, you were greeted by the nurse who immediately went to get the medicine you requested.

The door then busted open, revealing your boyfriend who was a bit sweaty and panting. "Y/n, what happened? I was waiting for you but one of your classmates said that you were at the clinic." He made his way to you and cupped your cheeks, his eyes widening at the feeling of hotness enveloped by his hand.

"I'm fine, Kei. It's nothing a medicine can't cure. I was just up all night is all," you mumbled and took his hands away from your face. You took the medicine from the nurse and walked out, leaving your boyfriend.

You knew that you were being petty, but with the way he acted awhile ago, you think that it was only right that you act like this.

As you reached for your water bottle from inside your bag, you felt your surroundings swaying, darkness starting to cloud your vision. You tried stilling yourself by holding on the wall for support but the pounding headache seemed to overcome your senses.

"Y/n!"

The shouts of your boyfriend were the last thing you heard before you completely passed out.

-

You woke up at the feeling of someone caressing your hair. A cooling sensation could be felt on your forehead as if someone had put a cold towel on it.

When your eyes fluttered open, you let out a small sigh. The headache you were experiencing awhile ago was not as painful but still there. "Kei?" you whispered as you allowed your vision to adjust.

"Take it easy, dumbass. You still have your fever," Tsukishima muttered as he supported your back when you sat up.

Remembering the fight that occurred awhile ago, you averted your gaze from him and looked down on your lap. You started fiddling with your fingers as your eyes started to water once again. "Kei, I'm s-"

"I'm sorry," Tsukishima cut you off. He took your hands in his and rubbed soothing circles at the back of your palm. "I'm sorry for acting hostile on you awhile ago. I knew you were only looking out for me and I took it for granted. I'm not the best boyfriend out there but..." he brought your hand on his lips and gave the back a kiss. "I promise that I'll try. Be more patient with me, love, please?"

The pleading look and vulnerability shown by your boyfriend made your heart ache. You knew that what happened awhile ago isn't something you should forget easily but the reassurance and love you have for your boyfriend was overcoming your insecurity. "No more pushing me away?" you said with a hopeful look.

You brought your hand on his face, cupping his cheek. "Open up to me, Kei. I love you. I don't want to lose you but if you keep pushing me away, you might be the one to lose me."

He gave you a small nod, hand moving on top of yours as he leaned to your touch. "I promise. Thank you for loving me and being patient with me."

Tsukishima scooted closer to you and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Giving your forehead a lingering kiss, he whispered softly against your skin, "Now, let me show you how much I love you."

likes and reblogs are appreciated ❤️

[caelestis-composition]

⭒ kaeya, diluc, childe, and baizhu: cuddling headcanons ⭒

request for @mercuribitez: cuddling hcs with any genshin characters!! just,,, just make sure it includes kaeya n childe at the v least 👉👈

aiden you know me so well. you know this gets me. cuddling hcs are my WEAK SPOT.

pairing: kaeya, diluc, childe, and baizhu x reader (separately)

characters: kaeya alberich, diluc ragnvindr, childe, baizhu

genre: fluff

word count: 1,347

⭒

⋆ he absolutely adores cuddling

⋆ seriously, please cuddle him

⋆ kaeya prefers to be the one holding you, but he also doesn’t mind if you’re both holding each other

⋆ this man literally cannot keep his hands to himself. he wants you as close to him as possible as often as possible. he does not care if you two are in public or private, he wants to hold you all the time

⋆ he’s particularly fond of pulling you into his lap

⋆ his hands are always doing something when you cuddle. he’ll run them through your hair, over your arms, your shoulders. he’ll rub comforting circles into your back, or maybe he’ll take your hands in his, gently stroking his thumbs over your knuckles

⋆ kaeya’s cuddles are best during warmer weather. he runs on the cool side, so it’s refreshing when he pulls you in and wraps his arms around you on hot days

⋆ he adds to the chill during colder weather, but it’s nothing a warm blanket can’t fix

⋆ king of multitasking. kaeya will hold you or have you relaxing against him while he’s reading or doing work or literally anything. he will make it work

⋆ kaeya doesn’t care whether you two talk or not when you cuddle. unless he has something particularly pressing he needs to say, he’s perfectly fine sitting in silence. if you want to talk, go for it, he doesn’t mind that either

⋆ he has this way of holding you with his entire body. his arms are wrapped around you, and he has you pulled into his chest, his body slightly curling around yours. you can always feel an underlying sense of desperation, like he’s scared if he doesn’t hold you as close as humanly possible, you’ll disappear

⋆ be ready to be absolutely smothered in soft, slow kisses as well

⋆ kaeya loves you so, so much. he loves you so much that he’s willing to relax and be open and gentle and soft around you. kaeya hopes you can feel just how much he loves you in the way that he holds you close and kisses you again and again and again 

⭒

⋆ unlike his brother, diluc will only cuddle when you two are alone, somewhere private

⋆ diluc also prefers to be the one holding you

⋆ he likes when you two cuddle and read in front of the fireplace in his manor

⋆ diluc likes cuddling in silence. if the two of you do talk, your voices are barely above a whisper

⋆ please play with his hair when you cuddle him. pull it out of its low ponytail, run your hands through it, braid it. so long as you’re gentle and don’t further tangle his hair, diluc will completely relax into you, closing his eyes and letting out a soft sigh

⋆ at the beginning of your relationship, he’ll keep his gloves on when you cuddle

⋆ he still runs his hands over you in calming, repetitive motions, but his gloves stay on

⋆ as he truly begins to trust you, he’ll take them off when he’s being physically affectionate. it’s how he shows that he trusts you

⋆ diluc runs warm in general, but gods his hands feel absolutely heavenly. ask him to give you a massage sometime. he’ll happily oblige, and it will leave you unbelievably relaxed

⋆ because his body temperature is a little higher than normal—due to his vision—he faces a problem opposite to kaeya. cuddling diluc in the winter is amazing, but the warmer months? not so much

⋆ it’s not unbearably awful, but it can get a little uncomfortable at times

⋆ diluc practically radiates warmth. it’s not a bad heat, though. instead, it’s comforting. it feels safe, completely enveloping you

⋆ diluc likes when you fall asleep on his chest, your arms loosely wrapped around him

⭒

⋆ another man who is apparently incapable of keeping his hands to himself at any given moment

⋆ in public, childe will keep a somewhat more professional image. he won’t cuddle you in public, but he’s also not going to stop himself from touching you. he almost always has an arm thrown around you somewhere, be it your waist, shoulders, or hips

⋆ in private, he’s even worse

⋆ don’t expect to have a lot of personal space, because childe wants to be right by you any chance he can get away from the public eye

⋆ if he’s had to be away on “business,” he’ll be especially clingy

⋆ childe loves you, and it tears him apart that he can’t be with you all the time. he hates that he sometimes has to travel to the other side of teyvat and can’t bring you with him. he feels bad for having to leave you for days and even weeks at a time, so he tries to make it up to you by being as physically close to you as he can when you two are together

⋆ he refuses to leave his gloves on when he’s being physically affectionate. he wants to touch you, to actually feel your skin on his, so he’ll always take his gloves off and shove them in his pocket or throw them somewhere where he can retrieve them later

⋆ childe also really enjoys when the two of you talk while cuddling. he hates sitting in silence with you, especially if you haven’t seen one another in a while. talk about whatever, he literally does not care what the topic is, he’ll be invested in anything you say

⋆ like kaeya, childe’s body temperature runs on the cooler side. it’s not as bad as kaeya, though

⋆ he likes to play with your hands in his when you cuddle. if he’s not already doing something else with his hands, that is

⋆ unlike both kaeya and diluc, childe doesn’t try and multitask while holding you. he wants this time to be special, between just you and him, before someone comes and unexpectedly drags him away again

⋆ he keeps his full attention on you when you cuddle

⋆ steal his scarf. seriously, do it. or wrap the both of you in it

⋆ he’ll absolutely melt, laughing about how cute you are before grabbing your face in his hands and pressing a kiss to your lips

⭒

baizhu

⋆ soft. he is so soft for you

⋆ baizhu is a businessman: he has a reputation to uphold. he’s fine with pda, so long as it’s not while he’s working

⋆ therefore, he won’t cuddle you while he’s working. he likes to keep his work life and personal relationships separate

⋆ after he’s done though, he’ll invite you into his arms

⋆ baizhu’s physical condition is… not ideal. it would probably be best if you didn’t completely lay on him or put all of your weight against him

⋆ he likes when the two of you are resting against one another, or he likes laying on you

⋆ don’t mess up his hair. especially if you two find time to cuddle in the middle of the day. he spends a lot of time doing it, and he has a lot of hair, so just don’t mess it up. it’s more manageable when he pulls it back, and he likes to keep it that way

⋆ don’t play with his hair, but if you’ll allow him, he’ll gladly play with yours

⋆ baizhu carries the scent of herbs from bubu pharmacy. it can vary from day to day, depending on what he’s been working with, but he always smells really nice and flowery

⋆ handle him with care. as previously mentioned, his physical condition is pretty weak. he won’t fall apart if you touch him, but be gentle

⋆ baizhu’s body temperature doesn’t do anything peculiar, so he’s good to cuddle in any weather

⋆ he doesn’t mind sitting in silence, but baizhu does like to talk when you two are alone. he’s busy during the day, so when he’s not working he wants time to focus on you. if you two do talk, it’s usually pretty quiet as you both wind down from the day’s events

⋆ in these moments, everything is slow. his hands running over your arms, your back, and the soft kisses he presses to your face in between sentences

[crossbowking]

More Than Anything (Part 2)

(Click HERE to read More Than Anything Part 1)

Summary: (Set mid-season 6) The reader’s feelings towards the archer evolve, but a supply run that goes south threatens to destroy it all.

Request: “I’d love to see something w protective Daryl and some angst, maybe set at the start of their time in Alexandria w an established relationship?” - @pulplorrd

A/N: See, you'd think I would've learned after making you guys wait a year and a half for No Way Out Part 2, that I should probably FINISH my stories before actually posting the first part...yet, here we are, one month later lol I'm sorry for the wait but hopefully it's worth it!

Happy reading and let me know what you think :)

xx Jess

Masterlist

Tip Jar

Previously...

But as its grasp slipped away from around Tara’s arm, the walker’s deadweight, in turn, collapsed against you.

You lost your footing and fell backward.

Except the solidity of concrete never rushed up to meet you.

Instead, you were embraced by water, the tarp that’d laid across the motel pool coiling around your body as you sunk deeper and deeper into nothingness.

Now...

When the world ended, you’d accepted the idea of death — your death, specifically.

You knew that one day, your life would undoubtedly end — most likely at the hands of the dead, ripped to pieces, torn to shreds, the way so many others before you had been taken. But you’d always hoped your death would at least mean something — maybe laying your life on the line, sacrificing yourself so the people you loved could survive.

Something noble, something brave.

Not like this.

Before the fall, you’d managed to inhale a sharp breath — though once you’d submerged into the grimy pool water, the coldness, the darkness, the shock of it all, had zapped the air right out of your body. You were becoming increasingly aware of the tightness in your chest, the burning in your lungs as you struggled against the walker pressed against you, its weight sinking you further into the depths of the pool.

Then, the panic set in — your heart pounded against your ribcage, right alongside the immense pressure crushing your lungs. Glimpses of sunlight hung just above you, peeking through parts of the drifting tarp you frantically attempted to push aside. You were completely disoriented, your vision obscured by the murkiness surrounding you, floating specks only visible beneath the shattered light above.

When your back connected against the bottom of the deep end, you managed to wriggle out from under the dead’s listless body — though the tarp remained twisted around your limbs. No matter how hard you fought, how hard you struggled, you couldn’t free yourself from the suffocating material. You could’ve sworn you were caught in a dream, your movements lagging and sluggish as you thrashed beneath the surface.

It felt as though someone had reached their hand directly through the center of your chest, squeezing your insides in a vice-like grip. A tingling sensation crawled down your spine, settling atop your churning stomach as the throbbing behind your ears began to slow.

You were listening to your last heartbeats.

It became unbearable, the water threatening to force its way past your clamped lips, the simple need to breathe. A sharp stab of pain shot through you as the blackness in your vision intensified, pulsing reddish-white around the edges as the fire in your chest consumed you at last.

Then, with nothing else left to do, you inhaled.

You weren’t sure what happened next — everything felt faint and fuzzy and quiet. The darkness that lingered no longer struck fear in you — instead, it was warm, enveloping you in its arms like a long-lost lover. The silence was soothing as you drifted in the emptiness, like careless whispers and forgotten melodies. You were weightless, you were freed, you were everything and nothing all at once.

You were dying.

That you were sure of.

Yet much to your surprise, you weren’t afraid — no, instead…you felt at peace.

But the brevity of calm didn’t last as you were suddenly aware of a vague pressure, though it wasn’t all-consuming nor constant. It was distant at first, a feeling you could’ve easily brushed aside had it not begun to gradually grow in force, in vigor — a steady pounding, coming from the center of your chest, over and over again.

The warmth around you began to splinter, shattering like shards of glass, the fallout piercing your skin as it collapsed around you. The pain was deep and burning and you longed for just a moment ago when all you felt was the sweetness of oblivion. The pressure pounding against your chest increased, becoming the sole thing you could feel, the only thing you could focus on, the unwavering thuds drawing you back from whatever place you’d drifted off to.

In the next moment, you were awake.

Your body flailed, jolting upright, but you’d only managed to get an inch or two off the ground before water began to suddenly spurt from your mouth. Your eyes squeezed shut as you choked on the liquid, every nerve ending in your body red-hot. You were vaguely aware of hands, rough and calloused and familiar, gripping onto your arms and forcing you onto your side, the motion allowing the water leaving your lungs to flow easier.

You gasped a constricted breath, coughing harshly on the exhale, completely and entirely disoriented as to what in the fuck just happened. Your chest tightened as you spit up more water, your throat closing around the sensation as you fought for control of your breathing, the feeling of concrete against the side of your body grounding you.

When your coughs finally died down, the same hands from before grabbed onto your arms, pulling your deadweight upright, maneuvering your limp body as if you were a rag doll. You blinked your bleary eyes open, wincing from the sunlight directly above as you drew in shaky breaths.

And then you saw him.

Daryl knelt in front of you, his ragged breathing mirroring your own, soaking wet from head to toe. Strands of hair stuck against his forehead, droplets of water still dripping from the ends as he stared at you, wide-eyed, his expression a mixture of horror and shock — something you rarely witnessed when it came to the archer.

He was mouthing something — no, he was shouting something — but you couldn’t hear him. You couldn’t hear a damn word he was saying as you sat there, dazed and confused, wondering if what just happened actually happened.

His hold around your arms slipped away, his hands cradling either side of your face instead, tilting your head up and brushing your drenched hair back. He leaned forward a fraction, frantically studying your features, his haunted eyes bouncing back and forth between your own as though making sure you were there — really there.

The silence was becoming a little less resounding, the world around you gradually seeping back, though muffled and dull — but the way Daryl was looking at you, the apprehension in his gaze, shook something loose inside you. Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. You wanted to tell him it was okay — that you were okay — but damn it, why couldn’t you speak?

So instead, you slowly lifted your hands, weakly grasping onto Daryl’s wrists, the small motion all you could muster — you had to let him know you were here. He glanced down at your hands, a small huff of relief escaping him.

But when he looked back up, you noticed the moisture that’d built in the corners of his eyes.

Daryl’s hands slipped behind your head, holding you still as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead gently against yours.

You, on the other hand, silently thanked whatever God or higher power was out there for giving you one more moment like this.

When the archer pulled back, you spotted a red streak smeared across his forehead that hadn’t been there before. Your brow knitted together as he sat back on his haunches. You tried clearing your throat, the sensation burning the rawness that’d spread. “You’re —” you croaked, your voice sounding foreign. “— you’re bleeding, D.”

Daryl’s expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he lowered his gaze and unsheathed his hunting knife. “It ain’t mine,” he rasped, suddenly slicing a long strip of fabric off from the bottom of his dampened shirt and balling it in his fist, ringing out some of the water.

Before you knew what was happening, he was reaching forward, pressing the material gingerly against your forehead and wrapping it behind your head, tying the strip into a knot to keep it in place. You were surprised at the sting of pain you felt, unsure when you managed to cut your head open in the midst of what had happened — everything was still sort of…fuzzy.

The sound of a car door slamming drew your attention. You peeked out of the corner of your eye, spotting Tara jogging towards you, the car you’d driven to the motel running idle in the parking lot.

“They’re coming!” she called out, motioning towards something just behind Daryl.

You craned your neck, attempting to get a look, but before you could, the archer was looping his arms beneath your armpits and hefting you up to your feet. The world tilted unsteadily around you, and had it not been for Daryl’s hold, the ground would’ve surely rushed up to meet you.

“I got ya,” he rasped, slinging one of your arms across his shoulders, his grip snaking around your waist.

Tara appeared at your opposite side, slightly out of breath. “Welcome back, chicka,” she shot you a slightly strained smile before following Daryl’s lead and winding your other arm across her shoulders, keeping you propped upright between them.

You wanted to tell them you were fine, that you were more than capable of walking on your own — but your strength had depleted, your legs shook beneath you, and the shock was beginning to wear off, making all the little aches and pains in your body alarmingly obvious.

Then, you were moving.

They half-dragged, half-carried you across the stretch of concrete, hurrying towards the parking lot where Tara had left the car. You peeked over your shoulder, managing to get a glimpse of what you were leaving behind — the small herd from earlier had been taken down, their bodies splayed out sporadically on the other side of the pool. Some sporting knife wounds, others bullet holes. The pool itself was rippling, the water sloshing back and forth, air bubbles visible at the surface.

Some of the dead had followed you into the water.

Just beyond the pool, you spotted exactly what you were running from — another herd, three times the size of the first one, ambling in from the woods behind the motel, most likely drawn in by gunfire.

When you reached the car, Tara slipped away and jumped into the driver’s seat. Daryl flung open the back door and maneuvered you carefully inside. You grimaced as you inched further into the car, only stopping once your back was pressed up against the opposite door. The archer quickly slid in after you and slammed the door shut, grabbing onto the back of the driver’s seat as Tara peeled out of the parking lot.

The silence that followed rang heavy.

Your heart hammered against your chest, your breaths coming out slightly wheezy, almost like there was still some water left in your lungs. You met Tara’s eyes in the rearview mirror before she focused back on the road — you noticed then that the sleeves of her shirt, up to her elbows, were wet.

She’d helped drag your body out of the pool.

You glanced over at Daryl, the archer’s grip on the driver’s seat white-knuckled as he stared at the back of the headrest. Waves of tension rolled off him, the feeling nearly palpable. But his eyes flickered towards you a moment later, as though he felt you watching him, and some of the rigidity faded.

He wordlessly shuffled closer, grabbing your arm and pulling you away from the door you leaned against. You were too tired and too sore to object, your body slumping against his side as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders — you thought for a brief moment that he was hugging you.

But instead, he wound your seatbelt around your body and locked it in place.

Daryl fell back against the seat beside you with a huff, keeping his gaze focused ahead, staring straight through the windshield. He didn’t look at you again — he remained still, like he was carved from stone. You weren’t even sure he was breathing. His arm just barely grazed the side of yours, but despite whatever hidden turmoil was surely happening inside of him, he made no effort to move away.

He needed time to process what happened — what almost happened.

But so did you.

You shifted, closing the small gap between you and resting your head against his shoulder, ignoring the way he stiffened. The material of his shirt was still damp and smelt like a mixture of chlorine and mildew from the murky pool water, but you couldn’t find it in you to pull away either.

You hadn't realized you’d dozed off until the archer gently shook you awake, the car now parked outside Alexandria’s makeshift infirmary.

You still felt weak and lethargic, but you managed to make your way inside without any help — although Daryl, silent and stoic as ever, remained at your side, his hand hovering over the small of your back.

The infirmary was quiet as Denise checked you over — Tara had gone to update Rick and the others on what happened, as well as distribute the supplies you’d managed to bring home. Daryl, on the other hand, paced — back and forth, like a caged animal, on the opposite side of the room. Almost like part of him desperately wanted to run, but a bigger part of himself needed to be there.

“Are you feeling any nausea? Confusion? Loss of basic motor skills?” Denise suddenly asked, breaking the silence that’d stretched on, looking up from the textbook she was reading from. She’d never dealt with an ‘almost drowning’, but had been able to scrounge up some old medical textbooks for help.

“Uh,” you cleared your throat, shaking your head once. “No. No, nothing like that.”

“Okay, good. Yeah, that’s good…” she murmured, mostly to herself, before flipping to the next page and skimming the stretch of words. “Besides your forehead, any other lacerations?” she looked up at you once more, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“I don’t —” you shot Daryl a look, but he was too busy pacing to notice. “I don’t think so,” you shook your head again, your fingertips ghosting over the bandage Denise had patched your head up with.

“Good, good. We’ll want to keep an eye on that in case of infection,” she informed before flipping to the next page, mouthing the text to herself. “Okay, and any soreness?”

You grimaced as you sat up a little straighter. “Just — just right here mostly,” you admitted, motioning towards your center, below your chest.

Denise shut the textbook and placed it on the metal table you sat on top of. “Can you show me?”

Your brow knitted together but you obliged, sliding off the table and grabbing the hem of your shirt. You fought back a wince as you rolled the material up, stopping just below your chest, exposing your skin.

The first thing you noticed was the way the room suddenly stilled — you glanced up, spotting Daryl standing frozen across the way, pacing no longer. But he wasn’t staring at you — he was staring at your midsection, a look in his eyes you’d never seen before.

When you lowered your head, getting a good look at yourself for the first time, you realized exactly what he was seeing.

Bruises. Dark and discolored. Scattered down your sternum and along the center of your ribcage.

Your head snapped up at the sound of the front door slamming shut.

And Daryl was gone.

You tried to ignore the pinprick of tears that grew, the hurt that settled across your chest as you lowered your shirt back in place — but when Denise suddenly reached out and placed her hand on top of yours, patting it softly, your features crumpled.

Everything that happened seemed to catch up to you in that moment — the fear, the shock, what Daryl must’ve felt pulling your unmoving body out of the water. You’d nearly died. What would’ve happened if he hadn’t been able to bring you back? Would he have been the one to put you down when you undoubtedly turned? Or would Tara have done it — the act far too painful for the man you loved to follow through with.

The man you loved.

Denise wrapped her hand around yours, squeezing gently and drawing you back. “Hey, it’s okay,” she soothed.

You quickly swiped at the tears that slipped down your cheeks, huffing a hitched breath. “I know, I’m just —” you glanced up at the front door, hanging onto the foolish hope that it’d swing open once more. “I don’t know,” you finally mumbled, albeit defeatedly.

Denise followed your gaze, scoffing slightly. “Men suck,” she finally shrugged.

You sniffled softly before shaking your head. “Not that one,” you murmured fondly.

Denise squeezed your hand once more, shooting you a sympathetic smile before she pulled away. “It could’ve been worse — most people who have CPR done on them end up with broken ribs or punctured lungs. You, my friend, are one of the lucky ones.”

You inhaled a deep breath, fighting back a wince, the motion stretching your bruised body. “Thank you. For everything.”

Denise nodded before taking off her glasses, using the hem of her shirt to clean the lenses. “Y/N, I don’t mean to overstep my boundaries, but,” she paused, sliding her glasses back on as she regarded you seriously. “You smell like a sewer rat.”

You faltered, completely caught off guard by her statement before remembering that you were still wearing damp, swampy, pool water clothes. Then, despite everything, a laugh slipped past your lips, breaking the tension. You let out a hiss as the movement sent a wave of pain through you. “Ow, fuck, don’t make me laugh,” you bit back another chuckle, lightly swatting her arm.

Denise smiled before motioning towards the door. “Go home, shower, get some rest — Doctor’s orders,” she grinned, turning away and beginning to clean up her workstation.

You thanked her again before hobbling out of the infirmary.

As night drew near, most residents of Alexandria were already in their respective homes — you were grateful for that. You didn’t want to see anyone right now, their worry and endless questions something you were more than happy to put off until tomorrow.

When you made it back to the apartment you and Daryl shared, you were, yet again, fighting back feelings of disappointment — he wasn’t home. You felt a pinprick of worry, but knew he needed time and space to process whatever it was he was feeling.

And when he was ready, you would be too.

You walked through the kitchen, the morning you’d shared earlier feeling like a lifetime ago — the pan he’d used to make eggs, now dry, remained sitting on the counter. The bedroom was untouched, looking exactly how it had this morning, just the way you’d left it. You grabbed a fresh set of clothes before making your way into the master bathroom attached, ignoring the bone-deep tiredness settling over you.

Showering was a good call — the warm water rained down as you scrubbed your body of the muck that clung to you, being extra careful not to get the bandage on your head wet or make any sudden movements. When you were finished cleaning up, you stood beneath the shower head for a few minutes, eyes closed, inhaling the steam around you with deep, calming breaths.

You were okay. You were alive. You were here.

You shut off the water, stepped out of the shower, and dried yourself off, gingerly patting down your chest and around your ribs, before slipping into clean clothes. You wiped away some of the steam that’d collected on the bathroom mirror before hanging up your towel, combing out your knotted hair, and brushing your teeth — the same routine you did every night.

The normalcy was soothing — you were already beginning to feel better, more like yourself. You were ready to put what happened behind you and move forward, sure to never take another day for granted.

But when you opened the bathroom door, ready to curl up in bed and doze off, all of your feelings from earlier came rushing back at the sight of Daryl.

Once again, he’d been pacing the length of the bedroom, only stopping after you’d entered the room, his gaze snapping towards you. He shifted his weight back and forth, opening his mouth before clamping it shut. You could feel his energy, rolling off his body in waves — tense, rigid, wild. He was struggling to say whatever was on his mind, only furthering his evident frustration. He flicked his hair away from his eyes, turning to face you head-on, clearly gathering up the gall to speak.

You took a small step forward. “Daryl —”

“Ya were blue,” he suddenly rasped, a fire in his gaze that wasn’t there before. “Tara was shoutin’ for ya an’ I — when I went in an’ pulled ya out, there wasn’t — I didn’t —” he huffed a breath in frustration, his face tinged red. “God, damn it, Y/N, ya were fuckin’ blue,” he finally growled, chest heaving, hands balled into fists at his side.

His anger wasn’t directed at you, but the situation itself, you knew that. But still, his words — or more so the emotion, the truth hidden behind them — had you recoiling from him, your heart breaking at the thought of what he’d seen, of what had run through his mind when he realized you weren’t breathing.

You couldn’t imagine how scared he must have been.

And that was what was beneath his outburst — not rage, but fear.

But he wasn’t finished with what he needed to say — if anything, he was just getting more and more worked up as he began to frantically pace once more. “This is why — I fuckin’ told ya — I didn’t need ya comin’ out there. I didn’t need ya on that run but ya — ya didn’t listen ta’ me an’ then —”

“I love you.”

Daryl stilled, mid-stride, his gaze widening as if all of the air had been sucked from his lungs.

You felt your face flush, the air between you so thick it could be cut with a knife. You hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but the words just sort of…tumbled out? And now, there they were, hanging between you. Part of you wondered if the archer could hear your heart pounding from where he stood — or maybe it was his heartbeat, synched up to yours.

You sputtered a soft breath, shaking your head in disbelief, trying not to panic because the last thing you wanted was for Daryl to look at you the way he was looking at you after telling him you loved him. “I’m —“ you took a breath, regarding him earnestly. “I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. And I promise — I promise — you do not have to say it back. Hell, you don’t even have to feel the same way,” you huffed an awkward laugh, but the noise hitched somewhere in your throat, betraying your words. You grew serious once more. “I just — I couldn’t have another night going by without you knowing. Not after what happened today,” you swallowed the lump in your throat, shrugging a shoulder up meekly. “So, I love you — I love you more than anything.”

You weren’t sure what sort of reaction you were expecting from him. But you absolutely refused to acknowledge the tiny part of you that secretly wished he’d swoop you into his arms, pull you close, tell you he loved you too — because that wasn’t Daryl. That wasn’t the type of man he was — and you were okay with that.

Because you hadn’t fallen in love with that type of man.

You’d fallen in love with the man standing shell-shocked in front of you.

You cleared your throat and stepped forward, moving away from the bathroom doorway. “The shower’s all yours,” you murmured, needing to break the uncomfortable silence that carried on.

You sidestepped around his frozen form, ignoring the way your legs shook like jelly beneath you as you made your way towards the bed. You took a seat on the edge of the mattress, keeping your back towards him, staring ahead at the blank wall in front of you instead.

After what felt like forever, the floorboard squeaked beneath the shifting of his weight, his footsteps growing faint as he slowly walked away and entered the bathroom, closing the door shut after him.

You strained your ears, listening for any movement beyond the door he’d disappeared behind — but you heard nothing. It was like you could feel him through the panel of wood between you — you could almost picture him, just standing there, trying to process whatever the hell was going on inside that mind of his.

A moment later, the shower turned on.

And you released the breath you’d been holding.

Exhaustion swept through you, the day’s events wearing you down. You carefully maneuvered yourself into bed, pulling a thin sheet over your body and settling onto your side. Your eyelids grew heavy, the sound of the shower lulling you to sleep despite the strange, sort of freedom your admittance had brought you, the feeling buzzing through your veins.

You didn’t regret your vulnerability — he needed to know he was loved, damn it.

When you heard the shower turn off, you snapped your eyes shut. You listened to the archer move about the bathroom until the door finally creaked open. He seemed to be just standing there, and you could’ve sworn you felt him staring at the back of your head as if he was gauging whether or not you were actually asleep. But a moment later, you heard his footsteps padding across the bedroom before the mattress dipped beneath him.

You held your breath, covers drawn to your chin as Daryl shifted in bed, eventually lying down beside you. Another beat of quiet passed, neither of you moving, nor breathing it seemed.

But then suddenly, you heard him speak, so softly you almost missed it. “I know ya ain’t sleepin’,” he rumbled.

The corner of your mouth quirked up — because of course he knew.

You sighed, shifting gingerly onto your back, the sheet pooling at your waist as you looked over at him. He laid on his side, facing you, propped up on his elbow. He was dressed in clean clothes, his hair still wet from the shower, pushed back out of his face.

He really was rather beautiful.

“Busted,” you smiled, though the archer’s expression remained solemn.

Ever so gently, he reached towards you, his fingertip grazing the material of your shirt, over your ribcage, below your chest, hovering the bruises that lingered. “Does it hurt?” he rasped, the mouth turned downward into a small frown.

You shook your head. “Not really.”

Daryl’s eyes met yours, his expression skeptical and knowing.

You never were a good liar.

“At least you didn’t break a rib?” you offered sheepishly, your lame attempt at a joke falling flat given the current audience.

But when Daryl’s features fell, a flash of what looked like guilt settling over his face, you placed your hand on top of his, resting them against your stomach. “Don’t do that,” you murmured, reading him like a damn book as you rubbed circles with your thumb over the back of his hand.

The archer grumbled something indistinct, staring down at your intertwined hands.

Your grip tightened around his. “I mean it,” you spoke, an edge to your voice, only softening when he looked at you instead. “You saved my life, D — that’s it. You can let go of anything else you’re holding onto.”

Daryl’s lip twitched as he chewed on the inside of his cheek, seemingly mulling over your words.

You were sure he’d hang onto whatever unnecessary guilt he carried — because that was just who he was — but eventually, he nodded once and settled down on his back, staring up at the ceiling. You were too tired to press the subject further so you curled into his side and rested your head against his chest, winding your arm across his midsection. His arm automatically wrapped around you, his fingertips trailing absently up and down your spine, sending shivers through your body.

You weren’t sure how long you laid like that, melting into the warmth he exuded, the steady pounding of his heartbeat easing you to sleep.

You’d nearly faded away when Daryl suddenly spoke.

“Did ya mean it?” he rumbled, the noise vibrating from deep within his chest. “What ya said before?” he grunted, his hand pausing at the small of your back.

You could’ve imagined it, but you almost felt the slight tremble of his fingertips against your skin.

You slowly pushed up onto your elbow, your faces mere inches apart. You searched his uncertain gaze, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Of course I meant it,” you whispered. “Every damn word.”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed, as though not entirely believing what you said could be true.

So you leaned forward, closing the remainder of space between you, and pressed your lips gently against his. He returned the kiss, a quiet desperation growing as one hand came up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb sweeping back and forth across your cheek. You broke away from the kiss, brushing his hair back before meeting his lips once more, settling your hand on his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath your touch.

When you pulled back, you noticed his skin flush, surely mirroring your own. He looked up at you, slightly breathless, a fondness in his gaze that sent your stomach somersaulting. He cleared his throat, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face. “Well, alright,” he finally resigned, accepting your answer to his question.

You snorted a breathy laugh, leaning forward and kissing his cheek before burrowing against him. A soft sigh slipped past your lips as Daryl’s hold tightened around you, as though afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t.

You closed your eyes, reveling in the feeling of contentment, unsure how many more moments like this you, or anyone else for that matter, had left in this kind of cruel and harrowing world.

But for at least tonight, you could be at peace.

“I love you,” you murmured groggily, beginning to sink deeper into unconsciousness.

Right before sleep came, long after Daryl thought you’d drifted away, you heard him whisper three, simple words.

“More than anythin’.”

Then he pulled you closer and the world dimmed.

A/N: Aw...a happy ending! (I figured I owed ya after putting y'all through Honey & Whiskey lol)

P.S. Feedback is incredibly important. I write for my own happiness, but I also write for YOU. So don’t be afraid to shoot me an ask or leave a comment with your thoughts! It truly motivates me and helps move along the writing process. Also, please consider donating to my Tip Jar. Every little bit helps!

P.S.S. I can no longer tag people on this account, so my tag list has been transferred to my side blog @crossbowking2. If you’d like to be added/removed, please let me know!

[letarasstuff]

"I don't wanna leave you, Daddy"

(A/N): This was requested by an Anon and it's based on this concept. I hope you are ready for the feels.

Summary: Hotch's daughter is an introvert. A quiet one. But why does she go even quieter after her mother's death?

Warnings: So much hurt. Angst. Fluff. It's bitter sweet.

Wordcount: 2.3k

✨Masterlist✨ _____________________________

(Y/N) never really was an outgoing person. Even since she was able to walk and talk, she still clung to her parents. She refused to play on the playground when other children were there. Socializing was just not her thing. Her parents were sure that she would never be the person to stand up and perform on stage spontaneously. And it is ok.

This doesn’t really change when Jack comes around. Sure, as he grows older and more capable of things (Y/N) plays with him. But it really seems like he is the only one around her age she is not afraid to befriend.

Aaron and Haley reassure themselves that their daughter will find friends in elementary school. After all this is an institution where many children go to and there also are adults trained for helping them coming along. She definitely will find at least one other kid to hang out with regularly and learn how to be a proper child. Because as of right now (Y/N) is more like a little adult, taking responsibilities, like watching over her little brother, she doesn’t need to do voluntarily. Maybe she will be more messy, rebellious, anything but a perfect child.

But this doesn’t exactly happen. (Y/N)’s teachers are really happy with her. Every parent-teacher conference is about how well and polite she is, always behaving good and following the rules. Sadly, they don’t have any good news regarding her social life. It’s not that she doesn’t get along with her classmates, it’s just that she isn’t able to strike up a conversation or is very good at keeping one long enough that a kid is interested in her.

Knowing that (Y/N) is mostly quiet in her school days, Aaron makes it a habit to bring her more often to the office. She surprisingly warms quickly up to his team and whenever she is around them the girl is an unstoppable tornado running loose around the bullpen.

This is kind of how she grows up until the age of middle school. (Y/N) learns some social skills and makes a few friends over the last few years. Unfortunately these friendships are not as deep as the parents wish, still it’s better than nothing.

Things get difficult when Aaron and Haley start to separate. It never is easy when parents fall out of love and it is not only difficult for Jack to see his father not as often as he used to, considering he still is a toddler needing both parents. Especially (Y/N), who is more of a daddy’s girl than a mommy’s girl, suffers from the situation at home.

Of course it’s hard on her to not see her father for a week or two at a time, but ever since her parents are going on parted ways she sees him at most one weekend every three weeks. This also changes her social life dramastically.

“(Y/N), don’t you wanna do something with your friends? You can invite them over for the weekend”, Haley suggests after watching her daughter not going out with somebody outside of school for several days. For the past two weeks the ten year old just comes home, does her homework and puts her nose in one of the books her Uncle Spencer recommended.

The girl only looks up at her mother to shake her head. “Why not, Sweetie? I haven’t seen William and John in so long. Are you still friends with them?” (Y/N) nods again. “So what is it? Are you guys fighting?” Haley sits down next to her on her bed.

“No, they just-just don’t know about this. I don’t want to tell them. And I want to stay home. It’s ok how it is right now”, she admits. Her mother’s heart breaks at that statement.

In this moment she realizes that anything a parent does has immediate consequences for the children. “I’m sorry, Sweetie. I didn’t know this is so hard for you. Maybe you can talk to them over the next few days about it, I think it’ll help you. Do you want to watch a film with me for now? Jack has a sleepover at a friend’s. We can do a girl’s night. We hadn’t had one in a long time.”

(Y/N)’s eyes light up at that. “With all the candy in the world?” Haley smiles at the newfound excitement. “Of course. Anything you want.”

From only seeing Aaron every now and then it suddenly turns to not knowing when she will see him next. After George Foyet ambushes him and makes his family into the next target, (Y/N), her brother and her mother have to go into witness protection.

The goodbye at the hospital is painful and filled with tears. “But Dad, I don’t want to leave you. I’ll miss you too much. I don’t like not seeing you. And what about you? You will be more lonely and-and I can’t leave you”, she confesses, sobbing into him.

Hotch has to hold his own tears back. He doesn’t want to come over as stoic, but as the strong father figure he always tries to be. “Honey, I know I’ll miss you so much. You have to be strong for your mother. This will not be easy and I know it. I promise to do my best to get all of you back as soon as possible, ok? Please be good for your mother and behave. We all need to work together for you to get back fast and safely.”

(Y/N) continues to cry into his hospital gown. Aaron can’t help it and dissolves in tears himself while trying to calm her down. “Shh, Honey. Everything will be fine. I’m so so sorry for all this. I never wanted something like this to happen. Shh, we will see each other real soon. The team and I will do our best. Just please, don’t cry. Please, it all will be better. I can’t let you go without seeing your beautiful laugh for one last time.”

“I don’t wanna leave you, Daddy. I-I wanna stay with you and Uncle Dave and Auntie JJ and Uncle Spencer and Uncle Der and Auntie Penny and Auntie Em. I’m scared you won’t be fine when we come back.”

It’s needless to say that nobody cracked even a smile that day.

Going into witness protection made Haley worry about Jack especially. He is just four years old and she isn’t sure how much he understands about what’s going on. Surprisingly the boy gets accustomed to the situation pretty fast. Of course he misses his father and his people from school, but he is also quick to meet new ones in the town they moved to.

(Y/N) has bigger problems. New school. New kids. New everything.

“Maybe you can see it as a fresh start. Here is nobody you know. You can be whoever you want to be. I can take you shopping and you can try out a new style”, her mother tries to make the situation sound advantageous to her. But the girl dryly answers: “When somebody doesn’t like me how I am now, how will they like an act?”

Sam Kassmeyer regularly reports back to Aaron about his family’s well being. “Jack is thriving. His teachers describe him as a bundle of joy. (Y/N) slowly gets acclimated to the change. Haley told me she started making friends with a girl in their neighborhood. I already ran a background check and the family is clean.”

Hotch lets out a sigh of relief. He turns towards the image on Penelope’s monitor. “Happy fifth birthday, Buddy.”

A few weeks after that it seems like the events overturn each other.

Foyet coming back. Kassmeyer getting tortured. Foyet finding Haley and the children. Them coming back to their house. The call. Working the case with Jack. The gunshot. The fighting noises. Hotch opening the box and hugging both of his children, relieved to see them alive.

The following weeks are difficult for the now smaller family. They mostly consist of watching videos of happy memories and talking about their feelings. Although it’s more like Jack talking about his feelings, (Y/N) went mostly silent ever since their mother’s death. This worries her father more than anything.

Two months have gone by. “Hey Honey, I’m going into the office today. Do you wanna come with me, stay at home or go to school? Anything is fine by me”, he asks her softly, kneeling beside her chair at the table. The girl is munching on her cereal halfheartedly.

“Can I come to the office?” (Y/N) asks in a hoarse voice. It’s actually the first time in four days that Aaron hears her voice. A small smile forms on his face. “Of course, that’s nice. Aunt Penny is asking me after her favorite Hotchner for days on end now. And Uncle Spencer got a stack of books he has for you to read.”

His daughter nods and quickly gets ready. They are soon on their way to Quantico after dropping Jack off at daycare. “How are your classmates? Do you like the new school?” They decided to send (Y/N) to a different school. She couldn’t bear the thought of only being the girl whose Mom died because of a serial killer.

“It’s fine. There are a few girls who are really nice. I think we can be friends. Mo-” She suddenly cuts herself off. Aaron glances over at her. “Continue, Sweetheart. Just tell me what’s on your mind”, he tries to encourage her.

The girl hesitates before following her father’s advice. “Mom would have liked them,” she mumbles. It’s quiet for a few seconds. Hotch is looking for a suitable answer. After all it’s the first time she talked about her mother since her death. “I’m sure of it, Honey. Maybe you can invite them over and I can get to know them. Think about it, no pressure of course.” (Y/N) nods to indicate that she heard him.

Not long later they enter the bullpen. “There she is! My little Hotchner! How you doing, Baby?” Derek asks her and envelopes her into a hug. But she only shrugs her shoulders. This goes on for the rest of the day. Whenever anyone talks to her, the only answer is given by her body language.

Hotch watches helplessly Spencer trying to engage in a conversation with her. His arms and hands are waving around. (Y/N) though just looks at him without being really there mentally. It seems like she is lost in her own thoughts, like it happened so often over the last few months.

“Have you tried talking to her about it?” Dave asks, sitting down on the chair opposite of him. Aaron looks at him funny. “Of course. But (Y/N) is just not ready to talk about Haley and everybody grieves differently. I can’t force her to speak, Dave.”

The older agent leans back in his seat. “I don’t think she needs to talk about her. This probably is too soon. She needs to talk about you. The changes.” After a short pause, in which the other one still doesn’t get the point, Rossi continues. “That little girl just lost her mother. She is scared to lose her father, the one with the high risk job. I think that is enough to talk about.”

This occupies the agent for the remainder of the day. Aaron was so invested in fulfilling both parent roles, that he forgot that he is just a father. The man his children go to when they have a nightmare. The one, who is more lenient than their mother. He can’t be both ones. He can’t be two people in one.

A kid trusts a mother and a father usually. And he can’t be mother and father at once. Hotch has to accept the fact. The fact that (Y/N) and Jack are going to grow up without a mother. But luckily not without mother figures.

Later that day, after tucking Jack in, Aaron knocks on his daughter’s door. A small “Come in!” echoes back to him. He enters her room and spots (Y/N) already in her bed reading a book Spencer gave her today.

“Hey, do you have time before it’s lights out?” He asks, still wanting to give her the upper hand on this. The girl nods and scoots over for her father to take a place. He lays next to her, pulling his daughter into a hug.

“I know I can’t promise it. Coming back to you every time. You know it as much as I do. But I promise you to try anything and everything in the books. You guys keep me going.” Tears roll over both of their faces.

“I-I just”, (Y/N) moves her head onto his chest to sob into it, “Just don’t wanna lose you, too. I-I don’t think I-I can’t be the girl, who doesn’t have a mother AND a father. C-can you stop that from happening?” Hotch has to wipe his eyes before answering.

“I-I try to keep that from happening, Honey. I promise.”

This is how they fall asleep, squished in a twin bed close to each other. In the morning they both are overheated and got a visitor during the night. Jack wakes them up, asking why they had a sleepover without him.

This morning is the first time Aaron sees (Y/N) smiles since day zero.

Taglist:

All works:

@dindjarinsspouse @big-galaxy-chaos

Criminal Minds:

@averyhotchner @mggsprettygirl @herecomesthewriterwitch @ash19871962

[rosie-chaeyoung]

☽ 𝗶𝗿𝗲𝗻𝗲 [ 𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝘃𝗲𝗹𝘃𝗲𝘁 ] ☽

title ; 3am - red velvet - irene

summary ; It’s late at night and the world was asleep. Well, except for Irene. When she wakes you up in the middle of the night for her personal needs things quickly take a turn.

word count ; 2288

pairing(s) / group ; irene of red velvet

warning(s) ; 18+, mommy kink, use of handcuffs, oral sex ( giving ), fingering, dom!reader, sub!irene

genre ; smut

༉‧₊˚✧ ༉‧₊˚✧ ༉‧₊˚✧ ༉‧₊˚✧ ༉‧₊˚✧ ༉‧₊˚✧ ༉‧₊˚✧ ༉‧₊˚✧ ༉‧₊˚✧

Quiet crickets sang a song of slumber as the sun had set in for a soft slumber. It was a peaceful night to say the least. Y/n and her girlfriend, Irene, both lay in bed asleep. The world outside snored quietly as the couple slept peacefully. A cool breeze blew every now and then making Joohyun move closer to her taller girlfriend. The clock ticked by slowly, each minute taking it's time to show. Irene's eyes peeked opened, her long eyelashes batted as she turned looking to her lover.

She was still asleep, but she was gorgeous. Her (h/c) hair fell on her pillow and her breathing was steady. She looked so peaceful. The brunette on the other hand was now in distress. She was now wide awake. Tossing and turning on her back, she was having trouble going back to sleep. The last few memories she had weren’t helping. Small flashes of the wet dream went through her mind, they were much too vivid to let go. “Ah. Wait, go f-faster Y/n" Her breath hitched, this was becoming too much to bare alone.

It felt all too surreal. “Moan my name baby" She turned on her side, slightly gripping the bedsheets underneath her frail form. She had to stop thinking about this. "Y-Y/n.. please.." Irene could feel her face turning a dark shade of red, she was becoming hotter and hotter by the second. "Louder baby" With a breathy sigh she realized she couldn't take it any longer. Either she was going to get out of bed or do something rash. “Ah~! I'm about to cum, Y/n~!" She easily decided the ladder. Irene pushed herself up from the soft mattress, putting both her hands on her lover.

She shook her side to side whispering a soft, "Wake up" each time. This continued for about two more minutes before the (e/c) eyed girl started to grow conscious. She opened her eyes, sitting up to look at her lover. "What? I'm up.." Y/n rubbed her eyes and stretched. She had no clue what time it was, but it was way too late for this. "I, um need your help with something." the idol trailed on. Y/n looked at the clock, '03:24' it read. "What's so important for you to wake me up this late? Are you alright?"

Y/n, now fully awake, gave all of her attention to the brown haired female. She figured it must’ve been important if she got waken up for it. Hopefully nothing along the lines of being hurt. “I'm horny.." Joohyun mumbled. Was she ashamed? Slightly, but it was either tell her or deal with this for the rest of the night alone. Y/n groaned rolling her eyes. "Baby, you woke me up at three in the morning to tell me you're horny?" She sighed out. It was unnecessary, she could’ve easily waited a couple more hours.

Or, she could have fixed the issue herself. Anything would have been better than being woken up this late. Irene furrowed her eyebrows and gently pushed her lover to lay on her back. She climbed over from her part of the bed to Y/n's. Straddling her girlfriend’s waist, she sat on top with an annoyed look on her delicate features. Y/n, in return, put her hands on Joohyun’s small waist looking up at the pouting girl.

"What's wrong now?" She asked aloud. Irene ran her hands across the h/c haired girls toned body, she trailed her finger lightly up and down. "I'm being serious about this... And you won't help me! I’ve helped you whenever you need it!" Her pout seemed to sink in deeper at her statement. Y/n exhaled, this was somewhat her fault. The only time her girlfriend became whiny like was when she was needy. Usually every time she became needy she would take care of her. She was just so tired right now though. So reluctantly, she agreed. "Fine fine. Damn, you're lucky I love you.."

The dominant female changed around their positions so she was on top and Irene lay on her back. "But since you did wake me up, we’ll play by my rules. So tell me just how badly you need me.” She laid her hands on Irene's thighs, pushing her legs more and more apart. She slid her knee in between her lovers aching legs, and let out a stiff laugh when Irene bucked her hips forward. "Seriously Y/n, hurry up! This isn’t fair so stop teasing me!" Irene glared up at the dominant female who still hovered her.

Although Y/n smiled, her eyes quickly darkened once she heard the sentence slip from her lover. Reaching up she pulled her wrists together holding them in one place. Her tone started off condescending as she spoke, and slowly let it trail for a better effect. “Listen babe. You woke me up for this. I could be asleep. But you're horny, so tone it down. Okay?" Irene listened and shrunk back into the bed letting her pout return. "Yes..." She lowered her head leaving only a few inches between the two. "Yes what?" She urged on. Irene's cheeks grew hot again but responded. "Yes mommy."

Now pleased, she leaned down capturing the elder females lips in her own. Irene moaned into the soft kiss letting Y/n slide her tongue deep into her mouth. Turning her head to deepen their struggle for dominance, the pale skinned female happily gave in midway. Y/n leaned over to the side of her bed feeling around for a certain object, their lips still connected. Finding what she wanted, she sat up showing her toy to the submissive girl. This was personally one of her favorites. “What? No! You know I hate being handcuffed!"

Irene told her while looking at the silver play thing. "Exactly. That’s the point of this babe." Y/n leaned downward locking the handcuffs to Irene's wrists. She squirmed already hating the new feeling. Irene never did like these restraints, because when she's in them she can never touch her girlfriend. Leaving scratches on her back was a huge turn on for Irene, so to not be able to do that upset her greatly. She hated this. Y/n chuckled looking at Irene's vulnerable state.

"Don’t make that face. You and I both know this is what happens when you get all bratty." But this seemed like too much talking for her liking. Y/n once more leaned down and let her hands find themselves underneath Joohyun’s shirt. She tugged at it, before pulling it off leaving her in a black lace bra and panties. Fortunately enough, Irene never sleeps in pants. "It seems like you came prepared." She teased. The brunette shook her head disagreeing.

"It just sort of happened..." Y/n shrugged her shoulders while going to unclip and take off the lace bra. She didn't waste any time enveloping her significant other. Putting Irene's sensitive bud in her mouth and twirling the other in her hand, Y/n watched Irene let out soft moans. This was her joy of being in control, the trill that ran through her. The only thing she wanted to her was her name being moaned over and over, and as of now she was getting that. "Y/n, ah, please." She panted out.

Y/n loved the feeling of teasing the brown eyed female, this was pure torture. Trailing light and soft butterfly kisses down her toned body Irene was having trouble with the silver restraints on her wrists. Hating the feeling of being tied down she tugged at the cold cuffs, hoping they would come loose. But they didn't budge. Y/n finally tugged the hem of Irene's matching panties, already feeling how soaked they were.

She smirked, her lover always made teasing easy. She always so sensitive to her touch, just the slightest of moves and she could have her older lover turn into a hot moaning mess. The best example of this would be now. "Aww, did you really need my attention that badly?" Y/n began pulling the black lace material off Irene's slender legs. In return, Irene tugged her legs away. "Wait."

Y/n looked up to Irene's dark and lust filled eyes, she was so stunning. She made a humming like noise telling her to continue. She would never do anything without permission, so if she needed to wait then she would do that. "This isn't fair. You have to take off your clothes too. I can’t be the only one naked here." So that’s what she wanted ? She laughed at her submissive's order. She knew it wasn't fair, but she also knew that teasing was still fun.

So she did take her clothes off, just not as quickly as Irene wanted. She put her hand on her shirt hem pulling it off slowly, doing the same with her shorts. "Y/n! Please, I really need you right now!" Irene had been holding back her pleas, but this was her breaking point. She wasn’t even sure how she held onto them this long truly. Her lower regions were throbbing with anticipation and her body was so hot she could’ve swore she would set the bed on fire.

Her breathing was off, and she couldn't hold in anymore of her waiting. She wasn’t the only one having fun though. As mentioned, this is what really turned on Y/n. Being in charge wasn’t always easy, especially with someone with an attitude like Joohyun’s. Yet, times like this really proved she was where she belonged. "As you wish princess." In one big motion she took off the last bit of clothing clinging to her body. Irene, now feeling self conscious of her own body, closed her legs.

Y/n noticed this and almost immediately spread the brunettes legs. With one hand on her hip and the other on her thigh Y/n didn't waste much time going to work. All it took was a few small licks, a bit of sucking, and she was already a throbbing, moaning mess. Joohyun arched her back multiple times letting Y/n stick her tongue fully into her. Her moans were becoming louder by the second as she began tugging harshly at the handcuffs.

She hated not being able to touch her, it was one of the things that just drove her crazy. "Y/n, o-off. Take these off m-" Her 'sentence' cut itself short as another loud moan followed her words. Her climax was coming fast and it was coming hard at that. No, not yet she couldn’t let it happen yet. She wanted these off of her first, she hadn’t to get them off. She pulled harder at the restraints, at this point she was just trying to run away from the pleasure. It was becoming too overwhelming for her.

Y/n made room with her tongue by adding in two fingers. And once she was adjusted, a third to maximize her pleasure as much as possible. Irene's legs began to shake and she began to squirm in her place. "Ah! Y/n! J-Just move your hand, f-faster!" She wanted to ride out her climax and this was her way of doing it. Just to tease her a little more, Y/n slowed her pace slightly. “What’s the magic word?” Joohyun began to push herself toward her lovers hand as she was able to stutter out the word.

“P-Please..” The one little word was all Y/n needed to continue. She went back to her same actions but this time sped things up significantly. Using her thumb Y/n circled around the elder females most sensitive part making her throw her head back, and soon enough let the knot in her stomach break. Breathing heavily she laid her back on the cool bed. It was the only thing in the room that didn't seem hot.

Y/n didn’t consider herself an impatient person, but at the moment she could definitely see why she may be label that way. She pulled Irene's legs apart again and began to ease her into another climax. Irene was sensitive though, so any sort of stimulation down there would be torture. "S-Stop it..." She whined out weakly. There was little fight put up before her legs began to tremble from pleasure once more. The h/c-ette began all over again to give her girlfriend the satisfaction she deserved.

She started to squirm again and now bite down on her lip. "Fuck!" She let her swear slip from her mouth. Once more she arched her back off the bed letting her moans fall out simultaneously. The knot formed over, and soon broke again. Small sighs of pleasure floated from her as she gripped the sheeting beneath her. She had hit her climax for the second time. Joohyun yelled out in pleasure, moaning the (e/c) eyed girl's name.

She let out one last shaky moan until she let herself cum. She sighed in relief, the pleasure was over. "Good girl, you did so well." Y/n moved the wet, frizzled hair from her pale girlfriend's face. She was a panting, sticky, sweaty mess. And that's how she liked it. She reached up unlocking Irene's handcuffs and throwing them to a random corner of the room. Irene quickly clung to Y/n pulling her back down on the bed with herself. After a moment of breathing in her sweet scent, she flipped their positions.

She now straddled Y/n who laid under her satisfied with the past events. Irene showed off her pearly white smile looking into her lovers eyes.

"Round two?" ~

.

.

.

.

.

.

.