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textmel8r · 4 days

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[ SMAU + DRABBLE ] 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 ! ( sixth installment ) in which you are forced to plan a corporate event with your office enemy .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven.

୨୧˚ incl; kento nanami

୨୧˚ cw; profanity , mentions of sex

୨୧˚ an; so sorry if anyone asked to be tagged recently and you didn’t get tagged!! tumblr is being screwy again and i can’t see any of my comments😭😭 also apology time from nanami woo hoo!!!

Nanami stole yet another glance at the expensive watch wrapping around his wrist. Your promptness was certainly an issue; how does she show up nearly thirty minutes late to a meeting she called?

And then he scoffs at himself, giving a little shake of the head. Meeting? There he goes again, speaking in corporate tongue.

But finally, you do show up. Bursting through the entrance of the quiet café, making an embarrassing show of noisiness with your heaving breaths and wheezes. Not that it had been much of a disturbance to anyone else—only two other patrons resided in the small establishment; one too engrossed in her book to care, and the other scrolling mindlessly through his cellphone with a pastry in his free hand. Even so, you bashfully clapped two hands together as you peeked around the room. “Sorry!”

The older woman behind the counter nods in appreciation. Nanami can’t help but exhale roughly through his nose in sort of an almost-chuckle. God, you were a mess, weren’t you?

“Sorry, I’m so late!” You approached the table he resumed, one near the front window like you’d asked for. Your heels clopping against the grainy tile, knee-length dress flowing like water around your legs. He stands, walking to the opposite side of the tiny, rectangular table and pulling out the chair for you.

“Impressively late,” Nanami derides, but it’s not full of any malice. Truth be told, he did have the patience of a saint when situations like these were called to question. He didn’t mind waiting, because despite your utter tardiness, he trusted that you'd show up eventually, rather than ditching him altogether and leaving him to sulk in the humiliation of being stood up over a cup of black coffee. You were scatterbrained at times, yes, but dependable? Always.

Nanami returns to his side of the table after pushing your seat in. It wasn't meant to come across as a romantic gesture; Nanami had made it a habit of serving the women in his life nothing but a respectful demeanor. Whether it be lovers, colleagues, friends, and anyone in between. Though admittedly, his behavior towards you these past couple of months has been anything but respectful. It’s too late to start making amends to things, but the least Nanami can do now is try.

You shudder. Flustered, maybe? “Y’didn’t have to do that,” you tell him, placing your phone and clutch bag onto the table.

Nonsense. “My mother would have my head if she knew I let a lady pull out her own seat.” While true—his mother, bless her heart, raised him to be the gentleman his is today—he also just… wanted to do it. It felt right to serve you a seat.

Your elbow slams rudely on the table, finger reaching across to wag in his face. “Sounds like a good woman!” You laugh, and Nanami gingerly swats your hand away. He’s about to say something, but you beat him to the next sentence. “Hey, what gives? I thought this was supposed to be a day of relaxation?”

He worms under the scrutinized glare you wave up and down from his face to neck to chest to abdomen, finally peeking under the table to gawk at his shoes. Nanami curls his toes, a feeble attempt to shrink away from the judgement casted in your eyes. “What? Stop looking at me like that.”

“You’re dressed in fancy-man clothes.” At that, he takes it upon himself to look down at his wear; an ironed dress shirt clung to his chest, tie resting flat and perfectly centered between his pectorals. His slacks were ashy grey and devoid of any wrinkles, cut and hemmed around his ankles just above those stiff, leather shoes snug on his feet. The matching suit jacket was slung neatly over the backrest of Nanami’s chair, sleeves tucked away into its pockets.

His least expensive suit, sure, but still far too pristine and tidy for a little coffee shop outing. "Is it so bad that I like to remain presentable?" Nanami offers the question while he busies his hands, plucking open the pearlescent buttons at his wrists and rolling back the sleeves off the off-white button down.

"Presentability and discomfort don't always go hand in hand, you know. I mean, look at me," your voice echoes the mocking tone of cockiness, clearly a joke but also not at the same time. With a gesture towards yourself, you beam and shimmy in the simple, breezy dress. It had a floral pattern, Nanami notices. "Cute, stylish, and comfortable."

He isn't jumping to disagree with that. "Sorry, all my sun dresses were in the wash." He surprises himself with the jest, but it has you splitting an unladylike snort, so he doesn't come to regret it.

The toe of a thick, wedged heel jabs into his sock-clad ankle. "You business men are all so sassy." Nanami glowers at the adjective chosen to describe him, but doesn't refute. You sigh. "It's fine, I guess. Nothing we can do about it now. Wear some sweats next time though, would you?"

Next time. There’d be a repeat of this?

“Sure.”

“Great.” Your toothy grin beams over your clutch purse, of which is now wrangled in your grabby hands. Rifling through its unorganized contents, dumping out tubes of chapstick, loose change, and sticks of gum onto the table before fishing out a wallet. “Right, I’m starved. Did you look over the menu any?”

Nanami looked it over five times during the wait, if not for anything other than something to pass time. “Not really. Tell me what you recommend.”

You bite. Rambling about the array of pastries and baked goods that have been worthy enough to be placed in the category of y/n’s favorites. Nanami soaks in your excited, leaning in ever so slightly with open ears a you passionately ramble about cake.

“I take it you come here often?”

The question has you nodding. “Like, all the time man. This is my spot, you should be so grateful that I’m not a gatekeeper.” You look back at the menu once more before verbally deciding: “I want pistachio cheesecake and peppermint tea.”

The man poorly stifles his chuckle, rising from his seat. "Alright then, stay here. I'll go order."

"Oh, okay thanks." You shove your wallet into the wall of Nanami's chest, "take my card with you."

He is bewildered that you would even think he'd let you pay for your own meal. "I've got it," Nanami tells you, gently pushing the leather thing back to you.

"Nanami, stop."

"Stop what?"

"Take my fucking wallet," you gnarr, and he thinks you look much like a soaked kitten in this state of agitation. "Don't make me slap you."

It's an unserious threat, but Nanami plays a long. He raises two thick, blonde eyebrows. "Jesus, okay, you win. Just please keep your hands to yourself.” He revels in your little smirk of satisfaction, snatching your wallet back before making his way to the front counter.

Nanami kindly asked for two slices of pistachio cheese cake and two drinks; for you, peppermint tea, and him a coffee, black. Of course, everything was charged to his card. You didn’t need to know that, though.

You scarfed your portion down with swiftness, slinging spoonfuls of chartreuse custard into your mouth with such savagery that Nanami feared you might choke. He was a much more serene sight, preferring to savor each bite between slow swigs of piping coffee. The dark roast complimented the nutty pistachio flavor stunningly. For such a nameless little eatery, the food was exquisite. He takes another calculated bite of cake.

“You like?” The question was garbled behind a mouthful, cheesecake clinging to your milky teeth as you smiled brightly. A childlike excitement radiated warmly off you, clouding across the table to heat him up, too. It was sweet how wired you were, hopeful that he’d, too, enjoy your choice of confection.

Nanami huffs, amused. “Swallow before you choke.” You make a show of swallowing, a big hearty gulp with your eyes squeezed shut. “And yes, I like it a lot. Your tastes are surprisingly refined.”

“Surprisingly?” You gape, offended.

Nanami wants to crack a quip, something referring to your sub-par taste in men, but this little get together was nice. Yeah, it was really nice, actually. So he refrained from ruining it like the asshole he’d been lately, and drowned the snide remark with another toss of coffee. “Sorry, sorry.”

The remainder of the evening was cushy; you both fell into easy conversation about the randomest of topics. Discussions that never breached corporate subject matter, and he was eternally grateful for that. You spoke in tangents, whistling appreciation for a new movie you caught recently, to describing a long list of bands you enjoy, to lamenting about the headache that your minty iced tea sprang upon you: “Ah, brainfreeze!” Nanami doesn’t add much to the conversation, but he is content to listen and provide little hums of encouragement to urge you to keep talking. His eyes, inquisitive honey-colored things, found your lips and stayed there. Despite the uncouth display in which you carry yourself ( Nanami had been itching to tell you to close your legs, what with the way you sit spread-thighed in your seat donning that dress. So careless and unabashed. If the cafe had been a little more crowded, had a little more men around, and he might’ve slipped his foot over the imaginary boundary line to your side underneath the table and nudged them shut himself ) there was an elegance in the way you spoke about topics of interest. Passion flourished from the little curve of your lips, teeth bared in a great smile because you really were just that happy. Nanami feels envious when he watches you.

“I’m shocked at how well this is going.” You grin cheekily, licking cream from the pad of your thumb. “Kind of makes me sad that we didn’t get off on the right foot, you know? I think we could've been good friends.”

“Is it too late for atonement?” Nanami bites back a frown. “I understand if you can never see me as anything other than an asshole. But I never got to formally apologize for my behavior these past few months, Y/n. And I’d like to, if you’ll let me.” Why was this humiliating? It was a seldom occurrence when Nanami was in the wrong, but he was never one to let his faults drift by unaddressed. You deserve an apology—a proper one, not over measly text messages. Still, he miscalculated how awkward this would be.

You flail. “A formal apology? Nanami please, a simple ‘I’m sorry’ will work. It doesn’t have to be a whole thing, I’m mostly over it anyway.” But that was a lie and an obvious one, at that. You weren’t over it, he could see it in your eyes.

The blonde clears his throat and rubs his hands together mindlessly. “No, please. It’s long overdue, and if we’re going to be working in alliance, then you deserve to feel secure with me.” Though Nanami’s hands wrench restlessly, his gaze never detracts from yours. He bares his sincerity in the intense eye contact, offering a peek into his soul. Vulnerability. “I’ve been nothing but rude and ignorant and vulgar towards you, ever since…”

“That night.” You finish for him. “It really upset you, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess it did.”

“Why? Do you have a revulsion to sex or something?”

“What? Wh—I—No, t-that’s not…” Nanami sputtered, his ears growing warm from your accusation. “I don’t… mind sex?”

You play with the dainty straw flouncing around your drink, seemingly oblivious to Nanami’s flummoxed reaction. “You seem to have a strong opinion of whores, though.”

He groans, embarrassed with himself, and drags a palm down his pallor face. “Who you choose to sleep with does not make you a whore. It never did, I was just being petty and grasping at straws for anything that would get a reaction out of you.” Nanami runs his tongue over the roof of his mouth, inwardly wishing that the mug of coffee before him would turn to water so he could cure the dryness that ached in his throat.

“Why go through the trouble?”

Nanami opens his mouth, then closes it. Then opens again, “I don’t know.”

A piss poor attempt at playing the fool. Surely there was a reason for his unabashed cruelty towards you, but what the fuck was it? “Well, when you figure it out, let me know?” To his utter surprise, your expression doesn’t hold an ounce of animosity; you’re smiling at him. Finding humor in any situation had to be your special talent. Nanami nods dumbly. “In the meantime, you’ll just have to start making it up to me. You were a dick, big time.”

“I know,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“Hmmm,” you make a comical show of humming, touching your index to the point of your chin, and now Nanami knows you’re fucking with him. “Hmmm, hmmm, hmmm. I guess I can start the forgiving process if…” A pause for dramatic effect? The man raises his brows expectantly. “You and I make this,” you gesture between both bodies at the table, “a weekly thing.”

Nanami was expecting a punishment, but this suggestion was anything but. “I’ll need to take a look at my schedule first.”

“Listen, man, do what you gotta do. But I’m telling you, we are getting together at least once a weekend.” You scrub the corners of your lips with a napkin before crumpling it into a tight ball and discarding it on your empty plate. Nanami looks down at his own to see a healthy portion of his cake left. Wordlessly, he slides his plate across the table, and you accept the offering with open arms. “Oh shit, thanks! Like I was saying, this is fun, what we’re doing here. You’re having a good time, right?”

Sitting in a desolate coffee shop and listening to you prattle on has been the most fun he’s had in a devastatingly long time. “Yes, I am.”

“Good. You look fun-deprived.”

Fuck, I am. “I’m not.”

“Keep lying, I see through them all.” You scoop the last bite of Nanami’s cheesecake into your mouth, sighing with satisfaction and rubbing over your full tummy. “Anyway, I think hanging out would be good for us. Healthy, you know? Besides, I’ve been dying to know what off-duty Nanami looks like.”

He cracks a chuckle. “He’s nothing special.”

Your finger snaps in his face, invading his bubble of personal space, but this time he doesn’t shoo you off. “Another lie!”

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swordsandholly · 1 month

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Steel Magnolia

Part 1

Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!plus size!reader

No use of y/n

Rating: Mature/MDNI

Word Count: 2.1k

Author’s Note: I just recently got back into fandom spaces and reading fanfic again and looooove the uptick in fat Y/N characters. Ofc as a big girl myself I wanted to try my hand at writing one too.

Hopefully I’ll post this on AO3 soon. Whenever I get my invite so I can make an acc.

“Oh! Darlin’, did ya see those boys next door?” Mrs. Duprey gasps as you swipe the last of her Bubble Bath OPI polish across her fingers.

“Next door?” You cock an eyebrow. “No one’s been next door since Adam and Eve.”

“I saw them on the way in!” She grins, the corners of her eyes wrinkling pleasantly. “Strappin’ young men - y’should talk t’ ‘em.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m sure I will sooner or later, ma’am.”

“You’ve been single too long.” The nosey old bat contributes. As much as you love her she truly cannot leave well enough alone.

“And I’m perfectly content as such.” You give her your warmest smile.

The trailer home across from you has remained empty for as long as you can remember. It’s well kept - sometimes you see random gardeners mowing or going in an out with tool bags - but no one lives there permanently. You’d think in a beach town it would at least belong to some snowbirds. A timeshare, maybe. It’s none of those things, though. Just a well-maintained, perfectly empty husk.

There’s a metaphor in there somewhere, probably.

Sure enough, as you walk Mrs. Duprey out of your little single wide trailer, you spot a black SUV parked out front of the neighboring double wide. One that is definitely *not* a repair man or worker’s vehicle. She coos at you to make sure to talk to them before waddling off to her own car. She really shouldn’t be driving at her age. You wonder briefly - futilly- if she’d sell you her car in exchange for rides.

You suppose she’s right - even if it is for the wrong reasons. You’re not particularly interested in flirting with the new neighbors. After all, don’t fuck where you eat is a saying for a reason, but it wouldn’t exactly be neighborly to not introduce yourself. Especially with all the people coming and going from your home for your nail tech services. The old Yankee’s catty-cornered from you still believe that you're a drug dealer. At least they only come down for a couple months of the year.

Despite your staunch decision not to flirt, you still find yourself adjusting your clothes. Maybe the sports bra as a top is a bit much…

Fuck it. If they live here now they’ll see you in worse.

You fix your lipstick and throw on your platform sandals. The ones that clip-clop as you walk. Maybe it will help announce your presence.

The screen door wraps quietly as you knock. You take two steps back on the front, wooden porch so as not to come off too aggressively. As the seconds tick by you debate on knocking again. Maybe they’re out. Or busy. They did just move in today, most likely. Maybe you should-

The door creaks slightly as it opens. A very, painfully handsome man pushes the screen door until it clicks in place. “Afternoon, lassie.”

You blink stupidly as he crosses his strong arms and leans on the doorframe. His eyes are a striking shade of blue - somehow both sharp and soft. His dark hair is shaped into a slightly grown-out, un-styled mohawk. It fits him oddly enough.

“I, uh,” you take a deep breath. Christ you need to get laid if just *looking* at a hot guy has you this off kilter. “I live across the way. Just wanted t’ say welcome t’ tha neighborhood.”

That lopsided smile on his face grows into a grin. You don’t miss the way his eyes catch on your chest. “Aye? Nice tae meet ye. Names John MacTavish. M’friends call me Johnny.”

He gives your hand an extra little squeeze after shaking it. That accent might as well have you on the floor. You continue to blink dumbly, watching the at the scar on his chin stretches as he speaks.

Christ almighty, you’re pathetic.

“Nice to meet’ya.” You give him a warm smile, tilting your head to the side slightly. “Ya’ll here for vacation? We don’t get many Europeans ‘round here.”

He chuckles. It’s low and rumbling and would probably feel wonderful with your ear pressed to his chest. “Little bit o’ business, little bit o’ pleasure. This an’ tha’.”

“Hello, there.” Another man pops up from behind Johnny suddenly. Fucking hell, he’s gorgeous too. Older, for sure, with a uniquely cut beard that would probably look rather silly on anyone less handsome. At it stands, he manages to make it appear dignified.

“Ah, jus’ about tae call fer ye, Cap. This is our neighbor.” Johnny gestures toward you.

“John Price.” The man steps forward to shake your hand. It’s firm and professional and thank god your grandad made you practice a good handshake as a kid or you’d be painfully embarrassed.

“Are all UK men named John or is this just some sorta cult?” You blurt, unable to stop yourself from snickering at them.

Older John chuckles at you fondly, his facial hair giving him a pleasant U-shaped smile. “Be easier to remember that way, wouldn’t it? No, we’re with two others. Kyle and Simon. They’re out at the moment.”

“Kyle and Simon.” You repeat, nodding. Johnny, John, Kyle, Simon. “Are y’all in town long?”

“Indefinitely.” Is all Price gives you. It’s a tone that even someone as dense as you can recognize as ‘don’t ask more.’

You clap your hands together and smile a little wider, ready to make your exit. “Well, I’m not here t’be a bother, just wanted t’ welcome ya and, uh, let y’know that I have a lot of people over throughout the day - I’m a nail tech. They shouldn’t bother ya but y’know.”

“Ye can come bother us anytime, bonnie.” The Scot hits you with that grin again and your face suddenly feels far too hot.

A loud, whining screech sounds off from down the road. You check your watch. Holy shit, three-thirty already. You begin to back off the porch. “Ah, nice t’ meet ya again! See ya ’round!”

As you jog down the little dirt road of the trailer park another black car passes you. It’s smaller, a sedan. You make very brief eye contact with a blonde wearing a surgical mask and another man with the sharpest golden eyes you’ve ever seen - even through the tint of the window.

*Kyle and Simon,* you think.

You make a mental note to greet them at some point and continue down the street. The school bus slowly stops at the entrance and you take up your spot in the small crowd of parents. IT’s a shabby old bus - chipping paint and break pads that sounds like they’re about ready to snap. It’s all they’re willing to send out to your little section of the city, though.

Shelby meanders over in your direction, her usual Camel Crush lit up in one hand and the other teasing her already well-lifted hair. “Afternoon. Saw there was some new folks across from ya.”

“Hm?” You keep your eyes on the bus. “Ah, yeah. Just vacationers, I think.”

“Lookers, though.” She chuckles.

“They’re from the UK.” You offer.

“No shit!” Shelby stamps out her cigarette as the bus doors open. “Accent and all?”

“Yep.” You grin.

Shelby tsks and fiddles with her hair again. “I best go over an’ make myself known, then.”

“There’s an older fella with a neat beard. Think you’d like ‘em.” You snicker.

She hums. “I’ll bring a pie.”

The children practically burst out of the bus doors, as always. Ready to be home and shuck off their backpacks to their respective adult. Shelby’s son almost knocks her over, offering a little “Good afternoon, ma’am!” to you before heading off with his mother.

You nod to him, shoving a hand in your pocket as you wait for yours. She’s always the last. Always caught up in a book or something and doesn’t realize it’s time to get off of the bus. Sure enough, the driver has to call back to her before the little girl comes dashing out. She jumps off of the bus steps, despite being told time and time again not to, and kicks a rock on her way toward you.

You bow low for her. “Welcome home, Lady Sophie.”

She giggles, dark curls bouncing as she skips over. “Ni-ni!”

You take her bag from her. The thing really does dwarf the poor six year old. Her hand slips into yours easily. Soft and round and somehow always so much warmer than yours.

“My nail color chipped!” She announces, holding up her ring finger on the opposite hand.

“Oh! Now we can’t have that. I’ll fix it tonight.” You smile, waving at old Mr.Chester as the two of you pass.

“Well now!” He calls. “How blessed am I to see two such lovely ladies!”

You both giggle, continuing on your way. He’s a good landlord - spotted you more than a few times when Sophie was a baby and you couldn’t work consistently. Honestly, as you look around, the little community that he’s managed to build in this shitty corner of the world should be praised. Housing just enough snowbirds to cover his property costs while keeping rent low for the full time locals. Maybe you could convince Natalie at the paper to run a little story on it or something.

As you pull up to your own home, the blonde man is outside leaning on the front of their double wide. Seeing him standing at full height makes your blood run cold. The man is built like a damn barn - tall and wide. Beyond solid. *Brick shithouse*. It’s a bit weird that he’s covered in clothing head to toe but whatever. Weirder things have happened before. The mask still covers his face, you wonder if he had taken it off before you came up or just flipped it up to smoke.

“Sophie, head on in. I’ll catch up.” You push her toward the door. She scampers in, the screen door slamming behind her as you march up to the brick shithouse of a man in front of you.

“Which are ya? Kyle or Simon?” You smile, holding out your hand to shake.

Dark eyes rake over you, stopping briefly on your hand, before moving back to meet yours. He stomps out the half smoked cigarette. “Simon.”

You let your hand drop. Bit rude, this one. “Nice t meetcha.”

The other man pops his head out of the trailer. Kyle, you assume. “Oh. Hello.”

“Hi.” You smile as warmly as you can, giving your name. “I’m assumin’ yer Kyle.”

“Yeah.” He chuckles. “I’m guessing you’re the neighbor Price mentioned.”

You nod, about to speak again but Simon shoves past you, marching his way up the steps. “Let’s go.” He grunts, pushing the other man back into the trailer despite his protests.

You wrinkle your nose at him. What an asshole.

“Who’s tha’?” Sophie asks over the back of the old, worn couch as you let the trailer door slam behind you.

“New neighbors.” You say simply, glancing out the window. “Don’t go over there without me, yeah?”

“Okay!” She agrees, sitting back on the couch and bouncing, beginning her usual post school chant. “Bluey! Bluey! Bluey!”

You drop her backpack down beside the small coffee table. “After yer homework.”

“Nooo!” She pouts.

“Then no Bluey.”

Sophie pouts harder but crawls down in front of the coffee table and pulls out her little work sheets. At least the school doesn’t over run them too terribly with homework toward the end of the year. You glance at the calendar. Wednesday, May 22nd. Damn, she really only has about a week left. Though, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t looking forward to this summer break with her. She’s old enough now that you can take her places like the arcade without having to wait on her so much. You’ll actually be able to play some of the two-player games.

Plus, this year, you actually have a little more pocket change to make it fun.

You turn to look out the window once more at the new neighbors. Their curtains remain closed, cars neatly parked out front. The door opens slowly, the hot Scot and rude blonde wander to the Sedan. Simon’s shoulders shake at something Johnny said - you think he’s laughing but its hard to tell with that mask. Johnny’s head turns, blue eyes meeting yours through the shitty glass windows of your trailer. You squeak and duck to sit next to Sophie, praying that he didn’t catch you staring.

#simon x reader #fanfiction #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #fanfic #call of duty #plus size reader #fat reader #ghost cod #cod x reader #cod mw2 #holly writes

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 9 months

Text

Run Away To Me (III)

AU MASTERLIST || FINAL CHAPTER

PAIRING: Blacksmith!Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Runaway Bride!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 5.1k

WARNINGS: Blood, wounds, medieval period-esc standards for women, arranged marriage, toxic family dynamic/relationship, blood, angst, protective Johnny, violence, hurt/comfort, speedy relationship, talks of sex/intimacy (nothing in depth) & virginity pertaining to marriage, religious symbolism & mentions, etc.

A/N: That's it for this AU - onto Werewolf!Ghost next.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You’re kept behind Johnny’s back as you both exit the treeline, and you feel yourself quivering with unease.

What would Lord Wilkin do to you? Drag you back? As the shelter of the trees leaves you, you tighten your grip on the blacksmith’s tunic, breathing out a shaky puff of air. Cobalt eyes look back at you, trying to reassure you as the first calls start up from the guards.

Johnny whispers out, his accent deep. “It’s gonna be just fine.”

“She’s here!”

Hounds dash forward but with a sharp bark of, “Get back!” They skid along the dewy grass and halt with rabid barks instead, fur bristled and spittle flying. The men surge forward, and you gasp as they grapple at Johnny’s arms.

One tries to snatch at the neck of your cloak, but a strong arm traps the armored wrist and twists it sideways, snapping the bone as you stare wide-eyed as the guard screams; jerking back and stumbling to his knees. With a fluid motion, Johnny grasps the handle of the downed guard’s sword as he writhes with agony, unsheathing the blade and laying it upon the breast of the other with a dim call.

He glowers and glares, eyes like burning coals.

“I suggest you step back,” you watch, holding your breath from over his shoulder as the blacksmith leans closer to the man, one arm kept behind him and resting on your hip. “‘Fore this gets bloody.” The guard raises his hands and backs up quickly, fear splashing his eyes.

All of the others watch nervously from the sidelines, either reigning in steeds or holding their hands to the pommels of their weapons. Waiting.

You swallow the saliva in your throat and ask, quietly, “Are you alright?”

“Don’t twist your head about me,” Johnny reassures, eyes traveling around the homestead as the guards shuffle and share glances. The Scot grits his teeth and tries to think of a way out of this.

If you had run, just as the man had anticipated, they would have caught up in no time.

The clop of hooves from your left draws both of yours’ attention in a quick succession of perked heads and pounding hearts. You feel your blood drop to pool in your feet at the face that meets you. Johnny growls and shoves you farther into his shadow as Lord Wilkin comes closer with a horse of bay coat, decorated with all the finery of his station. Gold, great coat with an embroidered tunic, and riding boots. Strapped at his waist was a dagger encrusted with gems made of blood and diamonds.

Never mind all that wealth, he looked ugly and cruel to you—a glint of arrogance in his eye. You glare and grit your teeth, rage coming off in waves from Johnny as well as yourself.

Wilkin’s old face is the same you remember smirking down at you as he drove the ceremonial blade into your palm, and your entire hand flinches in memory, digging your nails into the Scot’s waist.

He puffs a sound of reassurance but otherwise doesn’t move an inch from in front of you.

“And who might this be holding my bride hostage?” The Lord’s voice is sly. Black eyes dart up and down Johnny’s form and the man you latch to has to restrain a rabid grunt of anger. Stay his molten tongue. “A blacksmith?”

“It’s MacTavish, to you,” Johnny calls, tone dead and laced with danger. Your body restrains a shiver as his warm skin sinks into you; the memory of his lips on yours is addictive, even now. “Be best for you to remember it, eh? Considerin’ I’m the one who supplies your fucking guards with arms.”

Lord Wilkin utterly ignores him, his gaze sliding to you halfway through his sentence. You stay silent, lungs tight inside of your ribs. The unfortunate truth was that Johnny still had more standing here than you did, anything that you said would come up as null and void; in fact, it would be better to be completely mute.

But with how the Lord was looking at you, your teeth had to bite into your lip to silence yourself. You had to come up with a way out of this. Soon.

“Take my bride away from this brute. Chain him.” Wilkin hides a smirk, pulling at his steed’s reigns to shift the beast away with a snort and a flick of a dark tail. “I want his head on the block in the town square by tomorrow. I have a wedding to finalize.”

“Let the fires of hell go cold if I go anywhere with you,” you say, stepping out slightly from behind Johnny, much to his hesitation, but still, he watches over you and lets you do as you please. The blacksmith would rather not have this Lord’s eyes anywhere near you if he’s being honest with himself.

This Scot had made you bold—his words gave finality. If he said nothing would happen to you, you believed him. Perhaps that made you foolish, but his word meant far more than anyone else. Johnny kept his promises.

Lord Wilkin’s horse is jerked to a stop, its head snapping back and forth with a frothing mouth. His eyes travel back and a slow sneer pulls at his lips, sitting under a mustache of white hair. You restrain a cringe, and Johnny barks an order to the advancing guards to stay back as his large feet set themselves.

“If they grab me,” he mutters, speaking over his shoulder, “run, Little Lady. I’ll be sure to give you an opening.”

Your eyes widen in shock and horror, but before you can answer, your husband-to-be calls to you. The Blacksmith’s expression is the picture of defense as he angles the sword in his grip at the far-off Lord when even the barest hint of his tone indicates you.

A low grunt was ringing in his throat like that of an animal—as if the bear fur inside of the house had come to life and was a shield of muscle and iron shavings.

Your eyes blink, and something begins forming in your head, but it’s gone before you can really grasp it.

“My Lady,” Lord Wilkin states, his guards taking up places beside him, glaring. The hounds have still not gone silent, and Johnny eyes them nervously. “I believe you’ve been overcome by some…” He grumbles and gnashes his teeth in rage. “Spell of disobedience. I’ll have a physician examine you and keep you in my home for a stay of recovery—”

“The lady said she’s not goin’ with you,” Johnny seethes, pupils slits. Your hand rests on his back, spread over the swell of his broadness as you feel his pulse. Hot and racing. “So pack the fuck up and scatter! And take the bloody mutts with you!”

You spare a worried glance at the back of his head. The blacksmith can’t possibly believe that threatening them will make Wilkin pull back, and when he meets your eyes, you know he doesn’t just by the wrinkles by the sides of his lids.

He’s nervous, shifting his feet in small increments to try and push you nearer to the tree line. Your body hardens.

You’ve already made your mad dash—there was no more running. Certainly not if your new center of affection and protective build wasn’t coming with you.

Wilkin raises a brow. “Quite demanding for the man surrounded…Woman!” You flinch at the sudden shout, the quick rage of his snapping head, and the quick switch. Johnny glares and his hands are strangling the hilt of the sword, white and held still. The Lord barks, “Your parents gained valuable gifts for your well-bred hand—would you enjoy them being taken away? I can do so.” Dark eyes sweep over you. A smirk. “Forget this spark of madness and consummate what you know to be done.”

Johnny lunges with a snarl, eyes burning with horrible anger and the intent to cut the head off the snake. The guards meet him as he yells to you, “Run, Dearie!”

But your feet are stone.

When the man realizes you’re going nowhere without him, his eyes gain a sheen of panic as his blade clashes with sparks of steel with another. A dance of feet and wit that speaks to years of careful study; practice from both parties. Wilkin looks smug as Johnny lets off a loud curse and has to turn his attention back to the fight.

“Seems the woman’s come to her senses. Praise God, perhaps there’s hope for her yet.” You breathe heavily, hands clenched under your cloak. Your mind wished for a dagger—one to show this pathetic excuse of a man how much it hurt to try and have someone mark you for the pleasure of ownership. Like some common branded cow.

Wilkin nods to you as Johnny gazes on in horror, narrowly dodging a swipe at his side before he elbows a guard in the face, splaying him out along the ground in a heap of leather and fabric.

“What are you doing?” He yells, voice booming out over the forest. You don’t look at him before you suck down a breath and steady your nerves; standing taller and setting back your shoulders.

The trained grace that had been shoved down your throat on a silver platter came back easily. Forks and spoons sliding under your teeth, all engraved with images depicting holy scenes of sanctity while the blood of your flesh spills at the poke of thorns sitting on your head. A halo of bloody martyrdom.

A tool.

You can be a tool, you decide, flinching when Johnny’s body is tackled to the ground; form ricochetting as he growls and writhes. His sword clatters to the ground. They have him in binds, cheek shoved into the dirt, and great shackles that skirt the line between animal and human restraint. A guard’s hand forces his face deeper into the earth and Johnny bellows, ordering with wild eyes, “Run, dammit! Get out of here!”

Sending a stiff glance, you stare blankly into cobalt eyes and blink away just as quickly, standing and staring down Lord Wilkin as he watches in contentment at the scene of the raging blacksmith and his seemingly placated bride. At the twitch of his lips, you raise your voice high.

“Release him.” Dark eyes turn to slits before they slowly slither back to you.

“Pardon?” You grit your teeth and feel Johnny glaring, a snarl ripping out of his mouth as he coughs through the grass.

“Dearie, no!” A punch hits his stomach as he’s jerked up to his feet and attacked; chains rattling as hounds bay for blood. You sense your gut roll with bile as Johnny fights back—tree-like legs laying a kick square into one's abdomen.

The two guards hang onto his arms, shouting at each other to try and restrain him further.

“I ask my husband-to-be to release the man that graciously gave me shelter during the storm,” staring hard, you’re trying to stop yourself from running to Johnny. You know you have nothing to help him with—it would be pointless and utterly stupid.

Your brow raises, but a nervous twinge is still in your voice. “Does My Lord not take pride in the fact that the men of his fiefdom are so open to taking in those less fortunate than themselves?”

Wilkin’s cheeks go tight, skin pulling as the eyes of the free guards travel to him. The struggle gradually dies down across the way; cobalt eyes darting back and forth with panic.

“Don’t bloody do what I think you’re doin’!”

A trade would happen, but only for a moment. In your head, you were whipping past possibilities and scenarios. There was something on the cusp of discovery—so close to giving you the upper hand, but what was it? Like a thorn in your foot, you continue to walk over it; ready and willing.

Johnny had your back last night, it was time you had his.

“Let the honorable blacksmith go,” you level. “And name your price.”

The response is immediate. A flashing smirk. “Deal. I’ll take my bride back, just as was intended.”

“No!” Johnny’s tunic is all ripped up, tears from gripping hands only making the damage larger—nail scrapes along his hardened flesh from the guard’s ruthless hold. Skin white from the force.

If you look at him, you’ll lose your mind.

Under your cloak, your hands shake as Wilkin descends his horse, coming closer.

“Keep your fuckin’ bastard hands off of ‘er!”

Think. His footsteps march closer—thin and sly-looking like a sharp-eyed Egret. Think!

Before his hand can snap at your wrist your mind sparks in a panicked moment, and you’re exclaiming with a loud voice before you can stop yourself or think the sentence through. You stutter at first but quickly gain your footing.

“I-In good faith, I cannot accept—I am unfaithful to you, Lord!”

The entire homestead goes still, and those struggling with Johnny’s binds freeze. Lord Wilkin goes confused, his wrinkled visage peeling in like a rotted corpse. But no faces are quite as good as the blacksmith’s, who goes so pale and wide-eyed before he can school himself in secrecy; his jaw loose. His heart pounds in his breast, shreds of tunic waving in the wind. You continue with utter conviction, so much so that you even start to believe the lie you’ve crafted with a swift mind. “See the evidence upon the blacksmith’s sheets—where we lay last night in the throes of lust; I am no longer a pure bride.” Breaths get caught in throats; eyes bugging to a nonsensical degree. You swear someone choke. Your face burns as you continue, faking a shameful falling of your chin.

“I cannot marry you!” It’s almost enough to break you, the realization on Johnny’s expression as he darts his vision to your hand—which you hide inside your cloak; wrapped around your waist with false fear. Blood on your hand.

Blood on the sheets.

“It would be shameful to do so, do you not understand? I am not but a used good.” Fake or not, the last comment still makes Johnny’s hands clench his jaw working itself with a restrained growl.

But pride furrows his brow. A smirk was forced back from his lips.

You just took away what Wilkin loves more than anything else—control.

The older man halts, his mouth going agape and a vile sheen coming to his cheeks. He stutters, “I...what?” It’s a violent snarl, but the man balks back from you as if you’re infected. “You dare lie to me, Girl? Play off this fallacy?”

“It’s no lie,” you say, gaining confidence with how Johnny watches you closely, only once rumbling at the guards that hold him when they tighten their grip. “The evidence is plain as day in the Blacksmith’s bed.”

Wilkin’s eyes flash, and he barks an order to one of his men to enter the main house. Only when his dark eyes are off of you do you spare a look at Johnny.

You sag softly, shoulders losing some tension.

Blue eyes lock with yours, firm. Sending an apologetic squint of your eyes, the man only slightly shakes his head, mouthing out, “Don’t worry your little head about it.” A quick, barely-there smile flashes his lips—but then you have to look away before you let the shaking of your body be known. No matter how hard you plead with your muscles to stop vibrating, they do so instinctually.

You know what lying about this will cost you, successfully or not. You’d be labeled for the rest of your life; separate. But Johnny’s eyes on you ease the pain. Lets you breathe. If the worst thing that could happen to you was living out your life in his homestead and being at his side, then perhaps social execution was the only thing that pleased you at the moment.

You just hoped that it didn’t lead to an actual execution.

“Lord!” The guard returns as Johnny continues to watch you, panting, with sweat dripping down his chin. His ribs hurt something awful, but he only glowered at the men holding him and stayed his violent tongue to let you work your strengths like fine iron wrought in the fire of his hearth.

Wilkin’s lackey was hurriedly carting the length of the Blacksmith’s sheets behind him—clutching in his fist the vibrant red stain of your blood and displaying it to the light. Thinking about what they saw it as, instead of your wound opening, you cringe and restrain a sound of disgust.

Even being around Johnny for as little time as you had, despite the kiss and infatuation, you had forgotten how crude the rest of these men could be. It’s like this sanctuary of trees and dew-soaked ground was in an entirely different world, and these intruders were wrecking it. By Johnny’s face, he felt the exact same.

Half of the Scot wanted to save your honor and tell them you were lying, but the desperation of the situation was far more serious than that. He couldn’t let you go back to Wilkin—he’d promised. So Johnny took down a tight breath and stayed silent; face burning and glaring at the ground with clenched fists shaking for blood.

The guards holding his arms slightly release their grip, listening intently themselves.

Blanking, the Lord’s eyes lock onto the stain as the man brings him the fabric. Not a moment later his hand snaps out to drag it to his face, looking daggers into the redness as his eyes snap from place to place.

“...You did this on purpose,” the slow dead tone takes you aback, hands around your abdomen digging further into your flesh as a dread spills into your stomach with blossoming unease.

“M-my Lord?” Johnny tenses, eyes sharp like a wolf.

“You did this so you could spite me, you little,” the encrusted dagger is unsheathed from its scabbard. “Whore!”

“Shut the fuck up!” The blacksmith bursts with wrath, jerking forward so violently that he drags the guards holding him along the ground, their calls of alarms making the hounds go ballistic.

You take a small step back as Wilkin gets nearer to you—the point of the blade setting itself right under your chin; tilting your head up. Breath going tight, you stare with wide eyes and a pounding heart.

He wouldn’t kill you…would he?

The Lord’s eyes are brimstone and deeper than Hell, holding sinners in the bars of his pupils while devils of brown specks prod the pool of obsidian. If a man could be on fire and still be living, Wilkin was an inferno incarnate.

“You belong to me,” he grits his teeth as Johnny’s voice blurs in the background, having to be forced to his knees by three men yet still nearly throttling one with the force of his arms. “I paid for you.”

“Then you should find it a lost investment,” you shakily reply, not knowing how you have the strength to stare into Wilkin’s eyes. But you do. You stare and you hold your hands tight into your flesh until the skin under your gifted fabric aches. A small prick of the blade makes you suck in a tight inhalation, a tiny droplet of crimson sneaking down your throat.

It’s a battle of wills, and before you say what you’re thinking, you’re nearly sure that in less than three seconds you’ll be grasping a slit throat.

You clear your throat softly and speak in a dim whisper. “How will your guards react to you killing a woman in anger?” Expressions freeze. “What does God say about that?” You swallow, throat bobbing. Hit him where it hurts. “...What would the townspeople say? Mercy is not above our great Lord, that is an earthly prospect. I believed that was your greatest quality, is that not what everyone believes?”

Wilkin stares, his mustache twitching. Dead face. Dead eyes.

It’s a long, long moment before anything else happens, and when it does, you flinch.

The dagger disappears from your chin and you instantly back up several steps, breathing unevenly. Pointedly, you place your uninjured hand on your slowly dripping skin.

Johnny’s taken down three of the guards, their faces bloody and your blacksmith’s nose broken. He yells and screams curses. You feel your heart constrict at the sight, pain zooming down your veins in bursts of adrenaline, but it’s seconds later that Wilkin speaks, loudly so that everyone can hear.

“I would never harm a woman,” you hold back a violent scoff as your hands shake, wanting to be taken into Johnny’s arms now more than ever—feel his heat and inhale his scent. Wrapped in a blanket of steel and ash. “In my good graces, I will pray for your salvation, Miss. But being soiled—”

“Bloody piss off!” You send Johnny a quick glance at the outburst. He’s forced back face-first into the ground with a grunt and sputtering of grass in his mouth.

“I no longer wish to be joined with you in holy matrimony. It would be dishonorable to my station.” Dark eyes swim with hatred, but the tone of his voice is easy and pliable. The Lord was a good fake—he plasters on an appeasing smile for his men and waves a quick hand in the air as he turns to his horse. “Release the brute. Let the pair roll in their sin of carnal desire. God will be their judge.”

Johnny struggles as they unlock his chains, but the second he’s out he’s springing full-force towards you; his skin sliding across your cloak as you’re guarded far better than any loyal hound or King might be.

“Johnny,” you grapple at his biceps, sighing raggedly in relief. He doesn’t brush you off, only curling his side around you and angling his head to the mounted horses; pupils slits and lungs heaving. His nose looks awful. “Don’t, don’t,” you plead, “It’s over.”

The man doesn't respond, looking feral as his hair goes this way and that; coiled around your body about to strike at anything that comes close.

“I’ll kill him,” Johnny grunts. “I’ll rip his damn throat out for speakin’ to you like that—for puttin’ a knife to your throat. I’ll rip him into bloody bits and pieces, you just say the word, Little Lady.”

Your arms encase the one of his you’re holding, dragging the limb to your chest. Cobalt eyes dart back to your face. It’s a long moment, but his expression softens slightly—the wrinkles beside his eyes easing while his lips twitch down. Blood drips off his lower face, spread around his under eyes, and stains his stubble with crimson gore.

“Please,” you mutter.

He looks down and nods stiffly, even if he doesn’t like it.

The horses are rallied, the hounds called, and with a throw of dirt from their hooves the convoy is off. Silence returns in slow increments of nothingness.

Wind, the call of a bird, and the babble of a far-off stream echo through the pines. Only when they’re entirely out of sight and the dust has cleared that Johnny swiftly moves, picking you up into his arm. You squeak as he carries you speedily into the main house, rushing to place your backside on the table.

His large hands immediately tilt your head up to spy the tiny mark from Wilkin’s blade, and you feel his shuttered breath against your throat as you go heated.

“J-Johnny, what are you…” But you don’t get an answer, the man disappearing before coming back with a wetted rag. Once more, the man cleans your wounds with delicate presses of the cloth—ridding you of all blood.

His jaw is clenched, and as you watch, your hand in your lap twitches.

In a broken act of pain, you lightly run your fingertips over the swelling of his nose. The man stops, but serious eyes stick to your throat—unable to meet your gaze; there’s a red sheen to his neck and ears. Anger or embarrassment, you know not.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, guilty, and his widened gaze rips itself to lock with yours. Your vision blurs, afraid to touch him fully as if it might burn him.

“No,” he’s shaking his head. “No, you never tell me that. What you did, Dearie…I,” Johnny stutters, closing his mouth before opening it again. “I should be apologizing to you. It wasn’t fair to make you do that. Any of it.”

A wobbly smile flicks your lips.

“Are you saying I should have left you?” Johnny moves his face farther into your hand, blood contaminating your skin but you don’t pull away. You let him sag into your palm instead, reveling in the scrape of his stubble against your soft hands.

“I’d not see you harmed,” is all he answers.

You sigh and blink away your tears, stealing the man’s rag so you can dab at the bloody nostrils. Johnny’s pulse is still fast under you—like the pound of his hammer.

“Well,” his eyes dig into yours and you smile. “I believe my priorities are the same. I may have only met you yesterday, but I’ve grown quite fond of you.”

“Aye, well, everyone will know how fond soon enough.” He’s more worried about this than you are, a stubborn and almost grumbly tone to his words.

“Is my purity that much of a sore point for you?” You can’t help but tease him, even in the circumstances. “I had no idea.”

His face goes more crimson than his own blood, and he blinks at you rapidly.

“I…That isn’t what I…” You chuckle gently and press your forehead to his, whispering.

“I was just joking.” He sags with relief, his hands coming up to rest on your hips with the care of a man unbefitting to his station. Again, you have to ask yourself how an individual so intimidating can be, at the same instance, kind and generous.

His lips mutter, brows tight. “Are ya sure you’re alright, Hen?”

You think, wondering about the run through the forest when this all began, the plea for shelter. Such a deep coincidence that you’d end up here—perhaps the most safe place in the entire fiefdom. Everything had lined up perfectly, barring a few bumps in the road. You doubted Wilkin will mess with this place after the spreading of your ‘promiscuous’ behavior.

He was too sly for outright violence if given the option.

“Yes,” you know, and thin your lips. “What about your nose? A-and everything else?”

“Don’t think about it,” the Scot smiles, eyes still glinting with worry. So many hours and you’d barely gotten any sort of break. “I just want you to rest, then, eh?”

Maybe it was outwardly obvious, but the entire ordeal had left you drained; shaky, and still coming off of panic. What if they had killed Johnny…?

You’d go back to Wilkin and live as his wife, producing heirs and locked away in his estate for the remainder of your life. What kind of existence was that? No, you knew, you’d never live like that.

You’d never live like that here.

With a shaky breath, you watch Johnny’s eyes flash with concern for a moment by your silence, but before he can speak you’re pressing your lips to his in a firm and honest kiss—sinking in every emotion you could.

The man grunts in surprise, but doesn’t move back; if anything, his grip on your hips increases, sliding up to your waist.

After a moment of tasting flesh, you pull back and whisper, “Thank you.”

Johnny breathes heavily, a glimmer in his blues, “Well,” he grumbles, “I’d say you did most of the work.”

You both share a chuckle before you’re lifted again, carried gently over to the bed without sheets. You’re placed atop the bear fur and wrapped in that instead after your cloak is unclipped and folded neatly, set on the floor. Outside, the call of a far-off storm hits your ears and you blink to the window.

“Stay with me?” You ask before you can stop yourself or can even think.

The blacksmith’s breath catches, his fingers flinching as they were pulling the fur tighter around your neck.

It’s a moment before he asks in a quiet tone.

“You sure you want this, Dearie?” His lips go tight, eyes narrowing in inner conflict. You stare and already know the answer just by how he speaks to you. “I’m no King. I…I can’t give you fine jewelry or fancy clothes. There’ll be no grand suppers beyond the game I catch or what I can afford to buy. Long winters.”

The air goes quiet with worship, and your eyes go wide with care. His broken nose is crooked, but it doesn’t seem to bother him at all. You wonder if that was for your sake or his.

“I’m not someone worthy of your beauty,” he rubs at the back of his head, bending down by the edge of the bed. “Certainly not your smarts. I’m only a blacksmith, Little Lady.”

“Only?” You huff a chuckle. Johnny looks at you in confusion as the black clouds outside roll in, seen through the window of this quaint and lovely home. The hearth is warm, the scent of food still in the air, and the memory of a dash through the forest behind you.

“If you’re only a blacksmith, Mr. MacTavish,” you’re sent a fake stern look as the back of a hand goes to brush your cheek. You shiver. “Then I’m only a runaway bride.”

“Aye,” Johnny admits with a growing smile of adoration, “but still a bonnie one, at that.”

“...Stay with me?” You ask again.

The man breathes out, “Tell me why.”

“The trees do not deny what they need to make them whole, Blacksmith,” you whisper. “Why should I?”

He’s clambering under the fur, wrecked clothes, and blood on his face but never feeling more whole. Is so little a time enough to fall in love with someone? What deity had tied your souls together so soon with ribbon soaked in rainwater—tinged with blood?

His lips meet yours as you sigh into him, hands gripping his arms as they circle your waist tightly. Johnny breathes you in and lets his hands span your back, fingertips digging into your clothes. Into his mouth, you whine a plea for him to keep you close and hold you tight. It’s all your need from him. It’s all you want.

For the wise know best: there is nothing better than a simple life.

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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demonmarker · 3 months

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Beautiful with you Ch.2

Ch.01

Driving to your destination, not much conversation occurred on the way apart from when you first started Regina’s jeep up and her music what it was playing the last time the car was driven which ironically was Cardi B’s WAP. You look over to Regina with a questioning raised eyebrow, “A little on the nose don’t you think?”

Regina just scoffed at you “Oh please Loser, you. Fucking. Wish.”

You didn’t take your eyes off the road as you retorted “Eh sometimes if I’m horny enough” you mentally slap yourself for letting that slip, the plan of going into this friendship and not coming off as a complete simp for the blond just got thrown out the window. Well done.

Regina folded her arms, turning to you with the smug smile you know well, “Oh really? I’m starting to see where that compliment of telling me I’m beautiful came from. Which I totally agree with.” Stopping at a red light gave you the opportunity to give her a look that read oh please, “Hang on, I’m not the simp here! You started talking to me first, you were the one who came on to me and you were the one who kissed me! Might I add I didn’t say you were beautiful, I said the girls at the Plastics table were beautiful. PLURAL!” you defended.

Glancing at the traffic light, making sure it was still red, Regina leaned over to your side of the vehicle getting close to your face “And you enjoyed every second of it didn’t you Baby?” swiping her tongue over your lips to prove her point, making the smallest whimper escape your throat. Caught in a haze of the taste from Regina’s tongue to the smell of her perfume you were only brought back to reality when you hear the car behind you blare their horn, speeding off you give a ‘my bad’ wave which made Regina let out an evil chuckle which made your cheeks go red.

“Do you do that to all your friends?” she let out a throaty laugh that ran straight down to your now wet centre.

“Only the cute ones.” All you could do was shake your head.

Arriving at your destination Regina’s eyes zeroed in on the brightly coloured sign outside the facility “A Daycare? Don’t tell me you’re into that adult baby shit cause I’m so not down for that,” you get out of the car and walk to her side, opening her door for her offering your hand to her.

She takes your hand as you chuckle “God no. I’m kinky but not that kinky! Jesus!” she goes to say something but you cut her off before she can get a word out “Just, follow me.” You get an agitated huff for a response “oh stop complaining,” leading the way into the daycare, hearing Regina’s heels clop behind you.

Dodging your way through the running, screaming children, you look back when you reach the door to the small building only to see Regina a far way behind clutching her bag to her chest as if the little kids were notorious for mugging people, moving and avoiding them like they were rats or some kind of vermin “God let this nightmare end!”

“Hurry it up slow poke!” you mainly just said it to annoy her and on top of all the kids it worked to your delight.

“Listen you! It’s not easy to dodge running germ carriers in heels!”

You smile down to her when she finally reaches you “You’re cute when you’re annoyed,” “You’re cute when you’re annoyed,” she mimicked “Shut up!” you couldn’t help but laugh as

you open the door for her, “It’s not funny!”

“Eh it kinda is babe!” the nickname that slipped out made you both blush. It wasn’t till the

familiar face of Mrs. Bailey approaching you could you think of anything else.

“Miss Y/LN, so good to see you as always. How are you?” You smile back at the kind hearted woman,

“Hi Mrs. Bailey, I’m not bad thanks, always busy as usual.” The Daycare worker nodded along then turned to Regina.

“Oh this is a new face, Hi, I’m Mrs. Bailey, one of the care workers here,” she offered her hand to the blond.

"Regina George,” shaking the woman’s hand politely “I’m a...” she looked to you not exactly knowing how to finish her sentence.

“Friend! She’s a friend” first bullet dodged you think to yourself. You clear your throat “How was she today” you switch subjects quickly.

Mrs. Bailey glances behind her and lowers her voice “Well for most of it she was good, playing with the kids as usual with Alexander always with her.” You nod along as she informs you “It wasn’t till after lunch when we got the kids to do an activity of card making for Mother’s day next week did her mood really drop.”

You lift your hand to your forehead as you realise your grave error, “Oh damn, I completely forgot! I’ve been so busy with school exams and work, it completely slipped my mind!” your riddled with guilt as the shorter brunette gives you a look of sympathy.

“No one could blame, you’ve both been through a lot, she’s not angry but she’s definitely sad, she went over to the silent reading area with Alexander and has just been lying against him since. I had a go at talking with her but she didn’t take to it, so I thought it best to give her the space she needed till you got here.”

You place a thankful hand on the side of her arm “Thank you for telling me. Can I see her?” Mrs. Bailey started leading the way “Of course”

Regina shifts her head up to you as you follow behind the brunette, “She really need a new

wardrobe!” she whispered to you,

“She’s just wearing jeans and a polo! It’s the uniform” you justify.

“Whatever it is it’s ugly,” Regina then looks you up and down “Actually you could probably

use a trip to the mall yourself.”

“Not all of us have rich parents to scab off Regina.” Just as she was about to retort you see

the familiar golden retriever laying down near some bean bags, head perking up and his tail starting to wag as he notices you, and the precious little brunette girl who you would gladly give your life for, cuddled up to him slowly patting his fur hiding her sad little face, not knowing of your presence you slowly walk up to her and crouch to her level, giving her pale pink dress a tug “Hey Princess,” your voice soft and warm.

The little girls head snaps up, turning to you “Sissy!” the little girl immediately wraps her little arms around your neck and you lift her up in your arms as you stand back to your full height, giving her kisses on the side of her head while slowly caressing her hair. “Mrs. Bailey told me you got a little sad after lunch today.” The little girl nodded and hugged your neck, “Aw Princess,” with her head laying on your shoulder she notices the new face standing beside you, her face lighting up.

“Sissy, it’s the Queen from your drawing!” pointing at Regina who held out her hands as if to say I didn’t do anything at first then placed them on her hips with a smug look.

“Well look who knows royalty when she sees it, little cutie.” The little brunette in your arms giggles, Regina getting a little closer to her and whispers “What’s your name Sweetheart?” being shy as she ever was though she just hid her little face into your shoulder but made sure she could still see Regina.

“This is Nina. My little sister.” You almost cried at how good Regina was with Nina, she was like a whole other person with her and it made your heart race.

“Nina. That’s such a pretty name. A pretty name for a pretty girl.” Regina gently grabbed Nina’s little foot softly shaking it, “I’m Regina.”

Nina lifted her head up out of hiding and laid it on your shoulder looking still at the blond “Hi Wegina.” The moment Nina giggled made your questioning if it really was a good idea bringing Regina here to meet Nina was such a good idea disappear instantly. “Wegena?”

“Yes, Princess?”

“Why do wou wike bees so much?” your face drops, uh oh.

Regina waved her hand around Nina “Okay one I am obsessed with her” Nina giggled

happily which made you smile, “two, what was that about bees?” making sure she kept a smile on her face even in her confusion.

You couldn’t help but let out a little laugh “She’s asking why you like Bees so much, Queen BEE” you emphasised the last word hoping she’d catch on, no way were you going to explain to a four year old that Queen B meant Queen Bitch.

“Oh, um, you know what? Every bee hive has a Queen Bee and she gets to boss all the others bees around.” Regina lied but in a way she really wasn’t.

Little Nina’s jaw dropped in amazement “Even the boy bees?” she asks softly in her little voice that you adore.

Regina nodded. “Especially the boy bees” Nina squealed with delight at that decibel that made your ears ring making you scrunch your face up.

A loud bark voiced from Alexander grabbed your attention “Oh right, sorry bud. Regina this is Alexander.” The dog looked at her panting, Regina’s face fell to one of disgust “Um. Hello. Alexander.” She gave a little wave not wanting to get close.

You roll your eyes “Please don’t tell me you have a fear of dogs” Regina held up a hold on finger,

“No, no it’s any animal that carries god know what kind of germs on them and it’s not a fear it’s health self-awareness thank you very much.

You bop Nina gently soothing her... and yourself as you roll your eyes for the hundredth time that day, “argh okay, Alexander. Shake.” The Golden Retriever hearing your command held out his large paw for Regina to shake.

Regina crumbled like you knew she would, you could read her just as much as she could read you.

“Aww” Regina bent down to shake the dogs paw, letting him sniff her but not expecting the long lick he gave her cheek, “Oh ew, ew, ew!” and that was the end of that.

Nina cackled as Regina raced through her purse for antiseptic wipes, “So gross!” she complains wiping her cheek vigorously. Both you and Nina were laughing at the blond soon enough.

“Alexander is Nina’s emotional support animal.” Regina looked at the dog and pointed at him as she put two and two together “Oh!” drawing out the word “That makes sense.”

Nina couldn’t stop laughing “He’s my best friend” she announced proudly.”

Outside the daycare Nina held both your and Regina’s hand as you all walked to her car, “Okay so two options.” You announce “First, you join us for dinner in which case, can Alexander sit in your car with us? Or option two is we split ways here and Nina and I get an Uber home.” You wondered if inviting her for dinner was pushing things too far for your first day, but you couldn’t help but hope she says that she would, you’d understand if she didn’t of course but you couldn’t deny you’d be disappointed.

Regina put on an exaggerated thinking face obviously for Nina as the little girl looked up at her with big eyes, “What does Nina want me to do?” the question caught you off guard, Regina was amazing with Nina and you couldn’t deny that it was making you fall harder for her.

Nina didn’t even need to think about it “Come over! Come over!” bouncing on the spot excitedly.

Regina bent down and picked Nina up, “The Princess has spoken. I’ll just get the jeep detailed so it’s not a problem for Alexander to come in the car.” She says to you. You just looked at Regina with adoration. She put Nina down and started to walk to her car.

“Stop looking at me like that Dork” you grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks, her head whips to look at you, and before you over think it you kiss her on the cheek.

“Thank you Regina” her face went bright red and she just cleared her throat and continued on her way to her jeep.

This Regina George you’d happily let into your life.

Ch.03

@dandelions4us

#regina george x reader #lesbian #renee rapp x reader #renee rapp #mean girls #masc lesbian

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hrtsdevils · 6 months

Text

you made me love the number forty-three | fall to me au

summary: a close-knit bond is formed between luke hughes and y/n l/n throughout the years. they have their ups and downs, but they’ll always be there for one another.

pairing: platonic luke hughes x family friend!reader

wc: 1564

warnings: fuck ass bob

a/n this is based off of abby by gracie abrams, and it’s very dear to my heart! pretend that luke wasn’t committed to umich 2 years before he graduated… for the plot! sorry jack’s kind of a meanie, i love him!!! i swear!! it just fits w the lyrics <3 enjoy and thanks for reading!

tell me your secrets, ask every question. my door is open twenty-four/seven. think you were made from something in heaven. you made me love the number eleven forty-three.

october 2008-september 2010

Your family had known the Hughes family for as long as you could remember. Your mother had played soccer at the University of New Hampshire with Ellen, and she was the first person to cheer her on once hockey season started. This allowed them to form a close bond over their four years of eligibility. The Hughes family travelled a bit around the country due to the careers of Ellen and Jim, but as soon as they settled in Toronto with their seven, five, and three-year-old sons, your mother followed suit with five-year-old you and your eight-year-old older brother.

The older two boys in each family started hockey, and Jack was soon to follow. This left you and little Luke to hang out in the care of Ellen, and occasionally your mom. At first, you loved him, he was like your personal baby doll that you could drag around, dress up, and have tea parties with. Luke didn’t usually object, except for that one incident where you tried to make him wear “clip-clops”, as you called them, to which he had a temper tantrum about the sheer idea of putting them on his feet.

As you grew older, Luke wanted less to do with you and your girly things and more to do with hockey, along with whatever else the boys were doing. Although normal of him, you still felt betrayed. What can you say; you were seven years old. To try and make you fit in, Luke took craft scissors to your long, wavy hair and cut it to look like the boys. Maybe you’d have looked better if you had a pixie cut done by a professional salon, however, he was slightly less than and you came out with the same shaggy haircut as the five-year-old. You ran to your mom immediately, about to cry of embarrassment.

“Mommy, something bad happened!” You screeched, interrupting her conversation with Ellen and catching the attention of the three boys.

Covering her mouth slightly, Ellen was the first to speak, “Oh, sweetie.. what happened?” She reached out to touch your now chin-length locks and brushed a few stray longer hairs out of your eyes.

“Luke cut it, so I could play hockey with them.” You gesture towards the boys, “And now I... I look like him!” You exclaimed out of horror, finally realizing the drastic nature of your actions.

You started to tear up before your mother cut in, “Baby, you both look adorable! It’ll grow out soon, don’t worry about it.”

You were still seething for the rest of the day, and you were plotting your revenge plan on Luke for weeks. You wanted to kill him, and had been ignoring him since that very moment.

You figured your life was over, and what better way to spend your final moments pretending Luke didn’t exist after what he’d done to you. You decided that he was public enemy #1, or at least that’s what he was until you looked in the mirror, albeit a month or two later, and your hair had grown out into a short bob, framing your sweet features beautifully. You started to feel better about it.

Later that day, you went up to your mom and curled up in her lap. “Do you think Luke and I will ever get along again?” You asked while she was reading a book.

Your mother sighed and smiled at you, “You and the boys just have different interests. When you get older, things will be different and you’ll be even closer.”

december 2015

Your mom was right, although you and Luke were pretty far in age, he was practically your baby brother and best friend. You were close, despite differing interests and he would confide in you on a regular basis. One particular night, Luke rode his bike down the sidewalk in the cold, snowy winter and knocked on the window to your first-story bedroom.

You immediately let him in, then asked him what was wrong. Ten-year-old Luke pulled you into a hug and started spilling out his feelings and secrets. “Jack’s so rude!” He exclaimed into your shoulder, “He thinks he’s so much better at everything! Hockey, Mario Kart, basketball, all of it.”

“And?” You inquired, “Just ignore him, Lukey.”

He sniffed some more and released himself from your arms, “He keeps excluding me from his friends and stuff, they’re over and he pretends I don’t exist because I’m not good.” He wiped his nose and sat on the carpeted floor by your bed, “Quinn’s not home, he’s at a tournament with Mom.” He attempted to clarify why Quinn couldn’t stop, although you already knew because your brother was with them.

You frowned, “That’s not cool of him.” You quickly shot a text message to Jim saying Luke came over here to hang out, so nobody got worried. “Are you hungry?”

He nodded, and you offered to make some Kraft mac and cheese. “Feel free to listen to music or something, love you.” You slipped out the door and went to make him some dinner.

Since you were little, you knew for certain that you’d always be there for him and now you knew you’d always look out for him, whenever he needed it. Even if one day he’d be more able to protect himself than you ever could, today you would refrain from marching over to the Hughes residence and getting in a physical fight with Jack.

march 2020

It was almost your eighteenth birthday, so you were visiting home to hang out with your parents, the Hughes’, and a few other hometown friends. You entered the front door to your house after catching up with your friend over coffee to see your parents and the Hughes’ bent over Luke and his laptop. “What’s up?” You question, hanging up your big, puffy jacket.

“We’re waiting for my UMich college acceptance letter, they sent them out today.” He said, nervously. You could tell by the shakiness of his voice.

You joined them at the table, “Don’t be silly, Lukey. You know that they’ve already expressed interest in you and your game.” He smiled a little as you ruffled his hair, and sat down at the chair to the right of him.

“I wish Jack and Quinn were here.” Luke sighed and scratched his head, “Jack promised he’d call, but I think he’s busy.”

You frowned for him, you knew how much closer he and Jack had become in the last few years, but they’d drifted again when Jack moved to New Jersey last year. A part of you wished Jack had gone to college and stayed closer, but you and Luke knew he was too good for the NHL to wait on. “I’m sure he’ll call soon, bub. Give it a little bit.”

After about twenty minutes of refreshing and chatting, the letter from the University of Michigan popped up. It was nerve-wracking. Luke had already been accepted into a few safety schools that wanted him on their hockey teams, but he really wanted to follow in Quinn’s footsteps and go to Michigan. Luke’s cursor hovered over the email for a few moments before clicking it, and to nobody’s surprise, it was an acceptance letter. Everybody cheered, but you seemed the most excited (besides Luke, of course.)

“Luke!” You squealed, hugging the boy from the side as tight as possible, “You did it!”

He hugged you back, “Thanks for supporting me, and letting me sleep on your floor.. and buying me food all the time.” He chuckled, “Couldn’t have done it without you, sissy.”

present day

It was Luke and Jack’s day off, as they had zero games scheduled for the next few days. You had come to visit them to watch a few games, and you were staying at their apartment. It wasn’t a rare occurrence that you came and watched their games, stayed in the guest bedroom of their Hoboken apartment, and hung out with their team and whatever WAGs were joining them. But today it was just you and Luke, chilling on the couch and watching ‘Elf’.

“Remember last November when we went to New York?” You recalled while watching Buddy run through the city. Luke turned the TV down and grinned.

He nodded, “Yeah, good times. And we ate so much chocolate that you almost threw up.”

“That wasn’t because of the chocolate,” you objected, “it was because you were making me laugh so hard my organs hurt.”

Luke snorted as he remembered the vacation and the hotel room you guys stayed in. It was a spontaneous trip on a week when he was injured to try and cheer him up. You guys sat all night judging random music albums and your boyfriend at the time. It was all just a part of a collection of memories you loved to revisit, a photo album in your head.

“God, I can’t believe how old we’re getting.” You said, a tone of sadness. “You used to fit on my shoulders, and now I think you might break them if I tried to give you another piggyback ride.” You laughed softly.

“I’m grateful that our moms raised us two houses down.” Luke threw a piece of popcorn at your face.

You threw it back, “I’m grateful I get to know you.” You stated, a smile gracing your features.

i’m right here. fall to me, to me. fill your head with sweet dreams, sweet dreams. you’d never hurt a thing, nothing. i hope you know to talk to me.

end

#luke hughes #jack hughes #quinn hughes #nj devils #hughes brothers #hughes family #nhl #nhl hockey #luke hughes x reader #jack hughes x reader #quinn hughes x reader #nhl fic #nhl blurb #hockey fic #hockey #maddie writes stuff #hockey au #umich hockey #fall to me au!

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 month

Text

You Make Me Wanna 1

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, best friend's dad trope other dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

You stumble through the open doors into the cool night air. The sweat on your skin chills you as your warmth melds with the evening temperature. The pulse of the club thrums through you as it follows you out, barely contained by the walls.

You glance at the bouncer as you pass. He’s uninterested as he peers into the shadows across the street. You pull at the front of your shirt, airing it out as the heat of alcohol nips in your cheeks. You’re not in too deep. Three vodkas and water between to even it out.

You sigh and lean against the brick, pushing your head back as you let your eyes close. There’s a tick in your cheek as you cross your arms. For all her nagging for you to come with her, Faye hadn’t been much of a wing woman. Maybe that’s what she’d expected of you. You don’t know, you just came to dance off the long week.

Before you came out, you couldn’t separate her from the guy she was batting her lashes at. She swore before you came that she wasn’t looking to hook-up. Not again. Last time was just too weird. And you agreed, last time was the final straw. You’re done with those awkward encounters.

You open your eyes and set your head straight. You would think she would be a lot more cautious. Considering where she came from. Or maybe that’s why she’s so reckless. She’s a bit too old for teenage rebellion.

You stand and roll your shoulders. You’ll go back in and entice her away from that creep with a shot. You’re going home together. Just like she promised.

“How did I know you’d be here?” The deep rumble has your ankle bending as you take a step, your clunk heel turning sideways. You know that voice, all too well. Fuck. “Where is she?”

You face Walter as he marches up on you. Better known to you and all Faye’s cohort as ‘Mr. Marshall’. The no-nonsense detective who never has a good word or a smile for anyone. You’d hate to have a father like him. He makes you thankful you don’t have one.

“Inside,” you shrug and go to spin away.

“You just left her in there?” He snarls as he closes in from behind.

“I’m going back in--”

He grabs you and spins you to face him, his large hand tight around your arm. Despite the new strands of grey in his curls, illuminated by the lights of the marque, and the fine lines around his eyes, he’s still an imposing man. And strong. You wiggle, trying to tug away from his grasp.

“Eh,” one of the bouncers calls over, “let her go.”

He huffs but does as he’s told. He doesn’t want a scene, not that he couldn’t flip his badge out and swing his weight around. He never seems to shy away from that.

“I came out to get some air. I didn’t leave her--”

“No, but you brought her here,” he looks up, “that’s more than enough.”

“I came here with her, I didn’t bring her here--”

“Whatever. This shit might fly with your deadbeat mother but it won’t get far with me. Faye never started sneaking out until you came around--”

You scoff, “she’s twenty-one. She’s an adult. And trust me, she was doing a lot before I ever met her.”

“Take me to her,” he growls, “now.”

You roll your eyes and the rumble stays in his throat. You wave him off and pivot on your heel. You clop forward and show your stamped wrist to the bouncer. They stop Walter and he sighs. You don’t wait for him as he stops and shuffles around. You don’t look back, knowing his badge will gain him easy entry.

He catches up with you as spectrum of blues and purples haze over you from the coloured bulbs. He presses close as drunken clubgoers crowd around you. You search along the bar where you last saw Faye.

“She was with some guy--”

“Some guy?” He blusters, “are you serious?”

You take out your phone and key in a message to her. You hit send and pop your head back up, scanning the writhing bodies. You don’t want to stay here with Walter, you can feel his anger roiling off of him. It would be better if you could find Faye first and sneak out of there.

“I’ll check the ladies,” you offer.

He doesn’t say a word. You set off towards the bathroom and sense him behind you, following you. Great. He trails you all the way down the hallway and only stops outside the black door. You push inside, doubting you’ll find Faye but all too happy to get space from that overbearing grump.

You don’t bother checking the shoes under the stalls or the other faces in the mirror. You take out your gloss and redo your lips. You fix the collar on your cropped polo and turn to check the curve of your ass in your leggings. You look good even if your eyes are bit glassy.

You look at your phone again. No answer. You can’t hide in here forever and you somehow don’t think a sign will stop Walter forever. The vodka fills you with doubt. You wish you were sober.

You drag yourself back through the door and shrug at Walter as he meets you with a furrowed brow.

“Not in there,” you say, “she’s probably dancing--”

“You know, you won’t get far in life spending all your time in pits like this. You should go to school, grow up.”

You ignore him. You’ve heard a million lectures from him, usually aimed at his daughter, but you don’t have to listen to him. He isn’t your father. He doesn’t know shit about you even if he’s profiled you as a bad egg.

Your phone buzzes and you stop at the end of the hallways. His arm hits yours and you squint at the screen. He leans in, reading over your shoulder.

“Shit!” He snarls sharply.

The drunken message makes you cringe, ‘see u 2morrow. Got a hottie wit a botty.’

“Come on,” he grabs your elbow again. This time there’s no escape as he marches you across the cramped dancefloor.

“Walt-- Mr. Marshall, what are you doing--”

“Finding my goddamn daughter.”

“But--”

“But nothing. This is your fault. You’re not going anywhere until she’s home,” he sneers as you stumble in time with his long strides. “Then I never wanna see your face again.”

#walter marshall #dark walter marshall #dark!walter marshall #walter marshall x reader #night hunter #drabble #the club #au #series #you make me wanna

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idkfitememate · 5 months

Note

Boar!creator breaks into knights of favonius headquarters! and, reads a book? Visits klee? What? Oh hey the just went into jeans office and wait why is there snoring coming from the room?

Btw can I be 🐗anon?

Breaking into the Knights of Favonius Headquarters was shockingly easy. You just kinda… walked through the front door.

You were apparently well known enough by the people and your markings and mask that they knew when it was you and that you wouldn’t harm them. The most you’d do was harmless pranks.

Little ‘clip-clops’ echoed through the halls as you trotted through. You got small hi’s and hellos from passerby’s and even sometimes little pets!

“Ah! You must be The Boar of the Wilds!” A voice called out. You unironically didn’t remember who it was before you turned around and holy shit-

It was Mika!.. You totally forgot he existed!-

“I’ve heard so much from Acting Grand Master Jean! She’s constantly telling me stories about how…” It would be so rude to walk off right now but the urge to just… jump out a window was growing with every word he spoke. No offense to him, of course.

“Boar-Boar!” Oh thank fuck.

You felt Klee land on your back, shoving her face into your back.

Glancing back at the older boy, you found him staring at Klee with… fear?-

“Oh hi Mr. Mika! How are you? Do you want to go on another adventure?”

“Ah! N- no thanks, Klee. I’d rather not have to rework some of my maps today..”

You shook the girl off her back before trotting away.

“Awe Boar-Boar! Where are you going?” Klee called. You continued into Jean’s empty office.

Both Mika and Klee followed you inside and watched as you climbed up onto one of the couches and lie down, nuzzling into a pillow.

Klee looked at the older male, then hopped up on the couch and cuddled up with you.

Within moments you were both out like a light.

Mika sighed and walked out of the room. He came back with a blanket and draped it over you two, then sat next to you. He fell asleep not too long after.

A few minutes later, Kaeya walked into the office to retrieve something and stared at the three of you knocked out on the couch, you snoring away.

“Why is it every time I come in here, that boar is in here as well..?”

I genuinely like that all the adults of Mond are getting terrorized and the kids just get cuddles and kisses and shit- this is an adorable dynamic and I’m glad it’s turned out this way hehe ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა

And you can absolutely be 🐗 anon! Welcome!~ <3

#genshin impact sagau #sagau x reader #sagau #x reader #x gn reader #gn y/n #yandere x reader #yandere x you #Boar!Creator #asks <3 #anon <3 #🐗 anon <3

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minaturefics · 11 months

Text

Though I Know My Heart Would Break

Request: For the poll that Legolas won! You guys sent in a few prompts, I've incorporated: sick (injured, rather) fic, hurt/comfort, everyone lives, and reader confesses first! Hope you guys like it! (Title is from Hozier's Francesca that has me in a chokehold)

Legolas x Reader

Gender-neutral reader

Content warnings: Mild injury (no overly graphic descriptions)

3.7k words

---

You walked through the forest, ducking under the cedar branches, weaving between the cypresses. The air was rich with the scent of herbs — thyme and sage, marjoram and parsley. The late afternoon sun filtered in through the canopy, specking the forest floor with light. Legolas’ footsteps were silent on the soft ground, but the steady clopping of the horse he was leading reassured you of his presence.

With the coronation over, and Eowyn and Faramir wed, attention was turned to restoring Minas Tirith and setting up a settlement at Emyn Arnen. You and Legolas were tasked with surveying the land and forests around Emyn Arnen. Sam was curious about the plants, hearing how new and different they were to those back in The Shire, but Frodo’s reluctance to stray further than the Citadel kept him in Minas Tirith.

You paused by a cluster of pink rockfoils, thumbing the thin stems before plucking a few small flowers and tucking them into a waxed pouch.

“Mellon nin,” Legolas said, sounding half-amused, half-exasperated, “Why do you pause and pluck? You have been doing so since we arrived. ”

“They’re for Sam. He might have agreed to stay in Minas Tirith, but I saw the shade of disappointment in his eyes. I thought perhaps I could bring the forest to him instead.”

His lips tugged up at the corners. “And what will you give the forest in return?”

“What do you mean?” You frowned and stood.

He smiled, soft and knowing, eyes wandering over the barks and branches. “These trees have been left at peace for many years, the bushes and shrubs untouched. They are not used to wandering fingers and restless feet.”

You glanced down at the patch of rockfoils, the decapitated stems looking more brutal in light of Legolas’ words. Your lips twisted and he chuckled, and your eyes drifted back to him.

He had always been so full of light and laughter, even during the endless days and dark nights, even after Gandalf fell, even after the hobbits were taken. Ethereal, that was what people said of the elves. Otherworldly.

But he looked so human, so normal, standing in a patch of sunlight, laughing at the concerned expression on your face. There were smudges of dirt on his boots, dew dotting the bottom hem of his cloak, and even a small leaf lodged in his hair.

Yes, Legolas has always just been Legolas to you.

Perhaps that was why it had been so easy to lose your heart to him. How could you not? While the others regarded him with a deference, or awe in the hobbits’ case, or even confusion at his elf customs, he had never truly seemed so different to you. His eyes, brown and alive in the light, still crinkled at the corners when he smiled. His voice, low and melodious, still cracked when he spoke of sorrows. And his hands, delicate and strong, still bore soft calluses from his bow.

The last couple of days had been so indulgently wonderful. Without the threat of war or the constant need for secrecy and vigilance, being out in the wilds once more was soothing. It was a great secret joy, of course, that you had Legolas’ undivided attention.

He had been more loose limbed and free with touches. Hands grazing yours as you walked, his knee against yours while you sat. His eyes too, seemed to melt into an amber by the fire, a tenderness in his gaze. It felt as though the seed of friendship had slowly, slowly, started to grow into something more.

“Shall we continue on?” He said, and inclined his head towards the distant sound of water. “We can set up camp and leave our things while we walk the forest.”

You nodded and smiled before looking away, eyes scanning the forest floor before they landed on a patch of flowers. They were strange looking, three pronged with large paper-like petals. You knelt by them, carefully cutting the blooms with your knife, and idly said, “It is beautiful here, is it not?”

He hummed in agreement. “I could envisage residing here for a time, should Faramir allow it.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder and chuckled. “You should speak to Sam. Aragorn has already consulted him on some of the gardens in the Citadel, it would not surprise me if Faramir would ask him to Emyn Arnen to design something.”

“Those flowers,” he began, stepping closer and inspecting them, “they are… strange. I do not know what they are, and perhaps it would be better to leave them be.”

“Are they poisonous?”

He leaned in and sniffed them. “No, but as I said before, this forest is unaccustomed to such things. Gifts must be freely given, and what is not must be a fair exchange.”

You dropped them into the pouch and laughed, continuing through the forest. There was a strange note in his voice, something older, wiser, than the Legolas you knew. But what harm could there be in a few cuttings? The forest was vast; a few flowers and leaves here and there would not be any loss at all. “Come now, Legolas, you speak as though —”

A stone caught your toe, your knee buckled, and you fell to the ground. Sharp pain jolted up your wrists and knees, then a hot stinging spread across your palms and shins. You blinked, eyes focusing and unfocusing on the rotting leaves in the dirt, before warm hands rested between your shoulder blades.

“Are you alright?” Legolas said, crouching and easing you back into a sitting position. You stared at him, eyes drifting from his eyes to his lips. Had he always had such beautiful lips? “Mellon nin, are you alright?”

“Yes… I —” The shock of tingling subsided from your hands and legs and only a dull throbbing remained. You looked down at your knee, the same knee that had been shot, and found your trousers ripped and the old wound reopened. It was not as bad as the initial wound, though still relatively deep, and was bleeding sluggishly through the matted dirt. “Oh, I’m… bleeding.”

His eyes darted from your knee to the divot in the ground where a leaf caught in your fall was stained with blood. His lips tightened before he let out a soft sigh. “It is as I said: a fair exchange.” An easy smile spread across his face, the hand on your shoulder loosened its grip, and his voice took on a merry lilt. “However, I do not believe we will have any more trouble on our little trip here.”

The shock of the fall had subsided and you looked at the pouch still clutched in your fist. “Well, I suppose I should make the most of it then, and collect what I can for Sam.”

He laughed, squeezing your shoulder affectionately. “Never one to pass up an opportunity. Come, let us set up camp by the river and have a look at your wound. I do not wish for the matrons at the Houses of Healing tomorrow to claim I have neglected you.”

He pulled you to your feet, and looped an arm around your waist to help you hobble along. His arm was warm, his grip firm but gentle. Pressed up against him you could smell his scent, something fresh like grass or water, unsullied even by a couple of days in the forest. The both of you found a suitable spot under shelter by the trees, and after tying the horse up, he led you to the banks.

His nimble fingers pried apart the shredded remains of the fabric by your knee and started to wash the wound. He dressed it with some honey from his pack and untouched moss from the forest floor and some spare wrappings you had in your supplies for such an eventuality.

While he worked, you watched his hands. Long and lithe, they were precise and delicate with their motions. If only you could reach out, and lay your hand on top of his, to sweep your thumb over the back of his knuckles. But your hands were still muddied, and the new closeness you shared with him was too new and too tenuous for something like that.

Legolas set up camp with a practiced efficiency, and soon the both of you were sitting beside each other by the fire, eating your supplies of bread and cheese. The fire crackled and popped, and around you the forest became alive at night. Owls hooted in the trees, and critters rustled in the bushes, and then, very softly, Legolas began to sing.

The words were lost on you, but the melody was enough. The notes drifted in the air, curling around you, seeping into your skin. It sounded slow and adoring, leisurely and lazy, and the sensation of lying on sun-warmed grass, your lover’s touch skirting up your arm, filled your body. You leaned back on your arms, sinking into his voice, letting it carry and caress you.

When the last few words rang in the air, you opened your eyes. Legolas was looking at you with a fond expression, eyes half-lidded and lips in a soft smile.

“That song,” you whispered, “what is it about?”

His smile widened and he said, “I’ll tell you another time perhaps.”

Legolas stood on one of the parapets that overlooked the entrance to the Houses of Healing. Your wound was not healing as well as it should, most likely because of how bad the initial arrow wound was, and you were getting it redressed by the matrons. He sighed and let his eyes wander from the stone flagstones, to the rooftops, to the plains. In truth, the sight of your flesh, angry and inflamed, shook something in him. Even something as minor as your wound, was enough of a risk for infection, for fever.

Humans were so fragile, so… final.

He blinked at the thought. Yes, of course, how could he forget? Humans were mortal. Boromir was, Aragorn was. Even the merry little hobbits and Gimli were. How strange to think that such a thing slipped his mind when it came to you, but it was far too easy really.

There was a vitality that seemed to pour from your being, an almost stubborn resilience, especially in the grim shadow of misfortune. It was the way you would play with the hobbits, even after a long day of walking, or grit your teeth and carry on, even harrowing experience after harrowing experience. When you smiled, the day was better, brighter, and he always found himself trying to get another laugh from you.

And yet… such a light could be so easily snuffed out.

He shifted on his feet and watched as you limped from the Houses of Healing. He had intended to go with you, but Sam had wanted to discuss garden plans, and Boromir had gone with you instead. He was about to raise his arm and call out to you, when a figure emerged from behind the line of trees. Boromir walked towards you with outstretched arms and pulled you into his side and helped you along, vanishing from his sight beyond the trees.

Ever since the end of the war, it had felt as though things were shifting between him and you. It was only small, nearly imperceptible changes — softer smiles, more frequent dinners alone, hands that reached and fingers that brushed. And yet… Why did it feel as though you were on the other side of something he could not cross?

He thought of the cry of the gulls, the perpetual tugging at his heart for the sea. Oh, how he wished he had never heard them. Was this how Arwen felt all the time? Longing, aching. She was happy with Aragron, he knew, but sometimes he would catch her gazing out of a window, eyes forlorn and smile sad. Aragorn knew, understood even, and in those moments he left her to her quiet longing, never hurt or bothered, and welcomed her into his arms when she went back to him.

But would you understand? Could you accept that there would always be one part of him that belonged to the sea, to the distant shore he would never reach? Or would it be a burden to ask such a thing of you? Maybe you would be better off with someone… mortal. He sighed and wandered back towards the Citadel proper.

“Boromir, this is unnecessary. Put me down!” Your laughter rang out and you and Boromir emerged onto the courtyard. You were in his arms, limbs flailing as he wrangled to keep you held properly. “Boromir, I — oh, Legolas.”

“Ah, Legolas,” Boromir said as he gently replaced you back on the ground. “I return them to your care.”

He forced a smile onto his face. “How is your leg?”

“Mild infection but nothing to worry about,” you said, hobbling over to him.

He instinctively reached out and wrapped an arm around your waist. You were warm underneath his hand, warmer than usual, and you smelled strongly of herbal poultice. He could detect traces of burdock and comfrey, and underneath it all, the smell of you. He took a greedy breath, filling his lungs with proof of your life. “You should be resting. Let us go back inside.”

“I’ve been inside the past week. I’m bored to death,” you grumbled. “Let’s sit outside for a while.”

He helped you to one of the stone benches and you collapsed onto it, hissing in pain. You gingerly stretched your leg out and sighed as you settled. He sat next to you, his eyes lingering on your knee.

“Oh, stop fussing. It’s quite minor, really.”

“I have seen men succumb to infection from unassuming cuts. I do not think I will rest easy until you are fully healed.”

He followed the line of your leg up to your waist, then shoulders, and along your jaw and lips, up to your nose and eyes. Such beauty, destined to fade, to vanish from the world forever. How could he bear it? How could anyone?

“What is on your mind, my friend?” You asked.

“I was just thinking about the fading nature of men. I do not know how your kind bear it.”

“Death?” You chuckled. “But elves can die too, can they not?”

“Yes, but… it is not in our nature. In peace times, it is very rare for our kind to die. For men… even now, where there is no suffering any longer, you still experience the sting of mortality.” His chest constricted. “How can one stand to behold love and light, knowing it will vanish?”

“It is because they do not last, that we relish in them.”

“Even if it will bring you pain later?”

You smiled, gentle and indulgent, and placed your hand on top of his. His shoulders relaxed at your touch, the tension seeping out of his muscles. He wanted to capture the moment, to bottle it somehow, keep the image of you with the sun on your eyelashes and the feeling of the softness of your skin forever preserved.

“Yes,” you whispered, “even then.”

Something shifted in his heart, just slightly, and a smile crept onto his face. Yes, he thought, especially then.

“Sam,” you said, surveying the small garden. He had done a good job with it — the shrubs were well trimmed and flowers burst in orange and yellow all around. “Are you certain it will look good?”

He nodded and grinned. “It’ll look real pretty with some candles about. I still remember what it looked like in Lothlorien. We don’t ‘ave the sort of fancy holders and the like, but I’ll do my best.”

You smiled and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know how to thank you for this. I would do it myself but my knee…”

“No thankin’ needed. If anything, I should be thanking you. You brinin’ me those plants and flowers, even when the forest didn’t like you doin’ so.” His eyes fell to your knee. “I’m real sorry it caused you such trouble.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” You chuckled and patted him on the back. You looked around the garden again, trying to imagine the candles and cushions that Sam said he’d arrange for the night time picnic you had planned. “Do you think he’ll like it?”

“I think he’ll love it. Mighty romantic, if I can say.”

You shifted on your feet, stomach suddenly lurching. “What if I’m mistaken, Sam? I’m not sure I could bear the embarrassment.”

The last week or so had been so lovely it had felt like a dream. Nearly every night, Legolas had invited you to sit with him at the top of some tower or parapet. He would point and tell you stories of the stars and of the elves that had come before. There were so many instances where he would lean in close, eyes half-lidded, and talk in a low, murmured tone. You would watch his lips, and watch as he watched yours. But then he would draw back and glance away.

“The elves are funny folk,” he said with a sigh. “I couldn’t tell you what might be goin’ on in Legolas’ mind, but I doubt he would be spendin’ so much time with you if he didn’t have some… reason to do so. If you catch my meaning.”

“I hope so, Sam. Well, I’ll leave you to it. I need to go to the kitchens to see what cheese and fruit they might be able to spare me.”

He gave you an encouraging smile and with a little wave, you set off downstairs.

The sun was just setting when Sam called you back to the garden to assess what he had prepared. Candles were dotted all around the courtyard, separated on candelabras and clustered in small groups around the picnic blanket. Plush cushions were laid out and there were little white flowers scattered on the soft wool, perfuming the air with the faint smell of jasmine.

“Sam,” you gasped. “This is — I cannot —”

“I’ll be takin’ your speechlessness as a compliment?” He smiled shyly and ducked his head. He reached for the picnic basket in your hand and placed it on the blanket. “There, now it’s complete.”

“I’ll repay you for this Sam, I promise.”

He blushed. “Like I said before, there’s no need. Anyway, I best be hurryin’ along. Wouldn’t want Legolas to stumble upon me here and get any wrong ideas.”

You laughed and he vanished back inside. You limped over to the blanket, wincing a little as you lowered yourself, and tried to slow your breathing. Legolas would come, wouldn’t he? What if he took one look at the scene and fled? You shook your head. No, he wouldn’t do that. If you were truly mistaken about his feelings towards you, he would tell you gently and bear you no ill will.

“Mellon nin,” Legolas said from behind you and you turned, heart thumping in your chest. His eyes were wide and a slow smile was spreading across his face. “I received your message. Why have you asked me here?”

You swallowed. Did he not know? “Is it… is it not obvious?”

“I have an inkling, perhaps.” He wandered over, his steps lazy and relaxed, and sank onto the cushions. The tightness in your chest eased a fraction. “But I do not wish to presume what may or may not be in your heart. Will you not give me the truth?”

“Legolas, I…” You cleared your throat. By the Valar, why was it so difficult to speak? He arched an eyebrow at you and you glanced away, speaking more to the picnic basket than to him. “I… care for you. A great deal.”

He took your hand, and you dared to lift your gaze. He beamed at you, and then a flash of mischief entered his eyes. “As a friend?”

You scowled at him. “Do you often plan candlelit picnics for your friends, Legolas?”

He laughed and pressed his lips to the back of your hand. They were soft and warm, his breath hot on your skin. “I am teasing, meleth nin.”

Heat crept up your neck and you tried to withdraw your hand. He held fast and planted a line of kisses up, up, up, from your wrist to your elbow to your shoulder. His eyes were almost sparking in the dim, the dots of candlelight flickering in his dark irises. He kissed your jaw and your nose and your temple before dipping his head to capture your lips.

He kissed slow and languid, as though savouring the feeling of you against him. He tasted tart and sweet, no doubt from the berry and honey biscuits you knew he liked to snack on. The strange tension in your stomach snapped and vanished, and you melted under his touch. His growing smile made you giggle and your teeth knocked against his, making him laugh.

“I am curious about what you have in that picnic basket of yours,” he murmured. “There will be time for such enjoyment later.”

A flush coloured your cheeks. “I suppose it would be a waste if we simply ignored all the food I prepared.”

“Though, before we continue, I must ask you a question first,” he said, growing grave and serious. His eyes drifted down to your joined hands, and he brushed his thumb over your knuckles. “Could you bear being with me, living with me, when part of my heart is forever owned by the sea?”

You reached up and brushed a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “My love, could you bear to be with me? If you stay, you will fade.”

“It would be a worse fate to live eternity without you,” he whispered. “That I could not bear.”

“Legolas…” It seemed all the more tragic that he, of all people, should die. He was light and joy and the thought of him growing cold and dim wrenched at your heart. “You deserve to… I cannot…”

“I have made my choice, meleth nin. Let us be happy together.” He cupped your cheek, a smile spreading across his face. His eyes were soft, but certain, his touch gentle but sure. He kissed the tip of your nose, chuckling, before he slanted his lips against yours. The kiss was chaste and quick, and all the more sweeter for its casualness.

“For however long we have,” he murmured, “let us be happy.”

“Alright,” you said. You rested your forehead against his, inhaling his scent, breathing his breath. Yours, for now, for ever. “For however long we have.”

---

ok but what is it about the immortality of elves that has me appreciating/relishing/romanticising our mortal lives. i swear this is the second time ive done this with legolas.

Taglist: @sotwk

#legolas x reader #legolas x y/n #legolas x you #legolas #lotr #lotr fic #lotr fanfic

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wzrd-wheezes · 8 months

Text

Blind Date - Bartender!Remus x Reader

AN - I had this idea the other night before I went to bed and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since. I hope you enjoy! Please give it a reblog if you do <3

Warnings : alcohol.

1.4k words.

It had been six months since Y/N had split up with her ex-boyfriend and after a rather messy breakup, Y/N swore rather dramatically to her best friend Lily that she was never dating again. Lily had a cunning plan, and after a lot of convincing, managed to talk her best friend into letting her set up a blind date. It was, as Lily so graciously put it, time for her to “get back out there.”

Y/N’s heels clip-clopped against the cobbles streets as she walked towards the bar that Lily had sent her the address of. She knew absolutely nothing about the person she was meeting, Lily had kept everything a secret through fear of her backing out last minute. She had no idea why she even agreed to it in the first place.

The bar was dimly lit, the few people that were in there basked in the low glow of the lights, tucked into booths or scattered across tables. Y/N glanced down at her watch, silently cursing herself for arriving too early. She made her way over to the bar, hoping that having a quick drink before her date got here would help her ease her nerves.

Y/N perched on a bar stool, her elbows resting on the smooth wood of the counter as she waited to catch the bartender’s attention. Her eyes roamed over the selection of bottles behind the bar, the shiny bottles glinting under the fluorescent lighting.

“Hey. What can I get for you?” The bartender smiled at her. Y/N’s eyes snapped up to look at him. His hand was resting casually on the tea towel that was slung over his shoulder and he leaned against the bar as he spoke to her.

“Hi! Could I just get a vodka soda, please?”

“Certainly.” He pulled a glass from the shelf beneath the bar, his fingers skimming over the assortment of bottles before grabbing the vodka and pouring it into the glass “Ice and lime?”

“Please.”

The bartender nodded, scooping ice into the glass and delicately placing the lime. He stirred it gently for a moment before sliding it across the bar towards her. His eyes darted across the bar, looking for any customers that were waiting for him, before resuming his previous position, leaning cooly in front of her.

“I’m Remus.” he said, the tone of his voice indicating that he was expecting her to introduce herself as well.

“Oh, I’m Y/N.” she bought the glass up to her mouth to take a sip.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” he rested his hands on the counter, leaning closer to her as he spoke, “I’ve never seen you in here before. First time?”

Y/N nodded in response, taking another gulp of her drink before answering properly.

“Yeah. I’m supposed to be meeting someone here, but I think he’s running a bit late.” she glanced down at her watch again, a frown tugging at her lips.

“Who’s the lucky guy?” Remus asked with a grin.

“God knows.” Y/N laughed, rolling her eyes, “Some guy that my friend is trying to set me up with.”

“Ouch. I don’t envy you at all, Y/N.” he chuckled, grabbing the cloth from his shoulder and proceeding to wipe the bar down. “So, your friend’s trying to set you up... I’m assuming against your will?” He smirked, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Uhuh. You know, the classic bad breakup situation and trying to ‘get back out there’” she did the air quotes as she said the phrase that she had heard many times from her best friend.

“And you have the lovely friend that thinks she knows what’s best for you.” He grinned. He opened his mouth to say something else, but his attention was quickly caught as another customer approached the bar.

Her eyes drifted over to where Remus was chatting to the customers, one of his hands tucked into the pocket of the black slacks he was wearing. Her eyes lingered on the way that the plain white t-shirt he was wearing hung loosely on his frame, riding up slightly and exposing a line of his stomach when he reached to grab a glass from the top shelf. Y/N shook her head, physically trying to remove those thoughts from her mind. She was supposed to be on a date.

“He should be here by now.” She thought to herself as she drained the last bit of her drink. She set the glass back down on the bar, the ice cubes clinking together as she did so. Her eyes floated back to Remus, watching him as he moved around effortlessly behind the bar, quickly serving the customers their drinks.

“Any word from your lucky date?” Remus asked, when he returned a short while later. Y/N shook her head, rolling her eyes.

“I think he's going to be a no show.”

“So, does that mean you’re stuck with me?”

“Well, I finished my drink, so I was planning on just going home.”

Remus nodded, his eyes glinting mischievously. He silently walked over to where the selection of spirits was and began making another drink.

“Guess you’ll have to stay for another drink then.” he winked, placing the glass in front of her.

“You’re a little too friendly for a bartender,” Y/N grinned, accepting the drink, “Do you always flirt with your customers?”

“I work hard for my tips,” he joked, shrugging his shoulders, “It’s not against the rules for me to flirt back though, is it?”

Her cheeks heat up and she lifts her glass to her mouth to hide the smile that’s threatening to pull at her lips. She takes a long sip of her drink before placing the glass back on the bar.

“Who knows?” she laughs, “Maybe I have a secret boyfriend, or maybe I’m married, or maybe I’m a serial killer with a taste for bartenders?”

Remus’s eyes light up and he reaches across the bar to give her a playful nudge.

“I like my odds.” He says with a smirk. He leans against the bar again, “If you’re single, and you’re not secretly a psycho-killer, I can’t imagine why another guy would leave you hanging. You’re too pretty for that.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, huh?”

“I’m hoping so.” he muses. Remus reaches beneath the bar and pulls out two shot glasses, he pours liquor into each of them and sets one of them in front of her.

“For your troubles,” he says, taking the other shot glass between his fingers, “And to never meeting your lucky date.”

“You can’t do a shot with me if you’re working!” Y/N exclaimed, “You’ll get fired!”

“Can I let you in on something?” Remus asks. Y/N raises an eyebrow at him in response, “I actually finished my shift fifteen minutes ago, I just stuck around to talk to you.” He juts his head in the direction of another bartender at the other end of the bar.

Y/N smiles and picks up the shot glass, clinking it against Remus’s before knocking back the liquor in one gulp. It burns as it slides down her throat and she can’t quite tell if the warm feeling in her stomach is from the shot, or from the way Remus is looking at her.

His eyes are transfixed on her and she takes the shot, watching the way she tips her head back as she drinks it and how the remnants of the liquor shine on her lips as she smiles back at him.

“I’ve got another secret to tell you.” Remus says, collecting her glass and putting it to the side. Y/N cocks her head at him, quizzical expression on her face, “What if I told you that I’m your blind date?”

“W-what?” Y/N straightens up as he says this, her eyes searching his for an explanation.

“Lily set it up. She said she knew that we would hit it off but that you would completely disregard any guy she set you up with.” he explained.

“That’s true.” she let out a laugh, “And in all fairness, she was right about that. I never like anyone that she sets me up with. I guess she really does know me too well.”

“Yeah, she does.” Remus smiled, “So, would you like to get out of here?” he asked softly, extending a hand out to her.

“Absolutely.”

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin fluff

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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 6 months

Text

Seed [Pero Tovar x f!reader]

Read on AO3

Now with a sequel: Sprout

Fandom: The Great Wall

Ships: Pero Tovar x f!reader

Tags/warnings: breeding kink from here to high heaven, fear of infertility, lots of piv sex and creampies, multiple orgasms, fingering, pero eats it from the back, praise kink, dirty talk, pet names.

Words: 4,022

Summary: Your husband Pero comes home to put a baby in you. Don't look at me.

The smell of fresh-caught fish mixes with the salty breeze from the sea, and the sweet scent of oranges. You carry your basket through the marketplace, grocery shopping done, when you hear a call from the crowd: "They're back!"

Your heart skips a beat as you swing around, your skirt dancing around your ankles as you see the trade caravan coming down the main street to the marketplace. Your eyes scan the faces, quickly finding the one you are hoping to see.

Your husband, Pero.

Since marrying you and settling in this quiet small town by the sea, he no longer sells his sword to warlords and kings. Instead, he provides protection for caravans. He is mostly away for a week or two at a time, but this time he has been away for months. You have carried your worry and longing stoically, never showing your neighbours your fear, but now you do not care if everybody sees the relief and happiness on your face. You are not the only one with a husband in the caravan, but you are the only one whose husband wields a weapon for a living.

Pero spots you from afar, and he urges his horse into a trot. The clip-clop of the shoed hooves against the cobblestones is the sweetest music you have heard in a long time. You stand still, a smile on your lips, and put the basket down when Pero swings down from horseback, pulls you to him, and wraps his strong arms around you.

"Wife," he murmurs into your hair. "My precious wife."

Your arms reach around his armoured middle as you bury your face in his shoulder. He smells of the road: dust, sweat, and grime, but you do not care. Underneath all that, you can smell him: horse, hay, earth, metal, spices. You cannot wait to drown in him.

Slowly, Pero strokes your head, making you look at him. You cup his cheek, feeling the stubble that renders his face darker than usual, and unevens the moustache.

"Are you unharmed?" you want to know. He nods slowly.

"Mad from missing you, but not a scratch on me."

He touches his lips to yours, just a gentle little return kiss from an absent husband to his beloved wife, but you know that as soon as you are behind closed doors, he is going to devour you.

"Let's go home," you suggest, enjoying the way your husband's beautiful brown eyes melt into dark liquid.

He helps you up on the horse and mounts behind you. Your basket securely in front of you and Pero sliding one arm around your waist to hold you close, he steers the horse homeward with his other hand. He does not speak as you leave the marketplace, and he does not need to. The two of you always found each other's silences comfortable. Besides, no words are needed to let you know he wants you: his cock is growing hard against the soft roundness of your ass pushing against it. A shiver runs down your spine and ends up on a blossoming pool of arousal between your thighs. Your hand finds Pero's on your waist, fingers disappearing between his in a loving clasp.

You reach your little house, Pero dismounting first so that you can slide off the horse and into his arms. He holds you close again, now with a full erection pressing against you.

"Go inside," he murmurs. "I have to put the horse away."

You push your pelvis against him, smirking at his low groan, before you take the basket and go in. You have barely emptied the basket onto the kitchen table before Pero comes in, kicking the door close as he starts to unlace his breeches.

He takes you on the table, breeches undone just enough to let his cock out, your skirts pulled up to your waist to let him in. A frantic coupling where you exchange breathless moans, claw at each other's bodies through clothes, his cock pressing deep into you as his fingers plant blooming bruises on your thighs. He spills into you before long, cock twitching in the welcoming squeeze of your cunt, and lowers his forehead to yours as he catches his breath. You comb your fingers through his dark hair, curling at the nape of his neck. The amount of silver has increased, scattered like stars across the dark clouds of his soft hair. You kiss the scar over his left eye, both above and under his closed eyelid.

"You need a haircut," you mumble, despite not really wanting him to cut off the soft curls. "And a shave."

"I need you." His initial thirst for you may have been slaked, but his hunger is not sated, and neither is yours.

"You have me now."

He straightens his back and rolls his head, a joint cracking loudly. Slowly, you come down from the table and start to lace up the bindings of his armour. He watches you do it, pulling the bodice of your dress down your shoulders and caresses the exposed skin, stares into your cleavage.

"Wife," he demands, hand on your waist, "Are you with child yet?"

You cast your eyes down. You have been trying to have a child since you were wed. The attraction between the two of you was always there, and pleasure has always been an important part of your married life - before as well, even if he never put it in before you were wed - but there has always been another motive to your coupling as well. You both want a child, several, but one to start with. He takes every opportunity to sow his seed in you, and you welcome every attempt.

But so far, it has not taken.

"My love." Pero caresses your head. "We have time. We will try again."

He kisses your cheek, and leans in towards your ear, his breath hot when he whispers: "And again... and again... and again..."

A husky giggle escapes you and you wrap your arms around his neck as you seek his lips for a kiss. He lifts you up, skirts rustling, and carries you to bed. The kisses turn slower as you undress each other, hands reclaiming every bit of revealed skin. His hard muscles relax when you pass your palm over them, fingers chasing his old familiar scars to trace and love. His hands are dry and callused when he cups your soft breasts, but he still holds you gently. His unshaved face tickles your stomach when he trails kisses over it, but your giggles turn to moans when he buries his face between your thighs, tongue probing between slick lips where his precious seed is dripping out. He assaults your clit, has you thrashing and wailing his name until the sheets are crumpled and you are shaking with the intensity of your release. He rests his chin on your thigh, looking up at you with both a satisfied smirk and adoring eyes.

"That's my girl," he praises you softly. "Let the neighbours know that your husband is home."

You chuckle breathlessly. Your cunt is throbbing hotly, and you pass your hands over your face before reaching for Pero.

"Come to me, husband."

He crawls over you, hissing softly when you close your hand over his cock, and guide it into you. It slides in so easily, but still fills you up so perfectly.

"Oh..." you gasp, eyes falling shut as you bite down on your lower lip. "Pero..."

"I know, precious, I know... but you have to look at me."

He cups your face and kisses you, and when he pulls back, you open your eyes, only to drown in the dark pools of his.

"I want you to look at me when I fill you with my seed," he growls, fingers tangling in your hair. "Look at me when I fuck a baby into you."

His voice is strangled, his hips grind tightly against yours. It is slower now than that first, hurried time, but still intense, desperate in a whole new way. You are hypnotized by him, his presence, his weight on top of you, his cock ravaging your very womb, his low voice that always knows just how to drop to make you wet, that scarred gaze of his that scowls at everyone else but turns soft and vulnerable when directed at you.

"Breed me," you whisper, hooking your ankles together behind his back. "Breed me, husband, I need you to breed me."

He stutters as he fucks you harder, digging deep into you, finding your spot, and staying on it as your moans rise.

"Pero, oh, God, please don't stop!"

He lets you cum first, fucks you through it before driving himself as deep as he can, then staying there. You whimper his name, your cunt convulses, and you can barely breathe, but Pero stays where he is.

"Take it," he soothes you through clenched teeth. "Take it, wife, every last drop, and grow me a baby."

"I love you," you manage to whisper, the words drowning in his mouth when he kisses you.

"And I love you."

Dinner is forgotten, as are the chickens and the horse. Pero slumbers in your arms but wakes up when you take his soft cock in your mouth. You rest together, until he has to be inside you again. Not until dusk settles around the house do you rise to take in and feed the chickens. Pero takes care of the horse, and you prepare dinner. He comes in and finds you by the workbench, cutting up cheese and smoked meat, and immediately cages you against the bench, arms sneaking around your waist as he kisses your neck.

"Pero, I'm holding a knife," you smile, and he immediately closes his hand over yours, guiding it to put the knife down. You hear his stomach growl, and know that if you are hungry, he must be starving.

"Dinner is almost ready."

"Only hungry for you, my love..."

You turn your face to his and receive his kisses, sighing softly at his roaming hands, one finding your breast only covered by your camisole, the other cupping your mound through the fabric of the underskirt. Your cunt weeps to have him again, while stinging from overstimulation. You lost count of how many times you have taken him this afternoon.

"Pero," you whisper between the kisses, your hands finding his and pressing down, in direct opposition to your words. "We need to eat, and you need a bath."

He expresses his discontent with a guttural grunt but gives you one last kiss and squeeze before releasing you.

"Sit down," you gesture towards the table, but he lays out cutlery, plates, and knives for both of you before taking his seat. When you bring the tray of foods to the table, he does not take his eyes off you. You feel the heat rise in your cheeks because you know exactly what he is thinking when he sees your soft breasts spill out of your camisole, the roundness of your ass underneath the threadbare skirt when you bend over to pour him ale. He smirks at you when you catch his gaze, and you shove him gently with your hip.

"Eat."

You take your seat on the other side of the table and eat in a comfortable silence as darkness descends outside. The sounds of your small town die down, only the occasional call of an animal drifting in through the open window together with the cool breeze.

You clear the table afterwards, Pero watching you in quiet contentment. When brushing past him, he cannot keep his hands to himself, but slaps your ass and grins when you yelp and turn around to tell him off. You find yourself pulled down onto his lap instead, Pero nuzzling your neck as he holds you close.

"Thank you for the meal."

"You are very welcome."

His whiskers scratch your sensitive skin, sending shivers down your spine. He kisses your neck, your shoulder, drags his lips down to your breasts while his hand gathers the fabric of your skirt so that he can slip underneath. His fingers find the messy apex of your thighs, his seed and your slick drying on your lips, and when he pushes his fingers inside you, your head falls back as you moan low in your throat.

"Pero... oh, oh, there, oh my God... I can't..."

"If you're too sore, tell me, and I will stop," he whispers hotly against your nipple before sucking it into his mouth. You shake your head, a sob of abandon slipping you.

"More, my love, more."

He brings you to the edge with his fingers, skilfully and quickly, before pushing you over it, catching you in his strong arms when you fall with a wail against his chest.

"Beautiful," he murmurs as he strokes your back, "so beautiful, my pretty girl..."

The night comes on, and Pero brings in water that you warm on the stove, for him to finally pour into the tub where you have spread out dried herbs and flowers. When he sinks down into the warm water, you take a sponge and a piece of scented soap and scrub every inch of him. He relaxes into the water, eyes finally falling shut, as you rub his body down with small, round circles. He leans into your touch with a sigh filled with gratitude and love. Pero is a man who desperately needs softness in his life, the life he always thought would be cut short due to his choice of profession. No wonder he has such a strong need to have children, see part of himself in a tiny face, foster a new generation to carry on his name after he is gone. And you desperately want to give him that.

"Pero," you speak quietly, getting a hum in return. "What if I cannot bear children?"

He does not react at first, but as soon as your words make sense to him, he turns his head to look at you.

"Why would you say that?"

"We have tried, and I'm not pregnant."

"We haven't been married for a year."

"For some, it takes immediately."

"Not for all."

The open window brings in the scents of your garden: evening primrose, wisteria, moonflower, jasmine, and whiffs of herbs rises from the water to meet them. You cast your eyes down to the soap in your hands, and Pero raises a hand from the water, and gently places it on your shoulder.

"My love. We have time."

You nod, knowing he is right. But you still cannot shake the feeling that you have carried around since he left, and your monthly cleansing arrived.

"The wives in town say things."

"What do they say?"

You wet your lips and raise your gaze to meet his. "They say that men who sleep with whores during their trips soil their seed."

Pero's face remains calm and honest. "I have not as much as looked at another woman since I met you. I hope you know that."

"I do, I just..." You shake your head, unsure why you even brought it up. You have never doubted his faithfulness. "I'm sorry. Their words ring in my ears, I can't stop thinking about it."

"Why do you even listen to those old hags?" he shakes his head.

"Because I meet them every day, and they talk, and they know things, and they look at me like I'm a prized cow, all of them waiting for me to become pregnant."

"It's none of their business," Pero scoffs, but his thumb is rubbing soothing circles on your shoulder.

"They also say... that older women are less fertile."

"You are fertile," he immediately dismisses your fear and self-doubt. "You still bleed."

"But if I'm too old?"

Pero sits up straight in the tub, the other hand coming to your other shoulder as he looks into your eyes.

"You are my wife and my love. I want us to have children, but if we for some reason are not to be blessed with them, my love for you will not change."

"I know," you smile softly, "and I will love you too." Tears rise in your eyes, and you wipe at them with the back of your hand. "Forgive me. I just missed you so much."

"You have nothing to apologize for, my love."

You lean forward to kiss him, but when his lips start to trail across your cheek, you giggle and shake your head.

"You, Pero Tovar, need a shave, or you'll grate me raw!"

He stays completely still as you trace his cheeks with the razorblade, eyes under heavy eyelids following your minuscule movements. The hint of a smile plays in the corner of his mouth as he enjoys how your steady hand shaves away the itchy bristles. Finally, you trim his moustache, then his hair. The water grows cool, and he rises from the tub, accepting your hand when he steps out of it. His cock is striving proudly towards his stomach, and he does not take the time to dry himself before lifting you up and carrying you to the bedroom. He sets you down next to the bed and cradles your head in his big hands.

"How do you want me, my beloved?"

You caress his smooth cheeks, stroke your thumbs over his eyebrows, still wet from the bath.

"From behind, husband. I want you to mount me like an animal."

"Your wish is my command."

His hands drop to your shoulders, where they guide you to turn around before caressing down the straps of your camisole. You undo the lacing in the front, and the neckline widens enough to drop and expose your breasts. He cups them from behind, thumbs brushing over stiffening nipples, soft lips peppering kisses all over your neck and shoulder. His cock strains against the fabric of your skirt, and he drops his hands to your hips, finding the laces that will free you from the garment. It rustles softly as it falls to the floor, and Pero's hard cock comes to a rest between your ass cheeks. Your cunt clenches and you can smell your own arousal.

"Take me," you breathe, but Pero grazes your shoulder with his teeth.

"I need to service you first."

He kneels behind you, one hand pushing lightly on your lower back. You bend over, upper body coming to a rest on the crumpled sheets. Pero's hand slowly slides down to your ass, cupping and squeezing, before he slides his fingers between your thighs, carefully pushing your legs open. He fingers you almost thoughtfully before you feel the tip of his sharp nose, and his hot breath on you, and then his lips close around your bud in a little kiss before his tongue takes over. He licks at you, into you, hands coming to grab your soft thighs, humming into your aching cunt. You can barely take it anymore, not after the pleasures of the afternoon, but your husband's touch always makes you need more. Like a bitch in heat, you egg him on, writhe and fist your hands into the sheet, loudly moaning without any thought of the neighbours. He brings you to bliss, once again, pushing his face against you, fingers digging painfully into your ass cheeks as you shake through your orgasm. He helps you up on the bed, letting you rest on your belly, and kisses your shoulders, back, and the soft curves of your buttocks before coming back up to steal your breath away with a wet kiss.

"My beautiful wife," he murmurs, and you smile back faintly. "Can you take me?"

"You know I can," you murmur, already feeling his rock-hard cock pressing in between your thighs. "Take me, husband. Breed me. Put a baby in my belly."

He growls at that, bites your neck, pulls your ass up, and legs together before straddling them. You whine when he pushes into you, your dripping yet sore cunt protesting and welcoming at the same time.

"So wet for me," he groans as he slowly moves in you, hands on your hips. "My love, I thought about this so often during those lonely nights on the road." He sinks deep into you. "I would fuck my own hand and think of you." He thrusts his hips into yours, making you choke on your own breath. "I would spill my seed on the ground and mourn its loss. It shouldn't be wasted but find its way into your fertile womb..."

He lays down over you, pressing your hips down with his as he wraps his arms around you and whispers in your ear: "I would think of you becoming round with my child, your tits filling with milk, how proud and beautiful you would look on my arm when we go to the marketplace together. How I would fuck you every night to make sure the child grows big and strong..."

You sob with desire, delirious from his words and the way he fills you up. All you can do is wrap your own arms around his, take his cock with your encouraging whimpers, and let him kiss what breath you still have away.

He takes his time fucking you slowly, his warm body growing hot from the effort, hips grinding into you so deep that you'll surely be bruised in the morning, all the while whispering filthy things in your ear, keeping you on the brink of insanity until you find yourself cumming yet again, and this time the tears come as well, it's all too much and still not enough, you want all of him in you, and you want him to fill your womb, you need it.

"My good wife," he praises you for climaxing, "Cumming on my cock like that, preparing your wet little cunt for my seed. Take it, my love, take it, I don't have long."

"Breed me," you manage to articulate, "put a baby in my belly, Pero, I love you, now breed me, fuck me like an animal and make me pregnant!"

He growls into your ear and props himself up onto one forearm before heeding your wish. You cry out when he drives himself into you, again and again, until you feel the wet heat spill inside you. A low, rumbling growl rises from deep within him, and he thrusts into you, all the way in, as deep as he can go, and stays there, panting heavily. You can hardly take it, you're too full, but you still push back as if he could go any deeper, and you squeeze him tightly to get every last drop out of him.

He finally collapses by your side, cock slipping out, one arm and leg thrown over you. Silence descends over your wheezing, sweaty bodies - yours slick from his perspiration. Finally, Pero groans, and kisses your shoulder.

"Are you still in one piece, my love?"

"Barely," you murmur, exhausted and deeply in love.

"Will you let me tuck you in?"

You gripe but shift so that Pero can pull away the covers. Your head hits the pillow with a deep sigh that changes to a yelp when Pero slaps your ass.

"Move. You've been sleeping alone for too long, you have started to take up too much space."

You scoot over to one side, and Pero gets in behind you. Moulding himself to you, he kisses your shoulder again.

"If I get pregnant, I'll get fat and take up even more space," you point out with a yawn.

"When you get pregnant, I'll worship every inch of your beautiful body, wife," he promises you. "Now, legs together. Don't want my seed to stain anything but your thighs."

Your hand finds his under the covers.

"I'm so glad you're home."

"I'm very glad to be home."

His hand comes to a rest on your lower abdomen, spreading a faint tingle deep inside. You smile to yourself, and then sleep claims you.

#pero tovar #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar fanfic #the great wall fanfic #my fic

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junkdrawerfics · 11 months

Text

Giddy Surprise

Jasper Whitlock X Reader

Summary: You can't convince me Jasper doesn't miss having horses -> You have a surprise for Jasper. A furry, hay eating, clippity clop kind of surprise.

Word Count: 1082

Warnings: None, no beta, barely edited, I was really tired writing this, but I hope it's okay!

---

You are practically buzzing with excitement the second Jasper sets foot through the door. He can feel it all the way from the entryway. You don’t conceal it either, waiting impatiently for him in the living room, all but bouncing on the balls of your feet.

“Hey Jas,” you greet him with an absolutely giddy grin.

“Hello, darlin’.” He presses a kiss to your forehead like he always does, lips twitching into an amused smile. “How was your day?”

“Good, good, I have something to show you!” Patience really never was your specialty. Not when it comes to Jasper at least.

Originally, you had a big plan to reveal your surprise. You were going to pretend to read when he got home, let him get comfortable after a stressful day around humans, and then suggest going for a nice, mid-afternoon walk. That’s when you’d take him to his gift, and boom - surprise!

That plan went down the drain as soon as you heard his car pull into the driveway.

“What do you want to show me?” Jasper asks, already knowing you won’t tell him, but it’s worth the little conspiratorial look you give him.

“You’ll have to wait and see!”

You take his hand and drag him into the woods, twisting and ducking between trees along a barely worn path. Jasper, being the patient saint of a man he is, follows along without complaint, content to just soak up the electric warmth of your excitement. You can’t even get a word out, that giddy smile never leaving your face, and Jasper can’t bring himself to look away.

He’s always loved the vividness of your emotions. Even when you were human, they would fill a room, your happiness like sunshine bursting through the heaviest clouds, your sadness like the weight of the air before it rains. He never could understand how one person could feel things so strongly. Not only that, but you’ve always been so unwaveringly positive, always smiling, always trying to love others the best you can.

Like this. He can’t imagine someone other than you being so excited about a surprise. Jasper doesn’t even care what it is. Your overwhelming joy is so pure, so contagious, he finds himself getting swept away in it, smiling like a fool.

It’s only when a familiar scent drifts past him that he drags his eyes away from you. You glimpse over your shoulder, catching the flash of recognition on his face, and your excitement only builds.

A few more feet and you break past the trees into a large field. Jasper comes to a sharp stop beside you, eyes going wide at the sight before him.

“Surprise!”

In the middle of the field stands a little stable, rustic and simple, with a gated fence stretching around the pasture. Right beyond the fence stand a small group of horses, grazing on the long grass without a care in the world.

You turn to Jasper expectantly. He looks completely stunned, lips parted, eyebrows shooting up. It almost makes you laugh, since he kind of looks like an adorable goldfish, but you smother it behind your hand. This was totally a good idea.

The idea started sprouting when Jasper first told you about his past. You remember the night, back when you were human. It took time to earn Jasper’s trust, but it was worth it, because that night he shared all kinds of stories about his childhood. It was the night you learned of his love for horses growing up, and how much he missed them.

So you got together with Emmett and Alice to design and build the stable. Emmett did most of the hard labor (you bribed him by promising to get Jasper to fight him again, since he was still petty about losing the last one), while Alice jumped at the chance to design the whole thing. Meanwhile, you focused on finding the perfect horses.

“The tan one is Whiskey, the appaloosa is Tango, and the chestnut one is Juliet,” you start, pulling the shocked vampire closer to the fence, “I was going to get just one, but when I was doing research, it said horses need friends, so I got three! It felt like a good number, and this way, we can go riding together!”

Jasper’s jaw clenches and unclenches rapidly.

He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know if there’s anything he could say.

When the two of you reach the fence, one of the horses lifts its head, ears swiveling towards you. For a moment, Jasper expects it to start running, as most animals do when they sense the predatory aura of a vampire. As soon as the horse lays eyes on you though, it gives a low snort and trots right over.

Right to him.

The moment the horse nudges its nose into his chest, something shifts in Jasper, like magic. The vampire loosens up, gold eyes practically glowing as he lifts a hand to rub its muzzle, the motion so natural despite the hundred of years he’s gone without being near one. The horse leans into his touch, head almost flat against his chest, ears flicking to the side as Jasper scratches his neck. A small, easy-going smile pulls at the blond’s lips, and you’re all but starstruck watching him.

It's quite possibly the cutest thing you've ever seen.

“Do you like them?” You ask, barely above a whisper.

Jasper chuckles, ruffling the horse’s mane as he looks over at you, eyes warm, “Darlin’, this is the best surprise I’ve been given in a long time.”

You light up, “Really?”

He takes a step away from the horse, much to its displeasure, and wraps his arms around you instead, pulling you close. You stretch up to curl yours around his neck, humming happily when he leans down to kiss you. It’s soft, overwhelmingly soft, filling you to the brim with a fuzzy warmth.

When he pulls back, he doesn’t go far, lips still brushing yours as he murmurs, “I’m certain no one has ever gone to such lengths for me. Thank you, sweetheart.”

“You are very welcome, mister. I'd go to the ends of the earth for you.” You give him another, chaste kiss, soaring on cloud nine. “Now! Why don’t you show me how to ride? I think they’re itchin’ to get out of the pasture!”

“It would be my pleasure, ma'am.”

Safe to say, you end up falling off a few times. Apparently the whole vampire grace thing doesn’t apply to riding massive, moving animals.

---

This came to me so randomly, and I loved it, and I don't think I did it justice, but I needed to just write it! I might re-do it, we'll see!

#reader insert #x reader #reader #jasper hale #jasper whitlock #twilight saga #twilight #jasper hale x reader #jasper whitlock x reader #jasper x reader #horses #fluff #jasper is still a cowboy at heart and i will fight anyone who says otherwise

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 11 months

Text

VIII ║ Silver Pony

Jack Daniels x f!reader

{ Part 7: Fleabitten | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 9: Warmblood }

Rating: E

Summary: And just like that, your week at the Statesman Ranch comes to an end, leaving you grappling with the prospect of saying goodbye to Jack.

Warnings: Mentions of food and cooking, angst, feelings, grief, flirting, insecurities, very light soft!dom overtones, sexual innuendoes, risky unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids!), dirty talk, language, no use of Y/N

Word count: 7.5k

Notes: Here we are, the penultimate chapter of Palomino. I had the last scene in mind since the very beginning of the series, actually putting it into words has been so emotional. Thank you as always for your patience and your love for this series, I'm eternally grateful that you're still with me as we wrap up this beautiful journey cowboy Jack and his Darlin' started almost a year ago ❤️

P.S. Please excuse typos and any mistakes as I had very little time to edit with the husband ill this weekend.

Coaxing Scotch to a halt at the end of the track - the last lookout point before the trail slopes downhill and homeward - you let the leather reins slip long and loose as he stretches his neck and shakes out his mane with a low nicker.

A hundred feet drop below, between the palomino’s ears turned forward in anticipation, is the Statesman Ranch in all its glory, nestled in the fertile valley of green pasture, with its winding creek and red roofs. You can see tiny people milling about, the stables busy in the middle of the afternoon, and horses grazing in the fields bracketed by white picket fences.

Out of the corner of your eye, Whiskey comes to a stop next to you, close enough that your knee bumps into Jack’s.

You keep your gaze on the ranch below as you ask half-jokingly, ‘Is it too late to turn back now?’

He chuckles, and you twist towards him, your own lips curling. ‘I believe we had this exact same conversation the first day, darlin’.’

It’s not too late to back out, you know.

Oh no, you’re not getting rid of me now, cowboy.

You don’t even realise you’ve fallen quiet until his calloused hand slides over yours, fingers tangling together. Jack brushes a sweet kiss to the heart of your palm that goes right to the one in your ribcage.

He cocks his head to one side in a gentle question. ‘Shall we rip off the bandaid, darlin’?’

Knowing there’s no other way around it, you squeeze his hand. ‘Let’s go, cowboy.’

Jameson is the first to spot the five of you passing through the backgates. The sight of him zooming up the slope with his ears pinned back in excitement has you laughing, the horses nickering hello as his barks echo in the valley.

It makes no sense really - you barely know this place after all - but something inexplicably comforting and familiar tugs at your insides as you ride through the ranch. Stable hands call out to Jack in friendly greeting and to you with polite ma’ams, between bales of hay being loaded, saddles and tack polished, and the clang of steel on iron from the farrier’s workstation out back. All the while, Jameson trots faithfully by your side, as if he’s known you all his life.

‘You sure know how to make a girl feel special,’ you coo at him and he barks back, tail wagging.

Jack winks at you and says cryptically, ‘Well, you’re about to feel a lot more special, darlin’.’

Sure enough, when the horses clop into the main stable yard, your jaw drops.

‘Look what the cat dragged in!’ bellows Champ with a huge grin on his face, standing in front of the stable doors with hands on his hips, larger than life than ever.

You chortle at the huge Welcome Back! banner stretched over the barn door, complete with over-the-top cowboy themed helium balloons, bumping into each other in the afternoon breeze. You catch Jack rolling his eyes fondly at the scene.

Champ gives Scotch an affectionate ruffle on the mane as he comes to a halt by the wooden post. ‘So - how was it, m’dear? Was it everythin’ I promised it would be?’

‘Everything and more,’ you answer in the affirmative as you dismount, letting him pull you in for an enthusiastic hug.

‘That’s what I like to hear!’ he beams and pats the palomino soundly on the rump. ‘And Scotch? Was he a good boy?’

‘The bestest boy,’ you gush, throwing your hands around the horse’s neck in a hug. ‘He deserves all the carrots and apples in the world.’

Swinging his leg over the back of Whiskey’s saddle and landing gracefully on booted feet on the opposite side of the post, Jack quips, ‘But you’ve already fed him all the carrots and apples in the world.’

Champ chortles. ‘And what about our cowboy? Was he on his best behaviour?’

Jack points a self-righteous finger at his boss. ‘I’ll have you know our guest rated the pack trip a perfect ten out of ten, so I’ll be expectin’ an immediate raise. Ain’t that right, darlin’?’

A loud scoff coming from the stables turns your head, and you smile when Tequila emerges, wasting no time taking his aim at Jack. ‘Hold your horses, Daniels. Pretty sure the food poisonin’ knocks a few points off!’

Crossing the yard with his usual swagger, he sidles up to the other side of Scotch and tips his hat at you, leaning his elbows on the saddle. ‘Welcome back, sweetheart. Good to see you up and runnin’.’

You bite your lip at the mischievous wink he tosses your way.

Champs harrumps indignantly. ‘You have some nerve askin’ for a raise, son! Poppy was madder than a wet hen she heard about that. As you well know, she expects a full report at dinner tonight.’

Jack huffs in jest. ‘I’m puttin’ in a call to my attorney as we speak.’

The banter is spirited and relentless as the cowboys make quick work of untacking and unloading the horses, Champ insisting you shouldn’t lift a finger and talking for more than the three of you.

When the stable hands take away the last of the bags with your dirty laundry to be laundered, Jack takes a hold of both Whiskey and Bourbon. Clearing his throat, he seems to hesitate for a second, a tick in his jaw, but he eventually nods at you and says, ‘Well. I best be bringin’ the boys in now. Catch you later, darlin’.’

The bottom of your stomach gives out at the catch you later, darlin’, knocking the breath clean out of you, unprepared for the dread that courses through your veins like lead at the sudden prospect of being apart. Your fingers twitch with urgency, wanting to reach out, grab him by the front of his shirt, and cling to him -

Get a grip, woman.

You physically shake yourself out of it, and instead, try to bide your time. ‘Or, you know, if can I help with anything at all -’

Jack clearly catches on to your reluctance, but Champ is insistent. ‘Absolutely not! Now, it’s just gettin’ to four o’clock, so there’s plenty of time to go back to your room, clean up and join us for sunset drinks in a couple of hours. How does that sound, ma’am?’

Jack’s mouth stretches into a reassuring smile that you wish were imprinted into the skin of your forehead instead. With a promise in his eyes that it’ll only be a couple of hours, he leads the chestnut and pinto into the stables.

You don’t even try to hide the slump in your shoulders and your wistful, lingering gaze on the cowboy’s retreating back, nearly jumping out of your skin when Tequila gives you an almost brotherly pat on the shoulder over Scotch’s back. ‘I gotcha, girl.’

Speaking up, he calls out, ‘Hey Champ, Ginger was just tellin’ me that you got an urgent message from Harry, so you better give him a call back - you know how he gets when you don’t.’

The older man flinches dramatically at the mention of his accountant, flinging his hands up in frustration. ‘Damn distillery is more trouble than it’s worth! I better go - you remember your way back to your cabin, young lady?’

Before you can get a word out, Tequila cuts in, ‘Jack can show her the way if she doesn’t, I’m sure.’

The sly reference goes straight over Champ’s head as he bustles off, but not without a polite tip of his hat. Once he’s out of sight, you smile at the cowboy. ‘I appreciate that, Teak.’

He winks at you and spins on his heels to take Scotch to the washing bay. ‘Consider it part of our excellent service at the Statesman Ranch, sweetheart!’

You find Jack hatless in Bourbon’s box, his eyebrows reaching for his hairline, slick with sweat, when you slip in and shut the door quietly behind you.

‘Whatcha doin’, darlin’?’ he asks with a lopsided smile.

Even though you didn’t run into anyone on your way in, you glance around to make sure you’re alone before grabbing him by the open neck of his shirt and tugging him into you. One palm on his cheek, rough with the stubble starting to peek through since his last shave at the Halfway House, you press your lips to his, blood thrumming with the thrill of sneaking around.

You catch the hitch of his breath with a wet suck on his bottom lip and he groans - too loudly in the mid-afternoon quiet. Cheeky hands wander south and grab you shamelessly by the ass, his tongue questing deep into your mouth, and you can feel him hardening against your stomach, drawing a whimper from you.

Pulling back reluctantly, his nose still on yours, he growls. ‘Such brazen behaviour.’

Your tongue darts out and swipes the underside of your upper lip, drunk on the taste of him, and his dark gaze follows. ‘I think you like it, cowboy.’

‘Too fuckin’ much,’ he admits with a pained moan and a chaste kiss to your temple, nose in your hair, as if to calm himself down. ‘You should go clean up, I need to finish up here and you’re distractin’ me.’

You pout, laying your cards on the table. ‘But I miss you.’

His gaze warms at your admission, and he stoops to kiss you again. ‘I know, but it’s only for a little while, okay? I’ll come ‘round your room to pick you up at six.’

‘Fine,’ you reply begrudgingly. ‘Be quick, ok?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he teases and swats you on the bottom playfully as he herds you towards the door. ‘I won’t be long, promise.’

Taking two steps down the corridor, you look back one last time at Jack, who’s still watching you from the stall, leaning on the top of the door. When he blows you a lingering kiss, the thought strikes you unbidden -

If it’s this hard leaving him for a couple of hours.

Feeling the tell-tale sting in your nose and the prickle of tears at your eyes, you push the thought out of your mind -

You put one foot in front of the other, and walk away.

You didn’t realise how much you missed civilisation until you surprise yourself with the longest sigh under the rain shower. Head bowed under the steady stream, you take your time, lathering yourself until you’re cocooned in olive scented bubbles before rinsing, relishing the firm water pressure soothing the knots and soreness lurking under your skin.

But there’s a deeper ache, one that can’t be reached from the surface.

You have literally not been apart from Jack for the last four days. You’ve been showering together since the Halfway House, for crying out loud. It hasn’t taken you more than the stretch of an arm to catch his hand, or the turn of your cheek to find his lips.

A laugh bubbles in your throat as you wrap yourself in a fluffy towel. The word codependent springs to mind.

Standing in the middle of the room in just your underwear, you sort through the clean clothes that are folded neatly on the bed. Pulling on the prettiest top you brought and the same pair of jeans you wore on your birthday, you dig out your makeup bag and settle in front of the vanity, putting on a Spotify playlist and humming along as you get ready for dinner.

One second you’re blending in your foundation, then the next - liner in your grasp and poised over the corner of your eye - panic rudely sets in.

What if -

What if the chemistry between the two of you was conditional on forced proximity?

What if Jack was only attracted to you because there was literally no other woman for miles and miles?

What if -

You startle at the knock on the door.

It’s deja vu when you pad across the oakwood floors on bare feet, your heart threatening to thunder out of your chest when you twist the knob clockwise.

Jack is leaning on the doorframe, freshly showered himself, damp locks curling into his forehead. The yellow flannel he’s wearing is new to you, but not the way the sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, over his sunkissed forearms.

For one moment of madness, you want to sink your teeth into the thick, sinewy -

‘What is it, darlin’?’ he asks, amused by your scrutiny.

You shrug, fingers fidgeting with a touch of shyness. ‘Just thinking about the last time you were on this doorstep.’

‘When you were swept away by my good looks and charm?’ he quips, arching an eyebrow.

You let him have this one, teasing, ‘Something like that, cowboy.’

Straightening up to his full height, he pulls you in by the waist so that you’re almost standing on the worn leather tips of his boots, the span of his palms warm on the small of your back. He doesn’t even bother checking over his shoulder before brushing a tender kiss on your lips, and it takes you right back to that first time in the field of wildflowers at dawn.

And you just know, in your heart of hearts - there is no what if.

In the middle of nowhere, up in the mountains, the sunset hour demands nothing short of worship. Miles and miles of grassland, trees and summer blooms become altars dipped in bronze at which to prostrate oneself as the sun sinks, rejoicing at the rapture of the end of day.

Whilst not as transcendent as what you experienced on the trail, the last sunset over the ranch is giving as good as it gets. The sun gilds the fields in gold on its descent as the stable hands bring in the last of the horses for the night while the swallows fly home above. The river that winds through the ranch is ablaze with the refracting light, and across the yard, you can hear the impatient whinnying of those waiting for their supper.

Jack and Tequila are setting up the barbeque and firepit, the orange glow of the twin flames taking the place of the fading daylight. The familiar scent of burning wood grounds you - you’re feeling a bit out of practice being the centre of attention after being alone with Jack for the past week.

Ice cold lemonade in one hand and buffalo jerky in the other, you smile when Ginger approaches with a hug. ‘I’m sure you’ve had to answer this question about fifty times today, but how was it?’

‘You want the short answer or long answer?’

‘I want a dissertation if you have it in you!’

You sneak glances at Jack over Ginger’s shoulder while you chat, and he watches you back from afar as he bustles in and out of the kitchen, always trailing two steps behind Poppy. You catch snippets of their conversation as they go back and forth, and you pick up enough to know that she is grilling him on the ‘food poisoning’ incident. He shoots you puppy eyes every time he passes by, which makes you grin.

You may or may not have been a bit distracted by the cowboy when Ginger asks, ‘So, did you catch Jack washing in the river in the end?’

A violent cough racks your entire body as you choke mid-swallow, and she chuckles, giving you a comforting pat on the back. ‘It’s ok, girlfriend - I don’t have to know!’

You knock back more lemonade and choose to play coy. If only she knew.

Champ is in his element, swapping out your drink for a whiskey soda as the dusk deepens and making sure the snacks platter is topped up with locally made boar and elk salami. Despite only having half an ear in the conversation while he keeps an eye on the dinner prep, he’s somehow still fully invested, and is particularly interested in the photos and videos you’ve been taking on Jack’s DSLR.

‘And that’s what you do for a livin’, young lady?’ he asks, putting on his reading glasses so he can study the photos downloaded onto your phone.

‘Adjacent. I’m in marketing, I do quite a lot of business-to-consumer social media campaigns,’ you explain, switching to Instagram to show him your employer’s profile.

Champ turns to Ginger. ‘Do we have the social media?’

She exchanges a fond smile with you. ‘No we don’t, boss, but we do have a website. I think it was last updated in 2012.’

Champ holds his chin between his thumb and index finger thoughtfully. ‘What do you think, m’dear? Should we get the social media?’

‘It depends,’ you answer truthfully. ‘If you want to boost occupancy, social media will definitely help connect new guests, and also encourage repeat visits. But if you asked me, I think the real potential is on the distillery side of the business.’

Champ perks up under his cowboy hat. ‘I’m listenin’.’

You tap the bottle of Statesman whiskey that’s sitting on the barrel table. ‘Jack told me that you only handle wholesale orders right now, which is perfectly fine. But if you want to go direct to consumers one day, social media is the way to go. I’ve worked with vineyards and gin distilleries, so I’ve seen how effective these campaigns can be.’

Humming pensively, Champ sips at his whiskey, neat, a faraway look in his eyes as he mulls over your words. ‘Well, that’s somethin’ to think about, I’d say.’

There’s no other way to end the trip than with a western cookout. The barbeque station is packed with trays of beautifully cut and aged meat from neighbouring ranches, sausages and brats, while the smoked brisket and ribs that have been cooking all day are brought out from the smoker in the kitchen.

On the side, a picnic table draped with a chequered table cloth is crammed with baked beans (smoked in-house), corn on the cob, pasta salad and soda bread; and on the greens front, there’s homemade coleslaw, potato salad and greens freshly picked from the vegetable patch.

It’s a feast of epic proportions, and it doesn’t surprise you at all that Poppy is pulling out all the stops.

Jack mans the barbeque under her supervision, wielding the tongs with showmanship, and your heart purrs at the familiar sight of him cooking by firelight as darkness well and truly sets in. You feel slightly adrift not being by his side, but Champ is keeping you entertained and well fed, piling seconds upon thirds on your loaded plate despite your protests.

By the time Teak takes over at the barbeque and Jack makes his way towards the communal table where you’re all standing, you’re sipping slowly on your third whiskey and soda. You smile at him over the brim of your tumbler which he returns, and your body leans unconsciously towards him, before remembering where you are. He tucks his right hand into his back pocket, and you want to think that it’s because if he doesn’t, he would reach out for you.

Being denied his touch when he’s right there has you shifting your feet restlessly. Your fingers itch for him, there’s an insistent prickle under your skin that you know he alone can placate.

You venture a peek at Jack, wondering if he’s faring any better than you are. Feeling your eyes on him, he turns to you, his gaze dropping to your mouth none too subtly, the muscle in his neck tensing. Caught in the moment, all you want to do is to run your tongue down the hollow of his throat and taste the smoke on his skin -

You look away in case you do anything rash.

You’re barely holding it together when the conversation moves on to your birthday at the Halfway House.

‘And how was the dinner?’ asks Poppy animatedly. ‘Did you like the cake?’

Despite yourself, you beam, ‘Like it? I loved it, thank you so much! I was so spoiled.’

‘Did Jack show you a good time?’

‘Oh I should say so,’ cuts in Tequila despite being six feet away at the barbeque. At Jack’s glare, he quickly adds, ‘He decked out the place real nice, y’know, with balloons and shit.’

With a shake of your head, you chuckle, ‘And he dressed the horses up in birthday hats and tinsel!’

With the barbeque dying down to a low, simmering flame, Poppy slides in a couple of peach cobblers in pie dishes directly onto the embers to warm up. Leaving behind gravy-stained plates stacked up high on the barrel table, the group drifts over to the low-set deck chairs sitting in a tidy circle around the firepit.

Emptying the last of the whiskey into his glass, Champ calls out, ‘Jack, m’boy, how ‘bout you run to the cellar and grab us another bottle of the fifteen years?’

‘Sure, boss,’ he replies, hanging back and catching your attention. ‘You wanna come look at the cellar, darlin’? It’s quite a sight.’

Champ is delighted. ‘What an inspired idea! Take your time, young lady, it’s not quite the distillery cellar, but we’ll save that for next time.’

Teak gives you a two-fingered salute and a knowing wink as Jack leads the way. ‘Enjoy the tour, sweetheart!’

Jack barely waits until you’ve turned the corner behind one of the barns before backing you up against the wall. You taste whiskey and woodsmoke on his tongue as he pins you in place with his broad frame, and you haul him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him.

‘I missed you, darlin’,’ he whispers against your lips.

‘I was standing right next to you, cowboy.’

‘I know,’ he whines. ‘Took everythin’ to keep my hands to myself.’

Your cheeks warm at his words, and you reach up to brush an errant curl back from his eyes. ‘Me too.’

Jack grabs your hand and takes you on what must be a shortcut to the kitchen, since you don’t recognise the route. Practically dragging you down a flight of steps at the back, he lets go of you only to pull open a heavy oak door. Your eyes widen when the orange lights flicker on, stepping into the cellar lined with hundreds, if not thousands of bottles, floor-to-ceiling shelves nestled into stone arches carved into the walls.

You wander the perimeter of the room, carefully pulling out dusty bottles high and low to inspect the years printed on the labels, but Jack is having none of it. Face nuzzled into the nook of your shoulder, he grinds his half-hard cock into you impatiently, calloused palms sliding under your shirt and squeezing your tits through your bra.

You moan, the sound echoing under the low vaulted ceilings. ‘What are you doing, cowboy?’

‘Want you now,’ he rasps into the back of your neck, teeth catching the sensitive skin.

‘What’s gotten into you?’ you ask, a laugh caught in your throat as he ruts against the cleft of your ass needily, a shudder rippling through you when you feel just how much he wants you through the denim.

‘It’s the change in altitude,’ he rasps, dry humping you in earnest now, his fingers fumbling with the front of the zipper. ‘And you’re really fuckin’ sexy in these jeans.’

‘Such a sweet talker,’ you tease, reaching behind you to undo his pants. ‘We got to be quick.’

He yanks the front of your jeans down so hard the movement jolts you forwards, flipping the denim inside out and dragging it down to the middle of your thighs, your panties going with them. His question is hot in your ear. ‘Want me to use protection, darlin’?’

You don’t skip a beat with an emphatic, ‘No.’

‘Fuck,’ he growls at your one-worded answer. ‘Lettin’ me fuck you bare? I’m one lucky cowboy.’

Your pussy throbs at his words alone, and you gasp in surprise when Jack manhandles you to the middle of the room, where a row of aged barrels rest on their sides, elevated on a sturdy shelf to keep them off the floor. He bends you unceremoniously over one cask so that your front is pressed up against the curved wooden surface, then, kicking your legs apart and notching the head of his cock at the mouth of your cunt, he sinks into you in one determined thrust.

‘Jack!’ you cry out, voice hoarse, filled almost painfully full, suspended on the tips of your toes as he plants his feet and drives into you, pulling out to the tip before plunging all the way back in, so deep you feel him in your throat. His breath is harsh and hot on the shell of your ear, but you can’t hear him over your own cries.

‘That’s it, darlin’,’ he croons throatily, his jeans rubbing the back of your thighs raw as his grip on you bites into your sides, holding you in place as you writhe. ‘Such a good girl, lettin’ me bend you over like this, takin’ me so well.’

Nails skidding over the wooden grain of the barrel as you scrabble for something to hold onto, you mewl, ‘Yes, yes, yes, feels so fucking good, cowboy!’

The slap of skin on skin bounces obscenely off the walls, and between the buck of his hips and his groans, you hear the slick squelch of your pussy stretching for him.

It seems to spur him on, and he snaps harder into you, rasping, ‘Look at you naughty thin’, lettin’ me fuck you in the middle of the cellar when anyone can walk in.’

Only then does it hit you - the absurdity of having fucked your way across the open country on this packtrip, taking for granted the liberty of literally screaming to the high heavens, free from prying eyes and ears. Juxtaposed against the sudden and very real prospect of getting caught, your body instinctively reacts.

Jack feels you clench wetly around his cock, a choked chuckle halfway in his throat. ‘Fuck, you filthy girl, you like that, don’t you? Want someone to walk in on us when I’m balls deep inside this pretty pussy?’

Your back arches, and he slides in so deep you’re sure you’ll be feeling him for days after, even when you’re a thousand miles from here. ‘Yes, yes, yes sir -’

The next thing you know, he’s gripping your hair and pulling, making you watch him over your shoulder. His eyes are black, jaw hanging open and teeth bared, and he’s gone - he’s thrusting recklessly into you, and you have no idea how your spine hasn’t snapped from being bent so far backwards. Then one rope-worn palm comes down on your right ass cheek in a cracking slap, making you gag on a half-groan, slick trickling down your thighs at the sting.

Jack leans over you now, caging you between his arms, his soft kisses on your neck an antithesis to the uncompromising rhythm at which he’s pounding into you. He coaxes, ‘Gonna cum for me, darlin’?’

Two of his fingers nudge between your legs and you whine when they make landing on your swollen clit. You nod desperately, clawing at the smooth wooden barrel under you. ‘Yes Jack, please make me cum. Please.’

‘Don’t you worry, you will,’ he says matter-of-factly, smearing mouth and tongue down the side of your neck. ‘You can do it. Make a mess on my cock, c’mon, darlin’ -’

When you clamp down around him, it takes Jack everything - everyfuckin’thin’ - not to let go and pump into you, fill that tight little cunt as you wail his name, quaking and squirming in his grasp. Air doesn’t quite reach his lungs, and he’s biting so hard on the insides of his mouth that it swells instantly, wanting so badly to mark you, to possess you in the most primal way a man can -

With a strangled groan, he pulls out, but only just - he’s already cumming before he can even wrap a fist around his cock, spurting crudely all over the swollen lips of your pussy and the curve of your ass as he milks himself dry, shudder after shudder. His spend drips so prettily down the back of your thighs, stopping just short of staining your jeans, that he goes light-headed for a moment. He sways, and if not for you grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling him down for a lazy kiss, he probably would’ve keeled over.

He looks down at the mess he made, crooning into your ear, ‘You’re so beautiful covered in my cum, darlin’.’

You squeak, startled, when he runs this thumb down your slit, still so slick and wet for him, and he has to fight the urge to fucking scoop up his cum shove it into you, filling you only to have it drool out of you when he holds the pretty lips open -

He feels your eyes on him, like you can tell what he’s thinking. He winces, shame rearing its head as he apologises, ‘I’m sorry, I got carried away. Was it - too much?’

Cupping his cheek in your palm, you pull him down for another kiss. ‘Never. I’ll take everything you’ve got, cowboy.’

Jack somehow has a handkerchief in his shirt pocket, which he brandishes with a flourish, prompting a giggle from you. ‘A gentleman if I’ve ever seen one.’

With a playful smirk, he declares, ‘Damn straight - my mama raised me right.’

Gently, Jack cleans you up, and you’re happy to let him do all the work, your body heavy and sated. When he’s done, he swivels you around and presses his lips to your temple. ‘Come back to my house tonight, darlin’?’

You tuck your nose into the crook of his neck and breathe in deeply. ‘I’d love to, cowboy.’

He’s carefully folding up the soiled handkerchief and tucking it into his back pocket when you hear footsteps on the stairs, and the two of you have barely pulled up your jeans when the door swings open.

There’s a dramatic pause as Teak takes in your dishevelled state and none too guilty faces. Looking distinctly unsurprised, he bursts into laughter nonetheless. ‘The cellar? Is nothin’ sacred to you heathens?’

The cookout winds down over bubbling hot peach cobbler and homemade vanilla ice cream that Teak collected from the freezer in the kitchen on the way back. It’s pushing ten o’clock when Champ calls it a night, and you all help with bringing the dirty dishes and leftovers inside.

Poppy and Ginger make quick work of putting all the food in tupperware and into the fridge. Jack and Teak load up the dishwasher as you finish off the last of your drink.

Champ dusts his hands, as if he’s the one who’s done all the tidying up, and asks, ‘Your flight tomorrow isn’t until afternoon is it?’

You nod, passing Jack your empty glass. ‘Yeah, I need to drop off my rental truck as well, so I think I’ll have to leave around eleven.’

He pats you on the back. ‘Alright then, we’ll see you tomorrow mornin’. Have a good night’s sleep, young lady.’

‘Say goodbye before you go,’ adds Ginger, giving you a peck on the cheek.

‘Dinner was incredible, Poppy, thank you,’ you smile as she pulls you into a warm hug.

The redhead winks at you. ‘My absolute pleasure. I’ll fix you a little takeaway lunch to go tomorrow for the journey home. No plane food allowed for our guests!’

The kitchen empties until it’s just you, Jack and Teak, with the latter grinning at you two like a lunatic. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shrugs. ‘So you guys wanna hang, or -’

‘Get the fuck outta here, Teak!’ Jack growls.

The taller cowboy ambles over to you, joints loose with alcohol, and gives you what can only be described as a bear hug.

‘Just try keep it down, will ya? It’s real quiet in the valley at night and some of us have to work early tomorrow,’ he ribs with an insolent wink. ‘Guess we won’t see you lovebirds at breakfast?’

‘Not if you’re there,’ Jack retorts, to which Teak flashes a good-natured middle finger and saunters off into the night.

Jack draws you into his arms and you slump against him, relieved that you’re finally alone. ‘Shall we, darlin’?’

His fingers curl securely around the back of your hand, his thumb rubbing soothing circles at the base of yours as he closes the kitchen door behind you. It strikes you this is actually the first time you’re holding hands - there was no need for that when you were in the saddle, or camped in close proximity.

Your cheeks stretch with a smile so wide that the muscles ache. The mundanity of walking side by side, hand in hand, shouldn’t be this thrilling.

It’s quiet other than the grind of gravel under your boots and Jack’s heavier ones. The night air is sweet, the blanket of stars above you just as magical, but it’s not quite the same kind of stillness at the lower altitude. Perhaps it’s the way the sound travels with buildings and other people around, maybe the very physics of it is fundamentally different.

Turning into the parking lot, your attention is piqued by a handsome motorcycle parked all on its lonesome next to the main lodge.

Pride in his voice, Jack says, ‘Darlin’, meet the Silver Pony.’

You know nothing about motorcycles, but you can appreciate the sleek lines, the classy tan leather seat and the retro elegance about her as you circle it. Her silver paint job gleams in the lonely porch light. ‘She’s beautiful, cowboy.’

‘She’s an old girl but she got good bones. I restored her myself,’ he proclaims proudly, before admitting, ‘And well, Teak helped too.’

Opening a little cabinet attached to the side of the main lodge, Jack pulls out a helmet that has you laughing. It’s painted red white and blue, stars, stripes and the full monty, with the word WHISKEY painted across the front in bold formation.

He grins at you. ‘Found it in a yard sale. Too good to pass up.’

Lowering it over your head, he tightens the strap carefully under your chin. It’s a bit big, but it’ll do for a short ride. Blinking up at him, it brings you back to that first day in the stables, and you feel the same pull that you did when he fitted you with your hat.

Except this time, you can do something about it. Standing on your tiptoes to kiss him, you giggle when your helmet slips and knocks into his forehead with a clunk.

Putting on his own sensible black helmet, he plants his left foot by the side of the bike and swings his right leg over the leather seat.

You’re taken aback by the spike in your pulse at the sight - you’d think that having seen him on horseback all week would have prepared you for it. But there’s something about the way he leans over the top of the motorcycle, thighs wrapped around the metal body, forearms flexing as he grasps the handlebar.

Starting the ignition and knocking back the kickstand with the heel of his cowboy boot, Jack nods at you. ‘Hop on, darlin’.’

You do, and you don’t need to be told to hold on tight.

The Silver Pony purrs to a stop outside a modest cottage, about a ten-minute cruise from the ranch, down a short dirt track from the main road. It’s pitch black except for the headlights that illuminate an unexpectedly floral front garden. You hop off and take off your helmet before Jack kills the engine, plunging you into a very familiar darkness.

Switching on the light on his phone, he reaches for your hand and pulls you gently to his side, his solid warmth welcome even though it’s nowhere as chilly as it was up on the mountains. Flashing the light towards the front yard, he tells you, ‘Ginger has quite the green finger, this is all her work. It took some time, but the vegetable patch is just startin’ to come through this season.’

Keys jangling, Jack unlocks the front door and ushers you inside, flipping on the lights.

It’s a cosy space, not big by country standards, but more than spacious enough for one cowboy. It’s clearly a man’s house, with a distinct lack of decorative touches other than a vintage map of Wyoming hanging over a dining table and a crowded bookshelf by the door. Dark wood with orange knots line the floors and ceilings, the warm tones reminding you of nights around the campfire.

Walking through the tidy but lived-in space, you pass an open kitchen with a breakfast bar that backs into the living room. A rustic stone fireplace stands in the corner, bracketed by a cosy sectional with deep seats.

Jack watches you mill about, taking everything in. When you stop by the fireplace, he asks jokingly from across the room, ‘So, what’s the verdict?’

You tease, ‘Not gonna lie - I’m disappointed there aren’t more spurs and lassos on the walls.’

He chuckles and steps into the kitchen. ‘You want a nightcap?’

‘Just water thank you, I think I’ve had enough to drink.’

Filling up two glasses at the sink, he crosses the room to join you at the mantelpiece.

‘How long have you been living here?’ you ask, setting your glass on the shelf after taking a sip.

He takes a moment to reply. ‘I took a long break off work after my wife died, then moved in here straight after. Couldn’t stand bein’ in our house alone - couldn’t bear bein’ there at all.’ He pauses, and his lips quirk with a wry smile. ‘Champ and Teak packed everythin’ up for me and drove it all here.’

His honesty hits you squarely in the chest, the weight of the grief behind his words nearly knocking you back a step. You reach for him, closing the two-step distance and wrapping your arms tight around his waist.

Eyes closed, he lets you anchor him to the moment. Maybe he shouldn’t, but the confession slips right through his teeth. ‘I haven’t brought any women here. Ever.’

He holds his breath as he feels you hold yours.

You mumble into his chest, ‘You have to stop making it harder for me to leave, cowboy.’

Then don’t.

The two words are on the tip of his tongue, and for a second, he worries that he actually said them out loud. But he knows he can’t. It’s mad. It’s been a week. It’s not fair on you, not when you have a whole life back in the city, thousands of miles away, and his is right here in the shadow of the Bighorn Mountains.

So he says nothing.

Eventually, you pull back and tip your face up towards him. He doesn’t think he’s imagining the wetness lining the seams of your eyes.

‘Let’s go to bed, cowboy.’

He watches you from the doorway, where he leans idly against the frame, body relaxed from the whiskey sodas at dinner. The curtains are drawn and the light from the bedside lamp soft, casting orange shades on the walls and your skin as you shrug on the shirt he leaves out for you. The last button done, you snuggle comfortably under his sheets, and his heart lurches.

Not for the first time, the thought crosses his mind -

You look like you belong here.

‘Are you gonna stare all night, cowboy?’ you tease, sinking into the pillows.

He shrugs and closes the door behind him, shedding his clothes as he goes. ‘Can’t help it, darlin,’. You look good in my bed.’

‘It’s so comfy,’ you sigh happily, watching him strip down to his boxers.

‘It’s just the hard ground talkin’,’ he says, climbing in next to you. Bundling you into his arms and sliding one leg between yours, he kisses you, a deep exhale leaving him as he does. You smile so wide the corners of your eyes crease, and he watches as they land somewhere behind him.

His stomach drops when it dawns on him what catches your attention.

But it’s too late. You sit up, leaning over him and grabbing a hold of it with gentle hands.

You stare up at him. ‘Jack.’

He doesn’t even remember the last time he really looked at the photo. It’s there when he wakes up, when he goes to bed. It sits on the bedside table by the lamp, probably covered in dust.

Untouched.

His silence doesn’t deter you, but your tone is soft, and he understands that you’re giving him an out if he wants it. ‘What’s her name?’

His throat goes drier than sandpaper, and he’s suddenly speaking through a mouthful of cotton. It takes him two tries before he manages to enunciate. ‘Addison. Everyone called her Addie.’

‘Was this taken at your wedding?’

He nods, picking at a loose thread on the comforter.

‘Look at you all dashing in a suit, cowboy,’ you hum appreciatively, tracing a fingertip over the smart dark grey tweed jacket with navy accents. ‘Where did you get married?’

‘At her parents’ ranch.’

‘Under this magnolia tree?’

He nods again. ‘It was her favourite spot.’

‘She’s so beautiful,’ you say quietly.

His eyes dart to the photo in your grasp despite himself. Swallowing thickly, he says, ‘She’s buried there now, where she was always happiest.’

At that, you return the photo to its place on the bedside table, almost solemnly. This is usually the point when people stop asking questions, so when you snuggle into the crook of his shoulder, gazing at him expectantly, he frowns in confusion.

‘What is it, darlin’?’

‘Tell me about her.’

Jack is stumped, flustered at your request. He shifts, sitting up stiffly against the headboard. ‘Like what?’

You shrug. ‘I don’t know. Like - how did you meet?’

His answer is short, factual. ‘On the rodeo circuit. We both worked on the tour.’

You give him an encouraging nudge. ‘And? What was she like?’

‘She -’ he pauses and holds his breath, weighing his words. In the end, it’s the truth that he tells you. ‘She was the best person.’

He stutters to a stop again, but you’re still peering at him, your expression curious and open. He knows you won’t push him, he trusts that you wouldn’t. He could reach out and switch off the light right now, and he knows you’d leave it at that.

But a small part of him demurs. He doesn’t have the words to describe it, but something unsettling and hopeful at once stirs in his stomach, one that is stopping him from cutting short this somewhat unconventional pillow talk.

So he tests the words on his tongue, starting with something small. ‘She was a cat person. All the barn cats loved her, no matter where we went on the circuit.’

Watching the way your eyes smile at the detail, he feels a little lighter. He adds, ‘We literally had cats camping out in our truck, and I’m allergic, so I’d be sneezing and covered in hives on the long-distance drives between rodeos.’

You laugh, and his chest swells with the realisation that he doesn’t remember the last time any mention of his wife sparked anything but sad side glances and commiserating pats on the back - let alone joy.

Over the years, he had let go of her joy. Because it doesn’t hurt as much to mourn her this way.

And the guilt that he did this, took the easy way out, is almost too much for one soul-crushing moment - until you lay your head on his chest, unfurling one hand and pressing it into his side, literally holding him together, rib by rib.

He tells you about Addie. Things he’s been afraid to remember, but even more afraid that he had forgotten. Her likes, pet peeves, where she went to college, her favourite show, her irrational fear of butterflies, her favourite dress, the song that always got her up on her feet dancing wherever she was, whatever she was doing, when it came on the radio.

You listen, picking up on the way his voice falls back into that beautiful Southern cadence that you have come to know as he remembers his wife, nothing but love in his eyes as the guardedness fades with each memory he confides in you. You pepper the pauses with follow-up questions and playful quips where you’re draped across him, one arm folded underneath you and the other over his waist, but you feel yourself nodding off as the hour grows late.

He holds you to him, his palm spanning your lower back, until you go quiet.

Jack is tired, his own lids drooping with impending slumber, the sprint down memory lane taking more out of him than he expected. Brushing a kiss to the crown of your head, he rolls you off his front and onto your side, tucking you into the rumpled sheets. Spooning you from behind, he murmurs one last thing on the shell of your ear.

‘She would’ve loved you, darlin’.’

Notes: When I first started this series, I didn't have a backstory developed for Jack other than that his wife died eight and a half years before Darlin' comes on the scene. It's been such an organic and fulfilling journey developing his character and his history over the series, filling in the blanks as we and Darlin' got to know him better.

It's so important to me that his wife and his grief isn't pushed to one side for the sake of easy story telling. I've dropped little hints of his bereavement throughout the series, nothing too loud, but it's there in the background, my way of paying respect to one aspect of canon Jack that touches me very deeply despite the mess the movie makes of his story.

Out of all my Reader! characters, I would say that Darlin' is my most unassuming one. Not in a bad way at all, it's just that she doesn't have as loud a personality as Shiv or Pin, or as dramatic a storyline as Sweetheart. But this chapter, she just really came into her own. That last scene will stay with me forever ❤️

Edited to add a reminder that we still have one more chapter to go before we say goodbye to these two. I’m not ready 😭

#palomino series #jack daniels fanfiction #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x f!reader #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x female reader #agent whiskey fanfiction #agent whiskey smut #agent whiskey fic #agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #jack daniels au #agent whiskey au #pedro pascal character fic

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dckweed · 4 months

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NEXT THING YOU KNOW, gator tillman

in which gator tillman and his arranged bride figure out life and each other and what a real relationship means to them.

warnings: mentions and depictions of abuse, mentions of bruises, arranged marriages, romance, humor, dead parents, slow burn relationship (not completely but not not), basically we know the tillman men are asswipes so i 100% see Roy forcing gator into this kind of situation for money for his militia, eventual smut with kinks such as thigh riding, gun play, choking, spanking, lots of marking and possible spit play.

okay don't ask how i got this out so fast, im literally so fuckin obsesessed with this series right now.

series masterlist here, series playlist here.

PART THREE: the weekend

thursday.

“What in the hell did you put me up to?” Gator’s voice rings out across the barn a couple of hours later. You wince, hearing the anger swirling under the tense tone as his footsteps thunk closer to you across the wooden floor. You’re still facing Bubbles, trying to get her untacked but it’s not easy when you don’t have a step ladder, you didn’t check if there was one in the trailer when you left and you didn’t feel right going snooping around the Tillman barn, afraid it might get you in trouble.

“It’s just a few days,” You roll your eyes, grateful that he can’t see you because something tells you that the Tillman didn’t take kindly to bratty behavior like eye rolling. Not married yet or not, you were pretty much belonged to Gator now in the eyes of society in Stark County, nobody would bat an eye if he reprimanded you for it. “And i put us up to it, genius.”

“Well gee, Pearl, you could have fuckin’ consulted me first, dontcha think?” He’s right next you in the stall now, his much larger hands moving yours out of the way as he could actually see over the top of your horse to undo all of her stuff. “Why the hell would i want to spend my weekend babysitting my sisters?”

You scoff, turning to face him with your hands on your hips. You roll your eyes again and you know he sees you as his eyes narrow. “Ya know what asshole, you’re fuckin’ right!” You say, not going to put up with any of his damn attitude. “I shoulda slid right off my horse, left your daddy right out there in the field and come find you just to ask if it was okay.” He opens his mouth to retaliate, or maybe to tell you off for cursing at him or getting cross with him. “I may be younger than you but i’m still an adult, Gator, i’m gonna be your wife not your fuckin’ kid, don’t ever expect me to wait and ask your fuckin’ permission to do shit unless it’s necessary. That isn’t how this is goin’ to work.”

He doesn’t say anything but pulls the saddle off of the horse with a huff and you turn on your heel, leading her out of the stall and out to the trailer. Gator stands in the stall for a moment after you’ve gone, listening to the clip clop of the horses hooves as you guys go. He closes his eyes for a second, readjusting the weight of your heavy ass saddle before guiltily following you along. You weren’t wrong, he was being an asshole. He hated being wrong, and he hated apologizing even more but he couldn’t let you go around stomping your feet and being mad at him all damn weekend, something told him that probably wasn’t in his best interest. And besides, he did actually feel bad for snapping at you like that, you didn’t deserve it. He did like seeing you get all riled up like that though, the storm that started brewing in your eyes..it was a nice change from your normally friendly and people pleasing personality. He liked that you obviously knew how to stand up for yourself too.

The door of the trailer was open by the time he had finally meandered his way out of the barn, and he can hear you getting the horse settled into it. He makes quick work of putting the saddle into the back of your Jeep, closing the door and making his way to the trailer. He watches you, one arm braced against the metal door as his eyes follow your movements. You pat your horse on her long nose and then turn around, hands on your hips as you step down onto the ground of the driveway.

You’re staring up at him expectantly, chewing your plump bottom lip with your hands on your hips. It took all the will power he never knew he had not to put his thumb on your fucking mouth, stopping you from what you surely couldn’t have realized was a surprisingly sinful act. He licks his chapped lips, looking off to the side before sighing. “I’m sorry for bein’ an asshole.” He says quietly, brown eyes searching your face for any sort of reaction. “I shouldn’t have snapped at ya like that..”

Your face softens and something close to a smile graces the corners of your mouth as you push his chest lightly, your hands no longer defensively on your hips. “Apology accepted.” You say, meaning it. You had forgiven him the moment you had snapped at him too, you knew he was just as new to this whole situation as you were, you guys were still learning one another, that wasn’t any excuse to be yelling at each other but it was a reason to never let it happen again without at least trying to talk first. “But i’m not sorry for snappin’ back at you. You deserved it.”

He laughs, a genuine, hearty sound coming from his throat and brings a hand up to muss your hair as he helps you close up and lock the trailer. “Alright..suppose we better go get that lunch you were talkin’ about earlier and then go pack up your stuff for the weekend.” The sun was fully up now, and even though it was only nine thirty in the morning, and he had all of an hour and a half of sleep under his belt, he was ready for lunch with you, and he was ready to get his dad and his wife out of the fuckin’ house so he could maybe relax just a little bit, maybe get a few more hours of sleep..

After a small squabble about who’s going to drive the Jeep you’re pulling up to the curb of Gator’s favorite diner in town, and he’s letting out a breath of relieved air as he steps foot on the ground.

“Oh stop bein’ so dramatic!” You laugh walking side by side with him up to the door of the busy diner. He had spent the whole ten minute drive with one hand braced on the back of your seat and the other braced on the dash, telling you to slow down or to not hit your brakes so damn hard or to stop taking corners so fast and sharp with a damn horse trailer attached to you. You rolled your eyes after every comment, but found them more and more endearing as you heard the actual fear in his voice. That wasn’t the first time a boy had been scared to be in your passenger seat before.

“Stop bein’ such a bad fuckin’ driver!” He retaliates, brown eyes wide as he holds open the door of the diner for you, you cackle and duck under his arm, breathing in his cologne and the smell of that damn fruity ass vape that he keeps puffing on. “You’re a menace to the road, Pearl, i swear!”

He hears you mocking him and pushes the back of your head gently as the two of you find an empty space in the busy restaurant, a booth in the back corner next to windows where the light shines in. He insists on taking the side of the booth that faces the rest of the diner, wanting to have a good view of any potential danger (though he doesn't tell you that).

A friendly waitress sidles up to the table as the two of you settle, you giggling after he mutters something more about your driving. “Mornin’ Gator, miss.” She says, nodding at the two of you. She’s plump and motherly, her hair brown and curly. You can tell from the smile on her face that she clearly knows the boy across the table from you. “Coffee for you, hon?”

“Yes Ma’am,” Gator nods, one of the friendliest looks you’d seen in your whole short time of knowing him on his face as he looked up at her, his brown eyes filled with warmth you hadn’t seen towards anyone before. “And..i’m feeling lunchy today, how about a patty melt and fries, please?” You realized he must come here pretty often if the waitress knew his coffee order, and he didn’t need a menu to order.

“You got it Gator,” She says warmly, turning to you next. “And for your..friend?”

“Fiance, actually.” He says before you have the chance to speak, you’re stunned for a moment and so is the woman. This is the first time anyone outside of your families and the people directly involved with the wedding planning had been told that you guys were technically engaged, your face flushes as the realization and the weight of the title actually being out in the open for the first time.

You can tell that she wants to ask more questions by the furrow in her brow and the hesitation before she clears her throat, but she thankfully doesn’t pry any farther. “And for your fiance?”

You give a sheepish smile, that quickly turns to a deep rooted frown when the friendly woman tells you that they don’t stock flavored coffee creamers, or serve iced coffee. “Dr. Pepper then,” You say, the smile returning back to your face as Gator makes a mental note to stop by the local coffee shop for you on the way back to the Augastine ranch. “And I’ll do chicken tenders, with fries please!”

She gives a smile and says she’ll be back soon, as soon as she gone Gator cracks up laughing at you. “What?” You pout, and he only shakes his head at you, causing your pout to deepen. “It’s not nice to laugh at people, is there dirt on my face? Gator!” The way you whined his name struck a different kind of chord in him and he quickly stopped laughing, shaking his head as he situated himself in his seat.

He knew most men would have found the whining annoying but it was clear you didn’t do it on purpose, and it sent a tingle down his spine when you said his name like that. “Flavored coffee creamer?” You roll your eyes and kick him under the table, which only makes him laugh more.

You had to admit, you liked how young and happy it made his face look when he laughed, and you wished he would do more of it.

A couple of hours tick by as the two of you sit in your cozy little booth in the diner, eating and bickering and laughing at each other as customers come and go around you. He was sweet in his own rugged, rough way, your own personal diamond in the rough. You didn’t mind, it just meant you could have fun chipping away at him and softening him up around the edges. The more you got to know him over the past week, the more you started to think that maybe this marriage thing wouldn’t be so horrible. You could both learn to love each other over the years, and who knows, maybe you would fall in love in the way that all those people in the movies did. You had always wanted a silver screen romance..

Gator pays for the both of you before you can even dig your credit card out of your stupid little purse, which causes you to pout. “Hey, I was the one that asked you to come eat!” You argued and boy just sighs, giving you a pointed look that clearly said to shut the fuck up. You pout but don’t push on the matter, letting him steal the Jeep keys off of the table top as you slide off of your fluffy, overstuffed bench.

“Alright, lets go pick up your stuff for the weekend and drop your trailer off,” He had work tonight again and he was hoping to get a couple extra hours of sleep in before his father left. The nights were always longer when he was tired, but he wasn’t going to complain. Gator loved his job.

You follow him through the crowded diner, staying right underfoot. You hadn’t realized before but people were staring at the two of you, it made your cheeks flush when eyes bored into you as you walked and nervously, you grab onto the back of his shirt. He stiffens beneath your touch, and cranes his neck to look at you, eyebrows furrowed under the brim of his hat. “People are staring.” You whisper, he purses his lips and looks around before shrugging as you get closer to the door. “Why are they staring?” You weren’t used to attention like that, and you were afraid that somehow it would get back to Boyd that you were here with Gator and you would somehow get in trouble for it, fiance or not.

“Because i’m the Sheriff’s son, and this is the first time i’ve been out in public with my fiance.” He says, as if it wasn’t that big of a deal. “Sherry probably went and spread the word while we were eating, it’s no big deal Pearlie, the whole town was gonna find out one way or another.” He pushes the door of the diner open with one hand, and with the other he grabs your hand off the back of his shirt, using his grip to push you in front of him out the door.

“I figured they would have done an announcement in the paper or somethin’ by now.” You mutter, hands in your pockets as you walk side by side to the jeep with him. You don’t argue when he opens the passenger side door for you, but you do give him a shit eating grin as you step up onto the running boards to climb in.

“Yeah, well, they’re probably leaving that up to us too.” He mutters as he closes your door and quickly walks around the front end. You thought it was rather sweet of him, opening the doors for you, but you wouldn’t say anything, you didn’t want to freak him out. He wastes no time in pulling away from the diner, casually driving your car with one hand while the other rested on the gear shift on the center console.

You studied his hand, how much bigger than the gear shift knob it was, you could barely fit your own around it but his smothered it, leaving no trace of it under his palm. His thick fingers tensing and untensing around it, as if he were squeezing it like a stress ball. You bite your lip, looking up as the car comes to a stop and he throws it in park. “What are we doing?” You ask, noticing him lifting his ass out of the seat out of the corner of his eye, shoving his hand in his pocket.

“You ask a lot of questions, you know?” He quips, grabbing a twenty dollar bill out of his wallet holding it out towards you. You simply stare at it, and then lift your big ass, curious eyes to stare at him. He sighs, sagging against the seat. “Go in and get your damned flavored coffee, felt bad they didn’t have it at the diner..”

You feel your cheeks start to flush, and though you were tempted to argue and tell him he didn’t need to stop, you felt yourself unbuckling your seatbelt because that was just too damn sweet. You start to get out of the car, grabbing your purse when he clicks his tongue at you, shoving his hand at you again. You decide it’s best not to argue, you don’t want to annoy him anymore than you clearly already do without meaning to, you take it, using the grip on his hand to pull him across the console. You kiss his cheek sweetly, pulling away with a smile. “Thank you..” You say, turning and jumping from the Jeep as quickly as you could without hurting yourself.

Gator is stunned by the show of affection, his neck flushed red from the interaction. He shakes his head, fighting back the smile on his face by putting his vape to his mouth as he watches you happily skip into the fucking coffee shop. “She’s gonna be the death of me..” He grumbles to himself, running a hand down his face after breathing out the fruity flavored vape that he filled his lungs with.

You’re grateful that he’s with you when you go home because you can sense Boyd’s mood before you can see him, the house is still and quiet, the girls off at school for the day, the nanny is not needed until this afternoon. You walk through the front door with Gator laughing about the way he had narrowly avoided a hoof to his head when he was walking with Bubbles, you giggle at him as he exaggerates the scene that you had had your back turned to, shaking your head as you start for the stairs.

“Where have you been?” His voice is cold and sends a shiver down your spine. You stop in your tracks, one hand on the bannister and turn to face him. You don’t dare look at him, but you put a complacent smile on your face nonetheless. You can feel Gator behind you, his hands sliding into his pockets much like they were on the first time he had been to your so-called home.

“I was on that ride with Roy,” You say, calling Gator’s father by his name, he tenses behind you at the mention of the man, and you’re tempted to glance up at him and offer him a comforting smile. “And we got to talking about the wedding and what not and how i would like his girls to be in it, and he thought it would be a great idea,” You’re starting to babble, and you begin to worry that your words aren’t making any sense because of the way that his face changes. “So now Gator and I are here to pack up a bag for me because we’re going to be watching his sisters while their parents are gone for the weekend..”

“We stopped and got an early lunch first,” Gator steps in, you feel his hand on your lower back and it brings a sense of calmness to you for some strange reason. “She was hungry..sorry, i shoulda had her call you or somethin’ didn’t mean to make you worry, Sir..”

Boyd is quiet for a long beat, his jaw ticking like it does when he’s angry and trying not to show it. You swallow back your fear knowing that you’re safe with Gator here.

“When will you be back?” He narrows his cold eyes at you, they hold no emotion other than the contempt that you know he feels for you, and that makes you nervous for what you’ll endure when you come home Monday afternoon, but grateful for the time you’ll have away.

“I’ll be back Monday afternoon, after his parents come home.” You say, tired of the conversation and no longer wanting to be involved. You turn and start heading up the stairs, knocking Gator’s hand from your back as you leave without being dismissed, something you’re sure you’ll hear about next week. “See you then.”

Gator is quick to follow behind, giving your step father a friendly smile as he clambers up the stairs behind you. “What was that all about?” He asks in a hushed voice as he follows onto the second floor landing.

You shake your head and walk past your sisters’ room and farther on to yours, locking the door behind you. You don’t notice the way Gator’s eyebrows pinch when he notices you’ve barricaded yourselves in the room by locking it.

“He’s an asshole.” Is all you say, shrugging off the encounter before heading to your closet to find your suitcase.

When you come out you see Gator with his hands in his pockets again, looking around your bedroom, the one area of the house that was completely and utterly you. Pink and red accents, white frilly lace..teddy bears and fluffy pillows and blankets..the room was so..you. He had gotten his attention caught to a smattering of photo frames on your big white dresser, all of them held you in them, smiling that big beautiful smile of yours (sometimes it would be reaching your eyes, lighting them up happily, but most times it wasn’t), all of them held different people, your sisters mostly, and whom he assumed was a friend from school, a tall brunette with killer legs in a bikini with her arms around you. There was another guy in the photo too that he tried not to be jealous of, but he had his arm around your waist and was grinning down at the two of you as you guys stood on a dock in front of a boat. He loved how happy you looked there in that moment, like your mind wasn’t laden with such heavy burdens like planning a wedding you were legally bound to, or dealing with a clearly tense situation with your step father. His favorite picture though, was one of you and an older woman, your mama, he assumed. You were laughing in the photo a mess of birthday cake frosting smeared across your cheek and some pink tinsel in your hair. The silver balloons behind you said ‘15’.

“That’s my mama..” You said, sliding up behind him. He jumps, slightly scared. “That’s the only picture i have left of her..Boyd has all the rest, wont let me see ‘em. I think they’re up in the attic somewhere.” You sniff a little, trying not to cry as you turn away, hands on your hips. “Right, lets get this stuff together.”

After about an hour or so you’ve stuffed the whole suitcase with more clothes than you really need for an entire weekend, Gator had lightened the mood by teasing you when you tried to hide your panties and bras as you packed them, telling you it’s not like he hadn’t seen any before, and he would be seeing yours for the foreseeable future, and then making you laugh at his genuine confusion at your array of shampoos and body washes in the your shower.

“Oh no, don’t tell me you’re one of those 3 in 1 off the shelf at the grocery store kinda guys..” You laugh, looking at him looking at the four different bottles of soaps in his hands. “Please tell me you use something that costs more than ten dollars on your hair! It’s too pretty not to use cheap crap!” You hadn’t really meant to call his hair pretty out loud, but it really was pretty, you couldn’t deny it.

He doesn’t mention it though and instead looks up at you bewildered. “Are you tellin’ me you spent more than twenty dollars on all this crap combined?” He asks, completely in awe. “Oh my god Pearlie, please tell me you’re not gonna be breakin’ my bank on fuckin’ shampoo- it’s shampoo!”

The two of you burst out in laughter after a moment and you deemed it best not to tell him how much you spent on hair care quite yet, afraid that he would have an aneurysm if you did. He’s gentlemanly enough to help you carry the suitcase back out to the Jeep.

He even carries it into his daddy’s house for you, and up the stairs where he shows you his bedroom. He tosses the case unceremoniously onto his bed, where it bounces. You look around for a moment, eyebrows raised as you take in the scenery. It was messier than you had imagined, but it smelled so much like him and his damn vape that you couldn’t help but to take a deep breath of air. The room wasn’t too big, and his queen sized bed took up most of the space, the rest of it littered with his clothes on the floor and posters on the wall..you noticed some trophies on a shelf that you would have to ask about later.

“It’s not much, and it’s usually not so messy..” He says, you think he might be a little embarrassed by the red flush of his cheeks. “I’m sorry you have to sleep in here with me, but it’s better than the couch or crashing on the floor in the girls’ room..”

“I don’t mind, Gator..” You say, giving him a little smile as you turn to face him. “It’s a fuckin’ pig stye though.” You laugh and he follows suit, nodding along with you. You had a pretty good idea of what you would be doing to keep yourself busy while Jessica and Maude were at school tomorrow, or until they would come home this afternoon.

The rest of the early afternoon was spent with Karen giving you a run down of the girls’ schedules and how to feed them and dress them. Something about the woman irritated you to your core, maybe it was the way she clearly held nothing but disdain for her step son, or maybe it as the way that she spoke to you like you were stupid and couldn’t possibly be capable of taking care of her children, either way, it made your eye start to twitch the more you thought about it.

You were grateful when Roy seemed to have finally had enough of hanging around after he had dutifully packed their bags into his old chevy and got a little snappy with his wife, who quickly scurried out of the door. He gave you a friendly squeezed of your shoulder, his giant hand engulfing your shoulder, before mentioning something to Gator in hushed tones that seemed to only upset the boy as his voice turned tense and cold and his back stiffened like it did earlier in the day.

The house was quiet once the door shut, creepily quiet once the old Chevy had meandered it’s way out of the gates of the house and down the road of the ranch. You stood in the doorway of the kitchen, not quite sure what to do with yourself as you kept your eyes on your fiance. He’s watching out the windows next to the door, his back muscles still tense. You wondered if he would be upset with you if you asked what his father had said, if you asked if he was okay. You decide against it though. “Gator?” You ask, your voice soft, small and quiet. He hums in response, hands on his hips as he glances back at you. “Shouldn’t we go pick up the girls?” You noticed it was nearing time for school for your own sisters to be out, and while Gator’s went to a private christian school you figured they probably had the same start and out times as your sisters’ school. “It’s almost three..”

“Yeah..” He runs a hand down his face, clearing his throat. “Yeah, let’s get going.”

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