#f(x) jack jack

[chithereader]

playing it cool / aaron hotchner

[credits to the owners of these photos!!]

word count: 1.9k

pairing: aaron hotchner x f!reader

genre: fluff!!!!!!

cw: sickeningly sweet and soft aaron x reader, so much of aaron’s thoughts because we know that man thinks soo much more than he speaks!!

a/n: hiiii this is my third post so far and tbh i was so nervous to post the first two as that was my first time ever posting any of my writings anywhere!! but i’ve been getting so much more love on those than expected and i just really wanted to say thank you so much for all the likes and reblogs <33 i was honestly only expecting less than 10 notes as a newbie and reaching up to 200 is so so so wonderful. and especially for the love of hotch i– ugh!!!!! i already love u all 

The team had worked a straight 5 weeks worth of cases prior, which had warranted Strauss to grant them all a mandatory 3-day rest. This simply meant that for 3 whole days there are no cases, no deadlines, and no new case files. They could come to the office at whatever time they’d like as long as they finished some reports at the end of the day. 

Aaron being Hotch the boss man still aimed to arrive at the office at a reasonable time– 7:30am. To be fair, this is an hour and a half later than when he usually arrives at the office. And in his mind, the earlier he arrives, the more he can get done, and the more he gets done, the earlier he can come home. 

This is the only reason why he is up at 6:00am on a supposed rest day. He did expect that he’d struggle a bit more to drag himself out of bed, knowing you’d be keeping him hostage with limbs that wrap around him in ways he can’t begin to understand, but to his surprise, you weren’t there. 

Dragging his feet across the carpeted floor, his pajama pants hanging low on his hips and white shirt fitting him oh-so-snugly, he tries to find you. He’s rubbing the sleep of his eyes as he peeks his head into your shared bathroom. No sign of you. 

He’s covering his mouth as he yawns when he quietly opens the door to Jack’s bedroom–still no sign of you. Remembering his son has been nursing a stomach bug since yesterday, he opened the door further to check on him. No fever. No chills. No sign of discomfort. 

When he’s sure Jack’s okay, he turns around to go back to find where you went. He even checked the backyard as he passed by a window to see if you’re at your favorite swing reading, that perhaps you just woke up early and wanted to feel the morning sun because you claimed it lightens you. 

He smiles a little to himself as he treads downstairs, finally hearing your soft murmurs as you spoke with someone presumably over the phone. As he neared the kitchen he realized that the person on the line was your colleague and friend Tilly, and that she was on speaker phone making it easy to listen in. 

He slows down his steps as he nears the landing and pauses when he gets behind a wall near the kitchen. He doesn’t know what came over him. He doesn’t usually sneak around to eavesdrop, nor did he ever feel the need to especially when it came to you. You tell him everything, prompted and unprompted. 

But perhaps it was the haze of the morning or the curiosity of what could possibly get you out of bed this early when you’re usually the one snoozing away as he’s getting ready for work– he stayed quiet behind that wall and made it his mission to understand the conversation. 

He clears his mind and strains his ear, going as far as making his breaths slow and far apart. 

He hears Tilly giggling, “Don’t get me wrong, Adam from Finance is really cute but.. isn’t he just a little too serious? He’s always got that frown going on.” 

You sigh a little loudly, obvious that it’s a sigh to humor and not of exasperation, “Tilly, you know I love you, but every day you complain about being single. And every other day there’s a decent guy who you always always find that one flaw in that just crosses them off for you forever.” Tilly lets out a sound that’s a mixture of a laugh and a gasp. 

“That is so not tr–” “Oh, Hugh’s just too clean. And Frederick’s too hard, it’s like- scary. Yes, veiny hands are hot but there’s veiny and too veiny, and Jason was just a double too veiny.” 

Aaron momentarily pauses his listening and looks down at his hands, suddenly conscious where he fit in that category. Factoring in his age, his work, and the action he gets from the field– these all show. He tried thinking of a time you could’ve shown any dislike or disgust towards his hands but all he could think of was that one night when he cupped your face and you leaned towards it more, turning slightly to take his thumb into your mou–

He’s shaken out of his thoughts when he hears Tilly asking about you leaving, “What time are you getting to the office by the way? I just don’t want to get there without you. Adam might ask about that second date and I just need you as my bluff, my beautiful girl.” He makes a mental note to message Jessica before you both get ready for work. 

“Riiiight. Remind me how many guys have I scared off for you now? And how many times have I helped you scare them off? Besides, I can’t go today and I’ve already told Bobby I’m on leave.” 

In a slight surprise and panic Tilly whines, “What?! Why? You’re such a traitor. You know damn well I get so bored without you.” Aaron didn’t even know you were planning on staying home. You hadn’t mentioned anything about it last night which made him even more curious what made you decide. 

He hears your soft laugh, “Don’t be so dramatic. You’ll manage a day without me. I mean you have to– my son caught a stomach bug yesterday so I just want to make sure he’ll recover completely.” 

Aaron can hear Tilly responding, something about soup and warm baths, but his heart has just stopped so he’s not really processing any new words at the moment. 

My son. My son. My son. My son caught a stomach bug. 

He feels lightheaded. His heart kickstarts again, his pulse is ringing in his ear. He can feel his chest pounding to his heart’s beat. The words that rolled off your lips so effortlessly, so mindlessly, echoes in his head. 

Jack may be young but he is smart. So so smart beyond his years. And he has grown to understand what had happened to his mom Haley, but not once has he– and even you allowed Jack to forget who Haley is and how much she loves him. 

Images of you joining in their traditions of honoring and remembering Haley plays in his head in flashes. You helping Jack arrange a bouquet for Haley’s death anniversary. You helping Jack make a card for her birthday. You mixing the paint to get the right shades as Jack paints a portrait of Haley for his Mothers’ Day homework. 

Aaron had told you everything there was to know about Haley and you’ve listened. He knows you adore her. You adore her for the same reasons he adored her. You understood the space Haley had in his life and in Jack’s life, and not once were you ever jealous, immature, or selfish about it. Even though he would’ve completely understood if you were. 

You were nothing but supportive, and understanding, and loving. Even when he didn’t deserve it. Even when you deserved better. Admittedly, there was a point in time when he struggled with coming to terms with falling in love– with you nonetheless. You’re young, ambitious, brilliant, talented, insanely beautiful, and unfairly kind. 

When the two of you had met, this was his profile: divorced with a kid, recovering from trauma that stemmed from being stabbed multiple times in his own home, emotionally unavailable, annoyingly serious and fatally dull– which really makes him wonder what made you fall in love with him in the first place, and even more so what made you stay even when he was bafflingly dense about how you felt about him.  

He didn’t know how long he was standing there, like a deer caught in headlights. Replaying your words and his memories over and over again, slowly coming to the conclusion that you’re absolutely perfect and he’s absolutely gone for you. 

Slowly coming to his senses, Aaron becomes more aware of the silence. The call must have ended while he was having realizations about things. He rounds the corner silently, getting a feel of where you’re facing. Luckily he guesses right, that you’re facing away from him. 

You were rummaging through the fridge– the vegetable drawer if he had to guess, judging by how much you’re slouching and reaching, and the sound of the glass containers you use to prolong their freshness. 

He quickly surveys the scene- your phone is on the counter, beside it is a chopping board with carrots and onions, a carton of chicken broth, Jack’s favorite dinosaur-shaped pasta, and chocolate milk– the one drink you both know can make Jack feel instantly better, happier. 

His heart pinches again. You got up early to make sure Jack had something to eat for breakfast in time for his medicine. You got up early even though you aren’t planning on going to work. You aren’t going to work because you want to stay with Jack. You called Jack your son. 

With so many things running in his head, he stands quietly observing you finding god knows whatever vegetable. Maybe it's the intensity of his stare or the volume of his thoughts, or maybe he started to breathe loudly– but suddenly you knew he was there. He could tell. 

You slowly straightened your back from when you were leaning. Your hands have stopped rummaging through the drawer, and he could see the goosebumps on your legs and shoulders from the way the sunlight hits you through the kitchen window. 

You turn around slowly, as if you were just caught doing something you aren’t supposed to be doing, “I’m so sorry, did I wake you?” grimacing as if it was a crime to be hot and cute and gut-wrenchingly-sweet. 

“No.” His voice is groggy. Deep and rough given that he just woke up minutes ago and hasn’t really used it since. Looking at you through studying eyes, he clears his throat “Uhm, I woke up to get ready for work and you weren’t there.” 

Aaron suddenly feels a little cold. The thin material of his shirt and pajamas doing little to contain what warmth he has left in his body. Or maybe it’s you, maybe his body has sensed that you’re near and is now craving your warmth, making him feel a magnified amount of its absence.

“Oh.. I’m sorry I just wanted to get ahead of cooking so Jack can have soup before he takes his medicine at 8 and since I was also planning to do some work though I’m on leave, it just made sense to get an early start…” You slow your words, noticing how Hotch is studying you tenfold in the moment, as if you were an apparition, “Are you okay? Did you want soup too? I can pack you some before you go?”

His silence makes you panic a little. You can’t really tell if he’s upset about something or if he’s sleepwalking, “Or you can eat here. I mean– you live here, of course you can eat here. I mean like instead of bringing it to the office– not that if you eat here, you can’t bring some anymore.” 

The longer he stays silent, adoring you, the more you scramble to fill the silence, “I’m just– you know you can do whatever you want. You can eat here, there, anywhere. Unless you don’t want soup. I mean we still have leftover steak, I cou–” 

You pause your rambling because you can see a smile starting to form on his face. A real, big smile. Laugh lines and dimples and all, which makes you smile. Realizing how stupid you were sounding and how funny the situation was becoming, you started giggling.

And just as you think he’s about to join the laughter to make fun of you, his smile softens and he says, “Marry me.” 

part 2 here!!!!!

[quimichi]

↳ ❝ [RANDOM CHATS] ¡! ❞ - MDNI A BIT NSFW

↳ Chat: Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3

characters: Riddle, Ace, Deuce, Trey, Cater, Leona, Ruggie & Jack x F!Reader

MY KO-FI

[lovealwayssay]

I would pay an ungodly amount of money for a Supernatural finale where Dean rescues Cas from the Empty and tells him he loves him too, Eileen comes back to be with Sam, and Jack chooses to live with the four of them in the bunker as a happy family.

[librababe99]

Hi Loves! This will be my first time EVER participating in Kinktober and honestly i'm so excited to do this🤭 Below I will be posting my lineup.

❥・All of these stories will be "Character x Reader" and I promise there won't be any use of Y/N.

❥・Female Reader or Gender Neutral Reader will be featured.

❥・ If you'd like, you can comment your choices below and I will tag you OR use this link: CLICK HERE

Logan Howlett x Reader: Knife Play (ft. Claws)

Scott Summers x Reader: Sensory Deprivation

Old Man!Logan x Fem!Reader: Pregnancy kink

Young!Charles Xavier x Fem!Reader: Face sitting

Remy Lebeau x Virgin! Reader: Praise kink

Young!Erik Lensherr x Fem!Reader: Threesome (Ft. Charles)

Hank McCoy x Fem!Reader: Cunnilingus

Wade Wilson x Reader: Dom/Sub, Lingerie

Piotr Rasputin (Colossus) x Reader: Thigh Riding

Miguel O'Hara x Fem!Reader: Breeding

Tony Stark x Fem!Reader: Infidelity

Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader: Breast worship, titty fucking

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader: Period Sex

Loki x Fem! Reader: Seduction, Body Worship, Collaring

Victor Von Doom (RDJs vers.) x Reader: Corruption

Peter Parker x Reader (Andrew Garfield's vers.): Bondage

Johnny Storm x Reader: Wax play, temperature play

Reed Richards x Reader: Sex Pollen

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader: Mirror Sex

Dick Grayson x Fem!Reader: Shower sex, deep throating

Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader: bimbofication

Clark Kent x Reader: Breath play, choking

Hal Jordan x Reader: Drunk / anonymous sex

Billy Butcher x Fem!Reader: Brat Taming

Soldier Boy x Fem!Reader: BDSM, Sadism/masochism

Homelander x Reader: Somnophilia (Sleep sex)

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader: Edging, orgasm denial

Javier Peña x Fem!Reader: Lap dances, Rough sex

Jack Reacher (Alan Ritchson's vers.) x Fem! Reader: Size kink, overstimulation, creampie

Old Man! Logan x Fem! Reader: Food play (ft. Whipped Cream)

Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader: Roleplay, Hunter/Prey

[melancholicstation]

HUSBAND JACK SCHLOSSBERG HEADCANONS 𓍼 𓇢𓆸

taglist: @remotewatch @bloxholden35 @kennediva @h-l-vlovesvintage @absurdlyvintage @chemicalw0rld @fortheloveofjos @kimcrystal123 @astro-vibes-bro @tsloverr-13

might make this into a couple of one-shots??

imagining WIFE!READER as an orion carloto type, who balances modelling and writing, and makes tiktoks in the same vain of alanabananaxox on tiktok (she's been my no.1 tiktoker since 2021) and sotce.

met wife!reader at a runway after party of an up and coming new york indie brand ( sandy liang, khaite, bode etc. )

proposes to you with the blythe doll you had been obsessing over, dressed in a wedding dress and hand-customised by a popular etsy dealer with quite a high rate like this girl on tt

encouraged by jack to do a ‘what’s in my ( miu miu joie leather ) bag’ video on tiktok to help campaign for kamala akin to this video of anne hathaway but with a different vibe.

jack is ultimate embarrassing hard launcher bofy, leaving in all his girlfriends giggles that come from his chaotic antics when filming his videos.

wife!reader loves to slather jack’s face in biologique recherche’s “masque vivant”, he complains that it smells like rotting meat😹😹😹😹😹.

jack would be always on that damn phone during your runway shows, recording each time you pass him by in the catwalk.

would be the absolute opposite of marriage-shy.

unpopular opinion this man would be asking about marriage, a solid 3 months in ( jfk and jackie married in a YEAR )

fucks UP a rotisserie chicken.

forwards you his tweets before and asks if they’re good enough to post.

smells like aesop musk and of herbal deodorant.

wife!reader buys rick owen’s black and white t-shirts and slacks for jack, and jack’s absolutely baffled when he learns the price tag.

love language is buying wife!reader drinks whenever and wherever they are: hot chocolate in central park, home-delivers you a sab benedetto sparkling water because he had a meeting at cipriani downtown, and always orders a polo bar punch for you prior to your arrival to your shared weekly dinner date at the polo bar on 55th st.

instigates a24 marathons on friday nights, much to the dismay of your prior night plans ( you are more of a criterion collection girl and have held a subscription since you were a freshman in college )

( clumsily ) slips lana del rey lyrics into sexting and dirty talk.

husband!jack and wife!reader texts go like this:

jack is horrific at low impact pilates, he needs to be near a body of water.

he wears your prized doublesoul x orion caroloto ‘lamb’ socks around your woodfloored high-rise despite your varied attempts at hiding them from him.

constantly frets over you during society galas, which is quite convenient due to your tempered social anxiety and your forgetful memory of high society etiquette.

immediately brings you to meet the family, for which you were completely unprepared for ( i’m imagining something reminder of that one story of meghan markle meeting princess kate middleton in ripped jeans and bare feet )

jack loves to wear your 100% cotton brandy melville pointelle tanks despite them being comically tiny for his frame.

would have an innocence kink.

he gets intensely flushed when called his proper full name: john bouvier kennedy schlossberg, wife!reader abuses this to the HIGHEST degree!!!

the first time he entered you apartment he was constantly paranoid of breaking anything because your house was littered with ceramics from brooklyn under-ground designers and clay lamb figurines.

he NEEDS his beauty Zzzzzzz or else.

plays with your very expensive westman atelier blushes like a toddler.

sickly devoted to you.

you both want to adopt a lamb despite living in a HIGH-RISE apartment.

sends pics captioned with anaïs nin lewd quotes.

he would think whole foods was stupidly over priced but would purchase his groceries there in spite of his opinions.

has hyperfixations on old-hollywood women which causes you to be snippy at him for exactly 2-3 hours ex. jack’s current hyper fixation on audrey hepburn being his doppelgänger.

wife!reader definitely participated in that egg cracking trend where girls would crack an egg on their boyfriends head.

would love caring for your hair and doing your curly girl hair routine if you had one.

wife!reader does small yet viral shoots for brands like mirror palais, the row, and loewe.

manhandles you ( lovingly ) without even trying.

mans is a chronic diptyque candle lighter.

loves to be coddled and cradled as a grown man…

plays with your van cleef stack before stage when he’s nervous about his speech landing correctly

uses his family connections to get his girl courted by the high-ticket fashion brands: schiaparelli, chanel, dior, yves saint laurent etc.

[simicule]

yeah I know about your CURRENT f/os... but tell me about your exes 👀 was there drama? Or just drifting apart...

[hotchscoffeecup]

banana pancakes

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Reader

Rating: E

Category: Fluff (tooth-rotting)

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: On a Sunday morning, you wake to find Aaron making breakfast in the kitchen. He surprises you with slow dancing to old country music, Jack is cute as all get out, and of course, banana pancakes.

“Jack?” you ask groggily. You prop yourself up on your elbows and note Aaron isn’t in bed beside you. “Hey buddy, is everything ok?” You glance at your phone plugged in on the nightstand where the numbers blink back 8:37AM aka too early on a Sunday.

Jack giggles quietly. “Daddy is being silly in the kitchen.”

Knowing that could mean anything to a six year old, naturally, your brow furrows. Your lips quirk into a half smile as you regard his own happy face. “What do you mean, silly?”

Jack’s little hands fly to his mouth as he stifles another laugh. “I’m going to go play in my room!” And just like that he bounces off of the bad and darts out the door into the hallway.

Now curious, you push the sheets back and slide out of bed, wrapping your arms around yourself as a chill passes through you. Before leaving the room, you pull on the gray cotton robe that falls to your mid-calf and tie it loosely over your sleep shirt and shorts set. As you step into the hallway, the smell of coffee and something baking fills your nostrils. Your stomach rumbles gently in response to the sweet aroma.

Quietly, you make sure way down the hall. When you’re close enough to peer into the kitchen, you lean against the doorway and watch. The stove is along the far wall, so if you’re cooking, you’re turned away from the doorway. He doesn’t see you, not at first.

Dressed only in a white t-shirt and boxers, the apron decorated with images of wine glasses on it contrasts sharply with the plaid pattern of his undergarments. George Strait is playing on the stereo. He gently shakes his hips back and forth as he quietly sings along to the country ballad. As he flips the pancakes over, you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. You bite your thumbnail as you watch him and when he turns around, the stunned look on his face causes you to smile even wider.

“Now how am I supposed to bring you breakfast in bed if you’re not in bed?” he questions, the dark slash of his brow arching as he regards you with warm, brown eyes.

“You can blame the little man,” you reply cheekily. “He woke me up to tell me daddy was being silly in the kitchen.”

Hotch smiles, revealing the left dimple in his cheek. “Oh yeah?” he says, tone playful as he saunters toward you. Stretching his hands out toward the ties on your robe, he takes hold of them and pulls you in toward him. Looping one arm around your waist, he uses the other to swipe at the dial on the stereo. The volume cranks up and he takes your hand in his. Turning in a slow circle, he sways to the music, pulling you along with him.

He presses a kiss to your temple and holds you close as he dances you in small circles around the kitchen. Putting a deep country vibrato into his voice, he begins to hum and sing along against your cheek.

“I cross my heart,” he sings, “and promise to, give all I’ve got to give to make your dreams come true.”

You drop your head back and laugh as he whirls you around in a dramatic arc. “Aaron!” you cry giddily.

He continues to sing. “In all the world, you’ll never find a love as true as mine.”

The acrid smell of something burning starts to singe your nostrils. “Aaron, the pancakes!”

“Oh, let them burn!” he croons.

You playfully slap at his chest before breaking free from his hold. In turn, he slaps you on the ass. You shriek gleefully and he laughs as you dash over to the stove and pull the quickly blackening pancakes off the pan. Fortunately, he has a bowl half full of batter still off to the side alongside a plate of about half a dozen perfectly golden brown pancakes.

“Daddy! Daddy!” The pitter patter of small feet slapping against the linoleum echoes as Jack tumbles into the room. Aaron grabs him around the middle and swoops him into the air.

“Hey buddy!” he greets as he kisses him on the cheek.

“Daddy, it’s our song!”

Aaron quiets for a moment as he listens to the stereo and Jack is right. The track had changed over to another George Straight song, Love Without End, Amen.

As Aaron dances Jack around the kitchen, swinging him high and low and singing lyrics fractured with laughter, you couldn’t help but feel your heart swell with joy.

“Daddies don’t just love their children every now and then, it’s a love without end, amen.”

You couldn’t begin to imagine a more perfect Sunday morning than this.

“It’s a love without end, amen!” Jack sing-shouts as the song comes to a close.

Aaron sets Jack down on the floor and you start to clap and cheer. “What a show!” you exclaim. “Jack, that was amazing!”

He grins sheepishly, “Thank you.” He tacks your name to the end of his thanks as he runs to the kitchen table to climb into his chair and you can’t help but feel all the more grateful in return for how much Jack has welcomed you into his little family with him and his dad.

“I’ll get the pancakes,” Aaron says with a quick peck on your cheek as he scoots past you to pick up the plate.

“I’ll get the coffee!” you say in turn and pull two mugs down from the cabinet. As you fix yours and Aaron’s (black for you and splash of milk and two sugars for him), you make sure to grab a third mug from the cabinet to make Jack a glass of chocolate milk. Drinking out of a mug while you two drank your coffee made him feel like one of the grown ups, after all.

You carefully pile all three mugs into your hands and make your way to your seat at the table. Aaron sets a plate in front of you and Jack and you serve yourself and him two pancakes each.

“Oh! Do we have any—” you start and stop as Aaron places a small bowl of sliced bananas beside your plate.

He eyes you knowingly. “You think after all this time, I’d forget your favorite?”

You cup his cheek in your hand and press a quick kiss to his lips.

“Yuck!” cries Jack as she shoves a forkful of pancakes into his mouth.

“I do love banana pancakes,” you say as you scoop a spoonful onto the fluffy rounds in front of you.

Aaron hugs you from behind before taking his seat at the head of the table. “And I love you more than you love banana pancakes.”

[pedroscurls]

cooking with hugh (one-shot)

summary: hugh gets to see you in action... and he reaps the benefits too. pairing: hugh jackman x fem!reader word count: 2.2k warnings/tags: fluff, implied age gap, apologize in advance if my terminology for twitch streaming is inaccurate, no use of y/n. a/n: so, this was definitely out of my comfort zone, but shout out to this anon for trusting me on writing this. i'm not entirely sure what twitch is, but it seems like it can be an array of things (hence why i did cooking instead of gaming lol) as always, this is purely fictional! i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman.

You unexpectedly meet Hugh at the grocery store. Your eyes were glued to the list in your hand, pushing the cart with the other. It was obvious that you weren’t paying attention until the end of your cart hit the side of a man’s hip. You hear him curse under his breath and turn around to look at you. 

When you look up at him, your eyes widen and your jaw slowly drops. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going.” 

He looks at you and then at your cart filled with groceries, then he smiles. “It’s alright, darling. Looks like you’re feeding an entire family.” He points out, letting out a quiet chuckle. 

“There are actually all for me,” you laugh nervously, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks as you lift your list in the air for him to see. “And I still have more ingredients to get.” 

“All for you? That’s impressive,” he smiles. Then, Hugh walks from the end of your cart until he’s standing closer to you. “Can I see what else you have left?” 

You nod and hand him your list, biting your lower lip. You feel your fingers brush against his and smile to yourself, dropping your eyes. You feel extremely nervous around him. After all, he’s Hugh Jackman. 

“So, I’m seeing here that you might actually need an extra hand,” he tells you after a few moments of reviewing the unchecked boxes on your list. “I mean, we don’t want you going around and bumping into anyone else now, would we sweetheart?”

“I suppose not,” you answer quietly. “But it’s just me and I can manage.”

Hugh chuckles. “I’m offering to help… If you’d let me.” 

“You sure you’re not busy? You seem like you’d be busy.” 

“And why’s that?”

“You’re– Well, you’re Hugh Jackman.”

Hugh smiles. “Does that mean that I’d be a busy man?” 

“Yes,” you answer honestly. “At least I’d assume so.”

“Fair enough,” he nods. “Surprisingly, not busy at all and this has been the best part of my day, so… Humor me and let me help you?”

You narrow your eyes and then look at your cart. You know that you’re going to need help loading this into your car and having Hugh Jackman, the Wolverine, help you out should help immensely. 

“Okay, but no distractions.” 

Hugh grins proudly, hands raised in the air. “Promise, no distractions.”

And ever since then, you and Hugh would meet up once a week at that same grocery store so that he could help you. A trip to the grocery store usually took you about thirty minutes, especially if you were on a time crunch, but ever since Hugh started joining you, you found that you spent almost an hour (and a half on some days) just to get your ingredients for the week. 

You didn’t mind though, Hugh was great company. He made you laugh and it helped that you were extremely attracted to him, despite the obvious age gap. Over time, you start to develop feelings for the older man. There had been moments where maybe you thought the feelings were reciprocated — a lingering touch on your hip when he pulls away from a hug, a gentle kiss on your cheek when he bids you goodbye, and the consistent communication through text or calls whenever you were both apart. 

But neither of you said anything, and you certainly were too afraid to admit your feelings out of fear of rejection. You were just you and Hugh… well, Hugh could have anyone he wanted. 

“So,” Hugh begins, walking alongside you as you push the cart down the aisle. “Am I ever gonna get to see what you do with all this food? I mean, I help you out and you haven’t even offered to cook for me.” 

You look over at him and stop pushing the cart, leaning against it. “I’m sure my food won’t be a match to the food you probably eat on a daily basis.” 

“Do you think I’m royalty?” Hugh laughs. “I am normal too, you know.” 

“Mm, that’s debatable.” You walk away from him to grab some pasta sauce on the top shelf, standing on your toes as you grunt to reach for it. Suddenly, you feel heat radiating from behind you and an arm stretches out to reach for it. 

“Let me help,” Hugh whispers, grabbing the pasta sauce and inadvertently pressing his front against your backside. “You’re so cute, y’know that?” He pulls away and you turn around to look up at him. He’s still in your personal space, inches separating your bodies. 

“I would’ve eventually gotten that,” you tell him, taking the jar of pasta sauce from his grasp. “And I’m better than cute,” you mumble, walking away from him to set the jar in your cart and create some distance between the both of you.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Hugh grins. “Cute is an understatement. Can I say beautiful, then?” 

You narrow your eyes, seeing him walk towards you. You shake your head and then begin walking, hearing him jog after you. “Come on, Hugh. We gotta get this done.” 

Hugh sighs and then rests a hand on your lower back, causing you to stop walking. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep. I just–” 

“It’s fine,” you interrupt. “I know you’re just being nice.” 

Hugh gazes into your eyes, brow furrowing. He knows there’s a significant age gap, but age never really did bother him. You made him smile, made him laugh, and the best part of his week was getting to spend the day with you. It was something he looked forward to every week. “You don’t believe me?” 

“Nope,” you say seriously. “Now, can we finish this trip so that I can show you what I do?” 

That piques his interest. He grins instantly, hand dropping from your lower back. “You’re inviting me over?” 

“Yes,” you laugh. “Don’t look so excited! I don’t want you to get your hopes up. You might be disappointed.” 

“Oh, baby,” Hugh chuckles. “You can never disappoint me.” 

Baby.

He’s let that term slip a few times and every time it does, you feel butterflies in your stomach. It just proves just how big of a crush you have on him. 

You don’t reply because you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the tips of your ears turning red. “We just have a few more things to get, now come on.” 

Hugh grins. “Yes, ma’am. Lead the way.” 

—

You should have cleaned your apartment, should have tidied up, but you hadn’t expected to invite Hugh to come over. Once inside, he helps you set the bags of groceries onto your kitchen island and smiles to himself when he looks around. 

“Cozy,” he tells you, walking out of the kitchen and towards the living room. Hugh looks through the photographs that are hung on the wall and smiles to himself, it’s like he’s getting a glimpse into your life, learning more and more about you. 

He turns around and looks at you, seeing you take out the groceries from the bag and place it on the counter. Hugh smiles to himself and walks over to you, helping you with the other bags of groceries. “Give me a tour later?” 

“Of my small apartment?” You laugh quietly, looking up at him. “Sure, if you’d like, but I still have to stream first.”

“Stream?” Hugh asks, confused.

“Yeah, you know, Twitch?” 

He shakes his head. “I don’t. Old man here, remember?” 

“Ah, that’s right,” you tease. “I gotta spell it out for you, huh?” 

Hugh reaches out and gently pinches your side, hearing you squeak in surprise. “You started it. You called yourself an old man. I’m just running with it.”

“Does me being old bother you?” he asks honestly. 

“Not at all,” you answer. “I like that you’re older.” You stare up at him and smile, leaning over to grab the cutting board. 

Hugh smiles to himself and steps back to see you begin setting up, grabbing your tripod and camera and making sure that you have the same set up as you always do when you start streaming. 

“Okay, what are you doing?” Hugh asks.

“Gotta set up first,” you tell him. “Twitch is a live streaming platform,” you explain, moving easily around him. “Users can watch and interact and the platform is usually known for gamers, but there’s a good handful of people who like to watch me cook.” 

“Oh,” Hugh responds. “Are they really watching you cook or are they–” 

“Stop. Don’t make this dirty.” You cross your arms over your chest, looking up at him. “I have quite the following, so please…” 

“Yeah? Got lots of fans, baby?” he grins. “I mean, I don’t blame them. I’d watch you cook too.”

You roll your eyes and gently smack his chest, eyes still locked with his. “You know, you can leave now,” you tease.

“Okay, I’m sorry. How about I just sit here and watch, make sure the angle on your camera is set up nicely?” He offers, batting his eyes at you slowly. “I promise, no distractions.” 

“Fine, no distractions or else you’re not eating what I’m gonna make.” 

“Okay, okay,” Hugh grins. “I’ll be good for you,” he winks. 

About half an hour later, you begin streaming and act like Hugh isn’t sitting on the other side of the camera. Every now and then, you gaze up at him and he’s smiling so sweetly in your direction. The aroma of the steak you’re making fills your entire apartment, sizzling on the pan. 

You look at the screen of your laptop, seeing the comments roll in and you smile, looking directly into the camera. “Okay, I think it’s time for some music. You all know how I love to dance and cook.” you turn around and wash your hands in the sink, drying it off and turning on some music from the bluetooth speaker resting on your counter. 

Hugh can’t stop smiling and when you start swaying your hips, his eyes linger on your hips. He blushes immediately when you catch him staring at you. You bite your lower lip and then gaze back down at what you’re cooking. 

Almost an hour later and you’re plating the food, two plates instead of one in front of you. You reach over to touch your laptop, pressing a few keys and Hugh thinks you’re done, thinks that your stream has ended. So, he walks over to you, fully in view of the camera as he leans against the counter of your island.

“God, this smells delicious,” he grins. 

“Hugh…”

“See, I told you I wouldn’t be a distraction.” Hugh then looks down at the food and inhales deeply, letting out a low groan. “I’m thinking I should come over often.” He looks down at you and smiles as he hooks a finger under your chin to lift your gaze up at him. “Or maybe next time I cook you dinner.”

“Hugh,” you repeat, clearing your throat. Your eyes shift to the screen of your laptop, seeing the comments just continue to roll in at record speed. 

“Yeah, baby?” 

“I’m still live,” you whisper, looking into his eyes. 

Hugh’s own eyes widen in realization, slowly turning to the camera and then back down at the screen of your laptop. “Oh fuck,” he mumbles. “And everyone just heard… just saw… Well, shit.”

“I’m sorry. I can–”

“No going back now, I suppose.” Hugh takes a closer step to you, hand dropping from your chin to your hip. “Might as well give ‘em something to tune into.”

“Hey! My cooking is what they tune into.”

“And your dancing,” he winks. 

“Hugh, we’re still–”

“I know,” he whispers. “Listen, I like you a whole lot.”

“You know they can hear us, right?” 

Hugh chuckles and then turns to face the camera, the confidence of being in the front of the camera shining through. “Thank you for joining us this evening. Stay tuned for next week to see what she’ll make. For now, we’ll see you all later.” 

You take his cue and reach over to turn off the live stream. Once you’re sure that you’re no longer live for your thousands of followers, Hugh leans in and cups your cheek, lips inches from you.

“I was serious about what I said,” he whispers, breath fanning across your lips. "I like you, a whole lot actually."

“You’re just being nice,” you repeat from earlier. 

“You don’t believe me?” he asks again.

“Nope.”

“Well then, let me show you just how much I like you, baby.” Then, he closes the distance and presses his lips firmly against yours.

---

forever taglist: @haytchee @wolverigrl

[captain-camille]

_𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞_

‣ Jack Sparrow x f!reader

‣ As a young woman of noble blood, society is a golden cage. There is no mention of you unless the subject is marriage or manners while your trip to Port Royal has become a rescue maneuver. One faithful night aboard the Dauntless you finally snap. And meet the captive Captain Jack Sparrow...

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 18+ language, old society rules, emotional chaos, very light angst ‣ 3,4k words

Your dress weighed heavy on your shoulders, the corset strangled your lungs to a delicate point where you began to feel dizzy.

Silver cutlery laid untouched next to your empty plate. The hunger had long passed. 

Either way was it impossible to properly eat with this torture device crushing your ribs. You would fetch a banana later.

“Miss Sheffield“ Lord Somerset hardly drew your attention while he adjusted his white wig “I find myself greatly invested in the many stories of your brother. They're indeed impressive, are they not?“.

It took nerves to hinder your eyes from rolling.

Instead, you gave him an appreciative but short nod. There was bitter sarcasm within the subtlety of your gesture.

Another man's head, adorned with a teal hat with feathers, turned towards you. Father.

“They are, clearly“. You verbally lend weight to your faux-assent as your father's stern gaze fixed on your face.

You suspected him pleased now.

However, his interest in you promptly vanished and a song of praise of someone else continued to fall from his pale lips.

Sweet, boisterous praise for your great brother, of course. 

You were sick of it but with time had begun to see it as an opportunity to reign over your own life as freely as possible.

For as long as possible.

Every eye and word was on your brother while you, the sister of the new Governor of Nassau and member of the Privy Council, were neigh invisible.

And still you could never leave the shiny prison that was the English noble society. Like living in a nightmare that had occasional sunlight in it but was full of madness anyway.

As the men's triumphant laughter echoed across the room, you pictured how Davy Jones' Locker would be a better place to bide your time.

Or maybe you should run away and live a seamstress' life. Alternatively, a barmaid.

In the corner of your vision you saw Norrington slightly leaning over to you. The new Commodore stationed in Port Royal, as he was.

“You look fabulous tonight, Miss“ he cooed, voice low.

His blue gaze rested on the glittering necklace you wore. A collective of silver, sapphires and pearls Lord Somerset had gifted you upon boarding the Dauntless.

Or perhaps Norrington's gaze laid on your cleavage but if so, he concealed it well.

He had to. Hell would come upon him.

You flashed him a polite smile and a demure “Thank you, Commodore“ before your eyes wandered off to the sea that was painted in the colors of a tropical sunset.

The windows were small but still incapable to diminish the glimmer. It went straight to your heart...

“Since you are a young woman, too-“ the man continued, hoisting a chalice to his lips. Beneath the table, your hand balled in a fist.

It did little to soothe your nerves, though.

“-I wondered whether you would think Elizabeth liked such jewelry as, um, a wedding gift?“ his smooth voice asked but the hesitant tone betrayed him.

You had long seen it in his eyes that Norrington's desires to marry Swann's daughter weren't as honest as he tried to make it seem.

Just as Elizabeth struggled to let go of the young blacksmith Will Turner she was currently trying to rescue.

Just fellow souls lost in this noble dilemma, you almost chuckled to yourself.

Luckily, you were quick enough to bridle any inner jests and looked back in Norrington's eyes.

“I’m most certain she would be delighted. However, it occurred to me that Miss Swann prefers silver to gold.“ you advised him before he got dragged back into a naval discussion with the men. 

Not even thanks were left for your input.

Once again your brother's name was thrown around like a cricket ball. 

The urge to just leave this charade of a dinner grew stronger while darkness began to fall upon the majestic Dauntless.

Candle light reflected in the men’s white and grey wigs like it would in the feathers of doltish pigeons.

Nearly scoffing, the focus of your eyes blurred.

Thoughts wandered off to the small bits of information you had grasped throughout the last two days; a business trip to Port Royal had turned into quite an amusing rescue maneuver as Norrington spotted the smoke signal Elizabeth was sending from a lonely island. 

She was brought onto the ship along with a mysterious pirate who turned out to be none other than the notorious Captain Jack Sparrow.

Lord, he seemed so different to the men you were used to. So interesting…

“Yn, the Lord's question was, would you be his companion on a visit to your brother?“ The raspy voice of your father suddenly cut through your thoughts like a sharp knife. 

You cleared your throat, hiding a muttered “god, no“ along the cough.

No, you simply couldn’t do this any longer tonight.

Tomorrow morning the misery would begin anew and the nights were too short anyway.

Dinner was over for you, you decided and shot up, heading towards the door. 

“Young Miss, where do you think you are going?“ your father called across the room, causing you to spin and face him along with everyone else seated on the grand table.

An unreadable expression settled on your face, lips moving on behalf of your temper. 

“Father, I do believe you won’t miss me much while conversing solely about my brother“. 

Norrington let out a shaky breath, his head turning to expect your father’s answer. Obviously, he was used to Elizabeth's docile manners.

The grey wig beneath Lord Sheffield's hat shifted slightly as he cocked his head.

He looked ridiculous. 

“Then go, yn. I do not have the time nor the patience for your behavior right now“ he sighed, waving his hand in an enervated gesture of dismissal “Check on Miss Swann when you pass by“.

The stingy sensation of the corset fighting your big breaths vexed you, along with your father's aloof attitude.

Nevertheless, he granted you exactly what you wanted; to leave and mind your own business.

A business that had preferably sparsely to do with these men.

“Thank you, sir. I will“ you curled your lips, forcing a hasty smile before your knees bent in a curtsy. “Lord Somerset, thank you again for the generous gift. Commodore“.

The Lord stood up with his chest puffed, trying to address you. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Sheffield. I wish you a good-“  

But the rest of his irrelevant set-phrase was cut off by the door closing behind your back. It snapped shut with a soft rock of the Dauntless.

As if she felt sorry for you.

Taking a big breath of the fresh sea breeze your tongue finally spoke some truth. “Damn you, Somerset“.

It felt good, even if it did little to improve your situation.

You knew you had to get away from the cabins or else your words of pent-up frustration would eventually find them.

Maybe you would find solace on the quarterdeck instead?

As you marched up the stairs with a grimace on your face from how impractical the heavy dress was, a young maid brushed past you with filled wineglasses on a silver tray. 

She smiled with respect, but could barely hide her excited look at the luxurious necklace.

Her soft lips parted when she spoke up in awe “If I may, Baron Somerset really is doting upon you, Miss“.

At her comment, the matching earrings with the similarly cut sapphires began to itch.

“So it seems“ you answered flatly, still trying your best not to let it all out on the innocent girl. 

“I happen to have overheard him talking about how beautiful your children would be“ she added with enthusiasm, unaware of your aversion to said nobleman.

You felt your gut twist and tighten at the vision alone. 

Children with this man? No.

On the brink of screaming or crying, your hand flew up to grab one of the glasses.

“Did he now?“ You hoisted it and bathed your upper lip in the sweet taste of Portuguese wine “Golden me“. 

Hearing her colleague call for her, the maid quickly curtsied and made her way down to the main cabin.

You sighed heavily, taking another sip.

Up on the spacious quarterdeck you wasted no time, set the glass down on a random barrel and began to take off your earrings. 

They were burning on your skin now.

Anger, chagrin and despair rioted in your veins like a hurricane.

So untamed, you didn’t even notice the man at the helm observing your actions through curious eyes.

“To hell-“ you shouted, kicking your right foot so that your shoe flew overboard in a wide arc “with you, father“ the other shoe followed suit.

“And Somerset“ you tossed one earring into the black sea, holding the other one while you unhooked the expensive necklace.

You didn’t hesitate a second to proceed with this macabre yet somehow weirdly freeing act of rebellion.

With your right arm outstretched, jewelry in your hands, you stood at the ship’s railing, wind in your face.

“And to the depths with this society of hypocrites and it's stupid rules“ your now hoarse voice exclaimed bitterly before your tossing arm got stopped mid way. 

What?

Twisting on your stocking feet, you ended up only inches away from Jack Sparrow’s face who was grinning at you with a pleased sparkle in his dark eyes.

You didn't dare to breathe, mouth agape.

He was still holding onto your arm even though you had lowered it in a mixture of shock and awe.

“Not good. Ye wouldn't wanna be doin' that, lassie“ the pirate purred, gold teeth adding to the captivating shine of his eyes.

Since the Navy took him prisoner, you had never spoken to him. Only eves-dropped when he had persuaded Norrington as if it was easy.

And now you could feel his breath fan across your face, the scent of the sea and rum intoxicating your brain.

Slowly, he unwrapped and lifted his fingers off your arm. One by one like a fan.

“Why not? You cannot stop me“ you eventually found your courage again and yanked your arm away. 

The man scrunched his brows, lips closing. The many trinkets in his dreadlocks clinked as Sparrow cocked his head.

Your eyes were slaves to his eccentric mimic for a little while before you finally got to step back.

His presence somehow calmed you down, brought your nerves to a halt. All the way to the point where you remembered your manners.

“My apologies, Mister Sparrow. I didn’t mean to-“ you began to apologize for the snappy behavior but he interjected with a finger pointing at you.

“Never be sorry for disobeying rules that aren't worth following, luv“.

Irritated by the unexpectedly wise words, you found yourself at a loss for an answer.

This man was a real pirate after all. The closest thing to an anarchical life there was. 

Your heart pumped awe through your veins that began to pacify the storm within. 

Features dropping from trained, polite distance to honest distress, your gaze darted down to the jewelry in your hand. It was worth at least as much as your entire collection of summer gowns. 

The blue stones seemed somewhat black tonight.

As grim as your future. With Somerset. Or any other noble, dim-witted aristocrat. 

The pirate just stood and watched the tragic poem being written all over your beautiful face. His silence allowed the gears in your mind to shift.

Then, you seemed put.

“What even are you doing at the helm, Sparrow?“ You asked to avoid any potential questions when you mindlessly chucked the bundle of jewelry to him.

He grinned again as an audible clink and clatter signaled you that he had caught it.

You were sure that Sparrow had a better use for it than you did. Whatever it may be.

Admittedly, you would have just thrown it overboard or locked it away in a random jewel casket for eternity.

A husky gravel met your ears when he cleared his throat after sinking the necklace deep into the inside pocket of his brown jacket.

It was as if he knew you didn't have any expectation of thanks or desire for inquiring about your deed.

“Isla de la Muerta can only be found by those who already know where it is-“.

Slow steps of heavy boots on wooden tiles neared you from your left.

“And rumors have it me, meself and I have a heading Norrington doesn’t, savvy?“ Sparrow slurred, snapping open a compass as he leaned his back against the railing next to you.

With your eyes raking over the dusk ocean, you couldn’t help but risk a peak over to his hands.

You grimaced. The compass obviously didn’t point north.

Was he tricking the Commodore?

Suddenly, Jack chuckled, clearly having seen your expression.

“Nah... tale for another night“ he simply stated closing the small, brown box again.

His intense gaze crawled all over your side profile and pinned updo. “Tell me somethin’ about ye, Missy. Plagued by those wig-suckers, eh?“ 

You gave a snort of laughter, enjoying his unfiltered way of addressing the men you were used to calling 'Lord', 'Governor' or 'Commodore'.

“You know exactly who I am. Do not call me Missy“ you snapped, biting down a playful smile no one had ever elicited as easily as the foreign pirate did.

Perhaps it should worry you but it didn’t in the slightest. 

Jack arched his figure to lean back more and study your edged expression from the front. You tried to shoot him an unfazed look but the pirate saw right through it and smiled widely. 

How he could read you so emphatically was far beyond what you were used to from men. It confused you. 

Just as it puzzled Jack that your behaviour was so devoid of any of the hospitality and judgement he had come to expect from your class.

It only drew the both of you deeper into whatever this conversation would become.

“Apologies, me bad. Miss Sheffield“ his deep voice cooed, finally cracking your surface and putting a soft blush on your cheeks.

“It never occurred to me that Pirates can be this charming“ you snickered with a hint of irony, eyes resting on Sparrow’s unique features for a moment.

His tanned skin was reflecting the flickering light of oil lamps. Sparrow was a handsome man, you realized.

Effortlessly and in tune with the ship's rocking, the man pushed off the railing to trail behind you.

“I always expected Pirates to be more- rogue, I suppose“ you mused, more to yourself.

Sparrow tsk'ed but he didn't seem hurt.

Your head cocked when you felt his hot breath close to the nape of your neck.

“A Shilling that I can alter your outlook on Pirates all by me onesies, eh?“ His comment was nonchalant and smug but in a swinging way.

This man had nerves. 

“Didn't I just give you a collier worth far more than one Shilling?“ you asked rhetorically, amplifying the perky tone.

The pirate hummed, as if contemplating. “Alright, then. Consider your debt paid“.

It was utterly refreshing to converse so freely without any rules or boundaries. You grew fond of it with every passing second. 

When Sparrow didn’t re-appear on your other side, you turned around to spot him chugging down the wine you had abandoned in your rage.

“Sorry, it’s no rum but-“

“-good. That’s good“ he complimented the red liquid, analyzing the ornate chalice through narrowed eyes before he sat it back down.

Carefully, with his pinky stretched out with decorum.

You caught yourself giggling but promptly covered your mouth with a palm. Habits. 

“So, Miss Sheffield...“ the pirate urged you, swaggering closer until he stood by your side again. His elbows were quickly propped on the reddish railing.

“Pray tell“.

You sighed. However, the will to empty your heart was unbreakable. 

It was easier when your gaze found shelter in the darkness of the Caribbean night but Sparrow’s stare lingered on you nonetheless. 

“I- I feel like- No, I am trapped. Trapped in a golden cage with only dull bumbles who want to possess women of standing as if they were accessories for their prevalence-striven plans“ you began to complain, your words gaining speed and intensity throughout the sentence. 

Honest pity flashed behind the pirate's charcoal outlined eyes.

The man had never thought he was capable of pitying those who were born with a silver spoon in their mouths.

And still, there he stood, stricken by the pain in your melodic voice.

You gasped for air, your mind wanting to go on but your throat began to burn on the verge of crying.

“I must behave according to the rules of society, no matter what it is I truly desire. All the poisoned praise goes to my brother while I am only of importance when the subject of my marriage is discussed“.

“Ye brother be the new Governor of Nassau?“ Sparrow eventually asked, his gaze sliding down to where your nails were nervously scratching lines into the wooden railing.

You couldn’t help but scoff in annoyance of his title. “Yes, that be him“. 

The man next to you shrugged his shoulders, the trinkets and charms once again clinking. You would love to find out where he got each of them from.

“I could, in fact, sack Nassau port for ye as soon as I rip me Pearl from Barbossa’s slimy, old hands“ a tad of disgust infused his bold words at the foreign name.

“Jus' a humble offer. What ye say, lassie?“. 

Sparrow was trying to cheer you up.

A small smile began to reign over your lips again, toes curling. “That would only get you killed, fierce pirate“ you noted, trying to sound as judicious and rational as possible.

Instead, he grinned even broader and spread his arms in an eccentric, self-presenting pose. “I’m Captain Jack Sparrow, luv“ he declared as if it was self-explanatory.

For the first time in a while the sea breeze caught and carried your sincere laughter.

Sparrow’s braided goatee twitched as he found himself biting his lip at the pretty sound and look.

You were a stunning woman in noble clothes with noble blood in your veins but with a spirit as wild and ravenous as his own.

You enthralled him.

“Bring this to my daughter. She shall eat, at least. The Commodore risks too much by rescuing young Turner, he cannot afford to see his fiancé unwell“ Governor Swann’s order suddenly boomed across the main deck, followed by hasty steps of a maid.

Instinctively, Sparrow snaked his hand around your shoulder, across your chest and pulled you back with him.

Out of sight.

His rough hand on your mouth muffled a shrill cry just enough. 

“They thinkin’ yer asleep, eh, Miss Sheffield?“ His voice was lowered, almost just a husk and yet it was filled with this mischievous, flirtatious tone.

God, this man sent shivers down your spine like no other. 

But he was still a lawless pirate.

A prisoner, even.

Suddenly, whyever, the gravity of your situation and the futility of tonight's zeal made you feel how cold and wet the floor was without shoes.

Brown dreadlocks pressed against the back of your head irrevocably disheveled your updo. 

“Asleep, as I should be...“ you muttered, infused with a hint of re-surfacing anger and despair.

You wriggled yourself out of his protective grasp. The pirate's brow was raised, eyes narrowed on your face.

There was a haze of danger and waywardness about Jack Sparrow that made you question your own courage and spirit. 

“Why did I even tell you all that in the first place?“ you exclaimed, hands thrown up. Slowly stepping away from him, you felt all the emotions crushing your mind.

“You most likely do not care, neither do I profit by wailing. It doesn’t bear contemplating...“.

Sparrow wrapped his right hand back around the handle of the helm, looking rather unfazed by the confusion that was spreading in your system like the Portuguese wine in his own. 

Heavy silence and the occasional laughter from the men in the Captain’s cabin mingled with the soft splash of sea water. 

Your feelings were now as erratic as the rhythm of the crashing waves.

“Look 'ere, luv“.

Your gaze was just about to turn from pleading to the usual bored emptiness as you saw his free hand wander down to his leather belt.

A smirk adorned his bearded face when skilled fingers rapidly detached the compass and threw it over to you.

Stumbling slightly as the ship rocked, you caught the brown box before it could hit the ground.

You heard Sparrow mutter a muted “Thank god“ that made you want to snap at him but the gesture was too interesting not to query.

Why would he think you needed a compass?

Fluster painted your features when you met his weirdly satisfied expression.

“Aren’t you Captain Jack Sparrow? Don’t you need a compass for... that?“ You asked with less challenge in your tone than initially planned.

He chuckled beautifully, shaking his head with eyes closed.

“What?“ You probed when his dark gaze began to rise up from the floor, along your figure.

“I may be without me compass but not without heading and a plan“ the pirate finally explained, taking another step closer to the helm “You, contrastingly and tragically, lack both“. 

Your arms came up and crossed defensively in front of your chest.

But his words and the tight corset made you drop them again rather quickly. 

He was right. You had been lamenting about your situation barely three minutes ago.

“So? What exactly is your compass going to change about that, Sparrow?“.

You peered down at the inconspicuous looking box.

“Everythin'.“ Sparrow stated with a touch of mystery. “Listen what ye heart wants and the compass is gonna give ye a heading, savvy?“.

A big part of you wanted to believe what this infuriatingly interesting man promised while another voice was whispering to you how it was literal magic he was implying.

Magic. 

With a hesitant gesture of offering it back to him, you hoped to find out which voice to listen to.

“But you would want it back, right? It is yours after all“ you commented your action with genuine concern and a small smile.

Plus, the fear that Norrington would kill Jack if he couldn’t find the Isla without his compass. 

Captured by the pirate for one last time, you watched his gold teeth flash in a wide grin, his tattooed hand spreading on his chest as a sign of integrity.

He was being honest, you felt it.

“I will be gettin’ it back, luv. Don't ye worry“. 

Before you creeped down the stairs and eventually headed for your cabin to ponder on your heart's desires, the last you saw of Captain Jack Sparrow was a charming wink. 

The last for now, at least.

♡ thank you so much for reading my very first POTC fic ever ♡

𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐮𝐩 𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐲𝐨 𝐡𝐨

@mochie85 @holdmytesseract @socksracoon10 @goldencherriess @chronicallybubbly @kcd15 @always-on-hiatus

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Pressing

Jack Daniels x F!Reader, dude ranch AU

A Palomino oneshot, but can be read on its own

{ Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E

Summary: Jack marks you as his in an unexpected way.

Warnings: PWP, Jack's belt leaves an impression on reader's skin, unintentional branding, unprotected sex, long-distance relationship, desperate and feral cowboy, no physical descriptions of Reader, very lightly edited, written as part of the Palomino universe, set after the end of the series, but can be read as a oneshot on its own

Word count: 1.4k

Notes: This little story came from an ask sent in by 🐴 anon in December 2022, which I have long lost, about a song that mentions a guy’s belt buckle leaving marks on his girlfriend's inner thigh while fucking. Naturally, they thought of Jack’s belt. 🐴 anon, if you’re still here, thank you for the inspo and for your patience ❤️

Also thank you to @lola-lola-lola for getting me horn knee about our cowboy again 😘 Writing Palomino smut first thing in the year was not on my 2024 bingo card, and I’m not mad about it!

Cutest dividers by @firefly-graphics.

It’s been two and a half months. Week after wretched week of phone calls on stolen time. Day after day of aching to reach through the phone screen and the distance between you to touch him.

It’s hard being hundreds and hundreds of miles apart. It’s even harder on weeks when he’s in the mountains with no reception. Harder to find time to call when you have to work late and he has to get up at dawn.

But you endure it all - for days like this. 

It’s a rare weekend off in the high season, with Teak pulling back-to-back pack trips to cover for him, joking that he can’t take all his sighing and pining for his Darlin’ anymore.

Jack takes the last flight out on Friday night, arriving first thing on Saturday morning, before the city - or you - wake up. You’re half-buried under the duvet when the jingle of the key in the door jolts you from shallow slumber.

On unsteady feet, you wobble out into the hallway, crashing into the walls as you go, balance off-kilter from sleep.

But it’s ok - he catches you, all white t-shirt and tight blue jeans. Incognito, if you will, in casual sneakers, but the cowboy hat is on as always. You knock it off post-haste, burying your face in the side of his neck in a desperate need for contact, his warmth seeping into your skin and wrapping you up in the deepest of comforts.

His hair is longer than he usually keeps it, and your fingers twist into his tousled curls when you pull back, taking in the stubble on his sharp jawline, and his tired eyes. But before you can say anything, he leans in and slants his lips over yours.

The taste of airplane coffee is sharp and bitter on his tongue as he kisses you deep and messy. You startle when he suddenly slams the door shut behind him, not realising it was still open, and his beat-up weekend bag is tossed carelessly behind him somewhere in the doorway. 

The legs of the kitchen table scrape jarringly against the floor as he crowds you onto it, big hands cupping your ass and pulling you against his straining erection through his jeans.

‘Fuck, it’s been too long, darlin’.’ His voice is gravelly from an apparently sleepless overnight flight, and hearing his voice finally on the shell of your ear has you whimpering needily.

‘Can’t wait any more,’ he growls, desperation thick in his voice.

With a flick of his wrists, he shucks off your ratty sleep shirt, eyes hooded as he gazes down at your tits, like he can’t believe he’s actually touching you. Cupping them, soft and heavy, with reverent, rope-worn palms, he sucks one nipple after the other between his lips, making you squirm against him and leak wet and sticky between your thighs.

Strong hands hold you in place easily as you buck, the scrape of his moustache almost painful on your over-sensitive skin, nerve endings on fire after being deprived for long weeks. 

Too impatient to wait, you tug your pyjamas shorts down your hips and kick them off clumsily, panties tangled in your damp folds as you writhe under him. 

You feel the breath catch in his broad chest at the peek of your pussy, a rapidly growing damp spot darkening your cotton underwear. Hooking his thumb under the fabric, he tugs it unceremoniously to the side, baring you to him. 

‘Look at all this,’ he marvels, tracing the fleshy pad of his thumb through your folds, making you arch clean off the table. ‘So wet for me and you’ve barely woken up.’

‘Been thinking about you the while night,’ you admit, hips twitching as you chase his touch. ‘Couldn’t sleep.’

‘Did you touch yourself, darlin’?’

You shake your head vehemently. ‘No. Wanted your fingers. Your cock.’

His nostrils flare at your answer, unabashedly possessive in the way he looms over you. 

‘Good girl,’ he murmurs into your throat, nosing the side of your neck while thick fingers thrum against your clit. ‘I was so hard for you the whole fuckin’ flight.’ 

As if to prove it to you - not that you need it - he rolls his hips into your inner thigh, the hard bulge undeniable.

You mewl, hooking your ankles around his waist. ‘Fuck me now, Jack - please.’

There’s a wordless fumble for the solid sterling flask bottle of his belt buckle, his usual level-headed composure nowhere to be found as he pushes down his jeans with shaking hands, just enough to pull his cock out of its denim confines - 

And then he thrusts home inside you.

After months of only your fingers, it’s a stretch. But what a delicious stretch it is.

You feel him throb deep inside you, feel the thunder of a pained groan in his chest, pressed up against yours. Your cunt is all slick and give to his determined strokes as he begins to move. 

There’s no finesse, hardly any awareness, when he fucks frantically into you. His solid weight pins you to the table, and it rattles precariously under your back.

Your legs are splayed obscenely wide and bent at the knees while Jack pounds into your wet heat, eyes wild and mouth hanging open, watching your tits bounce as you take him, your nails digging into the cotton of his white t-shirt. He never did take off your panties, and the fabric rubs your clit just so with every one of his thrusts, rapidly sending you to the edge.

In the back of your mind, you’re aware of the coarse scrape of his jeans against your inner thighs, and something digs hard into the tender skin, the repeated motion dulling the sensation to an almost numb pressure. 

When you cum, you’re crying out before your head catches up, your body convulsing with blind bliss as your pussy clenches around him in a hot rush. The blood pounding in your ears is drowned out by your chants of his name, and then his hips start to stutter and his whole body tenses, frantic eyes on yours as he teeters on the edge. 

‘Where, darlin’?’

‘Inside me.’

The words have barely left you and he’s coming, broken pants against your lips as he comes and comes and comes - spilling inside you, filling you to the brim until he’s empty, turned inside out.

Slumped, boneless on top of you, humid pants pressed into your shoulder, his fingers tangle with yours, squeezing as if to let you know that he’s here.

You almost doze off, the gradually slowing rise and fall of the cowboy’s broad chest a comforting anchor, when he rouses you with gentle lips along your jaw. You giggle, feeling him softening and sliding out of you, making a mess of your kitchen table. 

‘Mornin’ darlin’,’ he says somewhat belatedly, warm eyes crinkling as he smiles at you.

‘Morning,’ you grin back, and when he shifts, you wince at the ache in your joints from being pinned to one spot for this very vigorous wake up call. His hands smooth over your legs in apology, and you jump when his fingertips brush over somewhere at the juncture of your upper thigh that is surprisingly sore.

‘What’s that?’ you ask, puzzled.

Jack doesn’t answer, curiously quiet. You look down to where he’s bracketed between your legs, watching him trace his index finger over the unmistakable imprint of his distinct belt buckle on the inside of your thigh, where it’s been digging into your skin the whole time. 

He glances at you. ‘I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?’

‘No, you didn’t,’ you give him a knowing grin. ‘And are you really sorry, cowboy?’

He doesn’t even have the decency to look sheepish. Gently pinching your swollen folds together, he groans when a milky bead of his cum dribbles out of you, running down the inside of your leg and smearing onto the flask-shaped impression.

‘Ain’t sorry about somethin’ that looks this good on you, darlin’.’

‘Could’ve asked me before you branded me, you know,’ you half-joke, running your own finger along the deep lines carved into your skin, for now.

‘Beggin’ your pardon, I tend to forget my manners when I’m balls deep in a pussy as sweet as yours,’ he retorts, one eyebrow arching when he feels you shiver at his words.

You huff in jest, ‘Doesn’t sound like much of an apology if you asked me.’

‘Whatcha want, darlin’? Me on my hands and knees for you?’

Heat flashes under your skin, from your cheeks down to your toes, and Jack’s eyes darken as his tongue wets his bottom lip. ‘Alright. I hear you loud and clear, ma’am.’

Slowly, he sinks onto his knees in front of you, his joints creaking endearingly as he goes, and you can’t help but tease, ‘Easy there, cowboy.’

The wicked tip of his tongue peeks out, and you bite your lip in a moan when it cleverly traces the outline of the belt buckle on your skin, ending in a playful nip that pulls a gasp from you.

With an unapologetically smug grin, Jack winks. ‘I’m only just gettin’ started, darlin’.’

Note: Thank you for reading ❤️ I’ve missed these two, and if you’re new to Palomino, I hope you’ll give the series a chance!

[chithereader]

losing my cool / aaron hotchner

part 2 to playing it cool !!! hope you like it word count: 1.6k pairing: aaron hotchner x f!reader genre: angst at first, but fluff!!!!!! cw: more sickeningly sweet and soft aaron x reader, mentions of insecurities

The smile on Aaron’s face slowly fades as he takes in your frozen stance. You’re staring at him like he just shot you in the back and worry starts to fill him, “Honey..?” waving his hand in front of your face, hoping it would be enough to break you out of your stupor. 

 “Hello?” Still waving his hand in your face, your eyes darted to his. Your body is in a state of shock– in your mind, there’s a tiny version of you desperately digging her way out of a landslide of disbelief. Waves and waves of doubts and insecurities hindering you from processing what is happening. 

Aaron watches as your mouth moves with barely any sound coming out. Like a fish out of water, you’re scrambling, “W-what?” That’s… a bit too shaky to be good. 

He pauses to think. The doubts are starting to creep up on him. 

Maybe he was too rash with his question. 

Maybe that wasn’t the best way to spring it on you. 

Maybe he should have waited for a better time.

Maybe he should have planned something. 

Maybe she isn’t ready.

Maybe she just doesn’t want to marry me. 

He tries hard to swallow all these dark thoughts, clearing his throat to fake the confidence that’s slowly diminishing, “I said, ‘Marry me.’” After he says those words again he stills, hoping that this time he’ll get an answer. And that.. it would be the answer he so badly wants. 

But time slows down and his heart soon follows as he watches tears start to pool in your eyes. You’re shaking your head– they’re tiny shakes and you look panicked. This isn’t good. Not good at all. 

He really wasn’t expecting this. It never occurred to him you’d say no. Or ..not yes. Aaron’s mind is running a million miles per hour. He doesn’t know what to do, or say. He barely even knows how he feels. And so he defaults to doing the one thing he does best (as a prosecutor at least): object. 

This is triggered by your movement. You move around him, leaving the kitchen towards your living room. Your goal was to sit on the couch, craving some stability as your legs get weaker the more you’re processing what was asked, how you reacted, and how it could be coming across. 

But Aaron’s legs are longer than yours. Before you even reach the couch, he’s holding your arm firmly and gently at the same time. He’s got that furrow in his brows that makes him look stern, but his eyes betray him as you can clearly see the worry in them. 

“Well yes!” he says in disagreement. He doesn’t understand why you haven’t said yes, and as much as he isn’t the kind of man to ever force a lady into anything, a part of him is scared of what he’ll hear if he asks you why you’re not saying yes. 

Though instead of allowing that fear to paralyze him, he allows it to control him. To bear its face because the softer, more rational part of him is hiding. 

You’re avoiding his gaze, crossing your arms– you’re turning away from him. “No- Aaron, you– I don– I ca–” 

You know he’s studying you. You can feel his eyes roaming your face, your neck, your body. He’s taking in everything he can because you’ve given him absolutely nothing so far. And oh how you wish you could voice it all out. 

You just wish it was easy to say I don’t think I’m enough for you. What if you realize one day that I’m not good enough? Are you sure? Are you sure about this? About me? What if you start to want someone smarter? Prettier? Hotter? What if you want someone who is as accomplished or important as you? What if you get bored of me? What if– 

You’re broken out of your thoughts when he suddenly straightens. He looks as if he’s realized something and the next thing you know you’re hit by a gust of wind because he’s running up the stairs. 

Within an instant you run after him. A dozen scenarios are running through your head, the worst being Aaron packing your things because he’s going to ask you to leave. Your heart beats faster as you reach the top of the steps. You peek into your room and see him rummaging through drawers. 

Your worries quiet significantly when you realize they’re his drawers. And just when you’re about to approach him, he turns around meeting you halfway. You’re both illuminated by the sunlight that’s coming through the bedroom window you’re standing in front of. 

He’s still. He’s got a serious look on his face. You take him in, trying to read him but he’s got his profiler look on– unreadable and determined. His voice rattles you, “I’m sorry. That was a mistake.” Firm and devoid of any emotion. 

Oh god.

You’re shaking your head, reaching to hold him by his arms. You start to cry, “Aaron please, that’s not what I–” but… he’s going down on one knee. 

What?

He watched multiple emotions flicker on your face. Defeat, panic, confusion– “It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have said that. I– I planned to do it better than that. I don’t know why I let it slip out, you deserve better than that.” 

Before you can process it, Aaron’s holding out a ring. He’s holding your hand in the other while tears are streaming down both your faces. You have no idea how you heard it but you guess it’s simply a testament to how attuned you are to him when he whispers, “Please, please, please. Will you marry me, honey?” 

Time stops. Literally. You can feel your heart in your chest beating louder, heavier. It’s pounding as if begging to be heard. Begging to let Aaron know that it beats for him and him only. You’re lowering yourself to kneel before him. You want to see his face properly. His eyes. His nose. His lips. This is the man you love. This is the man you want to marry. Your eyes are simply capturing every angle of this moment. 

You’re leveled now. Equals. You grab both his hands in yours and you stare into his brown eyes. You want him to know you mean it, as you nod your head slowly and breathe out, “Yes.” A smile breaks across his face, tears starting to stream again. 

You watch him as he tries to put the ring on your finger, getting it on the first try even if his sight is slightly hindered by his tears of happiness and relief. The sun makes the ring sparkle, catching your attention and you look at it properly for the first time. 

It’s beautiful. Aaron would argue that the stone screams you – grace, loyalty, peace. He catches your eye and the both of you start to smile. You start to giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck while his arms snake around your waist. 

He buries his head in your neck, breathing in your scent while silently thanking the heavens for granting him this. You break apart, startled to hear tiny footsteps nearing. The both of you start to stand up from the floor, straightening yourselves out and wiping the remaining tears staining your faces. 

You both look to the door, waiting for the little boy to show himself. You hear a soft knock right before the door opens slowly, a head peeking in, “Daddy?” 

Aaron goes to the door, opening it more for Jack to come in. The little boy goes straight to you and you pick him up in your arms with ease, resting him on your hip. You have your left hand holding him stable, and even though the little boy’s still groggy with sleep he notices the sparkling addition to your hand. 

You take notice of how his little face lights up in excitement and you have no idea what about it he understands, “I help Daddy buy you that!” His voice is full of pride, genuinely proud that he had played a part in picking. 

You’re confused, not fully understanding what Jack means. Looking to Aaron for an answer, you’re surprised to find him blushing. He looks shy and he’s shrugging at you but you can tell he’s trying hard to play it cool. The smile fighting its way on his face betrays him. 

You decide to take your chance on the adorable kid that is now fiddling with your ring, watching in amazement at how much it’s twinkling in the light. Children are the most honest people you know anyway. Pursing your lips with squinted eyes, you investigate “What do you mean, bubba?” 

“Daddy asked me what ring pop you want, so I asked you when we watched Spiderman and you said your favorite is the green one so I tell Daddy you want the green one!” 

Your heart stutters and the tears start coming in again. Aaron asking Jack for his opinion for your engagement ring. Jack thinking it's a ring pop. Jack asking for your favorite ring pop flavor. Jack being proud that you got the ring you want, pop or not. 

Brought out of your thoughts by Jack wanting to leave your hold, you put him down. You watch as he happily walks out of your room, presumably to go to the kitchen. You look at Aaron again, and just as you’re about to say something about what you just found out, you realize one thing. Spiderman.

You gasp. Covering your mouth in surprise, you slap his arm lightly, “That was our third date!”

Aaron laughs loudly, rushing out of the room before you can throw questions at him or even comments about how insane he is. He couldn’t care less. He was right. 

a/n: just want to say thank you so much for the love and support i've been getting for my hotch fics!! as someone who's new here, it all means so much to me <33 i recently made a masterlist as i plan to write so much more and branch out to other characters i've been perpetually in love with!! leave requests of what you want to read or characters i can write about, i'd love to write for you guys ◡̈ tagging the people who wanted a part 2 for this: @pear-1206 @dedicatedfangirl2001 u guys are so sweet

[bonezone44]

Tender This (21+)

Uncle!Jack Whiskey x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have a bad dream and ask to sleep with your Uncle Jack.

Word Count: 2064

tags: dub-con/non-con somno. thigh grinding. coming in pants. Reader is the aggressor ! nicknames for Reader: baby, angel, niece.

+++

By the time you opened your eyes, the nightmare was gone from your mind. The foreboding visuals that caused you to feel cornered and terrorized were erased. Unfortunately, though, your body and heart were slower to rid you of the experience. You didn’t think twice before hopping out of bed and heading down to your Uncle Jack’s room. You didn’t care that all you wore were your cotton pajamas.

You could hear the drone of the TV from the hallway, lights flashing from the crack of his door. Knowing he was still awake was a relief, but it wasn’t enough for you to go back to bed by yourself. You rapped your knuckle on his door. He cleared his throat before answering.

“Come in!” he called.

You tip-toed barefoot inside with your shoulders high in your ears. Jack sat up in bed when he saw you–worry evident on his brow. He wore a white t-shirt and thin wire-framed glasses. He grabbed the clicker and turned down the volume on the TV.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked.

“I had a bad dream,” you pouted. 

He sat motionless with his mouth open–his heart nearly beating outside of his chest.

You wrung your hands together. “Can I come sleep with you?”

A few more stunned, heavy breaths before he answered. “I–well, angel–I mean–” he released awkward chuckles between his stuttering. “I-I don’t think you’d have a lot of fun in here with me–” he pointed across at the TV. “--I’m just watching a-a-a documentary on uh… saddles of the old vaqueros from back in the day.” He cleared his throat again and smoothed the thick quilt in his lap.

You glanced to your right at the TV that sat atop his dresser. On screen was an older gentleman in a white sombrero who was smiling and showcasing leather embossing. It took more effort than you’d like to admit to not roll your eyes–because of course Uncle Jack would be watching something like that in the middle of the night. You remained undeterred.

“Please, Uncle Jack?” You attempted the most pathetic look you could muster. “That dream messed me up. I really don’t wanna sleep alone.”

It was almost visceral the way his heart broke for you–brows all curled into his forehead and his eyes growing big and misty. “O-okay, angel,” he croaked, looking you up and down. “If it’s that important to ya.”

“Mm-hmm,” you nodded and scurried forth. You drew back the quilt, distinctly avoiding the look of nervous dread in his eyes as you climbed into the bed with him. Before he could think to put a pillow between the two of you, you scooted as close as you could and wrapped your arm across his middle. 

He choked on his breath and placed his hand on your arm. “A-angel, I don’t know–” 

“Please, Uncle Jack? It was a really bad dream,” you pleaded with your chin on his chest. 

Another yank of his tender heartstrings. His glittery eyes bounced between yours as he tried to find the words–but none came out of his pouting lips. He looked away and wiped his mouth with his hand. “O-okay, baby, just uh… just for tonight, I guess. But–” he cleared his throat a third time. “--but let’s try to-to-to watch the program, okay?” He locked his eyes on the TV. He twitched and tensed his jaw and neck. His lips were close enough that you could smell whiskey on his breath. You wondered what he tasted like this late at night. 

You tugged him closer and pressed as much of your body into his as you could–from your cheek on his chest, to the front of your torso against his side, down to your leg lining up with his. His breathing stuttered, but you ignored it. Instead, you listened to his rapid beating heart. You melted into his strong, steady heat and the scent of his skin. You watched the TV for a while like he asked, and it was actually pretty interesting to see an expert artisan craft a saddle seat out of leather. But really, the most interesting part came when the artisan had to measure and cut the leather pieces for the horn because that’s when Uncle Jack placed his arm around you–his large hand finding respite on your shoulder. You instantly released a small whimper and squeezed his middle.

“It’s alright, angel,” he cooed–his thumb caressing your bare skin. “You’re safe, now. Just keep on watchin the TV.”

“Thank you, Uncle Jack,” you murmured–daring to press a quick kiss to his chest before resting your head again.

“O-of course,” he coughed and squirmed, but his hand stayed steady on your shoulder.

You grew weary as the night went on. Your eyes drifting shut. But you could never quite fall back asleep–not with your body this close to your Uncle Jack. Wetness pooled between your legs. Your body burned so badly for him you were aching. You didn't know what to do. You were afraid of scaring him off, but you were patient. You could be patient for a man like Uncle Jack.

Once the credits started rolling, Jack turned off the TV. You felt him shift beneath you, but you refused to budge. “A-angel?,” he whispered. He tapped you lightly on the shoulder. He was trying to wake you up… without waking you up. “I–... shit,” He murmured. He clicked off the lamp on his bedside table–a soothing darkness blanketing the room. He tried to situate himself a little further down the bed and you did let him move–but only a little. You were determined to stay on him. So much so that once he had settled into a comfortable position, you faked a sleepy moan and wrapped your leg on top of his. 

You could hear him suck air through his teeth–but he didn't push you off or away. In fact, his arm moved from your shoulder down to your waist, rubbing the exposed skin between the hem of your shirt and the waistband of your bottoms. It felt like he was igniting you with his fingers, like each one was a matchstick. You wanted more, but you had to be coy about it. 

“Angel?” He tried again and you refused to respond. 

You counted your long, slow breaths, counted the heartbeats you felt in your pussy. You needed to give him time. Let him think it was all happenstance. You waited for as long as you could possibly stand. Then, you shifted again, another sleepy groan and stretch until you were half on top of him–your crotch on his thigh, your leg between his. His hardness poked against you.

“ssshit,” he whispered to himself. The hand that was once on your waist found its way to your shoulder. You couldn't see in the dark, but you knew his mouth was open. You knew he was stumbling over what to do. But he didn't push you away like he should have–like he would have if he truly didn't want you there.

It made you crave him–burning up and down your skin. It made you hungry to know that he desired you–that he wanted you so much that it made him all twisted up inside. That you had the power to falter the boundaries of a man so formidable. The roll of your hips was instinctual–your body so desperate to relieve itself from the ache, but the taste made you voracious. 

You rolled again and a whimper forced itself from your lips. You tried to muffle it by nuzzling into his chest. 

Jack didn't move. He still didn't push you away. He was gonna let you do it, wasn't he? Let himself pretend you were doing this all in your sleep. 

You pressed your swollen clit against his thigh and pushed upward from your knees, curling your toes, and grinding against him. It felt glorious, but you had to take it slow. No matter how much you really wanted to yank his pants down and ride him like the cowboy he was. 

And every little brush of your leg against his hard cock made him twitch and hiss. Again and again you thrusted yourself–rolling your entire body against his while he held himself back. He was braced and taking it. 

—---------

Jack felt drunk. Inebriated. Boozed up. Three sheets to the wind. And it was all because of you.  Your desire for him made him dizzy. The way you tucked your chin and looked at him with the sweetest, most docile eyes. Your sugary pouting lips. It felt too good to have you so close and snuggling up to him. He loved knowing that he could protect you and that you wanted him to protect you. It comforted him that you sought him for comfort. That you trusted him enough to surrender yourself and all your worries upon his shoulders. How could he ever deny you? How could he ever say no to your tender affection?

He knew it was wrong. It didn’t matter that you weren’t blood. It was the principle! He knew his feelings for you were unrefined and not very Kingsman-like, but … you had this way of hypnotizing him–captivating every nerve and synapse in his whole got-dang body. All it took was one wayward look from you and Hoo! Buddy ! he wanted to ravish you in an open prairie, by a campfire, underneath the shining eye of the moon. He wanted to buck up into you from underneath, let you ride him like a stud bull til he filled your belly full of his seed. He wanted to lathe and lick your breasts with his tongue–suck hickeys into your thighs in the shape of the letter J. He wanted to stuff your mouth full of his cock so he could make love to your sweet, darling face.

But …

As it has been mentioned before…

These feelings were unrefined and not very Kingsman-like. 

Jack saw himself as a gentleman. And gentlemen uncles do not bed their nieces.

Yet there you were, grinding against him, moaning and murmuring in your sleep. He knew he should wake you up. He knew he should have made you go back to your own bed. He knew he should have done anything other than what he had done, but… he didn’t. 

He stayed as still as he could. His body twitching and stuttering every time you brushed his cock. He tried to angle his hips a bit to cause more friction and it worked for a little while–but then you started chasing your high. He could feel it deep down in his gut how much your hazy mind hungered for release. He didn’t know what you were dreaming about that would cause you to react in such a way. You were twisting your hips around and moaning, arms wrapped around his middle and your face resting flat on his chest. 

“Uncle Jack…” you cried and Jack’s fist flew to this mouth to bite back his groan. “Please…” you begged as you rode his thigh with deep languid strokes. 

Jack didn’t want to whip his dick out and make a big ol’ mess all over the blankets and sheets and you. But he was feeling pretty goddamn desperate for some relief. He did his best to avoid touching you–lest he wake you up, you poor thing. You were so close! And shit, he was, too! So he reached his hand down and gave his cock a gentle squeeze through the fabric of his sleep pants. Something to ease the ache until he could extricate himself from you and disappear into the bathroom for a few shameful moments. One squeeze wasn’t enough, though. Especially once you started whimpering and shaking and meeting the end of your delightful, filthy dream. He couldn’t wait any longer. Gentlemanly duties be damned! He gave himself a few quick tugs through his pajamas, squeezing the head of his cock in his big, thick hand. He huffed and puffed before grunting hard through gritted teeth, cursing as quietly as he could while come spurted from his cock and smeared into his sleep clothes. ‘Oh, angel.’ He thought, feeling the fabric of his pants cling to him. ‘You’re gonna be the death of your ol’ Uncle Jack.’

After cleaning himself up and changing, he came back to bed and put a pillow between the two of you. Instead of what he wanted to do, which was spoon you, press his cock between your thighs and grind against your slick. But he couldn't. What he had done was shameful enough as it was. He had to stop. He had to put an end to it all. Not that anything had really happened, ...had it?

He took a deep breath and started listing different types of saddles in his head before eventually falling asleep.

+++++++++++++

@xdaddysprincessxx -- I thought this might be a fun one for ya. 😘😘😘

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2024: October 7th

Day 7: Bruising or Bitemarks // Virgin // Ice Play

Agent Whiskey x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Vaginal sex, cock riding, biting, hickies, begging, submissive Whiskey, teasing

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“Uh, Whiskey?” Jack looks up from examining the amber tone of the newest batch of Statesman that had been un-barrelled and bottled, sniffing the oaky rich notes and was satisfied with the hint of cloves and honey. It will be a good vintage, one that he had personally crafted and he was just about to put it to his lips to taste when he’s interrupted. 

Looking up, he finds Champ, aka Agent Champagne, his boss - staring at his neck. Making him frown at the bewildered and slightly bemused expression on the older man’s face. “What is it?” He asks, setting down the glass and reaching up, his brows pulling together even more when he feels a tender abrasion that has been exposed as his collar moved down, pulled tighter as he had sat. Making his own embarrassment bloom on his face as he realizes what Champ is staring at. 

****

“Fuuuuuuuck, sugar.” It’s hotter than fucking Satan’s ass in the middle of July, but he’s not going to even fucking complain. Your sweat slick body writhing on top of him, your cunt wrapped around his cock, bouncing on it so expertly that it makes his toes curl every time you settle on him. His head tips back, eyes closed as you kiss down his jaw. 

You hum, the sound almost a growl as you reach up and start to tangle your fingers into his sweaty hair, holding onto him like you are riding a bull. Putting a little more roll into your hips as your teeth come out and you scrap them over his skin. 

“Oh shit.” Jack hisses, his cock twitching in an instinctive reaction to your little nip and making you giggle. 

“You like that, baby?” You coo, your voice dripping with sex and honey, just the way he likes it. You nibble at his throat again and he moans softly, his cock jolting inside your walls again. Even if he denies it, his body is telling you that he loves what you’re doing. 

“Hmmmmm.” You smirk and open your mouth wider, letting your teeth sink into the sensitive flesh of his neck, right above the pulse and dig in. 

Your name falls as a whimper from his lips, his own fingers digging impossibly tight into your hips. Holding you there rather than trying to push you away. You know Jack is stronger than you are, you have seen him in action. If he didn’t want this, he could easily stop it. 

The fact that he doesn’t makes you feral. Sucking and biting more and more. The same spot over and over again until he is wearing an impression of your teeth in the smooth, tanned skin of his vulnerable throat. A bruise is already starting to bloom under the surface from where the pressure of your mouth has broken capillaries. 

“Goddamn.” He pants, rocking his hips up into you, needing and wanting more of your cunt while you lose yourself in the taste of his sweat and the beauty of marking his body as your own. “Sugar, you gotta- I need-” 

He whines again when your tongue presses at the hollow of his throat, your teeth scraping over his Adam’s apple. He’s never been one to give up too much control, but right now, it’s like you’ve lassoed him to the bed and he can do nothing more than bed for you. Chills racing up his spin every time your teeth bite into his flesh and his body pulls tight in pleasure. 

“I know what you need.” You tease, lapping at the latest mark and then deciding to suck on it again. Enjoying the tightening of his core and the melting of his limbs as you put another set of bitemarks to his shoulder after you’re satisfied with one right above his collarbone. 

His chest becomes your canvas, your mouth the paintbrush. Bruises and impressions start to form a pattern over his skin. Making him whine and squirm ever more, groaning in protest when you actually pull off his cock so you can move down his body. 

Another bruise on his hip bone, making sure that it will be vivid when it fully forms, imagining the way it will look when his low slung jeans rest right below it. It makes your now empty cunt clench around nothing and you moan before you move to give him a matching mark on the right side. 

Jack Daniel whines when you bite right next to the base of his cock. You don’t apply as much pressure as you do on the less sensitive areas, but the shudder of his thighs and lovely little spurt of pre-cum that beads up against his belly and slides down his stomach gives away how much he likes this. 

Your tongue teases his balls, making him gasp and they draw tight, as if he is about to cum, but you move away and his groan is heavy with disappointment. 

Focusing on his thighs. You always love how thick and strong they are. Able to ride a bull and hold tight, they are tight with need and anticipation as you smirk up at him, your face planted right at the most sensitive inner portion. 

“Cock tease.” He blows out a half breath, half laugh as he looks down at you. “You might as well make your mark there, too.” He pants, making your smirk at the way he makes begging seem like he’s going you a favor. He wants this just as much as you do, maybe even more. 

You blow on his skin, making him hiss before you finally give him what he wants. Your mouth suctioned to his skin, pulling it harshly before you pull away and bite around the mark. Only to do it all over again under there is a change in the skin. The slight puffiness of where it has been sucked on, the discoloration and then the indentions that are so close to breaking the skin that they are bruising as well. 

Jack looks drunk, his eyes heavy and his chest heaving, so close to just giving in and cumming untouched from the attention of your mouth. “Sugar.” He slurs the soft praise. “Goddamn, c’mere.” He reaches down and urges you back up his body. “I fucking need to be inside you when I blow my load.” 

You nip his hip again and giggle when he moans, your teeth carving the path back up his body. 

****

“Jack?” He doesn’t hear him say his name the first time. “Earth to Jack.” 

Jack squirms slightly, pulling his collar and covering up the bruises and bitemarks that could be seen and shooting Champ an innocent look. “Training injury.” He lies, knowing that the man would never believe that for a second. 

Champagne snorts and shakes his head, turning back to the bar cart with a chuckle. “I’ll have to get Ginger to get the nanites to get rid of it for you.” He offers, smirking to himself. 

“No.” Jack shakes his head quickly, picking up his whiskey glass to lips to hide his grin. “I’m good.” 

[sleepy-crypt1d]

what's the point if ur f/o isnt a little obsessed with you??

[loomiseater]

Good Boy

warnings: smut ofc!, non gf ethan, sub ethan, pervy ethan, mommy kink, fem!reader, and oral m!receiving.

Criticism is appreciated! I would love to know how I can improve on my writing.

A/N: honestly surprised how fast I wrote this! I love writing pervy/sub Ethan because it fits him so well <3 !

Ethan Landry x fem!reader

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Written: December 1st, 2024

Published: December 1st, 2024

Summary: All Ethan wants do is cum with your panties.

wc: 646

If there was one thing about Ethan, he loved your panties. Especially the pink lacey ones. Sometimes he waits until after you use them and put them in your dirty laundry just to sniff them. He liked the smell of you, and the smell of your pussy.

You got in the shower right when Ethan just walked into your shared apartment. He had a stressful day in Econ, so he needed someone to relax. “Hey, babe!” He shouted to announce that he’s home. “I stopped and got some food on the way home today! There’s Sonic on the table!” You shouted back.

But Ethan wasn’t hungry..for food at least. He was hungry for you, for the taste of that sweet little pussy. While you were in the shower, he walked into y’alls shared bedroom and saw his favorite pair of panties in your dirty clothes basket. It was like his prayers were answered.

He peeked into the crack of the bathroom door to make sure you were still in the shower. When the coast was clear, he quickly snatched the panties and kicked of his shoes along with pulling his pants down. He laid on the bed started to sniff the panties.

The smell made his cock hard. He lowered his hand took himself out his boxers and started stroking himself slowly. Your panties had a little wet spot on it and thats where he started to lick it. He got off to the fact that these panties touched your pretty little pussy.

Whines started flying out his mouth as started to lick the panties while stroking his cock. He had pre cum leaking out his mushroom tip, and those pathetic whines getting even louder. Ethan didn’t care if you could hear them- he wanted you to hear them. He wanted you to hear what your pretty little pussy did to him.

He took the panties from his mouth and started rubbing them against his cock. “Oh fuck!” He moaned. The pleasure was increasing, your scent did something to him. He craved your scent, your juices, your taste.

The water to the shower cut off, signaling that you were getting out. You heard his whines and moans when you were in the shower and now you can hear them even better. Truth is, you knew Ethan jerked off to your panties, and you liked it. The fact that your panties could turn him on and make him cum.

You stepped out the shower, grabbing your towel from the hook and wrapping yourself in it. You opened your bathroom door and saw the sight of Ethan on your shared bed, whining pathetically with your panties.

He saw you and thats when he sped up his pace. He was stroking himself, desperate to cum. “Make me cum, mommy.” He whined as you walked over to him, letting the towel fall to the soft carpet floor. Your body was still wet, boobs covered in droplets of water, along with your pussy.

You straddle his legs and began jerking him off slowly. “Look at you, so desperate to cum that you use my panties.” You seductively say. “Yes-please!” He choked out. You smile at his desperateness, it’s so cute.

Before he could react, you put his whole dick in your mouth, deep throating him like it was nothing. And thats when he lost it. The warmness and wetness of your mouth made him cum on the spot. His hot white liquid coating the walls of your throat.

You took him out of your mouth, not swallowing his cum but instead letting the cum fall out of your mouth and own his dick.

“You like that?” The words fell out of your mouth smooth and softly as he quickly nodded his head.

With a kiss to his toned abs, he let his head fall back into the soft pillows.

“Good boy.”

[melancholicstation]