DD

Gruff, crossbow slung, acts like he don’t care — but he always finds you. Late nights by the fire, bodies pressed close, rough hands brushing yours like he can’t help it. He leaves you the best meat, walks between you and the trees, stays up watch just so you can sleep. Quiet whispers turn to heated glances, rough fingers tangling in your hair, him pressing you close where no one can see — breath hot against your neck, low growl in your ear: “Ain’t nobody else gets this. You’re mine.” No sweet words, just raw, hungry need — and he shows you every single time.