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violetflowerswrites · 7 months ago

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I’ll Be Here

Summary: After a traumatic injury, your SWAT roommate turned boyfriend (?) Jim Street strives to take care of you, and meet all of your needs.

Pairing: Jim Street x (Female) Reader

Disclaimer: Minor mentions of leg injury, meds, and recovery with wheelchair, casts, and crutches. Reader has a protective older sister. One scene of nightmares, mentions of trauma. Discussion of child abuse, drug use, drunkenness, in Street’s family history. Filthy Smut. Oral sex (female receiving). Consensual P in V sex. 18+ for explicit smut, and language

Word Count: 4.0k

A/N: I felt like there needed to be one more epilogue / ending to this Street x Roommate fic series. It picks up directly after the ending of Part Two (Taking it Slow). I got a little caught up fleshing out her backstory and recovery journey, but there’s a bit of angst, a bit of fluff, and quite a bit of smut. I added some details from Season 4, Ep 2 as well. It’s a slower paced story than what I normally like, but I still had a fun hell of time writing it. Enjoy!

Part One Here - “Too Complicated”

Part Two Here - “Taking It Slow”

Masterlist Here

…

The click of the door makes the two of you startle, and quickly.

“Commander Hicks is gonna put you on armory duty for a week for pulling a stunt like that.”

“Hey, Tan.” Street smiles at his teammate’s lack of greeting. Classic Tan — a bit of hard-ass, but always means well. “Hicks already chewed my ear off on the phone earlier.”

“Figured. I just wanted to come down, see how my friend’s sister was doing. I already briefed her on what happened. She’s on her way back from a case up in Burbank.”

“Thank you, Victor.” You breathe out a sigh of relief.

Victor Tan was co-workers with your older sister back from his days in LAPD’s Hollywood Vice division. When you decided to move to LA, she figured you being roommates with a SWAT officer was the safest place you could be.

But the world is a dangerous place, even if you live with Jim Street, LAPD SWAT.

Victor looks you up and down, noticing that besides being a little pale, and having a massive cast on your leg, you don’t seem to be in pain.

Then, he notices the way that Street is standing— body turned to yours, hand hovering on the bedside protectively, as if he wanted to hold your hand at any given moment.

“Hold on, don’t tell me you two are a thing now.”

A hot flush creeps up your skin and you and Street immediately stumble over your responses.

“We were trying to take it slow—“

“and not make things too complicated…”

“but then this happened so…”

“We don't really know what we are, but I do know that I am so so grateful for you Victor. You and Street helped save my life.”

You end your rush of words with a watery smile, emotion cracking your voice.

Tan looks down sheepishly, immediately trying to be casual about it.

“Nah, Y/N. It was the tourniquet you made that probably saved your life. You gave us a big scare today, but I am glad to see you’re okay.”

“That makes 3 of us.”

A petite, fierce-looking female cop stands in the doorway of the hospital room, her hand sweeping back some stray hairs that fell out of her tight bun in her rush to get to you.

…

Your bad-ass cop sister stays over for a week while you recover, watching Street like a hawk. You’re so hopped up on pain-killers that you barely notice the tension between them.

Street on the other hand, feels like he’s being evaluated in some test he didn’t train for. He couldn’t take time off, so he’s eager to see you whenever he gets home. But most of the time, your sister is hovering over you, helping you adjust to moving around in the wheelchair, and making sure you are eating your meals and taking all your meds correctly.

One late evening while you’re supposed to be sleeping, you overhear your sister confront him.

“So. When were you gonna tell me you’re fucking my sister?”

Street spits out the beer he just took a sip of. He’s barely exchanged more than a few sentences to your sister, and that was when she helped you move in a few months ago.

“Uh…”

“I see the way you look at her. I’m pretty sure I warned you that this arrangement was solely to keep her safe while living in this neighborhood. Didn’t expect you guys to fuck so quickly.”

Damn. Your sister is known to be blunt, but this is next level. You remembered how she reacted when your dick-head of a college ex-boyfriend broke your heart. He was sorry to have ever known you after that.

“About that…” Street starts, but gets cut off with a raised palm in his face.

“Before you say anything, I’m not an idiot. I’ve seen the way she looks at you. She hasn’t told me yet, but I know. She’s down bad for you, Street.”

You automatically pull your covers up in embarrassment, hearing your sister lay all your feelings out in the open like that. She’s right though, you’ve fallen hard for him and it’s not just because he saved your life a week ago.

It’s because he's an empathetic listener to your rants about work, LA traffic, anything.

It’s the way he notices the small things, like when you're stress baking, or when you have your shoulders hunched up in frustration at the kitchen counter.

It’s how he gently pries your closed off doors open, helping you heal from your past.

It’s how he loves you, in such a sweet, gentle way that only he can.

“So you have 2 days before I go back to Vice to show me that you can take care of her.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Well, I don’t want to, but we’re about to make a big drug bust and my team needs me. Y/N is strong. She can take care of herself, but I worry about her. Her surgery was intense, and it’s gonna be a long recovery. I was gonna have her live with me for a few months, but I don’t think she wants to be away from you.”

“Thank you.” Street lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. He may be a big bad SWAT officer, but your 5 foot nothing of a cop sister scared the shit out of him.

“Don’t thank me yet.”

…

That weekend, you get the full princess treatment from Street. He helps train your upper body strength to be able to lift yourself on and off your wheelchair. He takes you to the park to get some sun, and makes sure the entire house is wheelchair friendly so you can move around independently. He rearranges the fridge and pantry so that your favorite foods are all easily reachable from your lower height. He even meal-preps some home-cooked lunches to have while you go back to work on Monday.

Working with your sister, he re-arranges his schedule so he can drive you to the office in the morning and your sister can take you home.

On Sunday evening, you read out a long string of dates as Street writes all your upcoming appointments on the fridge-calendar and your sister says which ones she can take you to, and which ones she needs Street to help drive you.

“Well…fuck.” Your sister swears, which only happens when she’s particularly exasperated.

”What? What’s wrong?” You look up from your laptop with your Google calendar open.

“Y/N, I didn’t wanna admit it, but you got a good one here.”

An ear-splitting grin spreads across Street’s face as he realizes what she means.

You obviously told your sister that you overheard Friday night’s conversation, and all of what’s been going on between you and Street…minus the mind-blowing sex.

“He passed?” You ask eagerly, hopeful stars in your eyes.

“He never had to pass anything in the first place, Y/N. If you chose him, that’s all the approval I needed to know. I trust you. I was just giving him a hard time, because I love you.”

You burst out laughing while Street spits out a flabbergasted “The hell did I try so hard for?!”

“That’s what big sisters are for. Y/N deserves all the princess treatment she can get. We put our lives on the line every day, but she doesn’t normally have to. She’s gonna need you, Street.”

Street places a reassuring hand on your sisters’ shoulder.

“I’ll be here.”

…

Street lives up his promise, taking care of you through some of the worst physical and emotional pain you’ve ever been in.

He’s there at your physical therapy appointments, making sure you’re practicing the exercises at home even when you just want to lie down from exhaustion.

He’s there holding your hand even though you squeeze him until his fingers go numb. It hurts him to see your face contort with unexpected pain when the meds wear off and you try putting some weight on your leg for the first time in weeks.

He’s there when the trauma sets in. He notices when you’re on the couch in the evenings, the TV on, but you’re not really watching. He holds you tightly while you wake up in the middle of night crying, reliving the moment you almost died.

He’s there through it all.

…

“How do you deal with it?”

You’re sitting upright in bed, the soft yellow glow of the bedside lamp warming the darkness of the middle of the night.

“Deal with what?”

Street’s sitting next to you, holding your hand while your sweat-soaked forehead leans against his shoulder, your racing heartbeat finally slowing down.

Your breath draws in and out in a steady rhythm as you calm yourself from your latest nightmare with his comforting presence.

Street ran into your room when he heard you. That’s been the third night in a row that you’ve woken up to the sound of your own screaming.

“Deal with trauma. Not the physical pain, but those horrible moments that just keep flashing before your eyes every time you close them.”

“Well, I’ve been dealing with trauma my whole life I guess.”

Street has already talked to you about growing up in the foster system, because his dad was a drunk. You knew that his mom was in jail for killing him, but Street didn’t go into details. You knew as much as he hated talking about his past, he hated talking about his complicated relationship with his mom even more.

“Last week, we were surveilling a house, trying to get someone for the CIA, and I saw a kid. A little boy, covered in bruises on his back porch. He looked so alone, and so scared.”

“What happened?”

“I got into it with Hondo a bit, almost compromised the mission because I wanted to get him out of that abusive home.”

“Did you?”

“Yes. But it brought back a lot of memories, and none of them good.”

It was your turn to comfort Street as you could hear his breath come in shudders as he thought back to his rough childhood.

“Have I ever told you that my earliest memory of kindergarten was my mom putting makeup on my chin to cover up my dad’s crappy weekend?”

“No.” The word comes out in a saddened whisper. “You’ve never told me that one before.”

“Well, it’s not something that comes up in casual conversation. And I’ve tried a lot of things to make sure I never have to mention those moments.”

“What kinds of things?”

Street lets out a wry chuckle.

“What haven’t I tried? Drugs, alcohol. Thrill seeking. Street racing. Driving way past the speed limit.”

“You still do that one.”

Street laughs genuinely now. “Yeah, but not where I’ll get caught by cops.”

“You are a cop!”

He chuckles again, but quiets down into contemplative silence.

“For many years, I just poured myself into my job. Climbing the ladder until I could make something of myself. Run away as far as I could from that childhood me. The one with the drunk dad, jailed mom. The helpless foster kid.”

“It didn’t help, did it?”

“No. Not really.”

“Then, how did you heal?”

Street looks down at you now, his heart breaking to see tears streaming down your face. He’s certain those are empathetic tears, tears for his hardships. His rough childhood. Pangs of guilt wash over him.

He doesn’t deserve your tears.

Then, he sees the way you’re looking at him. The way you’re holding him in a bone-crushing embrace. Well, as tightly as you could possibly hold all of his heavily-muscled torso.

So, he sucks in a grounding breath and reminds himself that you’re crying because you care about him. Because you love him.

And it’s okay to accept your love.

Street caresses your cheek with a strong hand, and thumbs off a few of your tears.

“I’m still healing. But when those moments come, I’ve learned that it helps to talk about it.”

All those late-night bike rides down the California coastline could never truly help him escape from his problems.

He thinks back to all the people in his life who’ve helped him open up. Who’ve confronted him on his bullshit and made him stop running away.

Hondo and Buck.

Chris, Deacon, Tan, and Luca.

Even his ex-girlfriend, Molly Hicks.

As much as he hates to admit it, putting his trauma out in the open was better than keeping it in.

Your hand in his starts trembling and that small movement pulls him out of his thoughts.

“What if I’m not ready to talk yet?” You choke, as if you could barely get the words out.

“Then I’ll be here waiting until you are.”

…

Weeks pass in a whirlwind of work, doctors’ appointments, and recovery exercises at home. Eventually, the nightmares subside, and you start seeing a therapist to help you work through the trauma.

You graduate from the wheelchair and giant full-length cast to a bootie on your calf and ankle. The hardwood floor is littered with little dents from the first few days you learned to hobble around on crutches, but you get the hang of it quickly.

Both Street and your sister feel much more at ease leaving you at home alone, knowing that you can take care of yourself more easily now.

Except today.

Because your idiot brain put the crutches by the bathroom door instead of next to the towel rack.

And here you are, butt-naked in the shower, the floor wet and a slipping hazard, and 6 feet away from independence.

Just as you debate bear-crawling across the cold tile to grab your crutches, you hear the front door open and close.

“Street!” You call out.

Heavy footsteps rush over to the bathroom and skid to a stop as Street quickly leans his head against the door and asks urgently, “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine! I just left the crutches by the door and I can’t reach them. Can you help me get out of the shower?”

Street breathes out a sigh of relief. Ever since the accident, he finds himself panicking easily about any situation that has to do with you getting hurt.

“Of course. I’m coming in.”

You’ve managed to dry yourself off, wrap your body in a fluffy white towel, and sit on the edge of the tub.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by Street how your damp hair clings to your skin, flushed from the hot water. Lavender-scented steam hits him in a rush as he opens the door, a familiar smell to him. You love lavender shampoo, soaps, lotions, candles, anything.

He scoops you up gently, trying not to think about the last time he carried you like this was when you were bloodied, unconscious, and barely alive.

A small moan draws him out of his head immediately.

Not a moan of pain.

A moan of lust.

What?

Street freezes and gently places you on the bathroom counter, carefully holding your injured leg against his hip.

His eyes dart across your flustered face as you realize just what kind of inadvertent sound escaped your lips as soon as you were in Street’s strong arms, and you inhaled the familiar leather of his bike jacket.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Street kisses you breathless and pulls your towel down, inhaling your damp skin and that damned lavender soap that is making him dizzy with lust.

Water drips from the ends of your hair down your body, and Street licks up the river trailing from your shoulder, down the swell of your breasts, all the way to your core.

He pulls you to the edge as he kneels down in front of you. Ever-conscious of your injury, he lifts your hurt leg onto his shoulder, which only serves to widen your thighs, giving him full access.

Your knuckles tighten against the counter and your moans bounce off the tiled walls the second he licks your dripping pussy.

Street is a master at oral and it’s been weeks since you’ve had the pleasure of being his pupil.

His tongue dives first into your center, stretching your hot, leaking core. Then his lips find your clit, sucking it in gently, until the nerve endings in the sensitive nub light your body up with pleasure.

Before you have a moment to recover, his fingers find your entrance and enter with ease. Your slick gushes out, dripping onto the towel as he thrusts two fingers in and out. His knuckles curl up, searching for the spongy spot that he knows will drive you absolutely wild.

Filthy sounds of wetness fill the bathroom as he eats you out and fingers your clenched center, once, twice, three times.

Before long, his moans mix with your own as you voice your pleasure, cumming on his face in moments.

“Keep going.”

Street freezes at the first words you’ve uttered since he kissed you. It was an impulse, a lack of self-control that got him to this point in the first place.

It was seeing you nearly naked, with that damned lavender filling his nostrils that drove him crazy.

But he was going to stop. It was enough to get you off.

”I’m not done yet, Street.” You demand arrogantly, and look pointedly at the hard erection pushing against his dark-blue jeans.

“But—“

“I’ll be fine. Just hold my leg up and fuck me.”

You pull him up by the collar of his leather jacket, and kiss him roughly, panting in his ear as you lick and suckle the skin of his cheek, his neck, the underside of his jaw.

It’s been too long since you’ve had his body, his touch, his cock. You crave him with a hunger you’ve never known before.

And now that you’ve had a taste, every cell in your being is vibrating with one simple word.

More.

Needing no other encouragement, Street strips off his jacket only for you to take it and pull it over your bare shoulders.

The sight of you, fully naked except for his jacket, makes him suck in a breath.

His eyes darken immediately and he can hear his heart beat in double time.

You make him go feral.

It takes no time at all for him to rid himself of his remaining clothing, and line himself up with your pink entrance.

“You’ll tell me if I’m hurting you?” Street asks, still hesitant, even as the pre-cum of his throbbing member mixes with your juices.

“Yes.” You affirm breathlessly, feeling the round tip of his hard cock start to breach your center.

“You’ll stop me if you can’t handle it?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure about this, Y/N?”

“Yes! Street, fill me with your cock already!”

He blushes at your filthy words, feeling the heel of your good leg dig into the small of his back, trying to draw him into your waiting core.

You finally feel him push through the tight circle of your center. You’re especially tight, having not had sex since the accident over a month ago.

Street lets out a growl as he feels your pussy gripping him, struggling to push in deeper.

But instead of pain, you only feel pleasure.

“Fuck—! That feels incredible. Go deeper, Street. Please!” You beg him, desperate for more.

He grabs your thighs, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he pulls you towards his pelvis. You can feel his cock thrust to the end, finally completely filling you with all of him.

You throw your arms around his waist, breathing heavily as the heady lavender steam only serves to make the two of you even more sex-drunk.

You hear Street suck in another deep breath before he pulls out, and slowly inches his way back into you, experimenting with how fast he should go.

How much you can handle.

But the slower pace feels heavenly to your hot, needy core. His cock stretches every part of you, pressing against your spongy center, all the way to your cervix as he thrusts down to the hilt once more.

”How’s that, Y/N? Does it hurt?” Street checks in with you again, a vein popping out of his neck as he strains to maintain his self-control. All his cock wants is to fuck you with total abandon, but he refuses to put himself first.

Your voice comes out in a stream of incoherent whimpers as you wordlessly express just how good it feels to be filled by him.

So Street cups the back of your ass, and presses you flush against him, and you cry out, feeling him impossibly deep inside.

“Oh my god! Street!”

“I’m just getting started.” He grins, licking the side of your neck as he starts to roll his hips into you.

You feel his cock slip out just a few inches only to thrust back in as far as it can go, over and over.

As you look down, you are blessed with the magnificent sight of Street’s abs clenching with every sensual roll of his body against yours.

Every slight motion pushes you to the brink of orgasm, your body almost unable to handle all the stimulation after having only known pain and discomfort for the past several weeks.

Impulsively, you bite down on Street’s shoulder, trying to expend all the pleasure you’re feeling somewhere else, muffling your moans against his muscled flesh.

“Shit! Are you biting me?” Street growls, incredulous, but also massively turned on.

“Does it hurt?” You grin mischievously, pulling his lower lip in between your teeth next.

“Yeah.”

“A good hurt, or bad hurt?”

“Good.” Another sharp inhale. “Fuck, I’m already close!”

Street’s body shudders as you feel his grip slide back to your hips, his slow thrusts giving way to a faster, more desperate rhythm.

You nibble and nip the side of his neck, the bottom of his ear, as you feel just how hot his skin is under your tongue and lips.

Another loud moan is wrenched from your throat as he hits a particularly sensitive spot inside you. His cock satisfies your body in a way you can’t describe.

You can’t wait any longer.

“Cum for me.” You whisper into his ear, demanding his obedience. His brow furrows as he tries to delay his incoming orgasm, and you kiss it, giggling as you watch him come undone by your body.

Street pushes his cock into you, your wetness making the movement easy, but your tightness gripping him like he is never supposed to separate from you again.

You lock your fingers behind the small of his back, pulling him in and clenching down until you feel his cock spurt out jets of hot cum into your core.

Street grits his teeth and heaves out the sexiest, most overstimulated moan you’ve ever heard from any man.

Your own orgasm follows right behind his, your entire being vibrating with pleasure, wetness repeatedly gushing around his cock. Your pussy stutters, muscles spasming as it tries to recover from the best sex you’ve ever had, with the biggest cock you’ve ever had.

With the most loving, caring man you’ve ever had. Your heart fills with love and contentment at the moment the two of you just shared.

This is what sex should be like - intimacy, pleasure, love.

It is truly something else.

“Y/N?” Street murmurs against your damp shoulder, slowly regaining some semblance of control and coherent thoughts.

“Mmm?”

“You know I love you, right?”

“I know.”

“I never want to hurt you.”

“I know.”

“I’ll always be here for you.”

You find the rough skin of his jaw and pry him off your body, and instead, pull his face towards you, your forehead pressing against his. As you lock eyes with the emotional gaze of your lover, you notice that he’s a little teary, and your heart melts for him even more. Jim Street. The love of your life.

“I know.”

…

#jim street x reader #Jim Street #swat #swat fic #swat smut #swat cbs #cbs swat #jim street fic #Jim street smut #jim street imagine #street x reader

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illdowhatiwantthanks · 6 months ago

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The Jicama (The Surprise, Part 22)

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: pregnancy times, health scares, hospital times, mentions of IVs and medication, explicit language, some sexual innuendo/conversation (let me know if I've missed anything!) Word count: 2.9k

Summary: You've had cramp-like pains all day, and they're growing more and more frequent and more and more intense. But it's too early for the baby to be born. And Emily is a thousand miles away on a case. Surely, it's Braxton-Hicks, right?! Right!?

Week 32: The Jicama

You gritted your teeth as another wave of pain rolled through your body. They were getting harder and harder to ignore and, much as you hated to admit it, you were growing increasingly worried that they weren’t just Braxton-Hicks.

You lay on the couch, trying to breathe steadily, hands running over your baby bump. It felt almost like period cramps, but worse. More intense and in shorter bursts than the long, dull ache of menstruation. And your lower back felt as if a small, furious fire were building and building inside of you, shooting up your spine every few minutes.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You wanted Emily. You wanted to ask her what to do, to have her here to help you make a decision. Emily would keep you safe, both of you. But she wasn’t here. She was over a thousand miles away, in some tiny Iowa farmtown, hunting a serial killer with her team.

You knew that the moment you called her, the moment you let on how scared you were, Emily would commandeer the BAU jet and fly back, leaving… what exactly? The teenage girls of Iowa to be murdered? Her team to scramble without her? You didn’t want to call her out of the field, not unless it was an emergency.

And, well, maybe you were in denial, but you were really trying to avoid thinking of this as an emergency. You chewed on your lip, watching the tiny seconds hand on your iPhone clock icon swirl around, counting the minutes between contractions. Because you were pretty sure that’s what they were–contractions.

A stray tear dripped down your cheek and you dashed it away. “It’s not time to come out yet, sweetheart,” you whispered, rubbing your stomach.

You clenched your fists against another contraction, checking the time. You were at a little under ten minutes between contractions. They’d started at about every twenty minutes, but had nearly doubled in length, frequency, and intensity over the last few hours.

You took another deep breath and stared at your phone, determined. Emily wasn’t here. Yes, she often took care of you. Yes, she made you feel safe. Yes, you would feel so much better if she were here. But she was doing her job, an important job. And you were an adult. You were an adult who had spent years of your life taking care of yourself, on your own, before Emily. You did it before, and you could do it again.

You called an Uber, then gathered a few things to take with you to the hospital: phone charger, Kindle, laptop, etc. When you got into the car, you set a dish towel down on the seat before maneuvering yourself in, belly in the way. You hoped to god your water wouldn’t break. You didn’t know when that was supposed to happen, but things were already happening that weren’t supposed to. You didn’t want to take any chances with a stranger’s car.

On the way, you composed yourself, putting on your best no feelings affect, and called Dr. Delgado. As expected, she confirmed that it was not normal to be experiencing regular, frequent contractions at 32 weeks, and that you needed to get yourself to a hospital as soon as possible so they could attempt to stop premature labor.

Okay, so you were already doing the right thing. That made you feel a little better. Probably, you could have done it sooner, but you were doing it now. Better than never. But now you needed to make the call you dreaded most. You hated to worry Emily. You hated to interrupt her at work. And Emily would almost certainly answer because she knew you didn’t call her when she was in the field unless it was an emergency. You waited for her to call you.

You let out a shaky breath as the phone rang, then felt your heart drop when you heard Emilly’s voice.

“Y/N!?”

“Hey, Em…” you started, trying to soften the blow. Trying your best to keep your voice calm and steady, to let Emily know that you were okay, that you could handle it, that you could take care of yourself and take care of the baby. That she didn’t need to worry.

“Are you alright?”

Another deep breath to compose yourself. “Um… I’m not sure exactly. I’m on the way to the hospital?”

You grimaced, holding the phone away from your ear as Emily’s voice screeched out of it.

“What do you mean!? Why!?”

“I, uh… I think I’m in… premature labor.”

“Oh my god,” she breathed, and you could hear her voice shake. God, you hated to scare her.

“It’s okay, Em. I’m fine. The baby’s gonna be fine. I’ve got it taken care of.”

“Honey, it’s too early!”

And it was then and only then that you snapped.

“I fucking know that, Emily! Don’t you think I know that!? I’m taking care of her, okay!? I’m getting her to the hospital! I’m doing everything I can to make sure she stays safe and doesn’t get born today, alright?!”

The line was silent for a moment, and you immediately regretted lashing out at Emily. Emily who loved you so much, who was just worried about you, just wanted to keep you safe.

You bit back tears, trying to pull it together again, trying to bring back the no feelings facade.

“It’s gonna be okay, honey,” Emily said softly, as if she could see you, could see your eyes swimming, your teeth clenched with worry. “I’m on my way, alright? I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Honey, you don’t have to–”

“Yes, I do. Don’t even start with me, Y/N. You’re my wife. He’s my child. If I have to fucking fly a helicopter there myself, I’ll do it. Okay? I don't want to hear anything else about how I don’t need to be there. You’re my family, and I will get to you. Understood?”

You nodded, then remembered she couldn’t see you. “Okay,” you whispered, voice shaky.

The Uber driver pulled up in front of the hospital, and you hoisted yourself out of the backseat. “I gotta go, Em. I just got to the hospital.”

“Wait!” she called. “Which one!?”

“GW.

“Okay,” she said, her voice shaking now, too. “Keep me updated.”

“I will.” Now was your time. It was your turn to be strong. Your turn to fight for your child’s life, and you would fight tooth and nail for her. “I love you, honey.”

“I love you, too. Be safe.”

Dr. Delgado had called ahead, so they were ready for you when you arrived. You were poked, prodded, measured (but not pap-smeared!), and hooked up to various machines.

When the on-call OB-GYN came in and glanced at your charts, he nodded, as if confirming something for himself, then turned to you.

“How are we doing today, Ms. Y/L/N?” he asked, grinning at you. And his teeth were so unnaturally white that for a moment, you didn’t even respond, just stared.

“Uh… well. I’ve had better days.”

“Sounds like it.” He nodded sympathetically. “So based on the charts and your reports, I’d say that you are in preterm labor.”

You sucked in a shaky breath, trying not to cry. “It’s really early. Will she… you know… make it?”

“Chances are good that she’ll be perfectly fine. Babies born at 32 weeks have a 95% rate of survival, and usually only spend a week or so in the NICU.”

You didn’t love that 5% of non-survival, and your face likely gave it away.

“But we’re gonna do everything we can to keep her inside for a while longer, alright?”

You nodded as the doctor continued.

“We’re gonna start out by giving you fast-acting Nifedipine every fifteen minutes for an hour. That should hopefully start to slow things down. We’ll continue to Nifedipine as needed for the next 48 hours or so. Because your preterm labor progressed so quickly today, I’m gonna go ahead and prescribe a couple injections. One of those will be today, one will be tomorrow. They’ll help the baby’s lungs get stronger faster, just in case. And…”

He looked you over for a moment, and you looked back, trying not to appear as frightened as you were.

“I think I’ll go ahead and start you on intravenous magnesium, too. Just to be extra cautious. Alright?”

He clapped his hands together, as if we were breaking from a football huddle.

“Thank you,” you told him, running a hand over your baby bump, smirking as the baby kicked against it.

“You,” you continued, whispering toward the baby, “need to calm yourself. It’s not that exciting out here, I promise.”

You were on your third dose of Nifedipine, and the contractions were slowly tapering down, when you heard a familiar voice in the hallway.

“No, I’m standing in for family!” the voice protested, fluttery and determined. “I don’t care what your policy is! She’s family in spirit! And she doesn’t need to be all alone at the hospital!”

A few minutes later–the click of heels, an all-too-familiar whiff of cherry-vanilla perfume, and a whole lot of pink–and Penelope Garcia was grasping your hands in hers, looking more worried than you were.

“Oh my god, Y/N!” she squealed, looking you over. “Emily called me and told me what was going on, and, of course, I said yes I’d stay with you until she got here, but are you okay!? Is the baby okay!? What did the doctor say!? I mean it’s none of my business, I guess, but I just… really, really, really want you guys to be okay, you know!?”

You smiled at her, squeezing her hand. “I’m so glad you’re here,” you said, and you meant it. “They gave me a bunch of medicine to stop labor so… fingers crossed.” You shrugged.

Penelope physically crossed her fingers, grinning at you. “I thought maybe you could use a distraction, so I brought… this?!”

She pulled out her Nintendo Switch, and you grinned. “Mario Kart?”

“Mario Kart,” she confirmed, handing you a controller and propping the switch up on the end of your hospital bed.

You’d played nearly all the Grands Prix when you saw a very concerned, wide-eyed Emily stride past your door. You threw down the controller and called out, forgetting for a moment that you were connected to a machine and straining against the wires that held you in place.

“Em!” you yelled.

She doubled back and surged into the room, past Penelope, who watched you both as if she were watching the most adorable rom-com.

Emily grasped your face and kissed your forehead, pressing her lips together and looking worriedly at you as your eyes filled with tears.

You’d held it together all day. You’d done so well. But something about Emily being there, something about her presence–strong and sure and steady and just there–always made you fall apart, made you show your truest self at your most vulnerable moments. Because Emily saw you and knew you and loved you, and you knew that when she was here, there was no hiding. No pretending. No acting like you were okay when you weren’t. She knew. And she broke through all your walls, every time, just with those eyes–those eyes softly chastising you, softly telling you to let it go–until you were a teary mess, curled into her chest as she lowered herself into the chair that Penelope had quickly vacated. You were finally, finally safe enough to feel everything.

Penelope looked like she might cry herself, but instead stood, gathered her things, and blew you a kiss, squeezing Emily’s shoulder before creeping out of the room.

“Are you okay? Is the baby okay?” Emily whispered, trying not to interrupt your tears, alarm you.

You sniffed and nodded. “They gave me a bunch of medicine.” You raised your arms to show the IVs and monitors, as if in demonstration. “It’s working a little bit so far. They’re trying to get labor to stop entirely. I’ll probably be here for… a couple days at least.” You felt suddenly guilty again for uprooting Emily, not to mention leaving the rest of the BAU team stranded in Iowa without a jet. “I’m sorry, honey.”

“Hey,” Emily said, tilting your chin up so you had to look her in the eye. Her hands never left you. It was as if she was afraid if she stopped touching you, you’d somehow end up far from her again. Far away and scared and in trouble, and she wouldn’t be able to be there. “No apologies. I’m just glad you’re both okay.” She rubbed a thumb absentmindedly over your baby bump. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

And it was only then that you noticed that she was worried, too, worried out of her mind, maybe more worried than you. You took her hand and placed her palm on the side of your face, holding it there, just feeling her and letting her feel you.

You nodded. “I’m okay, baby.”

You sat like that for a moment, just the two of you and the beeping monitors and the buzzing lights. Emily shifted her hand so that she cupped the back of your head in her palm, and you leaned into her touch. And it was as if the touch said everything you couldn’t quite say: I love you. I love you more than breathing. In fact, I don’t think I’d be able to breathe if you weren’t here.

“How’s the rest of the team getting home?” you asked, exhaling shakily, trying to move away from the heaviness of the moment.

“Oh, the jet’s already on its way back to them,” Emily reassured you.

You giggled. “My carbon footprint grew exponentially today.”

Emily grinned. “I may have killed a few trees to get to you…”

“That’s a lot of emissions,” you told her, waggling your eyebrows. “Like, a Taylor Swift level of emissions.”

“Oh, no. God forbid.” Emily’s voice was sarcastic and warm, and you were just so happy to have her there. It was incredible, really, how much better you felt just having her there. Just hearing her voice. Just feeling her skin, even just her wrist, pressed up against yours. The knowledge of her presence in the room with you.

“Listen, Em,” you started. “I really am okay if you need to go back.”

She placed a finger lightly over your lips, as if to shush you. “No more of that. Listen, you don’t need to worry about the BAU, okay? They’re perfectly capable of catching bad guys without me.”

You raised your eyebrows.

“Alright, it might take them a little longer,” she conceded. “But they can do it without me. Besides, I’m not going back.”

“To Iowa?”

“To the BAU.”

Your heart dropped, and you threw a hospital pillow at her. “Emily Elizabeth Prentiss! You did not quit the BAU!”

“No!” she said, lightly smacking you in the face with the pillow you’d thrown, just hard enough to make you laugh. “I mean, I’m not going back into work until after the baby’s born. I told them I was starting parental leave.”

A concerned look crossed your face. “But, Em, it might still be weeks before the baby’s born. I don’t want–”

“Look,” she interrupted. “I read up on it on the plane, and even if they manage to stop labor and we can go home, you’ll likely need to be on some kind of bed rest until the baby comes.”

“But–”

“Ah!” she tutted, stopping you in your tracks yet again, this time with a quick but passionate kiss on your lips, one that left you flustered and red. “I like to take care of my wife. Let me take care of you. Got it?”

You nodded, your heart nearly exploding with love for this woman.

“I do have some bad news, though…”

You furrowed your eyebrows, taking her hand in yours as she looked sadly at you.

She sighed before continuing. “The articles I read said you almost certainly will need to be on pelvic rest.”

You scrunched up your face. “What the fuck is pelvic rest?!”

Emily pursed her lips and looked at you like she was about to personally murder a puppy. “No sex.”

Your jaw dropped. “NO SEX!?”

She shook her head. “Nope, nothing that would cause any kind of pelvic strain.”

Your brain scrambled. “Well… What about…? What about oral? I mean surely…”

Your voice faded as Emily shook her head.

You scoffed. “And you would follow through on it, too.”

She kissed you again, and you felt those familiar butterflies erupting in your stomach and pulled away.

“Don’t fucking start something you can’t finish, Prentiss,” you grumbled.

“Oh, I plan to finish it,” she said, staring at you so hard it made you blush. “As far as I’m concerned, the whole rest of the pregnancy and the weeks after while you’re healing– they’re just long, elaborate foreplay so that when I can finally fuck you again…” She lowered her voice now, so you could barely hear her. “...it is the best you’ve ever been fucked.”

You let out a deep breath, blowing out your cheeks. “Jesus, Emily.”

“I told you,” Emily grinned, brushing your hair lovingly behind your ear and winking at you. “I like to take care of my wife.”

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x fem!reader #emily prentiss fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic

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the-kr8tor · 4 months ago

Text

Dead Man's Hand

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 11.5k

Tags: Use of Y/N, sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), Cowboy AU, wild west AU, CW food mention, CW vomit mention, CW blood and gore, CW guns, TW violence, TW abuse, TW suicidal thoughts, TW death.

A/N: if there are any warnings that I've missed please tell me so I could add it in.

This chapter tackles dark themes, read at your own discretion.

Our Place in the Middle of Nowhere Masterlist

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CHAPTER 10 >>>

The pungent, acrid and hot air of metal and gunpowder brings Hobie back in time as he slams open the steel doors to the factory with a harsh kick. Machinery whirs, and twists, sharp steel dancing to the beat of the flames as it turns molten iron into instruments of death.

Hobie roams his fury-filled eyes around the factory, green flames flicker in those eyes, finding grime coated faces of strangers staring back at him and his posse. One glances their dark eyes towards the upper level of the factory where a balcony is placed. Where Hicks would look down with contempt, and would scream at the overworked employees to hurry production. Hobie knows it all too well, the factory mirrors the one back home. In the middle of the balcony sits an office with frosted windows that bear Hicks’ name. But the man is nowhere to be found within the crowd.

“If you're not Hicks, get the fuck out.” He doesn't need to yell the command, for everyone turns to run outside towards the back exit where half of Miguel's gang lies in wait; and Hicks' lackeys lay dead on the soft muddy ground.

One running and hiding away amidst the crowd catches his eye with the same face as one of the men who buried him all those years ago. “‘cept you.” With one swift raise of his six shooter, smoke billowing out, a hole now sits on the man's torso where his heart should be. “Hicks, better get down ‘ere or my people will blow this place to the ground.” Hobie steps over the bloody body, crimson coating the sole of his boots. “Rainin’ bullets don't mix well with a room full of explosives.”

There's no movement nor a whisper in the entire factory save for the fading sounds of the machines slowly shutting off. He catches a glimpse of a shadow behind a closed frosty door in the upper level of the factory. It was quick and sudden, if not for Riri's gentle nudge towards the movement, he'd think he was seeing you again for a brief cruel moment.

“Ri, Karl, come with me.” Hobie emerges behind the blackened air from the large machines. Three sets of boots thumping silently as they bound upstairs.

He reaches the door, back on the solid wall and away from the glass. Riri stays on his right, shotgun cocked and ready while Karl checks his bag of TNT on Hobie's left. As he moves to open the door, a bullet pierces the glass, shattering it into sharp tiny pieces. A shard nicks Hobie's cheek, but he ignores the throbbing pain as blood trickles out.

“You're still alive, you little shit?!” Hicks yells, shooting blindly at the door.

The trio stays still and waits for the opening. A click echoes in the quiet, and clouds of gunpowder float through the air. Hobie and the others take their opportunity. Karl lights a stick of dynamite, chucking it inside the room and then ducking down to cover his ears. Hobie doesn't waste time, leaving the safety of the cover, he twists to face the door, shooting at the flying TNT— effectively blowing it near Hicks while Hobie holds onto his hat so that it doesn't get blown away.

The explosion causes Hobie to stagger backwards, if not for Riri pulling him back to the side, he would've fallen off the railings. Sulfur fills the air as they cough, puffs of grey smoke clouds the entire office space.

His ears ring, a sharp high pitched sound that he's awfully familiar with. He gives Riri a thankful nod, which she replies with a smug smile and a raise of her eyebrow. Hobie takes the lead, flicking his eyes towards Karl, who gives him a thumbs up, and with his hair all messed up from the explosion. Satisfied that his group is alright, he enters the fray. Smoke giving way to him and his raised gun. Shards of glass crunch at his feet, singed papers lay burned on the floorboards as embers flicker out in the air.

As the smoke clears out and the hot air of the south enters through the broken windows— Hobie finds no one inside the room.

“Fuck!” As he yells into the emptiness, a horse neighs outside, hooves running frantically away while bullets fly and ricochet. He immediately looks down, finding Hicks half burnt and riding away. “Like a fuckin’ roach.” Without thinking ahead, Hobie vaults from the window, softening his fall with a roll. Landing, knees aching but intact, he whistles for Bucky.

“Hobie, what the fuck?!” Riri and Karl simultaneously scream out, but Hobie's already running while Bucky follows right behind him.

Once Buckeye trots next to him, Hobie grabs hold of the saddle's horn to swiftly lift himself up on the saddle with a quick pull. No one's going to stop him, Miguel already considers Hicks dead just from the look of determination behind those green eyes.

Hobie leaves everyone in the dust. Bucky neighs wildly, huffing and puffing as he tries to catch up. “Hicks!” Said man turns on his saddle a few ways ahead, arm raising to aim and to shoot his gun. Bullets whizz past, hot air passing by as Hicks misses every single bullet.

Hicks’ scalding flesh makes him keel over in pain as his blood drenches his horse. “Shit!” He kicks roughly, his horse whines before speeding off.

Bucky gains speed, catching up to Hicks whilst he reloads. But of course, his hired guns finally catch wind. A handful of them appear from the side, trudging from the muddy swamp with alligators lurking underneath, and riding towards the bumpy road where the main chase is happening.

The rival posse hollars and hoots, sneering smiles and guns aimed at Hobie. Riri and the others are still catching up to him, so he's left alone to defend himself and Bucky. With fury fuelling him, he has everything to lose so he'll shoot through all of them like a hot knife through butter.

While the mercenaries leave the line of trees, Hobie enters the thicket, swerving to the side, using the large and sturdy trees for cover. The ground may be soft and muddy, but Hobie and his loyal horse have been in dozens of situations like this. The swamp might've slowed them down but it doesn't stop them as splintered wood flicks and flies while his enemies continue to shoot at his swift horse.

A bullet comes too close to his head, piercing a hole in the brim of his hat. He clicks his tongue, annoyed at the damage. Patting Bucky, he takes his foot off one of the stirrups to bring it to the safer side where no bullets could come at him. With two legs on one side, hand holding on to the saddle horn and reins, Hobie rides sideways, hiding his body while peeking over and shooting with calculated aim as Bucky runs back towards the path. One by one, the mercenaries fall off their horses with his bullets pierced through their bodies. The road is coated with their blood, leaving trails of rubies for his posse to follow.

Miguel trots closer, shooting at what remains of Hicks' men. The gang hoots at the sight, adrenaline rushing through their veins, and blood heating up from the violence.

While Riri and Karl have their eyes on Hobie, who now sits upright on Bucky, they kick on their horses and off they go, riding side by side with Him. Hicks panics from the sheer volume of horses running after him, with his last bullets, he aims at Bucky's leg.

Hobie beats him to the punch, quickly thrashing his whip made out of jagged metal wires, tearing the skin off of Hicks' arm apart when Hobie pulls hard at it. Hicks screams in sheer agony, tumbling and falling off his horse into the moist ground, soil entering his burns and mouth. When the dust settles, he looks up to only see the end of Hobie's gun.

It's silent in the marsh as the sun shines on his gun; frogs hum in the distance, gators trill when they smell meat while Hicks' labored breathing quickens. Hobie has his gun digging into Hicks’ skull, skin red and angry from his burns. Half of his face has melted into a mess of meat and bones, left eye barely opening from his melted eyelid. A pungent smell permeates from his oozing wounds, clothes torn and burned to ash, and ankle twisted at an angle. Hicks’ hands are buried halfway into the ground as he sinks down to the muddy plains.

Everyone thinks he should be dead by now, even Hicks himself, but death won't grant him the sweet release just yet— not until Hobie takes what he is owed.

“My, don't you look pretty, Hicks.” Hobie doesn't smile nor smirk at the sight of the man who buried him alive five years ago. A man who now kneels before him, disfigured beyond recognition, feeding the soil under him with his own suffering.

“F-fuck y-y-you.” Hicks' lips tremble from the unimaginable pain. “I w-will not b-beg.” He manages to curl half of his melted lips into one final sneer. “Not l-like how you did.”

“I don't want you to beg, Hicks.” Hobie digs the metal harshly, skin ripping and tearing like paper from under the gun. “I need to know where she is. You're dyin' anyway, your last words might as well be somethin' useful.”

Hobie's cold words makes the man scoff that quickly turns into a painful cough. “No. Didn't your old man tell you that revenge is a f-fool's game?”

“This isn't revenge, this is retribution.” Hobie tilts his head, looking behind Hicks where a pack of gators trill and show themselves under the green swamp. “If you tell me, I won't let the gators eat you alive.”

“Wha–?” Hicks' slowly turns his trembling head, skin painfully tugging with every movement. One of the gators snaps its maw, warning with its sharp teeth. The entire gang hears this grown man whimper from fear.

“They look mighty hungry, Hicks. Better hurry up.”

“You'd t-take me away from them?”

“No, I'd put you out of your misery before they get to you. Something you didn't give me back then.”

Hobie can practically see the rusty cogs in Hicks' head turning. “...alright, just don't let them eat m-me.” His burns flares up as he doubles in pain.

Hobie makes the man raise his head with the barrel pushing his chin up. “Sure.”

“She's at the big white house near Blackwater, just west of the r-road. You can't miss it.”

“You lyin’” Hobie doubts the information when he gave it to him too fast. Jaw tightening at the thought of you being so close yet so far from his reach.

“No, I'm not.” Hicks hears the unmistakable sound of the reptile crawling closer. “It's the truth.”

Riri flicks her eyes towards Hobie, leaning close, whispering lowly at his ear. “I know the place.” Hobie doesn't miss the hard look in her eyes. “He's not local, that place is well hidden, he wouldn't know that only the locals know about it.” She glares at the sniveling man, “It's ways away from the road he's talking about. Fucking far from it. Easily missed if you're not familiar with the place.”

Hicks figures out what she's whispering when Hobie's anger flares, hand tightening around his gun. “I'm telling the truth, Hobie. It's there and she's waiting for you! I promise! She's the one lying!” He points a crooked finger at Riri.

“Thought you wouldn't beg.” His fate is sealed with the gators. “Technically you did lie.” Hobie drops his arm, gun aimed away from Hicks. “Off you go with the gators, boss.”

“No, no, Hobie! Please, I'm sorry!” Hicks tries to grab at Hobie's leg, but Hobie kicks him down on the ground and on his back. He tilts his head back, meeting face to face with a ten foot alligator that seems to smile at him.

His screams echo around the marsh while Hobie and the others get on their horses. He watches the gator death roll the flailing Hicks on the muddied ground until the wailing stops completely.

Hobie leads the pack away while he leaves behind the sound of tearing skin and bones cracking under sharp teeth. And all he could think about is you, and how he could've had a good life with you.

—

Draped in chiffon and stab silk, iridescent blues and purples dance along the fabric as light hits it. Expensive fabric that hides all the aching blemishes on your flesh by the same men who claim that they are doing it for your sake, that it's the only way you would obey.

Your hands are tied behind your back with Cross' hand wrapped around your wrists in a sickening grip; preventing you from moving. You shine under the southern sun, all gold and frills but none of the happiness behind your sullen and dull eyes.

For a fleeting moment in those months you were with Hobie, you had peace. You'd stay there forever if you could, if only the world had granted it to you, instead of the pain that it brought down upon you.

You could've had a good life together.

It's been a whole month since the last time you saw Hobie alive. A whole month without hearing his voice, without his loving touch; and a whole month with the same family who has hurt you in every possible way they could. The image of Hobie buried under the rubble of your shared home spirals you over the edge once again. You've cried, wept and sobbed some more, but nothing has helped. You feel like you've died right next to him. You wish you had.

Meanwhile you have a wound that was never meant to be healed inside you. A wound that was momentarily healed, until you were brought back to the reality of your dreaded life.

You instinctively run your finger around the gold band around your finger, finding the unfamiliar diamond instead of the simple gold band that turns your face even more sour at the scalding heat that turns your heavy dress into an oven. You had the foresight to hide Hobie's ring the second you had a chance. It now lays underneath your floorboards waiting for you.

There's a heavy feeling in your chest, grief running along your heart, plunging your very being into darkness. It was like that day five years ago, you have no knowledge of him alive, no way of knowing if Hicks ended him. It's an awful case of déjà vu.

Both men stand beside you, as if they're meant to guard you. The estate stands behind you, its large shadow looming over you. All Its white marble and columns stand tall, doors that don't creak, windows pristine and gleaming— but you'd rather have the pile of ashes you once called home.

This place lacks a heartbeat.

You flick your tired eyes over to the well beside the estate, your body shivers from how cold it was inside, when you sank into it like stone the first time Hicks threw you inside. It's a miracle you didn't break your neck, in that moment, you wished it had.

A carriage arrives from a distance, horses galloping along the road towards the estate. Wispy cypress trees sit around the path, parting way for the dirt road leading to the house. Its soft leaves dance in the wind, leaves fluttering by as you watch the carriage get closer and closer.

“Remember to smile, we can't lose their money.” Hicks grabs the back of your dress, yanking your neck down for emphasis. “Don't be a bitch like last time or you'll get the well tonight. And I heard it'll be cold tonight.”

“I'll be in my best behavior, uncle.” Your glare towards the rich couple exiting the carriage says otherwise.

Hicks only gives you a stern look before letting you go. Cross loosens his grip for a moment and you immediately take your hands in front of you so he couldn't hold you again. You haven't spoken a word to the man you call husband since you arrived at the estate. Your defiance got your bedroom door locked from the outside for now but was taken apart for the first week of your stay. Showing you bare to the entire world, revealing to the world that you're his.

The woman clad in gold and gemstones huffs, flinging away a fly from her painted face. “God, I hate this humidity.”

“This better be good this time, Hicks.” Her husband takes his tophat off, wrinkling his nose at the scent of heat and damp marsh.

“You won't regret traveling for this, Mr. Burnell.” Hicks sucks up to the man. “My, don't you look lovely, Mrs. Burnell.”

She giggles, hiding the blush dusting her cheeks with a fan. “Oh don't be such a gentleman, Hicks.”

“Stop sucking up to my wife, Hicks.” Even though his smile tells you that it's a joke, his tone says that he's completely irked by your uncle. Perhaps this has happened before.

You roll your eyes subtly, Cross’ jaw tightens as he shakes hands with both guests. “It's a pleasure to have you both today.” He says flatly.

“An honour.” Your tone is tight, lips turned into a strained smile.

“I remember you,” the male Burnell smiles faintly at you. “And you too,” he points at Cross. “I was at your wedding, what a wonderful ceremony.” You clench your fists tightly around your lace gloves, almost tearing the fabric.

“Oh I also remember!” His wife claps, “your gown was lovely, and the deviled eggs were to die for!”

You laugh, a sound more akin to a scoff. “I should've had some back then.”

Mr. Burnell reaches for both of your hands, holding you gently as you make a face at him that doesn't quite reach the man's full understanding. “I'm sorry about your aunt, we sent flowers to the funeral. I hope it was to your liking.”

“I wouldn't know, I wasn't there.” You swallow thickly.

“Oh poor dear,” The woman touches your cheek, and you flinch away. She coos as if you're a child. “You couldn't even bear saying goodbye.”

“Sure,” you slide your hands away from the man's hold, and then you take her hand away from your skin. “That's why.”

Hicks inhales deeply, “why don't we go to the gazebo? Tea is being served there.” He takes their attention away from you.

“We came all this way and you don't even have lunch for us?” Mr. Burnell raises a thick brow, his wife agrees with a nod.

“We did.” Cross finally speaks through gritted teeth. “It got cold.” The couple flares their nostrils in annoyance.

“This place was hard to find.”

“You had us waiting for two hours. Hardly an excuse, Mr. Burnell.” Cross doesn't back down from the older man's stare.

“W-what my associate was trying to say was that— we didn't want to serve you all cold beef! No one likes cold beef, correct?” Hicks tries to save the day, but they don't respond. “There's deviled eggs in the gazebo.” That seemed to work as they followed Hicks towards the blue gazebo behind the house.

Cross yanks you back to his side before you could get far. Your chest tightens, threatening to stop your breathing as he whispers towards one of the estate workers to prepare a batch of deviled eggs immediately. The second they leave, you glare at Cross, refusing to touch him even though his fingers dig into your arm.

“Don’t run, Y/N.” He says for the umpteenth time. You would run, and you had a few times while you're with him. But you were only met with your cheeks burning into the shape of his palm, and his hired guns dragging you back inside the mansion with their lassos tied around your ankles.

“I can't even breathe in this dress, moreso run in it.” You try to take your arm back but he stops you with his nails dragging along your sleeves.

“Be good, be fucking obedient. Don't be impossible like you always were.” His green eyes remind you so much of Hobie that it taints his image in your mind. You refuse to let it fog his image.

“I am not a dog, Cross.” You fight back, why shouldn't you? You have nothing to lose now.

He comes close to your face, jade eyes reflecting the fear in your expression, breath wafting over your face. “Then don't act like one.” His eyes pass over your face, finding fear laced in between the creases of your expression. His tone softens, one that sends shivers down your spine. “Why don't you call me by my real name? Cross is our last name, Y/N. Can you call me—”

“No.” You yank yourself away even if it means that his fingers drag along your arm in a manner that makes your skin run cold.

The next thing you know you're sitting next to Mrs. Burnell, who swallows down deviled eggs like its water. The entire table is set all prettily, blue laces sitting under white porcelain, utensils draped in silver, and chairs soft whilst the gazebo with lilacs growing on the roof acts as your shade. A graveyard full of Cross’ ancestors lies just a few ways away from the gazebo. Withering gravestones left unattended, and overgrown grass drowning each of the carved names. It leaves a heavy presence in the back of your mind.

The fork in your hand shakes, silver shining in the sunlight bearing down behind you just as when a pair of red cardinals fly next to the gazebo. The murmurs of the marsh echoes around the estate, gators trilling a few ways away, birds chirping and cawing right next to croaking bullfrogs. You're surrounded by green with a dash of greed as Hicks continues to suck up to the rich prospective partners.

A hand cups your own, and for a flicker, you thought it was Hobie's calloused hand gently holding onto you until his nails jab into your palm. Cross gives you a hard look, gesturing for you to eat instead of staring blankly at the cakes in front of you. With a mocking smile, you take a glass of cold orange juice on your right, condensation drenching your ungloved hand. You don't break eye contact as you gulp down the entire glass, making the Burnells look at you with pinched brows. For the final touch, you exhale loudly as if you were thirsty beyond belief.

Hicks chuckles nervously, eyes darting from you to the rich couple. Cross is fuming silently, letting your hand go limp on the table. An employee comes to your side, refilling your glass as everyone at the table stays in awkward silence. You can't help but puff out your chest with pride. Hobie would've loved to see that. Their faces would be worth it for the wrath you're about to face.

Mr. Burnell clears his throat, “as I was saying, we can't give twenty thousand for only ten percent shares. It's daylight robbery, Hicks.”

“Oh come on, Quentin, you've known me for a long time!” Hicks plays the ‘old friend’ card, a trick you've seen one too many times. “You know I can be trusted, and that ten percent will go higher once we've had our foothold here in America.”

“I do know you, that's why you can't be trusted. Even her aunt knew better when she gave the company to her.” Burnell pauses, bespectacled eyes staring at you briefly. Your lips curl up into a smirk. You probably don't have to work too hard in sabotaging this one. “Besides, that was back when you were the leading manufacturer in the UK. There was a guarantee, now you're here in a country that is practically shitting bullets by the buckets.” He leans back in his seat, “face it, you old dog, there's no profit here for you.”

“He's right,” His wife enters the conversation, dabbing her mouth daintily with a handkerchief. “Why did you even move here in the first place? I heard the company was doing badly back home but not that bad, right?”

Hicks coughs, drinking from his glass, stalling from answering. Cross has had enough, he leans on the table, elbows right next to his untouched plate, white suit unblemished.

“Because I'm here.” He takes your hand, making a show of it for the Burnells. He's using the ‘I love my wife’ card. Surprisingly, it's only the second time he has used it on the rich and stupid. “And my wife deserves to be with her husband, yes?” The couple looks at each other, then returns their attention to you as you try incredibly hard not to vomit all over the table. “I've…ignored her for far too long while I'm always here tending to my own business.” He clasps the back of your hand with his free hand. “We were deeply saddened by her aunt's passing, but I saw a silver lining. Taking the tragedy and turning it into something better by bringing her and her family business here to my home so we could finally start having our own family here without the dark cloud looming over us.” He was right about one thing, your aunt was a dark cloud looming over everyone. Cross leaned close, pecking your hand chastely. “Right, love?”

You close your eyes to prevent yourself from heaving out what little you've eaten. “Right.” Tone small and disgusted, you have the sudden urge to stab his eyes out with a fork. For a second, your mind gives you that exact image. Seeing his blood spurt out from his sockets and spraying on the deviled eggs.

For some reason, even with the disgusted look on your face, the Burnells' hard exterior softens. The missus clutches the pearls on her chest as if she just heard the most romantic story, and the male Burnell nods along with a fond smile. “You two remind me of my first marriage.” His wife chuckles, you frown, eyebrows knitted together as Cross plays along to his concocted story.

They continue their negotiation with more enthusiasm. Hicks pats Cross gladly on the shoulder, already drafting up a contract on a piece of parchment. Thankfully, Cross has let you go. Free to wipe your hand on your dress. You replay the last minute in your mind, like you're stuck in the moment he touched you with his dry lips upon the same hand you used to cradle Hobie's face with.

The conversation fades into the background, a thought passes you by, one that you're too grief stricken to see until now. Why is Cross even helping Hicks? He has the money to fund whatever the factory needs, he doesn't even need to be in the conversation. He has nothing to gain from this. He already has you, so why does he seem so desperate to get this partnership?

Then it hits you, he's as bankrupt as Hicks. Hicks, who drove the company to the ground with his moronic decisions the second your great aunt was in the ground. And Cross, there was never a day in your short marriage with him that he wasn't out gambling his family fortune away, or going to exotic places you've only read in books. When he doesn't have his hands on you, he's at the nearest pub or the derby races, betting everything in his pockets. You always just thought he had that much money to lose. But you were wrong. And the only reason you're here is because of the money your parents have set aside for you, money that is tied up with the company or what is left of it— the company that you own and have the last say in. Until your name isn't written in that contract that Hicks shoves in your face every morning, they have nothing.

“You have nothing.” You blurt out, you don't regret it immediately.

“Excuse me?” Mr. Burnell says, offended.

“Not you, I know you have money.” You place your elbows on the table, chin propped up on your scarred palm. “I was talking about my dear uncle and beloved husband.” Your words drip with venom and sarcasm.

“What are you saying?” Mrs. Burnell asks, concerned, either for your well being with the two men or for the money she almost lost.

“Shut it, Y/N.” Hicks says through gritted teeth, eyes warning you.

“Don't tell a woman to shut up, Hicks.” Surprisingly, Mr. Burnell defends you. “Speak, girl.” And there goes your respect.

“They don't have anything.” Cross tries to yank your hand back but you quickly tug yourself away. “Hicks is lying, the company is losing money, not gaining it. Production has been down since they moved here, probably because Hicks doesn't know how to run a company.”

You continue your tirade without missing a beat. “He was a manager before marrying my aunt, but he was a shit manager. If not for Peter—” you inhale and clear your mind. “All I'm saying is, he's asking for a scapegoat for the debt collectors, not a business partner.” You flick your eyes mockingly towards the seething Hicks. Meanwhile, Cross sits quietly, you're afraid but you have to continue. “I retract my previous words.” Hicks inhales with relief. “It's not probably, it's definitely.” He stutters, trying to save face but you continue. “He's overworking the workers and because of that there's more mistakes. More mistakes means more bullets that come out a little crooked. That's good, if your targets swerve to the left.”

“She's lying!” Hicks laughs shakily, fists slamming down on the table. “You know how women are? She's hysterical because of her aunt's passing.”

You scoff. “You said it yourself, Mr. Burnell, you don't trust Hicks.” All eyes are on you. Your words fill you with pride, Hobie would be proud. “As for Cross, I wouldn't even trust him with my coin pouch.”

The Burnells seemingly believe you, heads turned slowly towards Cross and Hicks, eyes boring holes in their foreheads. “Looks like we wasted our time. You're right, honey, we should've gone for the Winchester instead of this clown show.”

“You believe me?” You ask, bewildered. “That quick?”

“We passed by the factory on our way here, that's why we were late.” Burnell answers back. Already taking his belongings to leave. “We saw the horrid conditions. We were naive to believe that it was like that because you're still getting used to the transition.” He helps his wife up as Hicks follows behind the couple. Cross stays behind silently while you stay with the Burnells in hopes that they'd take you with them. “Thank you, girl.”

“You're welcome, c-can I—” The couple gets in their carriage, eyes blinking at you. “Can I come with you?” You sound like a child, voice trembling in hope that they'll say yes. “Please.”

Hicks chuckles incredulously right next to them, but his eyes grow dark at your request, a warning. Cross appears behind you, green eyes hidden by the shadow of his hat, lips clamped into a fine line.

“What for, girl?” Mr. Burnell asks, “We don't need any more bootlicking. We're not giving you the money for the factory.”

You flex your fists on your sides, eyes darting in between Hicks and Cross. Heart thumping, you have to try. “I don't— it's not that. I don't need the money. I—”

“So you do have the money for the company then? Why bother asking us?” The older man cuts you off, scoffing while his wife rolls her eyes. “Kids these days, so greedy.” He gets in the carriage, following his wife.

“Wait! Please!” It's too late as they run off in the distance. In your desperation, you start to run after them. But before you could go far, Cross stops you with his arms embracing you from behind. “No! Please come back! They're hurting me here—!” Your flailing stops when Hicks steps in front of you with his gun raised.

“Do you have any idea what you've done?” He clicks the hammer down, finger right on the trigger. “You've doomed us.”

With tears in your eyes, Cross holds you against him tighter. Chest aching, breath stolen from you. “No, just you!” Yet, you continue to fight. You might've lost hope a long time ago if not for Hobie. Hope that you'll get out like last time, hope that Hobie will be there waiting for you. But there's a part of you that just wants to let go. Looking over your shoulder, you're met with familiar green eyes that used to fill you with calm. “And you.”

“I should shoot you right here.”

“Do it then. But you can't because without my signature you're fucking broke!” With a cackle, Hicks yanks the back of your head, taking you from Cross' arms, dragging you towards the well. Body scraping against soil, you try to scratch at his hands but it doesn't deter him as his anger fuels him.

“Fucking bitch, you keep ruining shit!” He yanks you to your feet, and then pressing your front to the mouth of the well while pushing you down harshly, making you look down at the depths.

You yelp, sharp rocks digging into your stomach, eyes forced to look down at the deep dark well. It's cold down there, you wonder if this is what it felt like for Hobie back at the farm. Staying quiet, your hands grip the sides to keep your balance, a bead of sweat falling down and leaving ripples as it hits the stagnant water.

“What, no begging or screaming and crying this time?” Hicks latches on your hair tightly, scalp burning from his hold.

“I've gotten used to the dark. You won't hear me begging ever again.” Your voice echoes down to the bottom. “You can't hurt me anymore, not in the way that matters.” Releasing your hold on the sides, you lean closer to the edge. Expecting the cold embrace and the familiar weightlessness, it doesn't come.

There's a scoff above before you're let go. “I have to correct your fuck up.” He seethes, giving your leg a swift kick as you lay your head on the stone. “Deal with her.”

“I'm not one of your employees, Hicks.” Cross challenges him.

“She's your fucking wife. You discipline her while I go to the factory. As for you,” he flicks the shell of your ear. “Your name better be on that contract when I get back.” You hear their continued bickering whilst you even out your breathing. Just like what Hobie would tell you.

After a rustle of clothing and dress shoes thumping on the ground, you fall on your knees, still clutching the well. Face hidden from Cross, he sighs, hand reaching towards you. Feeling the sickening familiarity of his hand wrapped around your arm, you instinctively flinch away.

“Why couldn't you just obey, just this once?”

You heave, furrows knitted in anger. Looking over your arm, your glare sends goosebumps up his arms. “I'm not one of your hounds.”

“Then why do you kneel like one?” The sun behind him engulfs his entire form, turning him into a breathing shadow.

“Go fuck yourself, Cross.” You shakily stand up while avoiding his gaze. Walking towards the house, you clench your fists until you feel your blunt nails leave pin pricks of crimson

“I'm trying here, Y/N. You're making it impossible.” He yanks you back, neck craned to the side to look at you. “I'm holding back but you're not making this easy.”

“You sound like this is all my fault.” You still avoid his eyes, forgoing to look at the tree behind him. “I'm not the one who gambled all your money away. And I didn't force you to marry me.” His fingers pull you closer.

“Look at me.”

“Fuck you—” you try to escape but he's stronger.

“Look at me just like how you look at him.” He forcefully turns your head with his hand burrowing into your chin.

With apprehension, you chuckle, a cracked dry laughter. Your eyes slowly move to the green eyes in front of you. “I'll never look at you like that. Nothing you do will make me look at you with the same love I give to him.”

Cross swallows thickly, jaw tightening. “Why him?”

“It felt right. We share the same heart.” It's the first truth you've said in a month, and for once you smile genuinely. “I'll always love him, remember that.”

He inhales, and you wait for the impact.

“Sir?” The housekeeper asks from the side, hands wringing in front of her. “Is everything alright?” Her brown hair shimmers in the sun like copper, lips turned into a fine line.

She reminds you of the former housekeeper that tried to help you by taking your letter addressed to Hobie. Cross found out about it, you haven't seen her since then.

“We're alright, Belinda.” Cross lets you go, leaving a mark on your arm. “Fetch me my hunting rifle.”

You leave with haste, hands shaking as you hitch your skirt up. You can feel his sickly green eyes on you, like a shadow that envelops you whole.

You've crossed the line, and you fear that this is the end for you.

—

Pacing around your room, you walk around and hold your breath. It's like waiting for the gallows, waiting for the bullet to hit you. Hobie's ring is back on your finger instead of what Cross gave you on your wedding day, which is the exact same one you left on the bedside table when you escaped. You twist it around your finger as the room shifts and twirls in your vision.

The room is finely decorated with daffodils painted on the walls, gold fixtures on the ceiling with painted deers trotting overhead on fields of green on the ceiling. The room looks like it used to be a child's room. A pale blue bed sits in the middle of the room, draped in a satin canopy. It's a stark contrast to the room back at the farm, all wood and none of the gilded walls. But you'd choose that a hundred times over if given the chance. Especially if Hobie's there waiting for you.

You feel like you're slowly disappearing into the walls.

Your eyes have been glued to the door as you chew your nails. You'd lock the doors from the inside if the locks weren't instead bolted from the outside. Tears brim at your eyes, but you refuse to let it go as you sniff. You miss your home, you miss the smell of dew in the morning. You miss Clover and how she cuddles on your side. You miss Cherry and Bucky and your afternoon rides with them. You miss him, you miss Hobie and how he holds you gently, how he talks to you about things. It's him talking so you'd listen and speak with him until the sun decides to sleep. You miss his voice telling you that everything will be alright.

You wonder if everything will still be alright when you hear heavy footsteps outside your door.

Cross doesn't knock, and you wait at the foot of your bed, standing straight, eyes forward and daunting despite your fear. If he shoots you through the door now, would Hobie be there to greet you on the other side as darkness engulfs you one last time?

This house will be a tomb. Your tomb.

The door doesn't creek as Cross opens it. “Hunt with me, just like old times.” He has a rifle strapped to his back, suit traded in for his haunting gear, still clad in white leather. Your eyes flick over to the two guns on his belt. If only you could take it from him. Or at least one.

“Giving me a gun? Do you think that's wise?” You cross your arms over your chest, clearing your throat so he doesn't notice the shaking of your voice.

“Why? You'd shoot me in the back?” He asks chidingly.

“In a heartbeat.” You say without even a hint of a joke. “What's even out there, Cross? What are we hunting down?”

“A deer.”

“I don't think there are any deer out here.” A dangerous silence hangs in the air, choking you as he stares deeply at you. You inhale, swallowing down your fear as best as you can. “If you give me a knife instead, I will stab your eye out. Killing other things won't keep us from killing each other.”

He clicks his tongue, hand on the gun like he's mocking you. “Take the dog instead.” Taking the leash off his belt he holds it out for you. “A dog for a hound. At least this one is loyal.”

“Which end of the leash is the hound?”

“What do you want, Y/N, hm?” Tossing the leash harshly, he stalks closer, and you flinch back. A doe caught in the coyote's eye. “I broke your heart, I get it. Do you want me to apologize to you?”

“My heart? That's the only thing you haven't broken yet.” He stops a few feet away from you, yet still too close to you. “You broke my body until I could barely recognize myself anymore. My arms bear the shape of your nails, my scalp remembers the sharp tugs of your hands.” You exhale as a tear falls down your cheek. “Hobie broke my heart, but he pieced it together, piece by tiny piece.” You point at him repeatedly. “You, you broke everything else.”

“If this is about your aunt—”

“Fuck you! This isn't about her.” If this is really your end, you don't want to leave without saying the words you've been meaning to say out loud. You tremble for a second before grinning with tears in your eyes. "I'm glad she's gone. Her hold on me is gone.” You chuckle breathlessly, sighing loudly. “There I said it. It's like a boulder has been lifted off my shoulders.”

“Y/N,” there it is, the patronizing tone he uses on you. He's about to guilt you into something you haven't had a hand in, or chastise you like a child.

“Stop being so fucking delusional, take the blinders off for one fucking minute.” The fire in you latches on you. “This is about you and how you hurt me the second you brought me home after the wedding. You knew that I never wanted to marry anyone else, and that my aunt and Hicks hurt me back home. And instead of helping me, taking me away from them, you joined them.”

“I got you out of there. I married you.”

You laugh without an ounce of humour, clapping wildly. “Well thank you very much, Cross!”

“I tried for a little while, Y/N. But I'm your husband, and you continued to disobey so I had to go to them, ask them for advice.” He walks closer, you stop him with a hand in front of you, as if it will shield you from him. You've tried that once, it didn't work.

“Nothing you do will make me forgive you. I hope you drown in your guilt if you even have an ounce of it. I hope you lay awake at night thinking of how much you hurt me. I'd rather die than forgive you.” Cross steps forward with an unreadable expression, and the back of your knees hits the bed as you try to get away. You eye the gun, you fear that you won't keep your promise to Hobie.

The world already ended for you when Hicks killed him.

Cross tries again. You think it'll be the last time he will the second he walks closer to you, so close that you can see yourself in his eyes. “Sign the papers, Y/N, and everything will be over.”

“You know the second I sign it, Hicks will kill me.” Your eyes wander towards his unlatched gun.

“I won't let that happen.”

You laugh in his face, “Sure, but you'll let him hurt me. Might as well sign my death warrant instead.” Standing back up, you inch towards him bravely despite your instincts telling you to shield yourself. You have to get that gun. “I–I tried to love you at first, and remained optimistic in this marriage.” His eyes are on your face, irises darting over your lips while you sneak your hand towards his gun belt slowly. “Even indulging my idiotic childish whims of what a marriage could be like. But I couldn't, not when you hurt me just like they did. Only because I didn't love you like how you thought I would.” Your hand finds the cold metal, fingers wrapping around the handle. “For a second there I thought you'd be my saviour, when in fact it was the opposite. You joined them instead. You were just as bad as them.”

You stand toe to toe with him. You hear a glass breaking downstairs, and then the smell of something familiar. Snatching the gun quickly, you aim it at his stomach, steel meeting flesh. You feel the same sensation against your chest.

“I love you.” Cross utters, finger right on the trigger.

“I've seen love, this isn't it.” With your cold words, you shoot.

Both guns go off.

Both hitting their targets.

—

The sun is just beginning to set, orange peeking from the horizon, hues of pink and orange blanketing the three men. Each inhale from the cigarette perched in each of their lips has grey smoke filtering through their lungs. They should be guarding the front door like they were hired to do, instead they chainsmoke their way out into an early grave while hiding behind the estate, facing the vast green marsh that hides their debauchery from the rest of the world.

“You hear any cryin’ last night?” The one with an auburn beard asks, his rifle leaning against the wall right next to him instead of in his hand like it was supposed to be in.

A dark haired man answers, belching out smoke while crouched on the ground, eyes narrowed at the whispering willows. “Yeah, i think the stable boy wasn't lying, there's a fuckin' ghost here.”

“You two think it's a fucking ghoul or some shit?” The third one replies with a scoff, blonde hair peeking out from his hat as he takes a swig of moonshine.

“Yeah,” The first two responds, spine tingling when a cold breeze passes through them.

“It's the boss’ wife, not a ghost, you morons.” As the yellowed haired man responds, a bright flicker of light appears in between the willow trees. “What the fuck?” The two men next to him follows his terrified gaze, cigarettes falling off their lips.

The light moves, as if it dances in the wind. It flickers, brightening up into an orange glow before turning yellow once again. The three outlaws move from the wall, eyes glued on the mesmerizing ball of light.

“Fuck, it's a swamp ghost—” the one with the red beard gasps, choking on his own blood, frantically trying to stop his neck from gushing out ichor with a knife stuck to his throat.

The other two only had a split second to react before a sharp knife slashes at their exposed necks. They mirror each other, shirts stained with red, palms coated in warmth and crimson while they frantically try to stop the bleeding. They croak and creak out, eyes managing to fall upon hazel eyes, and one with his face covered in soot. They both hold a glinting knife, blood still trickling down from the steel.

Miguel leaves from his hiding place in the thicket, eyes flicking briefly towards their twitching forms before returning his gaze at the ball of light. He nods to Riri and Karl, who stand above the corpses. And then he gestures with his gloved hand, giving the warm light a small nod.

The light comes closer, footsteps echoing as boots sink in moist soil— appearing behind the darkness of the trees and into the fading light of the sun. Hobie's face is revealed behind the light with a lit cigarette in between his lips, shadows dancing around the fury behind his green eyes hidden by the brim of his hat. He inhales before flicking the cigarette away, falling into a puddle. More appear behind him, trees and bushes parting before the dozen men and women following in his steps.

“Karl, light the oleander for me will you?” Hobie tosses the bag of pink flowers in Karl's waiting hands. And then he takes his knife back from the auburn haired corpse, wiping it on the grass before sheathing it back on his belt.

“D’you think that'll work? What if she gets caught in it?” Riri whispers, gesturing for the gang to crouch down and hide beside the wall where the trio were last seen smoking.

Hobie drags one of the bodies, hiding it behind the bushes while the rest of the gang help with the other two. He follows Riri, blood rushing in his ears, adrenaline pumping through his veins at how close you are from him. It's only a matter of time before you're back safe and sound.

“She knows the smell, she'll cover her nose.” His voice doesn't waver, but his insides are turning and twisting inside him. He can't fail. “As for everyone, cover your damn noses, and protect your eyes as much as you can.”

“This won't kill us right?” Karl weighs the bag in his hands.

Miguel checks his bullets beside him, giving Hobie and Riri a once over if their weapons are lacking. “At most it'll make us sick and itch. Right, Hobie?”

“Just don't inhale it directly.” Hobie yanks his bandana up to his nose, fitting it snugly. He notices his hands shaking, closing his fists tightly, he cannot fail. A month of tracking you down can't end with him failing to save you, he can't lose you. “You know what to do, Karl. Ri go with him.”

“Hobie,” she clasps the back of his fist. “Be careful, alright? If you get hurt, call Roberto, he'll treat you.” Inhaling sharply, she pats his cheek. “Get her back but don't die on us, alright?”

Hobie couldn't look directly at Riri, “She goes first, Ri.”

“I know, that's why we brought Roberto with us, remember? He's the doctor, he knows what to do and…what to expect, if need be.”

Hobie nods, staring at his family. “Thank you for backing me up, I owe you. All of you.”

“Don't die and we're even, Hobie.” Miguel pats Hobie's bicep before heading to his designated position.

“What he said,” Karl smiles brightly, fist connecting to Hobie's clenched one gently. “Also if I don't return from this, Robbie's gonna fucking kill you, man.”

Hobie cracks a smile. “Yeah, I know. Try to stay alive for the both of us then.” Karl makes his way towards the front while Riri staggers behind, still holding onto Hobie's hand. “Just like Valentine, right?” Riri smiles, hiding her trepidation behind her bandana. He fixes the cloth over her face carefully, tugging it over her nose and ears. “Keep that snug.” She could only nod, eyes brimming with tears. “Don't die on us too, Ri.” With a quick embrace, she leaves, following behind Karl who was waiting for her.

Hobie takes a second to breathe. He has done things like this a hundred times before, but never with you on the line. He can't leave without you like last time. He won't cower behind wooden walls like last time, he's not gonna stand here and tremble and rot and bleed. He's going to get you back. He knows he will.

There's a gunshot echoing inside the estate just as when a glass window breaks, signaling the beginning of the end.

—

The house falls and chaos reigns. They tried to stick to their plan of using stealth, but of course someone saw them and alerted everyone in their presence. Karl got the oleander thrown inside the halls, puffs of pinkish fumes swell out from the bag. Hobie sees the result of it as black smoke turns the estate into the pits of hell. Hobie's eyes waters but he continues to strike anyone who wasn't on his side. He throws his spiked whip towards someone who tried to shoot at Karl, the barbed whip rakes and breaks skin as he tugs and pulls until the man falls down next to his shredded flesh.

Screams echo around the estate, his posse lets go of the innocent unarmed employees while the others aren't so lucky the second they aim back.

They try to fight their way inside, finally thinning the outlaws outside as flames trickle from the burning bag towards the velvet curtains. Embers climb up until they hit the ceiling, fire licking at the once white walls, leaving burn marks in its wake.

A few of the hired guns surrender after recognising Miguel's gang, some were fools who tried to shoot them down but his allies were in greater numbers. More experienced, more bloodthirsty than the hired guns.

All the winning cards are in his hand, all he needs to do is play them right.

“Miguel!” Hobie yells while he and three others try to push through the main doors that refuse to budge open.

Miguel, who was currently brawling with a man taller than him, grunts when a fists harshly connects at his jaw. Hobie curses under his breath, without wasting a second, he aims and shoots. Gunpowder fills his lungs once more as the burly man falls on top of Miguel in a thud.

Hobie stalks towards Miguel, he shoots someone who was aiming at him on his left, his bullet doesn't miss even without him looking at the target. He grabs the body by its vest, yanking it off Miguel.

“Get up,” he reaches for the breathless gang leader, hazel eyes smiling at his old friend.

“I had that, Hobie!” Despite his broken nose, Miguel is back on his feet the moment he takes Hobie's helping hand. “Retirement, huh?”

Hobie shakes his head with a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Fuckin' retirement.” Reloading his gun, he goes back to the locked doors with Miguel now in tow. “On three!” His shoulders meet with the oak, “one!” Miguel nods next to him, bracing himself on the door. “Two!” A few more join in, ready to push the moment he says, “three!”

The doors burst open, splintering wood scattering, smoke coming out into the fray. Hobie meets with Sheriff Lee's eyes before a bullet hits him directly on his shoulder.

“Fuck!” He falls on his knees, clutching his wound as blood seeps through his fingers.

“Should've left when you had the chance, Mr. Brown!” Lee taunts, reloading his hunting rifle, giving Miguel enough time to drag Hobie back outside and placed behind the wall. “Come back here, murderer!”

A few shots ring out, both parties exchanging bullets. Your face appears in front of him before it’s replaced by the doctor's face. He needs to get you out quickly before the oleander takes hold. Hands tie a bandana around his wound, Hobie stands up the second that the cloth is tightened.

“Keep that on!” Roberto yells above the booming gunfire. “I’ll fix you properly right after this!”

Hobie nods, blinking the haze away. Miguel shakes him awake while avoiding his injury. “Lee's down! We'll handle the rest down here, we heard that she's upstairs.”

“Okay,” Hobie inhales and exhales, I'm almost there, love.

When the bullets stop flying inside the now bullet ridden manor, he steps foot inside. Glass crunches at his feet, eyes darting and alert from any surprises. He sees bodies littered on the marble floors, both from his side and Lee's. The sheriff lays under a pile of broken vase, eyes wide open, fingers still enclosed around his gun. The smoke thickens, and he hears blasts reverberating around the house.

Miguel's posse storms the place, pocketing whatever shines inside the house. A few more bullets are shot from deep inside the walls, but it's clear who's the winner. Hobie just wants you back.

Just as when he's about to climb the winding stairs with his throbbing shoulder, he sees a man stagger out from a room. “Is that—?” The bloodied man in the hunting gear trips and falls off the railing, plunging down right next to where Hobie's standing.

Cross lays on his own puddle of rubies, a gaping hole in his stomach instead of his insides. “H-help me,” Begging, he looks at Hobie with his bloodshot eyes, reaching towards Hobie's leg with his broken hand. “She's upstairs. Y-you can have her.”

“Is that him?” Miguel asks, and Riri appears from the side. Eyes watching the wounded man. Hobie nods, eyes never leaving Cross.

Hobie aims at Cross' head, seething. “She is not a thing to be had.” His aim stays true, but he shakes his head, lowering his gun down. “Nah, I'll let her bullet kill you.”

Miguel smirks, while Riri and him have a silent communication. “Don't worry, Hobie, we got rich boy.” He takes out his lasso from his waist, crossing the distance towards the dying Cross.

Riri gestures for Hobie to continue up the stairs. “Go! We'll be waiting.”

With a grateful nod, Hobie runs up the stairs towards his fire and his light. His heavy footsteps echo, breathing staggered as he thinks of you. What if he finds you in the same condition as Cross? What would he do if he sees you bleeding out? So he runs despite his own injuries, to see you again, to hold you again.

He follows the blood trail once he gets close enough, instead of your smiling face greeting him back, he stares at your body covered in crimson. Soft blue bed sheets stained with dark rubies. Arms spread on the bed as you lay on the soft mattress with your eyes unblinking towards the ceiling.

Hobie calls for you, air sucked from his lungs with every step he takes. He reaches for you, tears turning you into a watercolor painting in his vision. Red and blues blending into a watery picture.

You feel like you're in the bottom of a well, staring up at your aunt's sneering face. Your breathing is labored while the bullet is stuck in your chest, right below your ribcage. There's no pain, no feeling in your fingers as you see Hobie's face appear from above. Head perfectly lined up with the deer antlers painted on the ceiling.

“Found the deer, Cross.” You murmur, eyes hazy, lips barely opening.

“Stay awake, love.” Hobie's hand trembles as he rips his bandana off to stave off the bleeding by plugging the wound. You cry from the sudden pain, hands flying towards his wrists. “‘m sorry, ‘m sorry.” His tears flow down your cheek. “This'll be over, I need to carry you.”

“Hobie?” Your eyes focus on his face, meeting with his viridescent eyes. “Are you real?” Nails dig into his flesh, you sob, fingers shaking whilst you reach for his face. The pads of your fingers brush along his jaw, stubble returning you back to reality. “I'm so s-sorry, I should've told you.”

“None of that.” He holds onto the back of your hand, letting your palm rest on his cheek, lips brushing along your wrist. The matching rings reflect the growing fire ebbing towards the room.

“It h-hurts, Hobie.”

Sniffing, burning wood enters his lungs, sobs threatening to pull him down to you. “I know, I know.” He wipes the tears and the sweat off your forehead. “But we need to move, love, there's a fire and I need to carry you down.”

You gaze at his green eyes, sorrow and grief twisting and turning behind them. They remind you of home, of Clover, of Cherry and Bucky. And you remember your promise to him, an impossible promise that you will try to keep. But if it means that it's his end too, you have to break it. For his sake.

You grip his shoulders, Hobie notices how weak your hold on him is. “Okay, okay, carry m-me down.” There's a taste of copper in your mouth, lips coated in the bitter taste.

He nods, wiping his tears with his sleeves before sliding his hand behind your back, finding your warm blood sticking to the bedsheets. “I got you.” Whispering against your crown, he lifts you up mere inches away from the bed before you scream in agony. “‘m sorry!” He cries into your hair, your grip weakening even more.

“W-we can try again.” You slide your palm to his nape, “try again, Hobie.”

Hobie flicks his eyes towards you, the light behind your eyes is starting to dim. “Help!” He yells in desperation at the door, in hopes that someone comes bounding up the stairs. “Riri! Miguel! Anyone!”

Your heart breaks, “Hobie, Hobs.” Patting his chest, it's getting harder to breathe. “L-leave. Leave me here.” Hobie's already shaking his head. You smile softly at him, the best you could do despite your body dying. “You have to, you can't die here.”

“And you do?” He cups your face, “we still have forever to go, remember?”

He doesn't want you to come back as a dream anymore, or a shadow embracing him from behind; or a pain in his chest when he hears your name in his mind. He doesn't want your ghostly kiss to taste like ashes on his lips.

He doesn't want you to go.

“I'm sorry, I can't keep my promise. B-but you still can.” You weakly push down at his nape to feel his forehead against yours one last time. Your eyes are starting to close. “Live for me, would you?”

“No, please.” His palm slides right above your heart, feeling your heartbeat slow down. One last time, he yells for help. His throat burns as the ceiling above is engulfed in flames. No one comes to help. “I have to break my promise too, love.”

“Don't, please.”

“A life lived without you isn't a life well lived, remember?”

You accept death in his warm embrace. “I'll see you in a bit then.”

Flames engulf the room in its fiery destruction. Paint melting off the walls, wood and glass cracking under the pressure. And yet, he still holds on to you, lips pressed on your cold lips in a fleeting goodbye.

“Hobie!”

—

In the middle of nowhere sits the remnants of a farm with clovers growing all around it. Vines snaking along what remains of the farm house, and in those vines, pink hydrangeas grow and thrive amidst the cinders. And behind those darkened wood sits two graves with clovers growing on top of the soil. Two names are etched on simple limestone graves, they bear the same last name and same date of death.

Many travelers pass through the place without ever knowing the story behind the two graves. Seasons come and go, flowers bloom and wither. But only a few ever knew what used to stand on the emerald farm. What used to grow, what colour the house was, and who used to live in it. Stories were whispered and told but only a few truly knew the story behind it, few who came and visited and placed flowers on each of the graves.

And in those few, only three of them know that the once abundant farm where two graves were dug right under an oak tree, are empty.

The stories and the graves were enough to fool anyone left that wants to hurt either one of you to turn back and lament.

The true story lies behind the northern border, where pine trees grow up to the skies. Where snow and ice envelops the whole place. Where the two names etched on the gravestones in the empty farm now live.

“Stop bullyin’ your brother.” The dappled foal yelps, trotting away from his much bigger older brother. The dark horse with white splotches turns his bright blue eyes towards Hobie, huffing and puffing like an annoyed teenager. “Don't huff at me,” great, now he's the one talking to horses. “Go tell your dad not to have any more kids. Not my problem, junior.” The young horse rears, running towards the barn where Buckeye and Cherry sleeps.

Hobie leans on the fence, watching the sunrise on his expansive land. Horses and foals run around freely, feeling the cold gust of wind in their manes. A few sheep roam the grounds, while a pair of cows chew their way towards the fences. Snow-capped mountains rise up high in the background, white snow dusted along the rocks like sugar. While the trees dotted along the mountainside makes for the perfect scenic view. He pulls at his jacket closer to himself, fur tickling his nose as he breathes out puffs of smoke from the cold temperature. Winter’s coming, he can feel it in his joints as another breeze rolls in. He smiles in contentment when the air carries the sound of ducks quacking from their coop, and the smell of morning dew passing by. No more does the smell of fiery gunpowder graze his senses, and no sounds of bullets firing ringing in his ears.

He keeps his hat snug on his head, Clover runs by with her litter of puppies tugging along. And he feels you before you arrive by his side. A smile tugs on his lips, hand already reaching for your waist.

“What are you thinking about, cowboy?” You flutter your eyelashes, chin placed in his shoulder.

“That I have it good, too good.”

You give him a tender smile, leaning to kiss his jaw. “None of that. This isn't too good for you, you deserve all of this.”

“Too early to wallow, huh?” Hobie wraps his arm around your waist to pull you closer, and then he twists around to face you fully, back leaning on the fence, admiring you in the bitter blue of dawn.

You find penchants on his sternum, nose nuzzling his scar. “So fucking early.” He laughs, music to your ears.

“Hard to get used to, huh?”

“Kind of, it's a good feeling though, waking up.”

“You feel okay, right?” His palm pats your chest gently where a scar lies. “No breathlessness? Nothin'?”

You sniff at the cool wind, “nothing, I'm fine, Hobie.” You cup his cheek, jaw rounded at the edges, scruff tickling you, he looks as if time hasn't passed. “Nothing to worry about.” He leans towards your touch, fingers bracelet around your wrist gently, lips meeting your skin. “You okay?”

“Never better, love.” His green eyes twinkle, free arm pulling you impossibly closer. “Especially today.”

You tilt your head playfully. “What's today exactly?”

“Cheeky,” he pokes your side. “You know what day it is.”

You feign realization. “Ah! I remember now, Riri and the gang are coming over.”

“Yes, and?” He grins, biting his lower lip, jade eyes crinkling at the corners. Seeing the matching rings on your finger and his own makes him smile wider.

You suck in your teeth, acting like you're thinking. “It's Bucky's birthday?” Hobie rolls his eyes with a chuckle, and you finally relent. “I know what day it is.” You lean away, taking out a letter addressed to Hobie from your pocket. It's filled with affectionate words, loving thoughts and everything in between. It's a love letter just for him. “Happy anniversary, Hobs.”

Hobie's chest fills with a sense of belonging, heart full with his love for you. He keeps the letter in his coat pocket, right above his heart. “Happy anniversary, lovie.” He pulls you back, you giggle as your palm hits his chest, fingers snaking up to his nape to guide him towards your waiting lips.

“Forgot something, cowboy?” You say against his lips, and he nudges your nose with his own.

You feel something grazing against your chin, and when you flick your eyes down, you see a letter written in his hand, addressed to you. You tamp down your excitement, snatching the envelope, giving it a peck and tucking it inside your jean pocket.

“Never, read it together like always?” He pecks your warm lips once, then twice before indulging himself in your warmth.

“Yes,” you utter, breathlessly. “But inside, your tea, and the girls are waiting.”

Hobie chortles, kissing you again before reluctantly pulling away. “They're awake?”

“They smelt breakfast.” You inhale, letting his sandalwood and mint scent waft over you with ease. “If you hurry, there might still be some left for you.” You begin to walk away, hand grasping his palm.

“Alright, just one more then we'll go.” He pulls you back to his chest gently as you giggle atop his lips. He kisses you like he did all those years ago.

In the middle of nowhere, his story begins. And in the middle of nowhere, his story ends with you.

A/N: Thank you so much for sticking around this long! Our beloved cowboy is finally happy and at peace 🥺 If you loved reading OPIN please consider reblogging ❤️

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darkenedreaper · 1 year ago

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Pairing: Ellen Ripley (Aliens) x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Slight angst

A/N: Slight sad angst, let me know if you want more story to this

Summary: When you return with Newt, how will Ripley react when she sees her old lover.

Distant Lovers

You and Ripley had gone through all sorts or stages in a relationship, although you never really officially disclosed to one another what you were exactly. You were in a relationship, but it was never confirmed by yourself or Ripley, you both just went along with it because you were happy in each others company, happy in each others arms at night, happy in each others steamy embraces, and happy in the company of one another on a romantic level. You and Ellen had both gone through the first attack of the Xenomorph on the Nostromo, and you pushed through the aftereffects. You stayed as a team, and grew close on the Nostromo. It could be said the Nostromo is where your ‘relationship’ started. You stayed together on the ship back to Earth… that was until you were approached by Burke and asked to go to LV 426, as all of the colonies had gone down. You and Ripley promised one another you wouldn’t go, but it wasn’t until you were awoken by her as she had a nightmare, you both called Burke saying you’d join, to do one thing and one thing only; wipe the fuckers out. It was going as good as it could’ve done until you were separated. Ripley was pulled off to join the Marines, give them a talk, and meet the crew. You were pulled off to command a higher unit of the Marine Corps. When you and Ripley, and the two teams met up tensions were high. You caught on to a man named Hicks making eyes at Ripley, not to mention that both the Marine squads were squaring up to one another. As you, Ripley, Hicks, Hudson, Vasquez, Newt, and the other surviving Marines were welded into an office on LV 426, tensions grew higher, even between you and Ripley. You got into small irrelevant arguments, you bickered, and you seemed to grow apart for the time you were in there. It didn’t help that Hudson was panicking and Vasquez and Drake were shouting at him. Hicks and Ripley had gotten closer. For the time spent on the plant you isolated yourself away from Ripley, she was hurting you by spending precious time with Hicks. She spent a lot of time with Newt but that was alright, Newt was a scared little girl who saw Ripley as a mother. You were hurting because she had shut you out, turned to someone else for reassurance and care. You didn’t want to spend time with her, so any time that was spent together it was filed with bitter arguments. Some of those arguments got nasty and personal. It left a hatred between you and Ripley, maybe it was because of the situation and the people around you. Most of the arguments and insults you know were taken too far, but you were both stubborn and fought fire with fire. You and Ripley didn’t speak, you didn’t sit in the same room as one another, you didn’t fight side by side; and it felt like she had abandoned you, abandoned you for a potential family life with Hicks and Newt… or so you thought.

After the events of the Queen Xenomorph and her offspring were annihilated during the explosion of LV 426, more problems rose. There wasn’t enough room on the ship back to Earth for you and Newt, there was only a shuttle available. Ripley had actually spoke to you for the first time and begged you to take her place on the ship while she went with Newt. Part of you thought she was pleading for your space in the shuttle to protect the girl should anything happen, but the stubborn part of you knew she was pleading for your space to protect you. Although you and Ripley didn’t speak for a long time, she still showed she cared for you. She’d save you a seat in the office area whether you took it or not, she’d leave a cup of coffee where you were sitting, she’d secretly check your guns were loaded and you have enough ammunition, she’d check you had your helmet, armour, and even torch. She’d glance at you from across the room trying to read you, trying to tune in to what you were thinking about. She wanted to know if you were thinking about her, about the Nostromo, about the Xenomorph, perhaps you weren’t thinking about anything at all. But she wanted you to hold her and you tell her your thoughts, just like you used to, to calm her on the nights she woke up after a night terror.

So you assured Ripley that you protect Newt, that you wouldn’t let anything happen to her, and that you would both return safe. Newt clung on to Ripley when they were parting but the girl knew she would be safe with you. You gave Ripley a last look, she did the same. You both seemed stuck in place, you both wanted to hug, kiss, hold even shake hands at this point. But you wouldn’t move. So you have her a wink with a small smile and took the girls hand heading to the shuttle. Rather than heading straight to the ship, Ripley held back until she couldn’t see you both anymore.

Both the Marine ship and your shuttle were travelling directly back down to Earth for the first time in years, everyone would be in hyper sleep and the Marine ship was the first to arrive. The company had set up a large private housing estate for the Marines, yourself, Ripley and Newt to settle down into for the time being, and to settle in back down on Earth. You and Ripley had seen the house you’d been assigned to, it was the house at the bottom of a straight walk-down street. It was a beautiful house with steps leading up to it sat in the middle of a row of houses leading down to it, it had big front double doors, and bushes on the sides, it was a home to go to.

You and Newt had woken up from hyper-sleep to find you had a matter of hours left before you grounded to Earth. You had made contact with Ellen’s ship but only to find out that it had grounded 4 weeks before you have. The company had told you that Ellen had settled into the house, she was eagerly waiting for your arrival, but she was scared. She didn’t want a phone call that told her you and Newt didn’t make it, or something happened to the both of you. You tried to make contact with Ripley but that didn’t work as you still hadn’t grounded. You had about an hour left before you grounded and the same events with the first Xenomorph in the shuttle had happened with you and Newt. The monster was hiding in the vents, it had tucked itself in. You hid Newt in the uniform closet with her plastic doll. You didn’t try and flush the thing out, as it would most likely end up on earth. As it appeared to be sleeping in the vents you had snuck around it to push the alarm on the shuttle, which alerted the coma only lives were in danger… and it wasn’t long before Ellen caught wind of it. The alarms went off, the lights were flashing, the alarm was sounding, and it woke. You did the best you could to try and fight it with a pipe you’d found, without being burnt alive by it’s acid. Newt had started screaming from the uniform closet, making the aliens target; Newt. As the alarm had been set off, the shuttle was put into an automatic descent, making you, Newt, and the Xenomorph head straight for Earth at a rapid pace. By now, you had been thrown over all sorts of controls and buttons, you tried to light its tail on fire. You managed to stick a police through its arms jamming it into the vents as you got Newt strapped into a chair to brace her for impact, and the alien was frantic as it had practically ripped its own arm off to get you. You had managed to light its leg on fire, eventually the rest of its body catching on fire. As you made out the buildings from your rapid descent, you hugged Newt, protecting her from the incoming impact, and you prayed that the alien would die, burning alive before the oxygen tanks blew.

As the shuttle smashed into the ground, the backend of the shuttle had blown up, seemingly the oxygen tanks did catch on fire. You figured you were unconscious for a few minutes, but as soon as you woke you looked around for the threat, seeing as some of the shuttle had melted and had acid dripping from it you took the hint it had blown up. You quickly unstrapped a groggy Newt and made your way out of the wreck of the shuttle. As you got out there were people, lots of people standing around you. There were crowds. The sunlight hurt your eyes, and you shielded Newts. You and Newt had dust and dirt and ash all over you. You were bleeding from your eyebrow, lip and nose from the crash and the attack of the alien, that was why as you walked away from the crowd people were shouting if you needed help and who you were. After picking Newt up and carrying her bridal style, you made your way to the private estate which you had memorised the directions to. Newt only had a small nosebleed, and dirt all over her, but she was tucked into your neck. It was a short walk, and early morning, so you had hoped to have dodged the news vans and reporters.

It wasn’t long before a Marine caught whiff of the breaking news on the tv channel which he had just figured out how to use. All the Marines had gathered in Ripleys home, where they all anxiously waited for your arrival. Ripley stared in shock at the screen, she stared in shock at the mess and state of the shuttle crash. She tried to search for you on the news, wondering if the camera would pan to 2 survivors… but it didn’t. So she waited and waited, looking outside the porch windows, holding tears back.

As you turned the corner to start walking down the straight run to your new home you could vividly make out at the bottom of the private estate, you mind went blank for a while. But you knew you’d see Ripley, and thinking about Ripley made you question. Did you she miss you? Did she want to start things up again? Did she want to get married? Should you ask her? Should you leave her? Should you question her and Hicks? Should you be living with her? Your mind stopped asking questions when you got closer and closer to the house you made out that Ripley was waiting at the double doors, you saw her breath in the class, rapidly breathing, she had saw you. She saw a limping figure carrying a smaller figure, covered in dirt, and ash. She saw from her doors you were bleeding and you were hurt. As you continued to walk, Newt popped her head up, seeing Ripley open both double doors. You saw Ripley walk down the steps and you felt Newt wriggling to leave your arms, you stopped walking and gently put her down. You stood still and stood in your place watching as Newt cried out “Mom”, running to Ripley as Ripley did the same, running to her little girl. They met halfway in the street, but they were so far away from you. You held back, wondering if you were welcome. But you watched your two favourite girls hug and sob at their reunion. As Ripley out Newt down she turned to you, still with a tight hold on Newt. She looked at you and took in your appearance, she saw you were weak, hurting, tired, but she saw a look in your eyes that mirrored how she felt. She wants to run to you and she wants you ti pick her up in your arms and hold her, she doesn’t want you to ever leave her again. Although you could barely hear her, she said “thank you”. You stood in place, like the soldier you were. You were going to move forward… but Hicks running to the front door, looking down at Ripley and Newt caught your eye. Your heart dropped, why was he in your house? Did he not see who brought Newt home? How long had he been in yours and Ripleys house? Did she spend nights with him? Did she rest in his arms.. his in hers? And so you gave a tired smile to Ripley, dropped your head down, turned around, and made your way away from them. Made your way to where?… you didn’t know.

Masterlist

Writing Info

Do ya’ll want a part 2?

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dominiquelucalover · 15 days ago

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Protect Her pt. 3 | Dominique Luca x Single-Mom!Reader

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Summary: with the search for your ex still underway, SWAT ensures your safety by taking every measure possible, even if it means never leaving you alone.

CW: discussions of murder, drug dealing, and stalking, Reader is a single mom, the baby's name is Daisy,

- after some follow up questions, you were allowed to go home, with an escort of course; but after the day you'd had, you were scared to stay there on your own, but you tried you best not to show it.

- luckily, you weren't going to be alone, as Sargent Harrelson and Commander Hicks had decided you were still under their protective custody and therefore, you'd have an officer staying at your apartment until the investigation was finished.

- the first to volunteer was Luca; he'd bonded with you over the last few hours and promised to protect you, so he wasn't going to leave your side until he'd done his job. no one objected.

- he felt a certain level of responsibility taking on that task, not just because it was his job but because he saw how badly your life had been affected by your ex, how scared you were of him, and how you did everything in you power for your young daughter.

- he offered to sleep on the couch and seeing as you had nowhere else to put him and got out some blankets and a pillow for him, setting up the space before he gently took the blankets from you and assured you that he could handle it; you needed to relax and you half joked that you never got to relax.

- not a lot happened as you went about your typical routine after that; you fed Daisy, got her bathed and ready for bed, read to her and kissed her goodnight, then took a shower yourself, and ate a small meal in the kitchen.

- Luca watched you from where he sat on the couch, not sure if he should make small talk or not. despite having been with you most of the day, you were practically a stranger, and likely tired of hearing his voice.

- you hated the silence, though said nothing; you just wanted to curl up in abed and catch some z's before Daisy woke up. so you finished you meal and went to brush your teeth, but before you stepped into thebhall, you turned to Luca and spoke softly,

- "thank you, for everything."

- he looked at you and smiled, "you don't have to thank me."

- "I do. no one's ever stood up to him before," you tell him and sigh, "I was certainly too scared to."

- then you walked to your room and left the door ajar, brushed your teeth in the attached bath, then ensured the baby monitor was on before you turned out the light and went to bed.

- the next morning, you woke up late, too groggy to remember the events of yesterday before you it hit you like a truck and you groaned into your pillow; you laid there for several minutes before realizing the house was so quiet - too quiet.

- you jumped out of bed and rushed across the hall to Daisy's nursery, only to find her not in her crib.

- panic shocked your system and you ran to get your phone, ready to call the police; but as you were just about to hit the call button, you were walking into the living room and stopped, seeing the TV playing a colorful, playful show and Luca was sitting on the couch with your daughter propped up on his knee.

- you breathed a sigh of relief as you remembered the swat officer was there, why he was there a blip in the back of your mind.

- "when did she wake up?" you asked, walking over and sitting with them, taking Daisy from him to calm you racing heart.

- he watched you carefully, "about an hour ago. I don't know if she's sleeping through the night yet, but she sure as hell did last night. yesterday must have tired her out." then he covered his mouth as he realized something, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't cuss in front of her."

- you flash him a small smile, "It's okay, I said a lot worse when I was pregnant. no doubt she heard some of that."

- he chuckled and sat up a little straighter. "well, I hope you don't mind but I changed her and fed her some of the formula from the cabinet. thought you could use the extra sleep."

- "that's more than okay, thank you," you said softly, cutting him off before he could say you didn't have to thank you, "and yes, I'm going to thank you because all you were supposed to do was protect us, everything else, you could have gotten me for."

- he smiled softly and nodded, "fair point, but really, you deserved a break. especially after yesterday."

- you didn't really want to talk about yesterday, so you turned your attention to Daisy and cooed at her. you felt Luca's eyes watching you,, but you tried to ignore it, focusing on your baby.

- as he sat there, Luca could only think about how important it was that he did his job; not just your life, but your daughter's life could be the cost, so he wasn't going to let that happen.

- he stood up and walked over to the window, allowing you some space; he looked outside, wondering what the day would entail. did you have to go to work? was this stint going to endanger your career? he hoped not.

- his thoughts were put on pause when he caught sight of something on the street and he tensed up, closing the curtain; he crossed his arms over his chest and huffed.

- you looked up, "what is it?"

- his face softened as he looked at you and he walked over, crouching in front of you. Daisy squealed and smiled at him, and he smiled at her before looking at you again. "I don't want to freak you out, but your ex replaced his goons outside."

#dominique luca #dominic luca #dominique luca x reader #swat x reader #swat 2017 #swat #swat luca #swat cbs #luca x reader #swat luca x reader

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rockermybuddie · 3 months ago

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Feelings

Rocker x Reader

Story 1

A/n: I decided to make a small series. Hopefully it does well.

Summary: Rocker has kept his eyes on you since your first day on SWAT. After two years of keeping your feelings pushed down you finally confessed your feelings for him after watching him almost die in front of you.

—————

You walk into HQ on just a normal day, ready to handle whatever work throws at you today. Being a SWAT officer you never know what kind of job you’ll be doing and that’s what you love about it. Also helping ones in need is what keeps you going.

“Hey darling.” Rocker says walking into the locker room to his locker. “Hey Rocker.” You smile shaking your head, you’re used to all the nicknames he calls you. Its a different one everyday.

You shut your locker and go to say hi to the rest of 20 squad when you see Rocker staring at you. You cant help the warm feeling you get in your cheeks and the butterflies in your stomach but you push them down. You cant catch feelings for the leader of 50 squad when you are one of the two girls on SWAT.

“Looking for something?” You ask him with a bit of an attitude. He smiles at your reaction and goes back to getting ready for his shift.

“Hey, need you in here.” Hondo says when he sees you walking past the computer room. The computer room is where everyone gets the info about the case and where the research happens.

Everyone is surrounding the table as we listen to Hicks talk about this huge case for today. Rocker joins in beside you giving you a small elbow bump. He smirks down at you but your ignore him, focusing on the task.

Once everyone got their assignments every dispersed to grab their gear. “Looks like we’ll get to work together today.” Rocker says to you. “Yep.” You respond. Its not unusual that 20 squad and 50 squad get paired together to work a case so getting to work with Rocker isnt that big of deal but you are pretty excited to watch him in action but you cant let him know that.

On the way to the warehouse you push down everything that has nothing to do with the case and you focus on Hondo giving the team one last run down about what is going to happen.

The two most important things in a mission, one keep yourself and teammates and civilians alive, unharmed. Two, secure the threat.

Everyone arrives at the warehouse. 50 squad is taking the B side while 20 is taking the A and they are going to meet up in the middle while 60 squad is securing the perimeter.

Somewhere from when they entered the building to now the mission has gone sideways. Its like they knew SWAT was about raid them.

You and Rocker have some how managed to be each others partner searching the warehouse. Rocker is good at separating his feelings for you from work so hes calling you by your name not a silly nickname.

Now that everyone has a new task you and Rocker are clearing rooms. All of a sudden there was a bang then Rockers on the ground. Quickly you shoot the suspect. “Rocker you good?!” You ask. Hes trying to catch his breath but you can hear more people coming.

“This is 23- david i need back up in on the west side. 50-david is down.” You say on the radio. You pull Rocker with all your strength to a safe spot and check him. “Looks like it just got your vest. Can you stand?” You ask him. You look behind you and can see shadows of the cartel members you all trying to catch.

“Come on Rocker.” You lift him up, even though hes triple your size and weight. You manage to help drag himself to a room. You barricade the door updating command on your alls location.

“Thanks. I’m fine.” Rocker finally says after he catches his breath. “Yeah wait for a medic to tell you that.” You respond. Theres a knock at the door, you look at Rocker and he gives you nod letting you know he got your back from who ever is at the door.

“Its Hondo.” The voice says on the other side. Part of you is relieved at that. You still carefully open the door, you never know a cartel member could be holding him hostage. But its just Hondo and the rest of 20 squad.

The team got the cartel members hiding in the warehouse and there were trucks getting the drugs taken away.

On the ride back to HQ you sat there thinking about everything that went wrong from the beginning to where Rocker was shot.

“Hey.” Deacon says tapping your foot with his. You look up at him, hes looking at you with his worried dad expression. “You okay?” He asks. “Yeah.” You tell him. He looks at you not wanting to believe you but he doesn’t want to pry either. He knows when you are ready to talk about it you will.

Back at HQ Hondo talks to the whole team about how none of this was their fault that he should have prepared for it better.

You waited outside the medic room but when the door opened and Rocker was about to walk out you bolted into the nearest closet and waited for him to walk past.

Seeing Rocker almost die infront of you has changed something but you are scared to actually admit it.

You changed into your civilian clothes and tucked your gun into the back of your pants, your badge on your left hip.

“Bye Chris.” You say swinging your backpack onto your back. “Bye.” She says.

You unlock your car and threw your backpack into the passenger seat. You get out your phone to text Rocker asking if he was okay but instead you found yourself driving to his house.

You put the car in park and sat in his driveway for a few moments trying to work up the courage to walk up to the door.

“Hi sweetheart.” Rocker says with a surprised look when he opens the door. “Hi.” You say nervously. His house is nice, its family sized for a couple and two kids.

“Are you going to come in?” He asks stepping to the side. “Yeah.” You say taking the step. You hear the door shut and lock behind you as look around.

“Are you okay?” You ask him. “Just a bruise. I’ll be alright.” He answers, he walks towards his kitchen. “Want a drink?” He asks opening his refrigerator.

“No thanks.” You say even though you could go for a water. “So did you come by just to ask if i was okay?” he asks after a long silence. “Yeah, i guess.” You nervously. You didn’t realize how hard it is to talk to him.

“That could have been a text.” He says, he can feel that there’s something else but hes giving you time to think about it.

You managed to move your feet and walk over to him, he watches you the whole way intill youbare standing right next to him.

“I…..i thought you were dead.” You stutter out looking up at Rocker, his eyes on yours. “Oh sweetheart.” His deep voice soothes you. He gently placed his hand on your cheek wiping away the tear that had escaped.

“I’m sorry i scared you. But i rather it of been me than you.” He says, his thumb runs over your mouth gently. You both lock eye contact and that was enough for both of you.

Rocker tilted his head and gently pressed his lips against yours. Your belly filled with butterflies and you stood on your tiptoes as your hands went to rest on his arms.

Rocker put one hand on your back feeling your gun. He took it out and slid it into a drawer in the kitchen without breaking away from the kiss. Small moans escaped your mouth as he pressed in deeper with his mouth.

A small yelp escape when he lifted you up placing you on the counter. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he pulls you against him. He winced a little, “ouch.” He says. “Sorry, i’m sorry.” You say when you realized you had hit his bruised chest. “Its okay honey.” He says returning the kiss but with his tounge.

He runs his hands down your back pulling up your shirt off over your head throwing to to the side. He pulls back and takes in your figure. You feel your body get hot.

He quickly returns back to making out with you as you lift up off his shirt. You see the bruise on his chest and gently rub your hand around it.

“Its okay sweetheart. I promise.” He says. He lifts you off the counter and your wrap your legs around him as he carries you up the stairs and to his bedroom.

He lays you down on the bed pulling off his jeans. You can see his bulge in his underwear and youbare already wet down there.

His hands unclips your bra as he quickly grabs your bare breast with his strong hand. A soft moan leavs your mouth as its cover by his.

Rocker brings his hips to yours and you can feel him against you. You move your hips trying to fill the need. “Impatient little miss.” Rocker says. You feel his hand sliding down and into your underwear.

“You’re already so wet dear.” He says. He slips his fingers into you as you move you hips letting out a small moan. “Ah ah dear.” He says pinning your hip down with his knee.

Rocker rips off your underwear, good thing you didnt care for those. He pulls off his underwear and you can feel him against you as he lays on top of you.

“Rocker…. Please….” You beg, needing him inside of you. “You want it baby?” He asks. “Yes…” he spreads open your legs with his knee.

You let out a soft moan when you feel him inside of you. “You like that?” He asks. But you cant answer, with every thrust it takes everything out of you.

Rocker lifts your legs and puts them over his shoulders so he can fuck you deeper. You grab fistfuls of the bedsheet as he fucks you. The sound of skin slapping against each other, your moans and Rockers grunts fill the room.

Rocker pulls himself out of you then feel him release himself on your stomach. “You feel so damn good baby.” He says. He grabs a towel and cleans you up.

“I guess i can tell you now.” You finally speak. “Tell me what?” He asks. “That i like you.” You say. He laughs. “Oh sweetheart i knew you liked me. No one can resist this.” He motions up and down his body. You smile rolling your eyes at his remark.

The two of you cuddled in bed together and eventually fell asleep.

————-

A/n: i hope you liked my first SWAT story :)

#swat #swat cbs #swat fandom #swat fic #swat imagine #swat x reader #donovan rocker #rocker x reader

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theexaltedbride · 2 years ago

Text

Dead Island 2 Slayers X National Guard Reader (Gender Neutral) (Part 2!)

(Once again, art is not mine, but taken from the old TTRPG “All Flesh Must Be Eaten”, forgive me if its a crappy crop. AFMBE is a pretty good and highly modular game if you want to get your zombie fix on with some dicegames. I would also recommend the other games by Eden Studios, like Conspiracy X, Armageddon, and Witchcraft. Not enough people out there give Unisystem a try.)

Amy:

-When it comes to running PT around the manor, or around the block that has been cleared out, Amy always runs past you like its nothing and sometimes playfully swats you on the butt just to help motivate you to move it.

-She sometimes says that after they all get out of this, she might start looking into helping out with physical therapy and exercises for wounded vets with prosthetics. Give something back to the community, but she’s doing it after she wins the gold at the Paralympics and kisses you on camera of course.

-When you go to visit Patton, Amy likes to tag along. She may not know what kind of pain he feels as a soldier, but she perfectly understands what he suffered through his injury and how he must have felt when given looks by people who saw his face. It was the same kind of looks that Amy got for her prosthetic leg. She sees that you like to check in on Patton and wants to be part of it, as her way of telling you that if you were ever hurt like that, or lost a limb like she did, then she would still love you no matter what.

-Amy has seen the way you sometimes have trouble fighting zombie soldiers, and has tried to help you through it by opening up a little about how she hates learning the names of the more recently infected, because its so much easier to put them down when you think of them as just monsters. She understands what bothers you, and she is there for you.

-After plenty of gun drills out in the hills (totally not an excuse to have a secret picnic alone together...well not all the time), you’ve both decided that a pistol is the best kind of Gun for Amy. Something lightweight she can fire one handed while on the run and keeping ahead of the undead.

Bruno:

-Whenever he sees you loading up on weapons or equipment it’s going to be a tossup between a John Wick or John Rambo joke.

-In a sparring match you got a bit too into it and punched Bruno so hard it knocked him down, he played it up more while asking if you could kiss it better.

-Once in bed asked you to talk to him in a more dominant and commanding way, giving him orders.

-When you’ve tried to determine what gun was best for Bruno, he insisted on trying out a shotgun, only to immediately get knocked onto his ass by the recoil. He had a bruise for a few days, but it was the bruise to his ego which stung the most. This soon cleared up when you figured out a single shot sports rifle with the same caliber rounds as your own, was better for Bruno rather than Semi-automatic or Full-automatic. This way you could both share the same ammunition, but Bruno could actually take his time to hit the Zeds. Anything else seemed to make him too trigger happy.

-Once you figured out Bruno kind of wanted to impress Mr. Curtis (because he was his Grandpa’s favorite actor) you helped Bruno get some target shooting in so that the next time Curtis had any shooting competitions at the mansion, Bruno just might be able to impress him.

Carla:

-Similar to Bruno, Carla will sometimes compare you to Hicks or Vazques from Aliens when she sees you loading up, and will throw some quotes your way.

-The scratches you both leave on each other during sparring sessions lead to a lot of jokes that you’re straight up having wild Viking sex rather than training. Carla just jokes back that if you can survive either one with her then nothing will kill you.

-You were genuinely impressed at seeing Carla pick up an M-249 SAW like it was nothing. She loved the look on your face as she just unloaded it into a horde of Zeds coming at you. Sure, most of her shots completely missed or only maimed the zombies, but that still doesn’t change the fact that you will never forget that moment.

-As a special gift to you, Carla’s personal project is to pick out one of the military vehicles lying around that is best suited for both fighting and transporting people, and tricking it out to handle moving through the zombie infested streets. She’s gonna make it look like something out of Dawn of the Dead or Mad Max. As tribute to you, she’s naming it the “(Your Name) 2″. Since she’s not up to date on what vehicle does what, she’s constantly asking you about them.

-Carla liked her own style, but after finding out from you just how many different pockets military and tactical pants have she’s started to adopt them as part of her wardrobe and loves all the extra space she has for holding her tools and snacks and whatever the hell else she wants to carry with her in the zombie apocalypse. Pockets rule!

Dani:

-Dani regularly helps you cut and style your hair properly so you can keep it regulation standard. She find it boring and would love to go crazy with your hair. But since you want it that way, and it relaxes you to keep some uniformity to your look, she tries to keep complaints to the minimum (but insists on getting to go all out with your hair once you both leave Hell-A and your time with the Guard is over).

-Despite not being one for guns, Dani took to them like a fish to water. She passed all the tests you devised for the group with flying colors (matched only by Sam B whose had plenty of experience by now). She prefers sticking to smaller calibers with pistols and submachine guns. You even went so far as to teach Dani a few little tricks, such as how to properly move and clear a room without bumping into someone else, and communicating with gestures and touches. Shoulder touching is normally a way of communicating between soldiers among a fire team to let them know you are nearby and ready, but between you and Dani it has also taken on a more...intimate meaning as well.

-Since Dani loves to swear now and gain you’ve taken to teaching her some military swears and fun acronyms like SNAFU (Situation Normal All Fucked Up), RDS (Real Deep Shit), and Blue Falcon (Buddy Fucker IE: Backstabber / double-crosser.).

-She sometimes jokes about taking the riot gear off of a riot zombie and wearing it so that she and you can look like a properly armored pair of warrior lovers. But she likes being able to maneuver around zombies and the armor would just cramp her style.

-Started affectionately calling you the “GI of My Eye.”, even after someone joked that it sounded more like a reference to an eye infection than something sweet (to which she punched them square in the shoulder for it).

Jacob:

-He’s normally pretty anti-authoritarian and anti-establishment, but didn’t take too kindly to Rikky Rex shit talking you in your uniform and making Vietnam War comparisons. Rikky doesn’t know you and doesn’t know what you’ve been through to save people in Hell-A while he and his gang of drunks were partying it up in Beverly Hills. It wasn’t so much an argument on your behalf, as Rikky is way too drunk to hold a coherent thought, but it was kind of nice to see Jacob stand up for you personally even if there are things he doesn’t agree with about your service and to whom you swore an oath to.

-You and Jacob are starting to develop a Legolas and Gimli style competition over who can stack the most Zeds per mission. You both lie to try and make it sound like the other person got more kills.

-Jacob is trying to find a sleeveless vest with a camo pattern that matches your own, no luck yet but he’ll keep looking.

-You tried to get Jacob to do some gun practice with you, but he honestly swears it off and is happy to stick with clubs and hammers. He says you can pick off the zeds from a distance while he crushes the ones that get through, teamwork.

-Jacob would love to introduce you to his mother, especially if you would show up in your dress uniform, his mother has always been telling him to meet someone nice and respectable outside of the Stunt actor business.

Ryan:

-You and Ryan had a bonding experience over sharing an MRE together. He was surprised it wasn’t total garbage. It wasn’t good, but at least it was somewhat edible, and he especially loved finding that they sometimes come with sweets.

-You once caught him wearing your helmet and vest and admiring himself in a mirror while trying out some lines as if he were an actor. You joked to him that if he really wants to admire himself like that in private you could clean up an extra uniform and gear for him to use, but to not use yours since you need them.

-Ryan sometimes leaves little things in your helmet when you are going to be separated for missions and he knows about it in advance. This could range from sweets, to notes, to even once an old photo of him mid dance during his previous career.

-You’ve both been practicing how to carry another person if they are injured, that’s totally why you are constantly grabbing each other. No ulterior motive at all. It’s just professionalism, even though Ryan isn’t a real First Responder. (Do you think the other Slayers bought it?)

-He has sometimes wondered what he’d look like with a more military high and tight haircut, but just can’t give up his current hairstyle. He even jokes to you that it was a good thing he had a fireman’s costume on hand, or else he never would have been able to bluff his way past the security checkpoint if he had to pretend to be a soldier.

All Purpose Headcanons:

-Once it finally gets through the heads of everyone else that you have a day job besides being in the Guard, they started coming at you with all sorts of questions about what you do and why you chose to give up part of your time off and work days doing training and other work with the National Guard. They were kind of disappointed that your answers were pretty mundane.

-When your slayer lover was thrown into the sewer pit by the Numen, the only reason you didn’t immediately try to jump in and save them was because you tried to stab the nearest Numen who was in your way, only for them to block your hits. Despite being untrained, the Numen named ‘Thurston’ was able to match your movements with frightening speed, using the barrel of his own rifle to block all your bayonet jabs and swipes, before the one called Cadenza grabbed the barrel of your rifle and bent it like a toy. Together the two of them kicked you square in the chest and send you tumbling down into the same pit as your lover.

You landed on the ground with such force it knocked the wind out of you, but before the zombies could overwhelm you your Slayer Lover jumped in, crushing the skulls of the zeds with ease, kicking them so hard they splattered against walls. Even in your lover’s frenzied state, they recognized you and knew the danger you were in, and would not allow any harm to come to you.

-When your own Numen abilities began to manifest beyond just a general boost to your body and rapid regeneration, you found that your experience as a soldier, taking orders and sometimes giving them, has influenced your powers. When you try hard enough, you can start to command the weaker autophage infected and use them like puppets to attack other infected. It is draining, gives you a real migraine, and feels...dirty when you do it. But it has been a lifesaver for the group on a few occasions so it remains a trick you can pull out when needed. You can’t do more than a dozen infected at a single time, but the more you practice, the better you get at controlling them.

You’re also beginning to suspect that the Numen called ‘Konradt’ might have a similar power to you. Unlike her, you only use this power when necessary, while you have a sneaking suspicion that she uses it to spy on you and the Slayers.

-Your Slayer lover kept trying to throw grenades like they were baseballs and it took you a while to teach them to properly lob it overhead. Luckily there are plenty of Zeds to practice with.

-Thankfully you haven’t had to fight too many other survivors, the uniform and six other survivors at your back is enough to intimidate most raiders, but a few times now its had to happen, at least when it does you can fall back on the training.

-As dangerous and downright terrifying as it is to go out at night, sometimes you have no choice, a mission needs to be done or you need the cover of darkness to help you get somewhere far from the mansion. For moments like these you are sadly one of the better options for a moonlight run. You have yet to find any proper night vision goggles, so you have no choice but to rely on moonlight, random streetlights, or your own flashlights to get across Hell-A. Since you’re the one with an understanding of light discipline, and regularly wears camo to blend in, you are normally chosen to go out at night. Though your Slayer Lover always wants to go with you since its dangerous at night.

-You have some small experience with CBRN and other Hazmat training, not a lot but you and the others were given a quick refresher before being sent to LA to fight the infection, so you tend to be the one helping cleanup after any major fights near a safezone. Surprisingly, Andrea is pretty good at cleaning up those messes as well. The group also tends to depend on you to clear the way whenever you encounter that caustic slime the government was using to melt down infected bodies and neutralize the virus.

-The worst encounter you’ve had so far has been in finding infected version of soldiers and guards that you knew from before. Whatever they once were is gone now, and you struggled to pull the trigger, the Slayers helped you, they told you to just look away while they did the dirty work. There were no jokes, no quips, just fast and efficient Slaying. Afterwards, your lover refused to leave your side until they were sure you were okay, and only after you asked them to give you some space.

-The best memory so far is when you (thanks to Carla’s mechanic experience) managed to get a Humvee working and proceeded to drive it up and down the beach, giving everyone else a turn on the .50 call in the turret, while mowing down zombies left and right. You even plowed through a few smaller swarms before you slammed into a Crusher and had to bail out while it was trying to flip the vehicle. Next time you are gonna try to do it again with an MRAP. Though honestly you should get one of those working in order to safely evacuate multiple civilians at once if you ever need it.

-Since you already have some bayonet training and experience you’re starting to get good at using spears and polearms and other similar two-handed stabbing weapons.

-Sometimes when you and Patton hang out, you both slip into a lot of military jargon and three letter acronyms or slang that leaves the rest of the group completely lost. Its fun to see the utter confusion on their faces.

-You’ve had to borrow extra uniforms off of the ‘fresher’ undead and give them a thorough cleaning so you have more than one set to use throughout the week. The others have suggested just switching to normal clothes, but you can’t. This is who you are and its who you will present yourself as, especially given how many times people have looked hopeful when you and the Slayers come to the rescue.

-Sometimes you listen to Civil Defense frequencies on the radios, or over scavenged military comms and some of the reports you hear are strange. Those earthquakes that screwed up the evacuation almost felt targeted, rather than just a case of nature being cruel. Down in one of the spare rooms you are slowly putting the pieces together with a web of intrigue on a wall. The others aren’t sure they buy your theory...but you think the Earthquakes and all that slime everywhere is not natural, its something eldritch, lovecraftian even. Luciana is the only one who is into this, but you need more proof. Which might mean dealing with the Eschaton group at some point.

When you have enough proof, you’re going to send it back to the DOD, CDC, Every single Alphabet Agency and news agency, so that the world can be prepared for what is to come. You just need to be able to prove it. This might be the only chance we have to stop humanity from dying, all the lives lost, all the pain endured, it has to be worth it in the end.

Bonus: Bruno’s playlist for you.

Some of the songs Bruno has put together which remind him of you or he likes to listen when out with you.

-The Offspring “Dividing By Zero/Slim Pickens”.

-Neo Fresco “Sublimation”.

-Battlefield 3 “Steel On Target”.

-Sons of Pythagoras “Counting The Cost”.

-Imagine Dragons “Friction”.

-Nine Inch Nails “The Good Soldier”.

-Invocation Array “The Machine in the Ghost”.

-Jefferson Airplane “White Rabbit”.

-Disturbed “The Curse”.

-Disturbed “The Infection”.

#Dead Island #Dead Island 2 #Dead Island Headcanons #Dead Island 2 X National Guard Reader #Dead Island x Reader #Dead Island Slayers x Reader #Di2

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thedancingnerdmermaid · 3 years ago

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Identity Crisis Pt 4

SHOW/CHARACTERS: Criminal Minds characters; Hotch x swat!fm!reader; SWAT characters

WARNINGS:18+ MINORS DBI, language, angst, violence, identity theft, threats against a child, usual CM case stuff, death penalty, death, fluff, kissing

Notes: Reader is essentially Hondo’s character on SWAT except female. Hondo doesn’t exist in this because Derek Morgan is still with BAU in this one. I DO NOT OWN THE RIGHTS TO THESE CHARACTERS

Part One Part Two Part Three

By late morning you all had figured out the this man was Kyle Marks, brother of Harvey Marks, a serial killer that the BAU had previously caught. He was sentenced to death. The sentence was carried out 3 days before you met in the coffee shop. That was the trigger. Hotch was the expert witness. Kyle blamed Hotch directly and vowed to destroy him in anyway he could. Kyle didn't have a current known address.

Garcia gasped getting everyone's attention. “Sir, he posted a rant online about how he hates the BAU, specifically you, for the death of his brother. He said, and I quote, 'Aaron Hotchner will know what it feels like to lose what he loves.'” Everyone on the BAU team shared sad looks to Hotch.

“He must be talking about Jack. I already lost Hayley. Y/L/N said he knew specifics about Jack and his school.” Hotch stated clearly trying to control his anger of his son being targeted. He stood and started walking towards his office.

Following him you called after him, “Hotch! Wait.”

He turned towards you. Anger falling slightly.

“I'm sorry. I wasn't sure the things he had told me were true or made up. He said he was a widower. That the Boston Reaper killed his wife. Was... was that true?” you asked cautiously.

“Yes. Yes it is.” He said quietly. He told you everything that happened; including that Jack was there at the time.

“Oh my god, Aaron! I'm so sorry you both have been through that.” You said with honesty while pulling him into a hug.

Hotch tensed at first then melted into the embraced and hugged you back tightly; both of your fighting back the tears.

“Oh uh sorry about that.” You said sniffling and pulling away.

“Don't be. Thank you. I think I needed that.” He said with a sad smile.

“Hey,” you said softly placing your hand on his shoulder, “anytime. Seriously.”

Suddenly, Jack burst out of Hotch's office.

“Daddy!” He shouted happily.

“Hey buddy!” Aaron scooped up his son into his arms hugging him tightly.

“Daddy, you're squeezing me too tight.” Jack giggled.

“Sorry little buddy. I just love your hugs.” Aaron responded.

Jack looked over his dad's shoulder and eyed you.

“Daddy, who is that?” Jack asked.

“This is Sergeant Y/F/N Y/L/N with DC SWAT. Her team is helping me out.” Aaron introduced you two.

“Hi, Jack. You can call me Y/F/N.” You stuck your hand out. He didn't take it. Instead Jack eyed you carefully with his adorable face squinting.

“Spiderman or Superman?” He asked tilting his head.

“Spiderman. Hands down. Although I'm more of Captain America girl myself.” You responded. Jack then grabbed your hand shook it with a smile. Then turned to his dad.

“She's good. And she's really pretty! Right, daddy??” Jack asked innocently.

Hotch was clearly not expecting that and shifted slightly “yes, yes she is.” You hoped your cheeks weren't showing the blush you felt.

“Thank you. Both of you.” You said with a wink in Aaron's direction clearly acting more bold than you really felt.

“Jack, you and Aunt Jess get to hang out here today.” Aaron said kneeled down eye level with his son.

“No school?” asked Jack hopefully.

“No school. I need your help working this case. I need you to draw up plans to catch the bad guy.” Hotch said seriously. “Think you could do that for me, buddy?”

“Yes, daddy! Aunt Jess! Come on! I gotta work the case!” Jack all but yelled as he ran back to Hotch's office and pulled out paper and colored pencils.

“Pretty great kid you have there, Hotch.” you said.

“Thank you. He's everything to me.” Hotch said with a smile while watching his son through the office window.

“As well he should be. Let's go catch this asshole.” You turned and headed back to the conference room.

Hotch followed behind but not before being caught by Rossi while staring at your ass.

Rossi simply smiled and gave him a “go get her” look.

Everyone was working together on a plan for your second 'date.' You were about to ask Hotch if he checked his own financials to see if there were any miscellaneous charges he did not authorize when your phone rang.

“Y/L/N” You answered

“Boss, I think he made us. He shook us and now we don't have a tail on him.” Deacon said.

“Damnit! Alright head to us at the BAU.” You got off the phone and looked up to see everyone looking at you expectantly.

“That was Deacon, one of my men tailing Marks, he thinks Marks made them. He shook his tail.” You said with a deep sigh looking directly at Hotch.

“Garcia, can you track the number he's been using to contact Y/N?” Hotch asked.

“Sir, normally I'd be uber offended that you even had to ask but sadly, it's a disposable cell and currently turned off.” Garcia quipped.

“Where and when is the date for tonight?” Morgan asked.

“Bistro L'Hermitage in Woodbridge. At 6:30pm.” You answered and reminded you to check in with Hotch. “Wait. Hotch, have you checked you financials yet to make sure he's not using your identity and credit too?”

“Good point. Let me make some calls.” Hotch stepped away from everyone to check.

At this point is was just you, Garcia, Morgan, JJ, and Street in the room.

“Okay, badass hottie. Spill.” Garcia said while all four were looking at you.

“Huh? What are talking about?” you asked with your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Come on, mama. You and boss man keep casting glances at each other.” said Morgan.

“You two literally look like the heart eye emoji.” Street said in agreement.

“WHAT? No we do not.” Your voice got a little higher. “I'm just trying to help him out since ya know, his identity was stolen by some dumbass criminal hell bent on revenge???”

“Oh come on,” JJ spoke up, “you too would be great! You both understand crazy work schedules. You're both attractive. Jack seems to like you too. Don't think we didn't notice the boss man noticing that.”

“That's not all he noticed!” Morgan snorted.

“What are you on about now?” you scoffed.

“Rossi and I both saw him checking out your ass earlier.” He laughed.

“I'm so glad I didn't miss this.” Street laughed.

“Miss what?” Hotch asked while walking back into the conference room looking at his phone. He looked up to see all of you looking at him with big eyes.

“N...nothing. So all good?” You asked desperately trying to change topics.

“Everything seems fine. So at least he's not out ruining my credit.” He said with a sad smile.

The rest of the day was spent planning. The restaurant was contacted to put in extra reservations for the team to be there undercover as back up.

“Alright, let's go over this one more time.” Commander Hicks orders.

“Y/N is meeting Marks for the date at 6:30pm. Starting at 6:15pm, our undercovers will make their way in for their tables as back up. Luca, Street and Tan will be at a table near Y/N and Marks. Deacon and Captain Cortez will be at another table. My team will be in the surveillance van outside since he knows us from the arrest. When Y/N gives the code word, we move in fast and smooth.” Hotch stated.

“Y/N, you good?” Street asked noticing you were zoned out.

“Uh yeah sorry.” You lied.

“Y/N, I know that look. What is it?” Street questioned.

“I'm not sure. I just have this weird feeling about tonight. I can't really place it. I just feel... like something is wrong” you gave a tight lipped smile. “Whatever, let's just get this over with. I'm going to go change for my date.”

In the locker room you were slipping into a navy blue dress that fell just above the knee and was very form fitting. There wasn't a curve that it wasn't accentuating. You slipped on your heels and situated your gun and badge into your clutch bag and exited the room.

“Hey, Y/N, I just wanted to see if you were okay a....” Hotch stopped mid sentence when he finally looked up and saw you. He couldn't even try to hide his eyes as they trailed down your body. He blushed hard when he realized he was caught and cleared his throat.

“Uhhm I... you look stunning. Beautiful. I... I mean... Sorry....” He stumbled over his words. It was clear that he's not used to being nervous.

“You're sorry for saying I looked nice?” You giggled

He flashed a big smile that showed his dimples and he blushed. You had to mentally remind yourself not to just kiss him.

“No. Ugh. I'm sorry. I don't exactly know what the rules are when a gorgeous woman is about to go on a date with a dangerous UNSUB pretending to be me?” He let out a small laugh.

“Me either. This is all so strange but thank you for the compliment. I...” you were cut off by your Commander coming around the corner clearly not realizing he was interrupting.

“Alright let's head out.” Hicks ordered.

You chanced another look at Hotch as you turned to follow your commander only to see that Hotch was already looking at you. You smiled and he winked. Holy shit he should not be allowed to do that! Get your shit together Y/N! You mentally chastised yourself.

**Part 5 coming soon

MASTERLIST

***Feedback always appreciated! Requests are open!

Tags by request: @eternal-silvertongued-prince @hotchnerxo @yoshigguk @bestillmystuckyheart @doctorwhofan24

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passionwillow · 9 days ago

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Alright listen.. Maybe it’s the daddy issues. But we need to discuss this man right here.

#here me out #we listen and we don't judge #commander hicks #robert hicks #cbs swat #swat #swat x reader

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fluentmoviequoter · 2 months ago

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Whole Again

Requested Here!

Pairing: Dominique Luca x fem!SWAT!reader

Summary: You're injured during a raid, but your boyfriend Luca doesn't know how bad it is. After you're separated and instructed not to speak, your team finds a way to let you comfort one another.

Warnings: angst, r is shot, a civilian is killed during a raid, fluffy comfort!

Word Count: 2.2k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Luca Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

“One more thing,” Hondo says as you approach the raid location in Black Betty.

“He’s going to hear us coming at this rate, Hondo,” you complain playfully.

“Maybe you can just talk until he surrenders,” Street agrees. “It wouldn’t take long for me.”

“Funny,” Hondo replies, even though you can tell he is amused. “You must want me to say something about the little fling going on here.”

“There isn’t a fling,” Luca calls from the driver’s seat. “And Hicks knows about the relationship.”

“But nice try,” you add.

“Stay liquid,” Hondo concludes, shaking his head as he smiles.

“Fifteen seconds,” Deacon alerts, sitting in the front by Luca.

“Let’s do this!”

You pull your helmet over your head and prepare to exit Black Betty as Luca stops three houses down from your final destination. The man holed up in the dilapidated bungalow down the road has warrants for three violent crimes and has racked up enough charges in fees from missing court over the years to pay off every student loan in America, you think. He’s dangerous, but you trust your team, and patrol officers have given you good intel. Right now, his house is as quiet as it gets. He should be inside, asleep, and likely won’t even know SWAT raided his home until he wakes up in jail later today.

“We got this,” Luca whispers beside you.

“Be careful,” you reply before splitting up.

Luca goes with Deacon to the west side of the house, and you branch off with Street to enter through the back door. Your relationship with Luca isn’t new, but it’s still growing. Luckily for today, you’re out of the stage where being away from him during a breach like this terrified you and it was hard to breathe until you saw him on the other side.

You take a deep breath as Street counts down with Hondo. The explosive on the door blows loudly, and Street leads you into the kitchen at the back of the house as you cover him.

Very quickly, you realize that all of the intel was bad. Hondo curses over the comms, and you begin yelling with your teammates.

“LAPD SWAT!” you yell with Street. “On the ground now! Everybody on the floor!”

The rest of your team is out of sight, caught in different parts of the house, but you can hear them shouting commands. In the kitchen and living room, standing before you and Street, at least 30 men are pushing toward you slowly, speaking to one another in Spanish when they aren’t yelling at you.

“Any ideas?” you ask Street.

“Flash bang?” he replies.

You nod and trade places with him, holding your gun against your shoulder. Several shots echo through the house as Street pulls the small flash-bang from his pocket. Unable to tell where the shots came from, if it was your team shooting or being shot at, you force yourself to focus.

“Back up!” you yell as a man steps toward you.

Just before Street throws the device, someone at the back of the crowd raises a pistol. You begin to warn Street, but you don’t get the chance. Before you hear the shot, the bullet knocks you backward and throws you against Street. He scrambles away from you quickly to keep the men away from you. Three flash bangs detonate simultaneously, and 50 Squad enters the front door to provide much-needed backup.

“Everybody good?” Rocker asks as patrol officers begin escorting the disoriented criminals out of the house.

“I think so,” Hondo replies. “Deacon and Luca are with me.”

Luca looks around, expecting you to walk out of the hallway joking with Street.

“Hondo!” Street yells from the kitchen.

Luca’s chest tightens, his heart feels like it leaps dangerously in his chest, and he steps forward to follow Hondo with pure fear running through his veins.

“Hold it!” Hicks calls, walking into the house with Jessica at his side. “20 Squad, get out of here.”

Hondo explains that something is up with you and Street, but Hicks repeats himself. Rocker nods and then disappears around the corner into the kitchen and doesn’t speak again.

“You can’t talk before the investigation begins,” Jessica adds.

“He didn’t make it?” Hondo asks, remembering the man who was shot.

Jessica shakes her head, and Hondo leaves the house without knowing how his team is. As Deacon prepares to follow him, he pushes Luca forward gently.

“I know,” Deacon says softly. “But we have to go.”

Rocker returns just as Luca stumbles out of hearing distance and requests a medic get inside. The same medic who announced the civilian DOA rushes into the house with a large medical bag bouncing against his hip. Street, however, is told to leave and grumbles as he exits the house.

“I’m fine,” you grumble as he kneels beside you. “It hit my vest.”

The medic pulls your vest over your head carefully, then unbuttons your uniform shirt and pulls the neck of your undershirt away from your chest. He shines a small flashlight against your skin before letting your shirt fall back into place.

“No hospital trip for you today,” he says. “You’re going to be sore and have a painful bruise for a few days, but your vest did its job.”

“Where’s my team?” you ask, hissing as you sit up.

“Headed back to HQ,” Jessica says.

You look up quickly, surprised to see her here.

“A civilian was shot, he’s dead,” she explains. “Until we figure out who took the shot, you can’t see them.”

“I need to tell Luca I’m okay,” you argue. “Two words, please.”

“I’m sorry.”

You stand, refusing her help as you follow another officer to a cruiser. As you fall into the passenger seat, tired and sore, you wonder how Luca will react to this sudden separation.

When you arrive at the station, you get permission to change in the locker room before taking your place in a private room to speak to Internal Affairs. The door closes behind you, and Luca steps out of the shower area, still wearing his tactical gear. He rushes toward you and carefully takes your shoulders as his eyes travel up and down your frame.

You take his hands and smile as you promise, “I’m okay.”

Luca hugs you carefully, though it's more him awkwardly wrapping his arms around you than hugging. “What did the medic say?” he asks.

Before you can answer or get too comfortable in his hold, an IA investigator opens the door and demands, “Officer Luca, we need you.”

“Can I get just a second?” he requests.

“No.”

You can see Luca’s attitude shift as he steps back. He doesn’t want to leave your side while you’re injured, and being forced to makes him grumpy. But he’s a good officer, and he’s going to listen. For a while, at least.

“I’m sorry, Luca,” Hicks says in the hallway. “But it’s protocol.”

“I don’t even know what happened to her!” he argues.

“And you won’t until after we’re finished. But I can promise you she’s okay.”

Luca stops outside the door where the IA team is waiting. He lowers his voice to reply, “She got shot, Hicks, you know she isn’t.”

Several minutes later, you exit the locker room in the most comfortable clothes you could find. After finding a place to sit and wait, you watch the hallway opening, hoping that Luca will come down here at some point and you can explain everything to him.

“Luca!” you call as he exits an office.

He steps backward, then turns to walk toward you.

“Officer Luca,” the officer behind him directs. “This way, please.”

Luca’s jaw tightens as his anger increases. The grumpiness he showed in the locker room was cute, you thought, but he’s getting worse. If you don’t get a chance to tell him what the medic said soon, he might snap and get himself in trouble. So, you decide to find an opening to promise you’re okay.

“Officer Luca,” the man repeats. You look up again, surprised to see Luca squaring his shoulders before the other man. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret,” he warns lowly.

Luca’s fingers tighten into a fist, but he turns and storms away. You exhale in relief, then stand and follow them at a distance. The officer instructs Luca to wait by the sparring ring, then walks into Hick’s office.

Because he’s alone, you walk to Luca's side and bend forward to kiss his cheek. After kissing his cheek, you begin to pull away from him. “The medic said I’d be sore and bruised for a while, but the vest kept the bullet from doing any real damage. I’m absolutely okay, Luca. I promise.”

Luca nods, and says, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You walk away from Luca and feel his eyes on you until you turn the corner to return to your previous place.

“Where were you?” Jessica asks.

“I needed a tissue,” you lie. “Are they ready for me?”

“Not yet. Do you need anything?”

You sit down and shake your head. The only thing you need is Luca, and you already know the answer to that request.

You let your eyes close as you continue to wait. Soft footsteps echo in the hallway before they stop beside you. You recognize Luca’s touch as he lays his hand on your thigh and squats beside you. Opening your eyes, you smile and lean forward to wrap him in a hug. He reciprocates, being careful of where he touches you.

“Incoming,” someone warns from the end of the hall.

As Luca stands, you see Street standing guard and smile to thank him.

“We’re going to get time to talk,” Luca promises. “I’ll be back.”

You assume that the rest of your team will assist him in returning, likely aware of how worried he is. Over the next few hours, you’re all in and out of interviews with IA to account for every move and every breath you took in the house. Between those conversations, you and Luca find each other in quiet hallways, behind open doors, and tucked behind lockers for tiny moments to talk and show each other that you’re okay. The worry goes both ways: Luca is worried about your injury and you’re worried about his happiness and carrying residual concern about losing sight of him during the raid. The little moments aren’t enough, but they’re something, and your team helps you find every spare second you can.

Hiding behind Hondo so it appears that he and Luca are simply facing opposite directions to bide time, you ask, “Can I come over tonight?”

“If you think there’s another option, we need to get your head checked.”

“Sergeant Hondo, we’re ready for you,” someone calls before you duck around a corner and return to solitude.

Twenty minutes later, Hicks and Hondo exit his office together.

“20 Squad!” Hicks calls.

You join Deacon’s side, and he offers you an arm, unsure what the extent of your injury is. You smile and thank him, but don’t have a chance to tell him why you said no before Hicks dismisses you.

“IA has cleared all of you, you’re free to go home and get some rest,” he adds. “Sorry again about all of this, but…”

“We know how it is,” Deacon responds.

You take Luca’s hand as you walk to the locker room, and don’t let go as you gather your things and walk to his truck. The ride to his house is spent in silence. There’s too much to say, too many emotions involved, to have the conversation in the car.

Luca helps you inside and invites you to get comfortable. Once you’re in his bed, he climbs beside you and wraps an arm around your shoulders. Turning slightly, you let Luca rest his head on your shoulder as his other arm lies gently across your waist.

“Are you okay?” you ask, trailing your fingers up and down his back.

Luca moves slightly, and you suddenly realize that he’s crying. You slide down in the bed, not caring that it hurts, to take his face in your hands.

“Luca,” you murmur, holding him tightly. “It’s okay.”

You fall silent then and let Luca release all the emotions he’s been carrying since this morning. Several minutes later, he quiets but keeps his arm around you as you hold him.

“I’m okay,” you promise softly. “I’m sorry.”

Luca shakes his head, silently promising he’s not angry with you. “I thought I was going to lose you. It terrified me.”

“Hey,” you whisper, encouraging him to look into your eyes. “I’m never leaving you.”

“You can’t make that promise.”

You nod, then amend, “I’m not leaving you, not without a fight. I’ll come back to you, even if I’m crawling, okay?”

Luca hugs you tightly, then releases you to say, “Sorry, sorry! Are you okay?”

You laugh at his reaction, getting close to him again. “I’m great now. I love you, Luca.”

“I love you,” he replies. “I’m not leaving you either.”

“Then it’s a good thing you didn’t punch anyone in IA.”

Luca groans, dropping his head against your shoulder. You feel whole again beside Luca despite the pain and fear of the day. Luca’s phone vibrates with a text from Street asking when Luca will cook to thank them for helping you today, and though you ignore it, knowing that your team cares about you and your relationship makes everything a little better.

#dominique luca x fem!reader #dominique luca x reader #dominique luca fic #dominique luca #luca x reader #fem!reader #requests #hanna writes✯#swat x reader #swat imagine #swat fic #swat cbs

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slashingdisneypasta · 2 years ago

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Non / Disney Villains x Reader || Headcanons

Topic: SMUT!!

Warnings: Its definitely not 'disney'... There are dark and taboo themes (Though some are much darker then others), mask kink, roleplay where you don't know eachother, rough/feral sex, innocence/corruption roleplay, gloves, seduction, dub-con, cumming-in-pants, accidental condom breaking, breeding kink, asshole-ary, blow jobs, sexual favours/deals, age difference, feelings?, oral sex in general, degradation, masturbation, cunt warming, foot grinding, hate sex and shame, destruction of property, period sex, praise, unintentional temperature play, getting burned (guess who, haha), public sex, feelings again?, ego-inflation, orgasm denial, domination, first lesbian experience, boss/employee, prostitution, thigh-riding, stealing you from someone else, and over-stimulation. Something for almost everyone, hopefully!

Includes: I wanted to include them all but I ran outta steam 😅 Bill Sykes, Robert Callaghan (Yokai), Professor Ratigan, Alameda Slim, Captain Hook, Chick Hicks, Rothbart, Dr Facilier, Clayton, Cruella De Vil, the Evil Queen, Gaston, Greasy Weasel, Hades, Hans, the Horned King, Jafar, Judge Claude Frollo, Lady Tremaine, Long John Silver, Commander Lyle Rourke, Maleficent, and Mother Gothel+The Stabbington Brothers.

Its possibility that one day I will make a part 2 with the rest of the DV's (And some Non-DV's). But i am OUT OF HORNY right now. Haha 😅

Sykes can satisfy you perfectly fine with one finger, but 2 really puts you over the edge (JUST LOOK AT THEM??) and he just loves watching you writhe and struggle between not being able to fit all of it but wanting him to continue, desperately wanting to stretch. Usually this is happening either in the back of his car, you laid out along the back seats with your legs in his lap, lifting your hips into his torture, or in his office with you sit pretty on his desk with your legs spread open for his attentions.

Mask kink with Callaghan? Yes. You pretend you don't know him when he strides towards you, having entered your apartment through the balcony. But its not long before you're pressed between his emotionless façade/his body in a sexy long coat, and the the wall with his hips hammering repeatedly, insistently into you. Points if you're exposed and vulnerable but he's fully clothed, fully masked up, fully in control. You cant tell how he's feeling because of the mask, but you can tell he wants to use you and you're more than happy to let him- as long as he likes. Then he guides you to bed and leaves without a damn word

Letting Ratigan take his frustration out on you, just letting him go feral on your cunt/cock. He has you with your legs over his shoulders and his mouth all over you, with your legs wrapped around his waist as he pounds away, with your legs spread over his chest as he breeds you thoroughly, on your knees with your mouth stuffed with him- whatever position he can get you in. If you're not a drooling, limp mess by the time he's done then he was holding back.

Slim likes roleplay. Call him Yancy O' Dell, give him those big eyes and let him 'corrupt you'. Let him sweet talk you and promise you you're gonna be a star so long as you stick with him, and lead you away to a dark corner where he can dip his gloved fingers into you. Tell him you've never done this before. Get down on your knees.

Being a 20 year old that Peter mistook for a a child (It was the light) and brought over the Neverland, and catching sight of Hook. You want him immediately and intend to seduce him. He's got a serious case of one-track-mind though and he's been away from other adults so long that he's totally forgotten what lust looks like- so getting him to see you want him to dick you down is harder then you thought. You have to be shameless, you have to be blunt. You have to trail your fingertips up his thigh and practically rub him off before he finally realises what's happening- by which time he's ready to bust a nut in his pants. Lucky for you though, he's got super endurance, so just tell him that you're more than happy to lick him clean, and he's raring to go all over again.

Chick breaks the condom with his excitement about ramming into you but doesn't stop until he's spilling hot, sticky seed inside you. 'A thank you', he calls it. 'For a good time', he says. 'Now you'll have my baby and get famous- you're welcome!'. He's such a dick about it (Whether you're going to take the morning after pill or not), you cant help catching his stupid mouth with yours and fucking him all over again.

Making a deal with Rothbart that if you suck him off, he'll take care of your debts. You end up liking it though?? And getting super turned on??? Was he always this hot or are you just in a slutty mood now? Once he's spent you slowly press kisses on different parts of his body, leading up to his mouth, where you glance slowly into his eyes, looking for his reaction, and when you find arousal?? You kiss him on the lips. He leads you to the ground and you start by grinding against each other, but its not long before you're fucking like desperate, horny teenagers.

Making a deal with Dr Facilier. He takes your soul once you die, and he makes you famous. The two of you slowly grow feelings, but he's too much of a gentleman to make a move on you- you're young, you're beautiful, and you're naked in his squalid apartment. What!? You make your move, and its a success, he shows you pleasures you never experienced before that night, using his tongue as if it were his cock; No one's ever done that to you before, tasted you, but he does it with pleasure and then thanks you.

You go out scouting the area alone with Clayton, disappearing into the jungle, and you decide this is the perfect time to show him that you're not the innocent, shy creature he thinks you are. When you're leaving hot, open mouthed kisses over his clothed cock he certainly realises his mistake, and when his thick hand is lost in your hair as your tongue slithers all over his painfully hard length he calls you a whore. How do you respond? You slide your hand down your pants and start taking care of yourself, too.

Cruella's into degradation. Calls you are a crack-whore, a slut, her bitch (As in dog) with her talons buried knuckle deep inside you/wrapped around your twitching dick. She'll smirk and tell you that you look like a disgusting mess over there, ask you what on earth made you such a desperate sycophant, how you allow your boss to defile you? use you like a mindless sex doll this way?, etc.

The Evil Queen likes to have you under her desk warming her cunt with your mouth while she does miscellaneous paperwork- for hours. Your jaw is going to ache at the end and your own area is going to be aching for attention she may not be bothered to even give back by the end. Good news though? She likes it if you touch yourself. Do struggle to get yourself off, do desperately roll your own meat/push multiple fingers into yourself and moan into her pussy, do grind yourself against her foot. It'll make her smirk and slick some more under your tongue.

Hate sex with Gaston??? YEAH! He's an asshole and you're decidedly 'not belle' and therefore 'not good enough', but he's undeniably hot and you drive him mad not being into him like everyone else in the village and that, inevitably, leads you to be slammed onto a kitchen table. His equipment is ridiculous, its just as monstrous as you might imagine, and he's as strong as an ox with the endurance of an Olympic athlete. You pull his hair and make him growl, and he stretches your thighs painfully far apart so they bruise with his finger marks and the two of you together break that table. Its not the only time it happens and its not even the only table and it is greatly shameful.

Greasy is all over you on a regular day, right? But when you're on your period?? When he can smell the blood and he knows you're weak?? That's when he really goes mad. He knows getting taken care of helps you to not be in pain, too, which just means to him that you're all-the-more likely to let him do whatever he deems fit. He'll fuck you slow and deep, pressing warm kisses everywhere he can reach, and have his fingers at work at the same time, bringing you to a fricken life-changing orgasm. Then he'll do it again. And again. Until you're both exhausted enough to just drop right off to sleep.

Contrarily to Cruella, Hades likes praise. Giving, and receiving. He'll call you his pretty pet, his little princess/prince, fucking perfect, whatever he feels. And in return he likes you to say - whine, scream, moan, cry, - how much better he is than his brother. How Zeus couldn't ever fucking compare, how crazy you are about him, how much you want him. And he'll really respond to that kinda thing, too, fire flickering a hot orange, body getting boiling hot and singing the sheets, getting over-excited to the max. You're gonna end up a sweaty mess, probably with burns on your body, after sleeping with Hades.

Hans likes to make it risky. Public sex is what I'm saying, yeah. He's fucked you missionary under the dinner table with his family literally eating and talking just above him, on the wall just around the corner from the main event at a ball, he's touched you with his hand til you came in your undergarments in a crowded room, and he's even done you in your own bed while a maid was in there cleaning and had to avert their eyes, etc. Yes he just gets worse every time. And when someone actually sees, like that maid or someone heading past you to the bathroom he'll let out the lewdest, most guttural groan yet and cum instantly. Then he's all affectionate with you, asking if you're good and smirking because its almost worse- having someone see the soft stuff afterwards.

Pledge your loyalty to the Horned King and you'll get him so pleased! He'll want you to be his, be his partner. Be with him forever- to love and care for him, to be his person, to take his frustrations out on when he's mad. When this happens you know because his eyes glow a brighter, deeper red and he cant stop glancing over to you, wanting you. Then when you finally get to be alone he's running his hands all over you, and he's gentle- he just wants to know that you're there, with him. When you finally get to the main event, he'll actually guide your hands up to his horns because he knows you like them.

Imagine Jafar shedding his serious, mature, sophisticated persona when he's finally alone with you. That dirty smirk slides across his face and you know he's got plans. He'll say you've been running amuck in his thoughts all day long, now what are you going to do to make it up to him? Hm? You're in for a long dirty night, starting with having his mouth all over you, pressing kisses everywhere through your clothes before he has his tongue at work drawing an orgasm out of you (If anyone on this list genuinely likes how you taste, its Jafar), and ending with you perched in his lap worshipping him. Call him your majesty, call him powerful, inflate his ego and his cock is sure to follow.

(Also side note for Jafar- a thought i've had. Have we considered Naga!Jafar... you know, with two dicks? Okay I'm going to move on now bye- )

Frollo offers you the same deal he offered Esmerelda- except you, accept. Yes, you'll be his dirty little secret hidden away at home. If he wants to go around pretending to be oh-so-holy, and then come home to you and your plans for him- that's fine. You'd love to make this horrible, uptight old man go nuts. Lose his damn mind for your pussy/cock. You'll suck him masterfully for hours, stopping when you know by how hard and hot his length is that he's about to cum, you'll slide your pussy/dick just over where he needs you until he feels crazy, you'll press maddeningly gentle little kisses all over his neck until he's rutting against you. Just, in general? You're going to make him your damn toy.

Being the maid in the Tremaine household and being the Lady's first experience with a female. You were just tidying up her room one evening, after the girls all went to bed, and she was drinking her evening tea watching you. The two of you strike up conversation, which is odd considering the fact that she is a stone cold bitch and oftentimes doesn't even acknowledge your existence in the home. Anyway long story short- you somehow end up straddling her and making out with the older woman. You know you should stop, you should leave, but she's so domineering and her fingers are sliding up your thigh underneath your skirts and you find yourself reaching down to pull her hand right to your private place because you have no self control?? She's not perfect but she has you grinding into her palm in no time, then cumming on her blankets. The next day she acts like nothing happened at all, before telling you that you'll need to do her room again- tonight.

Out of all those losers at the brothel tonight you're really glad you got picked by the old cyborg. This is not 'Silver's' first visit here so you've heard from others that he's kind- and not inexperienced. You're surprised, though, when he really is kind and experienced! The first thing this man does when you get somewhere private is take care of you, dining on your cunt/cock until you keen into his mouth and clutch the bedsheets like they're your lifeline (And that's not easy to do to you). Then he has you on his lap, straddling a thick thigh and asking you to move for him. He calls you love, doll, lass, beautiful and sweetheart. By the time you're done with eachother he tips heavily, winks, and tells you he'll be back for you.

Rourke's favourite thing about you is your legs, and he loves manhandling them. Kicking them apart from behind, stretching one straight up over his shoulder while the other is set to the side so he has room to piston into your dripping entrance, having them hooked over his hips, holding onto your thighs whenever he can, etc.

(Inspired by 'Boyfriend' by Dove Cameron) Maleficent leading you away from your boyfriend, and literally into the woods, to have her way with you. After all, she can tell you're neglected. He's such an oaf, such a sweaty beast. You need a release, and whats more? You deserve one. She'll take so much better care of you. She'll do things he never does, and she'll do them better then he ever could. She'll take care of you, and she'll enjoy every delicious moment of it. You have a her word, so... come on dear. This way. Just take her hand.

Gothel likes you to be all fucked out, destroyed, by the time she has her turn. Say, by... the Stabbingtons?? Yeah, she'll let them take turns pounding wildly into you, making you Y/N-coloured mush with an about 8 orgasm count already for the night having been taken missionary, from the back and spit-roasted by the behemoth men before she comes and shoos them away. I hope you had your fun, she'll say softly, brushing your hair. But not too much... She adds. Then touches your much-too-over-stimulated body until she can say, thoroughly, that she does what she must to keep her Lovely satisfied.

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honeyheart19 · 2 years ago

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Can't Help Falling In Love

Chris Alonso x fem!reader, Jim Street x sister!reader

Note: I'm sorry if this is short. I've been listening to a lot of Elvis lately and thought "hmm there's not enough Chris Alonso fics". Enjoy :)

Summery: Chris reflects on her relationship with reader

Warnings: fluffiness, worries of rushing into relationship, implied smut, no order of lyrics, jumping in time

Chris's POV:

*knock knock knock*

I heard the door go, freeing me from my trance "Hey bride to be! Almost ready?" Ericka excitedly said. "Ya sorry, I was just thinking" I replied. "Not getting cold feet are you? Because as close as you are to Street, I don't think he'll take to kindly to you leaving y/n at the alter" she laughed.

"I wouldn't dream of it. I was just thinking of everything that's brought y/n and I here"

Like a river flows Surely to the sea Darling, so it goes Some things are meant to be

"Hey Chris!" Street waved to me "Come meet someone!"

I put my weights down and jogged over.

"Chris, this is my sister y/n. She's gonna be working here at SWAT."

"I'm really gonna be doing paper work and assisting Commander Hicks. It's not even close as important to what you guys do" giggled the y/h/c girl.

I almost didn't even process what she said because I lost bright eyes and her smile that lit up the room. Get a hold of yourself Chris.

"Nonsense, you'll be plenty of importance. Welcome to 20-David" I say shaking her hand.

Take my hand Take my whole life, too For I can't help falling in love with you

"Alright Alright! First round on me!" Hondo yelled as we gathered into our favorite bar to our usual booth. I been a long day for all of us and all I want to do is hangout and relax with y/n 20-David.

"I'm down for a round of pool, any takers?" I asked.

"Nah I'm beat"

"Same here"

"Maybe next round"

"I just want a beer"

"I'm pretty sure you cheat because you're always beating me."

After all the guys turned me down I turned to y/n. "Care for a game?" I asked reaching out my hand. "Of course" she said as she took my hand pulled herself up. "I've never really played this before" she said as we got out sticks.

"That's fine. Lucky for you, you have the master of pool to teach ya"

I get behind her and pull her close to set up her first shot. As the balls scatter, she around to me. If I were to lean a couple inches closer I could feel her soft looking lip. "I guess I am pretty lucky" she says as I'm still holding on to her.

Shall I stay? Would it be a sin If I can't help falling in love with you?

"Do you want to come upstairs?" the y/e/c eyed girl shyly asked me while sharing into my eyes.

I've only known this girl for almost a month. It's our first date, consisting of a scary movie (thank God), the best burgers in town, and funny enough, roller-skating. The day went by so smoothly I feel like I've known this woman for years!

"You don't have to if you're not comfortable of course!" she quickly states while I was struggling to form my words.

I eventually build my confidence.

"Come on" I say as I take her hands in mine "would it really be a sin?" slyly remark.

"I guess not..." she blushes.

We turn to climb to to her apartment hand in hand. Excited to explore where the night take us.

Wise men say Only fools rush in But I can't help falling in love with you

"I think I wanna marry y/n"

*Ppppphhhhfffff*

water sprays from Streets lips and Tan chokes on his bagel while Luca laughs at his misfortune. "You what!?" Street asks.

"Don't you think it's a little early? Deacon questions. "You don't wanna make any foolish decision and rush in"

"You guys have only been living together for just over four months." Street adds.

"We've never seen you rush into anything like this before Chris." says Hondo

"Agh, I know but something about this feels different. It feels right. My family loves her, we have a routine down at home, she's understandable with SWAT hours and we've even discussed plans for our future!" I counter.

"Come on guys!" laughs Luca "I think this is a great idea! Our pal Chris is a fool in love!" he jokes as I role my eyes and smirk. "Besides, SWAT is a family and family supports each other." he says as he gives me a side hug. "Thanks Luca" I smile.

"Fine but, I get best man" Street says as a smile grows on his face.

"Deal"

For I can't help falling in love with you For I can't help falling in love with you

I can't believe I'm here.

I year ago if you would've told me I was gonna meet and marry the love of my life I would've thought you were joking.

But here we are, in Deacon's backyard.

The stars are out, string lights and flowers hang everywhere, I'm surrounded by the people I love. And I'm dancing with my new wife for the first time to our song.

I'm excited to see what the future holds for us.

And I can't help but whisper to the lyrics

"I can't help falling in love with you....."

#swat cbs #chris alonso #chris alonso x reader #swat imagine #jim street

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violetflowerswrites · 3 years ago

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A One Time Thing

Prompt: “This is a one time thing.”

Summary: An FBI agent (you) joins SWAT to chase an international fugitive that is trying to start a race war in LA. After the case is over, flirting leads to a one-night stand between you and the SWAT team leader, Hondo.

Pairing: Daniel Harrelson (Hondo) x Female Reader (FBI agent)

Disclaimer: mention of racial tensions, gunshots and weapons, gangs, police activity. 18+ for explicit smut and language. P in v sex, oral (female receiving), big dick energy and big dick, lots and lots of playful banter, one-night stand.

Word Count: 7.0k (oops)

A/N: I have been combing through tumblr for some spicy SWAT content and haven’t found much out there, so I decided to write my own! I didn’t mean to write a whole-ass episode but it happened. This takes place around season 2, when Captain Cortez is still in charge, but she and Hondo are not together. Hope you guys enjoy some sexy Hondo smut!

“This is a one time thing.”

Hondo arches a brow at you.

“Oh I know that. Do you?”

You take a sip of your drink, the bitterness of the alcohol reflected in your laugh.

“Hah! You don’t want to get into my baggage.”

“Baby, after tonight, I’ll make sure you don’t remember a thing about the past.”

…

The bothersome, yet familiar click clack of your heels echoes down the hallway of SWAT headquarters. It always seemed incredibly patriarchal that you have to wear uncomfortable shoes to work every day while the SWAT boys working out in the gym could be in sweats and sneakers. Must be nice.

“Agent Y/L/N, I can’t believe you’re out of the academy already. Hope you’re ready to sacrifice those comfy office chairs at the FBI and jump into the field with us.”

You smack an extra-professional smile on your face, and stick out your hand for a formal greeting.

“Commander Hicks, I came as soon as you called. You seem…tired. Sitting in SWAT HQ taking too much of a toll on ya?”

“You wish. Glad to see you’re still that sassy kid I knew back when you were just a college intern.”

You share a grin and a quick hug. Hicks is like a grumpy grandpa to you - always gruff and always loving.

He clears his throat.

“Back to business - we think this gang war isn’t what it seems, and it could get ugly.”

Hicks had contacted you about a case, which involved several break-ins and destruction of property between rival gangs in South LA a few days ago. But, it turns out, the incidents coincided with the disappearance of an international revolutionary, Jae-Sung Lee. He is an ex-North Korean soldier who escaped only to turn around and target Korean Americans, calling them disloyal to their nation. So far, he has only made threats online and through phone calls, but yesterday, a body was found behind the alley of a local K-town restaurant. And this morning, a dead gangbanger was found on the streets.

Hicks walks you into the briefing room, and you barely have a second to take in the bright screens and impressive array of tech when you are thrown into introductions.

“Welcome to SWAT. I’m Captain Cortez, and this is Sergeant Harrelson’s team. They are your eyes and ears in this case.”

You greet her with a firm handshake. You didn’t know a woman was captain of SWAT, let alone a woman of color.

“Pleasure to work with you and your team. I’m Agent Y/N Y/L/N, and I’m one of the FBI agents working on tracking international criminals from Korea, and other parts of Asia.”

“Oof FBI? They sent the big dogs over to us again!” A large man with sandy blonde hair bursts out. His arms are folded over his chest as he casually leans against the wall, which only serves to highlight how huge his biceps are.

“Luca!” a younger officer next to him harshly whispers a reprimand. He shifts his weight from side to side, clearly the newest to join the team as he isn’t quite sure how to react to that somewhat unprofessional outburst.

You can feel a smirk pulling at the corner of your mouth when who you assume is Sergeant Harrelson extends a hand to you.

“Sergeant Daniel Harrelson, but everyone calls me Hondo. Forgive my team, they’re just excited to be on the job. The smart mouth is Officer Luca, next to him is Street. Our resident bad-ass is Officer Chris Alonso, then Officer Tan, and my second-in-command is Officer David Kay.”

“Call me Deacon, welcome.” Officer Deacon offers a warm smile to you.

“So, tell me. What are you thinking?”

“Well, this looks like a gang war, but not quite.” Street speaks up. His eagerness to jump in first to the briefing just confirms to you again - this kid is the newbie.

“Yeah, when you look closer, it started with looting and destroying businesses, but look at the locations.” Luca pulls up a map.

“The places hit are predominantly in K-town, and black neighborhoods, specifically One-Niner territory.” Tan explains.

“And the bodies we found yesterday and today? Homicide just identified them as Sung-Yee Cho, age 21, a waitress. The other was Lucas Richards, 22, a member of the One-Niners.” Chris displays their faces on a screen that takes up an entire wall.

“Korean…and black? That can’t be a coincidence.” You wonder out loud.

“It’s not. Someone’s trying to recreate the LA Race Riots.” Deacon confirms. His gentle face furrows with concern and he fiddles with a cross necklace hanging around his neck. You all fall silent as you recall that horrific time when it was race against race, weapon against weapon, and chaos all around. The wounds of that tragedy still run deep in this city.

“Not if we can help it.” Hondo states with finality.

You take in this team of strong officers in front of you. The smoothness of the briefing shows you just how capable and ready they are for the tough day ahead, but it is their leader that draws you in the most. Like an alpha wolf leading his pack, Hondo speaks with both authority and a deep sense of confidence in his team.

You all jump into research after that. Hondo sends pairs out to talk to CIs and interview locals in the neighborhoods that have been hit. You stay back at HQ with Captain Cortez and Commander Hicks to track down your missing fugitive.

You all reconvene at noon. Hondo’s team finds out that prior to the break-ins and the homicides, relations between the Korean and Black communities were actually doing pretty well. Neither side reported any grudges or threats, and both are surprised at what’s been going on. But, tensions are starting to mount because it seems like someone is trying to start trouble in their neighborhoods and there is no one to blame but the other side.

On the other hand, you are running into dead end after dead end on your fugitive, but you know he is involved in this case somehow. You have a witness placing him at the scene of one of the robberies, but Jae-Sung is a ghost after that.

Suddenly, everyone’s phone beeps except for yours.

“What is it?” You ask.

“Bodies. Two more.” Hondo replies.

“Wanna bet one Black, one Korean again?” You comment with a wry smile.

Of course, your hunch is right. You personally accompany the team to the dumpsites to confirm for your own eyes that you have the same victimology again. You head back to HQ with Hondo while the rest of the team splits up again to question witnesses and the victim’s families.

“Something’s not right here.” You exhale with frustration.

“Oh, you mean the half-dozen break-ins and 4 bodies in 3 days?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Seems like Luca’s not the only one on your team with a smart mouth.”

“Sorry, I’m just…” Hondo sighs and rubs his face. “I remember the race riots. The news didn’t do it justice. Living through that hell…I just don’t want it to happen again.”

You lean to the side to get a good look at the man beside you. Painful memories make his dark brows crease with frustration and you notice his clenched, gloved fist on the pristine white countertop.

Before you can stop yourself, you reach a hand over and gently pry apart his fist.

“Hey. We’re gonna figure this out. We won’t let it get to that point.” You softly reassure.

Hondo looks down at his hand and you quickly pull back with an awkward cough, bringing up the victims onto the screen again.

“Um. As I was saying, something’s not right as in there’s something not right about the victims. I dug a little more into their past and there’s a pattern. All of them are in their early 20s, and are either in college or trying to go to school. They have a massive amount of debt according to their bank statements.”

“College? But one of the victims is a One-Niner.” Hondo questions.

“Former One-Niner. He’s been out for a few years, left that life to get educated and they surprisingly let him go.” You explain.

“We gotta get the rest of the team.”

By the late afternoon, the team gathers again back at HQ. You share your findings and this time, Street makes the connection.

“Hold on, you’re saying that all these kids were desperate for cash? Okay, that makes a lot more sense because when we were interviewing roommates and family, everyone said that the victims suddenly came into a lot more money in the past few weeks.”

“Like how?” You ask.

“Like, suspiciously. Phone calls from unknown numbers, leaving at odd hours, hiding about where they were going and why.” Chris chimes in.

“And one of the victims’ parents found this.” Tan hands you a business card with a phone number on it, no name attached.

“Let’s call it.” You declare immediately.

“Wait, wait, what’s your backstory?” Hondo holds up his hands, trying to slow you down.

“You can pose as a roommate for this morning’s victim, asking who this number is for.” Deacon offers. “We can trace the call.”

“Got it.” Without hesitation you dial the number and call, “Hey, this is Tiffany, Grace Lee’s roommate. I was vacuuming and found this card. I know she got a new job recently and I’m wondering if you’re her boss? She hasn’t replied back to me in a while and I just wanted to make sure everything’s okay.”

A heavily-accented voice replies back, “Grace? Oh yes, I am her boss, Mr. Dae Yoon, and Grace is doing just fine. She’s been in training all day and we confiscate phones so that our new employees can stay focused while they are learning the job.”

You mute the call excitedly and call out, “Dae Yoon is one of Jae-Sung’s aliases!”

“Track it! Street, did you get the location yet?” Hondo shouts.

“Almost…keep him talking for a bit longer…” Street replies while furiously typing on a keyboard.

“Okay, thanks so much Mr. Yoon! You know, I’m looking for a new job too. Are you still hiring?” You ask in a sickly sweet tone. Even Deacon can’t keep a straight face at your fake girly accent.

“That depends. Where are you from?”

“Well, I grew up on a cute little potato farm in Idaho, and gee it is so different from LA! The sun shines down on the fields like you’ve never seen before and the view is just absolutely to die for! But I couldn’t resist the glitz and glamor of California of course–”

“Not interested.” Jae-Sung interrupts and abruptly hangs up the call.

“Damn it! I wanted to tell him about the potatoes next.” You chuckle as the team smiles with you. “Street, did you find him?”

“Got it! 223 Angler Avenue.” Street shares triumphantly.

“Let’s roll!” Hondo orders.

We suit up as quickly as possible to track down this slippery bastard and once again, he manages to evade us. Nothing but an empty apartment and a few hastily destroyed cellphones are left behind.

“Well, at least he left in a hurry. And when criminals hurry…” You comment, trying to find a positive take on this disappointment.

“They make mistakes.” Hondo finishes for you.

Another alert beeps on their phones.

“Please tell me that someone’s caught Jae-Sung.” You plead.

“Wish I could say so. We got a shootout on our hands.” Deacon tells you instead.

Luca races Black Betty down to the heart of One-Niner territory with the sirens screaming down the streets, but seconds later, another alert pings on their phones.

“Another shoot-out, in K-town!” Chris shouts over the sound of the sirens.

Hondo hears the announcement through comms while you sit shotgun in his squad car.

“Captain! We need another team.”

Cortez braces her hands on the edge of the table, watching the alerts go off on the map.

“Negative. Mumford’s team is on the opposite side of town and Vandelli’s is at a training. You have to split up.”

Hondo hits his steering wheel in frustration. “Damn! And we have no idea how many shooters there are. Y/L/N, where do you think Jae-Sung is most likely hiding?”

“W-what? I mean, K-Town, he’d blend in more easily and speak the language.” You stammer out, your mind reeling with this information. Two shootouts at the same time? If you don’t put a stop to this, it is going to escalate just like the Riots.

“Then that’s where we’ll go. Deacon, you, Luca, Chris, and Tan head to One-Niners. You’ll need the firepower against the gangbangers. Street, hop in with me, we’re headed to K-Town.”

Minutes later, you skid into the middle of the shootout. Glass from restaurants and shops shatter around you as civilians scream and run for safety anywhere they can find it.

“Street! Crowd control! Get these people away from the windows!” Hondo commands.

“On it!” Street runs off immediately, escorting several elderly couples out of the restaurant next to you.

“Y/L/N, did you catch how many shooters?” Hondo asks.

You whip your head around at the scene, eyes scanning the chaos. “One, 3 o’clock, no two! The other’s across the street, at your 10!”

“Captain, we got two shooters, and hold on. They’re two black men!” Hondo ducks behind a car while you tuck yourself behind a wall, each of you exchanging fire with a shooter.

Back at HQ, Captain Cortez speaks into her radio. “Got it. All responding units be advised, we have two shooters, black, male, exchanging fire with officers on scene. Use caution, civilians present.”

The gunshots practically deafen your ears but your eyes are set on your shooter. You keep your arms steady as you dart out, trying to get a shot. Then, for a brief moment, the gunfire ceases. He must have ran out of bullets!

You peek out from behind the brick face and catch a glimpse of an elbow, frantically trying to reload a magazine, and fumbling over it multiple times. That’s strange…

“Hondo!” You shout into comms. “They’re amateurs!”

“What?” Hondo yells back over the noise.

“Shoot non-lethal! These boys don’t know how to fire a gun! They’re not–”

“Not gangbangers! They probably got tricked into this by Jae-Sung!” Hondo pieces it together.

Captain Cortez hears it all and passes on the info to the other team.

“Deacon, do you copy?”

“Loud and clear Captain. We’re exchanging fire with two shooters, but we got some One-Niners who want to shoot both us and them.” Deacon replies hastily.

“Hondo and Agent Y/L/N think our shooters are amateurs. They might have been forced into this shoot out by Jae-Sung.”

“That explains a lot Captain! These guys are firing everywhere but they aren’t hitting much!” Chris shouts into the comms.

“Shoot non-lethal, try to negotiate and get them to surrender. We don’t want to hurt these victims!”

“Copy, Captain! What about the One-Niners?” Deacon inquires.

“Use Black Betty as a shield and push them back.”

Luca whoops at that and follows orders.

Back in K-town, you catch a sliver of opportunity to take down your shooter.

An ear-splitting bang followed by a yell of pain greets your ears after you pull the trigger.

“Suspect down!” You cry out. “Cover me!”

“Wait, I’m not–”

You don’t wait for Hondo to finish before you race across the street and pounce on your suspect. He lays on the floor, clutching a bloody arm. Quickly, you kick his gun away and point your own at him.

“Where’s Jae-Sung?” You shout impatiently in his face.

“You shot me!” He groans, tears now streaming down his face.

You ignore him and repeat your question. “The man who paid you to do this. Where is he?”

A bullet ricochets off the wall above your head. You pivot on your heel and urgently scan across the street for the shooter. Hondo is still exchanging fire with his suspect. So where did the shot come from?

“The laundromat!” You hear Hondo shout through your comms. A face appears in the window of the laundromat right next to where you had been shooting from just moments before.

The gunfire and screams fade to nothing as the sound of your steady heartbeat thud in your ears.

Jae-Sung Lee.

You can pick that face out of a crowd of hundreds. A mouth of yellowed teeth from years of smoking, wrinkled skin, and greasy black hair that makes him look older than his 37 years. This man is responsible for the execution of several innocent South-Korean citizens during his military days. Now he has 4 American deaths on his hands? Unforgivable. His case file and picture has haunted your days and nights for months and finally, he is right in front of you.

“Cover me!” You shout again as you chase this son of bitch down.

Hondo groans out loud. “Street, do you copy?”

“Yeah, Hondo, almost got all the civilians out!” He replies through comms.

“Y/L/N has got Jae-Sung, I need you to take out this shooter! I can’t get to him, he’s behind the dumpster at Itaewon Tofu House!”

“I have a shot!” Street confirms. A second later, the shooter drops the gun as he clutches his wounded shoulder.

With that, Hondo jumps out from behind the car and joins the chase.

“He’s running down the block, took a hard right, towards the Metro station! I’m right behind him, but he’s opening fire. We can’t let him get underground, too many civilians!” You spit out the info as fast as you can, running full speed down the street. You silently praise God and whatever universal power is up there that you didn’t wear heels into the field today.

“I’ll cut him off at the entrance!” Hondo strategizes.

Your lungs burn as they demand oxygen, but you ignore all the warning signs your body is telling you. You’ve spent too much time and energy trying to catch Jae-Sung’s ghosting ass and you are not about to let him get away again.

Seconds later, the gaping mouth of the Metro station comes into view, and right in the middle of it, Hondo stands, gun raised.

“Jae-Sung Lee, put your weapon down!” Hondo demands.

Time seems to slow as you watch Jae-Sung turn around, sweat flying in droplets off his forehead. You see his eyes go wide as you hear Hondo shout, “Don’t even think about it!”

A bullet slices through the air towards Jae Sung, and hits him in the lower back.

But you are already airborne, leaping out to tackle this murderer to the ground. As fast as you can, you scramble upright and press your knee into his chest, his gun landing out of reach.

“Jae-Sung Lee, you’re under arrest.” You declare triumphantly.

…

You walk into SWAT HQ to the sound of clapping. Your hair is a mess and your favorite work-outfit is covered in blood and dirt, but you know nothing can stop your grin.

“Congratulations Agent Y/L/N. You got your guy.” Hicks slaps you on the shoulder.

“Excellent work. I’m glad we got everyone safely back.” Captain Cortez smiles at you with visible relief.

“Any casualties?“ You inquire.

“Just minor injuries. The shooters were instructed to break windows and buildings, not to murder people. It looks like Jae-Sung wanted to cause trouble for business. And you know how effective it is to hurt people in their wallets.” Captain Cortez shares.

“That didn’t stop them from shooting at us though.” Chris sighs.

“Hey, look on the bright side! We caught the suspect and all the shooters too. And, I heard that Agent Y/L/N here took Jae-Sung down with a massive tackle. Pretty sure you could start playing for the NFL now.” Luca jokes lightheartedly.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, you’re missing a key detail there Luca. I shot him first!” Hondo protests good naturedly.

“Mmm…unnecessary. I had him.” You snarkily reply. “And, if I remember correctly, you had to ask Street to help you take down your shooter?”

Street holds up his hands in mock surrender, “Oh, whatever competition this is, don’t involve me in it.”

Without meaning to, you have somehow stepped up to Hondo, so that you are facing his chest. You even raised yourself up to challenge him, although he is a good head taller than you.

Hicks inserts himself between the two of you and lays a hand on your shoulder. “Alright everyone, settle down. Agent Y/L/N here is just messing with ya. Everyone did the job well today so go home, shower, and get out of here.”

Hicks turns to you with a chuckle. “A tackle huh? Seems excessive. I’ll have to tell your superiors about that.”

You roll your eyes at him and laugh deeply, not noticing the way Hondo’s gaze settles on your smile.

…

Hot water cascades down your back in a rushing waterfall, sweeping away the days’ hard work. You replay today’s events like a film reel in your mind, scene after scene flashing before you. The shoot out stays with you the most. Throwing yourself into the middle of gunfire is not an easy thing to do, but the implications of danger never hit you until after the fight is long over.

You think back to Hondo, crouching behind a car, his SWAT gear obscuring much of his face. Helmet, safety glasses, gloves, a massive gun, a million pockets full of who knows what kind of weapons. Meanwhile you were just in your blouse, slacks, and ankle boots, plus a very attractive bullet proof vest complete with a giant FBI printed on the front of your chest.

Right as you got into the squad car to go check out Jae Sung’s apartment, you remember making some snarky comment about your outfits.

“Damn, Hondo! Where can I get the Halloween costume?” You gesture to his gear. “You got like, what, a hundred pockets on that ‘fit?”

“You won’t be joking when the gear in these pockets saves your ass out there in the field, Ms. FBI,” he quips back, the corners of his eyes crinkling in good humor underneath his glasses.

“Not if I save your ass first!”

Remembering that sassy little exchange makes you smile. You sigh to yourself. Your smart mouth has gotten you in trouble more times than you could count, but you knew you could push it more with Hicks’ boys. He’s known you and your family for years, so he knows you’re just trying to lighten the mood. Not all of your days end with as low of a body count as this one.

It was a good day.

Right as you are blow drying your hair, you see rather than hear your phone ring. You don’t recognize the number.

“This is Agent Y/L/N.”

“It’s Hondo, from LAPD SWAT.”

“Hondo? You already miss my pretty face?”

“Hey now, this wasn’t my idea. Hicks said…”

“Don’t tell me I have more paperwork to fill out.”

“Sounds like you got a brain to go with that pretty face.”

“You think my face is pretty?”

You know you are flirting. Hard. But Hondo makes it too easy. He’s clearly a leader of incredible skill and bravery to be on SWAT, and working with him today just confirms what you already knew the first moment you met him. You could trust him to have your back on and off the field. Men like him don’t come around too often and who’s to say you can’t have a little fun while you’re in LA?

“Okay mama, hold your horses. Hicks said I had to deliver these papers to you in person. Meet you at your hotel bar in 10?”

“It’s a date!” You laugh into the phone, imagining Hondo shaking his head on the other side of the line.

You scramble to make yourself presentable. Damp hair or not, you’re not about to look like a mess in front of Hondo. You swipe on some lipgloss and mascara, and dig through your luggage. Your hands find the soft linen of your go-to blue sundress for your civilian clothes disguise. Perfect. You pair it with a work blazer to cover your bare shoulders.

You see the straps of a bra peeking out from underneath the piles of clothes. Shoot. No clean bras.

Shrugging, you shove everything inside and zip it up. Guess you’ll have to go without.

With a quick glance to the mirror, you confirm that you look great and not at all like someone who tackled an international fugitive a few hours ago.

…

“Well look at you Ms. FBI,” Hondo greets you, perching on a bar stool. The seat is far too small for him and gives you a great view of his toned jean-clad ass.

“I told you this is a date, didn’t I?” You laugh, lifting your skirts up to sit down. You let the fabric fall to the side, exposing your thigh. Hondo’s eyes immediately glance down at your exposed skin before quickly flitting back up to your face. His eyes twinkle mischievously, clearly catching on to everything you are putting down. Subtlety is not your strong suit.

He slides the goldenrod envelope across the table. You sigh dramatically and unseal the flap to rifle through the pages.

“Oh jeez, how many forms do I have to go through?!” You complain aloud. The stack is so thick, it will take you half a day to finish them all.

“Well, let’s see. We got 4 bodies, 6 break-ins, a hide-out apartment, 2 neighborhoods that got shot up, numerous civilian injuries, oh and let’s not forget, an injured international fugitive heavily wanted by the FBI, Ms. F. B. I.” Hondo adds a pause between each of the letters of your agency, just to be extra snarky about it.

“He’s only injured because you shot him,” You mutter with annoyance at all this work.

“And you tackled him,” Hondo counters.

“Fine, fine. I’ll deal with this tomorrow.” You push the envelope aside. “Tell me, Hondo, how does it feel to work with an FBI agent?”

Hondo laughs at your cockiness. “I don’t know, how does it feel –”

“to work with SWAT?” You finish for him. You lean forward on your elbows. “Honestly, today was pretty amazing. I haven’t seen Hicks in years and you run a tight team Hondo. I appreciate you having my back out there.”

Hondo laughs again, shaking his head at you.

Baffled, you give him a look that says What in the world is so funny?

“You did it again, Y/L/N. Did you notice we keep finishing each other’s sentences?” Hondo grins at you.

“Sounds like we make a pretty good team, Mr. SWAT.” You throw the nickname back at him.

“You did hold your own during the shootout, Y/L/N. You were the first to notice that the shooters were amateurs, and you took down yours fast. It got a little dicey when Jae-Sung showed up, but I gotta say, I didn’t think you could chase him down and get to him before any civilians got hurt. I was …”

“Impressed? Amazed? Blown away by my talent?” You grin at him.

“I was gonna say relieved, but sure, let’s go with impressed.”

The bartender places a tray with two glasses of champagne and a small charcuterie platter by the two of you. Hondo reaches for a glass and hands it to you.

“Ooo champagne? Do we have a cause for celebration?” You ask as you clink your drink to his.

“To catching Jae-Sung Lee. Congratulations, Ms. FBI.” Hondo toasts.

“Thank you,” You murmur into your glass. You take a sip of the bubbly liquid appreciatively, and a slight blush blooms across your cheeks. It still hasn’t quite hit you yet that you’ve actually put this guy away for good. It’s nice to celebrate your accomplishment with the man who helped you take him down. More than nice.

A comfortable silence settles between you as the din of the bar grows louder. It is well past dinnertime and it’s getting crowded. You people watch for a moment as you sit and drink.

“There’s something that’s been bugging me.” Hondo speaks up quietly.

“Hmm?”

“How come Hicks takes all your teasing like it’s nothing? The only person I’ve seen him be that nice to is Cortez, and she doesn’t even push it that much.” Hondo inquires, genuinely curious.

You chuckle, thinking back to all the sass he must have heard in the past 24 hours.

“Hicks is like a grandfather to me. He worked with my father and he’s an old family friend. He’s been looking out for me ever since I was old enough to skin my knee. He checks up on me now and then, especially now that I tackle criminals.” You share fondly.

“Ha! Maybe we should start calling him grandpa at HQ.” Hondo jokes.

“Ooo he would absolutely hate that.” You laugh, the alcohol makes you giggle even more. “Do it.”

“I’d like to keep my job, Ms. FBI.”

It seems like you just can’t stop smiling. Hondo is so easy to talk to, and tease. Not to mention he’s hot as hell.

But…

“Hey, what’s wrong mama?” Hondo notices your expression change.

“Hondo, I know I can be a little much. My smart mouth isn’t for everyone and I know it’s not the most professional, especially when I’m a guest on your team, so I just wanted to say I really appreciate that you welcomed me in and trusted me on this case and –”

“And there’s nothing more to say.” Hondo cuts in. “You were great with the team and I like that smart mouth of yours. Especially because it's attached to..”

“This pretty face?” You look up at him through your lashes. Without realizing, the two of you have leaned closer and Hondo reaches a hand under your chin, pulling it up towards him.

“Exactly.”

Hondo closes the gap, kissing you on the lips - gentle and soft and delicious.

…

A plaid flannel flies carelessly across the room as you fling Hondo’s clothes across your hotel suite. Rough hands bring yours to a pair of broad shoulders as Hondo guides you into a soft embrace. His lips are working overtime on your wanting mouth as he walks the two of you towards the bed.

You feel another giggle escape your throat and your feet tangle in his and you stumble, falling onto the mattress with a heavy man laying on top of you. The smooth player that he is, Hondo’s lips never break contact with yours and he simply moves his tantalizing kisses from your mouth to your cheek.

“Hey,” he murmurs in your ear, “you want this, right Y/N?”

Hearing your first name spoken in Hondo’s baritone rumble makes a shiver of arousal spread across your spine.

“Yes.” You breathe into his mouth.

Those three letters are all he needed to hear.

Hondo moves down your body with all the passion of a starving man who has just been given the feast of his life. And he eats you out like you’ve never experienced before.

“Oh my god!” A squeal breaks free from you as you feel Hondo’s wet tongue lick up the length of your slit, your panties long gone.

Thick fingers grip your soft thighs, your dress pooling around your waist. A hand snakes up the front of your torso as you writhe on the bed, already so fuckin’ turned on.

“Mmm you’re a naughty girl, Ms. FBI. No bra?” Hondo chuckles, face deep in your core.

The vibration from his voice only serves to make you wetter. His beard tickles the sensitive skin on the inside of your thighs and you watch wide-eyed as he disappears down there again.

“What can I say? I was hoping..” your sentence trails away into a moan as Hondo’s lips find your clit.

“Hoping for some great sex?” Hondo tries to complete your sentence.

You pull his face up to yours until he climbs on top of you and you can taste your arousal on his mouth.

“Hoping for some fantastic sex with a hot SWAT agent.” You correct him, pressing his forehead to yours as you catch your breath.

“You think I’m hot?” Hondo teases, kissing the tip of your nose affectionately.

“Well, we’ve already established that you think I’m pretty.” You speak against his lips, wanting to taste more of this beautiful man.

Much to your chagrin, Hondo pulls away. You are scarcely disappointed for more than a moment however, because Hondo immediately starts to kiss your neck, moving down towards the top of your cleavage. You assist his exploration of your soft skin by pulling the straps of your sundress down, revealing perky, tender breasts to your now favorite SWAT agent.

“You’re not just pretty, Y/N.” Hondo praises. “You’re beautiful…and smart…and fearless…and so sassy it’s gonna get you in trouble.”

Hondo pairs his compliments with delicious kisses on your breasts and his hot mouth quickly attaches to your sensitive nipples.

Suddenly feeling shy, you cover your face with your arms and whisper, “I think I’m already in trouble because of you Hondo.”

You stifle another moan as he licks your nipple again. It feels so good that you think you’re going to be addicted to his touch.

“Then let’s get into more trouble together.” He grins against your chest.

With that playful exchange, Hondo pulls your dress over your head and lays you gently back down amongst the fluffy hotel pillows.

He kneels between your legs, your hips splayed apart, ready for him to enter. His eager cock bounces between toned thighs that lead to the sexiest set of abs you’ve ever seen, a light sheen of sweat making his beautiful caramel skin glisten in the golden glow of the room.

Your fingers grip the sheets in anticipation, and you bite your lip, staring at what is about to enter your dripping pussy.

“Condom?” Hondo asks right as he guides his member to your entrance.

“IUD. I’m safe, and clean.” You quickly reply, impatient for him to fuck you already. You can feel the hot tip of his cock pressing against your slick folds. Your walls are literally pulsing with eagerness to take him in.

“Good.”

A second later, your pussy walls stretch to accommodate Hondo, his member spearing towards the end of your core. Fabric twists in your fists as you scream out your pleasure at being entered by such a huge cock.

“Hondo, you’re fucking huge!” You groan out through gritted teeth.

Hondo freezes in fear, “Am I hurting you, Y/N?” His brow creases with concern.

You grab his wrist that was braced next to your waist as he holds his body above yours.

“No, just…slow down and kiss me some more.” You request.

Hondo smiles in relief and happily meets your request and his soft lips press against your mouth once again. His tongue starts to dance with yours as his hips slowly push into your core. A guttural groan releases from his lips when he hits your cervix.

“What, Hondo?” Your lips move down his face to suck on a throbbing vein on his neck. You can feel another gush of wetness flow from your core, making Hondo’s cock slide in much more comfortably. You’ve never been this wet for a man before. Then again, not every man’s cock is as big as Hondo’s.

“You’re fucking tight, Y/N.” He pants back.

“Am I?” You murmur against his hot skin. “How about now?”

“Gah! Fuck!” Hondo gasps as you lock your ankles behind his back, pulling his cock even deeper into your core. You giggle against him, your hands gripping his head tightly as Hondo continues to pound into you.

Each thrust into your wet walls is met with a moan from your lips, and you just can’t stop voicing your pleasure. His cock hits every spot inside your pussy that makes you want to scream. But for the sake of the other hotel guests, you try to keep it together.

“Hondo, mmm!” You whine aloud, “I’m getting close!”

Hondo thrusts against you so hard, you hear the bedpost knock against the wall. Each push of his cock sinfully smacks skin against skin, and the dirty sound makes your head spin.

“Come for me, baby!” Hondo grunts as he violently shoves into you again.

“Hold on,” you lift a hand towards his face. “Suck me.”

Hondo puts your delicate fingers into his mouth when he realizes what you want. With darkened, lust-filled eyes, he can’t tear his gaze away from you as you bring your now wet fingers down towards your overstimulated clit. And proceed to rub small circles on the sensitive nub.

“Goddamn that’s sexy, Y/N.” Hondo praises appreciatively.

“Shut up and make me cum!” You grin back at him, increasing the speed of your fingers.

“Yes ma’am,” Hondo resumes his assault on your pussy, thrusting so hard that your grip on your clit keeps slipping.

It doesn't matter because it is only seconds later that you are in pure ecstasy. Flames of pleasure lick over your sweaty skin as you come harder than you’ve ever had before. Hondo simply presses in more against your core as you scream out how good he is making you feel.

After the world stops spinning, you finally release your bruising grip on Hondo’s shoulders.

“You good, baby?” Hondo chuckles, leaning back on his heels to catch his breath for a moment.

“Y-yeah. I’m good. More than good.” You breathe out shakily, your voice a little hoarse from all the screaming Hondo drew out of you. Your eyes land on his very erect veiny cock that’s still bouncing upright between his legs. You grin up at him.

“Your turn.”

Hondo smiles so wide his eyes crinkle up in the cutest way. You pull his arm towards the pillows, guiding him to lie down. His hands never leave your body for a second, his touch is all over your shoulders, arms, waist, and finally lands on your ass as you settle on his lap. It is so sexy that he refuses to let go even when you are just trying to readjust your positioning.

Not wasting any time, you gently grip his thick cock and insert the tip inside your still dripping pussy and proceed to sink down slowly.

“Mmph!” A muffled cry escapes your lips as you feel him stretch out your walls once again.

“Fuck, that’s good baby.” Hondo moans loudly. His deep brown eyes are staring right at your core as his grip tightens on your ass cheeks, following your trip downwards on his member.

Your bodies move to a silent rhythm, slowly rolling forward and back as his cock slides in and out of you with ease. You feel that familiar tightening in your stomach and this time, you lick your own fingers as you find your clit and go to town on it.

Hondo looks at you pleasuring yourself on his cock and he chuckles, the rumbling spreading from deep within his toned chest.

“Baby, I thought it was my turn?” He teases you.

“Hondo, you’ll soon realize that I’m very selfish when it comes to sex.” You tease back, laying down so that your breasts are now pressed up against him.

“I want your cock all. to. myself.” You breathe hot air against his ear as you slam your hips down on Hondo’s cock.

“Mmm don’t stop!” Hondo encourages, his hips bucking up into you as he chases his own orgasm.

You continue to slide back onto his member, your wetness making the motion smooth and pleasurable. Whines of lust pour out of you continuously as you keep on fucking this beautiful man.

“Oh fuck!” You cry out, your hair falling onto Hondo’s face as you kiss his bearded cheek.

“I’m close too, baby! Make me cum!” Hondo groans out.

You make his wish come true a second later as your pussy grips him one last time and you feel his hips jut up into yours. Warmth spreads throughout your core as you feel his seed paint your insides. Your breath comes out in relieved pants as you splay out on top of Hondo, trying to recover from the best sex you’ve ever had.

—

*beep beep*

The sound of Hondo’s SWAT alarm wakes the two of you.

Groaning, you roll over and glance at the hotel room’s red digital display.

5:30 AM.

“Do SWAT emergencies always happen this early?” you grumble in a sleep-laden voice.

Hondo is already up and out of bed, pulling on his clothes that you haphazardly tossed all over the room last night.

“Not usually.” He kisses you on the forehead. “Gotta go. Have a safe flight back to D.C. okay?”

You yawn dramatically and pat his ass affectionately. “Go catch some bad guys Mr. SWAT.”

“Not if you catch them first, Ms. FBI.”

Not a minute after he rushes out the door, you hear a text alert beep on your phone.

Wanna stay in LA another night?

The message is from Hondo’s number. You can’t help but let out an incredulous laugh.

Thought this was supposed to be a one time thing.

You reply back with a smirk on your face.

What can I say? I want more of your smart mouth and …

You watch the three dots of him typing blink over and over. God, he’s such a flirt.

Pretty face?

You relent and complete the sentence for him.

You got it, Ms. FBI.

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