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fluentmoviequoter · 22 days ago

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In Good Hands

Requested Here!

Pairing: Jim Street x fem!Bradford!SWAT!reader (Tim's younger sister)

Summary: Tim finally gets to meet your team during a joint call, and when you're injured, he realizes that he doesn't need to worry about your boyfriend or how he cares for you. Or: When you're injured a call, Street shows you and everyone around how much he cares about you and how well he does it.

Warnings: canon typical danger and violence, depiction of injury and pain (r), flirty!Street (and Aaron Thorsen thinks you're pretty)

Word Count: 2.4k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Jim Street Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

Lying on the cool concrete floor of SWAT HQ, you watch a fan above you turn, tapping your fingers to the rhythmic thwock… thwock of a tennis ball hitting the wall and bouncing back to Street.

“How’s everyone’s family?” Deacon asks, trying to break the silence and bring a sense of normalcy.

No one replies for a moment, and you hear him sigh as leans against the wall.

“My brother is still overbearing and annoying,” you offer.

“Sounds like he’d get along great with my sisters,” Hondo scoffs.

“He doesn’t get along great with anyone,” you counter.

“At least he’s a good cop, so you can understand one another.”

You hum, and your team falls quiet again. Street resumes his seated, solo game of wall ball, and you follow the slow-turning blades of the fan with your eyes as you slide your feet toward your hips, bending your knees up.

“If you think about it,” Street begins.

“We don’t,” Luca interrupts.

“No thinking from you,” Tan adds.

“I was just going to say,” Street defends. “Hicks is acting like a pimp.”

You sit up, shoving your elbows into the floor to look at Street with wide eyes, as your team follows suit. No one actually replies to his claim, but the incredulous looks he receives are enough to make him shrug and switch up the way he throws the tennis ball.

Tan meets your eyes and mouths, “He’s yours,” before you roll your eyes and lie down again. Street isn’t entirely wrong, you realize. Hicks made the decision to take you off active duty and put you on standby for the stations dealing with rioting after a series of convictions were overturned following the indictment of a corrupt judge. He decides when you leave, where you go, and your objectives. Not entirely unlike a pimp, even if he’d make you run laps for saying it.

“Rise and shine!” Hicks calls as he returns from the chief’s office. “Mid-Wilshire called in an assist.”

“Finally,” you grumble as you stand.

“I knew you’d come through, sir,” Street says, pleased when you look away to avoid laughing.

“Okay,” Hicks drawls, shaking his head. “Officers are waiting for your on-scene. I’ll fill you in on your way.”

“Thanks, Commander,” Hondo calls over his shoulder, leading your team toward Black Betty.

Hondo leads you, Street, and Deacon past Black Betty and behind a row of cop cars, where six officers in patrol blues and two detectives take cover.

“I’m Sergeant Harrelson, 20-David SWAT,” he introduces. “What’ve you got?”

“Triple homicide in this residence four days ago,” Detective Lopez replies. “Dispatch alerted patrol of a crowd growing in the front yard, and with all the rioting, they decided to send two units. When they arrived, the suspects grew hostile, forced our people back.”

“Any of your murder suspects up there?” Deacon inquires, glancing through the back window of the shop he’s beside.

“Both of them,” Detective Harper answers. “But they’re surrounded by known felons with automatic rifles and revolvers.”

“You want them subdued?” Hondo clarifies.

“Preferably.”

“We need the house cleared, too,” Sergeant Bradford adds, kneeling with his back against his shop.

You notice all the windows have been broken and raise your brows, silently asking if he’s okay. Tim nods once, and you turn your attention back to Hondo.

“Sergeant Harrelson,” Angela says. “Are you Hondo?”

“I am,” he replies, smiling. “Heard of me?”

“Yeah, former partner of mine knew Buck Spivey.”

Nyla notices your name tag, cocking her head to the side as she inquires, “Any relation to our Bradford?”

“Not that I’m willing to admit,” you joke.

“I stand by what I said when they brought you home,” Tim grumbles. “There was still time to trade you for a brother.”

“You love me.”

“We’re going to move in behind this crowd,” Hondo says. “They might rabbit this way, can you handle one or two who break away?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Nyla answers, lifting the long gun beside her feet.

“Glad you’re on our side,” you muse.

“Be careful,” Tim demands.

You nod, then turn away from him to join the rest of your team and find the perfect route to enter the yard and get everyone in custody. After ensuring you have plenty of zip ties in your pocket, you tap Street’s shoulder to let him know you’re ready. He glances over his shoulder at you before he taps Tan, and you run single-file down the fence line two houses over.

“LAPD!” Hondo announces as your team slips into position. You surround the crowd, and they turn quickly, raising weapons as they move together.

“Put the weapons down!” you command. “Everybody, hands up!”

“Stop moving!” Luca yells, gesturing down with one hand while the other steadies his gun.

“What?” one of the men asks, stepping forward. “I can’t have a party in my own front yard now?”

“Not with weapons, and not after assaulting police officers,” Street answers.

“Cooperate, and you might get to return home sometime soon,” Deacon advises. “The DA remembers you, I’d bet. Don’t make it any harder on yourself.”

The man shakes his head, his tongue against his cheek. You see the moment he decides not to cooperate, but it happens too quickly to alert your team. The crowd breaks, people running in every direction as gunshots sound, the unmistakable hiss of bullets moving in different directions.

Apparently, the spokesperson for the group – and likely one of the murder suspects – Anthony Woodley runs toward you with two men close on his heels. You can’t stop all three of them alone, but if you slow Anthony down, the others might hesitate long enough that you can catch up. Dropping your gun, you use the strap to pull it to your back, then brace yourself to step in front of him. As he nears you, you move into his path and angle yourself to throw your shoulder into his abdomen.

He wraps his arms around your shoulders, his foot landing on yours before you both go down. You flip him quickly, using his surprise to get the upper hand. He groans with his face in the grass, and you press your knee against his back as you secure the plastic ties around his wrist. Looking around, you see that your team has most of the people in custody, and the three who made it past you are now facing Nyla Harper, Angela Lopez, and your brother. You don’t pity them at all, and when they raise their hands and kneel on the asphalt, you drop your head and sigh.

After you flip Anthony over and direct him to sit up and cross his ankles, you stand. Immediately, burning pain ignites in your ankle. You hiss, shifting your weight to the other foot as you wait for reinforcements. A prisoner transport van is en route, but you have to make sure everything stays calm and safe until it arrives, and then you have to clear the house. The pain in your ankle will make it difficult. Fortunately, it’s probably just bruising and swelling from the impact of running into Anthony. Or him running into you.

“That wasn’t half bad,” Tim says as he steps into the grass.

“You know it’s not just me you’re insulting, right?” you counter. “My entire team is here.”

Tim glances toward the others, who watch your interaction for a breath before checking on the suspects. The van arrives, and six officers exit patrol cars that park behind it to load everyone and take them to booking.

“If you’ll excuse us, Bradford,” Hondo tells Tim. “We’ve got another adequate job to do.”

“Ooh,” you drawl, pointing at Tim. “You insulted a SWAT sergeant. What will Grey think?”

Tim rolls his eyes, but when you turn toward the house to join your team, he notices you’re favoring one leg. You talk often, despite your insistence that he’s overbearing and annoying, so he’d know if something happened. Unless it just happened, leading you to hide it until you finish your job. That dedication and lack of self-preservation for a purpose skipped a generation, he thinks, but somehow, you both inherited it. He'll lecture you when you come out, if you’re still limping. He returns to his shop, leaning against the hood as Angela and Nyla prepare to leave.

“I knew your sister was a cop, but I didn’t know she was in the best SWAT team in LA,” Lucy muses.

“I didn’t know she looked like that,” Aaron adds.

Tim turns to glare at him, and he immediately rescinds the compliment, but makes sure to note that he wasn't wrong about how attractive you are.

“She is pretty,” Lucy agrees, shrugging. “Have anything else you’re hiding from us?”

“Depends,” Tim murmurs. “Are you hiding an off switch?”

Inside the house, you move with Luca and Tan through bedrooms, bathrooms, a few closets, and the kitchen. Circling back to the living room, you meet Hondo, Street, and Deacon, who confirm that their side of the house was also clear. The floor in the dining area is still stained with blood, and you step forward to look at the bullet hole in the wall, forgetting about your injured ankle. Now that your adrenaline is lowered again, you feel the pain ignite, sending bolts of discomfort up your lower leg. You stop, shifting to your other leg and dropping your hands to your thighs as you breathe deeply. Your boot feels too tight, and you know the swelling is worsening.

“Bradford,” Deacon says. “You okay?”

“I-” You stop yourself, taking another deep breath to stop the tears building in your eyes. It’s an instinctive body response to find another outlet for what you feel, but you bite down on your lip so hard you taste blood rather than cry in front of your team. “I twisted my ankle. I’m fine.”

Street moves to your side, taking his tactical helmet off as he moves. He tosses it to Luca, who catches it wordlessly, watching you with concern in his blue eyes.

Street kneels before you, bringing your hands to his shoulders. You lean heavily against him, sighing in relief that your weight is now his burden.

“Thank you,” you murmur.

Carefully, Street pulls your pants over the top of your boot, frowning when he sees the bruise peeking out from under your shoe and the red mark against your lower shin. Fresh blood beads, and Street’s brows pinch when he realizes that your pants are already wet with blood.

“What did Anthony have on him?” Street inquires, glancing up at you.

“He had a – I don’t even know what they’re called,” Hondo answers. “It looked like the top part of a meat tenderizer. The, you know, pointed mallet.”

Street nods, gently touching your calf. “Yeah, it did some damage,” he mumbles. Looking at you again, he asks, “Do you think it’s broken?”

You shake your head, laying the ball of your foot on the floor.

“Do you need to go to the hospital or can the medics back at HQ look at it?” Hondo asks.

“I’m fine,” you answer.

“You’re bleeding, and I’m pretty sure your boot didn’t look that wide earlier,” Street answers.

You drop your head then, swallowing at the sight of your leg. “Okay, maybe I’m not fine,” you admit. “But the medics can handle it.”

Street keeps your hands on his shoulders as he stands, then loops one arm around your ribs, holding you up against his side. “Could I interest you in a bridal carry?” he questions lowly.

“And hit her foot on the door jamb on the way out?” Tan muses. “Yeah, real romantic, Street.”

“Tan,” Street sighs, smiling. “If you’re jealous, just say that.”

“Easy,” Hondo interrupts, chuckling. “Let’s give Mid-Wilshire our report, and then we’ll head back to base.”

You allow Street to support most of your weight, only setting your toes on the ground before you jump with your uninjured leg. If you’d been alone, you undoubtedly would have let him carry you, but you’re still on the job; a bruised ankle won’t stop you from being ready to stand on your own if the situation calls for it.

“What happened?” Tim demands the moment you step outside.

“Tim, this is my team leader, Hondo,” you introduce.

Tim’s chest rises and falls before he asks, “What are you doing?”

“You said you wanted to meet my team. Now’s your chance.”

“I’m Lucy Chen,” the woman beside him says, waving.

“Aaron Thorsen,” the other officer introduces.

“This is Deacon, Luca, and Tan,” you continue, pointing to your teammates as they offer various greetings. “And this is Street,” you conclude, laying your hand on his chest for a moment longer than is probably professionally appropriate.

Tim’s eyes narrow at Street, who smiles and offers the hand not holding you up. “Nice to finally meet you,” he says.

Tim looks between you, clenches his jaw, and shakes Street’s hand.

“You got lucky,” he tells you.

“By getting a meat tenderizer to the ankle?” you question, incredulous.

Tim glances at your ankle, then shakes his head. “I was going to make you break up with what’s-his-name-"

“Street,” he interrupts.

“But,” Tim continues, “you’re in good hands with him.” Turning to Street, he drops his voice to add, “And she will always be in good hands, right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

They stare at each other for several breaths, until you interrupt to say, “The house is clear.”

“Nice to meet you,” Hondo tells Tim, Lucy, and Aaron. “But if Streeter hurts her, you’ll have to get in line to deal with him.”

“If you can find the body,” Luca adds.

“I get it!” Street exclaims.

“I’m fine,” you assure Tim. “I’ll call you tonight.”

Tim nods, pats your shoulder, and enters the house. Lucy and Aaron give you their well wishes as they follow him, and you lean against Street when they’re out of earshot.

“Glad to know you all have such faith in me,” he grumbles, slipping his other arm around you.

“That’s my job,” you murmur against his vest. “Can we leave now? There’s an ice pack at HQ with my name on it.”

Street doesn’t ask you this time before he lifts you in his arms and sets you in Black Betty, so you don’t have to try to climb inside. You’re the first two members of your team, and while you’re alone, Street says, “Must be confusing with two Bradfords.”

“Sometimes.”

“Wonder what it’ll be like with two Streets.”

You look over at him quickly, but he has his eyes closed and his head tipped back, a smile on his face as he removes his glove and takes your hand in his good hands.

#jim street x reader #jim street x fem!reader #jim street fluff #jim street fic #jim street imagine #jim street #swat x reader #swat imagine #swat fic #swat cbs #the rookie abc #fem!reader #requests #hanna writes✯#crossover fic

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unbuttonedown · 2 months ago

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Fault Lines / Chapter 6

Pairing: Beau “Cyclone” Simpson x Wife!reader (Mitchell!reader)

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Consensual, legal age-gap relationship; Estranged Father/Daughter relationship (Maverick & Reader); Named Simpson!OC child; Angst; Pregnancy; Mentions of birth complications; No Beta Reader

Synopsis: After the successful Dagger Squad mission, Pete “Maverick” Mitchell returns home — only to be blindsided by the revelation that his estranged daughter is married to Vice Admiral Beau “Cyclone” Simpson. Maverick is forced to confront the years he lost and the family he never knew existed. Tensions rise between the two men as Maverick struggles to find his place in a life that has moved on without him, leaving the question — can broken bonds ever truly be repaired?

previous chapter / next chapter

The morning had started off normal — calm, quiet, soft light pouring into the kitchen as you moved slowly through the motions. Beau was already at base, Stella had been dropped off at school in her favorite pair of denim overalls and silver cowgirl boots, and you were looking forward to a slow, uneventful day. Maybe laundry. Maybe a nap.

But then the first contraction hit like a gut punch.

You told yourself it was just Braxton Hicks. That it’d pass. You’d had a few already. But this one was different — low and sharp, and then another came minutes later. You sat down. Breathed. Tried Beau’s cell. No answer.

Another contraction, harder this time.

You called his office. Voicemail. You leave a message. Trying not to sound as terrified as you felt, though you weren’t sure you were doing a great job.

You swallowed the rising panic and went for your hospital bag, hands trembling. Then instinct took over. You tapped the name you hadn’t expected to rely on in a moment like this.

“Hello?”

“Mav,” you gasped before even thinking about it. “I — I think I’m in labor. And I can’t get a hold of Beau. I don’t know — can you — I need help.”

“I’m on my way,” Maverick said without hesitation. “I’ll be there soon.”

The ride to the hospital was a blur of pain and shallow breathing and Maverick keeping his voice low and calm as he drove — his hand on the wheel, eyes flicking to you every five seconds.

“You’re okay. I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

But by the time they got you into a room, things were clearly not okay.

Monitors beeped. Nurses moved fast. Words like heart rate dropping and baby in distress were thrown around in clipped tones. A doctor came in, his face calm but urgent.

“We need to take you into surgery right away.”

Your heart was thudding so loudly it made your head spin. The pain was nothing compared to the fear now clawing at your chest.

As the team began prepping you, wheeling your bed to the OR, and telling Maverick he had to go out into the waiting room, your hand shot out — grabbing at Maverick’s sleeve.

“I’m scared,” you whispered, breath shaky and eyes filling fast. “Dad, I’m really scared.”

His whole body stilled.

You’d said it before you realized you had. The word just slipped out, instinctive and raw. Ten years of silence undone in a second.

He wrapped his hand around yours and leaned close, voice low and fierce with emotion.

“I know, kid. But you’re strong. You’ve got this. And I’ll be right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

They pulled your bed away, toward the double doors that led to the operating room, and you let yourself hold onto those words, your heart pounding against fear and hope.

The double doors swung shut behind your hospital bed with a hiss, leaving Maverick standing alone in the hallway, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

For a moment, he just stood there, frozen.

Then he moved. Fast.

He dug into his back pocket for his phone and hit Beau’s contact again, pacing the corridor like a storm cloud in motion. This time, Beau picked up on the second ring, voice clipped with command.

“Simpson.”

“It’s Mitchell,” Maverick said quickly, tone sharp. “She’s in the hospital. That baby — she went into labor and couldn’t reach you. They had to take her into emergency surgery.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then, “What?”

“She called me,” Maverick said, softer now. “I got her here, but things moved fast. I don’t know everything — they rushed her in just a few minutes ago. They said the baby’s heart rate dropped.”

Beau was already moving on the other end. Maverick could hear the scuff of boots, the slam of a door, the sudden urgency in his breath. “I’m coming.”

“She’s scared, Beau,” Maverick added quietly, voice tightening.

“I’ll be there soon,” Beau said, lower now. “Tell them I’m on my way.”

Maverick hung up and exhaled for the first time in what felt like hours. The hallway felt too sterile, too still. He sat down in a stiff wooden chair and stared at the double doors like he could will them to open with good news.

He glanced down at his hands.

They were still shaking.

You’d called him “Dad.”

Not “Maverick.” Not “Pete.”

Dad.

It echoed in his head with every tick of the second hand on the hallway clock.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and rested his forehead in his hands.

“C’mon kid,” he muttered. “You’ve got this. You’re tougher than me.”

Maverick waited — quiet and unmoving — until the family he’d nearly lost came back through those doors.

The hospital hallway had gone quiet again, save for the distant hum of machines and the muted shuffle of nurses’ shoes on tile. Maverick hadn’t moved from the chair since you were taken into surgery. His foot bounced restlessly, arms crossed tight over his chest.

Then he heard the heavy, fast steps coming down the corridor.

Beau rounded the corner still in uniform — his jacket half-zipped, hair mussed, eyes searching until they landed on Maverick. His pace slowed, but not by much.

“Where is she?” He asked, voice low and urgent.

“Surgery,” Maverick stood up quickly. “Still in there. They said emergency C-section. Something about the baby’s heart rate dropping.”

Beau scrubbed a hand over his face. His other hand was still clenched like he hadn’t let go of the steering wheel until he stepped through the hospital doors.

“Jesus,” he muttered.

“They acted fast,” Maverick added. “She was scared. But she’s strong, Beau. You should’ve seen her.”

Beau nodded tightly, then paced a few steps away. He didn’t say anything for a long minute. Just breathed.

Maverick sat back down, leaving the seat beside him empty.

Maverick looked up at Beau. “She called me.”

Beau nodded again, slower this time. “I’ve known her for about seven years. Married for five. I’ve been through deployments, scrapes, hell — one time she got pneumonia and still ran a work meeting from bed — but I’ve never heard her sound like that on the phone. Panicked. Like she didn’t know if everything was going to fall apart in the moment.”

He exhaled through his nose and finally sat down next to Maverick.

“I’ll be honest,” Beau said. “I was pissed that I had missed her call. That I wasn’t there for her in that moment. That I couldn’t comfort her when she needed me the most. But then I realized — she trusted you to come through. And you did.”

Maverick’s jaw twitched slightly. “She shouldn’t have had to trust me for anything. Not after all this time.”

“No,” Beau said, not unkindly. “But she did. And that means something.”

There was a long beat between them. Two mean who’d never quite figured each other out, both sitting with the weight of the same fear.

“She’s my whole world,” Beau said quietly. “And so is that little girl sleeping in her bed tonight. And that baby they’re delivering in there.”

“I know,” Maverick said. “I see that.”

Beau looked over at him — really looked — and his expression softened, just a little. Enough.

“You showed up for them today. For her. I don’t take that lightly.”

Maverick swallowed, throat tight. “I don’t either.”

They sat in silence after that, the kind that didn’t feel cold or uncomfortable. Just full of waiting. Full of hope.

And for the first time since all of this started, it didn’t feel like there was a line drawn between them.

They were just two men, two fathers — waiting for the same door to open.

#fault lines #beau “cyclone” simpson x reader #beau “cyclone” simpson x you #tgm fanfiction #tgm fic #top gun: maverick #beau cyclone simpson x reader #beau cyclone simpson x you #pete maverick mitchell #pete “maverick” mitchell

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illdowhatiwantthanks · 11 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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dominiquelucalover · 6 months 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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the-kr8tor · 9 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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randomwritingss · 1 month ago

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"Southpaw"

Jim Street x Reader

5 times Person A calls Person B by a pet name and 1 time Person B finds one for Person A.

Warnings: unedited (what's new?), and hint of sexual undercurrent, pining fron Street, obliviousness from reader.

1: Sunshine

"Oh, Sunshine!" Street calls out when he walks into the locker room.

You're there talking with Tan and Luca about something very random; music maybe? Your head snaps to Street and you almost drop the bottle of water as the pair beside you laugh. "Um.." You stutter a little keeping s grip on the bottle. "Wbat do you need, Street?"

The smirk that he gives you, that annoying smirk that you can never decide if you want to slap it off or kiss it off, graces his face as he stops in front of you. "Sparring session, ten minutes, Deacon ordered," he supplies, reaching behind you and opening his locker.

You groan, "Fine," you reply, turning to your own locker and grabbing your workout clothes and walking off to change.

2: Peach

This was just after Street had absolutely won in your sparring session. Despite his usual bravado, he wasn't cocky at winning. Surprisingly. "You did good, Peach," he says, smirking as he helps you up.

You raise an eyebrow and dust yourself off, "Peach? Really?" You ask, crossing your arms.

He chuckles and shrugs, stepping closer to you, "Yeah, you're sweet," he replies, shrugging and brushing past you.

Somewhere in the background, unbeknownst to you, Tan looks at Luca, "She's oblivious."

"You're right, man. But it's fun to watch," Luca replies, shaking his head.

3: Love

You and Street were in one of the Chargers surveilling a suspect's house. This had been going on for hours and you were getting restless.

Street notices; because of course, he does. "You alright there, Love?" He asks, chewing his lips as he looks over at you.

You look over at him and into his hazel eyes, nodding, "Yeah, I'm okay. Just getting restless."

He hums and looks back at the house, nonchalantly saying, "I have a few ideas to help you get less restless." There's an undercurrent to his words, not inherently sexual, but it's there.

"Jim Street!" You hiss, rolling your eyes. He doesn't respond, only laughs.

4: Baby

It had to be Baby, didn't it? You're in a meeting with Commander Hicks about some outreach programs for kids.

Street casually strolls in, arms crossed, making his biceps pop in a tantalizing way. You physically have to tear your eyes away from Street and back to Hicks.

That's when Street decides to be a menace, "Aw, what's wrong, Baby? Can't handle a little muscle?" He teases, much to the displeasure of Hicks.

"If you two could not flirt in front of me," he grumbles, shaking his head. You merely roll your eyes and walk out of his office. "She doesn't know, does she?"

"Nope, not at all," Street replies, smirking.

5: Honey

The team, Luca, Hondo, Chris, Tan, Street, and you were at Deacon's for a cookout. Nothing unusual about it, Deacon did these things every so often.

You were sitting by the pool with Deacon's daughters, Lila and Victoria. You were discussing your favorite Disney movies when you feel Street sit beside you. "You okay, Honey?" He asks, bumping your shoulder.

You freeze as you look over at Street, "Ah, yeah. I'm good," you reply, nodding and getting up excusing yourself to the restroom.

Lila smirks a little as Victoria chuckles, "You've got it bad, Uncle Street," Lila says, watching how Street is watching you walk away.

He lets out a snort but doesn't look from your figure retreating. "I know."

+1: Southpaw

You and Street were in the shooting range, working on your precision, but also challenging the other.

"Come on, Southpaw, thought you were better at this," you taunt, smirking over at him.

He raises an eyebrow and chuckles, "Southpaw? Thought your nickname for me would be better than that," he replies, looking over at you.

You chuckle and shake your head, "Nah. You're a lefty, but you use your right for a few things. It's typically a baseball and boxing term; however, it fits here, too," you reply, raising your gun and shooting just left of the bullseye.

Street chuckles again, "Weak, Love," he teases as he takes a shot; his landing just to the bottom of the bullseye.

Unbeknownst to the two of you, behind the glass behind you, Tan, Luca, and Deacon are watching you. "She really doesn't see it, does she?" Deacon asks, crossing his arms.

"Nope," Luca and Tan reply together.

#jim street #jim street imagine #jim street story #jim street x reader #swat cbs #swat x reader #this is my work

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rockermybuddie · 8 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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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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passionwillow · 5 months 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 · 7 months ago

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Smart Enough

Requested Here!

Pairing: Dominique Luca x fem!reader (Street's cousin/LAPD consultant)

Summary: While staying with your cousin Street, you assist the LAPD in catching a serial killer, but discover you fit the victim profile. SWAT agrees to protect you, but Street finds out that you and Luca are closer than you seemed.

Warnings: mostly fluff, r is threatened by a serial killer, the request mentioned High Potential and I love that show so I referenced it a lot

Word Count: 2.3k+ words

“The average rent in Los Angeles is $2,153. The average rent in the US overall is somewhere between $1,326 and $1,616. Even if you consider the higher prices, LA’s rent is 24.9% higher than the national average. On my analyst salary, I can’t afford rent and food, so you see my dilemma, right?” you ask before unwrapping a lollipop.

“As much as I enjoyed that presentation, I already agreed to let you stay here,” your cousin, Jim Street, replies.

“I thought you were a consultant,” Luca points out.

You twirl the lollipop in your mouth before pointing it toward Luca. “A consultant is a person who professionally provides expert advice, and an analyst conducts analysis. I technically do both.”

“And you do it well,” Luca replies, winking at you from behind Street.

“Thanks for letting me stay here, Luca,” you tell him. “I promise I’m much better behaved than Street.”

“Duke is better behaved than your cousin.”

Street scoffs loudly in argument, and you nod to agree with Luca. You’ve only been here for a night, but you can already tell you will have a good relationship with him.

“Remember that I gave up my bed for you,” Street says. “Sleeping on the couch where you should be.”

Your phone buzzes, and you read the message before standing. “Thank you, dear, sweet cousin,” you tell Street, hugging his shoulders from behind. “You’re the best. I’ll see you later. Bye, Luca!”

“Bye!” Luca calls.

Street turns toward Luca, his eyes narrowed. “Don’t. No Luca charm on my cousin, okay? She’s off limits.”

Luca salutes Street, but he can already tell you’re special. Even without his so-called Luca charm.

“Tell me what you see,” LAPD Lieutenant Melon requests.

“Hey!” Daphne Forrester says, backpedaling to look into the room. “Did you find a place to stay?”

“Do you mind?” Melon snaps as you answer, “I did! Thanks for suggesting that apartment, but I’m actually staying with my cousin until I can find something more permanent.”

“Permanent like murder?” Melon redirects. “Maybe the one you’re supposed to be consulting on?”

“Sorry,” Daphne says. “We’ll talk later,” she whispers to you.

You nod, then look at the case board before you. Your eyes bounce around the board. “They were all killed within a mile of college campuses, right?”

“Yeah,” Melon says before reading, “Two by UCLA, one by LBCC, and three from CIT.”

“Majors?”

“I don’t know. That’s not exactly something they find on autopsies.”

You stand and round the table to point at a picture. “Leslie Carver. This picture is from the crime scene, look!”

“At what?” Melon groans. “Just tell me what you see, that’s the whole point of having you here.”

“There's ink stains and minor paper cuts on her finger tips, plus a callous from holding a pen. These women were killed because they’re academics, because they’re smart. In fact… victim three, the one by LBCC, she wasn’t even in college.”

“And?”

“He’s not done.” You trace the pins on the map and decide, “There’s a pattern, and it’s nowhere near complete.”

“What’s the pattern? Where’s he going next?”

“I… I don’t know yet.”

You walk into SWAT HQ between two officers. They lead you directly into the situation room and pull up the case file on a large monitor screen. You’re instructed to sit on a stool and shift side-to-side as you wait.

“I’m Commander Hicks, this is Sergeant Harrelson, and 20-David squad-“

Street says your name and demands, “What are you doing here?”

“My job,” you answer, swinging your legs.

“She found a pattern in the Collegiate Killers’ victims,” Hicks says. “How do you two know each other?”

“I live with Luca,” you answer, smiling at him as he fights not to laugh.

“She’s my cousin,” Street corrects. “Who didn’t answer my question about why she’s here.”

“She fits the killer’s type,” Melon says.

Street steps toward you and raises his voice to ask, “What?”

“He’s killing smart people,” you explain with a shrug. “So, you’re safe.”

“Wait,” one of the other officers requests as he pulls Street back. “Can we start at the beginning? Without your commentary, Street?”

Melon waves toward you, and you slide from the stool to point to the map. “Six victims, all murdered within a few miles of college campuses. In order, the scenes were CIT, UCLA, CIT, LBCC, UCLA. On a map, that forms a composite triangle – two smaller triangles creating a larger one by sharing a side. The victims all had IQs over 130, which on the IQ scale means they were moderately gifted. But he’s forming these triangles by moving up in IQ. Victim one, IQ of 132, by victim 6, 139. He’s killing intelligent women, though the triangles are still a head scratcher.”

“What’s your IQ?” Hondo asks.

“145,” you answer softly.

“Highly gifted,” one of the detectives adds.

“If he’s only killing women around colleges, why are you considering yourself a target?” Street asks.

You purse your lips, and Melon explains, “We want to set a trap.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Street,” you begin.

“No,” he exclaims, turning toward you. “We’re not waltzing you into a college to catch some crazed killer. It’s out of the question.”

“It’s not your decision, Street.”

Street clenches his hand into a fist and takes a deep breath.

“That’s why they’re here, Street,” Hicks adds. “She’s not going in alone.”

“And how exactly do you expect to lead him to you specifically?” Street asks. “You’re not going to be the only smart woman on USC's campus.”

“No,” you agree. “But I will be the expert giving an unscripted seminar on medieval jousting and wearing a short skirt.”

Street opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He shakes his head and returns to Luca’s side but crosses his arms and glares at you.

“I trust you to keep me safe,” you say. “If that helps at all.”

“A bit,” he grumbles.

“We’ve got two days,” Hicks announces. “The seminar is at one p.m., but we can’t have obvious police presence on campus. So, let’s talk logistics.”

“Street,” you sigh, stopping at the end of the couch. “You know I wouldn’t just do this if I thought it wasn’t necessary.”

Street huffs and turns his face into a pillow. You drop your jacket onto his legs and sit, smiling as he pulls his feet out from under you at the last second.

“What can I say to make this better?” you ask.

“That you’re not going to do it.”

“I can’t say that Street. You know I didn’t get into this job on purpose, but I’m good at it, and I want to help make sure other women aren’t senselessly murdered just because they’re smart.”

“For someone so smart, you’re pretty stupid sometimes,” Street says against the couch cushion.

“I guess you’re wearing off on me.”

You yell dramatically as Street kicks your side, then laugh and fall against him. Luca clears his throat from the doorway, and when you look up, he tips his head toward the kitchen.

“Want something to drink, Street?” you ask.

“Something strong.”

“One water with mint coming up.”

Street continues grumbling as you leave his side and follow Luca. He smiles, asks what you’d like for dinner, and then begins gathering the ingredients.

“I’m nervous,” you admit softly.

Luca takes your hand and promises, “I’ll be with you the whole time. We all will.”

You lean against Luca’s chest, sighing as he holds you close. When Street stands from the couch, you separate quickly. Moving in with them was supposed to be temporary, just a place to sleep, but each moment you spend with Luca makes you more hesitant to leave.

“Are you ready?” Street asks.

You take a deep breath and nod. “Ask me a question about jousting.”

“Why did they use lances?”

“Actually, the lance was only one of three acceptable weapons for jousting,” you answer immediately. “The others were axes and swords. Later in jousting, the sword became more widely used because the cross guard resembled a crucifix.”

“You’ve got this,” Street assures, squeezing your hand once. “And you’re wearing my jacket, so you have to come back.”

“Of course.”

As you walk into the college auditorium, you smile at a few passing students and faculty, then find your place at the podium. Luca smiles from the back row, and several younger officers are scattered throughout the room. A professor introduces you, and the questions begin nearly immediately. Luca watches everyone who speaks but makes sure to catch your gaze every few minutes to give you a reassuring nod.

When your hour and a half is up, you thank everyone, then exit into what appears to be an empty hallway.

“Excuse me,” a man who looks to be in his thirties calls as he steps out of another door. “I had something I wanted to share if that’s okay.”

“Sure,” you agree, pressing your upper arms against your ribs beneath Street’s jacket.

“Some jousters bolted their armor to their saddles.” He steps toward you, and you hold your ground despite the intense urge to keep room between you. “I’ve been known to find more creative ways to keep women where I want them.”

“Do you know who I am?” you ask, tilting your head to the right.

He says your name, IQ, and educational history, and asks, “That sound about right?”

“You’ve done your research. But you forgot LAPD consultant.”

His hand closes around your throat, his fingers digging into the tense muscles along the side of your neck before he pulls you against him. He turns you so your back is against his chest and pulls a knife from his belt to push against your side.

“LAPD SWAT!” Hondo yells from behind you.

The man spins quickly, his arm tightening around your throat. Street tenses behind Hondo, and your heart rate calms when you see almost all of 20 Squad in uniform with guns aimed at the killer against your back. Luca is absent, you notice.

“Drop the weapon!” Street commands.

You gasp as the arm against you tightens, but it suddenly drops. The knife hits the tile floor with a sharp noise, and the man steps back from you as his hands raise.

“Smarter than he looks,” Luca taunts.

You turn on your heel and release a sigh when you see Luca behind the serial killer.

“Not that smart,” you add softly.

“Interlace your fingers behind your head,” Luca instructs.

Street rushes to your side, pulls you into a tight hug, and whispers quickly against your shoulder.

“I didn’t hear any of that,” you admit, patting his back.

“I was telling you I’m glad he didn’t cut my jacket,” Street lies.

“Can I go home now?”

“Paperwork first,” Lieutenant Melon says as he enters the hall. “Welcome to police life.”

“I’ll have dinner ready when you get home,” Luca promises.

“I knew moving in with him was a good idea.”

When you return to Luca and Street’s house, lean against the door, close your eyes, and take a deep breath. Street reluctantly agreed to go out with his friends and blow off some steam after a stressful week, so you expect you’ll have the house to yourself.

“Need anything?” Luca asks.

You shake your head without opening your eyes, and Luca carefully takes your bag from your hand.

“Thanks,” you murmur. “For everything.”

“Anytime.”

“So,” you begin.

After several seconds, Luca asks, “So?”

“You know how Street’s super protective of me?” Luca hums, and you tip your head down and open your eyes. “He hates when I go on dates, of course, but… I really like you, Luca.”

“You’re smart enough to know how I feel about you.”

“Street wouldn’t like it if we did anything.”

“Anything like what? Went on a date?”

You nod, and Luca shrugs.

“What should we do about that?”

You push off the door and step toward Luca, raising your arms to wrap around his shoulders. Luca’s arms circle your waist and pull you closer. With your forehead against his, you decide you're okay with whatever dramatic response Street has.

“I recommend we tell him in a crowded room, so he doesn’t hit me,” Luca whispers.

You tilt your jaw toward his and reply, “Or we stop thinking about him for now,” before you brush your lips against Luca’s.

“It’s believed that the LAPD actually coined the acronym SWAT,” you say.

“You’re back,” Street says as he enters the room, looking around for the detectives you accompanied last time. “Friendly visit?”

You nod and continue your story. “After the Texas Tower Incident, LAPD formed their SWAT team. The concept originated in the late 1960s after sniping incidents. The unit was originally designated the ‘D’ Platoon.”

“I can’t believe you’re related to Street,” Chris muses.

“Me neither,” Tan agrees. “You’re so smart, and he’s so… Street.”

“Hey, I’m smart!” Street interjects.

“Smart enough, maybe,” Hondo adds.

“Not very observant though,” Luca says.

You smile and take Luca’s hand, and Street’s eyes bounce rapidly between your shared hands, your face, and then Luca’s.

“You’re going to get dizzy,” you warn.

“Luca, she’s my cousin!” he exclaims.

“Yeah,” Luca says.

“You can’t date my cousin.”

“Can, and am.”

“I’ll kick you out.”

“It’s my house,” Luca argues, and you ask, “Wait, me?”

Street rubs his hand over his mouth, then promises, “I’ll find a way to fix this.”

“Street,” you say, stepping toward him and using your best loving cousin smile. “I really like him. He makes me happy.”

Street stares at you for a moment, then turns away. “Deacon, tell me you get it.”

“I get how she and Luca look at each other.”

Street tips his head back and groans. “Hurt her, Luca, and-“

“Please, I’d hurt him first,” you interrupt. Luca’s jaw drops, and you promise, “I know you won’t, but it’s the only way to shut him up.”

#dominique luca x fem!reader #dominique luca x reader #dominique luca fic #dominique luca #luca x reader #swat imagine #swat fic #swat x reader #swat cbs #fem!reader #requests #hanna writes✯#jim street

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slashingdisneypasta · 3 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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theexaltedbride · 2 years ago

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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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