#i'm so proud of jensen | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cryptfile · 6 months ago

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✶ nuclear seasons, [ soldier boy x reader ]

summary — he was friend’s with your mom. friend is a understatement cause when he appears in the middle of the night looking for revenge in your little apartment in the suburbs, you know he’s far from being nice.

warnings — +18 minors dni, smut, dead dove do not eat, we have a last name (also a mother!), kind of porn without plot? but not really cause it HAS one okay, we call it 50/50, fem!reader using she/her pronouns, p in v, masturbation ( m! receiving but blink and you miss it), dirty talk, age gap, choking, degradation, spitting (i'm sorry), fingering, mentions of injury, cancer (not you tho), tons of tension.

side notes — i’m never experiencing the post ovulation clarity lmao, that being said english is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes, also i’m a whore for jensen ackles, and i stand for what i like proudly. // 5k+

Nightshade is a hero.

You're proud of your mother since you were pretty young. The hero that fought against Vought to death during the time Payback was active, America’s Troublemaker that you only knew as Stella Nightshade, a blonde woman that talked with the death during her golden years.

Maybe it’s your mother the one that pushed you to fight crime, to pursue the bad guys and look out for the victims that can’t stand for themselves, so even when you don’t inherit much from Stella’s gifts, you joined the CIA as soon as you can so you can do something that matters.

You’re the best in your class, work your ass off to be taken serious, to be more than the look of disappointment you receive when people ask, once again, if you have any powers like your mother and you have to admit — In pure shame, that you didn’t born as a superhero but a baby who cried loudly when is too hungry.

But as years pass you make a name for yourself, one that even if differs from Stella’s job has the same noble reasons behind. You also realize you were too naive growing up, believing in heroes that don’t deserve to be called that way.

The country has made a mistake on making superhumans so openly, and it’s clear that got out of control now, backfiring as they got so much power it’s almost impossible to take accountant of any of them.

You’ve worked along Grace Mallory from the shadows, and even when Stella would not be so proud of you for helping get his kind out of the streets, the justice is enough to feed you and keep you warm on a cold night.

You like it that way. You know Grace has a team for it, a legal army of supe-haters as you called them, yet, you prefer to stay in the dark, not let your personal life get involved cause one slip and you can lose it all— Even when you don’t have nothing at all. You like to have an outside life from work, it’s the sane thing to have, so when the CIA Deputy Director asks you about joining the infamous Boys, you politely decline assuring the woman you’ve been more helpful from the outside.

What would Stella Nightshade would say? Now that you’ve grown older and you don’t look at her the same way you used to when you encounter her files and read about your mother. You know she has done wrong, yet with the years, you don't imagine Soldier Boy himself was going to seek for revenge first thing he does when he wakes up, his plan including your mother even when she was long time dead before he even appeared in the picture.

That night especially you let your guard down. It's been a rough couple of weeks back in work, so when the night comes you're a victim of the stress, victim of your bosses and the people that surrounded you. You pour a glass of wine for yourself, light a cigarette even when you haven't smoked in years, and turn on the TV to see something else rather than the face of Homelander in every single channel you've been tuning lately.

It's a weapon. When you leave for a warm shower and start filling the bathtub, you're not aware of what that night was really going to be for you. Oblivious as you stand naked in the middle of the bathroom, holding the glass of wine between your fingers before entering the warm current that relaxed your muscles.

It seems tension is your worst enemy, makes your muscles feel like stone as you got in the water, the cigarette that hangs from your dry lips splashing with tiny droplets of perfumed water as the silence filled the air. It's what you needed, at least ten minutes with your brain shutting off completely, the pleasure you haven't experienced in forever by being so compromised with work.

It's a much-needed break. The smoke that leaves the room by the almost-closed window, the taste of wine still lingering in your lips as you sip another taste of the crimson liquor you love. You don't happen to notice when he's breaking in your apartment, silent and deadly as you were protected by a door closed and a white curtain.

You don't happen to hear him too. The music coming our from your phone is loud enough to silence the knocks on your door at first before breaking the wood, you're too deep in the still water that smelled like roses and vanilla, to even pay attention to what was going on outside the warmth of the four walls that surrounded you.

There's vapor coming out of the water and you find comfort in closing your eyes, in letting the blow of the smoke travel through your throat before suspending itself in the air, flowing as you drank.

In your defense, you haven't been like that in ages.

It's been a long time since you last fill the tub and have a relaxing session with yourself, so it makes sense you are enjoying it a little bit too much, too much cause when the invader is making a lot of noise when stepping into your property, you still enjoy the taste of the alcohol on your lips.

The ashes fall to the ceramic floor outside the tub and you should blame the CIA to make you so tense to the point it leads you to more problems than you ever had. In the dark room of your apartment, it's Soldier Boy the one who's going through any drawer he comes across, the ones closed, the ones hidden, any slit he can find, any clue that can trace your mother back to his personal vendetta.

He's oblivious to Stella's death and her daughter, so when the former superhero hears the noise in the bathroom he's fully convinced it's your mother the one who's behind that door, that she's the one who's going to tell him the truth, if she also sold him to the russians as well in the process.

He's decided also on killing her. She must need it after all that time getting older, closer to death more than ever.

Of course it's an unpleasant surprise when you can see the bathroom door opening when you're sure you left the front door closed and lock with at least two bolts to prevent anyone from getting inside, it makes you jump in the spot, quickly covering yourself from the new stranger that enters your bathroom.

"Stella?" he asks, it's the last room that the hero needs to check for himself.

You spot the green fabric of his suit immediately as you pressed your chest against the cold surface of the tub, and when the invader notices you're naked, he doesn't look away as any person with a hint of respect would do, but instead, continue on checking you out as you try to cover yourself in the water tinted in a nonexistent transparent color red.

You can feel his gaze as soon as you recognize him too, as you happen to notice that face from your mother's pictures, the propaganda in the TV when he did almost every commercial back when you were a kid. It's a shock, and dressed in his damn suit, you don't know why an old superhero is there standing beneath the yellowish bulbs of the light your bathroom happens to have.

Your cheeks adopt this pink color as you panic, grabbing the cup of wine to throw the liquid in the floor, breaking it against the marble walls just to shatter the glass in pieces, a weapon of defense as you lifted up against him.

"You're not Stella."

Soldier Boy looks amused: it's funny that you think you'd be able to kill him with shattered glass, yet he lets you keep thinking that way when he's enjoying the view.

Is he to blame? He just got out from this giant cooking oven back with the communists and he hasn't got his way with a lady since what seems are centuries, so when he spots you in the tub he simply cannot contain himself from peaking around. You should be in what? Not more than your 20's? Soft-looking skin that asked to be marked with his hands, by the force of his lips crashing in your flesh.

The thought is compelling, you're looking all feisty with the glass in your hand, threatening him and speaking something Soldier Boy cannot catch at first — Shit, he doesn't even notice the blood in your hand that's dripping all over your small rug in the floor, the power women like yourself seemed to have now and weirdly enough, a huge turn on.

"Get the fuck out!" you scream in an authority voice, the same you use back at work when you're mad, when you're usually holding a gun in defense more than a piece of broken glass "Stella is not fucking here!"

It takes a few more words to actually get him out of there, and as he closes the door behind him you finally stand to grab a towel covering from the currents of wind, trying, really hard, to think about anything else more that the fact that Soldier Boy has entered your house and your bathroom in the worst moment, far from what you were last updated with.

To be honest, it almost gave you a heart attack, leaving the bathroom to find your home torn apart, the drawers open and all the papers you've meticulously kept in place being all over the place as Ben stands awkwardly holding a shield in the middle of your living room.

"Fucking hell" you're cursing under your breath as you gathered some important things you cannot leave on the floor even when you're still wet from the shower, expelling this nice aroma that mixed the roses and the vanilla together with your personal scent — Weirdly enough, a fucking show to the hero that's already rock-hard from the peak he had of you from before.

You don't really notice it at first, too busy being mad as you let the papers you gathered on top of the table. You lose the shame you got left as the wet drops of the shower leave a trace in the floor — And as usual, you clearly don't notice it, but Ben does when the water is running down your back, and you're barking something about calling someone called Grace, holding onto a white tower with your dear life.

"Where is Stella Nightshade, sweetheart?" he speaks out loud cause he don't understand anything you say, really fighting to be nice with you like it would give him an opportunity to get under your skin.

"My mother's dead," you stand there without knowing what to say after. You know he and your mother were close, but you don't imagine he was going to actually go find her teammate when he recently woke up in a different country. "She died years ago dude, i'm sorry."

The information gathers in his head as you take a clean oversized shirt from the laundry basket covering with it as you throw the towel to the floor, Red Hot Chili Peppers it says, but he thinks it's a place in Italy more than a band like he isn't troubled already by the fact you were Stella's daughter, the person who thought was her only friend back in the time now dead.

"Does anyone know you're here?" your mind is drifting back to work again as you wondered if anyone knew he was going to break into your apartment and choose not to send any help — "Ben."

You've read his file. Hell, to be honest you've read every single file in Payback, so it's no surprise you know his name, but to the hero, it seems to be amusing when you call him by his real name, his mind fueled in a different direction as he notices you're not wearing any underwear beneath the shirt you're choosing to wear, one whose fabric's barely covering your tights.

"What do you mean dead?" he asks, furrowing his brows "It's not been so long."

"She got cancer three years ago" you explain with a sad tone, even when you disagree with Stella, it pains you to remember what sickness made out of her, consuming her from the inside at a cruel pace.

"Motherfucker," he states clearly angry, and you cannot help but look at him with a weird face, searching for the phone you left in the sofa to call any-fucking-body in the office that could send a damn army to get you: Didn't the Boys have everything under control? That's what you're told anyway, then why the fuck is the subject of matter cursing in your little messy apartment? — "Bitch just got away with it before I could do anything, isn't it? What a fucking shame."

"Pardon me?" it catches you by surprise at first, but it hits you soon after. Soldier Boy is not there to say hello to your mother or ask for her help, but instead, he's there to get revenge and actually kill Stella by his own matters.

Fuck. Of course is something new, something that makes you feel cold all sudden, your wet hair making you visible shake as you became aware of his plans.

"You know them. You know the people from the lab" it's more of a fact than a question, letting the words feel salty in his own mouth. "The ones that let me get away."

He's quickly to gather the pieces too, not as dumb as you think he is as the puzzle is finally coming up together in his head, and it's all it takes for him to take a step closer to you, cutting that space you've created since you kicked him out of the bathroom — He's angry now.

The red globe on his hand is now holding you by the throat, applying enough pressure to cut the air flow going to your lungs almost completely, his fingertips warm against your bare skin as he holds you in front of his figure, pushing you against the cold wall.

You usually would enjoy such activities, yet in the context you are trapped in right now, you began to choke, your own hands trying to push his grip back even when he’s too strong, not even flinching when you’re squirming, gasping for some air as your face became red, tears gathering in your eyes as he let you breathe for a couple of seconds when he senses you’re too close to black out.

“Talk little Nightshade” he says in a low voice. “Or else i’m breaking your pretty neck.”

“I work for the CIA!” You explain quickly as your breathing became more labored by the seconds. “Not for the people who let you out! I promise!”

He’s going to kill you. You can see the determination in his eyes, that predator look he happens to have.

What you don’t know, somehow, is that he’s going fucking insane. Your smell coming up to his nose to make him shiver, the sight of you in an oversized shirt that barely covers your shape is more than enough to push his buttons, to make him forgot about any killing he was allegedly so concentrated in fulfill, the sight of you almost crying messing with his brain.

Little Nightshade is a fucking tease.

His eyes follow your expression, the hand that gripped your neck and choke you harshly now pressing enough to only suppress the air flow in a more enjoyable way, the tension quickly shifting from dying to pleasure all over again as he kept you in place so easily.

It’s impossible to move, to do anything more than be pressed against a cold wall. Your mother has once again lied to you and you notice the relationship she painted with Soldier Boy was more of a movie in her head than reality itself. Makes you gulp in response when you stare at his expression, the face of a trained killer as you knew, fucking knew, a bit more of force in your neck and it would snap without any difficulty.

“I don’t work with them” you assure once again, maybe it’s your survivor skills hitting when you repeat it in a low voice, catching on your breath when he lets go allowing you to fill your lungs with air just enough before pressing that very spot again, the one that actually turns you on. “Fuck’s sake.”

Is that how you end? On your lame apartment?

The next is a weird thing, cause in the blink of an eye he’s close to your face planting his own body next to yours and you’re shivering at the feeling, his armor pressed against your chest as he left the shield he was holding on the floor.

The metal is pressed against your skin covered by the thin cotton of Red Hot Chili Peppers shirt, and he is so close, so close you froze there, no longer fighting his tight grip but mesmerized by his damn face, the same you watched on TV when you were a kid, the handsome man you happen to severely crush on in secret, just because you don’t want Stella to know or she will give you a long talk about how he is her age.

But he is, handsome as fuck, and now being so close to his face you can say it with all confidence. His beard is shaved perfectly and he smells incredibly good even for someone who has spent time locked away without any kind of hygiene, his green suit protecting him from the cold air that was getting through the opened window.

“Who are you?” he asks, scanning your face with a curious look as he wanted to know what expression you would have when you know why he's there in the first place — “What do you know about Stella Nightshade, your mother, selling me out?”

Fuck. So that's why he's there. You know she did it. And it's impossible for you to lie when he's making you so nervous, away from any weapon, any form of defense as you left the glass in the bathroom sink when you notice large gash on your hand, and your silence makes nothing more than leave him fuming. If he was angry before, he now reaches a higher level as his grip turns more violent now that he knows you know what he meant, why he's there claiming to talk with your death mother out of nothing.

"Call her then. Use your powers" he demands dryly, and you're shaking at this point cause it's more shame added to the long pile, the bathroom already being a humiliation by itself. "Fucking call her."

You squirm beneath his grabbing, when he's pushing you harder against the concrete wall and you can just feel him from under the suit, hard cock pressing against your belly, green in your vision as he towers over you. He knows what he's doing, and even when you try to be disgusted by it, you find yourself enjoying his closeness, how he's pinning you with no effort at all, hands on your throat while he demanded an answer.

"I can't call her" you admit in a low voice, cheeks now red as the embarrassment crept upon your face — "I don't have my mother's power."

Soldier Boy seems to not believe you for a mere second, after that you can feel the blade of the knife pressing against your skin, a threat that now becomes more real as you can feel the cold metal stomach. One swift movement and you'd be stabbed without a second thought.

It's sick how much you enjoy it when you are squirming against him, goosebumps in the zone he threats to destroy.

A force pull his lips upwards in a smile, unable to pay attention to nothing else but the sound you made without even realizing it. "You like that, huh little Nightshade?"

It seems to be a joke for him, bitting your inner cheek to prevent you from saying something stupid, from letting out a moan in response to all the sudden desire.

Despite all conditions you stay silent, holding his gaze like it's a game you're not going to lose. He didn't respond either, trapped in a second that seemed longer than the usual when time stopped around you, eyes looking like he can surpass the old fabric of the white shirt you choose to wear.

It's the tension what makes you mad. You're so into getting people like him, that your ego is bruised now that you notice you are actually attracted to all of that, to the way he's pressing you against the concrete, how all falls into place when he's pushing himself against you, invading any private space you could require.

He's kissing you soon after. Ben crumbles against the tension as the hand on your throat demands a kiss now, pulling you closer to his face without any warning nor concern as he crash his lips against yours in a rough kiss. You try to push him away in response even when you don't want to; see, it's hard to even admit you have interest in Soldier Boy in any other way more than the professional, but when he's bitting your lower lip you're letting your defense down: When is the last time you've been kissed like that?

You remind yourself you're tired from work, that the CIA has done nothing for you more than fuck your over and over even to this point, losing sight of one of the most important heroes of the word, and it's making you encourage to let go just for a mere hour.

"Lookin' so good takin' a bath" he says, and the sound of his deep voice is enough to send an electric wave through your spine, like he’s talking to himself as the hand on your hip is now tracing the curves of your body, taunting you from over the shirt he now learns to love. His beard is now scraping against your skin and you can feel his lips going down, tracing an invisible path to the crook of your neck as his hand is no longer choking you.

Jesus. Was that even happening or was that your imagination? Did you feel asleep on the bathtub? Maybe it’s a reflection as you are close to drowning, your brain doing that happy thoughts shit. You’re tilting your head to the side just to give him more space to work with and you’re just letting it be, enjoying how he’s sucking and nibling on your skin to leave a red mark behind, all teeth and no fucking control as he uses a good amount of force to make you moan in the process, the pain enough to remember who’s really on charge.

Ben forgets about asking any more questions, he’s too busy when his hand are taking decisions by themselves as they slide under your shirt, body still cold from the bath you just took, water still drying in your flesh when he’s like he usually is — An invader.

His hands are big and they’re capable of holding your whole tummy as he caress the soft skin that seems to expel a warm sensation, how it leaves goosebumps in any place he touches. You remember you’re basically at his mercy now that his hands roam with all liberty under your shirt, the look he gave you in the bathroom mistaken you for Stella, his eyes looking at any exposed skin he could look at.

“What the fuck,” you try to say under your breath, to keep on this facade you have of a composed person, one that won’t give in to be manhandled “What the fuck do you think you are you doing?”

“Well, i’m not seeing any complains” The blade cuts through the cotton leaving a large hole you know you won’t be able to sew after yet he’s right: There are no complains, nothing but eager that makes him go further as the seconds passed “In fact, can see that you’re pretty much enjoying it, Doll.”

You hate the nickname, that old man way of speaking when he’s squeezing one of your breasts with more force you can even handle, cursing at how easy it seems to be for him, how he wants to see you simply destroyed.

“You’re loving this isn’t?” he ask all sudden, studying you with his hazel eyes — “You love being a good whore f’me? My little Nightshade.”

He’s hard under the suit, covered in a green material you don’t know how to call as your hand searches for him, crave for him, convincing that it's what you must do as you trace the invisible lines his muscles made.

Soldier Boy’s messy, much like an animal when he’s groaning beneath your touch, his own body seeking for yours as your fingers grew bolder, demanding for a deeper contact — “Careful there sweetheart, i’m still fresh out of the oven. May be a little rusty."

You laugh at his words cause you know what he means, yet your hands work by themselves as you barely even touch him from over the suit, the hard feeling of his cock against your palm, hips buckling against your hand seconds after seeking for you, eyes shut for a couple of seconds.

“M’being careful” you say, catching yourself stealing a look at his reaction, taking your time on pleasuring him , gulping as he experiences the torture of your touch “Taking it slow for an old man.”

“Old man, huh? Now you're talking” He teases, and the sound of his laugh just fucks you up. Maybe it has to be with the fact he’s placing two fingers in front of your lips while looking at you, swollen pink lips he’s so fixated for a second, or it’s because he is, indeed, way older than you are — “Spit.”

It’s not a command, but it sounds like one as you’re unable to disobey, quickly spitting in his hand as you can visibly see the traces of saliva leaving a wet residue in your chin, one Ben looks at it for a good amount of time: How is something like saliva is so damn erotic? He doesn’t know it, but it’s enough to send him into a spiral.

He’s strong you think, cause he’s a superhero. He’s Soldier Boy by any meaning, so it’s not a big effort to hold you in his arms and lift you in the air as you let out a gasp of surprise, spanking your ass as one of his hands separates your legs for him, holding one up as you stand in the other.

“Relax, 'got you, doll” he says, your back against the wall as he kept a bruising grip in your hip, holding you in place so you don’t have to keep your balance — “Fuck you smell so damn good.”

The roses and vanilla aroma lingers on your skin as you finally understand what he's doing now, his hand close to your cunt as he taunts you, torturing you like you did so eagerly before, his personal pet as his digits get lost in your entrance now, your folds spilled with juice he can physically feel in his fingertips, your arousal's so nice against the palm of his hand he cannot help but kiss you, a feverish desire taking over his actions, the lewd sound his fingers made when he finally pushes his digits inside of you, velvety walls welcoming him as they seemed to squeeze him already — He has made such a good job on turning you on, it’s impossible to not react when he’s finally touching you, pumping into you in a constant pace.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he says, the look on your face is enough to make his cock twitch in his pants in response, imagination running wild as he thinks about that very same feeling in a much deeper way, how you’d look now stretched out, crying just like you did when he choked you asking for information — “Such a nice cunt, so wet f’me.”

He's looking at you, holding the image in his mind forever: Pink pussy displayed for him, white t-shirt rising over your chest, lifting your leg over his arm as his muscles flexed by the force he's using to fuck you deliberately, your lips parted as you ask for more in between erratic moans as his fingers curved inside you so he can hit that nice place he can reach with no effort at all, that one spot thats makes you moan louder.

"Ah-fuck" you let out. Ben's all about touching you for what it seems an eternity, thumb grazing against your clit when he's plainly torturing you, testing how much patience you have left now that he has full control of you.

"Don't cum," he demands, your heartbeats are louder by the seconds as he lifts you slightly, lips attacking your neck before the words escape from his mouth "Need you to come undone in my cock first."

He's leaving marks, marks you don't remember how to hide but don't bother you at all, touching you as he pleases you, taking all the time in the world cause it seems like the night belongs to him — Getting started as you shake your head in an improvised yes.

Yes. The thought is pure electricity, the sudden need to please him as you shake your head once again.

“Please Ben,” you don’t recognize what you’ve become now. “Please let me cum in your cock.”

"Go on doll, put on a show f'me" the supe says with a grin you cannot resist. "Bend and show me that lovely ass."

It’s all it takes. His fingers are now away from you, but you’re now facing the wall as you obey, bending until your cheek is pressed against the concrete and you can hear how he’s now unzipping his pants, the green fabric of his suit now to the side.

You look at him from over your shoulder, bitting the your lower lip as you check him out, his slightly curved dick pointing upwards, precum already leaking out.

“Like what you’re seeing or what?”

“Yeah, but there’s no fucking way.”

You’re feeding on his ego now, but you can’t help it when his size is far from what you consider it’s common — “Common’ doll. You can hadle it.”

You gulp in response cause you know you’re more than eager to try, just the sight of his own hand holding his lenght as he strokes himself making you drool in response. Fuck. It transforms in a need now. When he positions himself beneath you and he’s spitting down to that very place where he’s pushing against your hole, saliva coating his cock before just letting the tip inside.

Lubricated, he pushes a bit more and it feels just damn right. Even when it begans to hurt as he’s thick enough to force himself inside you.

Benjamin knows you’re in pain so he waits a second before shoving his cock inside one more time. You need some time as he stretches you out, clenching your teeth while he works.

"You're doing it s'good" he praises, hand massaging your back as he prevents himself from fucking you at his liking, “Takin' me like a champ."

"God" you let out a sharp moan moments after, crying when you felt the pain more than anything else — "Can't-"

"No doll" he hums as he pulls slightly more. “You can do this” he forces himself in until he's finally balls deep inside your cunt, letting you adjust to his size as he can feel fucking everything. Your blood flow, your velvety walls that squeeze him unused to someone as big as he was, your face distorted in what seems an intense mix of pain and pure, devastating pleasure — "Atta girl."

Strikes like lighting.

Soldier Boy's bitting your shoulder-blade as he waits, waits for it to switch into pleasure, to become intoxicating to the point you cannot longer remember your own name.

"Please move," you ask sooner than he thinks, and when he moves, you can feel it in your belly, melting your fucking brain as he repeated the process again, burying his cock as deep as he could go without any previous warning — "Ah, just like that, please-"

"Do you like how my cock is stretching you out now?" Ben's voice is way deeper than what usually is as he laughs, grunting behind you as one of his hands reach a fistful of your hair, grabbing it with force to pull your head backwards "Good girl, keep huggin' my cock."

You're drunk on the feeling, on the vibrations his voice sends every time he's saying something dirty for you, when he laughs victim of the pleasure.

"Gonna' keep you as my personal slut," he thinks out loud, pushing you against the wall every time he fucks you, using his other hand to spread one of your ass cheeks to the side so he can hit it harder. "Use you as my fucking pet so I can cum on your pretty face whenever I want."

He's moaning, your body’s sweaty as he pulls your hair without caring, not concentrated on the pain it produces as his hips continue on collide against you.

"Would you like that, little Nightshade?" he asks then in a low voice, his thumb pressing against your asshole as he fucks you harder now that you're used to his size. "Could get used to this pretty cunt. Promise to keep my cock whore nice and full."

It doesn't take long. Soldier Boy's moans are now filling the room as his pace becomes faster, slurred words between his erratic breathing when the hand on your hair comes up to finally grab you by the neck, like he can read your mind cause it's exactly what you need to get there, to experience by first hand a set of crashing waves that were getting more and more intense on your stomach.

You're close to the edge. He can smell it in the air when the sound of your skin slapping against his is loud enough to be all you can hear, mixing with the lovely moans you produce when he’s pounding into you with no mercy, fingers pressing the side of your neck with enough force you’re running out of breathe.

It’s messy, violent and you love it, love how he’s ruining you all sudden, fucking you up from the inside, making your vision turning dizzy in response. You’re immersed in the haze he’s driven you into before admiting:

“God i’m so fucking close.”

“Cum on my cock,” it sounds like he’s begging you to do it, fingers finding their way to your swollen clit to move against the sensitive flesh “Come on doll, leave me full of you.”

He’s making you move now, hands now controlling your hips as you take him as his liking, mere seconds until you’re finally crumbling, violently shaking as you finally reach your peak. He keeps on fucking you through your high, long enough so he’s pulling out all of sudden, stroking his lenght over you as his cum finally lands on your back leaving you convered with his load.

Fucking hell.

When you’re coming down from your orgasm shame seems to hit you hard, however for Ben is not enough when he’s kneeling on the floor, eyes on the mess his cock made out of you.

“Wanna go again, little Nightshade?” he asks curiously, and the question makes you laugh in response, forgetting about formalities and the trouble it meant you were intimate with Soldier Boy out of all the supes in the world.

“Hm,” you seem to think about it for a second, his breathing close to your wet pussy as he’s still wearing his clothes in contrast of you being so exposed — “But you’re keeping the suit on.”

He don’t have any complains when he’s the one pressing his face against your wet folds.

Funny thing is now when you’re forced to join the Boys days after that very encounter — A bad joke when you’re now babysitting Soldier Boy himself.

“Been missing you s’much little Nightshade” he admits after a couple of minutes alone in the filthy motel “Thinking about how cute you are, how you felt taking my cock so nicely in your living room.”

“Fuck off, Ben.”

“We’ll be quick” he promises “That stupid assholes back there wont even notice.”

You seem to think about it for a second before lifting your middle finger in response — “I said fuck off, Ben.”

For now, it’s enough for him that you’re thinking about it.

my masterlist

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x y/n #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #the boys smut #soldier boy smut #the boys x reader #the boys fanfic #the boys #soldier boy #jensen ackles #cryptfile // the boys #smut

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deansbeer · 5 days ago

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♡ under wraps ⎯⎯ jackles.

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

📖 LIBRARY !

SYNOPSIS. you and jensen keep your fiery, forbidden relationship secret—until lingering tension threatens your composure.

kari talks ◞ everyone thank daddy dolly for giving me the idea of fucking costar!jensen behind the scenes <33 he's so yummy in this photo and what i had envisioned in my head the entire time writing it :) am i slut for daddy jackles ??? fuck yeah i am. n a proud slut too.

it's a dangerous fucking game you're playing with jensen.

you'd known it from the start. the second you walked onto the set of countdown—a brand-new, high-stakes action series—you felt the pull. it wasn't just his looks, though those were undeniable. it was the way he carried himself, the way his eyes lingered just a beat too long when you first shook hands, the way his deep, gravelly voice curled around your name like it belonged to him.

you weren't supposed to fall for him. hell, you weren't supposed to even look at him like that. but he made it impossible, especially when the two of you were cast as love interests on the show.

the chemistry was instant, explosive. every scene you filmed together felt like a live wire, and it didn't take long before you crossed that unspoken line.

it started with a kiss that wasn't scripted.

you were supposed to pull away after a brief, chaste kiss during a rehearsal, but neither of you did. his lips pressed harder, his hand sliding around your waist, pulling you closer until the director called cut.

"jesus christ," jensen muttered under his breath that day, his voice low enough only for you to hear. he didn't let go of you right away, his green eyes dipping to your lips.

that was the moment everything shifted.

now, weeks later, you're tangled up in a secret relationship that's equal parts thrilling and dangerous. nobody on set knows, or at least you don't think they do. you and jensen are careful—no lingering touches in public, no stolen glances when others are watching.

but behind closed doors?

he's got you screaming his name, your nails raking down his back as he fucks you so thoroughly you can't see straight.

like now.

you're in his dressing room, pressed up against the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist as he thrusts into you. his hand is gripping your ass, the other tangled in your hair as his lips claim yours in a bruising kiss.

"you're so fucking perfect," he growls against your mouth, his breath hot and ragged. "can't fucking get enough of you."

your nails dig into his shoulders as you moan his name, your body shuddering as he drives into you relentlessly. the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the small room, mingling with your breathless cries and his low, filthy grunts.

you're so close, teetering on the edge, when there's a knock at the door.

"jensen?" a voice calls out. "they need you on set in five."

he freezes, his forehead dropping to yours as he lets out a frustrated groan.

"fuck," he mutters, his voice laced with irritation.

you're still clinging to him, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps as you try to ground yourself.

"you've got to go," you whisper, your voice hoarse.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his green eyes dark with lust.

"you're lucky we don't have more time," he says, his lips quirking into a smirk. "because i'm not done with you."

he sets you down gently, his hands lingering on your hips for a moment before he steps back. you quickly fix your clothes, your cheeks flushed as you try to compose yourself.

"you good?" he asks, his voice softening as he watches you.

you nod, though your legs feel like jelly, and your pulse is still racing.

"yeah," you manage to say, your voice steadier than you feel.

he leans in, brushing a quick kiss against your lips before heading toward the door.

"see ya out there, sweetheart," he says with a wink before slipping out of the room.

the interview is with one of your other castmates, a lighthearted segment for a popular entertainment show to promote the series. you're sitting next to jensen, the two of you positioned on a plush couch with your co-star on the other side.

you're trying to focus, you really are, but your body is still buzzing from what just happened in his dressing room. every time you catch a whiff of his cologne or hear the low rumble of his voice, you feel heat pool in your stomach all over again.

it doesn't help that he's sitting so damn close, his thigh brushing against yours every time he shifts.

but the worst part?

you can still feel him.

you'd barely had time to clean yourself up before rushing out of his dressing room, and now, sitting here in front of the cameras, you can feel the ghost of him between your legs. the dull ache he left behind, the way your panties are damp, not just with your own arousal but with a little of him. it's driving you insane, every slight shift in your seat sending a fresh wave of heat curling through your body.

you cross your legs, trying to ignore it, but the movement only makes you more aware of everything—how sensitive you still are, how wet you still are, and how much you need him all over again.

the interviewer is a bubbly woman in her early thirties, her smile bright as she asks questions about the show.

"so, jensen," she says, turning her attention to him. "your character and [___]'s character have this incredible chemistry. what was it like working together to build that connection?”

you can feel his eyes on you, and you force yourself to smile, keeping your gaze fixed on the interviewer.

"oh, it was easy," jensen says, his voice smooth and confident. "she's an incredible actress. makes my job a hell of a lot easier."

you can feel the heat creeping up your neck, and you hope it doesn't show.

"what about you, [___]?" the interviewer asks, turning to you. "what was it like working with jensen?"

"it was great," you say, your voice steady despite the way your heart is pounding. "he's so talented and professional. he really made me feel comfortable on set."

jensen smirks at that, and you can feel his eyes lingering on you.

"so there was no awkwardness?" the interviewer presses, her tone playful. "no funny moments during the more, uh, intimate scenes?"

you let out a small laugh, shaking your head.

"not really," you say, though your voice sounds a little higher than usual. "we just tried to stay focused."

jensen chuckles beside you, and the sound sends a shiver down your spine.

"we're professionals," he says with a wink at the interviewer, who blushes slightly under his gaze.

you shift in your seat again, trying to ignore the way your body is reacting to him. but jensen notices. of course he does.

his hand is resting on his thigh, his fingers drumming lightly against the fabric of his jeans. it's a small, subtle movement, but it's enough to make your breath hitch.

he glances at you out of the corner of his eye, a cocky smirk tugging at his lips when he sees the way you're squirming.

"something wrong, darlin'?" he murmurs under his breath, low enough that only you can hear.

you shoot him a glare, but it lacks any real heat.

"asshole," you mutter back, your voice barely audible.

he chuckles softly, turning his attention back to the interviewer as if nothing happened.

the rest of the interview passes in a blur, your focus shot to hell thanks to the man sitting beside you.

the second the interview wraps, you grab jensen by the arm and drag him back to his dressing room, ignoring the curious looks from the crew as you pass.

"someone's in a hurry," he teases, his voice dripping with amusement as you shove him inside and close the door behind you.

"shut up," you snap, your voice breathless as you push him against the wall.

his hands are on you in an instant, pulling you flush against him as his lips crash into yours. the kiss is rough, desperate, and you can feel the smirk on his lips as you tug at his shirt.

"needy lil' thing, aren't you?" he murmurs against your lips, his hands sliding down to grip your ass.

"you started it," you shoot back, your voice muffled as you kiss him again, your teeth grazing his bottom lip.

he groans, his grip tightening as he spins you around, pressing you against the wall.

"you're right," he says, his voice low and rough as his lips trail down your neck. "'n now i'm gonna finish it."

his hands are everywhere, sliding under your shirt, tugging at your jeans, leaving you breathless and trembling as he takes exactly what he wants.

and you let him.

because with jensen ackles, you'll gladly play the dangerous game.

every. single. time.

ϑ𝛠 SPECIAL TAGS. @titsout4jackles @floralscented @aileenunfiltered @deanswidow @lacydollette @beausling @figthoughts @frosttbitessam @bluestrd @florchids @ultravi0lence14 @starzify @honeyryewhiskey @bluemerakis @deansbite @rafespreciosa @voidsuites @abox-of-rocks @whisperingdaze @inspiredangel @deanssun . . . ☆

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lixiesbrowniess · 11 days ago

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NOT IN THE LIBRARY!

Warnings: MDNI, SMUT, NSFW, sexual content, public sex, unprotected sex, p in v, almost getting caught, grinding

| Jensen Masterlist |

The bookshelf was creaking softly, mixing to the light muffled groans you and Dean let out. "Dean－ we can't... there's people in here." You whisper while his lips run against your neck, while his knee presses against your core between your legs.

"Oh babe, no need to worry. We'll be silent." He murmurs against your neck, tearing away from the nice hickey he left, smirking proud at his work. You exhale softy, moving further towards the wall. All the books surrounding the two of you made the thing feel almost more intellectual.

In the meantime, Dean unzipped his jeans, pulling his boxers down enough for his dick to pop out. You swallow hard, pulling your shorts down with your panties, leaving them hanging from one of your ankles. He picks you up swiftly your back against the cold metal of the bookshelf.

"Relax, babe, it'll be fun, I promise." Dean whispers against your ear while he lines up yo your soaked cunt. "Yeah..." You murmured almost out of breath. He slowly started to sink into you, little gasps leaving your mouth, feeling him stretching your walls open. You lock your half lidded eyes with a pleading look.

He grunts softly as he starts to move, sliding in and out of you slowly but steadily. Your whimpers inevitably get slightly loud. Dean immediately wraps his hand onto your mouth. "Shhh darlin, no noises in the library, remember?" he jokes and smiles, going back to your neck, kissing down it.

His hips roll against yours, soft lewd sounds of his cock sliding into your wetness willed your ears. When his thrusts started getting more powerful, the bookshelf slightly creaked dangerously. Your eyes roll back as his tip hit your cervix, your moans muffled by his hand as he keeps his rhythm steady, soft grunts leaving his lips.

"Fuck... you're so hot" he mumbles against your skin worshipping every single spot onto.your neck and chest, his hips bucking up and snapping into yours, you felt the knot inside you tightening while he kept pistoning inside you. Suddenly, he removes his hand, soft whimpers now free to come out.

"Dean－" You groan before he captures your lips with his, in a heated kiss swallowing all your sounds, his hips faltering a little as you felt your orgasm close. "I'm close babe..." he whispers against your lips, your eyes meet his in a silent plead, your walls quiver around him clenching as your own climax is close.

With a couple more thrusts you cumming onto his lenght, with a muffled moan, he groans feeling your cunt sucking him in. With a couple more thrusts he cums buried into you a deep groan rumbles in his chest as he holds you close kissing your forehead.

"We better hurry and get out hun" he kisses you again you nod breathing heavily.

#lixiesbrowniess #jensen smut #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester smut #dean supernatural #spn #dean winchester #dean x reader

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deancasforcutie · 3 months ago

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Thank you so much, this and this other compilation I just found are singlehandedly restoring my will to live rn

A few times Misha (and Jensen, Rich, and others) make reference to Castiel's HOMOSEXUAL/ ROMANTIC confession of love:

#I'm seeing indicators of the fact that we have a long way to go (+takes that are so terrible) everywhere in this Chili's tonight 🚬😔#stay strong Heller Nation #if we can pull off not doing fascism in the world like his post says maybe the unfettered ending/correcting the record will happen #and I can stop talking about it like the fucking Rapture. they've given me something I'm proud of in a society that's yet to earn the same #spn cast #misha collins #jensen ackles #richard speight jr #castiel #destiel #spn is queer #fandom history #fav

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blanketforcas · 1 year ago

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did you think i was over jensen singing angeles to misha? well think again

cause i know we all saw this but i need to really go over this again frame by frame

so you know when he's done singing and he looks down at misha and misha is looking up at him, totally enraptured. but then he realizes jensen's looking at him and he gives him this adorable smile:

which in turn makes jensen really flustered!!!! he can't contain a smile!!! the screen behind him is a tiny bit delayed and i need you to look at that cause it captures that smile perfectly:

dear lord he's so gone:

misha's so damn proud. did you see what my boyfriend just did

jensen's his sunshine it's nbd

he has to physically wipe off the smile on his face cause this is getting ridiculous

they're gonna write a song together!!! misha's ready to plant one on him right then and there but a song's alright too

okay okay time to pull my shit together i'm about to sing and i have no words in my head rn

end of the destiel song -> jensen: teehee i made it cockles - misha: omg he made it cockles

#cockles #...this got away from me a bit

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jays-bonnie-on-the-side · 3 days ago

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GOLDEN HOUR

PAIRING : jensen ackles x actress!reader

SUMMARY : jensen admits his adoration for reader during an interview at the boys season 3 premiere in paris. karen, who already knows of reader’s infatuation with jensen, overhears and plays matchmaker. and you two couldn’t be more grateful.

WARNINGS : age gap. strong language. crushes. flirting. love. lust. cheating. mentions of previous cheating. smut. unprotected p in v. rough sex. semi-public sex. creampie. praise kink. size kink. breeding kink.

A/N : this is my first jensen oneshot—yay! got the inspo from all the pics and videos from the paris premiere and he just looked scrum-deli-um-ptious. imo jensen deserves more attention from this premiere and i’m here to give it! i also made the two pictures to the right and i’m semi-proud of them, please don’t hate if they suck. hope y’all enjoy this!

Jensen stands in front of 'The Boys Prime Video' backdrop, posing for the countless cameras before him. He was solo, his wife choosing once again not to accompany him. The flashes would've blinded him if it weren’t for his sunglasses. It was his first time being in Paris for work, and he was ecstatic. He went from one backdrop to the next, making his way down the line.

His smile was wide and bright, fueled by nerves and excitement. Like a pro, he jumped from one news outlet to another. Jensen was enjoying the love the show was receiving, and he was thrilled to be a part of it. With each interview, he felt more confident and comfortable in his skin. It had been a while since his last premiere, and if he was being honest, he missed the attention.

"So, Jensen, how was it working with a new cast?" The interviewer asks before turning the microphone toward the star.

"You know, i-it's always nerve-wracking being the new guy. I starred on Supernatural for the last 15 years, so it's been a while since I've been 'the new guy' on a show. Everyone's been here since season one, and now Grandpa’s coming in!” He jokes, making the French man laugh. “No, but uh, everyone’s been incredibly welcoming, both cast and crew. I think they're all wonderful. There was never a dull moment, that’s for sure. We had a lot of fun."

"Is there any actor or actress you would've liked to work with this season?"

"Are you referring to actors in previous seasons or in general?"

"Anyone. Anyone in the world, who would you choose?"

Jensen's smile grows, and without hesitation, he answers, "Y/N Y/L/N."

"Ooo. Y/N Y/L/N, great choice. ‘Great actrice."

"The best! She’s extremely talented." He couldn't help but gush once he began speaking about you. "Her range is beyond anything I’ve ever seen. She can act in every genre, and what’s great about this show is that it pushes you out of your comfort zone, and I think she would have handled it like a boss. And I, for one, would have loved to see her in action. Not only does she have the skills, but I’ve watched interviews and promotions she's been a part of, and she's just—she's so hilarious and so sweet. I think she would've fit in perfectly."

The interviewer cocks an eyebrow and slyly accuses, "Sounds like you have a crush on Ms. Y/L/N."

"I mean...who doesn’t?" Jensen confesses. He had a major crush on you, and as silly as it was for a 43-year-old married man to have, he wasn’t ashamed. He chuckles, trying to suppress the blush from rising to his cheeks just thinking about you. "No, no. I, uh, I'm a huge fan of hers. I think she's incredible. I respect her work and her as a person. I'd be thrilled if I ever got the opportunity to work with—let alone meet her."

"Well, it's rumored she'll be ‘ere tonight."

Jay's eyes widen, and his smile falls. He wasn't expecting to hear that. He quickly skims through his brain, trying to remember if he saw any mention of you attending tonight’s premiere via your Instagram. No, he would’ve remembered. He would’ve been searching all over if you announced your attendance. His heart begins to race at the thought of seeing you tonight. Suddenly, he felt as if all eyes were on him. He forces a smile and tries to act aloof.

"Really? Well, I, uh, well, that's—wow. That's awesome." But his attempt fails. He was a stuttering mess. “Hope she enjoys the premiere.”

The man laughs, amused by Jensen's reaction. It was indeed true; You would be in the audience. He finishes his last few questions before moving on, trying not to let the possibility of seeing you distract him too much. Little did he know Karen Fukuhara heard everything. She smiles to herself and carries on with her interview.

The cast had left the blue “red” carpet and moved into the venue. Their teams escort them to a designated room where they wait for the audience to fill Le Grand Rex. Jensen talks with a few people near him before keeping to himself as his nerves climb. And not for the reason everyone thought. Is it true? Would Y/N be here? Would I be lucky enough to see her in the crowd? Questions flood his mind, keeping him occupied until Karen pulls him from his thoughts.

"Is it true?"

Jensen glances at his costar, furrowing his brows in confusion. "Is what true?"

“What you said about Y/N.”

“W-what? What are you talking about?” He tries to play it off, hoping to avoid the conversation.

“Oh, please. I overheard your interview. You like her!” She quietly accuses.

Blush rushes to his bearded cheeks. "’Course. She’s a great actress."

Karen shakes her head. "No, I mean like her like her."

Jensen rolls his eyes, trying to draw the attention away from the implication. "What are we in middle school?"

She giggles, then admits, "Well, she likes you too. Hell, she's obsessed with you! I swear half our conversations about this season revolved around you."

"Wait—you’ve talked about me?"

“More like her bringing you up every chance she got? Yeah, we’ve talked about you.”

He was stunned. Sure, he’d seen your interviews where you raved about your favorite show, Supernatural, and how in love you were with Dean, but he figured that was the extent of your adoration. He thought back to all the praise you gave to the show and the actors themselves, wishing he could’ve DMed you his appreciation but instead sparing himself an argument with his nosy wife, well aware his accounts weren’t safe from her. Maybe if he ran into you, he could vocalize his gratitude. He knew how much trouble he was getting into, especially after that interview but learning that you mirrored his infatuation made it worth it.

"You talking about Y/N's crush on Jensen?" Tomer joins.

Ackles's jaw drops from the shock of his other co-star's knowledge, too. He shakes his head, not believing the news. "You guys are screwing with me, right?"

"No."

"Not at all."

His mind begins to wander. What should he do with this information? Was this a sign to act on it? Would you even let him? Tomer watches as Jay's mind turns.

He smirks, only imagining what his friend was thinking. “Don’t forget that you’re married, my friend.”

“Tell that to my wife,” Jensen mutters under his breath, but loud enough, they hear.

Before they can question or comfort their friend, a crew member enters the room and takes Kripke, telling everyone else to “get ready.” Jay was so preoccupied with the thought of you that he hadn’t found the time to realize he would soon be facing a crowd of a thousand faces. His once confident demeanor had vanished. The thought of you liking Jensen should've given him that boost; However, between his starstruck state and the sea of fans, he was a nervous wreck.

The next thing he knows, they’re being ushered toward the front entrance of the auditorium and waiting to be introduced. His heart pounds, and he pushes you out of his mind. Suddenly, the doors open, and one by one, they walk down the aisle as Eric calls out their names in order, and fans scream over the speakers. Jensen was last in line, grateful he wasn’t first. At the steps, he’s handed a microphone and noticing Claudia’s lack of one, takes hers too. He graciously hands it to her as he takes the stage, immediately feeling the bright light beating down on him.

He smiles, interacting when necessary, and when the light allows him to, he scans the audience. He was in awe of the premiere’s turnout. Yet nothing prepares him when his eyes find yours. You’re in the front row, on his side of the theater of all places! His smile’s wide, heart thumping against his ribcage. You bite your lip as your eyes look him up and down, taking in the delicious sight. Seeing your not-so-subtle action, he winks at you.

Your heart, amongst other areas of your body, flutter. With your lips parted, you dramatically fan yourself, earning a smile from your celebrity crush. Jay glances elsewhere but can’t help the return of his eyes. You smile lovingly, overjoyed that he pays as much attention to you as you do to him. In all honesty, you hadn’t listened to the panel. You’re so captivated by his charming smile—hell, even the tiniest of movements, that you miss your friend’s answers.

Usually, you’d feel guilty, but not when it involves the love of your life as the center of your attention. You don’t even realize that the interview ends until everyone claps, snapping you out of your trance. Your hands join the applause before the stars step down the stairs to their reserved seating. The lights dim, and the first episode of the season begins.

The premiere ends, and the after-party begins. You couldn’t get Jensen out of your mind—as if it were different from any other day of your life. But this time, it is. This time, you have the opportunity to speak to him. Just thinking of it fills you with nerves. Would you actually talk to him? Would he even talk back? Your mind begins to race with questions until you conclude that you’d at least have a conversation with the man of your dreams. Who could that hurt?

You were so excited to see him. The longer you wait, the more anxious you become. The anticipation of seeing him again is all you can think about, even when you distract yourself by talking to others. Your eyes dart toward the door of Le Rex Club, and as if you have a sixth sense, the cast members walk in. Their presence elicited a roar across the guests, hooting and clapping for the stars. And that’s when you see him, walking in last once again.

With a grin, he scans the energetic crowd, refusing to admit he was looking for you. Finally, he finds your pretty eyes, and the room suddenly becomes empty. You were the only one he could see and the only one he wanted to. If it weren’t for others physically grabbing his attention, he would’ve made a beeline straight towards you. As he speaks with a few producers, Karen finds and gives you the warmest hug.

“Hey!”

“Hey! Congratulations! You were AMAZING.”

You pull away but stay close as the crowd grows louder. “Really? You think so?”

“Of course! Not many people can play a character without any lines,” you nudge her arm playfully. “That’s talent.”

“Awe, thank you, Y/N. That means so much.”

Jack comes over to greet you, pulling you into a side hug before introducing you to his girlfriend. Claudia wears the biggest smile on her face as she shakes your hand. Her giddiness was lost on you, but her confession of being “a huge fan” struck clarity. Fame was something you tried to forget. Sure, you loved acting, but it came with a price, and it wasn’t always an equal trade. Despite being in the spotlight, you refused to let it change who you are.

After some small talk, they left to mingle with others, leaving you alone with Karen. When she sees your eyes linger on Jensen, she smirks to herself.

“Do you need a napkin?”

“Huh? For what?”

“To wipe that drool off your lip,” She points to the corner of her mouth.

You swat her arm gently, but it doesn’t stop your blush. “Shut up! I am not drooling.”

“Might as well be. Could it be any more obvious that you want him?” She giggles.

“Please. He’s married.”

“Do you see his wife anywhere?”

Your eyes grow wide at your friend’s insinuation. You’ve known Karen for almost two years, and this was never something she’d condone. Ever. So why now? Why was this time different?

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She gets closer, speaking low enough for only your ears to hear. “No one knows this, but his wife cheats on him.” Your widened eyes grow wider as if it were possible. They wander to Jensen, and his eyes shift to yours. A smile brightens his handsome face, making you melt. How could anyone EVER cheat on him?! “She’s been doing it for years, and he pretends not to know.”

Directing your stare towards Karen, you demand, “How do you know all of this?”

“He got really drunk one night and confessed to me and a few other cast members,” She frowns with sorrow, then shakes her head, “He’s a great actor; He hides his pain well, but there’s days when we all see it.“

It would be a lie to say you were surprised. You’ve had your suspicions over the years, but there hadn’t been any solid evidence. The way they’d speak and act towards one another pointed to a deeper marital issue. Sure, some relationships were more teasing than others, i.e., the Reynolds. However, their body language suggests otherwise, and not what everyone excused it to be.

“And until today, I haven’t seen him interested in anyone else.”

You slowly nod, taking in the information. Despite the terrible news, you felt a rush of excitement from Karen's statement. Was it true? Was he interested in you? No, he couldn’t be.

“You’re lying. He isn’t—he can’t be.”

“Now, Y/N, why would I lie? And why’s it hard to believe?” She crosses her arms.

“I—I don’t know. He hasn’t even met me.”

“Well to be fair, you haven’t met him either.”

She got me there, you thought.

“God, Karen, what do I even say to him? “I love you, and I wanna have your babies. Please choose me, and we’ll raise our children as one big happy family.””

“Well, you better think of something quick ‘cause he’s coming over.” She hurriedly tells you before her eyes shift behind you. Plastering a huge smile on her face, she greets, “Hey, Jensen!”

“Hey!”

You turn around, and there he was, in all his glory. He was breathtaking. His perfectly trimmed beard complimented his gorgeously styled hair. You swallow hard as he stares down at you, a crooked smile on his beautiful face. Annnnddd cue the wetness.

“This is—“

“Y/N,” He extends his large hand, and you shake it, your skin tingling at his touch. “I’m a huge fan.”

Your eyes threaten to widen, but you force yourself to play it cool. With a smirk, you tease, “You took my line.”

He chuckles, then clears his throat, nodding. “Sorry. Go ahead.”

You lay your hand over your heart. “I’m a huge fan!”

“Feel better?”

“Much.”

You both stare into each other’s eyes, dazed and amazed.

“Well, I have to go. I��ve gotta say hi to a few other people. I’ll catch up with you later, ‘kay?” She leans in and kisses your cheek. Before she pulls away, she whispers into your ear, “Get ‘em, tiger.”

Karen walks away, leaving you and Jensen alone. Your hearts race in the presence of one another.

“So, congrats on The Boys. Soldier Boy looks badass. ‘Can’t wait to see more of him.”

“Thanks. And trust me when I say you’ll definitely see more of him. More than I would’ve liked.“

“Oh?” You raise a brow, intrigued.

“Let’s just say I was exposed more in my 40s than I ever was at your age.”

Your eyes widen. “What? You have to tell me more!”

“Hey, man!” You and Jensen stare at the male who came over to disrupt. He grabs Jensen’s hand and pulls him into a bro hug. “Congratulations on Season 3. How’s it feel to be done shooting?”

“Uh, good, man. It was fun while it lasted, but I can’t wait for everyone to see it.”

“I heard you got traumatized on set.”

“Uh, yeah. ‘Shooting Herogasm.” Jensen looks toward you as he explains, “During an episode, there’s this massive orgy between supes and non-supes.”

“Ahh, I see.”

“That must’ve been something. I was just talking to Antony and—“

“That’s great, man. Listen, we’ll have to catch up another time. I was in the middle of a conversation.” Jay gestures your way.

“Oh, dude, my bad.” He shifts his attention to you, and his eyes widen. “Wait, you’re Y/N Y/L/N! Oh man, I’m a huge fan. Can I take a picture with y—“

“And we’re done.” Jensen pats the rude individual on the shoulder before turning him away. “Look, there’s Eric. Why don’t you talk to him.”

He lightly shoves the man in the direction of his boss, earning a grin from you. “Sicking him on Kripke?”

“I gotta get back at him somehow.”

“Right. For participating in Herogasm?”

He laughs, the crinkles around his eyes on display. “Not quite,” He shakes his head. Even in the dim lights, you can see his blush. “My, uh, ass is displayed for the world to see when I meet The Boys.”

Your heart pounds faster when you hear the news. I’m gonna see Jensen Ackles’s ass!

“You’re gonna break the internet.”

“Oh, God, don’t say that.” He groans.

“Trust me, I could’ve said a whole lot worse.”

“What? You have to tell me more!” He mocks.

“Shut up!”

You shove his bicep, but he doesn’t budge. He laughs with you, and your bodies gravitate closer. You realize your hand lingers on his muscle, and you can’t help but bite your lip. Even through his suit, you can feel how strong he is.

“Wow. You’re so toned.” He glances at your hand, and nervously, you remove it. “Sorry. They didn’t look that big in Supernatural.”

“I don’t know whether to be amazed or worried that you noticed the size difference of my arms.”

“No, I—I saw your Instagram post of you working out last year,“ And oh, how you watched that video on repeat. “I mean—I-I’m not a stalker or anything, I just—“

“I’m messing with you.” His deep chuckle rings in your ears as a blush rises to your already crimson cheeks. “But thanks. It’s nice to be complimented once in a while.”

“Don’t you get it at home?” It comes out of your mouth before you can stop it.

“Uh…not as much as I’d like.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

He shrugs, and a shimmer of sorrow crosses his face. As fast as it appears, it’s gone, and he changes the subject. “‘S fine. Anyway, there’s a story behind the muscles if you wanna hear.”

“‘Course!”

“Alright, so…”

You and Jensen began talking about anything and everything. The longer you conversed, the deeper you both fell in love with each other. You both clicked. It was natural. It was easy. It was meant to be. And anyone with half a brain could see it.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to you when your conversation was constantly being interrupted. Jensen had to remind himself he was here for work, not pleasure. Yet, he couldn’t pull himself away from you to mingle with others like he was supposed to. And you, well, you were here to support your friends, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t make a new one. Without knowing the information Karen gave you tonight, you would’ve been more than pleased to just be his friend. That’s all you could ask for. Putting his looks and talent aside, you fell in love with his personality. In this industry, you never know if someone likes you for what you do or who you are, and you hope you can prove to Jensen the latter.

“Y/N!” You both look in the direction in which your name came from. A woman waves at you eagerly. “Hi!”

“Do you know her?”

You smile and give a short wave back. “Not at all.”

“Why don’t we go somewhere more private?”

The multicolored lights dance on his expecting countenance. “Please.”

“C’mon,” Jay’s hand hovers over the small of your back as he guides you toward the exit. “I know the perfect place.”

“The view is incredible,” You breathe as you look out the watchtower, watching the sunset over the city. “So beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you,”

Your heart skips a beat, and your breathing stops. Had you heard him right? Had he called you beautiful? You turn around, stunned at his words. Your lips twitch, unsure whether to smile or frown. He stares at you with those forest-green eyes, making you internally squirm under his gaze. The sun’s warm glow shines upon his handsome face, and you’re in awe.

Just what you needed: the golden hour making him look more desirable than he already is. Your mouth parts to speak, but your brain doesn’t know what to say. Jensen takes slow steps toward you, and your heart races. He halts in front of you, and he’s dangerously close. He brings his hand up to your bare arm and lightly traces upwards. His soft touch leaves a trail of goosebumps on your hot skin. His gaze lowers to your parted lips as his hand cups your check.

His thumb swipes your bottom lip as he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

Your eyes widen, astonished by his question. “Y-you wanna kiss me?”

He chuckles. Resting his other hand on your lower back, he pulls your body to his. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to.”

His smile disappears as you gaze at him with your innocent eyes. You can’t trust your voice, so you nod instead. Despite your heels, you were still shorter than his tall figure. He moves his left hand behind your neck and leans forward. This was it, you thought. This is what you’ve longed for. And then it happens; his lips meet yours.

All of your nerves get thrown out the window as he kisses you. It was gentle yet firm. It wasn’t rushed or lustful. It was perfect. It was everything and more.

The kiss ends, but another quickly begins. You wrap your arms around Jensen’s neck, pulling him closer. He deepens the kiss, this time with a little more urgency. His beard pricks your face, but you ignore it as he bites your bottom lip. You open your mouth, and he takes the opportunity to shove his hot tongue inside. A moan erupts from your throat. You’d have been embarrassed if one hadn’t fallen from his, too.

Your tongues explore each other’s mouth, not bothering to fight for dominance. If it weren’t for your bodies forcing you away, you both would’ve forgotten you needed air. Your heart hammers against your ribcage while your chest rises and falls. Neither of you pulls away, your breaths mingling as your noses brush against one another. Despite both of your eyes being closed, you could feel the other’s grin.

After regaining your breath, you compliment, “God, that was so much better than I imagined.”

“Oh, so you’ve thought about us before?”

“I told you I was a huge fan.”

“And how far has the fantasy gone?”

“Let’s just say I’m an all-in kinda girl.” You purr against his mouth.

“Well, sweetheart, lucky for you, kissing isn’t the only thing I’m good at.” He utters, his gruff voice sending shivers down your spine.

“Oh, lucky me, huh? And what other skills are you holding out on?”

“Why don’t I show you instead?”

His hand runs past your exposed upper back until it reaches the curve of your ass. You press your thighs together, feeling your wetness soak your lace underwear. He gently squeezes your plump derrière before connecting your lips again. This time, they were pecks, and they left you craving more. However, your slightly-corrupt moral compass reminds you of the elephant in the room: his wife.

“Wait…” You press your hand to his chest, pushing him back gently.

He steps back, concern in his eyes. “What’s wrong? Am I going too fast for you?”

“No, no. That’s not it. I just—your wife. We talked about everything else but her.”

He sighs and adds more distance between you, shaking his head. “She…she doesn’t matter.”

You hesitate but confess, “Look, I know your wife cheated on you. It’s horrible, and I’m so sorry that happened. I can’t even imagine how you feel, and I sure as hell can’t understand how she could ever cheat on you. You’re everything and more! But I don’t want to be someone you use to get back at her. I know my worth, and as much as I love y—like you, I refuse to be someone you regret later.”

His eyes perk up, and his hands reach your arms, pulling you into his warm body. “You love me?”

“Jensen! I’m being serious!”

“So am I,” his eyes bore into yours. “Do you love me?”

“I’ve always loved you.”

His lips crash onto yours, and you’re swept off your feet. Without hesitation, you kiss him with as much passion as he gives you.

He pulls away, assuring you, “I would never use you, especially to settle a score with that witch. I know the arrangement she and I have is…complicated and untraditional, and that’s something I’m gonna take care of after tonight, but meeting you—being with you is something I’ll never regret. I love you more than words can describe. So let me prove to you how much I want you, how much I need you.”

His words touch your fragile heart. You weren’t expecting him to admit what he did. If you weren’t so horned up, you’d cry. He loves me, you mentally exclaim. And you’d be damned if you refused to consummate the love you felt for each other right here, right now. You glide your hand to the front of his suit and unbutton his jacket.

His light-hearted chuckle warms your soul. “I take that as a yes?”

“Take it as a ‘Hell, yes.’”

Without wasting a beat, his mouth smashes against yours. His lips are intoxicating, but you aren’t upset when he moves them to your neck. As if he’s kissed you there before, he instantly attaches to your sweet spot. Your eyes shut as he harshly sucks your skin. You whine as the stinging sensation physically hurts, but you love it anyway. His lips move lower, marking your neck in various places, his bread tickling your sensitive skin.

Your hands run up his chest, grasping the peaked lapels near his collarbone and pushing his suit past his broad shoulders. It drops to the ground before Jensen backs you up against the wall. Your polished fingertips unbutton his dress shirt before flattening your palms against his hot chest. They slowly slide down his abdomen and stop at the top of his pants. His large hand slips through your dress’s slit, straight to your ass.

A moan erupts from your throat as you feel his bulge press against your clit. The pool between your thighs threatens to overflow. As if he read your thoughts, his hand slides inside your panties. His fingers brush over your sensitive nub and through your soaked folds. Desperate for more, your body arches into his touch. He teases you, pulling away from your littered neck to watch your face scrunch in agony.

After enough torment, he pries your drenched underwear down your legs, and you kick them off. His fingertips run from your outer to your inner thighs, and your breath hitches once they circle your slick entrance. You reposition your hands, one on either side of his toned shoulders. Giving him room to work with, your stance widens. His lips wear a proud smirk, seeing and feeling how ready you are for him. Moving the front of your silk dress out of his way, he holds the material near your hip, and your heart races faster.

Finally, his finger slides into your warm cunt. You sigh in contentment, feeling his digit in your holiest of places. His hand moves slowly, enjoying third base. Small moans fall from your pretty lips as his speed gradually quickens. When he sees your baseline of comfort, he adds another finger, drawing a loud gasp from your agape mouth.

His two digits alone stretch you deliciously. He slows his pace so you can get used to his thick fingers, and you can’t help but whine. Your neediness grinds your hips against his hand, wanting more than girth. He took your not-so-subtle hint and gave you what you asked for. And in return, you were a moaning mess.

You never thought you’d get this far with him, that it would only happen in your dreams but never in reality. Yet, here you were, squirming beneath his touch, being absolutely violated by his unholy fingers. Your head falls back against the wall as he curls his digits, hitting your G-spot perfectly. The pit in your stomach tightens, and you realize it isn’t much longer before it uncoils. You bunch his black shirt in your hands once his thumb applies heavy pressure to your clit.

Your moans grew louder, and you couldn’t stop them. Jensen’s left-hand pounds your aching pussy without mercy, and you feel like you’re in Heaven. His knuckles harshly kiss between your thighs and you revel in the promise of bruises. You glance in between your bodies and watch his hand pump in and out of you. The pleasure had built fast, and you were losing yourself faster. Your walls clench around his thick fingers, feeling your orgasm approach quickly.

“Fuck, Jay, I’m gonna—”

And before you can finish your sentence, you finish all over his hand. You scream into his chest as your climax washes over you. He works you through your high, drawing another orgasm seconds after the first. Your legs give out from under you, and his strong arm wraps around your waist, holding you upright. His hand stills inside you, giving you a chance to catch your breath.

After a few minutes, you regain the strength and stand on your own. Jensen finally withdraws his hand from your dripping cunt. He brings it to his mouth, and you see your juices coat his wedding ring. It shouldn’t have turned you on as much as it did, but something about coming undone on the symbol of his and his wife’s “eternal love and commitment” made you feel wrong in the best ways. His lips wrap around his digits, sucking your cum clean.

“Mmm,” the handsome man hums. “You taste as good as you look.”

His words make your pussy throb, and all you want left is confined behind his designer pants. You smooth his shirt from where you wrinkled it before and swiftly relieve his restraints. He sighs in gratitude when you reach your hand inside his pants and gently rub his bulge.

“You gonna let me taste you now?”

“Maybe next time, sweetheart. Right now, I just wanna be hip deep inside your guts.”

With one hand, he lowers his pants and boxers enough to free his aching member. It was long and thick, more than you ever imagined. The tip was a suffocating red and glistening with pre-cum. Your mouth salivated at the delicious sight, jealous of your awaiting vagina. His hand touches the back of your thigh, sliding it toward the back of your knee before pulling it towards his hip. His unoccupied hand wraps around his cock and swipes the tip along your wet folds. He presses it against your bundle of nerves, eliciting a whimper from your impatient self.

Before you verbally hurry him, he shoves his member into your entrance. Your back arches off the wall, and you hiss in discomfort. He was bigger than he looked, and your body knew you’d be feeling him for days after. Your hands wrap around his neck, holding on as he attempts to fit his entire length in your small hole. It isn’t long before Jensen’s thrusts go deeper as your walls adapt to his size.

“Fuck, princess. You’re so tight.” He wraps his arm around your back, keeping you in place. “Not used to a man this size, are you?”

“N-no.”

“That’s gonna change. You’re mine now, sweetheart. And I ain’t never letting you go.”

Your dominant hand grabs his hair, running your fingers through it before tugging at the long ends, not giving two fucks if it messes up the style. The pain quickly turns into pleasure, and your moans reflect it. His rhythm was hard and fast, just how you needed it. The squelching noise from his dick slapping against your wet pussy joined your unholy moans. The sounds fill the air, and neither of you cares who hears. Danneel herself couldn’t stop you two.

His lips attack the area where your shoulder and neck meet, sucking, licking, and biting. You fight to keep your right leg wrapped around his waist, but the pleasure between your legs is becoming too much to handle, making it feel heavy. With every ‘bottoms out’ thrust, he bruises your cervix, and you feel like you're gonna die the most blissful death. The familiar coil in your belly returns, and you continue your shouts of praise. His drive gets sloppy, and you know he’s as close as you.

“Cum in me,” you choke out. “I wanna have the honor of your babies.”

Part of you was scared after you uttered your confession. You knew Jensen was done having kids. Yet the other part didn’t care: You wanted his seed. You craved it.

And you were shocked at his response, “Sweetheart, the honor will be all mine.”

That was all you needed to hear before you gushed on his hard dick. He follows immediately after you, spraying his promise inside its new home for the next 9 months. Your leg slides off his hip, and he leans against you. A layer of sweat coats your entangled bodies, proof of the vigorous love you made. Your panting mixes with his as you each come down from your highs.

Your mind swirls, overcome with ecstasy. You just had sex with Jensen, and Jensen just had sex with you. Not only did you each have sex with your crush, but it was the BEST sex you’ve ever had. He slowly pulls out, and you whimper from the loss. The instant his cock leaves you, your mixed juices drip down your leg.

You press your thighs together, refusing to let any more escape. Jay lets go of you and tucks himself back in before kneeling. Your hooded eyes gaze after him. He grabs your discarded underwear and slides it up your shaky legs. The fabric works as a dam, for now, at least. He turns around and pulls his suit jacket over, grabbing the grey handkerchief from its pocket. You move your gown away, allowing him to clean up the excess cum from your skin.

“Thank you,” You breathe.

He stands, taking you in his arms before giving you a small kiss on your temple. “Of course, princess.”

“I don’t want to go back,” You admit as you button his dress shirt.

“So let’s go to my hotel room instead.”

“Really?” Your face perks up before furrowing with concern. “But don’t you have to be here? It’s your premiere, after all.”

“I’d rather take this party somewhere more private. And besides, I’m sure they’re all too drunk to notice I’m not there.”

You giggle at his silly remark before capturing his lips with your own. “Lead the way.”

JENSEN ACKLES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | JOIN THE TAG LIST

FOREVER TAGS : @jaredpadonlyyyy, @nicksalchemy1, @impala67rollingthroughtown, @nancymcl, @graciehams

@spacecowgirl126, @lmg14, @gurneetsadhra23, @crooked-haven

JENSEN TAGS : @cheynovak, @deadlymistletoe, @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld, @kindollss, @juicyballsworld

@kamisobsessed, @devilslittlehelper, @elenawritesxx, @quietgirled, @giggles1026

@ravenrose18, @criminalyetminimal, @angelicp0etry, @celticma, @1-read-the-hobbit-in-1937

@smoothdogsgirl, @xxorazz, @whichwitchwanda, @10ava01, @deanscroissant

: do not steal, plagiarize, translate, and/or republish any of my works* on here or another platform

*beside my writing, my works include : all banners, dividers, and gifs that i use (which were made by me,) unless otherwise stated.

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floralscented · 3 months ago

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( AFTERCARE ) . . .ㅤㅤONE !!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ─ ㅤㅤㅤㅤTHE new rock band in town has some nerve, causing mayhem in the venue next to your studio every night. but how do you stay MAD at the lead singer when he looks at you like that ?

PART ONE. good girl faith !ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤincludes, jensen is an asshole. sassy!reader. fictional bandmates. fictional locations. maybe improper ballet terminology. reminder that this is a slowburn!!

parts will get longer, probably, as relationship develops.

ㅤㅤㅤ─ word count: 1.9k

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤprev partㅤㅤㅤ.ㅤㅤㅤmasterlistㅤㅤㅤ.ㅤㅤㅤnext partㅤㅤㅤ.

ㅤㅤA/N. i do not know ballet terminology so if anything is wrong forgive me i'm just a girl romanticizing a bad boy / good girl dynamic </3 if it's right though ... i literally knew all of this and never doubted it!!

ㅤTHERE was a lot of pressure riding on you this ballet season. principal dancer was a hard role to achieve, and after months of painstaking practice, you’d managed it. with winter fast approaching ( even though, in dallas, it was hardly noticeable at all — it felt more like a proper autumn than anything ) the laurel dance academy was putting on sleeping beauty.

and you’d managed to snag aurora.

not only was it a feat in itself getting into laurel, the most highly sought after dance academy on the upper side of dallas, but you’d gotten a lead in your second year attending the college. it was something to be proud of, of course — but not something to let yourself get caught up on.

that was why you were at the dance studio that fateful night.

it was cooler than usual, crisp air breezing between the streetlights and dancing through the scattering leaves, as you made your way across the street to destiny dance. the one at laurel, of course, was much better, but it was on the entire other side of town than your apartment.

destiny was across the street and accessible, and so you spent the majority of your time there when not at the academy. that was your life summed up — dancing for practice, and dancing for learning.

the workers at destiny knew you by name at that point, and even gave you a key to let yourself in whenever you needed, since you tended to only have time to drop in after they’d closed.

you sat on the wooden floor and started the process of removing your shoes and trading them for your pointe shoes, when there was a loud unmistakable thump from the wall.

the building to the right of destiny dance was a small coffee shop — and therefore closed. the building to the left, as far as you knew, was empty. vacant. it was once a concert venue, but it hadn’t been such in a long time.

you brushed it off after a couple of minutes, making sure to see if it happened again, and when it didn’t, you finished lacing the pointe shoes up your ankles.

even though you didn’t have to when you were practicing, you took dance extremely seriously. it was just how you were. it was your passion, had been since you were young; that was why you were here tonight, after all. when you could have come in a simple leotard and skirt, you’d chosen a sleek black one that you loved, and a pale pink skirt that every student at laurel was provided. the best of the best, because looking the best meant performing the best, and that was what you strived for.

it was not even a split second before you’d propped your leg up on the balance beam to stretch out your thigh when the thumping started up again. it was easier to tell this time, where it’d come from: the left. the abandoned venue.

and it wasn’t just a single thump like the first, it was a series of them. pounding, rattling the mirrors lining the studio’s walls. you watched, in disbelief, as the glass shook and rattled against the plaster behind it.

fury bubbles up in your blood, and before you know it, you’re stomping toward the studio’s front doors. in all of the time that you’d been practicing at destiny dance, no one had broken into the abandoned building next door. it was on a highly populated street in the city, for christ’s sake! and the fact that someone had broken in, and was practically flaunting it—

yeah, you were a bit angry. even if you hadn’t come to practice that night, you would’ve still had to hear the blaring speakers and the thumping bass. your apartment complex was across the street, and from your venture outside, it was evident that it was just as loud out there as it felt inside the studio.

to your shock, there were lights on inside of the venue. shoddily strung ones, sure, but lights nonetheless. when you went to try the door, you found it not only unlocked, but gapped. whoever broke in wasn’t just asking to be caught, they were inviting the authorities right in.

the venue was small, but much more spacious than how it looked on the outside. there was a huge open space directly in front of the stage, a thin coating of dust turning the glossy wood a dull gray color, and behind a barricade, rows upon rows of black seats.

everything looked a bit dusty, but not decimated, like you expected. when you heard from other locals that sunset blvd was abandoned, you expected it to be in ruins.

what you did not expect, of course, was for there to be a full band on the expansive stage directly to the left of you. not a single one of the four people on stage noticed you, which was expected. the music they were blaring out was loud enough that it would mask the sound of you slamming the glass entrance door behind you.

so, you stomped your happy little ass right down the center of the rows of seats. one of the seats was pulled down from its folded position and held a cooler, lid propped open and exposing icy water and handfuls of beer cans. littered around your feet were the remnants of what they must have been drank already.

someone must have noticed you while you’d been eyeing their mess, because the music comes to a slow, decrescendoing halt. a loud, echoing guitar strum fades out slowly.

your eyes lift, and you’re met with the most piercing green ones you’ve ever seen. and of course, you don’t let this deter you at all, because you’re infuriated, but it’s an observation you clock instantly. along with the fact that they belong to what must be the lead singer.

he has dark brown hair to his chin, sweaty strands strung across his forehead. facial hair is neatly trimmed along his jawline and above his full lips. he’s wearing a cut-off sleeve black t-shirt with a band you’ve never heard of printed on the front, exposing thick muscled arms covered in ink black tattoos down to the knuckles. each hand adorned at least one silver ring.

and he was looking right at you, something unreadable in his gaze — but amusement definitely prominent. his eyes raked over you like he was undressing you slowly with nothing but that gaze. and it took only a few seconds longer for you to realize why.

“are you lost?” the man asks, and god, does he sound arrogant. he’s still got that stupid look in his eyes, too, firm muscled arms crossed over his broad chest.

your anger comes back tenfold when one of the guys behind him holding a guitar strums it again, and the sound echoes through the building. “no,” you have to shout it, and that only makes your fury more red hot and blistering, “i’m not lost. can you turn your music down?”

“no can do.” the man gives a solid shake of his head back and forth, and that’s it. he’s turning around like this entire conversation means nothing and is nothing, and he’s dismissing you.

and that just won’t do.

“hey, i’m not done here,” you shout again, even though it’s not necessary this time. if he won’t take you seriously, then necessary measures have to be taken, don’t they? “i’m trying to practice next door, and i can’t even hear myself think with your stupid guitar—”

“bass,” he interjects over his shoulder, and you can’t see his face from his elevated stature, but you can see the dimple in the cheek that’s turned to face you. “that one’s not the guitar. reggie, can you…”

“yeah, on it,” says whoever the hell reggie is, and before your eyes can even flick to which of the three bandmates surrounding the man it could be, the loudest guitar riff you’ve ever heard echoes throughout the empty venue.

you must physically flinch, because the lead singer’s mouth turns up in an infuriating smirk. your expression, though, never falters from the irritation it’s been since you walked in.

“that,” he shouts over the onslaught of sound, “is guitar.”

“are you done?” you ask when the sound trails off into static again, and then silence.

lead singer shakes his head. takes a couple of steps toward you again, his booted steps echoing on the wooden floor of the stage. he bends, kneeling, and even that has him still looking down on you. “why are you practicing if the place next door is closed?” he asks, his softened voice twinged with a playful lilt.

“why are you here if the place is shut down?” you shoot back, your arms crossed firmly over your chest. still, though, the bastard has the audacity to try and steal a glance at your covered chest. “can you just turn the speakers down or something? why are you making such a fuss?”

“you’re right,” he concedes, and it makes you downright bristle at how easily he does now, now that you’ve stood here like a fool for ten minutes, arguing with a man you don’t know and having your eardrums blown out. “you just tell me when it’s good, princess, and i’ll stop.”

you open your mouth to ask what the hell that means, but he’s already walking away again. his stride is arrogant and slow, footsteps echoing again on the wood, until he stops in front of one of the speakers.

his index and thumb close around a small knob on the bottom of the speaker, his eyebrows shooting up in a silent question as he watches your reaction. reggie, you assume, starts mindlessly strumming his guitar again. ever so slightly, the sound quietens.

“more,” you say, your lips in a firm line.

the lead singer’s lips, though, quirk at the corners. he complies. it’s better, but not nearly enough.

“more,” you say again, more firmly this time, your foot tapping in your irritation. he was toying with you, and you knew it — but it was working, and that was what was getting you so angry.

again, he concedes, and still, it’s loud enough that the entire room is filled with the sound of a guitar’s melody.

“jesus christ, more,” you say, and it’s lucky that the guitar is so loud, because you do stomp your foot in punctuation out of your fury.

finally, finally, the sound is quiet enough that it doesn’t make your eardrums feel like they’re bleeding. the smile you shoot to the lead singer is sickly sweet and not at all genuine.

you can’t even feel that satisfaction for very long, though, because he’s wearing a smile nearly identical.

“what are you looking at me like that for?” you snap, a little too loudly this time, now that the room isn’t riddled with the background feedback of the speakers and the hum of the band’s music.

the lead singer’s shoulders lift in a little shrug, and even from your distance, you can see the glimmer in his green eyes. “just… thinking about how sexy it would be to have those pretty pink lips saying that in a different context.”

your face immediately reddens. there’s one, two, three seconds before you realize there isn’t a snarky comeback loaded up in the chamber, not to that, and you turn promptly on your heel to stomp out of the building.

it isn’t until your leg is propped on the balance beam again, thigh muscle aching with the stretch, that the mirrors begin to rattle again.

and you realize, too, that there were two speakers on that stage.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤFEEDBACK & REBLOGS APPRECIATED!! < 3

tags! @happyladyduck, @casatoan, @mo0nwalker, @manicjk, @stereotypicalbarbie, @inpraise0fbacchus !

#──★ dahlia's jrnl #──★ aftercare #rockstar!jensen x ballet dancer!reader #rockstar!jensen #jensen ackles #jensen fucking ackles #jensen ackles fic #jensen ackles fanfic #jensen ackles smut #jensen ackles x female!reader #jensen x reader #jensen x you #fem!reader #jensen ackles drabble

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deansraspberrypie · 2 years ago

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🎶✨🎶

He's so talented 💓🎸👏

🍰 Tag list: @avanatural @undisputedchick @jranutter @fortheloveof-jackles @kazsrm67 @muchamusedaboutnothing @b3autyfuldisast3r @breath-of-snow-and-ashes @bluedragonflylady @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @mrsjenniferwinchester 🥧

#jensen ackles #steve carlson #radio company #keep on ramblin'#every light #jensen ackles edit #radio company edit #deansraspberrypie edits #i'm so proud of him #drp

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thebiggerbear · 8 months ago

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"You're safe now. I'm here." - Russell Shaw Prompt Response Part 1

Summary: You've been taken hostage and Russell is part of the unit sent in to retrieve you.

Pairing: Russell Shaw x Female!Reader

A/N: This is a prompt from @sydnee-kom-spacekru that I had to turn into a two-parter because it got way too long for just one posting. I've been working on this since May 19th when I decided to add Russell to the multi-character prompt response project I'm currently working on.

For this story, I chose Colombia as the country featured in here because I remember when we were growing up, we would ask our parents why we couldn't visit our cousins from there, and we were told it was too dangerous. As we grew older, we obviously found out why. That's the only reason I chose it for that part of the story. Obviously, I'm not making any statements, political or otherwise, about Colombia or any past/present situation happening there.

A tiny disclaimer: I do not work in the medical field so I apologize for any inconsistencies, exaggerations, or complete fallacies. I did my best to research but ultimately, I'm not trained in that industry. I also am not in the military, political, or governmental fields. I also am not the CEO of a major corporation. I utilized those parts of the story strictly for fictional purposes. So I apologize in advance again if I get anything incorrect for those fields.

All unbeta'd.

Part 2

Warnings: graphic violence; attempted sexual assault; trauma; graphic blood/injury; gun violence/gunfire; mentions of dead bodies; death; mentions of execution; kidnapping/hostage situation; PTSD; angst

Word Count: 11k+

You can also read on AO3

“You’re safe now, I’m here.”

Soldier Boy version ✨ SDV Leah version

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat; @deansbbyx

You slowly glanced around the room you were being held in. You winced when the pain in your head started up again from the movement. You knew you had some cuts on your face, your lip, and one near your hairline. One of the people who had taken you and your co-workers hostage had shouted at you in Spanish and worked you over a little. You understood most of what he had screamed but you had no answers for him.

You and your team had come down to visit the Bogota office upon the insistence of your father. The company his grandfather had started decades prior had expanded to become one of the top corporations in the United States, eventually branching out internationally. Growing up, you hadn’t wanted for anything. As you got older and entered high school, your father made it clear to you, being his only child, that he wanted you to follow in his footsteps and take over the family business one day. It wasn’t exactly what you’d dreamed of but it had been made known from the outset that whatever you might want would never matter in the scheme of things. Not when it came to the importance of legacy and carrying on the family name and the company’s brand, all while working closely with the Board. So, you had pursued your business degree in college at an Ivy League school, even going so far as to achieve your MBA and make your father proud.

You were quickly welcomed into the company and you put your nose to the grindstone, worked hard, and began to climb the corporate ladder. A lot of people knew that had to do with your last name but they also saw you working the same long hours as them, working just as much, and sacrificing any semblance of a personal life you could have had. You didn’t even have plants in your lavish city apartment because you were practically never there to water them. Weekends were a concept that ceased to exist the moment you left the university. If your co-workers worked 60-hour work weeks, you worked 80. If they worked through holidays like Memorial Day and July 4th, you worked those days, too, in addition to Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s. So you earned some respect, some envy, and some resentment — a healthy mix of it all as you raced to the top at your father’s constant prodding.

Only a year ago, you’d moved to Manhattan to run the New York office, a promotion that had your father beaming with pride. It was a bit of a transition, as any transition would be, but ultimately, you got to know your team, your department heads, and you’d settled in as best you could. You never truly relaxed into your role but you let your employees know up front that you were there to make things easier, not more difficult. You were interested in flooding the figurative harbor so everyone’s boats would rise, not just yours or the Board’s. Your father had not appreciated that little introductory speech you had made but you couldn’t find it in yourself to regret it. You had meant every word and you set out every single day to not only prove yourself but to also make that vision come true.

Which was partially what had brought you to the Bogota office. While you were responsible for New York, your father had made the valid point that you should travel to the international offices of Bogota, London, and Beijing. You should show your face and introduce yourself in person, not just on Zoom. You had been hesitant, not because you didn’t want to visit the sites and meet the crews, but because you still didn’t feel confident that you could afford to be away from your home office for that long (it would be about a two and a half week trip). Not because you didn’t trust your team to run things without you but because you had several projects in the works that required your constant participation, feedback, approval, and sometimes guidance. It felt strange to put it all at risk by choosing the most inopportune moment for you to go shake hands on the international stage and take tours of the other facilities. You didn’t want to leave your team in a lurch at a dire time such as this one. You had tried to explain all of this to your father when he grew irritated at your resistance.

“Stop with the excuses. You’re going and that’s final,” he had snapped at you before leaving your office. And that had been that.

The next morning, you and a few selected co-workers (handpicked by your father) were on a flight to Bogota, the first stop on your international tour. Thankfully, Colombia was only one hour behind New York so you’d be able to check in with your office as soon as you landed.

Things were going well with your visit, right up until the moment you and your team were leaving the building to head back to the hotel for a late lunch when you were ambushed. A black hood had been thrown over your head, you’d felt pain as something hit you from the side, and the next thing you knew, you woke up in a vehicle that you could feel and hear but not see. You had no idea what happened until you were instructed in Spanish to shut up, stay quiet and not struggle, and you wouldn’t get hurt. You knew you were in trouble when you came to but now you knew without a doubt as you listened to the conversation between the men surrounding you, you had been taken hostage.

You had no idea where they had brought you but you’d been there for what felt like a month though you couldn’t be sure. You had been held in the same room, only able to use the bathroom which they escorted you to. You were in some compound and any time you’d tried to sneak a peek out of an open window during your bathroom treks, you either got yelled at and hit or you could only make out a thick cover of trees. You and your group had been terrified every single day of your captivity that they would kill you all, or worse. You had three men in your group and four women including you. One of the kidnappers had already tried to take advantage of that fact and had thrown Meredith from Finance onto the floor, unbuckling his pants. You had begged in Spanish for her to be left alone while Pat and Suzanne had cried and screamed. Tim, Jerry, and Rob had all been taken to the bathroom beforehand (something that hadn’t happened before, they usually took the guys one at a time) so it had been just you four in the room. When the man didn’t show any signs of stopping and Meredith tearfully begged him from the floor to let her be, something switched off in your brain and you flew at him. You attempted to hit him anywhere you could but he knocked you down flat in seconds. He backhanded you a couple of times, making the women in the background scream louder, and he then decided you were going to be the one he was going to assault instead. He ripped your shirt and you tried to fight him off but he was too strong. Thankfully, another kidnapper heard all of the commotion and came running, rushing into the room and stopping the man, yelling at him that none of you were to be touched, that was part of the deal. Your would-be assailant yelled back at the man who had saved you and then got to his feet, spitting on you, as he stormed out of the room, followed by your unintentional savior.

You attempted to cover yourself with the shreds of your shirt but it was useless. You now only had a bra and little bits of cloth left from how violently he had torn the fabric. You were shaking but somehow you were able to crawl your way over to Meredith to check on her. Sobbing, she held onto you and before you knew it, Pat and Suzanne had rushed over, throwing their arms around you both, still crying themselves but also trying to speak reassurances to you both. Your body shook in their embrace as it finally hit you how close you had come to being assaulted. If that other man hadn’t interrupted when he did… You shuddered at the thought. It wasn’t long after that when Tim, Jerry, and Rob were returned to the room, their hoods removed, and one glance in your direction let them know immediately what had happened. Rob had actually removed his shirt and offered it to you, apologizing for the smell. You appreciated his selfless gesture but you were thankful when Tim instead offered up the windbreaker pullover he had been wearing the day you had been taken. You took the latter, thanking them both for their generosity and thoughtfulness. Tim at least still had his t-shirt.

Then, a couple of days later, you had been dragged from the room, thrust into a chair, and tied up. The questioning began, about the money from your company among other things, and you were worked over when they didn’t get the answers they wanted. You hadn’t noticed a man holding a smartphone while sitting in the corner, taking in every second of the torture you endured, until your interrogation ended. You had been afraid but seeing that phone…you were absolutely terrified. Were they going to kill you on video, sending it off to media outlets to share globally for your father to see? Or would they use social media?

They didn’t end up killing you, though. Instead, they brought you to a room with a single bed that you had never seen before. You did not like the fact that you had been separated from your group. You began to hyperventilate at the realization that they were isolating you for a purpose, thinking you would be attacked again, especially when you heard a loud gunshot reverberate from outside followed by yelling that you couldn’t quite make out. But instead of anyone coming to hurt you, they sent in a doctor to tend to your wounds. Once he had, you curled up into a ball and hugged your knees to your chest, waiting for the worst to happen, intent on fighting tooth and nail when the time came. But a few days later or however long it had been, they brought you back into the interrogation room again.

You expected the blows this time though they still hurt horribly. They began to cut you on your arms, near your neck, your shoulders, your torso…they never cut your face, though. While you were grateful for that small mercy, they still beat the hell out of you, the worst they ever had. While your face may have been spared the cutting, it was not spared the hits. You had even taken a couple of hard blows to the head that left you reeling. You didn’t even remember if you had screamed, cried, or begged for them to stop. Instead, you remembered some random saying in some movie you had seen stating that pain was the way you knew you were still alive. You held onto that as they continued to inflict as much damage as they could without actually killing you or making it impossible for you to speak. They had even unzipped Tim’s pullover at the beginning of the torture, leaving you in your bra, and besides the cuts they had also landed punches to your already severely bruised stomach and sides. They had even stomped on your bare feet, making you cry out as some of your toes broke from the force. They had even taken a bat to your right knee. That time you screamed the loudest you ever had in your life, sobbing so hard you didn’t think you’d ever be able to stop. The pain was immense, something you hadn’t felt before, and tears poured down your face, mixing with the blood dripping from a busted lip and most likely broken nose. When they stopped to take a break, it didn’t surprise you in the least that the same man with the phone from last time was there in the same corner. It did surprise you, though, that they didn’t leave. While you figured they were just ramping up to go for a second round, something told you that you may not come out alive from this particular interrogation. You could only hope the others you had been brought here with somehow did. A small part of you wondered if the reason they were going harder on you this time, possibly about to kill you on video, is because your company didn’t pay the sum demanded in the last one. You knew your father must have done everything he could to secure your release, even if the Board for some reason hadn’t. You hadn’t prayed since you were a girl, right before your mother died, but you sent a silent one up anyway to anyone who might be listening that your father would never see this footage. It would destroy him if he did. You didn’t expect much, though. Your mom had still passed away from a terminal illness, so you were pretty sure your father wouldn’t be spared seeing your last moments like this.

But instead of starting back up again as you anticipated, the men ended up stepping outside of the room though they left the phone behind, on some sort of stand, still pointing in your direction.

So now here you were, your body exhausted yet radiating nothing but pain. You slowly swung your head around in a daze, blinking against the bright light they had turned on before leaving. You waited for them to come back, to finally do their worst and possibly end your life. You were terrified but you also knew how badly injured you were, that there was nothing you could do. Even if you could somehow get loose, how would you manage to escape? Even if you got outside, this compound was heavily patrolled by armed guards. And even if by some miracle you could get past them without being seen or an alarm being sounded when your absence was discovered, you had no idea where you were. You were in the jungle for Christ’s sake, from the brief glimpses you’d managed to catch on your bathroom runs. You had no idea where to go from here. Still, though, you heard that small voice inside your head, telling you to fight, not to give in or give up. You had to work hard, be the best, and prove yourself. Go, go, go. The voice sounded strangely like your father’s.

As you waited for your captors to come back, you glanced around the room to see if there was anything that could help you. You attempted to move your arms but gasped in pain when you did. You didn’t even try anything with your right leg. You knew your kneecap was broken; it had to be. You chanced moving your left leg, though, but it didn’t budge. You were stuck to this chair.

Suddenly, you heard the last thing you expected. Gunfire.

Not that gunfire was all that unusual around here. You had heard some happen during your captivity but it was short and never answered. You and your co-workers had no idea what went on in the rest of the compound but after hearing those rounds being fired every so often, you didn’t really want to know.

But these were extended rapid bursts of gunfire and someone was definitely shooting back. Not to mention all of the furious yelling you could hear down the hall. You idly wondered if one of your people got free and they were making a break for it. If it was, you hoped they got free and were able to go for help.

You knew you should be scared as the gunshots got closer to you, when you heard more yells and some thuds right outside your door, but you simply resigned yourself to your fate. Especially when one of the kidnappers burst into the room and held a gun to your head, yelling in Spanish at an unseen person to stay back or he would kill you. Your body began to shake uncontrollably once more, thinking this was it. You knew it; you were going to die.

Two men swept into the room, dressed in tactical-looking gear and donning black face masks with holes only for eyes and mouths, assault rifles pointed in your captor’s direction. The man on your right told him to let you go in Spanish or he would be dead before he could squeeze a round off.

The man on your left briefly glanced at you, his gaze an assessing one, before focusing back onto his target. Your captor screamed at them and pushed the gun into your temple, making you shake harder and take shallow breaths.

“You got him?” The man on the left asked, surprising you when you heard him speak English. He sounded…American.

“I got him,” the man on the right answered. Another American.

The kidnapper must have understood them because he gripped your head and pulled it back, pushing his gun now into the side of your face, making you scream out in pain. You heard a gunshot and suddenly the barrel against your cheek was gone as was the pressure around your head. A loud thud sounded as your captor’s body fell to the ground behind you and you moved your head to a position that didn’t hurt so much.

The two men were suddenly there, the one on the left laying a hand on your shoulder. “Please…don’t hurt me,” you begged in a raspy whisper. You followed it up with the same plea in Spanish, still not sure who you were exactly dealing with as your head swam.

“Hey,” the left soldier spoke softly. “Look at me.”

You did the best you could. It shocked you to see green eyes staring back at you with something that looked like kindness. Kindness…you hadn’t seen that in what felt like forever. Considering you’d only seen hatred and disgust from everyone around you since this whole ordeal started, this was something new and you held onto it with all of your might.

“We’re here to get you out. Just hold on.” He pulled out a switchblade and you immediately gasped and began to shake again. “It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just cutting the ropes,” he explained gently as he did it. “See?” You carefully moved your head to gaze down, seeing that he was indeed doing as he said.

Once you were free, you began to slide off of the chair, unable to sit up right due to your head still swimming. The movement caused you to cry out in pain from your injured knee being jostled when he caught you and lifted your arm around his shoulders to gently help you back into your original seated position. Your body still shaking, your brain told you that he was telling you the truth and he had just proved it, but you were still terrified and unsure of what to believe — no matter how kind his eyes were. “Shh, you’re safe now. I’m here and I’m going to get you out. I’m guessing they did a number on your legs?” He frowned down at your bloody feet.

“My knee,” you quietly sobbed, the pain still radiating throughout your right leg. “They—they broke it.”

“Shit,” he muttered, studying the leg you had glanced at.

In the background, you noticed the other man grab the smartphone and slip it into his pocket before heading back over in your direction. “What are we doing, man? Grab her and let’s go. Clock’s ticking.”

The man crouched in front of you looked up at the other one. “She can’t walk.” He inclined his head in the direction of your knee. “We’re going to have to carry her out.”

“Fucking hell,” the other one hissed. “Maybe we can get in touch with the chopper and get an evac.”

The man in front of you shook his head. “No, this is supposed to be a quick in and out. We have to get to the extraction point. They’re not coming for us.” So maybe these two were soldiers? They sounded like they might be military. Had your father somehow managed to get the government to send the US military in to rescue you?

“But, there’s no way we can—”

“No time for this, man. We’ve got to move now before reinforcements arrive.” Your rescuer turned back to you. “Alright, listen, I’m not going to lie to you, this is going to hurt like hell. I’m going to try my best to take it easy on you but we have to get you out of here now.”

You shook your head, causing tears to roll down your face. You wouldn’t admit it but you were as scared of the pain as you were to go out into the chaos you still heard happening outside of the room you were in.

He laid his hand on your shoulder again and locked gazes with you. “We have to do this. I told you before. I’m here to get you out and that means I’m not leaving without you.” He very gently rubbed at your shoulder in reassurance. “So, just try to relax and I’ll—” He carefully tried to slip his free hand underneath your legs and gingerly lift them but the movement caused you to scream in pain.

“Okay, okay,” your soldier soothed and backed off.

The other soldier was shaking his head. “We are so fucked.”

“Hey, we’re not.” Your guy turned to give him a sharp look. “Just give me a second with her.”

The other one let out an aggravated sigh and impatiently pointed to his watch before holding his rifle up and leaving the room.

Your soldier glanced back at you. “Okay. Time for some real talk. We’ve got about seventeen minutes to get to the extraction point which is out of this place and up the hill on the north side. Which would be, not exactly a cakewalk because it would still be tough, but if you were able to use your legs and we were running, we’d probably make it there in the next fifteen despite any resistance we might encounter. But, this is—”

“Going to slow you down,” you choked out. “I’m not going to make it.” More tears rolled down your cheeks, stinging when they came into contact with your injuries. If you had to be left behind, you knew you would die. No question about it.

“Hey,” he spoke softer than he had a moment ago. “I told you I’m not leaving here without you and I meant it. So don’t go thinking anything like that.” His eyes narrowed slightly as your head became too heavy to try to hold up. His hand was suddenly behind your neck, helping you, as he visually inspected one of the wounds at your hairline. “Dammit,” you heard him mutter. “Okay, I’m getting you out of here.”

He bent down to scoop you up but you grabbed onto his uniform, gripping a bit of the fabric in your fingers though it hurt to do so. He turned to look at you and you shook your head, whimpering. “Please,” you begged.

He reached up with a gloved hand and gently wiped under your eyes with his thumb. “I’m sorry but I have to. If I don’t…” He didn’t finish that sentence but he didn’t need to; the concern you saw in his green gaze said more than enough, and confirmed what he had already told you. “I know the pain is going to be a bitch and a half, but you’ve got to push through as best you can. I’ll carry you and get you to that chopper, I promise, but I need you to hold on. If you have to cry, scream, hell, even bite down on me, you do whatever you’ve got to do. But we’re doing this and we’re doing it now. You ready?”

“N-No.” Your voice wobbled a little bit but you heard him. You were going to try your best but you were still scared of the impending pain. “I’ll try.”

“Atta girl.” He gently positioned you as close to him as possible, zipping up the pullover that your captors had left open, and then carefully placed his free arm under your legs again. You got ready for the pain and whimpered again when he got ready to lift you. “I promise, after this, we’ll get that knee looked at, and that head injury, as soon as we get you someplace safe. Hey, look at me.” You struggled to meet his eyes but when you did, you saw the kindness from earlier staring back at you. “You’ve got this. You’ve made it this far and you’re going to make it all the way. I’m going to make sure you do.”

“Okay,” you whispered, afraid to speak any louder when the threat of the impending pain. Almost as if you spoke a half a decibel higher, you might make it hurt worse than it already was going to. It didn’t make sense but you weren’t exactly thinking straight right then.

You held onto the outer edge of his vest, wincing at the flare up of pain in your hand, as ready as you could possibly be in that moment.

He gave you another second, a brief respite from what was to come, and then a nod. “Alright, here we go.”

The man slowly lifted you and it hurt, sure, but what really hurt was when gravity did its work when he carefully got to his feet. You couldn’t help but cry out. You immediately stuck your thumb knuckle into your mouth and bit down, hoping this would all be over very soon.

The other soldier appeared in the doorway, having heard your cries. Your soldier took a few steps towards him, forcing you to bite harder into your skin and more tears to roll down your cheeks. “Let’s get moving. Call the bird and let them know we’re on our way.” The man nodded and turned, speaking to someone to let them know you were about to leave the compound and would need backup on the way.

When he turned around and gave you both a nod, your soldier held you a little closer to him. “You take point and lead us out. We’re good.” He then turned a reassuring smile on you. “Aren’t we?”

You wanted to answer him but you couldn’t. He hadn’t even started really moving yet and already the pain was agonizing. Instead, you carefully laid your head on his shoulder, feeling pure exhaustion wash over you that left an even foggier trace behind in your mind.

“Let’s do this.” Your soldier looked back towards the door and began to follow his fellow soldier out of the room. You gasped from the pain, bit into your flesh harder, and ignored the tears spilling onto your face. You weren’t going to be able to hold back the pained cries for long. You had no idea how you weren’t screaming at this point.

As you all turned down a hallway, you couldn’t help but think of the others and that provided a momentary distraction. “What about—my people?” You asked through gritted teeth.

“Already extracted,” he whispered. “Now it’s your turn, Y/N.”

You were still fighting your way through a misty fog of pain and sluggishness but that caught your attention. You released your thumb and stuttered out, “You know my name.”

“Of course I know your name. We came here for you.” He shot you a wink and then proceeded to carefully make his way down the stairs after the way forward was cleared.

You idly wondered about that as you held onto him, noting several dead bodies in your peripherals but refusing to look straight at them. You could hear him huffing and puffing next to you and you felt badly that he had to carry you because you were unable to walk. A couple of times, he had to stop and hunker down with you while the other soldier engaged the remaining kidnappers you came across. The third time, it was a struggle for you but you whispered, “Slowing you down. Not —gonna make it.”

“Shhh, don’t worry about that. I’ve got you,” he murmured back. And sure enough, once it was clear again, you were on the move. Before long, you had met up with more soldiers (the backup that must have been called for) and one of them offered to take you. You involuntarily tightened your grip on your rescuer’s vest and he shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

Eventually, you made your way out onto the terrain and you could no longer hold back your pained cries. “Almost there,” he promised. After what felt like prolonged agony, you finally reached an area where a helicopter was indeed waiting. The sight of it made something that felt like relief loosen inside your chest. You were really going to make it out of here alive. Your soldier went to hand you off to another inside when your fingers tightened reflexively around him again. “It’s just for a second to let me get in,” he reassured you.

You nodded, hoping it wouldn’t hurt as bad as that run had, and let him go. Once you were all boarded onto the helicopter, you were moved around again until you were back in your soldier’s embrace, holding tightly onto him as the aircraft lifted into the air and headed away from the compound where more gunfire erupted.

You tried to ask him something but he couldn’t hear you so he ducked his head near yours. “Where are my people?” You asked as loudly as you could, taking every little bit of strength you had left. You were still under the fog, but you still noticed your co-workers weren’t in the helicopter with you.

He turned and placed his lips near your ear. “They’re in another chopper!” You had all made it safely out. Thank God.

You nodded and laid your head against his shoulder, completely spent and feeling the throbbing of pain in your body intensify, making you acutely aware of all the rest of your injuries. The pain radiated from your knee outwardly and now you could feel it in your torso, your arms, your head… Your eyes began to close of their own accord when he shook your shoulder a little. “I’m sure all you want to do right now is sleep but I need you to stay awake. At least until the docs get a good look at you!”

You blinked dazedly up at him. “I don’t think I can,” you mumbled, not even sure he heard you. The tide of pain was washing you under.

He then did the last thing you expected. He lifted his mask and you finally saw the man underneath, the owner of those green eyes that you had been holding onto during this entire ordeal.

“Man, what the hell are you doing?” You heard yelled nearby, but your soldier kept his eyes on yours.

“I need you to stay awake, Y/N! You think you can do that for me?”

You took in his features, your fingers carefully lifting up to touch the thick beard he sported, noting the dirt and grime smears all over his face, but his eyes were what captivated you. Now without the mask in the way, you were free to get lost in those green orbs as deeply as you dared. Too bad you couldn’t seem to stay conscious.

He shook you again. “Y/N! Hey! Stay awake!”

“Sorry,” you slurred before everything went black.

The next time you jerked into consciousness, screaming out in pain, the helicopter had just landed and your soldier, once again wearing his face mask, was yelling instructions to the men around him. You couldn’t hear exactly what they were, the pain was that intense. You were lifted out into another soldier’s arms and looking past him, you saw a second helicopter not that far away. You watched as your co-workers were ushered off of it alongside other masked soldiers but something didn’t seem right. You weren’t sure what it was but something was off to you.

You were placed into someone else’s arms and you saw the eyes of your rescuer once again, softening when he saw that you were crying.

“Something’s—wrong.”

“Stay with me this time, Y/N,” he urged as he hurried you away from the helicopter. “Help is just a few feet away! Only a little bit more to go.”

You tried to stay with him, you really did, but the tide of pain started to blanket you once again. Alongside it, the feeling of something’s wrong surged throughout your body before the darkness overtook you once more.

The next time you came to, you were on a gurney and bright lights were shining down on you. Doctors and nurses surrounded you, talking quickly in Spanish and calling out a few instructions. Your body began to involuntarily tremble again. Had your rescue been a dream? Had your kidnappers brought you to another part of the compound where they had an assembled medical team waiting to somehow keep you alive after they had unleashed such brutality on you? Or were you just dead?

You felt a warm hand in yours, a thumb stroking the top of yours reassuringly. You gingerly turned your head to find your soldier, still wearing his mask, standing right there, smiling down at you. “There you are. You had me worried for a second.”

Before you could ask him if he was real, if any of it was, a nurse started yelling at him, trying to get him to leave. He replied in perfect Spanish, telling her in a very resolved tone that he wasn’t leaving until he knew you were going to be okay. She let out a frustrated huff and shot him a glare before turning away to speak to the doctors. They insisted he had to go and once again, without your permission, you tightened your grip on him, not wanting him to go anywhere.

“No,” you rasped out. “Please let him stay. Please.” He was the only thing anchoring you in this moment. You got the distinct feeling that if you lost him, you’d be lost entirely, never to resurface. He was safety for you, an end to the horrific ordeal you had been through, and you didn’t want him to leave you.

A doctor leaned over you, speaking kindly in English. “It’s okay,” he spoke with a heavy accent. “We are going to make you better but he can’t be in here.”

You shook your head and grabbed at your soldier’s forearm with your free hand though it hurt like hell.

“Doc, can you give us a second?”

The doctor gave him a look but did as he asked, moving back over to his team.

The man next to you pulled a chair from out of nowhere and positioned it next to you. He took a seat and only when he had did you release him, wincing as you dropped your right hand next to you.

He smiled reassuringly down at you. “You’re going to be okay. They’re going to fix you right up. You’ve been through a lot but you’re going to be alright.”

You knew what he was doing; he was calming you down and saying goodbye. For some reason, that made you tear up. Even though you didn’t know this man, he had been your harbor of safety in a chaotic whirlwind, a beacon of hope to cling to in a truly terrifying situation you had found yourself in. When a tear rolled down your cheek, he wiped it away with his thumb. “Will you be here when I wake up?” You choked out.

“I’ll be here until you fall asleep.”

That set loose more tears and he made sure to catch every single one. In the meantime, the nurse came over and injected something into your IV. When you started feeling drowsy a minute or so later, it wasn’t hard to guess what was happening. “Will I ever see you again?” You frantically intertwined your fingers with his as you struggled to stay awake.

He leaned closer, smiling in the same reassurance his green eyes were trying to convey. “I’ll find you,” he murmured, gently squeezing your hand. That made even more tears fall. It surprised you when he moved in to whisper to you, “Get some rest, sweetheart. You’ve more than earned it.”

You wanted to stay awake; you fought it, not wanting to lose sight of those green eyes fixated on you, knowing they would be gone once you closed yours. But you lost that battle as a sea of sleepiness dragged you down with it. You held onto his words as your eyes finally shut from the weight of the drug and you could no longer see him or feel his hand in yours. “I’ll find you” reverberated through your mind as you sank deeper and deeper into oblivion, falling at a rapid rate from deep green into solid black, until you were completely engulfed by it and you were gone.

You briefly closed your eyes as you felt a cool breeze gently make its way past you. You watched as two orange leaves pirouetted in the air, spinning round and round, until they landed several feet away. Silent ripples danced along the water’s surface in front of you and you could hear the sounds of people milling about near you, talking, surrounded by a symphony of nature sounds mixed in with the faroff noises of city life. You couldn’t help but smile when you heard small children giggling as they played on the grass nearby with their parents watching over them. You watched as a small group of teenage girls walked past you, laughing as they reminisced over something that had happened the past weekend. You saw an old man on another bench further down the path, an open book in his hands.

These were the small peaceful moments that you had come to appreciate since you rejoined society a couple of months ago. These were the ones you held onto when the memories of the terror and pain all became a bit too much, that reminded you that you were back home, safe.

You watched as two moms in workout gear jogged by with their strollers. A man and woman coming from the opposite direction made their way around the two women and continued their trek, drinking from to-go cups and dressed in business casual attire. Sure enough, you could hear them discussing work-related topics as they passed you by. You smiled sadly as you watched them get further and further from your sight.

That had been you not that long ago, where you didn’t have a care in the world other than pushing out new product lines and being in charge of one of the main offices of the family business. The pressure had been near soul-crushing most of the time but you had adapted for the most part and rolled with it. You worked hard, you worked long hours, and you were alright with that. You took the stress of hectic deadlines and constantly putting out fires and you rolled with the punches. It became part of your make-up and it could only help fuel you even faster towards your goal — your father’s goal. Now, after what you’d been through, your outlook on it all had changed. What had felt like life and death matters in the corporate world before no longer felt as dire as it used to. You’d been in a literal life and death situation and lived to tell the tale; whatever came your way business wise you knew you could more than handle. There was something about being tortured and having a gun held to your head, convinced you were about to die, that just put things into perspective for you.

And though you survived, you didn’t actually get to tell your tale. The minute you were reunited with your father, while he had been grateful you were alive and kissed your forehead, it was made clear to you that you and the co-workers who had been in captivity with you were to sign NDA’s. That had completely floored you. That was the Board’s main concern? That the public might find out that some of its employees had been kidnapped, terrorized, and tortured? How were they going to explain your month long absence from the job, from your lives? You knew Meredith had a fiance, Pat was a grandmother, Rob had just gotten married weeks before this happened, and Tim had a wife and kids waiting back at home for him. Suzanne was dating someone in HR and you could have sworn you heard Jerry mention at some point that he had a dog to get back to, hoping his neighbor had either checked in on it or at least notified someone to do so. How in the world did the Board plan to explain away any of it?

Your father had let out an aggravated sigh as you fired question after question at him. Who had taken you? What had they wanted besides money? Why hadn’t the Board met their demands? Why had it taken them so long to get the government involved?

“They weren’t involved.”

Your eyes had widened in shock. “What? How?”

Your father had taken your hand in between his and stared into your eyes with meaning. “I’m only going to mention this once and then we’re never going to speak of it again. We hired someone to send in a team to get you out of there.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Hired someone? As in mercenaries?”

“Private contractors for security. They handle this type of situation quite frequently but they keep it all very hush hush. So that is why the Board is insisting on NDA’s for all of you. It’s not only to protect the brand but also to protect all of you.”

“Protect this organization they hired, you mean.”

Your father nodded, not looking troubled by your accusation in the least.

“I don’t understand, Dad. You have contacts in Defense. Why wouldn’t you call them?”

“We did. They recommended these people and said they were our best option. If we hired them, they could get in quickly and get you out. If we didn’t and chose to go through more official channels, it might prolong the process and that might be time that you didn’t have.”

You could see the wisdom in that advice he’d been given. They had been right; had they gotten there even just an hour later than they did, you might not be alive right now. “But a month, Dad? Why did they wait so long?”

Your father tightened his grip on your hand and you knew you weren’t going to like what he had to say next. “At first, we didn’t know who had taken you. When they made contact…the Board wanted to try negotiating with them first.”

You huffed out a breath in disbelief. Those sons of bitches…

“I pushed for them to do something more drastic but they fought me every step of the way. It wasn’t until they received that first video message that they finally agreed that I should make the call.”

So your father had fought for you, but to a point. That fact rolled around in your brain for a moment. Had your roles been reversed, you would have told the Board to go screw themselves and immediately contacted whoever could rescue your father as soon as possible. No amount of money, litigation threats, or risk to the business would have stopped you. You, his only child, his only surviving family member, had been in mortal danger, and he hadn’t done everything he could to secure your safe return home as soon as possible? It was hard to wrap your mind around that. Then his last words finally registered. “Wait, what video message?”

His blue eyes softened with sympathy then and you could swear you could see a little bit of pain beginning to cloud them. “Where you were tortured.”

You should have known. Why else would your kidnappers have filmed it? Truthfully, you had known it back when they were hurting you. You shouldn’t be surprised, but you also didn’t want to talk about it. “You mean the pictures weren’t enough to convince them?” Before that first night, your kidnappers had forced you and your co-workers to look up at them as they snapped photos of you on their phones. You knew then that they were either using it as a scare tactic for your father and the Board or they were providing proof of life. Either way, it hadn’t mattered in the end since obviously the kidnappers had kicked it up a notch after that.

A haunted look fleeted across your father’s tired face. While you may still be struggling with the idea that he hadn’t done everything you would have done in his place, you knew this had taken a toll on him. He had been genuinely concerned for you and the relief you’d seen on his expression when he saw you for the first time since you’d been separated was palpable. “When they saw the video, they could no longer pretend that this was something they could simply deal their way out of.”

Your brows drew together as you studied him. You were sure it had been hard for them to see what had happened to you, to hear your cries, your screams, your pained whimpers. You knew it must have been even more difficult for your father to see. But somehow you got the distinct impression that’s not what he was referring to. “Dad.” He glanced up at you and sure enough, you could tell he was keeping something from you. “Tell me.”

He grasped your hand tightly once more. This was definitely not going to be good. “It was bad enough to see what they did to you…but the end of the video was what convinced them.” At your knitted brow, he elaborated, “They pulled Tim out of the room they were keeping you all in, brought him somewhere, and then killed him.”

Your eyes widened and your heart stopped. What?

“And they said if they didn’t get what they wanted in three days, you were next.”

Your heart started up again and began to pound in your chest. You felt like you were falling with no end in sight. Tim was…dead? Your breathing sped up into short pants and you could hear beeping from a machine you were connected to but it sounded so far away.

You had blocked out some of that experience, your brain subconsciously trying to protect you perhaps, you weren’t sure. And whatever memories stayed, each time they started to flash in your mind, you would close your eyes and grab hold of your safe harbor in those turbulent waves of trauma that tried to overtake you. You would think of green and while the images didn’t exactly disappear, it kept them at a safe distance. Well, while you were awake at least. The nightmares you experienced were something else entirely.

But this…nothing could protect you from this. You suddenly remembered being locked in that bedroom, hearing the yelling, the gunshot—oh God, the gunshot. You had heard the moment they— Your father urged you to calm down, rubbing your hand comfortingly, but you couldn’t hear him or even when a nurse rushed into the room to ask what was going on. Because at that precise moment, a memory came back to you, ripping your tight grip on your green harbor and tossing you back into the dark ocean of trauma and pain to drown in.

It had been right before you’d passed out the second time. While your soldier had gotten out of the helicopter, you had glanced over to see the other helicopter that your people were disembarking from. At the time, you had been so out of it due to the pain and disorientation you had been feeling that you didn’t realize the number of people you should have been seeing was one short. You didn’t even seem to process the black bag two soldiers removed from the aircraft and carried off the tarmac together. You just knew something was wrong, something you had tried to tell your soldier before you passed out again. But now you knew exactly what you had seen.

Tim. Tim had been with you since you started in the New York office; he preceded you actually. Even though your father had chosen him to accompany you and the others, all you could remember was the nice man who had smiled and said hello as he walked into the office; the man who was quiet and reserved but also a hard worker; who had offered you his jacket to cover up with; the man who had begged the kidnappers for the photos of his kids from his wallet that they had taken and then denied him; the man who talked about his family and proudly told you all about his children. His daughter, Riley, was eight and she had recently taken up soccer. Before you’d left for Bogota, she had told him that her coach wanted her to try the goalie position but she was scared; she didn’t want balls flying at her head. You couldn’t blame her on that one and had said as much. You remembered all too well the sports you had been made to join growing up and it had never really been your thing, but it made your father happy so you did it each time he urged you to sign up or try out. Tim’s son, David, was nearly six and he had just graduated kindergarten. And the baby, Olivia, could be quite the handful since she was a very rambunctious toddler who never seemed to run out of energy, but his wife, Angela, lived up to her name and couldn’t be happier with their current family setup. And now… Now, he would never get to see any of them ever again.

The pained wail that met your ears caught you off guard until you realized it was coming from you. Tim was a good man and he had managed to make a life outside of work. He had something you had never let yourself dream about having since it would inevitably get in the way of your successful climbing of the corporate ladder. Now, he would never get to see his kids grow up, go to any more of Riley’s soccer games to encourage her, go on any more date nights with his wife — none of it. You had the horrible thought for a moment that it should have been you in that bag instead. It nearly had been you.

Your father held onto you as you wept, as the nurse rubbed your back from the opposite side of the bed, crooning soft reassurances to you and urging you to try to calm down. But nothing could reassure you; you were here and Tim was not. A cold hard fact that you could do nothing to change. Even worse, you had missed his funeral since you were stuck in the hospital you had been transferred to once you were flown from the one you had briefly ended up in down in Colombia. You hadn’t even known about his death until this moment, your suddenly resurfaced traumatic memories aside.

Since that day, the memory of that single gunshot had tormented you. Had Tim known it was coming? Did he think about Angela and the kids right then? Had he prayed they would be okay without him? How terrified must he have been? You knew how scared you were in that bedroom, how fearful you had been during your second round of torture, sensing that this wasn’t going to end with the doctor treating you as it had the last time (which had now been confirmed that your instinct had been spot on). You could only imagine how he must have felt in that final moment.

The nightmares proceeded to get even worse and you were afraid to be left alone in your hospital room. Though your father and the medical staff had assured you that you were safe, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you weren’t, no matter how irrational you knew you were being. Eventually, your assistant Luna started working remotely from your room to keep you company and your father had hired two full-time bodyguards to watch over you: Owen during the day and Simon at night. When the nightmares became practically unbearable, that rotation switched. For some reason, you felt safer with Owen there. Perhaps it had to do with his look, specifically his salt and pepper beard…you briefly remembered the feeling of a beard underneath your bloody fingertips though you couldn’t place the face it belonged to. You had a feeling it was connected to the green you remembered, that you clung to in the tumultuous sea of mayhem that was the night you were marked to die — the green that you associated with your rescuer. Why you couldn’t recall his face, you had no idea, but you chalked it up to your brain once again trying to make sense of the chaos that reigned inside your head.

Green continued to symbolize safety and reassurance for you. So much so that when Luna brought a bag of clothes for you to change into for your beginning rehab sessions, you immediately picked out an olive green hoodie she had selected from your closet and set it aside. You took to holding it close as you slept, letting the scent of home attached to it wash over you as you closed your eyes. When you would wake from your nightmares, sometimes gasping for air that wouldn’t come, sometimes crying, or sometimes screaming, you would see the hoodie next to you and grab it, holding it close until you could either breathe again or calm back down. It became a source of comfort for you and long remained that even after you were discharged.

Your doctor had recommended therapy in addition to the outpatient rehab you would be continuing but truth be told, you weren’t in a rush to relive anything or even unearth something that might somehow be worse than what you already remembered. Your father had also dismissed the idea of therapy, saying that focusing on regaining your ability to walk without the assistance of crutches would help, as well as getting back to concentrating on work. You didn’t agree, you knew better, but you also allowed his view to become your excuse, solidifying your refusal to deal with the trauma you had suffered. After all, you were still here, still breathing — as long as you kept reminding yourself of that, you would be fine.

So you did as your father insisted: you focused on your physical therapy and you slowly found your way back to working full-time. You had graduated from crutches to a cane. Your doctor said your knee was healing nicely and right on schedule, which made you glad that you had listened to him and not your father’s initial suggestion of a knee replacement. You still felt a twinge of discomfort and a whispery echo of pain when walking so you relied more heavily on the cane than your doctor or physical therapist might have liked. You may not have remembered everything from your ordeal, but the pain of the initial impact of the bat and afterwards as you were carried to a waiting helicopter to take you to safety was still a very recent and clear memory for you. You doubted you would ever forget it as long as you lived.

Eventually, you returned to your office and you accepted the well wishes all around. You had no idea what they had been told about your obvious injury or what had caused it but thankfully, no one questioned you. You had been in brief touch with Meredith and the others in the days after your initial surgery back in Colombia but not since then. You had been so focused on your recovery and processing the news of Tim’s death that, truthfully, you hadn’t thought of much else. Even though Luna had been working from your hospital room for a time and she kept you apprised on all developments as well as anything that required your attention, you knew your father had instructed her to keep it all to a strictly need-to-know basis until you were finally ready to fully take up the mantle again. And because you were already dealing with more than enough, you allowed it and didn’t push for more than she told you. So the guilt consumed you when you were informed that Suzanne had resigned and Pat had taken an early retirement to be able to spend more time with her kids and grandkids. Rob had taken a position at another company, though Jerry and Meredith were still there. However, Meredith worked remotely most days, something she had worked out with your father while you had been out. You wondered if it might have been a result of Meredith initially refusing to sign the NDA, a sort of compromise to get her to agree to keeping your ordeal under wraps. You made a mental note to reach out to all of them so you could at least check in to see how they were doing. Jerry was in Research; you’d stop by there later.

As tough as all of that had been to learn and stepping back into the swing of things proved to be a little more complicated than you thought it would be, the most difficult moment had been when you went up to Design. Seeing Tim’s office not being Tim’s anymore had left you reeling. Your father moved fast and had hired his replacement within days. From a professional perspective, you more than understood; the business still had to run after all and Design was one of your most crucial departments. But knowing it and seeing it were two different things. The nightmares were particularly brutal that night. You kept hearing the gunshot, kept seeing one of the kidnappers with their cell phone look over at you afterwards and give you the most terrifying smile. Even the hoodie hadn’t helped. When you looked at it, you didn’t see green anymore but red. A very bold and wet shade of dark red. You tossed it away from you and screamed, bursting into sobs as you rocked yourself back and forth in a soothing motion.

You had immediately called out sick the next morning and spent the rest of the day in bed, alternating between crying and staring blankly at the TV on the wall. Later on, when you could think clearly again, you gave yourself a stern talking to. You were here, alive, and you had hundreds of people looking to you to lead them. You refused to dishonor Tim’s memory by hiding away in your apartment for the rest of your life, no matter how appealing the option might feel. You could hear your father’s voice in your head again, pushing you, telling you to get back up and go to work, to be the best you could be.

And sure enough, you heard his voice for real the next day when he walked into your office. “What is he doing here?”

You glanced up and looked over where he was pointing to see Owen sitting in one of the chairs off to the side, watching you both. You pressed your lips together and shut the portfolio in front of you. “His name’s Owen, Dad. You know that. And he’s here because I asked him to be.”

Your father looked quite displeased with that. “I dismissed him and the other one last week. We talked about this.”

You let out a quiet sigh and sat back in your chair. “I know but—”

“It’s not a good look and it certainly isn’t good for morale. The cane you still insist on unnecessarily using is bad enough. Do you think people around here aren’t asking themselves or each other why you have this man sitting in your office, watching your every move?”

You leaned forward and lowered your voice. “Dad, I get that. I do, but I need—”

“Is this why you called out sick yesterday?” You briefly dropped your gaze to your desk. You didn’t really want to talk about that or how despondent you’d been in your bed for hours until your alarm went off, jolting you into grabbing your phone and making the call. Your father’s eyes softened though his tone didn’t. “Honey, what you need is to dismiss him, permanently, and get back to your life, to your work. Don’t forget, you’re at the helm of this ship and everyone’s looking to you to navigate it seamlessly through the waters.”

Your jaw clenched and for the first time in your life, you were about to draw a line in the sand between what he was telling you to do and what you knew you needed to do. “I’m aware of that and I can’t steer the ship unless I feel safe. Owen here,” you nodded in the man’s direction. “Makes me feel safe. With him present, I can focus and get the job done. So, Owen is staying until I say otherwise.”

Your father’s own jaw tightened. “I’m not paying for more—”

“You’re not. I am. And believe it or not, while I’m doing what’s right for me, I’m also doing what’s right for this office, to ensure our complete success. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some reports from Research to review.” You slipped your eyeglasses back on and reopened the portfolio in front of you, scanning the contents.

You glanced up when your father stepped closer to your desk, his voice lower than before though his now angry gaze burned into you. You should have known by dismissing him in that manner after standing your ground, what it would do. “I’m going to strongly suggest that you finish up with Research and take your lunch out of the office. Perhaps outside. It’s a beautiful day and a dose of fresh air might just be what you need.” He gave you a curt nod and then swiftly left the room. Once he was gone, your shoulders deflated and you slumped back into your chair. You knew your father loved you and he only wanted the best for you, for you to succeed, but sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder if it ever came down to the choice of you or the business, who would he choose? He already chose. You blinked the rapidly forming tears in your eyes away at the thought that had popped into your head out of nowhere and carefully got to your feet, reaching for your cane.

“Owen,” Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him immediately stand at attention. “I think we’re going to take my father’s advice. He’s right. It is a beautiful day and I would like to take full advantage of it.” He moved towards you, watching as you moved to the corner and slipped on your light coat. “I’d prefer to be anywhere that isn’t here,” you mumbled, grabbing your handbag.

You carefully made your way across your office with Owen following right behind you, ready to assist if need be while also keeping an eye out. You called out to your assistant as you passed her by, “Luna, I’m going out for lunch today. Please hold all calls until I return.”

“Of course, Ms. Y/L/N. If Research calls while you’re out, is there anything you would like me to tell them?”

You thought it over for a moment before turning towards the elevators. “Tell them I’m still working on it. Thank you.” And for the first time since you’d started in this company, you left without getting the job done. The thought didn’t sit well with you, you had always been conditioned to complete all of the tasks set out before you, no matter how late you might have to stay to complete them. But at the same time, it oddly made you smile a little.

So here you were, in Central Park on a gorgeous fall day, having taken your father’s advice to heart. You took every single one of your lunches outdoors now unless it was raining or too cold to sit outside for long. You always marveled at the fact that you had lived in New York City for close to two years and you had never once taken the time to stop and notice what surrounded you on a daily basis. You had never taken in the present moment, never taken an opportunity just to be, to sit quietly and listen. The bench you were on by the lake had quickly become one of your favorite spots. You could relax and indulge in the art of people watching, take in all of the sounds, sights, and smells around you. Truth be told, it was the best part of your day.

Owen stood sentry not too far from you, giving you enough space but also ready to intervene at any moment should he be needed. Despite sitting in a park in the middle of one of the most crime-ridden cities in the country, you felt beyond safe. Owen would never let anything happen to you and being in public, around people living their everyday lives…you felt the safest you had in a long time. A feeling you ended up trying to replicate by looking up Central Park ambience videos on YouTube and playing them while you fell asleep though it didn’t always manage to keep the nightmares away. But you expected that; trauma could be a real stubborn pain in the ass.

But right now, sitting here like this, you were okay. That is, until someone decided to sit down on the opposite side of the bench you were on. All of the times you had sat in this spot, you had been left alone, free to claim this bench as your own for the hour or so you’d spend here. Now, someone appeared not to have gotten the unofficial memo. Out of your peripherals, you saw Owen quickly approaching, most likely intending to tell the stranger to move to another bench, when the person glanced back at him, holding a hand up.

“Relax, man. I appreciate you looking out but I’m not here to hurt her, alright? I’m just here to talk.” The second you heard the voice, your gaze snapped over to the man across from you. You immediately recognized it; it was one you’d heard in your nightmares over and over, telling you to stay with him as you desperately clung to his hand until the kidnappers snatched you away. Was it even possible or were you just imagining this man had spoken to Owen with that voice?

When the man turned back to look at you, you recognized the green eyes immediately and a small lump began to form in your throat. Sure enough, he had a beard, one that looked startlingly familiar when you warily prodded at the memory, trying to recall it. A flash of his face, dirtier than it appeared now, popped into your mind. As if it had been patiently waiting all of this time for you to simply reach out and grab a hold of it. Tears began to burn in the corner of your eyes; it was him.

“It’s you,” you choked out in a whisper without really meaning to.

The smile you faintly remembered graced his face. “It’s me,” he confirmed.

You stared at him, truly dumbfounded. “How?”

“I told you I’d find you.”

You nearly started crying when the familiar words floated up from your subconscious, the phrase you had somehow forgotten in the midst of everything. But you remembered it now, as clearly and vividly as the man sitting before you who had said it. You had been about to pass out in the makeshift surgical room, crying and holding onto him tightly, afraid to let him go. “Will I ever see you again?” “I’ll find you.”

“I made you a promise and I intended on keeping it.” His green eyes softened slightly, much as they had all of those months ago as he caught every single tear that rolled down your cheeks as you succumbed to the drug beginning to course through your system. “I’ll find you.”

And find you he did.

A little preview of the next installment:

Still sensing your discomfort, Russell immediately lifted up and peeled his shirt off, revealing his bare skin to you for the first time. Immediately, you noticed a small bandage wrapped around his left arm. “What happened?” You gasped, sitting up and gingerly running your fingers below the bandage line. He shrugged and looked down at it. “Got shot on a job.” Your jaw dropped and when he glanced back up at you, he must have seen the worry that was consuming you because he immediately chuckled and affectionately cupped your chin. “I’m okay. Besides, that’s not what I wanted to show you.” He took your hand in his and moved it to his other shoulder, guiding your fingertips over skin that was jagged, puckered slightly, and silver-looking. “Shot.” He then moved your hands down his side until it reached a decent sized line that was anything but smooth. “Stabbed.” Your hands moved again to right above his abdomen. “Cut.” They moved once more and ended up on his clavicle. “Cut from an attempted stab.” You winced as he mentioned each injury he had received; they had all been the result of violent means. He moved your hands up to the upper tip of his right ear. “Bullet graze.” There was no scar there to speak of but you could see the tiniest bit of difference between his ears in that area when you looked closely. He finally brought your hand to rest over his heart, holding it there. “Sofia.” Your brows furrowed in confusion and he smirked over at you. “Cute little waitress in Costa Rica. Gave me one hell of a weekend and then left me high and dry for some young British guy who showed up at the beach and hadn’t yet run out of money.” You scoffed and yanked your hand from underneath his, making him laugh, as you crossed your arms. He moved closer to you, cupping your cheeks and staring into your eyes. “I’m kidding about that last part. The rest, I’m not. I’ve got plenty more on my back and even a few on my legs. A couple more on my arms. We all have scars. They’re just reminders of battles we’ve fought and survived. Don’t be ashamed of yours.” A tear escaped and rolled down your cheek but his thumb caught it. He pressed his forehead against yours and murmured, “You’re beautiful.” When he looked at you like this, spoke softly to you like this, you genuinely believed him.

A/N: Coming soon. Please let me know if you would like to be tagged for Part 2.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

#russell shaw x reader #russell shaw x female reader #russell shaw x y/n #russell shaw fanfiction #you're safe now i'm here part 1 #thebiggerbear writes

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