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sinner-as-saint · 2 months ago

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here forever

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Run-through: Dating a superhero was no joke. And as noble as Bucky’s job was, it was just as dangerous and unpredictable. Which is why ever since you and Bucky started dating, he’d been training you in his free time. Teaching you how to defend yourself if ever he wasn’t around to protect you, or if ever his enemies came after you. Although you weren’t perfect at combat yet, you were almost certain you could get out of a tricky situation if you ever found yourself in one. But you were soon proven wrong. And your only option was to hope and pray that Bucky finds you in time.

Themes: smut, fluff, mentions of kidnapping and death, boyfriend!bucky to the rescue, slight angst, hurt/comfort, mean!dom!bucky, aftercare, biker!bucky (except i made him wear a helmet because safety), mild daddy kink (nicknames only)

a/n: short, quick lil fic because I know we’re all hungry

It had been two hours since these strange men had so easily abducted you off the streets.

It was a regular day, you were leaving yoga class and were on your way to pick up a smoothie. A treat you always got yourself after each workout class. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except Bucky’s incessant messages asking about your location.

You knew you weren’t supposed to let your guard down, not even on busy streets – one of the first lessons Bucky taught you just weeks after your first date with him. But you couldn’t help looking down and frowning at your phone. Your bag, purse and phone in your hands. Always have your hands free when walking alone, even on busy streets – the second thing he taught you.

Always be ready. Always be ready. Always be fucking ready.

But you had messed up that morning. Bucky’s messages were starting to worry you. He had been away since last night, and as usual, never gave you too many details about his job. But all you knew was that before he left, he’d asked you to try and not go out if you could. Your apartment was safe. He had eyes all over that building. Cameras, security guards, it was the safest place you could be.

‘Where are you? Why aren’t you home?’

Seconds later:

‘I told you not to go out. It’s not safe right now. Call me.’

Then some missed calls which you couldn’t answer because you were in class at the time. Then messages one after the other:

‘Go straight home.’

‘Is your class over?’

‘Go home and wait for me. Don’t open the door for anyone else.’

‘Baby I’m so serious right now, go home.’

And you were midway through typing an answer to reply to him. To tell him not to worry. To tell him that yes your class was over, and everything was okay and you would call him as soon as you got home.

But you never got the chance to reply to his messages.

It all happened too fast. One moment you were looking down, all your focus on your phone and boyfriend, and the next, you were being grabbed and shoved into a dark truck. You barely even got a scream out before the doors were shut and a tape sealed your mouth, ropes snaking around your wrists and ankles.

And just like that, in less than a full minute, you were taken.

And here you were now.

In the back of that same truck which had been driving for about two hours, maybe more. Getting further and further away from the city you lived in, and into more and more unknown areas.

Fuck! You had messed up.

You should’ve checked your phone while you were still inside the building. You shouldn’t have been texting on the streets. You shouldn’t have let your guard down. Bucky had been saying for weeks that he suspected people had eyes on him, and consequently you because you two spent a lot of time together.

He was right of course. He always was. You should’ve listened. You should’ve stayed at home, at least until he got back later today.

A tear slid down your face, like it had been for the past hours. You silently cried, thinking about all the potential circumstances you could end up finding yourself in. You couldn’t even tell who were the men who kidnapped you because they all wore masks and hadn’t said a single word in the past hours.

They were armed. And the truck seemed bulletproof. And they kept driving. Nothing said about wanting a ransom, nothing about why they had taken you, or whether they were using you as bait to get Bucky’s attention. Surely they were.

And a few minutes later, when you heard the familiar roar of a familiar bike, you knew they had his full attention.

Bucky was here.

But they hadn’t noticed yet. And you didn’t want them to. So you tried to get all their attention on you by wiggling in the backseat, acting like you were trying to get more comfortable. The two armed men right in front of you just glanced at you and your tied limbs and let you be.

You noticed the guy in the passenger seat didn’t even bother looking at you. The driver looked into the rearview mirror but quickly looked away and ahead.

They still hadn’t heard the faint, steady roar of Bucky’s bike.

Perfect.

By the time Bucky would get close enough to attack, he would catch them by surprise. And it would be too late for them to react and defend themselves.

So you kept moving, grunting in annoyance extra loudly just to mask the sound of Bucky’s bike as it got closer and closer–

A loud gunshot exploded near you. For a moment nothing made sense.

Then you realised the truck was no longer steady, it was tilted on one side. Bucky had shot one or more of the tires. You sighed in relief, while the men in the vehicle panicked. Muffled voices spoke all at once, one of them telling the driver to drive faster.

Another, one of the men who was armed in front of you, lowered the window and popped his head and gun out, trying to find whoever was around but it was too late.

You turned your head and managed to catch a glimpse of him through the rear windshield. Amongst the smoke and dirt flying, there he was. Mounted on his mean bike like a fierce general riding his beast into battle. Except this general wasn’t backed by soldiers. He was alone.

But army or not, he was still Bucky Barnes. All black bike, black helmet, full biker gear, metal arm catching the sunlight. Guns strapped to his body. He looked like Death.

A sob shook your body as you ducked and hid under the seats as much as you could as Bucky rain down bullets like hellfire upon the vehicle. He knew it was bulletproof, but you were certain he was doing it just to get the men to use their weapons and waste their bullets on him as fast as possible.

The loud noises made it seem like your brain was vibrating, your heart was racing, and your ears were hurting with how loud the guns and shouts were. But Bucky was here, and all would be well now.

A few seconds later, the truck began zig-zagging. You assumed it must be because the driver got shot. More shouts and bullets later, the truck came to a sudden stop. Like it collided with something that was strong enough to stop it even at that speed.

But there was nothing on the empty streets you had been on. Nothing except… Bucky.

An eerie silence followed. Then footsteps. The men in the truck had all been shot you realised upon smelling the scent of blood and gunpowder.

You couldn’t get yourself up, not with your limbs still tied but you tried your best. And you were barely up when you heard the sound of metal literally tearing apart. You managed to peek from the back seat and Bucky had torn off one of the doors. The entire door off the side of the truck.

You couldn’t call for him, but you kicked the back of one of the seats hard enough to get his attention.

The moment his ocean blue eyes met your teary ones, you couldn’t help but start crying. Hot, burning tears streaming down your face as Bucky almost tore apart the entire truck to get to you. The moment he grabbed you and pulled you out into the open air, it was only his arm around you keeping you up.

“I’ve got you,” He whispered over and over again, “You’re safe. I’ve got you, baby. It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here.” He repeated continuously as he carefully peeled the tape off your lips and cupped your face in his hands, looking at you intently to look for injuries while he wiped your tears away. “Are you hurt?” He asked, looking more panicked and worried than ever. “Baby, answer me. Did they hurt you? Inject you with anything? Touch you?”

You shook your head, wanting nothing more than to just be able to take a deep breath, now safe in his arms. Only when you went to wrap your shaky arms around him, he stopped you. Keeping you at arms’ length and away from him.

That worried, soft look in his eyes turned cold. Even under the afternoon sun, you shivered under his gaze.

“What the fuck did I tell you before I left, huh?” He snarled. “I told you to stay inside, don’t leave the building. Didn’t I say that?”

You sniffled, nodding. “I just went to my weekly class, and–,”

He cut you off, hissing, “And look what happened!” He was almost screaming in your face, “You’re so lucky I got here in time. You’re so fucking lucky I have a tracker in that bag of yours. Otherwise it would’ve taken me days to get to you! Days!”

You trembled, knowing he was right. Bucky dealt with dangerous people. He knew why he asked you to be cautious.

Bucky leaned closer to you, looking down at you with no warmth. “These aren’t the villains you read about in your silly, little fucking books.” His voice sounded menacing, freezing. “These are actual, dangerous people. They wouldn’t have waited for you to charm your way out. They would’ve killed you!” He yelled.

“I’m sorry,” You sobbed. “I was replying to your texts and–,”

“We had a deal, didn’t we?” He grabbed you by the chin and forced you to look at him. “That when I tell you it’s not safe out there, you stay put. You stay inside and wait for me.” He growled. “You could’ve been killed today! And who would have had to live with that, huh? Who would’ve had to live with the disappointment that he couldn’t keep you safe? That he brought you into this shitty life and couldn’t even keep you alive?” He bellowed. “Who would’ve had to look your family in the eyes and tell them he lost you? Me! That’s who!”

More tears, and a whimper escaped your lips. “I’m sorry.” You whispered. You had never seen this side of him. He let go of your face like it burned to touch you.

He looked around, at the torn apart truck. At the bodies. The bullets on the ground. He grimaced but didn’t say anything. He reached into the truck and grabbed your things. Your bag and all that you had on you when you were taken. Your phone wasn’t here though, they must’ve thrown it out onto the streets while they took you.

Bucky said, “We need to get out of here. Come.”

He didn’t turn around to see if you were following, he knew you would. Once he got on his bike, he handed you his jacket and helmet. You put both on without questioning where you were going.

Once sat behind him, your arms hesitantly around his torso, he turned to the side and said, “City’s not safe right now. We’ll spend the night at a motel nearby.”

And that was all he said for the next few hours.

–

By the time you two made it to the motel – which was much, much more decent and clean than you had imagined – the sun was already setting. The place was quiet. A few voices conversing here and there, ACs humming as ACs do, cars coming in and out frequently given there was a gas station nearby, and a burger joint on the other side of the street.

Bucky got you two a room for the night, and didn’t say a word to you as he grabbed your hand and led you to the room.

It was a decent room. Bed, bedside tables, TV, sofas. The usual.

You didn’t notice Bucky had packed a bag as well. You hadn’t been paying much attention anyway. He placed his much bigger bag on the bed and pulled out a few things. Some belonging to you, you noticed. Toothbrush, soaps, clean clothes.

He handed a bunch of things to you and said, “Go shower.” He didn’t even look at you as he spoke. Guess he was still angry at you.

You didn’t argue. You just took the things and rushed to the bathroom, locking yourself in there for a good half an hour.

When you stepped out of the shower, feeling clean finally, you noticed Bucky wasn’t in the room. And the weather outside had changed. You could hear the faint thunder approaching. Surely by tonight there would be a storm.

But where had Bucky gone?

You put your clothes away in your bag, and with no phone you had no choice but to turn the TV on. You got in bed, a few minutes into watching some random documentary when Bucky walked in with food.

You gave him a look, wondering if he would talk to you now. But all he said as he placed the bags filled with food on the bed was, “It’s none of your fancy green smoothies and healthy wraps, but it’ll have to do for now. I’m going to shower.”

Then he disappeared.

You were still upset, but then hunger took over and you pawed at the bags like a raccoon. You found milkshakes, fries, and burgers. And you ate while you wondered how long Bucky would keep being angry at you.

You were halfway through your second burger when Bucky walked out of the shower. With nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. His wet, dark hair pushed back, droplets of water still dripping down his chest and abs.

You swallowed your food before you choked, then looked away, acting as if the documentary on the TV was much more interesting to look at compared to your half naked boyfriend.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” He asked, and you noticed he was carrying a first-aid kit in his hands.

You shook your head.

“Nothing? No scratches, nothing?” He asked again.

You shrugged, “Just a small cut. It’ll heal. Nothing serious.”

He walked over to your side of the bed, and said, “Show me.”

You didn’t want to argue so you placed your food aside, lifted your shirt and showed him the minuscule cut on your ribs. “It’s not–,”

But he cut you off by placing the kit down and looking for some cotton and disinfectant.

It burned as he cleaned in and put a little bandaid over it. It hurt even more when he didn’t kiss it after like he usually does whenever he tends to your cuts and wounds.

You didn’t say a word though. And soon, you both finished your food in silence with only the TV and the approaching storm as noise in the background.

The thunder got louder and louder as you both got into bed. That weird silent treatment continued, and by now you were annoyed as well. You’d admit, it was your fault for being so careless when he’d told you to be cautious. But didn’t he see that you needed him now?

Couldn’t he see you wanted to be held? And kissed? And comforted?

You frowned in the dark. The lights from outside came through the blinds and lit the room up a little bit. As did the lightning. You were the only one tossing and turning you noticed, Bucky was asleep it seemed.

But the thunder, the new bed, the fear and stress from earlier, it was all keeping you from falling asleep. Plus, it was a little embarrassing to admit, but you liked being held while you fell asleep. But Bucky wasn’t even talking to you, and wrapping your own arms around yourself wasn’t working.

Another hour went by. Now the heavy rain finally came, along with a proper thunder storm. And you couldn’t take it anymore.

You turned to face Bucky and he had his eyes shut, facing you. Not a single item of clothing on his body, except for a thin sheet covering him from the waist down. You sighed, frowning a little in annoyance still but you couldn’t help but scoot closer to him, seeking his warmth and embrace.

First you pressed into him, to see if he would stir or wake up. He didn’t. So you got bolder and took his metal arm and placed it around you, waiting again. He didn’t move. So you went to wrap your arms around him, and once you did, you heard his sleepy voice saying, “Oh, what’s this? Now you need me?”

You froze, trying to see if you could pretend you were asleep already. He didn’t buy it.

“I know you’re awake.”

You sighed. “It’s the thunder.” You said, nuzzling his warm neck.

“And you need daddy to protect you now, little bunny?” He mocked. “But when I try to tell you what to do to keep you safe you never listen.”

You noticed he kept his arm around you, pulling you more into him even as he chided you. “I’m so sorry, Buck. It won’t happen again.”

He hummed. “It better not.”

You were quiet for a second or two, then said, “You were so mean to me earlier.”

“I have to be.” He said sternly. “You never listen. You don’t take your training seriously, you think you’re ready to fight your way out, baby, but you’re not. All I asked you to do was not to leave that apartment until I got there. But you couldn’t help but be a brat, could you?”

You squirmed in shame. “I don’t want you to be angry with me.”

“Well,” He said, sounding sassy as he pulled you closer, “I am pissed. Deal with it.”

You had had enough. You slipped out of his arms, “Stay here and brood then,” You tried to get out of bed, “I’ll sleep on one of the sofas–”

Bucky didn’t let you. A loud thunder boomed right above as he pulled you back into bed and climbed on top of you. “Stop being fucking difficult.” He hissed.

Before you could answer, his mouth was on yours. Beard scratching your face, his long hair tickling the sides of your face.

His kiss was rough and it hurt in the best way. Bucky pulled away for a brief moment, squeezed your cheeks so you couldn’t close your mouth. “Brat.” Glaring down at you, he spat in your mouth before kissing you again.

Your brain felt like it was floating. His kiss was hot. And messy.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, “Needy little brat. Can’t ever do as you’re told, can you? You almost got fucking killed today, but you don’t care about that. Do you? Huh?”

You were quiet. Your brain was too foggy with lust to function.

“Why are you quiet? No bratty words for daddy?” He asked, sliding his rough hands up and down your parted thighs. You spread them even more the moment he touched you and he smirked when he noticed it. “Go on, tell me to stop. Tell me to let you go.” He taunted, knowing full well you would never do that.

All you did was whimper as he touched you mindlessly, sliding his fingers up and down your slit, spreading your wetness around.

“You’re gonna listen from now on.” He stated. “I don’t care what it takes. I’ll lock you in that apartment if I have to. But from now on, if I tell you it’s not safe out there, you do not leave that house. You hear me, princess?”

Silence. Which earned you a slap on the thigh. You yelped in pain before glaring at him. “Fine,” You said, “Yes, I hear you. I’ll be good.” You whined.

“Of course you will,” He said, his metal hand pinned you down on the bed by wrapping around your neck to keep you in place, while his other hand wrapped around his cock. Pumping it once, twice while holding your stare. “‘Cause I’ll have you over my knee and spank that little butt raw if you don’t.”

You whimpered and squirmed because of how badly you needed him inside you. “I will. I’ll be so good,” You begged, “Buck, please.”

Bucky wasted no time sliding inside of you. Giving you no time to even think, he moved in and out of you in a way that had you moaning out loud, not caring that the walls might be thin.

The storm got louder somehow, thunder rumbling and lightning lighting up the room every now and then. The rain got heavier, silencing the rest of the world as Bucky fucked you. His body weight pressing down onto you in a way that made you never want to be anywhere else.

It didn’t matter that you were in a small motel room, so far away from home. It didn’t matter that danger could still be lurking around. Nothing mattered, not when he held your stare as he fucked you hard and fast, barely giving you time to breathe right.

He leaned in again, whispering against the corner of your open mouth, “Look how you behave the moment you have some cock in you. Is that all my baby wanted? Daddy’s cock? Hmm? Is this why you’ve been pouting for the past few hours?” He chuckled, spreading your thighs even more, “I’ve been mean to you, haven’t I?” He cooed, fucking into you deeper somehow. “I’ve been so mean by telling you just where you messed up and how bad things could’ve gotten if I didn’t reach you in time. I’m so mean to you, aren’t I?” He mocked you, scoffing, “Is that why your pussy is strangling my cock, baby? Because daddy’s so mean to you, is he?”

You could feel your face getting hotter as your walls clenched around him over and over again, as he sped up and pounded into you. You felt all of him stretching you out, filling you up, moving rapidly in and out of you until he was all you could focus on.

“Is this what you wanted, little bunny?” He whispered, pounding into you relentlessly as he bent down to bite your lower lip and tug on it. “Is this enough to make you behave from now on, baby?”

You moaned at how perfect his warm body felt on top of yours, his weight pressing down on you. His stubble tickled your skin as he kissed your face and bit on your lip. Your legs trembled as his thrusts, relentless and unbearably good. The pressure around your lower body grew, familiar, tight and hot.

The storm, the streetlights, and every little bit of light allowed you to see how Bucky looked down at you as you tightened around his cock. He smirked, looking down to where his cock disappeared into you each time he thrust in. “I killed for you today.” He whispered, “I saved you, and this is what I get? Attitude? A bratty girl? Not even a thank you,” He scoffed, “Not even a ‘thank you for saving me daddy’, nothing.” The cold cruelty in his voice only made you clench around him harder.

His hand squeezed your throat again, making you moan even louder. “Dirty little slut. Look at you, all cock drunk.” He scoffed, giving you yet another messy kiss. “Are you gonna be good from now on?”

“Yes,” You whined, not recognising your voice because of how desperate you sounded. Then again, only he could make you sound this way. You whimpered, unable to say anything else because of how good he felt sliding in and out of you.

Fuck, you needed this. So much. You whined again when his hand let go of your throat, fingers trailing down your squirming body until his metal fingers found your clit, toying with it while he pounded into you mercilessly.

“Yeah?” He stared deep into your eyes as he spoke. “You’re gonna be my good girl and listen to me?”

You nodded, tears streaming down your face again. The exhaustion from earlier, the day you had survived. It was all too much. “Please…” You whimpered, squirming and unable to hold back anymore. You needed to come so bad. Your thoughts were a mess.

“Good girl.”

And you couldn’t hold back anymore. You came undone all around him. Moaning, your back arching off the bed as you came hard around his cock, tightening around him even harder than earlier.

Bucky kept pounding into you as your orgasm washed over you, your walls squeezing him violently. Your body trembling under him. “That’s it, babygirl. Come for daddy.”

You could hear the untamed hunger in his deep, growly voice. He groaned until he came undone as well. You whined and whimpered as you felt him filling you up, his thrusts slowing down, his cum dripping down your inner thighs.

—

You vaguely remember his cleaning the two of you. He let you rest for a minute, but then it seemed like he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. So he flipped you around, straddled you and began massaging your worn out body.

He rubbed his rough hands all over your back, down your hips, and thighs. It was quiet for a while. Just the rain, the thunder, and the sound of Bucky breathing.

Then you heard his gentle voice. “I can’t lose you. Not you.” He whispered, like he was saying it to himself, “Not you, baby.”

Your heart throbbed and pinched.

He leaned down and kissed the back of your neck, your shoulders, down your spine, all while massaging your body. “I don’t like being mean to you.” He kissed his way up again, nuzzling your ear and whispering, “Earlier today,” He spoke softly, “When I watched the tracker show me how fast you were getting further and further away, thinking about how they must’ve grabbed you. How easily, how quickly they took you, I–,” His voice cracked.

You couldn’t help the tears anymore, “I’m sorry.” You tried to turn over and face him but he gently pushed you back down on the bed.

“Shh,” He shut you up. “Just let me take care of you.” His hands touched you everywhere. Soft touches soothing the spots he’d grabbed harshly earlier. “You scared me, baby.” He kissed around the cut on your side. “For a moment I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I’ll be good, I promise.” You sniffled, trying to look at him over your shoulder. “I’ll train harder, I’ll be better. I won’t let my guard down, ever.”

He leaned in and kissed your lips gently. “You’re perfect.” He stated. “We’ll work on training you better. We’ll be okay. Don’t worry baby, I’ve got you. Always.”

You gave him a teary smile and sheepishly said, “Thank you for saving me.”

Bucky laughed softly, nuzzling your neck again, kissing your skin like he couldn’t get enough. “I would burn this entire world down if anyone tries to take you from me again.”

You laid your head back down on the pillow, laughing softly. Thinking he was joking.

He wasn’t.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #thunderbolts #marvel

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revelboo · 1 month ago

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Carrying the pet headcanons

IDW Megatron x Reader, IDW Starscream x Reader, IDW Wheeljack x Reader, yeah, I’m not listing them all, but just how each mech handles/carries a human.

Starscream

• Carries you cradled against his chassis, servos curled partially around you. Tucks you inside his canopy if there are any other mechs about to hide you. He’s not exactly ashamed of you, more worried about you getting hurt to spite him. With how many enemies he’s made, he fully expects treachery. When he does allow you to ride on his shoulder, one big hand is always up, not touching you, but ready to grab you. It’s easy enough to tell he’s not the happiest with you perched there despite your insistence on being able to see. His wings stay aggressively up the whole time until you take pity on him to climb into his hand.

Thundercracker

• Doesn’t just grab you and it’s honestly adorable as he kneels and offers a huge hand to try and coax you to him like you might a stray dog. You’re pretty sure in his alien mind, you are a stray dog, but the novelty of not just being grabbed makes that realization more amusing than insulting. And his expression when you do willingly come to him to be picked up is too cute. He’s not above bribing you to him with little odds and ends he finds, including food of dubious origin.

Megatron

• Cages you carefully between his hands like a fragile moth he wants to inspect without hurting. For such a huge mech, he’s shockingly gentle with you. A lot of it is guilt, that dark tide constantly threatening to pull him under. Finds your presence soothing, but because of that same guilt, will pass you off to another caretaker given a chance. Can’t trust himself to not accidentally break you. He feels he definitely shouldn’t be entrusted with fragile things when all he’s good at is destruction. But he does love those quiet moments of contact, deserving of them or not.

Ratchet

• Picks you up to almost absentmindedly move you from getting under ped or if you’re just in his way while he’s working. He’s careful about how he handles you, but uncomfortable with just holding you like a favorite pet. Gets the award for being painfully awkward when he does have to carry you, because he’s sure you don’t enjoy being carried like a sparkling. He’s sure you resent it even if you never say a word. You don’t mind when it’s him picking you up. Those clever hands are so gentle with you and the longer he has to carry you, the more uncomfortable and gruff he gets.

Skywarp

• Absolute menace. Carries you like a toddler with their first kitten. One hand too tight around your middle as you hang upside down, because why carry you right side up when you change colors upside down? The more you struggle and swear, the funnier he finds it. Plus, he’s learning so many new, fun words and phrases to use. Most likely to accidentally, on purpose, drop you.

Whirl

• Not a lot better. He seizes you around the middle with one claw and carries you hanging awkwardly face down, arms and legs dangling and your hair in your face. Sometimes swings his arms, because your miserable groaning and complaints are too funny. Won’t hurt you intentionally despite acting like a jerk. Actually pretty protective of you and by his twisted logic, no one else is allowed to mess with you. Only him.

Wheeljack

• Doesn’t really carry you around unless there are other bots about. Honestly, isn’t sure how you feel about being picked up, but you’re so tiny compared to them and he gets anxious whenever he sees you walking in a hall with other Autobots. It doesn’t matter that he knows you’re in no danger. Those times, he makes a line straight for you, scooping you into his servos for your own safety. Half the time, he scares you silly because you hear running, heavy peds behind you, then you’re being grabbed. He means well and you appreciate how much he worries, but, really, you’re fine. The others see you. No one is going to step on you.

Soundwave

• Has a fondness for small things and even though you’re hardly one of his cassettes, will pick you up place you in his chest compartment if he finds you wandering about unsupervised. Being nabbed and dropped into the dark absolutely terrifies you at first, but you can see a dim glow in front of you and hear the hum of the big mech’s inner workings around you. It’s a surprise to both of you when you manage to fall asleep inside him. That cements it for him, he adopts you.

Bonus: Soundwave’s cassettes

• Frenzy seizes you around the middle under your arms and carries you around like a younger sibling, your toes dragging as you squirm to get away. Rumble would rather grab you by a leg and drag you kicking and protesting behind him just to see how long he can get away with it before Soundwave intervenes. As protective as the huge mech is, he’s surprisingly tolerant of his cassette’s mischief. You’re not being physically hurt? He’s allowing it. Cassetticons squabble- it’s how you set your boundaries. More than once, Lazerbeak has dive-bombed you, claws snagging the back of your shirt so he can lift you a foot or so up off the ground, because your terrified yelp sliding into angry swearing is too funny to him. May have dropped you once when your shirt just tears in his claws. Ravage prefers to nudge you along in the direction he wants you to go, but isn’t above carefully gripping your arm in his jaws to firmly tug you along if you’re resisting. Oddly enough, you grow resigned to your “older siblings” fast enough. You don’t really have a choice.

#transformers #starscream x reader #megatron x reader #wheeljack x reader #ratchet x reader #thundercracker x reader #transformers x reader

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fluentmoviequoter · 9 months ago

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The Better, Hidden Half

Requested Here!

Part 2 Here >

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!reader (takes place in The Rookie 1x20-2x1)

Summary: Tim doesn't tell just anyone that he's married. When he's quarantined and his life is threatened by a fatal virus, he asks Lucy to call you, and ends up showing everyone what you mean to him.

Warnings: angst, fluffy comfort at the end, spoilers for episodes 1x20 and 2x1 (this is basically a rewrite, but still includes a brief reference to the suicide line from Tim). reader stress cleans?

A/N: The anxiety/stress cleaning bit is completely self-indulgent; sorry. I tried to manipulate Tim's conversations with Lucy to make them sound more platonic (I don't know if it worked though). I absolutely love this idea and had a ton of fun writing it!🤍

Word Count: 3.9k+ words

Tim Bradford is a man of few words, and he keeps his life separated into two distinct areas: work life and personal life. He tried to bring the two together once, but hated the constant worry that someone from his work life would threaten to hurt people in his personal life or worse, act on their threats. For that reason, for his family’s safety, Tim keeps his life separated, and only a choice few have been chosen to be trusted with a glimpse of both sides of Tim. Angela, Wade, and on occasion, Bishop, see a side of Tim that doesn't exist when he's at work.

✯✯✯✯✯

“How is she?” Angela asks, sitting beside Tim for roll call.

Tim rolls his eyes, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. “I trained her, I’m sure she did fine. Better than your golden boy boot, anyway.”

Angela smiles and leans in to whisper, “Didn’t mean Chen.” She turns her attention to Jackson, calling, “80 might be the passing grade, boot, but if you don’t get at least a 90, you should turn in your badge on general principle.”

Tim leans forward to add, “Officer Chen, I will take it as a personal insult if you get anything less than a 93.”

“Yes, sir,” Lucy answers. “Have you figured out what you’re going to do with all your new free time? Might I suggest a book club?”

Angela elbows Tim under the table, and he glances at her quickly, giving her a displeased stare which only makes her work harder to hide her smile.

“What are you talking about?” Tim asks.

“You know, after I pass, there won’t be any more daily evaluations to write.”

“Whether I evaluate you daily or weekly, I will continue to judge you every minute. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

As Grey enters, Lucy turns to Nolan, who whispers, “I can’t believe he’s single.”

“Tell me about it,” Lucy replies, rolling her eyes. “Evaluating a wife daily would cut into his ‘man of honor’ time.”

They silence as Wade directs the TOs to only take easy calls while the rookies finish their last shift before their exams. When Tim assures that he follows direct orders, he keeps his eyes straight ahead, knowing that Angela and Bishop are ready to tease him the moment he looks in their direction.

✯✯✯✯✯

7-Adam-19, silent hold-up alarm activated at Madame Megan’s psychic shop. 2417 Vine. Code 3.

Tim and Lucy enter the back room, taking control of the situation quickly, and he dials in once again to being a cop. Not a family man or anything of the sort. Just a police officer.

As Lucy walks out, and the (fake) psychic hits on Tim, he can only think of one thing. Excusing himself from the room, with a lack of grace that is unlike him, Tim lets his mind wander for just a moment. He thinks of a promise he made, a vow he took, and then his focus is back on his new case, a missing person discovered by a phony Hollywood psychic.

✯✯✯✯✯

Miles away, you are trying to focus on work, though you find it much harder than Tim to simply push your family and your personal life from your mind at a moment’s notice. Fiddling with your necklace, you refrain from grabbing your phone, wanting to text the only person on your mind. Oblivious to the dangers Tim is learning about from the CDC and Homeland Security, you sigh and clench your hands into fists before attempting to focus again.

Before you make any progress on starting the project awaiting your attention, your phone rings. Tim’s name appears on your screen, and you rush to answer, dread filling you. He never calls while he’s working, and you immediately expect the worst. Surely if it were something terrible, Angela or Wade would call you. If Tim is calling, that means he is okay, he is alive.

“Hello?” you ask, releasing a sigh when Tim says your name.

“Are you alone?” he adds, his voice strained.

“Yes. What’s going on?”

“I need you to stay where you are or go straight home. There’s a terror cell with a biological weapon; we’re doing everything we can to find them, but I need to know you’re safe.”

“Tim- yeah, of course. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I- I really can’t say anything else. Not about what we’re doing. Call me if you need anything. Anything at all, okay?”

“I will. Be careful, Tim. I love you.”

“I love you.”

Your phone beeps as the call ends, and your hand finds your necklace again, one finger slipping into Tim’s wedding ring. He leaves it with you each morning, taking it back with gentle touches and loving kisses when he returns each night. Today, all you can do is trust that he is good at his job and that he will protect you and the rest of LA, and then come back to you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim and Lucy approach one of the possible addresses in the search for newly discovered members of the terror cell.

“Man. And here I thought that test was gonna be the hardest part of my day,” Lucy muses.

“Best case scenario, it’s tomorrow’s problem,” Tim points out. His thoughts, however, are stuck on you, especially when Lucy asks what the worst case is.

“Took you long enough,” the man, Peter Langston, says as he opens the door. “Bag’s in here.”

“Sir, we’re here about the bus you took from Phoenix,” Tim explains.

“No kidding. I called you about the bag.”

“And what bag is that?”

“I thought it was mine on the bus. I picked it up by accident.” Tim follows Langston into a bedroom as he continues, “Noticed as soon as I got home. Called right away. Still took you guys like six hours to get here.”

“Uh, sir, we’re not here about a bag.”

“So, you don’t have mine? My computer’s in there… I went through this one for an address, and all I found was some weird science equipment.”

Tim glances back at Lucy, who calls for the task force at the mention of ‘weird science equipment.’

“Sir, did you touch anything in there?” Tim asks, pulling gloves on.

“Yeah, I cut my finger going through it looking for an address. Some kind of broken vial.”

Tim’s eyes widen and his breath catches as the man raises his bloodied finger, adding that it hasn’t stopped bleeding since it was cut. Hemorrhaging, Tim knows.

“Everything okay in there?” Lucy calls.

“Yeah. Just stay out there,” Tim demands.

The man coughs, and Tim flinches as blood lands on his neck and up onto his jaw. Looking down at the blood on the man’s shirt, Tim’s mind forgets the divide between work and personal life. He takes the initiative to lock Lucy out, slamming the door on her to keep her safe, but his true concern is you. If something happens to him, who will look out for you? Who will be your shoulder to cry on? In a moment, as the reality of the situation dawns on him, Tim thinks like a husband, and he begins to regret keeping you, his wife, hidden for so long.

“Tim, no!” Lucy yells, but she steps forward too late.

Tim is on the other side of the door, a new division created as others are dissolved.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim finds baby wipes on a nearby changing table, wiping the blood from his skin as he lies to Langston, telling him it will be okay and distracting him with meaningless treatments to combat the “bad case of the flu the police were warned about this morning at roll call.”

Langston disappears into the bathroom in search of cold medicine, and Tim walks to the door to ask Lucy, “Everything all right out there, Chen?”

“Uh, yeah. The CDC’s on their way,” she responds. “Hey, you need to come out of there.”

“That’s not gonna happen. Got to keep this contained.”

“Tim-“

“It’s gonna be alright, boot.”

Tim knows that Lucy is concerned about him, and he is similarly concerned for her. He feels responsible for her safety as his rookie, but his thoughts toward her are completely and totally different from his fears concerning you, driven by love rather than mutual respect and duty.

“You keep your head in the game, okay?” Tim encourages Lucy. “Everything’s gonna be fine.”

As Tim looks at the blood-covered wipe in his hand, he thinks of you, and how you’ll respond to the potential notification that he didn’t make it, taken from you by the very thing he tried to protect you from. He turns his attention back to the sick man feet away from him before his thoughts spiral. Tim needs you, so he needs to focus and survive.

✯✯✯✯✯

While the CDC is arriving at the house and quarantining Tim and the infected man, you are pacing in your shared bedroom. Memories of you and Tim exist in every inch of this house, and every moment that goes by without an update increases your worry. Walking into the closet, you find one of Tim’s recently worn shirts, changing into it before picking up the remote to distract yourself. With Tim’s pillow clutched to your chest, you try to laugh at the ridiculous sitcom on the screen, but it doesn’t work as well as you hoped.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Officer Chen, you want to tell me what happened?” Dr. Morgan asks, dressed in full hazmat gear as she enters.

“Yeah, uh, the bus passenger mistakenly grabbed the wrong bag, and the virus must have been in it because he coughed up blood on Tim,” Lucy explains.

“Did you get any blood on you?”

“Uh, no. I was out here. Tim immediately closed the door.”

“Smart man.”

Tim hears Dr. Morgan’s comment and clenches his jaw, knowing you would disagree entirely. At least in this case.

“Hey, doc,” Tim greets, standing against the door.

“How you doing?” Dr. Morgan inquires.

“Fine. But Mr. Langston’s struggling a little.”

“Can you describe his condition?”

“Yeah. He, uh, started coughing blood about 20 minutes ago. Now he’s got a pretty wicked nosebleed.”

“Why aren’t they coming in? Where’s my ambulance?” Langston asks.

“It’ll be here any minute. Just… stay put. Save your energy.”

Lucy interrupts to ask, “Where’s the vaccine?”

“Still in the air,” Dr. Morgan says. “Should land in the next hour or so.”

Scoffing, Lucy argues, “You can’t make Tim wait in there. He might not be infected.”

“Sorry. Quarantine rules exist for a reason.” Dr. Morgan turns to the door and asks Tim, “Officer Bradford, do you mind if I put you to work while you wait?”

“You want to know what’s in the bag?” Tim knows digging through the contents is dangerous, but waiting without doing anything won’t increase his chances of getting home to you.

“Yes, I do.”

“Copy that. Chen, I’m gonna turn on my body cam. You can monitor it from out there.”

“Okay. Please be careful,” she responds.

Tim hears your voice in his mind, telling him the same thing. He trusts himself to listen to you more than his rookie.

“All right. Here we go,” Tim says, using his baton to open the bag.

“Wait. Wait. What is that bottle?” Dr. Morgan wonders.

“Looks like the delivery device,” Tim guesses, raising it carefully from the bag. “It’s a misting fan.”

Dr. Morgan calls Homeland Security with the new information on how the terrorists are planning to spread the virus. As Tim continues searching the bag, failing to find identification or target information, Lucy sees Langston raising a chair in the mirror and yells for Tim just before he is knocked unconscious.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your house is as clean as it has ever been. Using your nervous energy and anxiety-fueled need to move, you clean each room in an attempt to keep your mind from worrying about Tim. You could call someone and ask for an update, but they probably can’t tell you anything. The only comfort you have is knowing that Angela and Wade would call you if you needed to know something. The silence is deafening, but it’s also a good sign.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Tim? Tim!” Lucy continues, growing concerned at the lack of reply.

Tim opens his eyes, moving backward quickly when he sees a puddle of blood running toward his face. He sees Langston standing across the room, mumbling about needing to get out as he tries to break the window. Tim tases him as he stands, and Lucy’s concerned yells continue. Covering his face with his shirt, Tim handcuffs Langston to the bed, shuffling backward as Lucy demands his answer.

“I’m okay! I’m okay!” he replies, breathing heavily. “Well, that was fun.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Tim chuckles. “Kind of depends on your definition of the word.”

While Lucy tells Dr. Morgan to get the vaccine, and the LAPD sends patrol units out to find the other terrorist, Tim keeps his eyes on Langston, but his mind is on you. He should ask someone to tell you and find a way to let you know what is going on, but part of him knows that you are separate from this for a reason. You’re likely worried enough without knowing that Tim’s chance of being infected rises with each moment.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim watches Langston die, unable to do anything as he begs for help and convulses. Imagining himself in Langston’s place, Tim decides that he has to do something. He can’t go out like that, he won’t, but more importantly, he can’t leave you wondering. If Tim dies today, he is not dying without talking to you one last time, showing everyone around him that you are the best part of him.

He leans against the door in silence until Lucy says, “Hey, I, uh- I just checked with Dr. Morgan. The vaccine’s minutes away.”

“You know, you’re good at a lot of things – lying isn’t one of them,” Tim replies.

“You think I’m good at things? Can I get that in writing? … How are you doing? Are there any symptoms yet?"

"I’m sweating like a pig. But it’s probably because it’s 100 degrees in this room.”

Tim sighs just before Lucy assures, “It’s gonna be okay. I really believe that.”

“I’m sure you do. But if it isn’t-“

“Don’t think like that. It’s-“

“If it isn’t,” Tim repeats. “I’m not going out the way my man Pete here just did.”

“What are you saying?”

Tim sighs again, realizing what he said. He would never leave you like that; he’s a fighter. “I need you to do something for me, Chen.”

“Anything.”

“My- my wife is probably worrying herself sick right now. If this doesn’t end like you think it will, can you tell her that I fought to get home to her? Just- just keep an eye on her if anything happens. Wade and Angela, too.”

“Wife?” Lucy asks softly.

Tim smiles, glad to talk about something other than himself or the virus released in the room with him.

“Yeah. We eloped a while back; Grey, Lopez, and Bishop were there.”

“You’ve never mentioned her.”

“I keep her separated. She - everything in my personal life – would be at risk if there wasn’t a divide there.”

“I get that. What’s she like?”

Tim says your name, closing his eyes and picturing you as he tells Lucy how beautiful, kind, and loving you are. “She’s my better half. I don’t- can’t imagine not going home to her.”

“I promise, Tim. I’m confident you will go home to her, but… I promise.”

“Thank you,” Tim says quietly.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Please tell me that’s the vaccine,” Lucy says when Dr. Morgan returns.

“It is,” she answers quickly, walking toward the door quarantining Tim. “Stand back, Officer Chen. You’re not wearing protective gear.”

“Yeah.” Lucy steps back, hoping Tim is okay, and that he gets to go home to you.

“Officer Bradford, it’s time to let me in,” Dr. Morgan calls.

Tim opens the door, greeting Dr. Morgan before answering that he’s not feeling too bad. She tells him that she’s going to administer the vaccine. “It’s experimental, right?” Tim asks.

“That’s correct. So, we’re just going to have to wait and see what happens. Maybe nothing. Maybe you grow horns. But for now, I’d say you might’ve dodged a bullet.”

Tim looks at Lucy to ask, “Can you get Lopez? Ask her to call for me?”

Lucy nods, pulling her radio out to contact Angela. She knows that Tim will need you, no matter how the vaccine works… or doesn’t.

“Lopez,” she says, sighing before saying, “Tim wants to know if you can call his wife.”

“Of course,” Angela answers. “She’ll be at his side, even if I have to go get her in the shop.”

Lucy smiles at Tim, and he sighs as Dr. Morgan administers the vaccine. There’s more hope surrounding Tim now, but the fight may not be over yet.

✯✯✯✯✯

When you see Angela’s name on your phone, you consider not answering. Biting your bottom lip to hold your tears in, you answer.

“He’s okay,” Angela begins.

You sigh in relief, a few tears breaking free anyway. “Thank you, Angela.”

“The vaccine is experimental, so they’re taking him to the CDC for observation; you can visit with the proper protective gear. Do you want me to come pick you up?”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“See you in a few. And, just so you know, he didn’t call me.”

“Who did?”

“His rookie.”

Angela reminds you that she’s happy to pick you up if you want before ending the call. Tim mentioned me, you think. Then you wonder whether or not that’s a good thing.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Hey, I heard you guys saved the day,” Lucy says, exiting Langston’s house to meet Nolan, Jackson, Lopez, and Bishop.

“It was a group effort,” Jackson corrects.

“Glad you’re okay,” Nolan expresses.

“Me too,” Lucy sighs. “I- I mean that you’re okay, too.”

“How’s Tim?” Angela asks.

“I think he’s gonna be all right. Now, 24-hour observation at the CDC.”

“I’ll bet my pension he just told doctors Tim Bradford does not ride in a wheelchair,” Angela jokes as Tim walks out.

“Only way I’m leavin’ out of here is on my own two feet,” Bishop imitates.

“Don’t you guys have paperwork to finish?” Tim retorts.

Tim looks at Lucy, nodding his thanks before continuing to walk toward the car waiting to transport him to the CDC. He stops suddenly in the yard, growing dizzy before he falls backward onto the grass.

“Officer Bradford!” Dr. Morgan yells.

Lucy, Angela, Bishop, and Jackson run toward him before the CDC holds them back. Someone calls for an ambulance, and Angela backs away to make a call.

✯✯✯✯✯

“What happened?” you ask, answering Angela’s second call.

“Meet us at Shaw instead of the CDC,” she says.

You can hear yelling in the background, and repeat, “What happened?”

Angela says your name, unyielding as she says, “Shaw. I’ll meet you there.”

You inhale deeply, turning toward Shaw. Knowing that you have no chance of beating an ambulance escorted by police cars, you grip the steering wheel, hoping that Los Angeles traffic has grace on you, and you make it to Tim’s side quickly.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Tim better make it,” Jackson says.

“He will.” Angela knows that he’s a fighter, but she also knows that losing him will destroy you. He has to make it for himself, for the police department, and most importantly, for you.

In the ambulance ahead, Tim goes into anaphylactic shock. Lucy helps the paramedics and glances at Tim’s left hand. The line where his wedding ring sits is barely visible, but she whispers for him to keep his promise, to keep fighting.

Once the ambulance and the police cars enter into the hospital parking lot, Nolan notices a woman with a gun, alerting the officers surrounding the ambulance before the firefight starts.

Lucy covers Tim in the ambulance as the paramedics assist him as well as the injured medics. Nolan shoots the woman in the shoulder, but his gun jams as he moves closer to her.

Tim opens the ambulance door, downing the armed woman on a surge of adrenaline. Stepping onto the ambulance driveway, he asks Nolan if he’s okay.

“I should have reloaded on the move,” Nolan mutters. “You?”

“I should’ve taken yesterday off,” Tim answers.

“Alright, Officer Bradford, let’s go,” a nurse says, pushing a wheelchair to his side.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Angela!” you call, jogging to her side.

“Don’t freak out,” she begins, but your eyes widen when you see the bullet holes covering, well, everything.

“Where is he?”

She nods, leading you around her shop. Tim is standing beside Nolan, arguing with a nurse.

“I can walk. Clearly, I’m fine,” Tim argues.

You don’t think about how many people are watching as you walk to Tim’s side. He turns toward you, his eyes softening when he sees you.

“Get in the wheelchair,” you demand.

Tim sighs but does as you say. Nolan and Jackson look at each other in shock, and Lucy smiles as she says, “His wife.”

✯✯✯✯✯

When you walk into Tim’s hospital room, he looks like he’s been waiting for you.

“I’m sorry,” he begins.

“For what? Not listening to the nurse?”

Tim chuckles as he raises his left hand, pulling you to his side. “No. I’m sorry for not showing you off more, for never telling people about us. I worried you; I know I did, and you don’t deserve any of it.”

You lean forward, running your fingers across Tim’s jawline as you smile. “You don’t have to show me off. I know why you do it, Tim. Being a secret, being separated and safe, I get it. What I don’t like is not knowing if you’re okay.”

“I don’t want the separation anymore. You are my entire life, and- I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, but I’m not risking this again. The idea of not making it home, leaving you alone, with no one knowing you or how much you mean to me… that was terrible, and I’m sorry.”

Pursing your lips, you lean toward Tim and look into his eyes before scanning your eyes over his face.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Trying to figure out where the Tim I know went.”

Tim smiles, moving over in the bed and tugging you against his side. He taps your necklace before raising your hair away from your neck. You unclasp your necklace, sliding Tim’s wedding ring off the chain. Tim lays his left hand in your lap, and you put his ring on slowly before kissing his hand.

“I love you,” Tim says.

“I love you. And I accept your apology, even though I didn’t need it.”

“Ready to meet the rest of my-“

“Friends?” you fill in, smiling.

“Colleagues,” Tim finishes, shaking his head as his arm tightens around your waist.

“Thank you for making sure Angela called me.”

“How clean is the house?”

You laugh, pressing your face against Tim’s shoulder. He knows you well, and though you didn't know what was truly at stake over the last few hours, you did miss him.

“Hey, Mrs. Bradford,” Wade greets, smiling as he leads a small crowd of officers into the room. “I have some rookies here who don’t believe someone would marry Tim.”

“I changed my mind,” Tim replies. “Get out.”

You elbow him gently, smiling as you stand. “It's much easier when he doesn’t tell people. No association to him.”

Tim laughs behind you, and after shaking hands and introducing yourself, you return to Tim’s side: where nothing can hurt you, everything is safe, and you’re the most important thing in the world.

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x you #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford #the rookie #requests #fem!reader

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junkdrawerfics · 9 months ago

Text

You're Scaring Me

Jasper Hale X Reader

Summary: Request - Can you write one where the reader does something major told her not to do and he gets mad when he finds out and then jasper tries to console her and she’s jus really guilty and upset and then the major comes back out and they talk it thru.

Word Count: 3558

Warning: Angsty maybe. Obviously some unhealthy anger stuff, but it ends well, I promise.

Note: I liked the idea of doing something with the wolves, but felt Jasper/the Major wouldn't ask you to stay away from people, especially if they were your friends. So I took a route regarding reader's safety, since he'd totally go feral over that.

---

Saying Forks was in the middle of a blizzard would be an under exaggeration.

You’d never seen snow like this. You could barely see past your front porch, it was coming down so hard. School had been canceled, of course, and Emmett had convinced the family it would be fun to try hunting with the added challenge of not being able to see.

Jasper had hesitated to join at first, to leave you alone in this storm since your parents were away, but it only took a little soft convincing from you for him to relent.

On one term, at least

“Please stay here ‘til we get back,” the blond repeats worriedly as he puts on a coat - that he doesn’t need, you might add

“It’s not that bad out, Jasper,” you chuckle, eyes glued out the window.

“Darlin.”

His voice shifts subtly. You blink, glancing back at him over your shoulder. Jasper stares right back at you, eyes narrowed, a familiar intensity burning behind them. Your body figures it out before you do, fine hairs standing on end, pupils dilating. A sharp contradiction to the smile that lights up your face.

“Yes, Major?” You ask, barely missing a beat.

The man takes a step towards you, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders straight. It’d be intimidating if you didn’t know better.

“You goin’ to listen for me?” He asks, voice low, accent thicker than before.

“Of course, Major.”

The barest flicker of a smile pulls at the vampire’s lips. Such a sweet thing. The way you look at him - all wide, puppy dog eyes, attentive and loving - it makes him feel raw with the need to protect you, even if it’s just from the blizzard.

Tender in a way he’s never been, the Major touches your chin, drawing close enough that he can feel your warm breath stutter against his lips as he murmurs, “Then be a good girl and stay put for me. I don’t want you out in this weather.”

You can’t help but soften, fondness curling in your chest. He really is just a soft teddy bear at his core.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” you insist, curling your arms around his waist, “I won’t go out, I promise.”

“Good.” The Major closes the small gap between you, lips pressing against yours in an unrelenting kiss. It’s all you can do to keep yourself upright as his hand curls along your jaw, drawing you closer, closer, until your head is spinning from the feeling. You’d think he’s going off to war again by the way he kisses you.

You can barely catch your breath when he pulls away. Heat blooms across your cheeks, and you bury your face in his chest to hide it, which earns a low chuckle from the blond. He presses another kiss to your temple, this one softer, gentler.

“Love you, darlin,” he murmurs, all honey and sweet and Jasper again.

You melt against him, voice muffled by his sweater, “Love you too, Jazz. Stay safe, please.”

“I won’t be long,” he reassures you, “Emmett will give in when he realizes all the animals are hidin’ from the weather.”

You huff a laugh. Perhaps. Emmett is stubborn, reckless, and stubbornly reckless. Once he has an idea in his mind, it’s hard to get him off it, like today. But you’re sure Jasper’s right. He’ll give up once he gets bored.

“I’ll hold you to that mister. I’ll be lonely without you.”

“Well, we can’t have that, now can we?” He leans down, catching your lips one final time. You can feel his grin through the kiss. “Just a couple hours, darlin’. I’ll drag him back if I have to after that.”

He’s still reluctant to leave, but the nagging worries are quieter now, enough that he can drag himself from the comfort of your touch to join his brothers outside. You watch them disappear into the haze of snow, like ghosts, before shuffling back to your kitchen to work on some homework.

It shouldn’t be so hard to stay busy until they get back. Right?

---

That’s what you thought, at least. But one hour quickly turns to two, which quickly turns to three and still no Jasper. By the fifth hour, you’ve finished all your work and find yourself staring into an empty fridge with a growling stomach.

Of course your parents would forget to stock up before going on a business trip.

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you glance outside. It’s still snowing, but not…as bad. You could probably make it to the grocery store and back without any problems. And you’d probably get back before they do, so Jasper wouldn’t even know.

Everything would be fine.

You layer up, tucking a scarf tightly around your neck. It might be a little lighter outside, but it’s still well below freezing. It’ll be quick, though. The grocer is maybe a five minute walk, and you only need a couple things.

Popping your hood up, you grab your house keys and venture out, shuffling the whole way there.

---

“Brave of you to venture out in this,” the cashier chimes, scanning your microwave meal and milk - you figure you might as well get stuff for breakfast too.

“Didn’t have much of a choice,” you hum shakily, teeth still chattering as you hand him some cash, “I’d rather be cold for a bit instead of going hungry.”

“Fair ‘nough!” The cash register dings and he hands you some change. “Stay safe out there, miss.”

“Thanks.” You cast him a smile, “You too. Hope it clears up a bit before you have to leave.”

“God willing.”

You slip your gloves back on and heave the bag of supplies from the counter.

On the walk back, you’re a little less careful, eyes wandering as you tread through the snow. The journey here hadn’t been so bad. Sure you’d almost slipped a few times, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as you thought it’d be. It was actually almost nice, once your face went numb at least.

Your thoughts wander to the food in your hands, pace picking up a bit as you think about how nice a warm meal will be after this. And well earned after a long day of work and a hazardous journey to get it. Maybe you could cuddle up on the couch and turn on a movie while you eat. That sounds ni-

-and you’re falling.

You screech, boots slipping against the ice as the world tilts wildly. Instinctually, your eyes squeeze shut and you wait for the impact, hoping your layers might be enough to cushion the fall.

They are, thankfully. But they aren’t enough to stop your ankle from twisting as you tumble a bit off the sidewalk.

The pain is instant. It pulses up your leg, sharp and fiery compared to the cold seeping into your bones. You suck in a sharp breath, teeth gritting as you bury your face in the snow. It’s all you can do to keep yourself from crying, that stinging sensation starting in your eyes, a lump forming in your throat.

God, you’re so screwed.

—

“Darlin, I’m back,” Jasper calls out softly, brushing the ice from his hair as he slips into your warm house.

Almost instantly, he can tell something’s wrong. Jasper stops, brow furrowing. Usually you’d be bounding up to tackle him by now, a beautiful smile on your lips, asking how things went. It’s something constant, a custom he enjoys more than he’ll admit.

There’s no greeting this time, though. Even as he stills, focusing on the sounds of the house, he can’t hear a thing. No footsteps, no heartbeat. It’s eerily silent, empty.

You’re not here.

An uneasy feeling settles in his chest. Jasper speeds through the house, checking each room, hoping his ears are just tricking him. Maybe you’re just asleep or reading in some corner. With each empty room, though, the feeling worsens, gripping him by the throat, unrelenting and violent. He’s spiraling, he knows it, can tell he’s walking along an all too familiar edge, blurred between himself and-

The Major pauses at the door to your bedroom. Empty. Your coat isn’t where you usually leave it. Neither are your boots. It leaves little doubt in his mind where you’ve gone.

You didn’t listen to him.

The blond takes a slow breath, holding back the anger that washes over him, white hot and smoldering.

It’s rare for you to not listen to him. You know his none-too-gentle requests are for your safety, they always are. Because while Jasper would rather die a million times than see you hurt, the Major would bring the world to its knees if it meant keeping you safe. He’s never had something as good as you in his life and the need to protect that, to protect you, well - that drives him to his knees. And now you’re out in this storm. By yourself.

The door slams as he throws himself back out into the snow to find you.

---

The snow is picking up, you notice glumly as you carefully flip over in the snow. Even the slightest movement makes pain prickle up your leg, but you can’t lay face down in the snow much longer, not with how you’re quickly losing feeling in your nose.

You sniffle, swiping at your eyes to keep the tears away. What are you supposed to do now? It’s not like you can stay out here. Frostbite doesn’t exactly sound appealing, but neither does the idea of limping home with this pain. You could call…No, no, he’d be so mad. You can’t call Jasper.

Not that fate really cares about what you think.

You squeak when a pair of arms suddenly lifts you out of the snow. The only thing that keeps you from screaming is the familiar cold touch of your captor and the mess of blond hair flickering in the snowy breeze. The fear slowly disappears when you realize it’s just Jasper.

Quickly replaced by a tight, anxious feeling in your chest when you see the tense set of his jaw and how the lines in his neck stand out under his pale skin. He’s upset. He’s upset with you and your ankle is still throbbing and your eyes are stinging again and-

You inhale shakily, an apology ready to spill off your lips, but the look he gives you makes it all die on your tongue. His usually stoic expression turns dark, eyes narrowed with barely restrained anger.

“You open that mouth, sugar, and I promise I won’t be goin’ easy on you,” he drawls, low and heavy, accent dripping off each word.

Not Jasper. You bite your lip, eyes immediately dropping to your lap. Definitely not Jasper.

You can’t bring yourself to break the stifling silence after that. Not when you can practically feel the Major’s anger radiating from him, which does nothing to ease the turmoil swirling inside of you. The soldier is never this open with his emotions, usually so careful to maintain a mask of indifference. With each step, you can feel the tension rising, his grip tightening, and your chest almost hurts from how hard your heart is beating.

It all comes to a head when you make it to the house. The moment your feet hit the ground, and he knows you're safe, the reins of his control slip, an uncontainable rage burning through him.

“I told you not to go out,” he mutters, pacing back and forth in your small entryway.

He can’t stay still, too scared of what he could do. Every cell in his body desires to pin you against the wall, handle you rough and selfish, make you realize how awful it felt to come back and find you gone. But he can’t. He won’t. That’s not what you deserve, he knows that. Jasper would be better at this, he would be gentle, but the Major has never been good at gentle.

You blink at him, wide-eyed from the door. It’s like watching a lion pace at the bars of a zoo, except there’s nothing between you and him. Nothing to keep you safe except him. He could do anything and you wouldn’t be able to stop him. You’re just a human, after all. And the Major has had his share of violence. Even though you know he would never hurt you, you can’t stop your hands from shaking.

“I wasn’t, I wasn’t going to be out long,” you try and explain, digging your fingers into the material of your coat, “I promise-”

“You promised you’d stay put,” he drawls roughly, hands clenching behind his back.

“I was just goi- going to get food!”

The blond grits his teeth, his usual impassive tone sharpening, “What on earth were you thinkin’?”

“I- I thought I’d be back before you,” you spit out, and immediately snap your mouth shut.

The Major stops pacing, every muscle in his body going rigid. You bite your cheek, pulse racing as he slowly turns to you, those gold eyes burning so dark you swear they almost look red. Like blood. Something tightens in your chest. That was the wrong thing to say.

“So you purposefully disobeyed my orders?”

“I didn’t-”

“You decided to be foolish and risk your life goin’ out in this storm,” he growls, slowly closing the space between you, “without anyone knowin’?”

You shrink back a little, panic clouding your head. The Major stops in front of you, frame towering over yours, making you feel impossibly small. Tears prick at your eyes as you shuffle back against the door, pain shooting up your leg as you put weight on it.

“Answer me, darlin.” He doesn’t relent, eyes burning into you. Waiting.

A lump forms in your throat. You bite your cheek, desperate to keep the tears at bay, eyes glued to his boots. You can’t. You can’t do this.

But the blood drains from your face when a fist slams into the door beside you, practically splintering the wood. You can feel it shake against you before settling into silence.

“I’m not goin’ to ask again, (Y/n),” he murmurs, deadly calm again.

You hold your breath, slowly bringing your eyes back up to the Major, and the look on his face makes your heart drop. It’s drawn into something unnervingly blank, cold. No more anger, just…

“Major-“ A tear breaks down your cheek, your voice unbearably quiet. “You’re scaring me.”

The change is instant.

Like light breaking through the clouds, the emptiness leaves his eyes, filling them back with warmth and concern and love.

And you crumble.

Jasper catches you with ease, arms wrapping around you tenderly as he lowers you both on the ground. You curl into him, face buried in his coat as the tears come freely now. You couldn’t stop them even if you wanted, and you’re just so tired, so hurt. There’s nothing left in you, all you can do is cry and cling to him for dear life.

“‘m sorry, I’m sorry,” you hiccup miserably, and Jasper feels his still heart break. “I’m so sorry, Jazz, I didn’t mean to. I just, I just needed food, and it wasn’t that far, and I thought- I thought-”

He hushes you softly, fingers brushing through your hair as he unwinds the swirling mess of your emotions. You can feel it, you’ve always been able to, the subtle shifts and gentle pulls. Never too much, because he knows you wouldn’t want that, but enough so you’re not drowning in them.

Eventually you’re calm enough to take a full breath, the air stuttering past your lips as you go limp in Jasper’s hold. He draws you tight against him, brushing his hand down to rest at the nape of your neck, just a comforting, constant pressure.

“You’ve nothin’ to apologize for, darlin,” he murmurs eventually, voice muffled in your hair. “I’m the one who should be. I had no right treatin’ you like that, no matter how worried I was.”

“But-”

“No,” he cuts you off firmly. “It wasn’t right, darlin. It was my fault for bein’ late. He…He’s mighty overprotective of you, and he- I don’t know how to handle myself well when it comes to you. I hope you can forgive me.”

“I do…” You sniffle, the sound soft and sad, but your grip on him tightens. “But I should’ve listened, then I wouldn’t have slipped and gotten hurt.”

Jasper pulls you back suddenly, brows furrowed in surprise, “What? You’re hurt? Where? Do I need to get Carlisle?”

You laugh weakly, his overwhelming concern easing the tightness left in your chest. The tension drips from your muscles, adrenaline slowing. “No, no, I’m fine. I just, I fell…outside and I think I twisted my ankle, is all.”

“Let me see.”

You squeak as he sweeps you up for the second time today. You wrap your arms around his neck as he carries you to the couch. Every touch is slow, careful, as he sets you down and goes to work on getting your boots off. You wince a little when you have to bend your ankle, and he murmurs a quiet apology.

Relief washes over you though when his cool fingers smooth over your heated skin. It’s like the best ice pack ever. You can’t help but sink into the couch with a sigh, eyes fluttering shut.

Jasper purses his lips. It must have been a bad fall since your ankle is angry and swollen. He should have come back sooner, then this wouldn’t have happened. You wouldn’t have gone out in the storm, you wouldn’t be hurt, and the Major never would have scared you.

His thoughts flashes back to the look on your face. The fear glimmering in your eyes as he leaned over you. It’s burned into his mind, replaying over and over.

“Major, you’re scaring me.”

After a few seconds too long of silence, you peek an eye open. Jasper kneels, statue still in front of you, eyes set on something distant. A frown catches your lips, and you lean forward, touching his chin gingerly. Those gold eyes dart up to you, coming into focus, flicking between their usual warmth and a familiar steeliness. You shake your head fondly.

“Major,” you call, hand resting against his cheek, “come on, let’s talk.”

He straightens ever so slightly, but instead of drawing back like you’d expect, the stoic man covers your hand with his own, turning to skim his nose to the inside of your wrist. He takes a deep breath, eyes closed. You sit there, just like that for a while, watching him quietly.

When he talks, his voice is a low, calm rumble, his lips brushing against your skin, “I’m sorry for actin’ like such an animal, sugar.”

You purse your lips. A part of you wants to just forgive him. Move on from all of this and forget it. But then you remember the sound of his fist hitting the door, the way it resounded in your chest in place of your heartbeat. You’ve never felt like that, and you don’t want to feel like that again.

“I know you were worried,” you start nervously, wetting your lips. The Major doesn’t say a word, eyes set on you patiently, just waiting for you to continue. You take another deep breath, “I know you asked me to stay home and it upset you that I didn’t. I know you want to keep me safe. But…but it scared me, how angry you got, and that’s, that’s not okay.”

“It’s not,” he hums in agreement, thumb brushing soothingly over your pulse.

You nod and feel a little more confident as you go on, “I, I might do something you don’t like in the future, and if I do, you need to talk to me first. Nicely, please. I love you, like I love Jasper, but we’re equals, even if you’re a lot stronger and bigger than me. ” His lips twitch a little in amusement. You shoot him a scolding look, which makes him fall back into seriousness. “I don’t take orders. I listen because I know you care, but you need to listen to me, too. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He pulls your hand back, pressing a brief kiss to your knuckles. It softens you a bit. A small smile draws across your lips. “You have my solemn word, it won't happen again. And my deepest apologies.”

“You’re forgiven,” you chirp. The last of your worries melt away at the smile he gives you, all lopsided and charming. You shake your head with a laugh, “But you owe me, mister.”

“Well, of course,” he concedes easily, desiring nothing more than to cheer you up now, “What can I do for you, little lamb?”

Shifting awkwardly, careful of your ankle, you jab a finger at the plastic bag you dropped by the door, “Make me some dinner! Cause I’m starving and that’s what got us into this mess.”

The vampire laughs, fully laughs. It’s something you don’t get to hear often, so you absolutely love it. Love him and the way his eyes crinkle with mirth as he pushes himself to his feet, tipping a nonexistent hat to you. Jasper.

“It would be my pleasure, darlin.”

“Thanks, hun.”

---

This was SO hard to write! I suck at doing anger, because it's hard to represent the unhealthy relationship stuff. I tried to turn it around cause I believe ultimately he's a respectful man, and that's how I want to portray him.

So I hope you guys like this! Sorry if the pacing's weird or anything, I just wanted to get it done!

#reader insert #x reader #reader #jasper hale #jasper whitlock #twilight saga #twilight #jasper hale x reader #jasper whitlock x reader #jasper x reader #the major x reader #the major #angst

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little-diable · 3 months ago

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Bad Omen - Tyler Owens (smut)

This was somewhat requested by a lovely anon reader, so I tried to incorporate it as much as I could. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Reader and Tyler have hated one another with a burning passion for years, but when they get stuck in his dying truck with a tornado nearing both seem to realise that their reasons for hating the other aren’t as valid as they thought they were.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, oral (f), reader gets slightly hurt, enemies to lovers, some angst

Pairing: Tyler Owens x fem!reader (2.8k words)

“Tell me this is a fucking joke, Owens!” Sweat was pooling on her forehead, adding to the clammy feeling she hadn’t been able to shake for the past minutes. Curses rolled off his tongue, words she couldn’t spare any attention to as her surroundings began to close in on her. “Tyler!”

Her panicked voice managed to rip him out of his own state, fully focused on getting his truck to start again. Both had been stuck there for a good ten minutes, being shaken from one side to the other as his truck died in the middle of a field. They were surrounded by nothing but a wooden barn the nearing tornado would rip apart any minute now.

“Would you shut up for a second, (y/n)! I’m trying to save our fucking lives here.” She had known that driving with Tyler had been a mistake, a mistake she had made only for her friends to get some bonding time with Boone and Lily. A mistake she was now paying the price for while being stuck in his truck without a way to reach their friends. “Fuck, of course this only happens when you’re around.”

“What is that supposed to mean? I’m not some bad fucking omen.” A groan ripped through Tyler at her spiteful words, a sound that was swallowed by the cries of the nearing tornado. Both were staring at it, heavily swallowing as it dawned on them that they had no place to hide, unable to find shelter in the truck that would normally be secured to the ground.

“Stop putting words in my mouth, (y/n)!” Anger dripped from his words as Tyler kept fumbling around. He was too distracted to pick up on the tears welling up in her eyes, too distracted to fully notice the panic she was swallowed by. Fears buzzed through her mind, fears that grew louder with every passing second.

“Fuck, I don’t want to die with you by my side, that’s the worst scenario ever.” Her words drew a laugh from Tyler who stared at her for a second or two. The whole thing seemed surreal, not once had his truck died on him before, not once had he worried about his safety while he was driving it straight into a tornado, all until today.

“Trust me, darling, you’re also not my first choice to spend the last minutes of my life with.” The truck was rattling from the heavy winds, shaking them while (y/n)’s hands darted out to stabilize herself. Another shake followed seconds later, too powerful to catch herself before her temple connected with the metallic outline of the window, forcing a pained groan out of (y/n).

“Shit, are you alright?” Her reply was swallowed by the sound of Tyler’s truck roaring to life, drawing relieved sighs from both while he managed to secure the truck. Her shaking hand found her temple, unable to bite down a hiss as blood coated her fingers. She felt his eyes on her, quietly watching (y/n) before he reached for her chin, tilting her head in his direction.

“Does it hurt?” She barely understood the question, drowned out by the sounds of the tornado which was about to swallow the truck. (Y/n) tried to ignore the concern dripping from his words, concern that also swam in the bright pupils wandering over her features.

“Of course it hurts, you dipshit!” Tyler let go of her instantly as if her skin was suddenly burning him. His jaw muscles ticked in anger, eyes focused ahead while darkness momentarily swallowed them. (Y/n) reached for her backpack to press a tissue against her wound, hissing once again as the thin fabric made contact with her skin.

“What did I ever do to you for you to be such a bitch whenever I’m around?” Tyler’s words drew her glassy eyes back to his angry features, breath getting stuck in her throat as her eyes found his. (Y/n) had to look away after a few seconds, trying to ground herself before finding her voice again, solemnly focused on Tyler and not on the tornado both had been chasing for most parts of their morning.

“How can you even ask me that? Did all the chasing shake your memory? You fucked me over the first times we met, Owens. You left us behind while we counted on your help.” Her voice was cold, fuelled by the anger thumping through her veins like a drug poisoning her system. Everything in her screamed at (y/n) to chase the distance, to move away from Tyler as quickly as possible. She had been too close for too long already, needing to get away from the man who made her feel all kinds of things she couldn’t put a name on.

“I fucked you over? You stole my data, all that work was lost because of you, of course I didn’t trust you no more!” Tyler’s voice boomed through the truck, almost as loud as the tornado had been. Her mind was racing, knowing that she hadn’t stolen anything from him which left her wondering what he was talking about.

“I didn’t steal shit from you, why should I? We work on different areas, Owens. Your data wouldn’t help me.” No longer was she close to screaming, no longer was her voice guided by anger and hate as it slowly began to settle in that both had been stuck in heavy miscommunication for a while now.

“But only your group was around that week, and Michael.” A “Fuck” left Tyler seconds after he had ended his sentence, wondering how he could have been that stupid. Of course, it had been the sketchy guy he had been forced to work with on the project, a guy who had bailed on Tyler at the first given chance, blaming (y/n) and her team for their mishaps.

“Seems like you need to work on your people skills, Owens.�� Chuckles broke out of (y/n) as she shook her head at him, followed by a groan as her headache settled in.

“Let’s get you to a hospital, and then we’ve got some talking to do.“

……

“Who would have thought that a massive band aid would look that good on you.” Tyler shot her his signature smirk while she found her way back to him. She was a bit uneasy on her trembling feet, too shaken by the last hour and the emotional whirlwind both had been caught in, from thinking they were about to die to realising that they got to live another day where their enemy slowly turned into somebody else.

“Shut it, Owens.” She rolled her eyes at him, brushing past Tyler but being unable to escape him due to the fingers that found her belt loops, pulling her back in. (Y/n) collided with his broad chest, having to place her hands against his shirt before she could lose her balance.

“How about a thank you, huh?” He was walking a fine line, risking another spiral of anger she’d instantly pull him into, but the smile tugging on her lips told a completely different story. (Y/n) stared up at him for a second or two before one of her hands wandered up his neck, pulling him down to her to brush her lips against his ear.

“For a thank you you will have to work harder than that.” And with a soft chuckle clawing through (y/n), she pushed Tyler away to make it out of the hospital. He stared at her for a second or two before snapping out of his trance, unable to bite down his grin while jogging after her.

His hand clamped down on her wrist, once again forcing her to a halt before she could open the passenger door of his truck. (Y/n) found herself getting lost in his bright eyes, not used to the sudden warmth his touch now pushed through her instead of the anger she no longer felt. Both moved at the same time, getting lost in one another’s embrace while he dipped his head down.

But before he could kiss her, Tyler angled his head to the side, brushing his lips against the corner of her mouth, “You’re playing a dangerous game, darling, and I ain’t one for losing.”

……

“C’mon, don’t fall asleep on me, darling.” Tyler was sitting on her motel bed, pressed against (y/n). They had shared dinner a while ago, finding shelter in the dark room while she tried to stay awake, all because of her doctor’s orders.

“Well then do something to entertain me, the movie sucks.” Her chuckles rang in his ears, sounds that made his heart beat faster as he gazed down at her while her eyes found his. Tyler pondered over his choices for a second or two before he tilted his head down and kissed her, softly pressing his lips against (y/n)’s.

It took her a second to give in to the touch, allowing her hand to find the back of his neck to pull Tyler further down towards her. Their lips kept meeting, sharing desperate kisses that were fuelled by the emotions both were still a stranger to after deeply hating the other for the past years. A hate that had always been accompanied by a form of lust and longing for the other, longings they had never dared to even think about for longer than a handful of seconds.

Tyler shuffled around to hover over her, keeping her trapped between him and the bed while her hands moved from his neck to his shirt, slowly popping open the first few buttons. Her fingernails scratched at his skin as she tried to push the fabric down his broad shoulders, leaving him to groan at the feeling of her skin pressed against his.

For a second, he interrupted the kiss, chasing the distance to rid himself of his shirt. (Y/n) had seized the moment to reach for his belt, unbuckling it with a kind of urgency that made both their hearts race even faster. Her shirt followed moments later, exposing her bra-clad chest to his wandering eyes - a sight that made his cock twitch in his tighter growing jeans.

“Lean back, baby, let me do the work, you shouldn’t move much.” His voice dripped with lust, a low growl that shot shudders down her spine. (Y/n) sank back into the pillows, watching Tyler move closer to slowly undo her bra. Within seconds he had latched onto her right nipple while his hand palmed her left breast, making her sigh in relief.

Tyler seemed to know exactly how she needed to be touched, how to draw her closer to the edge she’d eventually fall from. He was everything she hadn’t known she needed, while he had deep down always known that having (y/n) would mean his end. Every second was cherished by the both of them, though while Tyler tried to calm himself, (y/n) silently prayed that he’d move faster.

“Tyler,” his name rolled off her tongue like a Sunday morning prayer, repeated over and over again. Their eyes held contact as he kissed his way down to her jeans, undoing them with skilled fingers to pull them down her legs with her panties in tow. And there she laid, naked in front of him as he thanked his lucky stars for pushing them into this mess. His fingers itched to take a picture of her, needing to remember this very moment until he’d take his last breath, but the sigh of his name forced him to move again.

“Shh, I got you, baby. Let me take care of you.” With her thighs spread for him to settle between, Tyler kissed his way to her aching core. His calloused fingertips felt rough against her pulsing bundle, adding enough friction to get her to arch her back. (Y/n)’s eyes fluttered close the second his tongue brushed her folds, groaning at her taste.

“Oh fuck, Ty’, need more.” His chuckles vibrated on her skin, making her shudder while he pushed two fingers into her. Her walls fluttered around his digits, curled against her swollen spot while he sucked on her bundle. Moans clawed through (y/n), knowing that he was pushing her towards her orgasm all too quickly.

“You taste so sweet, how could I have missed out on this for so long.” Tyler’s groans made her chuckle - sounds that bled into moans as he sucked on her clit again. She gave it a few more seconds before pushing him away, leaving him confused while she tried to catch her breath.

“Fuck me, make me cum on your cock.” Her whispered words made him groan, forcing Tyler to move to get rid of his jeans and boxers, exposing his aching cock to her eyes. (Y/n) made a silent note to suck him off later tonight, needing to feel him rest on her tongue.

She watched Tyler rip open a condom with his teeth, rolling it down his cock before settling between her thighs again. He hovered over her, had one hand pressed to the mattress next to her pillow, while the other held onto her hip. Their eyes stayed connected as he pushed into her, leaving both groaning in relief.

“You’re even tighter around my cock, you’ll be the death of me, darling.” His words felt like praises, making her lightheaded and aching for air to flood her gasping lungs. Her walls fluttered around him to pull him in deeper, allowing Tyler to push fully in before pulling out again, set on a slow rhythm.

“Faster, please.” An almost devilish smirk tugged on his lips, his bright eyes twinkled with mischief but his thrusts stayed slow, calculated almost.

“You can’t move too much, baby, gotta take care of your head.” Her teeth were buried in her lower lip, leaving marks while she stared up at him with annoyance laced in her gaze. Tyler could only chuckle at her while fucking into her deeper, clearly enjoying her struggling. One of her hands found his cheek, pulling him down for a kiss while wrapping her legs around his waist.

Both groaned in unison as she tugged him in closer, wondering how they fit together so perfectly. Too much time has been lost over the last years, time they could have spent just like that, pressed together in the most intimate way imaginable. Time they now had to make up for, chasing highs and lows together, giving in to the emotions they had to adapt to, all while falling in love with one another.

“Stop teasing me, I don’t care about my head.” Her words left him chuckling, spurring him on to move a tad bit faster - but not nearly fast enough to push her closer towards the high she was aching for.

“Ask nicely for it.” It was a simple command - a command she’d normally curse him for with calling him all sorts of names. But she was desperate, aching for her orgasm only he could push through her now.

“Please, Tyler. Fuck me harder, make me cum.” He didn’t reply verbally, only moved faster with a smirk resting on his lips. She left marks on his back with her fingernails, making her shudder against him while her free hand found her aching bundle of nerves, giving her the needed push.

Tyler watched her fall apart beneath him, a sight that left his chest swelling with pride. His hips kept meeting hers, fucking her through her high while his own moved closer. With a deep groan Tyler followed her down the edge moments later, forehead pressed against hers, hand fisting the bed sheet.

He pulled out of her, got rid of the condom and found his way back to her to pull (y/n) against his warm chest. Both were chasing their breaths while clinging to the other, allowing it all to finally sink in.

“How’s your head?” Tyler’s whispered words made her smile, pressing a kiss to his naked chest before allowing her eyes to find his bright ones. She cupped his cheek with one hand to feel his stubble pressing against her palm, cherishing the calm moment that felt all too new to them both.

“Not hurting, thank you for taking care of me.” She pressed another kiss to his chest before letting her head drop against it, hearing his slightly accelerated heart pound in his chest.

“Anything for you, baby.”

#Tyler Owens smut #Tyler Owens x Reader #Tyler Owens Imagine #twisters #glen Powell

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deathbyday · 11 days ago

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-'⁠🫧*⁠.⁠✧ MOUTHWASHING ✧.⁠*⁠🫧'⁠ -

“How could we end up here…?”

Daisuke x implied F!Reader

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Written By: DeathByDay

(Also written on Mobile)

2 MONTHS AFTER THE CRASH

You, Jimmy, Daisuke, Swansea and Anya sat at the lounge table. You haven’t grouped up with everyone in a while. They were always busy dealing with the aftermath of Captain Curly’s doings. Honestly, you were too. You couldn’t believe that he would do something like that.

You all stare at Jimmy, waiting for him to start speaking. You sit beside Anya while Daisuke sits across from you, Swansea right beside him. Jimmy sits on the end of the table, appearing as the leader.

“Anyone else would do the same thing.” Jimmy speaks, his voice calm. “We ain’t touching the damn cargo. The hold is locked down for a reason. The only thing worse than dying slowly is not getting paid.” Swansea argues.

You glance up at him, giving him a weird look. “But it could be something useful. I think-..” Anya attempts to reason with the short haired man, but failed to do so. “Could be what? Hopes, dreams and marzipan?” He chuckles, glaring at the black haired woman.

Anya tries to speak again, but she gets cut off by Jimmy. “If it helps us survive it’s worth it.” He mutters. You stare between the trio, not knowing whose side you’re on. Jimmy did have a point about how if it gives you an advantage to live, you’ll have to take it.

But a small percentage of you can’t help but wonder if it’ll hurt one of you. Or worse, all of you. You bite your lip as Daisuke chimes in. “Man, Pony Express bosses really aren’t chill at all, huh?” Everyone turnes their heads towards him, including you.

“C’mon! A quick look won’t hurt.” You gently shove Daisuke’s leg with your foot, getting his attention. “What if we get hurt trying to look?” You question, a worried expression glazing your face.

“That wouldn’t happen, Y/N.” Anya replies, a soft smile appearing on her lips for a moment. You can’t help but keep thinking about it. Even if it wasn’t going to happen, what if it did?

“How exactly is this group therapy committee planning on getting in there?” Swansea asks before Daisuke turns to him, exposing his solution.

“Right here, boss!” He happily replies. “You’re looking at the meanest swing of the regional junior baseball team. Straight up nearly corked a kid once!” He brags, a grin plastered on his lips.

“I can take the utility axe and-..” Swansea slams his hand on the table before shouting. “You were goddamn born fully corked!” He retorts. Daisuke’s smile slightly softens, but it was still noticeable.

“That’s enough, Swansea.” Jimmy cuts in before he could say anything worse. “There has to be an ‘in case of emergency’ way inside.” Anya perks up before speaking.

“If I remember correctly from the safety protocols, the doors should have an alternate access code. But, it can only be uncovered using a code scanner device.” She explains.

“Isn’t the only person who has access to the code scanner the captain?” You murmur, tilting your head. Jimmy nods, confirming your question. “Of course! Go ahead and ask him all about it then. Maybe he’ll sing ya the blues too.” Swansea sarcastically declares.

“We don’t need him if we find the scanner, get the code, and open the hold.” Jimmy argues. “For better or worse, I’m captain now. I’ll figure it out.” Your brows furrow, hasty eyeing the brunette male.

Nobody discussed that he would be the new captain. Although he was the second in command before the crash, it still felt wrong.

“Right on!” You wish you could punch Daisuke in the face right now. You love him, but god could he be dumb. Now that Jimmy’s the captain, he’s the one to search for the code scanner. You all let him be, going to do your own thing. You follow Daisuke down to the digital screen, wanting to talk to him.

Your arms sit crossed over your chest, a worried expression plastered on your face. You turn your head to see Jimmy searching for the scanner around you two first. You glance back down at the brunette before speaking.

“Are we sure we want Jimmy to be the new captain? It just feels wrong to me. You know Jimmy’s always rambling to himself about how he should be the leader, not Curly.” You mutter, keeping your voice low.

Daisuke smiles up at you, trying to ease any doubt you have about Jimmy. “I’m sure it’ll be fine, babe. You don’t need to worry about him.” He reassures, his voice soft.

You take a sharp breath in, not giving a very confident nod in agreement before smiling back, thankful for his comfort. Suddenly, Jimmy walks up to the both of you, causing your smile to disappear as Daisuke spoke.

“Looks like it’ll be soup again for dinner. You wanna rock paper scissors for the chicken noodle?” He suggests half-jokingly, trying to lighten the current situation. “How much food do we have left?” Jimmy replies, not in the mood for any kind of game.

“I think around 4 to 5 months, maybe in between?” You chime in, glancing at Jimmy. He thought for a moment before speaking. “Less than the remaining air supply, but we can make it last.” He hums.

“We’ll be starting to poke new holes in our belts pretty soon to pull that off.” Your anxiety worsened as he pointed out starving yourselves, not wanting to have to cut down on eating just to make sure the food supply last longer.

“Man, my mom will straight up stuff me when I get back. I’ll look like Swansea!” Daisuke chuckles. “We’ll have a rad story to tell, though. They might even write articles about us. We could be on TV!” His eyes seem to light up at the thought.

You chuckle before placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself, Daisuke. We still need to figure out how to even get out of here safely.” Although it would be nice to be famous, you couldn’t help but think of the reality.

It was silent for a few seconds until Jimmy spoke up. “..It’ll impress your parents too.” He nods as Daisuke grins like a little boy at his words. “Mhm!” He hums in agreement before nervously chuckling.

“The real problem is us running out of toilet paper. Fatal stuff, man.” He scratches the back of his head. “We should leave that part out for the press, huh?” You bite back a giggle as Jimmy changes the subject.

“Has Swansea been like this towards you for your whole internship?” He asks, his brow raising in thought. “That’s just how he is!” Daisuke defended. “Didn’t want a spud like me following him around for an entire year.”

“This isn’t really the internship experience anyone had in mind.” Jimmy mumbles, shrugging his shoulders. “Don’t let him push you around too much.”

“His bark is worse than his bite. He may be cranky, but he is legit a wizard of a mechanic!” You recall a few times where Swansea was fixing things in front of you, causing you to chime in.

“Yeah! I’m surprised he still has it in him, seeing as he’s almost at retirement age. I guess hard work does pay off.” You hum, a small smile crossing your face.

“I’m sure he’d appreciate your thoughts.” You couldn’t tell if Jimmy was being sarcastic or not, but you nodded anyway. You cross your arms against your chest once again as Daisuke changes the topic.

“Did you find the scanner thing yet? I’d ask Anya about it, she’s been reading the safety manual like a bible since the crash.” Jimmy nods as a ‘thanks’ before looking up at you, making eye contact for a split second. You instantly look away, not saying anything.

He didn’t mention it and turned his back to you both, possibly to search for Anya in the medical room.

————

You were cut off mid sentence by the sound of the lounge door opening, causing you and Daisuke to turn your heads to where the sound came from. It only took a few seconds for you to realize Anya was the one who ran through the door.

Her legs gave out as she clutched her chest. From the screen of the sunset, you could hear her heavy breathing. You were about to call out her name, asking if she was alright, but Daisuke wrapped his hand around your forearm.

You looked back towards him, brows creased in concern. He shook his head as to tell you to leave her alone and let her calm down, so you did. You kept your voice low, just in case it would trigger her.

After a few minutes, the door opened once again. This time, Jimmy came through it. He walked up to Anya and crouched down beside her.

“We don’t have a whole lot of painkillers left.” He muttered, ignoring the fact she looked like she was going to have a panic attack. “But you still want to keep-..”

“Why do you think he did it?” Anya cut him off, not paying attention to what he said. “Does it matter? What answer would make you feel any better?” He sternly replied, no hint of empathy in his voice.

“I have to believe that our worst moments don’t make us monsters, Jim.” She whispered. “…I have to. Even in his case.”

“He tried to take us all down with him, Anya.” It almost sounded like Jimmy was on the verge of yelling at her. “The way I see it, there’s two reasons to keep him alive at this point.”

You couldn’t stop staring at the two, watching their conversation. Even though Daisuke tried to get you to look away, it was useless. You felt the need to watch them to prevent Jimmy from doing something to Anya. Either verbally or physically.

“Guess the important bit is that we all agreed to it. For one reason or another.” He shrugged, his voice not as strong as it has been. Anya shook her head. “I-I’m still feeling nauseous.. I need a minute.” She quickly got up from her spot on the floor and ran off.

You looked over towards Daisuke before continuing on with your conversation about video games, twirling your fingers around one another.

————

Anya, you, Daisuke and Swansea stood in front of the Cargo Hold, waiting for Jimmy to bring back the code scanner. Luckily, just after a few minutes of waiting, he did. He walked up to the four of you, scanner in hand.

He glanced at you all, taking in your expressions. You just wanted this whole thing to be over. You stood beside Daisuke, one of your hands on your forearm.

“Well? Get on with it.” Swansea urges, his hands over his hips. “This is all you. I want it duly noted that I had no involvement in this.” Jimmy nodded in agreement before turning towards the younger brunette. “What do you guys think we’ve been shipping?” Daisuke pondered.

“If it’s spare parts, maybe me and Swansea can repair the ship and we can get out of here! Right, Swansea?” He turned to the older man who turned to him. “Quit yapping.” Jimmy ignored the two of them and looked to you.

“It could be more food.. maybe we won’t need to starve ourselves after all!” A gentle smile appeared on your lips before the dark haired male turned around to see Anya beside the door.

“Are we doing the right thing..? Let it be medicine, food, or water.” She hoped to herself. Jimmy stepped towards the sign with the hidden code before flashing the code scanner on it.

4517

He put the scanner away and walked up to the door code before putting the numbers in. The door slid open, revealing numerous of shipping boxes on shelves.

————

7 DAYS BEFORE THE CRASH

You stood beside the utility room’s door with Jimmy, peaking into the room. You snickered, not being able to contain your laughter. Daisuke was just trying to fix the vent, trying to be a good intern, but he accidentally triggered the emergency foam which made him slip out and get stuck in the substance.

You felt so bad for him, but at the same time it was so funny. You heard heavy footsteps to your right, causing you to look up. The owner of the footsteps was the captain. He gave you a short lived wave before turning towards Jimmy, glancing inside the room.

“And Pony Express said they don’t provide on board entertainment.” Jimmy slightly chuckled, eyeing Curly. You continued staring at the scene, a dorky grin running across your lips.

“Feels like there’s always something broken in that room.” Curly shrugs, a sigh leaving his throat. “Tulpar’s starting to show her age.” Jimmy raised a brow.

“Passed inspection, right? Shouldn’t be an issue.” He declared. Curly hummed, adding on; “Plus, they added Daisuke last minute.”

You perked up at hearing your boyfriend’s name, taking brief glances towards the two men beside you. “Didn’t account that there’d be six of us now. I only knew one more was coming, not two.” The captain tilted his head towards you before his head became straight once again.

“I really should have made a bigger stink about that.” He complained, regretting his decision to allow Daisuke on board. You were glad he did though. Otherwise, you probably wouldn’t have met him.

“Maybe you should intervene?” Jimmy suggests, referring to the mess inside the utility room. “Or we could just close the door.” He shrugged. “Your call.”

You and Jimmy kept away from the scene, staying in the doorway as Curly walked inside. “Well, I can see the issue.” He chuckled at the site in front of him. “The kid was brought on just to make me suffer!” Swansea had his arm crossed, the look of disappointment written all over his face.

“I was just trying to fix the vent! How did that trigger the emergency foam?!” Daisuke attempted to get free from his spot, only to be stuck in place. Swansea turned his head towards him. “Because you’re talented in all the wrong ways!” He argued.

“I would’ve dealt with this but only you can unlock the axe case.” Swansea grumbled, placing his hands on his hips. “Every goddamn thing has to go through you.”

“I’ll handle it. Hang in there, Daisuke.” Curly reassured him before walking to the ‘in case of emergency’ box that held the axe. He took out the code scanner, flashing the light on the black rectangle.

2609

He quickly put in the code, opening the case. He grabbed the weapon and walked back towards the two brunettes, ready to swing at the foam. A few seconds later, Daisuke was finally set free from the substance.

“Strong stuff, huh?” He ow’ed in pain but still tried to get a chuckle out of everyone. Swansea wasn’t having it though. “Get it through your goddamn skull! That vent is strictly off limits. Fully fucking collapsed inside.” He lectured. “You looking to get impaled, electrocuted and cooked?!”

You lightly smiled, knowing deep down Swansea does really care for Daisuke. But he just can’t show it. “Yeah, but like.. you can’t fit in there to fix it, right?” The whole room went silent, stunned at what just came out of his mouth. You instantly covered your mouth, eyes wide.

“So I can totally handle it-..” Daisuke gets cut off by Swansea turning to Curly. “Captain. Give me the axe.” He demands. “Swansea..” The dirty blond warned, trailing off. “This could’ve damaged the pods. You can’t let something like this happen again.”

You leaned against the doorframe, becoming bored from the lack of excitement. You drown the rest of the conversation out, waiting for Curly to be done speaking to the two of them.

Jimmy moved right beside you, arms at his sides. You twirled around strands of your hair, glancing at the man standing next to you. “Hi, Jimmy.” You muttered, your voice soft. He stared at you, nodding his head before mumbling, “Hey.”

You were honestly a bit surprised he even said anything back. Nonetheless, you give him a light smile, attempting to be sweet. It was short lived as Curly came towards the two of you and Jimmy opening his mouth to speak, ignoring you.

You rolled your eyes before blowing Daisuke a small kiss, making sure he saw it. You backed off, turning around and walked away from the utility room. You wanted a have a small chat about Jimmy to Curly, but he just seemed so busy. Along with that and the fact he’s always near him.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

author’s note

finally getting ready for angst!! I’m so ready to write how some people’s deaths impacts the reader. i can’t tell if i want a certain someone to be added into the mix yet or not..

fifth chapter will be up in a few days!! thank you all for the support, I appreciate it so much! and happy halloween!!! 🎃

bye for now<3

#mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing #mouthwashing game #mouthwashing x reader #daisuke x reader mouthwashing #video games #horror games #indie games #x reader

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

Text

To Be Alive In Summer

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Betrayal had never been in your cards, and you definitely didn't see yourself being the one responsible for the act. When having to go undercover, first comes the problem of staging your death.

WORDCOUNT: 8.3k

WARNINGS: Angst, betrayal, intense gore, violence, death, allusions to intimacy, weapons, vulgar language, recovery, torture, happy ending, etc.

A/N: The final request is finished, hope you enjoy it @l-inkage! Onto the AUs next.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You didn’t want to do it, but in this job, comfort was always an option and never a guarantee. It needed to be done. And that meant sacrifices had to be made to the dark altar of your contract with One-Four-One.

But this one just might break you in the process.

“Are you sure that,” you pause and think over the instructions that Price had just given you—straight from the top of the line. “Are you sure that this is the best way, Sir?”

The man’s lips are flat, eyes narrowed, he doesn’t like this either—especially if you don’t. John’s a Captain, he tallies out orders and expects people to listen without hesitation; doesn’t express his worry about their safety because that isn’t what this is about at the end of the day. It’s about keeping the good people outside of bases like these alive and breathing.

And right now that hinged on you being dead.

“Berto needs mercenaries,” Price grunts, “and any record of you needs to be wiped before we send you in.”

Vito Berto—head of a crime family that had been picking up traction in recent years, so much so that One-Four-One had to be put on it for covert reconnaissance before any more people ended up dead.

You would be sent in under the cover of an experienced mercenary; one among the ranks that Berto would need for a hostile takeover planned in three months on the Palace of Westminster in London. The House of Parliament.

Vito was one cocky son of a bitch if he expected no one to get word of this.

Your job was to uncover the exact date, time, and the mission plan before getting out as quickly as possible. In order to do that, the soldier holding your name needed to be dead so nothing could be traced back to you, your task force, or your loved ones.

And people needed to believe it.

“Can’t the records just be forged, Sir?” You ask, the meeting room dark and pulsing with the cold air from the vents. “What about Gaz and Soap?” Your throat closes for a moment and you speak slightly lower. “Simon?”

Price sighs and crosses his arms, fixing the stance of his feet.

“They’ll deal with it.” Inside of your pockets, your hands twitch.

He won't. Not inwardly.

“I…” your jaw clenched.

Your relationship with Ghost was…strange. You’d both had your fun, of course, and you had a casual air about that sort of thing—it had happened, but nothing more could ever come of it. There was a modicum of soft care with you two; an acknowledgment of partnership in the field and out of it.

You didn’t have to explain to people that Ghost was closer to you than others. You’d seen his face; that says enough.

“It needs to look real,” Price explains, tilting his head down to you. “Not only for Laswell's state of mind but yours. I won’t be putting you in without giving you the best chance.”

“You can’t tell them?”

“Negative. Security measure.” You frown, biting at your lip.

John closes his eyes and shakes his head. A second later a hand is set on your shoulder and the man leans in slightly to reassure you like a relative. You look up into your Captain’s gruff face, seeing the small amount of care he levels into his cerulean irises for you.

He squeezes your flesh, watching hard.

“We need you for this, Trick.” The nickname was exactly why you were the only one who could do this.

You were the first choice. No one was better at undercover work.

“How long would I be gone, Price?” Shifting out of the hold, you cross your arms and level him with a dead stare. “How long do they have to live with this lie?”

John grunts. “Less than three months, yeah? But all of it’s up to how long it takes to gather intel. Full black.”

“Exfil point?”

“Town five miles from Berto’s estate. Cafe with a red door near the bookstore. Woman inside’ll be your handler.” You turn away to glare at the far wall, hesitant even when you know you shouldn't be. This was your job.

Brown eyes keep flashing behind your eyes—a skeletal mask that stares with stained glistening blood, blood you yourself feel reflected on your own visage. A shared damning of two people who would never see those great halls of the afterlife. Neither of you are good.

Simon had to understand.

The Captain sees the shift in your expression.

“You in?” He asks you with a blank look.

You take a deep breath, chest heavy and heart hurting. “I don’t like it,” your voice is low, monotone. “But, yeah, Sir, I’m in.”

“Good,” the man nods, hooking his thumbs into his belt. “It’ll happen in three days. Be ready.”

You watch him walk out of the room, patting you on the shoulder one last time before the door shuts behind him with a click of finality that pierces your lungs. You clear your throat and swallow down saliva, turning your face away as if ashamed.

It’s the quiet that gets to you in that moment—the encompassing nothingness. So often you would have moments like these with Simon. Just sitting; not taking. But this silence was so different.

This was betrayal.

After you steady the slight tremor in your hands, you scoff and shake your head backing up a step before leaving the room; turning off the lights.

You walk down the long hallway, feet heavy as your mind runs, and overhead the lights buzz like flies. Eyes stuck to the floor, your shoulders are hunched in with thought and your lids half-closed in a display of obvious inner turmoil.

The shadow that waits for you, leaning against the wall, you walk past entirely—missing it and not hearing the confused call of your name behind you because of it.

“Trick!” Your hand comes up to itch at your chin, fingers pushing into your flesh. The aggressive Manchester accent slides off of you until large fingers curl into the back collar of your vest rig.

You breathe in sharply, blinking in surprise as your feet get pulled back a step or two, pace halting as Ghost curls around your body, staring down at you. His brows are narrowed, that mask still on and the bottom fabric twisted in the obvious downward press of his lips.

“Bloody hell is wrong with you, then?”

Sighing, you scowl and shake him off of you, moving back to allow yourself some air. Did he really have to show up now? Why was he even here, you had to ask yourself. Was he…waiting for you?

“Nothing,” you don’t look at him, speaking low. “Distracted, is all.”

Ghost crosses his arms slowly, his brows flinching briefly as he makes a sound in the back of his throat. “Meeting go well?”

“Fine.” He can tell something’s wrong; you know he can—he’s the best at interrogations for a reason. Ghost knows when someone is lying to him.

You glance at his chest before you begin to open your mouth.

What could telling him hurt? Just a hint. He’d get it—I know he would. Berto had the nickname ‘The Tanner,’ given to him by his men. When he found out anyone had double-crossed him, he’d take a large breaking knife and separate the thin layers of skin from his victims. Intel suggests he keeps them awake for all of it, stopping when they pass out only to start again when they wake back up.

If there was any leak in this base…any at all…you wouldn’t be coming back.

You wouldn’t be coming back to him.

Simon’s thighs shift.

“Talk to me.” He always speaks like he doesn’t care about the answer, but you’d be a fool this far into your… relationship? To believe that he didn’t. You’d seen Simon panic over your injured body before—it told you enough.

The easy moments and the side-eyed looks when he thought you didn’t notice or weren’t doing the same to him.

Your fingers twitch, forcing a smirk that didn’t convince even you. Your heart was telling you to explain it to him, but your brain was firmly set behind iron doors; tongue held back by iron tongs.

“Personal matters, Simon. Nothing you need to worry about, Big Guy.” He doesn’t look away from your eyes. Brows set in a line and that mask jeering at you; almost mocking.

The Lieutenant doesn’t answer and your heart is visible from under your gear.

“J-just,” you stutter, face getting hot as you look away. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, it’s…”

Trailing off, you rub at the back of your head in a self-soothing motion.

Simon blinks slowly and you hear a large chest-rattling sigh. He shrugs in that way only he can—a fast jerk of shoulders that looks more like he’s trying to push off a bug than simply trying to move past what you’re saying to him.

“Doesn’t make a difference,” it does. “Garrick and MacTavish are waitin’ down at the firing range. Best get down there ‘fore one comes looking like a kicked dog.” You can still feel him digging into you. Knives and the suspicion in his tone.

You don’t want to do this to him. Not after all that you’ve gone through together.

“Right.” Your feet are moving before he is, planted into the floor and pushing off through the small pinches of electricity in the nerves. Pushing out a hard laugh, you try to send him a light smile. “Did you tell them to be ready to get their arses beat?”

Simon looks down at you as he walks beside your form in large steps; arms swinging. “Haven’t seen ‘em yet. Waiting for you.”

If it were possible to shrivel up from guilt, you’d be nothing but bones.

“O-oh,” you huff, but it sounds like all of the air has been expelled from your lungs. “You didn’t have to do that, y’know.”

Simon grunts, accent grating as he stares ahead. “Wanted to.”

“Good. That’s nice.” You feel like screaming. “Thank you.”

It’s nearly instantaneous how fast his eyes go dark with concern. “You sure that head of yours is on straight, Trick?”

You push open the doors outside and wonder if you even have the ability to answer him; out of everyone, you can’t lie to Simon.

“No,” your lips admit quietly, self-degrading in its own right.

A hand grabs you by the wrist and before you can slip out, you’re being pulled back into the building and pushed into a side room.

“Hey!” You shout, eyes flashing as the door is shut behind you. You’re released and the light is immediately turned on. “Simon, what the hell are you doing?”

“Enough,” he levels, and your arms are clasped so you’re facing his chest, looking up into his serious and hard gaze. “Fuckin’ speak to me.”

You’re surprised at how insistent he is about this.

“I’m not telling you anything,” you speak through stutters and he growls in his throat. His hands are like motel lava even under his gloves and above your skin—burning like a brand.

“What happened in that meeting room, Trick?”

“It’s classified,” you say, harder than intended, spitting the words with a hint of desperation. If not for your own safety, then for his, but you know that if he keeps asking then you’ll tell him the truth.

They were going to stage your death, and they won’t be making it pretty.

“Fuck classified,” he leans in closer, curling over you. “You’re acting like someone’s bloody taking you hostage.”

“Simon! It’s not—”

“Cut the bullshit!” You growl and try to shove away from him, struggling with glaring eyes that go sharp with the onset of tears. “Somethings got you worried and I wanna know what it is.”

Simon wasn’t the greatest at articulation, but neither were you.

You knew he was trying to tell you he was concerned. The man was holding you tight, but not hurting you; his face close and his shoulders wide. Along your face his eyes were darting, as if he could peel back your skin and make you explain what Price had told you.

The Captain had given the Lieutenant a look as he’d seen him waiting for you but had said nothing. That alone had tipped Ghost off to something being wrong.

But you weren’t having it.

Yanking out of Simon’s hands, you shake your head and put on your worst glare—meeting muddy brown and huffing.

“Mind your own business, Riley. It’s for your own good.” The man blinks in mute shock, fingers in the air twitching before they fall to his sides.

You speed-walk out of the room before he can speak, lips slightly parted at your strange behavior.

For his own good? What in the hell did that mean?

Simon’s jaw clenches, a grunt in his chest as he aggressively rolls his wrist. He turns to follow after. The both of you don’t talk for the rest of the day.

—

Your body shakes along with the helo as it takes off, carrying you away from the scene of gunfire down below. In your earpiece, you hear the loud calls and yelling from your friends. Gaz is calling out to Price to give him permission to move up; the Captain too busy grappling Soap to the ground.

Ghost is taking cover behind a wall, but he’s not quiet.

“Trick’s in the damn building!”

No, I’m not, you want to flick on the line and tell him. Over the three days before this operation you'd barely spoken—in fact, you’d been avoiding all of them fervently by the mass amount of guilt in your stomach.

In the nights, you hadn’t even slept, and now you’re sure it’ll take even longer too.

Their forms become tinier, and you grasp the roof’s handle as the helo rises farther and farther.

“Price!” Simon barks. “We have to get her—”

“There’s no time!” John responds, grunting and forcing Johnny down as he spits curses and tries to call your name over the comms. You flinch violently, looking away for a moment. “We’re surrounded!”

“I can get through!” Bullets wiz through the comms, and you can nearly imagine you are down there—trapped in the house down the way after being shot and injured by hosties. But you’d never been in that house. Never been alone down the way for recon.

You’d been at the second exfil point. Price knew it. Laswell knew it.

But Simon had not.

“Negative, Ghost! Keep where you are, we can get to her later. We need to—” The building you were supposed to be in explodes in a fiery wreck; a great bloom cloud going into the air as the helo shakes from the after-blast.

You have to turn your face away, shielding your eyes. The pilot calls to see if you’re alright, but you don’t answer. All you can hear is the screams.

“Trick!”

“Simon, get back into bloody cover!”

“Fucking Hell! Trick, answer me!” It gets too much—the bareness of his panic for you. The panting breath; the running stomp of feet.

You rip the connection from the radio on your vest and place a hand over your mouth, breathing as if you had really been in an inferno like a piece of fodder.

Simon had already been through so much in his life, and doing this to him as well as the task force was the definition of betrayal of the loyalty you’d cultivated.

Of the love.

Because you did love him—even if you’d never say it to each other. If he found out about what you did, which he would eventually, in one way or another, he’d hate you for the rest of his life. So perhaps you were mourning, as you stare below as the helicopter takes you higher and higher up. Farther away from him. You were mourning what you had, because you knew it would never be the same.

Simon Riley would never trust you again, and all you had to blame was yourself.

The tiny tears dribble out of you and fall all the way down to the ground, where the man still screams for you to answer him; John barks orders with a sheen of panic in his eyes from the bare-bones ferality of the Lieutenant. Brown eyes blazed and cities burned in his pupils.

John had underestimated the bond that the two of you shared.

And he just might pay the price for it.

—

Getting through selection was far easier than getting through SAS training, Vito Berto seemed to only want mercenaries that had the faintest hint of the ability to hold a smuggled weapon. It made sense because if the people he was planning to send in were well-trained, it would be easier to trace to him—ability equaled a higher level of intelligence. Planning. Resources.

To fit in, you made sure to miss a few of your shots, even if it made your instinctual perfectionism rise. John would have torn you a new one if you’d missed this many during your selection all those years back. Probably would have asked how a Muppet like you had gotten this far with shite aim like that.

But Berto ate it up like Sunday dinner. Gave you the nickname Cross, actually. Like the crosshair of a scope.

It was safe to say you despised him.

But the days grew longer and the nights short with all of your running around. You’d found out that your Captain’s timeline was incorrect—the attack wasn’t in three months, it was in two. And while Berto was cocky, he wasn’t reckless.

He somehow knew there was a breach in the ranks; you could see it by how he looked over the squads in the underground bunker, all of you hidden under rock and stone like prisoners. The man would sneer, eyes filtering back and forth from the perch.

Sometimes you had to stop yourself from simply taking the shot presented in front of you and deal with the consequences afterward.

Price had been clear: all of the people gathered here needed to be taken care of quickly and quietly—if you snapped, the rest would disappear like roaches. Alive and biding time.

During those two months, the thoughts of Simon wouldn’t leave you.

Moments that seeped in behind closed eyelids after you’d slunk back into bed, the USBs full of vital intel stashed into the lining of your uniform in a small hidden pocket. His twitching smile and those deep scars along his face; the ones that would never go away.

In those moments you wondered what it would be like if you had told him how much you cared for his quiet company or his dark humor. The way he would level a hand on the small of your back off duty at the bars as a way to silently shield you from the stares from patrons.

You’d never be able to tell him now.

Vito “The Tanner” Berto knew of a leak, and when you came back to the bunker after sending out the multiple USB sticks, the physical files, and the first-hand accounts of what was going on—eager for just a little more to make this betrayal worth it…he was waiting.

You could only fight off so many others, no matter how subpar the training on their part, before sheer mass overtook ability. Like a house of cards with a bowling ball, you were shoved to the ground surrounded by multiple dead bodies of those you’d taken down with you—writhing and hissing as if a feral animal.

Restraints were leveled with your wrists; your head pulled back so your nose faced the ceiling. You only stopped struggling when the chilled barrel of a pistol was set under your chin.

Breath stilling, it was hard to understand how, even then, all that was in the front of your mind was Simon. Simon and his brown eyes. Simon and his screams when that building went up in fire and smoke.

“Trick!”

You could still hear the exact pitch and rhythm like it was yesterday.

“Cross,” Berto mutters, gun heavy as it digs into your flesh. Men pant and grapple to keep you back as you sneer and jerk your arms. “I should have known it would be you.”

“Well,” you growl, teeth bared, “obviously you didn’t.”

A slow smirk runs on his lips.

“No, but I’ll have to rectify this. I can’t have you getting in the way.” You can only hope that the intel gets out before the end of the second month—if not, then all of this was for nothing.

Why couldn’t you have left when you had the chance?

“Fucking Hell! Trick, answer me!”

He was why.

Simon—the source of all of your problems and the only person who could fix them besides yourself. It’s a sick joke really.

Vito grabs your chin and you huff out a swift breath, heart skipping beats as he burrows his digits tightly into your skin; hard enough to leave marks. He sighs and clicks his tongue and you have to keep back a whimper as his nails create crescents along your jaw.

“You won’t tell me anything, will you, then?”

“Negative,” you spit, heated.

He scoffs. “Of course.”

Berto throws your head back as you try to snap out and bite at his hand, rabid, but the man’s already gone and the mercenaries behind you yank you back like a dog on a leash. Your knees slide along the floor and you rage trying to turn around before the others are forced to shove your face into the ground. There is a distinctive snapping in your nose bridge as the concrete comes up to meet you; the tears come instinctually after—unable to be stopped as you yell in pain.

Blood floods your nostrils and mouth, making you cough as Vito’s voice echoes in your ringing ears.

“Let me get my knives.”

—

They had you chained in some damp back room, the corners riddled with mold spores and the air heavy with condensation. You were tied to the ceiling—feet dangling uselessly below you and the tips of your boots dragging across the floor with a quiet scrape and a creak of metal.

Above you, on the hook, the chains were tied so ruthlessly that you’d lost circulation to your arms entirely, nothing but an electric buzzing far inside of your bones. Akin to the static of a TV screen in between connections. Your clothes had been shredded by blades—long sections of your flesh underneath, cut away.

Blood stains most, if not all, of the floor. It drips from your nose; it falls like rain to pool at your feet in rippling crimson.

Simon had been your partner during required interrogation training and he was far better at it than you. The man could go for hours through the mental strain that was leveled out by other soldiers on him; stoic and silent. It was the way his eyes would blank that told you he could live through far worse—that he already had. You’d had your fair share as well, but never before had you felt as hopeless as this.

There was a slim chance that anyone would come for you here. Laswell and Price would carry the guilt of it, but you didn’t want them to.

The blood slips over your lips, and the taste of copper makes you gag; spitting out saliva from your lips.

It was half your choice, after all.

You try to slip into a happy memory as the lights fade in and out, the footsteps and mutterings outside the door of little interest anymore.

ironic, that the man with the mask of a dead person brought you comfort when so little could.

You never got to tell him how much you loved him. A thin smile comes across your lips.

“Shouldn’t be out here this late,” the man utters as you lay out in the field, arms and legs splayed and twitching when the long grass brushes against them. “Past curfew.”

“Like you aren't out here with me?” You raise an eyebrow, looking up at the stars now that the large base lights have been dimmed. The air is cold, and the breeze makes you shudder through a chill. But you don’t wipe that smile from your lips. “Bit hypocritical, Simon.”

You hear a low grunt.

“Out ‘ere because you weren’t answering your damn door.” A shadow slips to your side, and the man settles down with a huff on his lips. Simon retired his combat mask for a simple balaclava instead, and he sighed long as he settled his arm on the bent form of his right leg.

You blink over at him, raising a brow.

“Looking for me, Ghosty?”

“Bloody hell, Trick.” You chuckle, shifting your arms to rest on your chest as you look back at the stars far above.

“Oh, it’s alright, Big Guy.” The man shakes his head. “I won’t tell anyone you’re going soft for me.”

“I’m not.”

“You definitely are.”

“Trick, I’m tellin’ you to—”

“Shh!” You wave a hand in his direction, silencing him and making him blink at you in deep annoyance and confusion. Ghost’s eyes were narrowed, the black of his face paint gone and smelling like standard issue body wash.

He must have gotten out of the shower and come to see if you were still awake before making his way outside when you never answered the door. Funny how he knew where you would be.

“Fucking what, then?” He growls, shoulders wide.

You place a finger to your ear, shifting so you’re sitting up on one elbow and facing Simon. On your face, a wide smile lingers, but on his, the dark brows narrow with knowledge of a deceitful event incoming. “Listen.”

A silence falls, Simon’s ears twitching for something in the long grass or across the field. Nothing. Nothing but the breeze and the way your face glowed as you watched him, eyes glinting with amusement.

After a long minute or two, he looks at you with utter bewilderment. You lean in closer, poking a finger into his bicep.

“Can you hear it, Simon?” You’re one of the few he lets call him that, though never in public.

He glares. “No.”

You flutter your digits in the air, giggles trapped in your mouth. A whisper hits the Lieutenant’s ears. “Silence.”

“Bugger off,” he hisses as you reel back and belt out laughter, holding your sides and lightly curling into yourself. “You’re worse than Johnny. Jesus.”

“Aww, c’mon!” You let your laughter die down to chuckles, sanctity of night broken, but not so between the two individuals who look at each other with brimming affection none will name.

“You’re the one that came to find me, remember?” Your tease makes Ghost roll his eyes, looking away across the open area with its wave-like grasses.

“You’re right, then, I did,” Simon grunts, his hand coming up to rub his neck. “Mistake on my part.”

“Jerk,” a soft slap is leveled to his arm and he chuckles deeply. “But you can’t fool me, Ghosty. I know you’ll always come lookin’ for me—I’m too important to you to lose.”

“Keep kiddin’ yourself, Trickster.” He doesn’t say how he would agree with the statement, it was true after all. “I won’t be dragged into your bloody messes.”

He wouldn’t leave you behind to drown in them, even if it was as simple as you sneaking out of your bunk to watch the stars.

You’d both known each other too long for that.

You smile over at him as he sighs before slipping off his mask, itching at his stubble with hard fingers. The air settles. No comment about it entering in on the see-through waves—there didn’t need to be one.

“Mhm,” you hum, beaming. “You keep thinking that, Big Guy.”

“Trick!” Your memory shifts, and you sit up immediately. You’d thought you’d just heard…

Eyes dart out over the field, jumping back and forth rapidly. You look to the side, but Simon is gone entirely.

“Simon?” Heart beating, you stand fully up and turn in a fast circle, confusion and fear infecting your mind.

“Trick!” Pain sparks in your body, and you hiss and grab at your clothes. You blink so fast that you half-believe the world is ending.

“S-Simon?!” What was happening? What was hurting so bad? Where did Simon go?

“Trick, fucking wake up!”

Your eyes snap open and you instantaneously feel the burning pain inside of your ribs.

The ground is underneath you, hard and wet from your own blood as you yowl and cough, air entering your lungs in quick bursts.

Hands encase your cheeks, shaking your head—keeping you present.

A skeletal mask littered with droplets of human fluid stares down at you, and behind it, panicked brown eyes slash through your psyche in the small moment between agony and confusion.

Simon?

“Holy hell.” It’s that same Manchester accent. The same scrape of vocal cords. “Alright, Sweetheart. Keep those eyes open—keep ‘em on me, yeah?”

What was going on? You try to open your mouth to say something but all of it is lead. Were your ribs broken? How? And why was Simon’s bottom covering pushed up to his nose; his lips stained with blood?

The man frantically goes to press into his radio.

“This is Bravo 0-7,” he breathes, and you whimper as your throat gets clogged with congealed saliva and blood. You cough violently, gagging, and Ghost quickly turns you on your side to help you expel it. His hand is hard on your shoulder.

“I say again, this is Bravo 0-7!” Those browns never leave you, shocked and serious. “Price, I’ve got ‘er. It’s not good; had to revive but I don’t know how long she’s got.”

Revive? You’re spacing in and out, limp, and trying to breathe.

Simon tears open his medical pouch and begins wrapping tourniquets—packing the wounds with gauze until you can get proper medical treatment on the helo back to base.

“Bloody…” he trails, Price barking an order over the connection to bring you out; the firefight was moving to the East to give him an opening to sneak back out. “C’mon, Trick.”

Everything swims; you want to go back to that field—those stars.

Simon was here? Truly? The thought was hard to understand in your state.

“S-Sim—” Your voice gurgles, and you can’t feel your legs. You had to tell him. Tell him the good and the bad; all of it.

“Don’t talk,” he growls, moving you as your body seizes in a state of static shock. “I’m getting you out of ‘ere.” You’re lifted up in one grand movement, Simon grunting as he shifts you carefully into a bridal hold. “Then you’re going to explain this to me when you’re squared. Won’t take no for an answer.”

You could feel the anger sizzling off of him even half-conscious. The mixing emotions that convulsed into a mess of adrenaline and desperation. Forcing your eyes to stay open, you blink up at him as he glances down at you at the same time, just before he exits the door he had broken down.

The visible skin of his lips and chin tighten; going down with the twitch of with a serious frown. Something flutters behind his eyes as he stares before glancing away and clearing his throat.

“Eyes on me, Trickster. Don’t you dare close ‘em.” You grimace as he begins jogging, heavy boots echoing along the empty corridor as the sounds of gunfire and pandemonium sound off from the other side of the bunker.

It was hard to push back the black at the sides of your vision; already it was seeping back in. Ghost holds you tight, unwilling to even let you slip an inch from his grip as the lights above swirl, brightening and dimming.

“Oi!” You’re jostled, and you snap back to it, tensing as your wounds flex and pull. Simon glares. “What’d I just say?”

Your weakly poisoned grimace makes his lips twitch up.

“Good.”

There’s the sudden flick of a safety being clicked off, and the Lieutenant halts in a jerking of feet and a ruffle of canvas.

“I’ve heard about a Ghost making his rounds, hm?” Berto stands at the end of the hall, pistol held in front of him. “I saw an apparition disappearing to find one of its own. No worries. She’ll be a ghost, too, soon enough. Perhaps I’ll have to put you both to rest together.”

The voice makes you go panicked, remembering the tear of flesh and the sharp blades slicing your skin away, chunks that peeled, and the long stripes of flexible tendons. Your lungs fight for breath, your head weakly slapping into Simon’s neck after an attempt to move your body. Limbs shake and battle nerves; the fabric of your brain.

Your blood stains the man’s gear all the way down the front. It’s dripping to the floor, down his arms and off his elbows. You’re bathing him in it—a full-body baptism of betrayal.

“Berto,” Ghost says, accent casual despite the gun leveled at him. The name is drawn out. “Apologies, but I’m taking back what’s mine.” He tilts his head. “Scratch that, I’m not apologizing for getting back on a Bastard like you, eh? Pity I can’t hang you up like a hog, I’m proper good with a blade too, but as you can see, I’m on a crunch.”

Vito’s face goes confused, skin scrunching. “What—”

The bang of a bullet being discharged echoes down the way. The clatter of a great expulsion of air from lungs. Stumbling. Gargles.

The slam of a body to the ground.

Smoke spreads up from under the clutch of your knees, where Ghost holds the abyssal body of an M19 forward, his finger lightly on the trigger before he shifts it back in well-practiced discipline.

“Slag,” he spits.

Simon hikes you farther into him, lending over his available body heat as you shiver. He presses his face into the top of your head, sighing in relief before starting his pace again. The man’s lips brush your flesh as your lids flutter.

“Still with me?” You whine into his neck, fingers twitching. “I know it hurts, Love. I know. Easy with it.”

It didn’t just hurt, it burned. Buried like the nine layers of Hell.

He keeps whispering to you, slinking around corners and stepping into shadows. By the time he makes it outside with you, the chill of the air on the bottom of his face he didn’t even bother to re-cover, you’re tapering on the edge of oblivion again.

Teetering like a porcelain doll on the end of the high shelf.

“Bravo 0-6, leaving the bunker now, I need that MedEvac prepped and ready to go,” Simon speaks quickly, not wasting a single instant.

John’s voice wafts through. “Copy, 0-7. Helo is comin’ in, be ready it’s going to get hot!”

“Affirm. Keep it frosty down ‘ere.” There’s a low chuckle and the swift wizz of bullets.

“Get our Trickster back in one piece, Ghost.” Simon hears the buzzing of helicopter blades in the night, a slick form descending from the dark clouds not moments later. He turns away from the flurry of air, walking hurriedly backward so the air doesn’t aggravate you.

“Trick,” Ghost calls to you above the noise, hearing the hurried feet of medics coming out to take you from him. Your face is scrunched and you burrow into him. “I’m handing you over!”

You try to open your eyes enough to convey your unease at that. You have to tell him. You have to explain why you had to do it. The guilt is eating you; gnawing with red teeth and gripping with devil’s claws. You have to explain that you love him even if he hates you now.

Medics grapple you away, and you are in pain, lips peeling back to gasp sharply, thrashing.

No!

“Fuck,” Ghost growls, pulling you away from the men as they ask him what in the bloody hell he’s doing. He doesn’t even know—all he knows is that he’s pissed at you for what you did, but never in a million years did that mean he wanted to see you in pain.

Simon can’t lie, when he was told you were alive, the universe had held its breath. A miracle. A ruse. But alive. Alive and trapped.

“Stop it!” He yells, caging you into him. “I’m here! I’m right here, Trickster!”

You’re already too gone for it, not recognizing the metal of the helo as you’re settled on your back, the loud slam of the door. Fingers pull and prob as you hiss and snap, suffocating.

Ghost holds down your shoulders, his eyes right above yours—but you’re not looking. The helo takes off

“Bloody hell,” Simon yells. “Look at me!”

You don’t know what compels you to do so, but your eyes open just the slightest bit wider. Brown melts into your pupils, taking you in and reminding you of chilled summer nights. Simon. You pant but stop struggling.

The medics jump into action, ripping away the remains of your shirt and pants so they can get to the wounds; assess the damage done.

“That’s it,” Simon sighs long, swallowing. “That’s a girl. There we go, Sunshine.”

You blink, face peeled as everything swirls far more aggressively this time.

“Listen to me, Trick. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, you understand. You said I’d always find you, yeah?” Hands grab your cheeks. “Well, I fucking did, eh? I found you. We’re gonna fix you up, Sweetheart. It’ll all be gone by morning.” You stutter down a breath, ragged throat stretching.

“Let ‘em fix you up—”

“I love you.”

It all fades to black, but all you remember is the sweep of horror that spreads behind the man’s eyes.

—

“You went back,” Price’s arms are crossed, and he stares at you as your fingers play with the sheets of the hospital bed. “Why?”

You sigh and rub at your face.

“Trick.”

“I felt like I needed to,” you give away, twitching your fingers out in an expression of nonchalantness. “I felt…” Your voice trailed off into a growl. “Bad.”

“Feelings aren’t a part of this, Trickster, you bloody know that,” John hisses, leaning his head closer as you glare silently. “If you’d left when you could, none of this would have fucking happened.”

“I feel bad, Price!” You break, snapping. “I fucking know! But I-I thought if I just got a bit more intel, then this would have been worth it.” Taking a deep breath you shake your head and rub at your face, all of the bandages and stitches pulling tight. “It’s eating at me. I can’t…I can’t just act like what I lied about can be forgotten.”

You shrug as the man listens silently, monitors beeping and the small buzz of the overhead lights.

“Soap barely looks at me—Gaz gave me that fucking pity smile and it makes me want to scream.”

“They’ll get over it.” The Captain repeats what he said months prior firmly. “They know the Op was top priority, they’ll grow up and be back to fucking around in days.”

You scoff, muttering in a dejected tone. “He won’t.”

John is still, fixing his feet from under him as he rolls his nose and looks away slowly.

Simon hadn’t come to visit once in the time you’d been here in the ward—four days. That fact alone makes you restless. You don’t remember what you said to him, if you said anything. But you knew that he wasn’t going to be going out of his way to be near you anymore.

You’d taken a grenade to the relationship you’d built. Toy building blocks are scattered.

“Simon’s…Simon,” Price ends on. You groan and itch at the IV in your hand. “He cares about you more than anyone, yeah? He just needs time. Wasn’t himself after the set-up.”

“I’ve been told,” Gaz had informed you about the Lieutenant's self-isolation after your ‘death’. The snappy orders—deathly glares. He’d gone back to the ruthless man he was in the field and instead of being directed at his enemies, it was directed at them.

Kyle explained how he’d argued with Price about how he could have gotten to you, before abruptly falling silent and stalking away as if a flip had been switched. Snake eyes and clenched fists.

They’d heard him in the gym late at night, reaming on the punching bags. They didn’t think he slept more than three hours per day if the red lines in his eyes were anything to go by.

And then they were told that you were alive but captured, and he’d gotten worse.

You’d nearly started sobbing when the Sergeant had told you all of that.

“I betrayed his trust, Price,” you level. “I…I never wanted to do that to him. Ever. Not Simon.”

A shadow passes by the door just as the Captain grunts. “That’s the job.”

“That’s not the job I signed up for when I got into this. We don’t lie to our own.”

“‘We get dirty, the world—’” You cut him off.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘stays clean’.” Your eyes level with his. “I can do the dirty work, John, you know that. Infiltration and undercover work is what I’m good at.” The man nods slightly. “But if you ask me to betray One-Four-One’s trust again, I’m out.”

Blue eyes blink in shock, but you don’t let him speak.

“Find someone else to get fake blown up in a building. I can’t get his fucking screams out of my head.” John watches you silently, eyes narrowed.

You meet that gaze head-on, not backing down from this.

The Captain shakes his head a minute later. “Bloody made for each other,” he mutters under his breath, grunting. Another shadow slips past going the opposite direction, probably a nurse.

Without another word John turns and exits the room, tossing a hand behind his head casually in a way to say goodbye.

You huff and roll your eyes, heat on your cheeks.

The day wains, and you let the nurses come in to do their checkups and replace the IV. As the curtains are pulled back into place, supper sits heavy in your stomach.

You wanted to see Simon.

You knew it wouldn’t go well, and wouldn’t be the goody-goody outcome you prayed for…but you felt wrong without apologizing in person. It went against your morals, and already those were incredibly skewed. Maybe he’d yell, or even ignore you as if you weren’t there.

Simon wasn’t above not speaking to people he didn’t like.

You had to try.

When all was dark, you shuffled out of the hospital bed and fought the weakness of your legs. Shaking like a leaf, you walked around with only your tied gown, unapologetic of the slit down the back showing flashes of your bra and underwear.

It wouldn’t be anything the Lieutenant hadn’t seen before.

Walking through the silence, you sigh and stand outside of his door; dread in your heart and seeping from the pulled stitches of your wounds. Your bare feet on the tile make you shiver.

Lifting up a fist, you hesitate.

Your hand hovers over the wood, sliding forward before you pull it back to you. Closing your eyes tight, you clench your jaw once and take a deep breath.

Knock-knock-knock. Knock-knock.

The sequence was your call sign. If you knocked like that, he would know it was you—whereas Simon's own was just a single slam of the side of his fist.

The only real problem now was that he wasn’t answering.

You stare dumbly at the barrier, blinking like a fool. It takes you longer than you’d like to admit to understand the realization that he wasn’t ignoring you—he just wasn’t in his room.

Taking a step back, you rub the back of your neck in exasperation and hurry to the nearest exit.

“Of course,” you breathe. You know exactly where he is at a time like this.

The field holds a standing shadow, a ghost of issued fatigues with a thick jacket against the chill that leaves you shivering. Simon stares out over the training grounds with his hands in his pockets, balaclava pulled all the way down to hide him from you.

You come to a slow halt behind him and stare.

It’s not long before the man gunts, turning his head back from over his shoulder to look at you blankly. He knew you were there.

The eye contact stays for a long, long while—until you’re hypnotized in the shades of brown and amber and the large build that seems to broaden because of your appearance.

“I’m here to apologize.” You say it breathlessly. “I’m not asking you to hear me out, but I have to let you know I regret doing it. Price said that it was time-sensitive and I—”

Stopping yourself, you look away. It sounded too much like an excuse, you hissed to yourself. At the end of the day, it was still your acceptance that pushed the pawn forward.

“I’m sorry, Simon,” you breathe. “I betrayed your trust.”

His eyes are piercing you, but you still can’t look at him. The man slightly turns your way. His voice was monotone and grunting out like a dog.

“You think I couldn’t handle it?” Your heart starts, and you’re shaking your head instantly.

“No.” You explain quickly—honestly. “It’s that…I didn’t want you to.”

You hear his lips take in a quiet breath. Simon rolls his shoulders before looking away from you. Nothing could have prepared you for what came next.

“You said you loved me.” Your body freezes, jaw going slack as your face drops. You don’t speak, mute as if the air in your lungs has been stolen.

You had done…what?

All of your tricks couldn’t get you out of this one.

“I,” you force a fake laugh, hands beginning to shake. “I, what? No, I’m sure that’s not what I said. A-are you sure it wasn’t, like, an ‘I appreciate you’ or maybe a…a,” your voice catches. “A whole ‘I’m fond of you’ sort of thing…? Hm?”

Simon takes a step forward and you take one back. This was worse than torture, you decided. The pain in your pulling stitches and re-set nose was welcome here.

“Trick,” Ghost utters, and you stare hard at his neck, humming. “Stop talking.”

“Copy,” you whisper quickly, shoulders falling.

He’s so close you can feel his body heat melting into you, and you want nothing more than to touch him. Simon’s hand comes up to your chin, and he angles it up as you stop breathing, lips parted.

“I heard you in the med ward talkin’ to Price. Was outside the door the ‘ole time.” The shadow.

He tilts your head to the side to stare at the medical tape over the slashes in your skin. The scars won’t bother you—you had plenty of others to show as well. But Simon was…studying you. Assessing.

His eyes blink slowly with those long pale lashes, and they slide up to you as he leans in close to your ear. Still, you stand comatose.

“You put me through a fucking heap ‘o hurt, Love.” You stare over his shoulder, not speaking, not moving.

Simon leans back and lets go of your chin, brushing a finger over your nose and the puffy skin there.

“Never do that again.” It’s final, how he says it. But the layers of depth are plain to hear. Simon speaks low and even—gaze trapping yours like a curse.

You know he won’t talk about the things you’ve heard. The aggression or the late-night gym trips. You’ve known him for years, and know his brain like the back of your hand.

Shivering, you nod once, content with not answering verbally to break the sanctity of the moment. Seeing Simon like this made you ease your fears. You clear your throat to push back the stuffiness.

“Thought you held grudges, Big Guy?” Nearly not heard, you mutter and pick at where the IV needle is supposed to be.

A hand catches yours and stops you from making it bleed.

“Do,” Ghost grumbles, turning your hand over and moving his face closer until you feel his breath. “Just not with my Bird.”

His balaclava is suddenly up to his nose, and those lips that had been covered in your blood previously situated themselves perfectly to yours.

You gasp, arm outstretched beside you in shock.

You’d kissed him before, but this felt different. More intimate. Simon’s arms slip around your waist, and you retaliate by locking your shaking arms behind his back, feeling the gentle passes of his lips.

Mouth to mouth, you breathe each other in as if grasping for the other’s soul in desperation. A desperation that tells you how much the beast of a man around you was terrified of your death and the body he had to carry into the helo—of the lengths he would go to stave death from touching your tender flesh.

No, only he was allowed to do that, and he was a reaper in his own right.

A small death that infected you at every breath puffing into your mouth, every whine and whimper he could draw like water to swallow down as ambrosia. Nectar of the Gods, and it was right there in his arms. Back. Alive.

To be alive in the summer field of this old military base was to accept that death, and into it, hope that the few moments you had together truly made a difference.

Simon would hold you there—and when that was done, wrap you in his jacket and carry your battered body back inside; watching your swollen lips and the wide eyes as they gaze back at him.

Because he could hate you all he wanted for this, for the lies, for the way you made him care…but the both of you would still be alive to do so.

He guessed that was all that mattered.

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tojisun · 1 year ago

Text

im giggling thinkin about biker!simon finding out you haven’t ever ridden a bike before and so the first thing he does is tell you to stay put before hopping on his harley and driving away.

you stand there, blinking, still reeling over what happened. you’re quite confused if your date really just left you, before giving up on worrying as you hold onto the hopes that he’d come back. he did say he will but how many of your dates and ex-partners fooled you because, apparently, you’re too “gullible” and it’s just too “funny”?

too fucking many times, that’s what.

you amble towards an empty bench while you wait, fluffing up your skirt and dusting your sweater before fixing your hair. you itch to message your friends, anxious thoughts buzzing underneath your veins, but simon had always been such a gentleman with you. always so caring and pampering. always so honest with his affections. he isn’t like anyone you’ve ever been and so you want to trust him.

and you do. god, you do. because you trust him with your safety. with your heart.

time crawls by but the agonizing drag does end. you didn’t have to wait long, you realize with a giddy heart, as you see simon driving back. his head whips around the park, trying to find you, and you giggle as you stand up, waving your hand above your head to catch his attention.

his helmeted head snaps towards your direction and you smile as the purr of his engine becomes louder, his bike devouring the space between the two of you eagerly.

“hey, sweetheart,” he says as he snaps his visor up, his beautiful eyes crinkled as he smiles at you.

the butterflies in your stomach roar, and you almost choke on the intensity of your happiness as you whisper back, “hey there, big guy.”

simon preens like he loves the nickname and you sear his reaction to your memory, already anticipating the next opportunity where you get to call him that again.

“i‘ve got somethin’ for you,” simon announces before twisting towards the other side of his harley, reaching for something that you couldn’t see. you tilt your head, trying to act cool as you wait.

simon turns back to you with a shy smile tickling his lips, and your eyes instantly flicks towards his hands where he cradled a cute little purple helmet – one of the many things you didn’t expect him to return with.

“is that a bicycle helmet?” you blurt out.

“yeah,” he laughs, a pretty sound. “this is all they have.”

“‘they’?” you finally move close to him as you ask this, taking tentative steps on the gravel.

“the closest bike rental,” simon replies, sounding embarrassed. “you said y’ve never been on a bike and, well, this is a safe environment so i thought, ‘why not?’”

you breathe in sharply, his words curling along the crevices of your heart. “lemme get this straight,” you begin, swallowing the lump in your throat. “you heard me say i’ve never been on a bike before so your first reaction was to drive away to find a closest bike rental so you can get me a helmet because you want to give me a safe bike ride?”

“…yeah,” he whispers, hesitant. “i mean, if you don’t want to then that’s oka- are you crying?”

“shut up,” you whimper, hiding your face behind your palms.

you hear him curse, the engine of his bike shutting off, before hearing the way his feet drop on the gravel and march towards you. in a heartbeat, you are pulled in his embrace, with your face pressed on his chest, and you eagerly breathe in the scent of leather and ozone that is stuck on him. he pats your head softly, his palm dragging along your hair as he continues to comfort you.

you sniffle, unable to stop the tears because what the actual fuck.

you have never felt so loved. so adored. so revered.

you chew on your confession, your heart and mind syncing up for once. simon, i-

(later, when you’ve finally calmed down, you will let out a wet giggle and apologize for dampening the mood. simon will just smile at your adorable, tear-swollen face and tell you that you have nothing to apologize for. then, he’ll kiss your forehead before securing your helmet on your head. he’ll tighten the strap around your chin, gently knock on the shell, then pull you onto his bike. you two will spend the rest of the afternoon just making slow and gentle donuts around the park, laughing and chatting.

and then, gritting through the choking staccato of your heartbeat, you will tell simon that you want more than a flurry of dates. that you want something more official. then, you will tell him you love him and simon will buckle before you because,

“me too, sweet girl. i’m so in love with you too.”)

(ext.01) (ext.02) (ext.03)

#suns.f #biker!simon #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x female reader #simon ghost riley #another headcanon-turned-drabble of biker!simon #sigh this is expected atp 😣#suns

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tang3r1n · 7 months ago

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bully!mirio but he’s so fucking condescending and ‘sweet’ that everyone just calls you sensitive for crying and getting upset meanwhile he’s biting his hand so hard he’s bleeding while he strokes his dick to the thought of licking up your tears.

bully!mirio who phases through doors or smth or fuck with you and pull your shirt down or skirt up then speeds away as he hears your friends giggling at your composure.

bully!mirio who nudges tamaki and nejire to become close friends so he can literally almost always be near you. every time you ask to hang out without him he pulls out all the stops to make his (longtime) friends feel bad for cutting him out for what they think is nothing.

bully!mirio who finds your number through one of them and starts harassing you on there, spamming for hours until you answer, calling you vile things with a cute lil ‘:D’ at the end, sending you straight up nudes when he knows your around others, gets upset and spams you again when you don’t send some of your own photos

bully!mirio who humiliates you in front of teachers, tripping you in front of aizawa, punching you and making your yelp when vlad is chatting with you, ‘accidentally’ spilling his ice cold water on your white school shirt when mic is talking about your patrol routes

OH and bully!mirio who begs to be put on the same patrols as you, saying how the two of you work so well together (lie) and how he’s just worried for your safety (another lie). he’ll like immediately drag you to a nasty ass alley and grope you, fingering and rubbing at your wet cunt and laughing as you squirm and cry.

“you wouldn’t be this wet if you didn’t like me— you got a lil crush on me, huh?~” that stupid grin wide and bold on his fax as he speaks slowly, like you were a fucking child. his thick, calloused fingers pumping so fast you can’t keep up, hips rising off the dirty wall as your orgasm surprises you. you squeal as you cum, burying your face in his shoulder as you shake and cry, squirting a bit from his rough treatment and insanely fast hands.

oh god and of course he doesn’t stop, not even when your panting, pushing him with all your might, body sore and exhausted and twitching as he just fucking smiles.

“no no no, pretty thing,” he whips out his phone, the flash lighting up as he points it as your puffy pussy, thumb roughly massaging your clit and his fingers slowly push in and out, “i didn’t even get to record that first one~”

#mha smut #yandere mha #..mha #..mirio #tw dark content #tw yandere #tw noncon #tw dubcon #tw bullying #yandere mirio #bully!mirio #yandere my hero academia #yandere smut #.v speaks #.venus updated!

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amomentsescape · 6 months ago

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Hey hey! You are so amazing and I love your work so much 💜💜💜

I need a bit of angst in my life so can I please request Thomas Hewitt x reader where they got into a heated argument and Thomas signs something he regrets. With tears in their eyes, reader storms out of the house and does not return for hours. How would he react? What would he be thinking when he sees the tears running down the cheeks of his partner? What would he think when they don’t come back after hours had passed?

What Should Have Been Said

Thomas Hewitt x Reader

Summary: After becoming worried about Reader's safety, Thomas says some things he doesn't mean.

Warnings: Angst, cussing

Word Count: 1,436

Part II

A/N: Thank you so much! Writing this was definitely pretty sad on my part. I hope you enjoy the angst!

It was just a big misunderstanding. But that's how these arguments normally started, right?

As someone who wasn't able to verbally communicate his thoughts and feelings well, things were inevitably going to become misconstrued at some point. But with the strong Texas heat burning through his skin like fire, everything seemed to be fueling his present frustrations.

He had told you earlier to stay inside while he tended to the outside chores. The sun was going to be unbearable that day, and with all the sharp tools lying around, he didn't want to risk you getting hurt.

So you listened to him for a while, letting him work alone. But after several hours of not seeing him, you became worried.

He hadn't even stopped in for a quick drink of water or an update to let you know he was okay.

You finally decided that sitting around and letting these worries stew wasn't benefitting anyone. So carefully, you got up, grabbed a glass of ice water, and slipped on some shoes, heading out into the blazing sun.

A quick trip around the house told you that he wasn't there which meant that he could only be in one other place: the shed.

You snuck in carefully and were immediately hit with the sound of metal banging against wood.

You were happy to see that he wasn't spending all of his time in the sun, but the shed almost felt worse than the outdoors did. There wasn't enough ventilation in here, making the temperature feel much hotter than you deemed safe.

You rounded the corner quickly, the glass of water in your hand already dripping from the condensation.

However, when you walked past the shelf, you didn't notice the meat hook poking out from the side.

It immediately caught your arm and cut through your skin with ease, causing you to drop the glass of water on instinct and hiss.

The shattering of glass cause Thomas to spin around quickly, a sharp butcher's knife being raised up on reflex in case he saw someone unwelcomed.

And in that moment, he would have much rather seen a lowly stranger in that shed than you hunched over with a small pool of blood beginning to form near your foot.

He immediately dropped the knife and rushed over, grabbing your arm gently but forcefully, looking at how bad the wound was.

"I'm okay, Thom-"

He quickly cut you off by picking you up, taking you straight back to the house.

The next few minutes were filled with an uncomfortable silence, him working hard at cleaning your wound and getting it wrapped up.

It wasn't like Thomas to act like this. His brows were furrowed and his touch was a bit rougher than normal.

In the past, a situation like this would have evoked a tender response from him, his whole being dedicating itself to doting on you and making sure you felt safe.

However, this time the air was filled with a feeling of uncomfortableness. His gaze hadn't even attempted to meet yours since he brought you inside from the shed.

The moment he finished patching you up, he was already heading for the door, not giving you a single ounce of acknowledgement.

This not only disappointed you, but it also ignited a slight irritation in your chest. You were just badly injured, and he didn't even seem to give a shit?

"Thomas," you said a bit more sternly than you intended.

He paused in the doorway, his head slightly tilting towards you in a way to show that he was listening.

You swallowed roughly. "You haven't said a single thing to me the past 30 minutes. What's wrong?"

He turned his head back to the floor, not giving you the reaction you were hoping for. The pain in your arm mixed with the uncomfortable feeling of sweat dripping down your body seemed to only fuel the anger that was beginning to build. Why was he ignoring you?

"Are you mad?" you tried.

The tone of your voice made it sound more accusatory than concerned, but you didn't really care in that moment. You were hurt both physically and emotionally at Thomas's nonchalance, and he deserved to know that.

He finally turned all the way to face you at this, the deep creases in his forehead revealing that something was definitely bothering him, and your questioning only seemed to provoke it more.

But with a quick response, Thomas signed, "I'm fine."

You almost scoffed at this.

"Well, that's good for you. But you haven't showed a single sign of caring towards me since I went to see you. What's going on?"

He just stood there breathing heavily.

That anger began to rise even more.

"Answer me."

He irritably began signing to you again, explaining that you shouldn't have gone outside when he explicitly told you not to.

You felt your face burn at how blunt he was being towards you. This wasn't like him; he never got this angry with you.

"I was worried," you started. You could already feel that familiar burn in your throat. "You were out there for hours, and I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"And I told you to stay inside," he signed.

He was deflecting, and this only seemed to piss you off more. You were there telling him how you were only wanting to look after him, and yet that seemed to make him angry at you? Why? What's so bad about looking out for your partner?

Your eyes were beginning to burn, and you could tell that this anger was beginning to evolve into anguish.

"I just wanted to take care of you!" you almost yelled.

And in an instant, Thomas was already signing back, "I don't need you."

And that's what did it.

The tears spilled over, and your were choking on your own sobs at this response.

One of the first things he ever said to you was that he needed you. Even before the love confession or the asking to be yours, he was telling you that all he would ever need in this life was you.

Seeing him say these words to you broke your heart more than any other rejection could have done.

With blurry eyes and a pained expression, you rushed out the back door, leaving Thomas standing there in confusion and utter shock.

By the time he gathered his bearings and ran after you, he was met with an empty yard, no sight of you within reach.

He crumbled to the ground at the revelation that you were gone. What had he done?

If only he could have expressed to you the truth behind his worries.

He told you to stay inside for your safety. He was angry not because of you, but because you got hurt. This was the most severe injury you had sustained while being with him, and that severity is what caused him to shut down so quickly.

Seeing all that blood and such a deep wound made him realize that anything could happen to you. He could lose you in an instant, and that revelation cause him to lock up.

He could never be angry at you, he was just terrified of losing you.

And he didn't mean what he said. God, he desperately needed you more than anything in his life. But he was willing to say just about anything to keep you safe in that moment. But his worried mind clouded over that fact that he was only pushing you away.

He couldn't get the image of your tear-stained face out of his mind. He had never seen you so broken before, and he certainly would have never wanted to be the reason you felt that way.

He continued to stay kneeled to that spot for minutes and then hours. He refused to move.

You were going to come back, you had to. He couldn't do this without you.

But once the sun began to set, and the moon shone it's light down on him, he felt nothing but despair.

What if something had happened to you? Should he have gone and searched for you despite not knowing which direction you went? Would you ever be able to find your way back to him if you changed your mind?

He fully collapsed to the ground at these worries. The dirt and dust below him turned to spots of mud as the moisture from his own tears collided with the soil.

He signed to whatever Gods had to be out there watching him, "please, come back."

#slashers x reader #slashers #slashers preference #slasher preference #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #the texas chainsaw massacre #texas chainsaw massacre

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obsessedwithhotmen · 4 months ago

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⋆⁎✿ Finn ⇢ *- Taught To Please -* ⇠ Shelby ✿⁎⋆

⇾ (Peaky Blinders) Finn Shelby x fem!reader

⇾ Summary: essentially a part two for ‘Better than any other man’ where the reader teaches Finn how to please a woman.

⇾ Warnings: NSFW, oral (Female receiving) fingering,

⇾ Part One

It was safe to say that when Finn Shelby saw his brothers the next day, they had a few things to say about the rather dark bruises on their younger brothers neck. While Arthur assumed it had something to do with the whore that had been hired for him, Thomas knew it was something else, something that his brother wasn’t ready to share with the rest of his family, so he decided not to crack on to the young boy about it.

Although over the course of the week, the rest of the family began to question what the youngest member of the Shelby family was doing when he’d disappear without a trace.

So, as Finn was leaving after a long day of work, Thomas pulled him aside and into his office. “What is it Tom?” The younger boy asked, sitting down in the chair at the desk as his brother pulled out a cigarette, passing one over.

“We’ve all noticed the hickeys. Aunt Pol says you don’t return back home most nights. If it’s whores then I hope you’re being careful.” Tommy said, getting straight to the point.

Finn gulped, putting the cigarette to his lips and inhaling the smoke. “It’s not.” He said, shaking his head. “It’s not whores.” He confirmed.

Thomas raised a brow, sitting across from Finn. “Then who is it?”

“My girlfriend.” Finn answered.

Thomas nodded his head. “Your girlfriend… and who is that.” He inquired, wanting to make sure that Finn wasn’t putting himself in a bad place.

“I don’t want her to be apart of our business, Tommy.” Finn said, sitting up straight, attempting to appear confident.

“Very well, but expect that we will find out eventually. I’ll let the others know that a whore will no longer be necessary.” Thomas dismissed Finn, letting him finally leave, although he wasn’t planning on returning home.

Like normal, Finn showed up at your house, looking to stay the night. “Tommy knows about us, we’ll not about you. But he knows I have a girlfriend. The others I think are suspicious about it too.” Finn said as sat down beside you in front of the fire, enjoying the heat that the flames gave off.

“I know you said you don’t want them to know about me for safety reasons, but I don’t mind if you do want to tell them about me. It’d be nice to actually go out with you instead of meeting up in secret.” You tell your boyfriend, hoping he was willing to give it some thought and allow the two of you to go on proper dates together.

You watched him as his facial expressions shifted, as if he was lost in thought. “I know you’d like to go out, but it’s not my family that I’m worried about. It’s the threats towards us. I’ve already lost a brother because of it, and I can’t risk losing you too.” It wasn’t the response that you were looking for, but it also wasn’t something you could be upset with, after all he was right. His job was dangerous, a constant threat to those he cared for, and you could understand his fear for allowing people to know there are others out there that he cares deeply for. “I’m sorry.” He apologized, placing a hand on your thigh and lightly caressing your exposed skin.

“S’alright, Finny. I understand.” You smiled up at him, resting your head on his shoulders. “Hopefully someday we’ll be able to show the whole world that we’re together.” You mumbled, staring into the fire.

“Hopefully.” He repeated.

His hand had subconsciously shifted up, unaware of the state it put you in as his caressing drew closer and closer to your lower region.

You hadn’t noticed at first, that was until you felt the tingling sensation going straight to your core.

Suddenly, an idea popped into your head. You placed your hand on top of his, Finn thinking nothing of it until he felt you tug his hand further up your thigh. He glanced over at you, wondering what you were doing, when he noticed the hint of a smirk on your lips while you nudged him closer and closer. He didn’t say anything, opting for allowing you to do your thing while Finn silently observed.

When his hand disappeared beneath your skirt, and his fingers met your underwear, his breath hitched. “Y/n, what are you-”

He was cut off. “Remember when I said I would teach you about pleasuring me?” You asked, waiting for his nod of agreement. “Well… I was thinking we could do that today.” You suggested, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly.

His eyes brows raised at your suggestion, head cocking to the side. “And what is it you want me to do?”

“You know what.” You replied, feeling a sudden warmth hit your face as you grew shy.

Finn, taking note of the change in demeanor, started to smirk. “No, actually. I’m not sure.” He teased, thumb softly rubbing as the skin of your thigh.

You let out a huff in defeat, “I want you to touch me,” you pouted. Finn said nothing more as he allowed for you to press his hand over your underwear, grinding into him, “please,” you begged, pulling your skirt up so he could see the positioning of his hand.

“Oh shit,” Finn cursed, watching as you pulled aside your underwear, “uhm- what do I do?” He asked, unsure of how to actually please a woman as that was never something that he brothers brought up.

“Just touch me,” you stated grabbing his hand, “right here,” his fingers came in contact with your clit sending a shockwave of electricity through your body, “and rub,” you added.

Slowly, he moved his finger around the small bud of your clit, watching the way that you physically reacted to the stimulation. “Faster!” You begged.

Finn picked up the pace.

His confidence grew alongside your moans, feeling encouraged by the sounds you made for him.

At one point, his fingers grew slippery from your wetness, causing his finger to accidentally slip into your hole, to which Finn pulled his hand away and apologized. “S’okay, Finny. Your meant to do that too…” once again you grabbed his hand, pushing all but one finger down and pushing it as your entrance.

His finger slipped into your wet hole with ease, feeling the warmth of your inside and wishing it was his dick instead.

He pumped his finger in and out, even as you grabbed his wrist and dug your nails into his skin. “Finn- I’m close!” You moaned, eyes rolling back.

You reached down to rub at your clit, letting your orgasm wash over you. Your legs shook as you attempted to keep them open, until your high ended and the sensitivity came, then you clamped your thighs around his arm, stopping him from moving any more.

“That seemed easy, I thought there was more to it,” Finn commented, pulling his hand away from your core, unsure what to do with the wetness on his fingers.

“There is more to it,” you replied, placing his finger into your mouth and sucking off the juices.

Finns eyes widened at your action, thinking of the very first time you gave him head, and then it hit him.

A smirk grew on his face as his eyes dropped down to your closed legs. His hands landed on your knees, shoving them apart to make room for himself.

You let out a squeak as he dragged you down the couch and closer towards him, this way you were laying down.

Finn got off the couch, kneeling down on the ground and hunching over so he could be eye level with your core, looking up at you to gather your reaction.

You ran a hand through his hair, nails softly dragging across his scalp, “you don’t have to if you don’t want to, usually men don’t like doing it,” you told him, but Finn was adamant in returning the favor.

He lightly kissed your thigh, trailing them up until his nose was almost touching your pussy, when he used his fingers to spread you apart, taking notice of the cum that had dripped out.

Finn thought back to how you started off giving him head, how you licked from the base of his cock to the tip, and kept that in mind. His tongue darted out, touching your hole and tasting your cum, before flattening it and licking up to your clit, feeling the little pearl flutter beneath his touch.

The way you gasped has Finn thinking he did something right with licking at your clit, so he kept at it.

He sucked and licked, listening and paying attention to your reaction with every little thing he did.

He could never grow tired of the noises you made.

Your legs were closed around his head, but Finn didn’t mind, nor did he try and open them, he just kept his focus on pleasuring you, and pleasuring you was what he was doing.

The hand you had in his hair was tugging softly, your hips gyrating against his mouth, “oh- Finn! Feels so good…” you moaned.

Due to your sensitivity from the previous orgasm, it wasn’t long before your orgasm happened once more.

You came on his tongue with no warning other than the rather high pitched moans and harder tugs to his curls. “Shit!” You cried, body shaking.

You were breathing heavily as Finn pulled away from your core, a daze expression on his face matched with a bright smile, happy to have made you cum twice without having to use his cock.

“Should have told me to do that sooner,” he joked, sitting up and leaning over you, placing a kiss against your lips, “you taste nice,” he said.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Please do.”

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

#fanfic #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #Peaky blinders smut #Finn Shelby smut #Finn Shelby x reader #Finn Shelby #imagines #peaky blinders Finn #peaky blinders Finn Shelby #smut

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rootedinrevisions · 18 days ago

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Everything to Me (Kinktober 2024: Day 25)

KINK: Mirror Sex

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI. SMUT (Fingering)

WORD COUNT: 4.4k

TAG LIST: SEE COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists or be tagged for a specific character please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell (himself and the characters he's played)

Twisters (Mostly Tyler right now, but possibly others soon)

Top Gun: Maverick (Hangman, Rooster, possibly others soon)

Marvel / MCU (Bucky Barnes as of now, but possibly others soon)

WWE / Wrestling

Jake’s been waiting at the airport for what feels like hours, even though your flight only landed a few minutes ago. He’s standing near the arrivals gate, leaning casually against a pillar but fidgeting with his phone, checking the time every few seconds. His excitement to see you is palpable, and when he finally spots you coming down the corridor, everything else fades away. There you are, wheeling your suitcase behind you, looking around for him. The moment your eyes meet, Jake’s grin lights up the entire terminal.

Without hesitation, he bolts toward you, weaving between people, his duffle bag bouncing against his side. The second he’s close enough, you drop your suitcase and run straight into his arms. Jake lifts you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as you hold on tight. It’s like time stops, and the rest of the world disappears. The kiss comes naturally—deep, emotional, and long overdue.

“God, I missed you,” Jake mumbles against your lips before kissing you again.

His hands hold you firmly against him, like he’s afraid to let go. You pull back just enough to see his face, his eyes filled with nothing but love and relief.

“I missed you too,” you say softly, your forehead resting against his.

He grins again, his signature cocky smile making its appearance, but there’s a tenderness behind it, a vulnerability that only shows up when he’s with you. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, darlin’.”

He reluctantly sets you down, but not before stealing another quick kiss. You gather your things, Jake's arm instantly wrapping around your waist as he guides you toward the exit. The buzz of the airport surrounds you, but you feel nothing but warmth and safety in Jake’s presence. As you walk through the doors to the bright San Diego sunshine, it hits you—you’re finally here, with him, and for the next few days, it’s just the two of you.

* * * *

After collecting your luggage from the airport, you fully expect Jake to take you straight to his place. You’re more than ready for some alone time after the long flight, but instead, Jake flashes you one of his charming grins as he swings your suitcase into the back of his truck.

“So, I figured we’d make a little pit stop before heading home,” he says casually, leaning against the open door as if this is no big deal. “The team’s dying to meet you.”

You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head at him. “The team? I thought we were going home.”

He winks, that mischievous glint in his eyes making your heart skip. “Oh, don’t worry, darlin’. We’ll definitely get some alone time tonight.” He leans in, brushing a kiss to your temple before adding, “I just want to show you off a little first. Promise it’ll only be an hour or two.”

You try to hide your smile, but it’s impossible around Jake. He’s clearly excited for you to meet his squad, and the way he’s looking at you makes it hard to say no. “Alright, fine,” you agree, rolling your eyes playfully. “But you owe me later.”

His grin widens, and he gives you a playful smack on the rear as you hop into the passenger seat. “Deal.”

The Hard Deck is buzzing when you arrive, full of laughter, music, and the clinking of bottles and glasses. As soon as you walk through the door, you feel Jake’s hand slide possessively around your waist, guiding you through the crowd. You’ve been here before on previous trips, but there’s something different about being here with Jake tonight. Maybe it’s the way he keeps sneaking glances at you, unable to hide his excitement, or the fact that you’ve both been apart for too long.

Jake spots his crew near the pool tables, and you can already feel the warmth of their welcome before you even get close. Phoenix is the first to greet you, her face breaking into a wide smile as she approaches. “So you’re the girl who’s been keeping Hangman out of trouble,” she teases, offering a quick hug.

Rooster gives you an equally friendly grin, and Bob, though quieter, seems genuinely happy to meet you as well. “It’s about time we got to meet you,” Rooster says, shaking your hand.

Before you can respond, Coyote comes over, clapping Jake on the shoulder. “Good to see you again!” he says, his eyes sparkling with familiarity. “It’s been a while since we were stationed together.”

Jake introduces you to the rest of the group, and it’s not long before you settle in with them. The banter flows easily, and the atmosphere is relaxed. Jake keeps you close, his arm around your shoulders or waist at all times, pulling you in for kisses whenever the mood strikes him. He’s not holding back on the PDA, and honestly, you don’t mind. After months apart, it feels good to be in his arms, to steal these moments together. Between games of pool and darts, Jake’s touch never leaves you, a subtle but constant reminder that he’s missed you.

Every now and then, you catch Phoenix watching you two with a smirk, clearly amused by Jake’s inability to keep his hands off you. “I’ve never seen him like this,” she comments at one point, making you blush. “He’s a lucky guy.”

You smile and squeeze Jake’s hand as he leans down to plant another kiss on your lips. He chuckles softly. “What can I say? I’m not wasting a second.”

The night’s still young, but as Jake promised, he’s got every intention of taking you home soon. For now, though, you’re enjoying the easy camaraderie of his squad and the way Jake keeps making it clear just how happy he is to have you by his side.

After settling in with the team, laughter and conversation fill the air as the night drifts on. You’re still feeling the warmth of Jake’s arm around your waist, his frequent kisses to your temple making you smile.

Eventually, you offer to grab another round of drinks. Jake grins, pressing one more kiss to your cheek as you head toward the bar. As you approach the counter, Penny gives you a welcoming nod, already busy filling orders. You lean against the wooden bar, taking in the lively atmosphere when you notice a woman standing next to you, her eyes lingering on you just a little too long. She’s dressed sharply, her Navy uniform crisp and her expression unreadable. After a moment, she turns toward you with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Hey there,” she says, her tone friendly but laced with something sharper. “I’m a friend of Jake’s.”

You return the smile, even if something feels off. “It’s nice to meet you,” you say politely. “I’m just grabbing drinks for us.”

She raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “I’ve never seen you in here before.”

You nod, keeping your tone casual. “I’m in town visiting Jake. Thought I’d surprise him for the weekend.”

There’s a flicker in her expression, something that makes your instincts tingle. She gives you a slow once-over, her gaze subtly scrutinizing. “Oh,” she says, her voice dropping slightly. “Didn’t think you’d be his type.”

The words hang in the air, and though she says it lightly, you can feel the slight jab. You pause, keeping your smile, but something twists inside you. “We’ve been together for a while now,” you respond calmly, hoping to let it slide.

She arches an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips as she leans in a little closer. “Really? Because I know Jake doesn’t usually do long-term relationships. Just thought you should know.” Her words are casual, like she’s discussing the weather, but the meaning behind them sinks in like a stone.

You hold her gaze for a moment, feeling the urge to defend what you know about Jake, but instead, you calmly lift your hand and flash the ring on your finger. The diamond catches the light, glinting as you meet her eyes again.

“I’m not worried about his ability to commit.”

The smirk falters, and for a split second, you see the frustration in her expression before she smooths it over. Before she can say anything else, Penny sets the two beers in front of you, her presence almost a relief.

You smile warmly at Penny, taking the drinks. “Thanks, Penny.”

Without another glance at the woman, you turn and make your way back over to Jake, your mind buzzing. You try to push the encounter out of your head, but the way she said it keeps echoing: Didn’t think you’d be his type. It shouldn’t bother you, but as you walk back to your fiancé, your soon-to-be husband, you can’t help but wonder… was she right?

Jake’s smile lights up as he sees you coming back, but you find yourself questioning—why would a man like him want someone like you when he could have anyone he wanted? You take a deep breath, willing yourself to shake it off. You’ve been together long enough to know better than to let someone like that get to you.

But the seeds of doubt are planted now, and despite your best efforts, they begin to take root.

As the night wears on, the laughter and warmth of being surrounded by Jake’s friends should be enough to drown out the doubts, but it isn’t. The woman’s words cling to you, refusing to loosen their grip. You try to stay engaged, smiling at Phoenix’s jokes and Rooster’s playful banter, but every time Jake’s arm slips around your waist, or he presses a kiss to your temple, you can’t shake the feeling that maybe… maybe she was right. Why would someone like him choose someone like you when he could have anyone he wanted? Your thoughts spiral, and before you realize it, you’re barely paying attention to the conversation around you.

Jake notices, squeezing your side and asking if you’re alright. You nod and force a smile, but the unease gnaws at you.

After a while, you can’t take it anymore. Leaning into Jake’s side, you look up at him, your voice a little quieter than usual. “Hey, can we leave?”

Jake turns to you, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Already? It’s still early.”

You bite your lip, trying to keep your expression neutral even though your mind is racing. “Yeah, I just… I think I’m ready to go home.”

He watches you for a beat, searching your face for something he can’t quite put his finger on. You know he senses that something’s off, but he doesn’t push. With a nod, he turns to his friends.

“We’re gonna head out,” he announces, slapping Rooster’s back and giving Phoenix a quick hug. There are a few protests, but Jake waves them off with a laugh, making his goodbyes brief.

Soon, he’s leading you out of the bar, his hand resting protectively on the small of your back as you make your way to the car. The cool night air does little to settle your swirling thoughts, and by the time you’re both seated, Jake’s watching you carefully again, his hand resting on your thigh as he starts the engine.

The car hums to life, but instead of pulling out right away, he glances over at you.

“You sure you’re alright?” he asks, his voice softer now, laced with concern.

You nod quickly, looking out the window as you respond. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired, I guess.”

Jake doesn’t buy it. You can feel the weight of his gaze, his eyes still on you as the car pulls onto the road.

“Right,” he says slowly, his tone skeptical. He’s not going to push—he never does when he knows you’re not ready to talk—but you know him well enough to realize he’s not letting it go, either.

The drive back to his place is quiet, the hum of the car and the distant sounds of the city filling the silence between you. Jake’s hand stays on your thigh, his thumb occasionally brushing against your skin, but he doesn’t say anything else.

You keep your gaze fixed out the window, willing yourself to push the doubt aside. Jake loves you—you know that. You wouldn’t be here if he didn’t. But that woman’s words, the way she looked at you like you weren’t good enough for him, keep echoing in your mind. I didn’t think you’d be his type. It shouldn’t bother you, but it does.

By the time you pull into the driveway, your chest feels tight with a mixture of frustration and insecurity. Jake parks the car and turns to you again, but you quickly unbuckle your seatbelt, giving him another quick smile.

“I’m fine,” you say before he can even ask. “Let’s just go inside.”

He nods, though you know he’s not convinced. He’ll give you your space for now, but you can feel it in the way he’s watching you—he’s going to figure out what’s going on whether you’re ready to tell him or not.

As soon as you step inside Jake’s place, you make a beeline for the bedroom, your mind still reeling from the woman’s comments. You need to shake off this feeling, the doubt gnawing at you, and the only way you know how is to escape into the comfort of Jake’s oversized clothes and familiar warmth.

You peel off your outfit from the night, letting it fall to the floor without a second thought, and grab one of Jake’s t-shirts from the drawer. It’s soft, well-worn, and it smells like him—a mixture of cedarwood and something distinctly Jake. You tug it on, the fabric hanging loose on your frame, and follow it up with a pair of your own sweatpants.

As you’re standing in front of the mirror, running your hands through your hair and trying to make yourself feel more like you again, you feel Jake’s presence behind you.

You turn, catching sight of him in the doorway, and for a second, everything else melts away. He’s standing there in nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants, slung low on his hips, his arms folded across his chest. His hair’s tousled, and his eyes are soft, but there’s an edge of concern in the way he’s looking at you. He’s watching you closely, trying to read your thoughts without having to ask the question he’s been holding back all night.

“What happened?” he asks gently, his voice low as he finally breaks the silence.

You shrug, attempting to brush it off like it’s nothing. “It’s nothing, Jake. I’m just tired.”

But Jake doesn’t buy it. He never does when you try to sidestep your feelings. He uncrosses his arms and steps into the room, making his way across the small space to stand in front of you. His hand reaches out, gently taking yours, and he pulls you toward him. You feel the warmth of his fingers wrapping around yours, his thumb brushing softly over your knuckles.

“Talk to me,” he coaxes, his voice so soft and steady that it breaks through your defenses. “I know something’s up. You’ve been off since we left the bar.”

You sigh, feeling your walls start to crumble under his gentle persistence. He’s always been able to get you to open up, even when you don’t want to.

“There was this girl…” you start, hesitating as you glance up at him.

Jake’s brow furrows as he listens, his eyes locked on yours. “A girl?”

You nod. “Yeah, she came up to me at the bar when I was getting drinks. Said she knew you. She introduced herself as your friend.”

The confusion on Jake’s face deepens, but he doesn’t interrupt. He lets you continue.

“She, uh… she made a comment about me not being your type,” you admit, the words tasting bitter as they leave your lips. “And then she said something about how you don’t really do long-term relationships.”

Jake’s jaw tightens slightly, but his gaze remains soft as he watches you, waiting for more.

“I didn’t let it get to me at first, but the more I thought about it…” you trail off, shaking your head. “I don’t know, Jake. She was looking at me like I wasn’t good enough for you. Like she couldn’t understand what you see in me.”

You’re surprised by how much admitting it stings. Saying it out loud only makes the insecurity feel more real.

Jake’s eyes darken slightly, but not with anger toward you—more like irritation at the situation. He lets out a sigh and shakes his head, rolling his eyes in disbelief.

“Babe, you know who she is?” he asks, his voice exasperated but gentle. “She’s been trying to hook up with every Top Gun pilot since she got stationed here. And none of us have taken the bait.”

He steps closer, taking both of your hands in his now, his touch reassuring and steady. “I’ve told her at least a dozen times that I’m not interested. I have you.”

You feel a flicker of relief at his words, but the nagging doubt still lingers.

“She probably just didn’t like that I didn’t give her the attention she wanted,” Jake continues, his thumb brushing the back of your hand. “But trust me, she’s nothing to worry about.”

He pauses, his gaze softening as he reaches for your left hand, lifting it to his lips. He presses a slow, lingering kiss to your engagement ring, the diamond catching the light as he lowers your hand and meets your eyes again.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs, his voice sincere and warm. “And I’m the luckiest guy in the world to have you.”

His words melt the last of the doubt, but it’s the look in his eyes, the absolute certainty and love, that fully quiets the storm in your chest.

Jake smiles, his thumb brushing along your ring finger as he holds your hand between both of his. His voice is warm and full of pride as he murmurs, “You’re beautiful, Mrs. Seresin.”

You manage a small laugh, shaking your head. “I’m not Mrs. Seresin yet,” you tease. “You still have time to change your mind.”

Jake pauses, his expression softening as he studies your face. Then, he gives you a look of utter disbelief, and there’s an intensity in his eyes that makes your heart skip.

“Why would I want to do something like that?” he asks softly, his voice filled with conviction. “I’ve got the most beautiful, stunning, gorgeous, sexy woman on the planet right here. I’d be out of my mind to want anything else.”

He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, and then another, as if to drive the words home. When he finally pulls back, he’s still close, his lips hovering just inches from yours as he grins.

“If you don’t believe me,” he murmurs, his voice low, “I’ll take you to the courthouse first thing Monday morning. You can be Mrs. Seresin before noon.”

You laugh, feeling your doubts vanish under the warmth of his gaze, and shake your head again. “Jake, you’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe, but I’m yours,” he says, his tone turning serious, his hand coming up to cradle your face. “You’re all I want. And you’re all I’ll ever want.”

The intensity in his voice leaves no room for doubt. His gaze is so steady, so certain, that you know, without a shadow of a doubt, he means every single word. You feel yourself melt a little more in his arms, and this time, when he leans in, you let yourself fall completely into his kiss.

Jake presses another gentle kiss to your forehead and pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. "Feeling better?" he asks softly, his thumb brushing along your cheek.

You hum a quiet "yes" and nod, leaning into his touch. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips, warm and full of that familiar affection that makes your heart flutter.

"Good," he murmurs.

His hands slowly slide down your sides, slipping under the fabric of the oversized shirt you're wearing. His fingers splay across your bare skin, and you shiver at the warmth of his touch.

As his hands explore the curves of your body, he leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispers, "You really are the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. Do you know that?"

You get quiet again, your insecurities bubbling up in the silence. Jake’s question lingers in the air, and when you don’t respond, he doesn’t push. Instead, he shifts his approach.

"Maybe I need to show you," he whispers, a mischievous edge to his voice. His hands move with deliberate care, his fingers gripping the hem of the shirt. In one smooth motion, he slides it up and off, leaving your chest and stomach exposed to the cool air of the room. You feel vulnerable, standing there in nothing but your sweatpants, but Jake’s gaze is so tender, so full of reverence, that it quiets the anxious thoughts threatening to rise again.

He tucks his fingers into the waistband of your pants and underwear, pulling them down in one slow motion until they pool at your feet, leaving you completely naked. He turns you gently by the shoulders until you’re facing the mirror above the vanity, the reflection of your bare form standing in front of him.

Jake steps closer, his chest pressing against your back as he pulls you flush against him. His hands settle at your hips, then slide up your stomach and over the swell of your breasts, his touch reverent, slow. His eyes meet yours in the reflection, filled with an unwavering adoration that takes your breath away.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he whispers, his lips ghosting over your shoulder as his hands continue their slow, deliberate exploration of your body. He’s not rushed, not hurried—he’s savoring every inch of you, as if to memorize the feel of your skin beneath his hands.

He points to your collarbone, brushing his thumb across the delicate bone. “I love this,” he murmurs. “The way your skin feels soft here, how it catches the light.”

His hands slide lower, tracing the curve of your waist. “And here... the way you fit perfectly in my hands.”

His fingers skim your thighs next, gentle but firm. “The way your legs wrap around me when we’re close,” he says softly, his breath warm against your neck.

Jake continues, his voice low and steady, as he points out every detail he adores, from the curve of your hips to the softness of your stomach, to the way your hair falls over your shoulders. Every word, every caress is full of love, his tone steady as he dismantles your insecurities, piece by piece.

“You’re perfect,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper now. “Just the way you are.”

His words sink in, slowly dissolving the doubts you’ve carried, and when you meet his eyes again in the mirror, you see what he sees—a woman adored, cherished, and deeply loved. He kisses your neck softly, his lips lingering as he whispers against your skin, “Do you see it now? How beautiful you are?”

You nod quietly, your gaze still locked with his in the mirror. A small, satisfied smile tugs at the corner of Jake’s lips, and you can see the hint of a smirk forming.

"Do you want to know what I find most sexy about you?" he asks, his voice low, teasing.

Curiosity flickers in your eyes, and you can’t help but ask, "What is it?"

His smirk widens just a little, and you feel his fingers begin to trail down your stomach, slow and deliberate, until they reach the sensitive spot between your legs. His touch is gentle at first, but enough to send a shiver through you.

His breath tickles your ear as he leans in close, his voice a seductive whisper. “It’s the way you look when I’m making you feel good,” he murmurs, the heat in his words sending a flush through your entire body.

Your breath catches in your throat as your eyes flutter closed, instinctively leaning back into the warmth of his body. But just as you start to lose yourself in the moment, Jake’s hand pauses, his other arm wrapping firmly around your waist, holding you steady.

“Uh-uh,” he whispers against your ear, his tone commanding but gentle. “Open your eyes, baby.”

Reluctantly, you do as he says, your eyes flicking back open to meet his in the mirror. He shifts his body slightly, positioning himself so you can see every detail of his touch, every reaction your body gives under his fingers.

“Look at how beautiful you are,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with adoration.

His hand resumes its slow, deliberate movements, his fingers teasing you in ways that make your breath hitch. But his eyes—those piercing, sea-green eyes—never leave yours in the reflection. You can see the intensity in his gaze, the way he’s watching every little gasp, every shiver you give, as if he’s drawing power from your reactions.

“Do you see it?” Jake’s voice is hushed, his lips brushing your ear. “Do you see how incredible you are when you’re lost in this?”

Your body responds to him before your mind even catches up. A quiet moan escapes your lips, and you press your thighs together, but Jake is relentless in keeping you focused on the mirror, on yourself.

“Don’t look away,” he whispers, his fingers moving with more precision now, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you. “I want you to see what I see. How gorgeous you are when you’re like this.”

You bite your lip, your breathing quickening as the pleasure builds, but his steady gaze and firm touch keep you tethered to the moment. There’s something deeply intimate about it, the way he’s not just touching you but guiding you to see yourself through his eyes, with a reverence that makes your heart pound in your chest.

Jake's lips trail soft kisses along the side of your neck, his free hand coming up to cup your breast, adding to the overwhelming sensations running through you. You meet his gaze again in the mirror, and there’s no mistaking the desire and love in his eyes, the way he’s savoring every second of this moment with you.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the rush of your own heartbeat. “You’re everything, baby. Everything.”

Jake’s touch remains steady and deliberate, each movement sending waves of pleasure surging through you. His fingers move with a slow, practiced rhythm, teasing you closer to the edge. The heat of his body against yours and the intensity of his gaze in the mirror makes the moment even more overwhelming.

As the pleasure builds, your breath becomes shallow, your body instinctively leaning back against him, seeking his warmth and support. His other arm wraps securely around your waist, holding you close, his touch grounding you as the sensations spiral higher. The feel of his fingers on your skin, the soft brush of his lips against your neck, and the way he whispers your name between each pulse of pleasure—it’s all consuming.

“Come on, baby,” Jake murmurs against your ear, his voice low and coaxing. “Let go for me.”

Your body tenses, the pleasure cresting and crashing over you in a powerful wave. A soft moan escapes your lips, your head falling back against his shoulder as the climax washes through you. Jake holds you close, supporting you as he works you through it, his fingers slowing but never stopping, guiding you down gently from the high.

“There you go,” he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. His arm tightens around you, keeping you steady as your legs tremble, the intensity of the moment leaving you breathless. “That’s my girl.”

His words settle over you like a soft blanket, his quiet pride and possessiveness making your heart swell. You meet his gaze again in the mirror, your chest still rising and falling rapidly as you try to catch your breath. He’s watching you with that same adoring look, his eyes soft, but filled with unmistakable love.

Jake presses a kiss to the side of your neck, lingering for a moment before he slowly removes his fingers, letting you relax fully into him. He’s gentle as ever, taking his time as he slides his shirt back over your body, covering your bare skin with the familiar warmth of his scent. Then, with the same care, he pulls your underwear back up, smoothing his hands over your hips as he does.

“There,” he whispers, his voice soft and reassuring. “My girl's all taken care of.”

Before you can say anything, he scoops you into his arms with ease, cradling you against his chest. You can’t help but smile at the feeling of being wrapped up in him, safe and secure.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he says, his voice low and affectionate.

Jake carries you effortlessly across the room, his steps slow and deliberate, as if savoring every moment of holding you close. He gently lays you down on the bed, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face before sliding in beside you.

As you curl up against him, his arms wrap around you once more, pulling you into the warmth of his body.

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, whispering, “You’re everything to me. You know that, right?”

You nod, the weight of his words settling in your heart, as you relax fully into the comfort of his embrace. The night is quiet, but the connection between you and Jake feels stronger than ever, his love and devotion wrapping around you like a protective shield.

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lila-lou · 22 days ago

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✨Taking her in - Pt. 6✨

Summary: After Dean Winchester saves your life, he brings you into the safety of the bunker. As you grow older and stronger, Dean refuses to let you join the hunts, his overprotective behavior intensifying. But beneath his fierce protectiveness lies something darker—conflicted feelings he can’t face. As your 18th birthday approaches, Dean struggles to keep control, torn between his duty to protect you and emotions he’s buried for too long.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: HUGE Age Gap, Immoral, Underage Reader, Language, angst

Word Count: 7003

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💜

Your heart clenched at the sudden rejection, the abrupt shift in Dean’s demeanor cutting through the haze of desire that had enveloped you both. The intensity of the kiss, the way your body had responded to his, it had all felt so right in the moment—so overwhelming and consuming. But now, with Dean pulling back, it was as if the rug had been yanked out from under you, leaving you feeling exposed and uncertain.

Even though you felt like jelly, your head light and your heart racing, you tried to mask the hurt. You swallowed hard, forcing down the emotions that threatened to spill over. “And?”, you asked quietly, doing your best to sound nonchalant, as if you weren’t waiting on tenterhooks for his feedback, as if you weren’t terrified of what he might say next.

Dean took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Your nonchalant tone caught him off guard. He cleared his throat, shifting slightly on the bed to put a bit more distance between you, needing space to clear his head and regain control of the situation.

He hesitated, searching for the right words, knowing that what he said next could either ease your worries or make things even more complicated. “You’re… you’re good, (Y/N)”, he finally said, his voice softer, trying to sound reassuring. But even as the words left his mouth, he knew they didn’t fully convey the complexity of what he was feeling. Yes, he had felt your inexperience, but that was far from what mattered to him in that moment. What mattered was the connection you had shared, the emotions that had been laid bare in that kiss.

But he couldn’t say that—not without risking everything.

As he spoke, Dean couldn’t help but shift slightly, trying to discreetly adjust his jeans. The kiss had left him more affected than he wanted to admit, and he could feel the uncomfortable tightness that had developed. He did his best to hide it from you, knowing that the last thing you needed was to see just how much that kiss had impacted him physically.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to dispel the tension in the air. “Look, it’s… it’s normal to feel a little unsure”, he said, his tone awkward but earnest. “But trust me, you’re doing just fine. You don’t have anything to worry about”.

Dean gave you a small, tight smile, hoping to put you at ease, but the truth was, he was struggling just as much as you were. The emotions stirred by that kiss were still swirling inside him, making it hard to think straight, to keep up the facade of being the calm, collected older brother figure you’d always seen him as.

But even as he tried to reassure you, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had crossed a line—one that couldn’t be uncrossed. And as much as he wanted to make things right, to go back to the way things were before, he knew deep down that something had changed between you, and there was no going back.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face, trying to gather his thoughts, the reality of the situation hitting him hard. He couldn’t believe he’d let it get this far. You were sitting there, skin flushed, breath still a little uneven, and he could see the uncertainty in your eyes—the same uncertainty he felt gnawing at his gut.

Running a hand through his hair and then over his beard, he tried to figure out how to handle this without making things worse. The kiss had been a mistake, he knew that now more than ever, but the last thing he wanted was to make you feel bad about it. He had always prided himself on being the one who looked out for you, the one who made sure you were safe and protected. And now, he felt like he had let you down in the worst way.

Raising a finger, he pointed at you, his voice firm but not unkind. “No word to anyone, alright?”, he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “This… this stays between us”.

You nodded, your cheeks still flushed, and your eyes wide with a mix of lingering desire and confusion. You had never seen Dean like this before—so vulnerable, so conflicted.

Dean muttered something under his breath, a combination of frustration and desperation, as he pushed himself up from the bed. The tension in the room was unbearable, and he knew he needed to get out of there, to put some distance between himself and the situation before he did something he couldn’t take back.

“I need a drink”, he muttered, his voice rough, more to himself than to you. He turned away, making his way toward the door, but not before discreetly adjusting his jeans to relieve the discomfort caused by his still-present arousal. His back was to you as he did so, sparing you the sight, but it was another painful reminder of how close he had come to completely losing control.

You watched him go, your emotions a tangled mess of confusion, desire, and shame. You could still feel the warmth of his lips against yours, the way his hands had held you so carefully, so reverently.

As Dean disappeared from sight, the door closing softly behind him, you were left alone in the quiet room. The weight of what had just happened pressed down on you, but there was something else too—something that made your heart race and your skin tingle with the remnants of what you had just experienced.

Your fingers slowly reached up to touch your lips, the very same lips that had just been kissed for the first time. It was surreal, almost too much to process all at once. Your first kiss—and it had been with Dean. It had been everything you had imagined and more, filled with a warmth and intensity that you hadn’t expected. The way his lips had moved against yours, the way he had held you, it had felt so right in the moment, so undeniably good.

Your skin still tingled with the memory of his touch, a soft, lingering sensation that refused to fade. Every nerve in your body felt alive, buzzing with an energy that made it hard to sit still. You could feel the heat in your cheeks, the rush of emotions that made your thoughts whirl in chaotic circles. There was confusion, yes, and a hint of shame at how much you had enjoyed it, but there was also something else—a thrill that ran through you at the thought that it had been Dean, of all people, who had given you that moment.

You couldn’t deny the feelings that were swirling inside you, feelings that you had tried to suppress for so long but had come rushing to the surface the moment his lips had touched yours. There was a part of you that knew this could complicate everything, that things might never be the same between you and Dean, but another part of you couldn’t help but hold on to the way it had felt, the way he had made you feel.

Sitting there, alone in the room, you couldn’t stop the small, secret smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth.

This kiss, this moment—it was something you would hold on to, no matter what happened next.

After a while, you finally managed to steady your breathing and gather your thoughts. You knew you couldn’t stay in that room forever, lost in your own head.

With a few deep breaths to calm your nerves, you got up and made your way to the library, where you knew Dean had gone to nurse his drink. As you approached, you saw him standing by one of the tall bookshelves, a full glass of whiskey in his hand. His posture was tense, and the lines of his face were drawn tight, as if he was still wrestling with the emotions of what had just transpired.

When he saw you walking toward him, he brushed his hand through his hair, his eyes reflecting a mixture of guilt, frustration, and something deeper that he couldn’t quite hide. You could tell he was still grappling with what had happened, just as you were, and you wanted to say something to ease the tension, to play it all down.

But before you could get a word out, Dean held up one hand, stopping you in your tracks. He took another sip of his whiskey, as if he needed the liquid courage to face you, and then set the glass down on the table with a heavy thud. The silence between you was thick, the unspoken words hanging in the air like a heavy fog.

“Don’t”, he said, his voice low and rough, as if the words were costing him more than he cared to admit. “Don’t say anything. Not right now”.

The plea in his tone was unmistakable.

Dean clenched his jaw, his eyes avoiding yours as he leaned heavily against the table. The weight of what had happened between you was clearly bearing down on him, and he was doing everything he could to keep his emotions in check. The whiskey wasn’t enough to dull the edge of it, and he knew that if he let this conversation continue, it might spiral out of control in a way neither of you were ready to handle.

“I told you”, he mumbled, his voice thick with tension, “this stays in my room. We’re not gonna talk about it. Not now, not ever”.

His words were harsh, but there was a vulnerability beneath them that you could sense—a desperate need to keep things from unraveling any further. He was trying to protect both of you, to keep the fragile balance you’d had from completely shattering, even if it meant pushing you away.

You nodded, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. You wanted to tell him that you understood, that you were okay with pretending it never happened if that’s what he needed, but the words were difficult to form. Finally, you managed to find your voice, though it came out softer and more tentative than you’d intended.

“I just wanted to say… I’m cool with it”, you murmured, your eyes dropping to the floor. “It doesn’t change anything, I promise”.

Dean looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. He wanted to believe you, wanted to trust that you could both move past this without it leaving a permanent mark on your relationship. But deep down, he knew that things had already changed, whether either of you wanted to admit it or not.

He nodded stiffly, acknowledging your words without fully believing them. “Good”, he said, his tone flat. “Then let’s leave it at that”.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and uncomfortable. Neither of you seemed to know what to say or how to bridge the gap that had suddenly opened up between you. The weight of what had happened, and more importantly, what had almost happened, hung over you both like a dark cloud.

After what felt like an eternity, you finally found the courage to break the silence. Your voice was hesitant, unsure if you were stepping into another minefield. “Are you… still going to drive me to my date tomorrow?”.

Dean’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something in them—something like regret or maybe even disappointment. But he quickly masked it, taking another sip of his whiskey as he considered your question.

“Yeah”, he replied after a moment, his tone more neutral now, but still with that edge of tension. “Yeah, I’ll drive you”.

The confirmation should have been reassuring, but instead, it left you feeling more unsettled. The way he said it, the way he avoided looking directly at you, made it clear that things were different, whether either of you wanted to admit it or not.

You nodded, offering him a small, tentative smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thanks, Dean”.

He just nodded, his attention already drifting back to his glass. The conversation was over, and it was clear he wasn’t in the mood to continue it. You hesitated for a moment longer, wanting to say something—anything—that might help, but nothing came to mind.

Instead, you turned and walked out of the library, the weight of the evening pressing heavily on your shoulders.

A week had passed since that night, and while things between you and Dean had settled somewhat, the undercurrent of tension remained. It wasn’t as sharp or unbearable as it had been immediately after the kiss, but it was still there, lingering like a ghost that neither of you could quite exorcise.

Your last date with Jake had gone well enough, but the opportunity to kiss him hadn’t come up, which left you feeling strangely relieved. Maybe it was the timing, or maybe it was the unresolved tension with Dean, but you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to make that move with Jake. Now, the prospect of another date loomed, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Dean, to the kiss that had left you both reeling.

Today, you and Dean were on a long drive to Helena, Montana, where you were meeting up with Sam, Jody, and her girls. After the intensity of the last, Jody had suggested a little getaway—just like family. It was meant to be a break, a chance to relax and unwind, but for Dean, the drive was proving to be anything but relaxing.

You sat next to him in the passenger seat, your legs bare in your little denim shorts. The weather was warm, and you’d dressed comfortably for the long drive, but Dean was finding it increasingly difficult to focus on the road. Every time he glanced over at you, his eyes were drawn to the way your shorts rode up just slightly on your thighs, the smooth skin exposed to the sun streaming through the windows. It was torture, pure and simple.

The radio was playing softly, Metallica’s familiar riffs filling the car, and you were humming along to the music, completely oblivious to the turmoil Dean was trying so hard to keep under control. The breeze from the open window played with your hair, and every now and then, you’d glance out the window, your lips moving along with the lyrics.

Dean gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, trying to keep his eyes on the road. The fifteen-hour drive had been a test of his self-control from the start, and as the hours wore on, it was only getting harder. He had hoped that the tension between you would fade with time, that he’d be able to push it all down and get back to normal. But being this close to you, trapped in the confined space of the Impala for hours on end, was doing the exact opposite.

He cleared his throat, glancing over at you as casually as he could manage. “You doing okay over there?”, he asked, his voice rougher than he intended.

You looked over at him, smiling slightly as you nodded. “Yeah, I’m good. Just enjoying the music”. Your eyes met his, and for a moment, the memory of the kiss flashed between you like a spark, before you both quickly looked away.

As the conversation dipped back into silence, you suddenly felt the familiar rumble of hunger in your stomach. You glanced over at Dean, who was still staring straight ahead, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. The tension in the car was thick enough to cut with a knife, but you were determined to break it, even if just a little.

“You hungry?”, you asked, already leaning over the seat to reach into the back for the bag of snacks you had packed earlier. The movement caused your body to shift, and before you realized it, your butt was nearly at eye level with Dean.

Dean’s breath caught in his throat as his gaze involuntarily drifted to the curve of your body, so close he could almost feel the heat radiating off your skin. The shorts you were wearing left little to the imagination, and the way they hugged your hips and thighs was driving him to the edge. He clenched his jaw, forcing his eyes back on the road, but the image was seared into his mind.

You finally found the bag and straightened up, oblivious to the internal struggle Dean was fighting beside you. You opened the bag and started rummaging through it, listing off the snacks you’d brought. “I’ve got chips, some granola bars, and oh, these little pretzel bites you like”, you said, offering the bag to Dean.

He glanced over briefly, his face carefully neutral, though the effort it took was nearly Herculean. “Yeah, thanks”, he muttered, taking a pretzel bite and popping it into his mouth, more to distract himself than out of actual hunger.

As you settled back into your seat, the tension between you didn’t completely dissipate, but the simple act of sharing a snack helped ease it slightly.

“We’re gonna have to stop somewhere for the night”, Dean muttered, more to himself than to you, his voice gruff. “There’s a decent motel in Wyoming, about a couple of hours away. We can crash there, get some rest, and drive the rest of the way tomorrow”.

You nodded, grateful for the break in the silence and the subtle shift back to something normal, something that didn’t involve the unspoken tension between you. “Sounds good”, you replied, offering him a small smile. “I could use a break from sitting in this seat”.

Dean grunted in agreement, glancing over at you briefly before focusing back on the road. “Yeah, me too”, he said. “We’ll find a place, grab some dinner, and call it a night”.

The plan was solid, practical, and gave him something to focus on other than the way his mind kept drifting back to thoughts he knew he shouldn’t be having. The miles ticked by, and Dean did his best to keep the conversation light, sticking to safe topics like music, old hunts, and the upcoming plans with Sam, Jody, and the girls.

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, you both fell into a more comfortable silence, the earlier tension easing slightly. But even as you talked and joked, there was still that undercurrent, that lingering awareness of each other that neither of you could completely shake.

When the lights of a small town came into view, Dean let out a small sigh of relief. “There’s the exit”, he said, signaling as he guided the Impala off the highway. “Shouldn’t be too much longer”.

You watched the town’s lights grow closer, a sense of anticipation building. Despite the awkwardness earlier, you couldn’t help but feel a strange excitement about spending the night in a motel with Dean. It was silly, you knew that, but the thought of it made your heart race just a little faster.

As you pulled into the parking lot of the motel, Dean parked the Impala and cut the engine. The sudden silence after the long hours of driving was almost deafening, and you both sat there for a moment, neither of you moving to get out of the car.

Dean finally cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “I’ll get us checked in”, he said, his voice gruff as he grabbed his wallet from the dashboard. “You want anything from the diner across the street?”.

You nodded, grateful for the offer. “Yeah, whatever you’re getting is fine with me”.

Dean gave you a curt nod before stepping out of the impala.

As you stepped out of the Impala and stretched a few minutes later, the cool evening air felt refreshing after the long drive. Dean handed you the room key and the Impala’s keys, giving you a small nod before heading off to the diner across the street. His expression was guarded, still carrying that underlying tension, but he didn’t say anything more before he walked away.

You watched him go for a moment, then turned toward the motel room, bags in hand. The motel itself was nothing special. But tonight, it felt different, charged with a strange mixture of anticipation and unease.

Pushing the door open, you stepped inside the room and immediately noticed the large bed in the center. Just one bed, not two. You froze for a moment, taking in the sight.

The bedspread was a dull, faded floral pattern, and the room had the usual motel decor—dated furniture, a small TV mounted on the wall, and a single lamp casting a dim, warm glow over the space. The air smelled faintly of cleaning products and something else you couldn’t quite place.

You set down the bags at the foot of the bed, your mind racing. The reality of the situation was starting to sink in, and the thought of sharing a bed with Dean after everything that had happened was both thrilling and terrifying. You knew you had to play it cool, to pretend like this was no big deal, but your heart was pounding in your chest at the thought of how the night might unfold.

A few minutes later, you heard the door creak open, and Dean stepped inside, a takeout bag from the diner in hand. His eyes immediately went to the bed, and you could see the moment he realized what you had already noticed.

He stopped in his tracks, the tension in the room thickening as he took in the single bed. For a moment, neither of you said anything, the silence almost deafening.

Dean let out a slow breath, trying to process the situation. He could feel the tension in the air thickening, the reality of the single bed sinking in. After a moment, he set the takeout bag down on the small table, his movements more deliberate than usual as he tried to think of how to handle this without making things even more awkward than they already were.

“Apparently, this was the only room they had left", Dean said, his voice tinged with frustration. “Figures, right?”.

You nodded, trying to keep your expression neutral even though your heart was racing. “Yeah, just our luck”. You offered him a small, forced smile, hoping to ease the tension between you. “But it’s just one night, like you said. We’ll manage”.

Dean nodded, though he didn’t seem entirely convinced. He glanced at the bed again, then back at you, clearly weighing his options. You could see the hesitation in his eyes, the same mix of emotions you were feeling—awkwardness, uncertainty, and something deeper that neither of you were ready to acknowledge.

“Alright”, he finally said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Let’s just get through this, get some rest, and hit the road first thing in the morning”.

You both sat down at the table, trying to focus on the food and steer the conversation away from the elephant in the room. You talked about the drive, the music, anything that wasn’t related to the bed or the lingering tension between you. But even as you spoke, your thoughts kept drifting back to the situation at hand.

Once the meal was finished, the atmosphere between you felt a little more relaxed, but the reality of the single bed still loomed over you. Dean cleared the trash from the table, his movements slightly more rigid than usual, as if he was trying to keep himself busy to avoid thinking too much about what came next.

“Do you want the first shower?”, Dean asked, his voice casual, though you could hear the underlying strain.

You hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Sure, thanks”. You grabbed your bag and headed to the bathroom, grateful for the excuse to put a little distance between you and Dean, if only for a few minutes.

As the warm water cascaded over you, you took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts. You knew you’d have to face Dean again soon, and the prospect of sharing that bed with him was becoming more and more daunting. But you also knew that you couldn’t let this situation get the better of you. Dean was right—it was just one night, and you could handle it.

When you finally stepped out of the bathroom, you felt a little more composed. Dean gave you a brief nod as he passed by you to take his turn in the shower, and you took the opportunity to change into something comfortable for bed.

Eventually Dean emerged from the bathroom, his hair damp and tousled, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a plain t-shirt. His footsteps were almost hesitant as he walked back into the room, his gaze falling on you already tucked in and cuddled up under the covers, your phone in hand. The sight of you there, looking so comfortable and yet so out of place in this motel room, made something twist in his chest.

He lingered by the door for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck as he considered his options. The last thing he wanted was to make you feel uncomfortable, especially after everything that had happened between you. The idea of sharing a bed still felt like a step too far, even if it was just for one night. But at the same time, he knew he couldn’t avoid it forever.

“Uh…”, Dean cleared his throat, his voice rough as he tried to find the right words. “You sure you’re okay with this? I can still sleep on the floor if it makes you more comfortable”.

You looked up from your phone, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of him standing there, clearly torn between his instincts to protect you and the unspoken feelings that had been simmering between you both for weeks. His offer was sincere, and you could see the concern in his eyes, but the truth was, you didn’t want him to sleep on the floor. It wasn’t just about the discomfort—it was about the strange comfort you found in his presence, even amidst the awkwardness.

“No, it’s fine”, you replied softly, trying to sound more confident than you felt. “Really, Dean, it’s just one night”.

Dean hesitated for a moment longer, searching your eyes for any sign of doubt. But all he saw was that same trust you’d always had in him, and it was enough to push him forward. With a nod, he made his way to the other side of the bed, carefully pulling back the covers before sliding in beside you.

The bed felt impossibly small now that you were both in it, the space between you charged with a tension that was almost palpable. Dean lay on his back, his eyes fixed on the ceiling as he tried to force himself to relax. He could feel the warmth of your body beside him, the subtle rise and fall of your breathing, and it was both comforting and maddening at the same time.

After a few moments of silence, Dean shifted slightly, turning his head to look at you. “If this gets too weird, just say the word, and I’ll move”, he said, his voice quiet but firm.

You turned your head to meet his gaze, offering him a small smile. “I will”, you promised, though deep down, you knew you wouldn’t. The thought of him moving away, of putting more distance between you, felt like the last thing you wanted.

The silence stretched on between you, but it wasn’t the uncomfortable silence from earlier. It was quieter, more reflective, as if you were both trying to come to terms with the fact that, despite everything, you were here, together, sharing this space.

Dean lay still, trying to will himself into sleep, but the discomfort in his back was making it difficult. He shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position, but no matter how he moved, the stiffness persisted.

“My back hurts”, Dean grumbled after a while, his voice low and rough. The words broke the silence, but there was a trace of humor in his tone, an attempt to ease the lingering tension between you both.

You chuckled softly, the sound light in the quiet room. The tension eased just a little, and you placed your phone on the nightstand, turning to face him. Dean looked tired, the faint lines on his face more pronounced in the soft light of the bedside lamp. It was a reminder that he wasn’t in his twenties anymore, that the years had taken their toll in more ways than one.

“You sound like an old man”, you teased gently, though your smile was warm and affectionate.

Dean let out a huff of amusement, turning his head to look at you. “Yeah, well, I guess I am getting there”, he replied, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

For a moment, you just looked at each other, the playful banter giving way to something more serious, more real. The lines on his face, the way his eyes seemed to carry a weight that had nothing to do with the physical, made you realize just how much Dean had been through, how much he still carried with him.

As you shifted to get a better look at Dean, the blanket slipped down your body, revealing more of your top. The material was thin, and without a bra underneath, the outline of your nipples became faintly visible through the fabric. You were too caught up in the moment, in the concern you felt for Dean, to notice right away.

Dean, however, noticed immediately. His gaze flickered down for just a second before he forced himself to look away, his jaw tightening as he tried to keep his thoughts in check. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen you in casual clothing before, but this was different. Here you were, lying beside him in bed, the intimacy of the moment amplified by the quiet darkness of the room, and now this added layer of temptation was something he hadn’t been prepared for.

He could feel his heart rate picking up, a surge of heat flooding through him that he tried desperately to push down. This was exactly what he’d been trying to avoid—getting too close, letting his mind wander to places it shouldn’t go. But you were making it so damn difficult, not on purpose, he knew, but just by being yourself, by being here with him.

You caught the slight shift in his expression, the way his eyes had momentarily darkened before he looked away. It made you suddenly aware of the blanket’s position, of the way your top clung to your body. Your cheeks flushed, heat rushing to your face as you quickly pulled the blanket back up, covering yourself again.

“Sorry”, you mumbled, embarrassed, trying to laugh it off. “I didn’t mean to—”.

Dean cut you off, his voice gentle but firm. “It’s okay”, he said, though his voice was a little rougher than usual. “Nothing to apologize for”.

Your cheeks were bright red as you quickly turned away from Dean, pulling the blanket up higher in an attempt to hide not just your body, but the shame and confusion that were suddenly overwhelming you.

Dean, meanwhile, was locked in an internal battle, doing everything he could to push down the surge of arousal that had hit him the moment he caught sight of you. The last thing he wanted was to make you feel uncomfortable, but the physical reaction was out of his control, and he hated himself for it. He shifted slightly, trying to adjust discreetly, but every movement seemed to make the situation worse.

The room was silent except for the sound of your breathing, which had quickened slightly as you tried to calm your racing heart.

Dean could see how tense you were, and it tore at him. He knew he needed to defuse the situation somehow, to make you feel less vulnerable, and maybe even coax a smile from you. So, he gently laid a hand on your bare shoulder, his touch light and comforting, as if he could somehow reassure you through that small connection.

“Hey”, he repeated softly, trying to bring a little warmth into his tone. “It’s not a big deal, really. I mean, it’s not like I saw much, right?”.

He gave a small, awkward chuckle, hoping the joke would lighten the mood. But as soon as the words left his mouth, he realized his mistake. The look on your face when you finally turned to him—your cheeks still flushed and eyes wide with embarrassment—made it clear that you had taken his comment the wrong way.

You thought he was referring to the size of your breasts, and the humiliation that washed over you was almost unbearable. Your face grew even redder, and you quickly turned away again, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself, trying to hide not just your body but the sting of his unintended remark.

Dean’s heart dropped when he realized what had happened. “Oh… no,Y/N… I didn’t mean it like that!”, he said quickly, his voice laced with genuine panic. “I wasn’t… I wasn’t talking about… I swear. I just meant… you’re not… naked or anything”.

He ran a hand through his hair, utterly flustered and kicking himself for making the situation even worse. The last thing he wanted was to make you feel self-conscious, and now he had done exactly that.

“Look, I’m an idiot”, he added, his voice softer now, filled with regret. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I was just trying to… I don’t know, make things less awkward”.

You heard the sincerity in his voice, and though you were still embarrassed, you couldn’t help but feel a little bad for him too. He had only been trying to help, and you could see how much he regretted his choice of words.

For a while, the room was filled with an uneasy silence. You stared down at the blanket, still feeling the heat of embarrassment lingering in your cheeks, while Dean remained beside you, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. The awkwardness of the situation hung in the air, but Dean’s touch was gentle, a silent reassurance that he hadn’t meant to make you feel uncomfortable.

Finally, you found the courage to speak, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s okay”, you mumbled, though your heart was still pounding in your chest. You weren’t entirely sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself, but you could feel the sincerity in your words.

The warmth of his hand on your shoulder was almost too much. Your skin seemed to burn where he touched you.

Dean let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, relieved to hear you say that it was okay. “I’m really sorry”, he repeated softly, his voice full of genuine remorse. He squeezed your shoulder lightly before letting his hand drop away, as if he was giving you space to recover, though he already missed the contact.

Dean shifted slightly beside you, the tension in the air easing but not entirely dissipating. He was still feeling the weight of the moment, the awkwardness and the guilt of making you feel uncomfortable. His fingers twitched as he pulled his hand away, resisting the urge to keep touching you, to reassure you more. But he knew that pushing any further tonight wouldn’t help either of you.

“Just get some sleep”, he whispered, his voice low and rough with emotion. He turned away from you, his back now facing yours as he tried to create a little more distance between you. The bed felt both too big and too small at the same time—too big because of the emotional distance he felt growing, too small because he could still feel the warmth of your body so close to his.

You nodded, though he couldn’t see it, your own emotions still swirling inside you. There was so much you wanted to say, so much you wished you could explain, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, closing your eyes as you tried to settle into the bed. But sleep felt a long way off.

The room was quiet, the only sound the soft rhythm of your breathing and Dean’s, both of you lying there, back to back, lost in your own thoughts. Despite the lingering tension, there was a strange sense of comfort in the silence. Even with everything that had happened, even with the complications and the confusion, you were still here together, still connected in a way that neither of you could quite put into words.

Eventually, as the silence stretched on, the tension in your body began to ease. The initial embarrassment and awkwardness had slowly given way to a calmer, more introspective mood. You could still feel the warmth of Dean’s presence beside you, and despite the emotional distance that had crept between you, there was something undeniably comforting about just being near him.

You turned onto your side, facing Dean’s back. His broad shoulders rose and fell with each breath, and the sight of him, so close and yet so seemingly far away, stirred something deep within you. You weren’t sure what you were hoping for—maybe just some sense of reassurance, a connection that went beyond the words and the tension that had built up between you.

The room was dark, save for the faint light filtering in from the parking lot outside, casting a soft glow across Dean’s silhouette. You hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you found yourself just watching him, your thoughts swirling in the quiet of the night.

As the minutes ticked by in the quiet darkness, you found yourself gradually slipping toward sleep, your thoughts becoming softer, more distant, as the weight of the day finally began to catch up with you. The warmth of Dean's body next to yours, even with the small space still between you, was oddly comforting. You could feel the tension easing out of you, replaced by a kind of peacefulness that you hadn't expected to find after everything that had happened.

Just as you were teetering on the edge of sleep, you felt movement beside you. Dean shifted, and before you could fully process it, he turned over, his body now facing yours. The bed was small, and with this new position, the space between you disappeared almost entirely. Your faces were just inches apart, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath mingling with yours.

For a moment, you were both still, your eyes locked in the dim light, the reality of your closeness settling over you like a blanket. It should have felt awkward, the sudden intimacy of the moment, but somehow, it didn't. Instead, it felt… natural. Like this was exactly where you were supposed to be, even if neither of you had planned for it.

Dean's eyes searched yours, his gaze soft and unguarded in a way you rarely saw. Whatever tension had been lingering between you throughout the day seemed to have melted away, leaving only this quiet moment, shared between the two of you. The unspoken understanding that had passed between you earlier still lingered, a silent agreement that words weren't needed, that maybe this—whatever "this" was—was enough.

You could see the faint lines of exhaustion on his face, the way his eyes drooped slightly, as if sleep was pulling at him just as it was at you. But even in his tiredness, there was something reassuring in his gaze.

Neither of you moved, neither spoke. It was as if you both understood that this moment was fragile, something that could be shattered by even the smallest sound or gesture. So instead, you simply lay there, your breathing syncing up as the room around you grew quieter, the world outside fading away.

Dean’s hand twitched slightly, as if he was considering reaching out to you, but he stopped himself, letting it rest against the bed instead. The urge to close that last bit of distance between you, to feel the warmth of his hand in yours, was strong, but you held back, not wanting to break the delicate balance you had found.

Minutes passed, and slowly, the heaviness of sleep began to settle over both of you. Your eyes fluttered shut, the last thing you saw before sleep claimed you completely being Dean’s face, his expression relaxed and peaceful, so close to yours. The tension of the past days, the awkwardness, the unresolved feelings—all of it seemed to dissolve in the quiet comfort of the moment.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

Part 7

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