hiswhiteknight

[hiswhiteknight]

King of Possibilities (Tyler Owens x Reader)

DESCRIPTION: Tyler Owens was your best friend once, until he left for college and broke the promise to keep in touch. By the time he tried, your world had already fallen apart, and you weren’t interested in picking up the pieces with him. Years later, fate strands him on your porch with a busted truck and nowhere else to go. WORD COUNT: 5.9k WARNINGS: Childhood friends. Enemies to lovers. Angst (but it gets happy I swear). Emotional hurt/comfort. Confessions. Arguments. Kissing. NOTES: You should give King of Possibilities by Goldie Boutilier a listen :3 MY MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3!

Tyler Owens had his hands tied. He walked onto the all-too-familiar porch with his hands in his pockets and his tail between his legs. It looked exactly the same as it did all those years ago. The white wooden panels and the porch swing that creaked in the dry wind. The rickety door swung open, and there stood his old friend’s mother. Wrinkles and graying hair had appeared on the woman who treated him like a son growing up, and they suited her perfectly.

“Ms. Shirley, you’re glowing.” He said with that low country accent and charming smirk.

She laughed and slapped her hand against his shoulder. “Tyler. It’s been too long… My, you’ve gotten so big. Come on, now. It’s hotter than a two-dollar pistol out here.”

He chuckled and walked in. Thank god for Southern hospitality. His truck had broken down while passing through his old hometown, and he had nowhere to stay. With his parents having moved to Oklahoma City thanks to his streaming income, he forced himself to buck up and make the phone call. Money was running too tight to book a motel room like everybody else, but he’d never admit that. 

Stepping inside, he looked around. The decorations were slightly more modern than they used to be. There were fewer crosses and religious memorabilia than he remembered, and he was sure that the death of her father contributed to that. He had grown so much that the space now felt cramped. It used to look so big to him as a kid. 

“Does Y/n know I’m here?” He asked, looking down at the older woman.

She nodded her head, but didn’t say anything. Quickly busying herself with pouring him a glass of water from the pitcher in the fridge, she let out a quick “Mmmhm.”

He let out a stressed chuckle and shook his head. “I take it she’s not too happy.”

Shirley looked at him with pursed lips and wide eyes. “Well…”

Y/n rode her grey Appaloosa mare, Checkers, down the fields. She told herself that she was making herself useful, making the rounds of the ranch. Scolding the chickens when they’d attempt to peck at the fence and counting cows, making sure none had somehow made it onto the main street. But deep down, she knew she was just distracting herself. All the main chores were already done by this point. There was something… someone who weighed heavily on her mind. She tried to keep her thoughts locked away. But they were like a box of bees, and her mom had just shaken the hell out of it.

When her mother told her that Tyler Owens was staying for a few days until his truck was fixed, she ran to her room and slammed the door like she was that heartbroken teenager again. 

She and Tyler were inseparable growing up, and only became closer in high school. She’d go to every one of his rodeos, and he’d stop by and help her out with the ranch. Though ‘help out’ was a strong presumption, they spent most of it running around and laughing so hard they couldn’t breathe. Every summer, they were glued at the hip. 

So when Tyler told her he was going to college, she didn’t worry. She figured they’d still remain close. Technology was getting better and better. They could text, call, and Skype. Though even then, she was a little teary-eyed, waving him goodbye from her truck as he stood on the steps of the university. It didn’t hit too harshly at first, because she was just so damn proud of him…

But then the texts and calls started getting fewer and fewer. He never had time to Skype. Yet she’d see what he’d post on Facebook and see all the photos of him partying. Riding mechanical bulls instead of real ones. Arms around girls who came and went. She stopped reaching out altogether.

After her father died, Tyler became scorched earth to her. She locked herself up and focused her efforts on the ranch and barrel racing at the rodeos when she could. And when Tyler made a name for himself as the famed ‘Tornado Wrangler, ’ whatever that meant, she blocked all his accounts. 

She spread out some feed for the chickens from horseback and steered herself back towards the stable. 

That’s when she saw him walking down the back porch and towards her.

Tyler Owens in a white shirt, jeans, and a cowboy hat. She hated it. She hated how bulky he had gotten and the facial hair that was groomed on him. She hated how he strode over with a newfound confidence. She hated how he looked good.

“As I live and breathe, someone came crawling back,” Y/n said, looking down at him from her high horse. She did enjoy the fact that she was above him from Checkers’ back.

He didn’t say anything, just looked up at her and took off his hat in almost respect. In almost servitude. 

“The Tornado Wrangler finally made time in his packed schedule for little old me.” She said snarkily, “Oh, no. He just needed a favor.”

“You look good, Y/n.” 

Rolling her eyes and pretending that it didn’t affect her so much was difficult, but she managed. 

“Mama won’t let me make you sleep in the hen house, so you’re sleeping on the couch.” She simply said before turning her horse and riding her into the stable. If it were back then, they could’ve easily shared a bed. Now she’d rather sleep in the hen house herself than share a bed with Tyler Owens.

Once she got under the roof, she climbed down and held onto the lead to guide Checkers into the empty stall. She gently rubbed up and down her muzzle. Checkers was one of the few horses that wasn’t so sensitive to touch, and instead sought it out. It was therapeutic for her. That’s why she never competed with Checkers. She was too special.

Calming down, she didn’t notice Tyler walking in and looking around.

“You renovated the stables.” He exclaimed, startling her.

She turned around with a glare. “Well, without you here to distract me, I started barrel racing. Needed to upgrade.” She looked around at her own handiwork, “So I added the Dutch doors that lead to the pasture and installed the fans. Insulated the roof and walls. Added the ridge vents.”

His brows raised. “You did all this?” 

“Hard to believe?” She asked, not even looking at him. 

He tentatively followed her as she walked down the stable, checking on each horse. He shook his head. “You never… You never did that sorta thing in high school.”

“Well, that was before Daddy died and before you left.” She said bluntly. Her anger bit into every word. 

The silence that followed could kill. It could strangle Tyler Owens till he was nothing but a slab of stone in a graveyard.

“Well… Your mom wanted me to tell you that supper’s gonna be ready soon. And to shower before you sit down at the table.” 

Her brows were furrowed as she looked at the horse in front of her, avoiding eye contact with him. “Got it. You can go now.”

With a small defeated huff, he turned around and walked back toward the house. It was then that the heartbreak she had been walling up began to make itself known. She wiped her teary eyes and pretended it was just sweat, just in case Tyler looked back. 

After her long, cold shower, she walked out into the kitchen in an oversized T-shirt and gym shorts. The old shirt was a rusty orange with a margarita design and the lyrics to Jimmy Buffett’s ‘Margaritaville.’ On the back in big bold letters was ‘It’s 5’o o'clock somewhere’.  She didn’t even remember where she had gotten it. 

Yet for some reason, when Tyler saw her from the kitchen table, he smiled knowingly. “I remember that shirt.”

“What about it?” She asked, sitting down across from him, slumped. Why’d their dining table have to be so small? She looked over at her mom, who was putting on oven mitts to grab the slow cooker.

“Play nice, Y/n.” She warned.

Tyler smirked at the interaction. “Used to be mine. Remember?”

She shook her head stubbornly as her mom put the pot roast on a little rubber mat between her and Tyler. She immediately started fixing her plate. Again, not sparing him a passing glance.

“Nope.” 

He tilted his head with a look of disbelief and looked over at Shirley and back before going. “We got rained on. We were in town getting seed, and your shirt was white, so I gave you that one to cover yourself up. Walked back shirtless and with chicken feed dripping down my back.”

The memory unfolded before her, and she did remember it now. Freshman year of high school. They didn’t let Tyler into the gas station to grab smokes for his dad. No shirt. No shoes. No service. But he refused to take the shirt back.

She sat silent for a moment as her mom sat down next to her. All the food was placed before them, and even though she had worked up an appetite being outside all day, she suddenly didn’t feel hungry.

“I remember that now.” She admitted softly before grabbing a roll of corn. 

“Seems like you don’t wanna remember a lot.” He quirked back, scooping some mashed potatoes onto his plate. Her mom had cooked as if twenty people were coming instead of just Tyler. But between the two of them, they both could eat like dogs.

She squinted her eyes at him. “Only thing I remember is you promising we’ll keep in touch.”

Her mother sighed, “Ya’ll. Let’s keep this civil. Looking at you, Y/n.” 

She scoffed with wide eyes. “Mama, am I wrong?” She hated the way she sounded. Tyler being there had aged her back ten years. Even her voice raised in pitch like she was eighteen years old again. 

Shirley just shook her head, refusing to comment. After a few more shoveled bites, Y/n got up from the table and cleared her plate quickly. It wasn’t polite. She almost always asked to be excused, but her mother didn’t scold her for that tonight. She clattered the plate into the sink and stormed off. 

Tyler looked at Shirley with an ashamed look on his face. The fact that he had hurt her had lingered deep in him for years. He hadn’t meant to. He had been a stupid kid, and found himself swept up in the new adventure of college and making new friends who weren’t the same four people in town. By the time he had thought about reaching out, she had stopped all communication. 

“I’m sorry about her, but you gotta understand-” Shirley started.

He shook his head. “No, no… Frankly, I deserve it.” He looked back over at the hallway she stormed down to her bedroom. “She’s still the same spitfire she was back then. Even more so.”

Shirley sighed, “That’s why she’s gonna end up without a husband and forty horses.” 

Tyler laughed. “Don’t say that. She’s gonna be just fine. I don’t think there’s a man in town who wouldn’t fall head over heels for her.”

“Until she comes at them with her… fiery personality.” Shirley explained, “We all tried. Tried setting her up on dates and with the other boys in town. But after Ben died, she just chewed them all up and spit them out. Focused on those goddamn horses instead.” 

He sat soaking it in. The fact that he wasn’t there when her father passed haunted him. It was during his finals week, and they hadn’t been talking for a while by that point. Sure, he had sent a card, but he was also sure it ended up in the trash. 

Shirley saw the solemn look on his face. She reached out and put her hand over his. “Lemme show you something.”

Y/n rolled around in bed. Usually, she’d knock out as soon as she hit the pillow. But the muffled chatter and laughter from the living room got louder and louder. Tyler’s stupid, gruff laugh rang out with her mother's, and it was driving her up the wall. 

With a huff, she walked out with her arms crossed and slowly walked over to the living room. Even though she was pissed… she really couldn’t be angry. It was barely nine. So instead, she crept forward, letting curiosity get the better of her. 

On the couch sat Tyler and her mom, and a sense of confusion washed over her. She looked and saw a leather-bound album on her mom’s lap. She’d never seen that before. 

“Remember that rodeo? You were so upset, but Y/n insisted that ice cream would make you feel better, so she practically dragged the two of us to Sparky’s Parlor ten minutes before closing.” Her mom retold, and as she peered over the couch, she saw the lost picture of her and Tyler eating a banana split. She was mid-laughter as Tyler was mid-bite.

She had thrown that picture out long ago. Actually, as she looked at the album pages, she had thrown out all of those photographs so long ago. They used to hang up around her room, or were in a little folder under her desk. Back when she used to spend all her allowance on point-and-shoot cameras. Her mom had taken a few of them, but it didn’t matter. They were all supposed to be gone.

“Where’d you get those?” Her voice came out small.

Tyler and her mom looked back, surprised by her presence.

“I held onto them. You spent so much money on all those rolls of film, we couldn’t let it go to waste.” Her mom said a little nervous.

But she wasn’t angry. A surprising sense of gratitude fell over her. The memories she had tried so hard to forget were still preserved. 

She leaned over onto the couch and placed her head between the two of them. Looking down at the album, she pointed to one of herself wearing a birthday hat, standing awkwardly in front of a frosted cake. Tyler had a grin on his face as he yelled something at her- it was him very enthusiastically singing Happy Birthday. 

“Got some use out of all that yelling, huh?” She directed the comment at Tyler.

He chuckled and looked over at her. Their faces were close… But then again, so was her mom’s. “Turns out audiences outside of you like it.”

She shook her head before standing back up. “Put it away, Ma. I look awful in them.” She stated before walking away. 

And before she closed the door, she could hear Tyler say, “We’re getting somewhere.”

Seeing Tyler in her kitchen the next morning felt strange. For one, he was up at the crack of dawn, just like she always did. She didn’t let her mom touch an ounce of the farmwork, so that meant waking up early to do the hard jobs before the heat set in.

Secondly, it sent her flashes to her favorite summers, where he was over practically every day. A sense of déjà vu coursed through her.

“Mornin’” Tyler stated holding up a coffee mug as he leaned against the counter like he owned the damn place.

“Morning.” She reluctantly grumbled, opening the cabinet to grab a mug herself, but was interrupted by Tyler sliding over an already steaming cup towards her. She took it. “Thanks.”

The early morning silence was peaceful with the sound of the birds waking up outside. But now there was this tense awkwardness between them, and it was pissing her off.

“Need any help with the chores?” Tyler asked, crossing his arms.

“Been doing them on my own for the past seven years, so no.” She said.

He sighed and took a sip. “You know that the two of us can finish this ranch in half a day. Could do it back then, could probably do it faster now.” 

He was right, and she knew it. The day would be done in half the time with somebody else. And especially if that somebody was already well-versed, and probably (most definitely) stronger than her. 

She gave him a tense smile. “Well, if you’d like to shovel and scrape the shit out of all the pens-”

“Got it.” He interrupted, and when she was caught off guard, he let out a laugh. “You know that doesn’t bug me. You gotta try harder than that.”

“If you’d like to clean out all the troughs, go right ahead.” She said with a challenging brow. Cleaning out the troughs meant dealing with the great mystery slime of animal saliva and chewed-up food. Sometimes there’d be a dead bird or drowned rat in there on the bad days. 

“I’ll do it.” He said.

“Cleaning out all the fly and mouse traps.”

“Consider it done.”

For a moment, she had forgotten everything, and she was simply going back and forth with her best friend. But she didn’t let that nostalgia transfer into a smile on her face. She kept her face cold as stone.

She looked him up and down.

“Good. You’ve got your list for today, then.” She walked out the back porch door.

Tyler was in the middle of changing out a huge fly trap by the stable when he saw her. Y/n rode on an Appaloosa horse that he didn’t recognize. The job was Tyler’s least favorite. He’d rather shovel shit than deal with the heebie jeebies of taking out a wax card of dead flies and mosquito’s. That’s not even to mention the mouse traps. But he was also well aware that it was her least favorite, too. Or at least it had to be. She always squealed at the sight of any bug back then… But it seems she was forced to face it head-on after him.

Being able to watch her was a perk, at least. She looked downright gorgeous on that horse. Her hat shadowed her, and her hair blew back as she strided the horse down towards the chicken coop. She had changed a lot since he had last seen her. He’d see the photos on her mom’s social media, but nothing beat seeing her in real life. Her face calm as she wiped sweat off her brow and took off her flannel, tying it around her waist. This was when she was most beautiful, and he wished that she didn’t look so angry around him.

She threw some feed over the fence, and he could vaguely hear her talking to the chickens as if they were people. It had always made him laugh growing up, and as he let out a soft chuckle, he realized it still did today. 

After she finished feeding the chickens, she turned the horse to head in another direction, but saw Tyler. They both froze for a moment, just staring. There was this obvious feeling of missing each other between them, and he wanted to resolve it so badly. It felt like an itch he couldn’t scratch. A problem he knew that once it was resolved, would fix everything. 

He waved, and she took it as a sign to come over. As the horse trotted closer, he got a fluttering feeling in his chest. It was like he’d been noticed by a celebrity. Which was ironic considering that he was somewhat one himself.

Her horse skidded to a halt next to him.

“Having fun, Owens?” She asked with a tight fake smile.

He looked up at her for just a second before hanging his head with a laugh. “So much so, actually.”

She rolled her eyes. “When’s that truck gonna be fixed?”

“Two days from now, why?” 

An evil smirk lifted her face, and he groaned a little. He’d be doing this collection of the worst possible chores for the next few days, and he knew it. 

She shrugged and continued riding on. 

Y/n was having too much fun. She got to do all of her favorite parts of ranching while he did all the dirty work. Of course, a part of her felt guilty for making him do that. She wasn’t completely evil, and watching him shovel shit didn’t make her feel as satisfied as she’d hoped it would. But she did hope that it’d at the very least teach him a lesson. Give him a taste of what her life looked and felt like for so many years.

They’d completed everything by mid-afternoon, which was way earlier than she was used to. Usually, she’d walk in just in time to shower for supper at sunset. It was the perfect weather too, with grey skies and rolling clouds that blocked the sun. Tyler would always get so excited about ANY possibility of a storm growing up. So subconsciously, she enjoyed these days too.

She was walking down past the sheep pen and down towards the house when she saw Tyler doing the same thing.

“UH UH, Owens. You’re not walking in my mama’s house trailing in every disgusting substance known to man.” She called after him.

He slowly turned and put his hands on his hips. “Is that not what you do every day?”

A smirk lit up her face again. “I hose off.” And it was true. She’d hose off her hands and her boots before drying them off and walking back in. But she had a better idea for Tyler.

“Really? Show me.” He said, unconvinced. He clearly didn’t believe that she did, and was just using it to get the chance to blast him with water. Which… yes and no.

She gestured for him to come follow her to the side of the house. They walked up to a little tiled-off area with the hose. Towels were already set up on the stool for the following days. There were a few boots that sat left to dry.

Tyler gave a little groan mixed with a laugh. But he just watched as she got the hose and turned on the spout. A gentle stream of water poured through the nozzle. 

“It’s just a little water, Tyler.” She said, but a hint of trouble melted over her tone. 

He ran his hands down his face and then threw them up. “Okay. Okay.” He sauntered over and reached for the hose, but she pulled it just out of his reach. His brows raised. “Sweetheart, I can hose myself off like a big boy.”

She couldn’t help but widen her eyes in surprise. Jesus Christ. When did Tyler develop a habit of calling people sweetheart? Suddenly, she was wishing he called her that more. 

Pulling herself together, she scrunched her brows at him. “I don’t want you wasting water.” It was a flimsy excuse, but they both knew what she wanted to do. 

He sighed, knowing she was too stubborn to give it up, and walked towards the tile. His face automatically flinched as he put his hands behind his back.

“STOP ACTING LIKE I’M GONNA SHOOT YOU DOWN.” She couldn’t resist the pure laugh that came out of her. “You’re like a god damn baby.” 

“Just do it alread-”

She predictably changed the nozzle to a spray of pressure and shot the water all over him. Cackling as she ran the water up and down him. 

“Are you-”

She moved the hose back up to his face, shutting him up. By the time she was done, his flannel and tank top were sticking to his body like wax paper. And his medium wash jeans had become a dark navy blue. She turned the hose off, afraid she had gone a little too far, until he started laughing and running his hand down his face. 

He scooped water out from the bridge of his nose. And while he was momentarily blind, she took the second to watch how his shirt had become see-through. Her breath hitched at the sight of his muscles. They both had grown up, and he wasn’t the scrawny boy she used to know. Sure, back in the rodeo days, he had strong biceps and shoulders, but he was so lean. Now he was just… pure muscle. 

Tyler suddenly started walking towards her. “Get over here.” He said gruffly with a smile.

She squealed and tried to run away while using the hose to fend him off, but it weighed her down. “NO! NO! TYLER!”

He managed to wrap his arms around her waist and pick her up, grabbing the hose from her hands and dousing her. 

“There ya go. Now we’re both clean.” He said through their shared laughter. 

They didn’t even notice Shirley watching the commotion from the side window, shaking her head with a nostalgic smile on her face. She turned back in and returned to cook for supper. 

She looked up at him as he turned off the hose. They were both completely drenched, their clothes slightly see-through. And Tyler let his arms linger around her waist. Her breath audibly hitched as he looked down at her with those sea green eyes. But after a moment that felt too long, she got her bearings and escaped his grasp. She grabbed one of the towels off the stool and threw it at him. 

“I’m showering first.” She said firmly, but her attitude didn’t feel as strong as before. It was like her defenses were slowly being chipped away. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Tyler said, using the towel to dry his hair. 

That night, Y/n found herself in her room, having snuck the album her mom had made. She went through the pages, and it felt like someone had broken through her chest and gripped her heart. It hurt. Even though he was in the next room over. It hurt like he was still gone. 

She flipped through way too many pictures of Tyler. Him on the walk to school with her. Him with one of her chickens on his shoulder. Him riding her old horse. He was so young in all of them, with a baby face, barely able to grow any facial hair. There wasn’t a single photo where he wasn’t grinning ear to ear. 

Those weren’t too bad. The ones that hurt were the ones her mom or somebody else had taken of her and Tyler. Proms and homecomings. They had their separate dates or went as friends, but still always needed a picture together. Birthdays. Trips to the lake. Graduation.

She looked at the last one in the album. It was a picture of her and Tyler on the steps of his University. The last time she had ever properly seen him before this whole incident. Their arms were wrapped around each other. Her eyes were teary, and for the first time, he wasn’t wearing a grin. He had a sad, no-teeth smile on his face as he had his arm around her shoulder.

A tear drop fell onto the plastic sheet of the photos. She didn’t even realize that she had been crying and sniffling like a baby. Stifling a sob, she got up and walked out of her bedroom. 

Knowing Tyler was asleep on the couch, she walked briskly past, trying not to wake him. Her hand covered her mouth as she stumbled through the dark to get out through the back porch.

By the time she had shut the sliding door and run towards the stable, she didn’t notice Tyler sitting up, having been awake the whole time.

It was just what she needed to ground herself. Sitting on the floor of the stable stall with Checkers, who lay half asleep, but eager for the random midnight pets. She scratched behind her ears and down her muzzle. Running her fingers through her mane, she was able to finally let out a shaky breath. 

The night was quiet and still. Nothing but the hum of the fans and the whirring of the cicadas in the distance. She gently let the back of her head hit the wall.

“Y/n?” A voice called. Shit.

Checkers got up, startled with a whinny. She quickly got up with her and gently put her hands on her muzzle, grounding her again. “Hey hey hey. Shhhhh. Shhhh.” She hushed, calming the horse down. 

She didn’t look over at Tyler, standing outside the stall in pajama pants and a grey T-shirt. 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to spook her.” He said, coming closer and leaning on the stall door. He put his forearms on the top and rested his chin on them, watching her. “I don’t recognize this one.”

She swallowed and wiped her swollen eyes with her forearm. “Checkers.” Her voice came out weaker than she had hoped. She just wanted to pretend like everything was normal. “This is Checkers.”

Tyler reached out, and Checkers instantly came over and nodded her head towards his hand. “People lover. I see why you ride this one a lot.” He gently patted the horse's head.

She stayed silent and just watched as he gave the horse some love. 

“Wanna tell me what’s going on?” He asked, not looking at her, like she was a scared animal that he needed to gain the trust of.

She coughed. “Nothing. There’s nothing.” She said as she walked out the stall door and down towards another one. The white horse in that one didn’t get up, and instead lay sleeping. It was a common misconception that horses always slept standing up. Only sometimes. And this horse wasn’t as loving as Checkers was.

“You’re in the stable in the middle of the night crying…” He pointed out, and she sniffled, just proving his point. 

He pried away from Checkers and meandered towards her at the next stall. Looking down at her, he went to reach out and brush some of her wild hair out of her face, but she turned the other way, dodging him. 

“Come on. Y/n, please.”

Her face crumpled up, and her eyes naturally watered to a point where they overflowed. “I hate you. I hate you so much.” Her voice cracked, “You left me. You-you promised we would stay in touch, and you couldn’t-you didn’t even do it when he died.” 

His face softened to another level she had never seen before. With big eyes and a soft frown on his face. “I know. I’m so sorry, Y/n. I’m so sorry, it’s not even funny.”

Everything was pouring out of her heart and reaching her face to spill out of her mouth. “I had no one! Dad’s dead, you’re AWOL, mom’s in a catatonic state, and I had a whole ranch to somehow take care of while grieving the one person that came before YOU.” She didn’t mean to yell, but it just naturally came out that way. “You threw me away like I was nothing.” 

She didn’t miss the tears in Tyler’s eyes now. He sniffed and pinched his nose to get rid of them. 

“You’re not nothing. If I could go back in time, I’d do anything to stop myself from doing that to you. It haunts me. Every day.”

“THEN WHY HAVEN’T YOU REACHED OUT?” She pushed his chest. “HUH? You’re too busy with your whole internet fame? And your groupies and buckle bunnies?” She hated that term. She’d always scold Tyler for using it growing up, yet here she was using it. 

Even though she was shoving him and yelling, Tyler didn’t move towards her. He didn’t raise his voice. “Because I knew it was too late. I knew that nothing I did would ever make up for leaving you on your own like that. And while I’m here, I sure am trying. But no matter how many troughs I clean or traps I change, I know it won’t make a dent towards the debt I owe you.”

She hiccuped and put her hand to her chest. Her inhales were sharp, and she looked up at the roof, as if the tears could just go back in her eyes. All the hurt that she had been suppressing had spilled out right in front of her. It was terrifying. There was a silence as she thought about what to say. So Tyler took the chance.

“I don’t want you to ever forgive me for that, okay?” Tyler said, stepping towards her now, and he sighed as she finally didn’t move away. 

In the smallest voice possible, like it was a secret she wasn’t supposed to say, she said, “I missed you so much.” 

He wrapped his arms around her, and she didn’t fight it. Though she didn’t move at first. After a minute, she brought her arms up and wrapped them around his trunk of a torso. 

Tyler sniffled, tearing up, “I missed you, too.” He murmured into her hair. 

Two days later, a rusty pick-up truck drove up and parked on the street beside the house. Tyler and Y/n walked out onto the front porch so slowly, like they were stalling for time. She took in the sight of the pick-up with all the weather gadgets and add-ons to it. 

“Wow… Looks like… a hot mess.” She said honestly, which made him laugh. 

The last two days were spent working on the farm, and it was like no time had passed. She was still trapping Tyler in milking stations, and he was still trying to sneak hay into her hair any chance he could. Doing the chores together instead of separately made the tasks go by even faster, so that they could spend the rest of the day eating her mom’s cooking and talking on the porch swing as the fireflies whizzed by. 

A tan man from the driver's seat of the pick-up truck rolled down the window, “LET’S GO, TYLER! COME ON! GOT SOME CELLS IN THE EAST AND NEW ROCKETS!” His shrill voice called out.

“One second, Boone,” Tyler yelled back with less intensity. He raised a finger to him and turned back to her.

“Sounds exciting.” She said, looking up at him.

He paused just to soak in her face for a moment.  “Yeah, well… we’re just going a town over.” There was silence, and he reached out to grab her hand. He squeezed it, and she took in a deep breath. “I’ll be back right after, okay?” 

A terrible feeling in her gut returned. The fear that he wouldn’t be back, and that she’d be left in the dust again. And he read her very obvious face with a small nervous smile. 

He took his alabaster cowboy hat off his head and placed it on hers. “Take care of this for me. I’ll be back for it.” 

It surprised her. She knew he wore that hat all the time. It was practically embedded in his branding for his channels. So the fact that it was now resting on her head gave her a sense of confidence again. 

He went to step off the porch, but she gripped his hand before he could take it away. Pulling him towards her, she stood on her toes to connect her mouth with his. Surprised, but very happy, Tyler immediately kissed her back and wrapped his arms around her waist. He brought one hand to tilt her hat up and make space for him before returning it to her waist. She hugged him tightly, and he pulled her into his chest, making her back arch into a backwards C. With a small chuckle, she pulled away. 

“For good luck.” She shrugged. 

“Oh, I’ll be back for more of that, too.” He said, leaning in again. 

[hiswhiteknight]

burgers🍔: laying on their chest while watching the sunrise with jake, please and thank you!

Rachel, it's an honor and a pleasure as always (lol).

You lay right on top of Jake in the field of tall, swaying grasses, relieved that at long last, your dream property in Texas was yours.

It had been a long road and a tough road, one that you and Jake had been down many times with more than enough bumps in it. Two deployments, 1400 miles and numerous, grueling nights later, at last, the place was yours.

It had belonged first to George and Helen, Jake's grandparents, who had first bought the place as early as the late '30s, scraping and saving every penny they possibly could with Helen contributing by selling eggs from her chicken coop. The farmhouse had become their home after George had been at sea for four years, surviving the sheer and utter hell that was the war in the Pacific and at last able to settle down with Helen on this little patch of land that had been theirs. The farmhouse had seen them raise five kids, a gaggle of grandkids and at least three great grandkids before George and Helen had made their journey homeward to heaven.

You and Jake lay against each other, totally oblivious to the encroaching Texas heat as the sun began to rise. The skies were tinted all manner of rose red, pink and dusky lavender while the peepers still chirped away.

And it was days like this that you lived for most, laying with your husband to watch those glorious sunrises that marked the beginning of a new day.

[hiswhiteknight]

*No More Secrets – Tyler Owens

Warning: sneaking around, motel sex, language

The second we pulled into the motel parking lot, I saw his signature entourage. They were sitting in the parking lot, drinking and exchanging stories. I forced myself not to look at him as I walked into the front office to check in my team and get our keys.

After checking us in, I walked out of the lobby. The second I walked out, I looked up and made direct eye contact with Tyler Owens. Tyler and I are constantly running into each other. Tyler chases tornadoes for his little YouTube channel, while I'm a meteorologist for our town's weather channel.

Two years ago, he was chasing and I was reporting when both of our vans got caught in the storm. We ended up having to take shelter in a high school. Tyler and I wandered off and ended up hooking up in an empty classroom.

After that, we ended up constantly running into each other. Whenever we did, we always found time to hook up. Sometimes we hooked up in the back of one of our vans, but most of the time we stayed at the same motels.

"If it isn't Weather Girl Y/N," he smirked.

"If it isn't Tornado Chaser Tyler," I scoffed as I walked past their trucks.

"Got any weather advice for us?" His friend, Boone, asked.

"Yeah," I said simply. "Stay out of my way."

"Or what?" Tyler challenged.

"Or I'll take you down with me."

I ignored the look in Tyler's eyes as he licked his lips. I sent him a wink before heading upstairs to my room. I unlocked my door, making sure to leave it slightly open as I slowly got settled. I could hear things start to die down outside. Once people started going to bed, I turned off the janky TV and "got ready for bed".

I walked out of the bathroom in nothing but an oversized flannel that was hanging off one shoulder. When I walked out, Tyler was leaning against the now fully open motel room door.

"There you are," he said, his voice low. His eyes slowly scanned my body. "Fuck," he moaned as he kicked off the doorframe and slammed the door shut. I smirked as he kicked off his shoes and froze.

"Is that. . . Is that one of my flannels?"

"It is," I smirked, "You left it the last time we. . . ran into each other."

"If I remember correctly," he said, choking on a moan, "we ran into each other several times."

Tyler's eyes took in every inch of me. As he examined my body, I took note of his jeans tightening.

"I've missed you."

I just smirked as I walked over to the bed and lay down. I heard Tyler let out a deep growl. I closed my eyes as I heard him take off his pants. Soon, I felt someone crawling over me. I kept my eyes shut as his hands slid up my thighs, scrunching my flannel.

"Open your eyes for me, baby girl," he whispered as he dragged his body against mine. I did as I was told and saw the heat in his eyes.

"Hey there, Chaser."

"The only thing I want to chase tonight is you, moaning my name over and over again."

I gasped when he leaned down and roughly pressed his lips to mine. I threw my arms around his neck and brought him closer as I kissed him back. As our lips moved messily in sync and our hips rocked, I ran my fingers through his hair. When me doing this drove him a little too crazy, he roughly broke the kiss. Tyler moved his lips from mine to my neck.

"I hate that you make me so fucking weak," I moaned as he bit my neck.

"I love that I make you so fucking weak," he chuckled darkly. I gasped when he grabbed my flannel and tore it open.

"Fuck," he moaned as his eyes took in my bare body underneath him.

"Like what you see?" I asked, slowly undoing his flannel. He sat back, straddling me as he tore his flannel the rest of the way open and threw it across the room.

"Always."

We let out matching moans as Tyler roughly brought his lips back to mine. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he started grinding his body against mine.

I gasped, arching my back when Tyler ripped my underwear off me. I moaned as his hands slid up my bare body - all without breaking the kiss. As his tongue explored my mouth, I undid his jeans.

He broke the kiss and I watched as he stripped off his pants and boxers. He was about to get off me, but I stopped him. I sat up and made a show of reaching over to the bedside table a grabbing a condom.

"I was prepared."

"Fuck," he moaned as he switched our positions in one fluid movement. I was now straddling his bare hips. I stayed hovering over him as he slipped the condom on.

I smirked to myself when I realized the only pieces of clothing I was wearing were my bra and Tyler's flannel. There was something about this outfit that always drove Tyler crazy. He especially loved it when I was wearing his hat, but he didn't bring it with him this time.

"Are you ready yet?" I pouted. "I'm getting antsy."

"Sorry, darling," he groaned as he fixed himself. "Safety first."

Once he was ready, he leaned back against the headrest. I slowly walked on my knees until I was in the perfect position. Tyler started eagerly chewing on his bottom lip as I put my hands on his shoulders. He was about to say something, but I brought my hips down to his, making him moan instead.

He grabbed my hips very tightly as I ground my hips against his. As I continued my movements, Tyler swore under his breath repeatedly. I knew we had fallen into a rhythm when he pushed on my back, roughly bringing my chest to his face.

Tyler started knawing on my skin, going around my bra as I rocked my hips against his. When he couldn't handle not being in control, he roughly rolled us over so he was on top of me.

I didn't have time to catch my breath before he wrapped my leg around his bare waist and brought his hips to mine. I arched my back and moaned as he roughly pushed in and out of me. As our hips danced, we moaned loud enough for only the other to hear.

I lost track of time as we focused on pushing each other, inch by inch, over the edge. When we finally fell, our bodies relaxed into each other. Tyler stayed on top and inside me for a brief second before slowly pulling out.

He rolled to the side and, for a moment, I thought he was going to leave. Instead, he grabbed the blanket that had been pushed aside during our dance and draped it over us. I forced myself not to smile as he wrapped his arms around me.

I fell asleep, reminding myself that he'd be gone in the morning. Sooner, if there is a tornado nearby.

* * * * *

I woke up to someone kissing my shoulder. I let out a small moan as I fully woke up. I looked over my shoulder to see Tyler smirking at me.

"Good morning, gorgeous," he whispered, his voice dark.

"Good morning to you, too," I smirked. I rolled onto my back, Tyler now hovering over me. He leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. As I kissed him back, I grabbed his face and pulled him closer. I felt him smirk as he moved so he was on top of me.

I threw my arms around him as our bodies danced against each other. A moan left my lips as he positioned himself and slipped back into me. I bit his bottom lip as he began thrusting into me. This morning, it didn't take us long to satisfy each other. We never took long in the morning.

We broke the kiss, breathing heavily as Tyler slowly pulled out of me. I gasped when he reattached his lips to my neck. His body was still firmly pressed to mine as he left small bruises up and down my neck.

"Baby," I moaned as his lips made their way down to my collarbone, awfully close to my chest. "I don't think I can go another round."

He moved his lips from my chest to my lips. They instantly moved in sync, our tongues battling for dominance. He broke the kiss with a moan. "I'll go get us some coffee," he whispered. "That way, we can go several more rounds."

I sat up and leaned against the headboard as Tyler got out of bed. I followed him with my eyes as he searched for his clothes and put them back on. Before leaving, Tyler walked back over to me and kissed me.

"I'll be back," he whispered as he kissed me again.

As soon as the door closed behind him, I sank into the bed. I took a shaky breath before finally getting out of bed. I slowly threw on some clothes. I was pulling my hair into a tight ponytail when I heard the door unlock.

I looked over my shoulder, my heart sinking when I saw Tyler sneaking into my room. "Anyone catch you?" I had to ask. I turned around and crossed my arms over my chest.

He looked up, the expression in his eyes changing. "No," he said, his voice soft as he walked toward me. "It's still kind of early. My team is never up before 10 am."

"And mine doesn't leave until 9," I nodded. I looked away from him and took my coffee from him.

"Is everything okay?" He asked, trying to get me to turn toward him, but I didn't.

"Have you ever thought about. . . us?" I asked slowly.

"I think about us all the time," he smirked, stepping closely behind me. "Especially when I'm lonely and can't sleep."

"That's not what I meant, Tyler," I said, my voice soft.

"What did you mean?" He asked.

I finally turned around, face-to-face with Tyler as I stuttered, "I meant about us being. . . an us."

"You mean like, not just sleeping together?"

"I'm tired of sneaking around," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm tired of sneakily hooking up. I'm tired of sneaking in and out of each other's motel rooms. I'm tired of secretly texting each other. I'm tired of only being together in secret. I want. . ."

I stopped talking and looked away from him. Tyler stepped even closer to me and gently used his finger to turn me toward him.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered, "and maybe I can give it to you."

"I want us to be more than just sleeping together," I confessed. "I want us to be an us. I want. . . I want you, Tyler. I know we rarely see each other. . ."

He smirked as he pulled me closer. "We run into each other all the time, baby. If we started dating for real, we would see each other more."

"What about our jobs?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "Your fans think we hate each other."

"We could still act like we hate each other on camera," he shrugged. He paused before adding, "Or we don't have to act like it anymore."

"Wait, so you. . ."

"I want you, Y/N," he whispered. "I want this to be more than just secretly hooking up. I mean, I love hooking up with you, but I want more. I want to see you every day, text you to reassure you that I'm okay after a storm, call you when you're on location and I need to hear your voice. I want to buy you dinner. I want to scare away your crazy boy fans as you scare away my crazy girl fans. I want to be your biggest fan. I want you, Y/N."

I dropped my coffee and threw my arms around him, instantly connecting my lips to his. He dropped his coffee as he wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me closer.

The kiss got rough as he led us across the motel room. We collapsed onto the bed with matching moans. Before we could get too into the kiss, someone cleared their throat.

We looked toward the door to see Boone smirking at us in the doorway. Tyler gently got off me and helped me to my feet. We fixed ourselves before turning toward Boone.

"What?" Tyler asked with no emotion.

"Sorry to interrupt," he chuckled, "but there's a storm nearby. Let's get to chasing."

As Boone walked away, Tyler turned back toward me. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me into his chest.

"What do you think, gorgeous?" He asked. "I'll chase it and you report the weather pattern?"

"Sure," I said, my voice soft. I started to walk away, but he grabbed my wrist.

"I know it was probably scary to tell me what you wanted," he whispered. "Especially since it wasn't what you wanted in bed. You've never had a hard time telling me that. But emotion? That's different. Before we go chasing, I need you to know that I want the same thing. I want you and me. No more hiding. No more lying. No more secrets."

I stood on my toes and delicately pressed my lips to his. This was one of the softest kisses we've ever shared. When we broke it, he leaned his forehead against mine.

"No more secrets," he whispered again.

"No more secrets."

[hiswhiteknight]

Hiii, can I request Lloyd x fem!reader, where they are enemies to lovers ? I'm thinking something like they force to go to an undercover mission, and they have to pretend to be married. Eventually, Lloyd admits things like: “You’re killing me” or “It kills me that you’re with him and not with me” and “You really don’t see what you do to me?”. If you feel like it, add some spice in it 🥲

Thanks for your time 🧡

No More Pretending » Lloyd Hansen

Pairings: Lloyd Hansen x Female Reader

Summary: You and Lloyd are done playing pretend when you two are on an undercover mission.

Warnings: implied Smut (18+), language, enemies to lovers, fake marriage, alcohol, dirty talk, kissing, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the request, nonnie🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckyys-babydoll / divider made by me

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

“Let’s get this over with.” You say as you walked in the building with Lloyd.

You and Lloyd are on an undercover mission as a married couple. You and him can’t stand each other. You don’t know why you agreed to be his fake wife for the night. If it means getting through this mission successfully, then you’ll do it.

“You got something else better to do?” Lloyd asks sarcastically.

“Shut up and put your arm around my waist. Make it look believable.” You say.

Lloyd grabs ahold of your hand, holding it like a husband would hold his wife’s hand. You two gave people smiles as they looked over yours and Lloyd’s direction.

“Our target is at the bar.” Lloyd points out.

“Great.” You say.

You went to walk over to the bar, but Lloyd grabbed your arm before you could.

“What the hell do you think you’re about to do?” Lloyd asks in a hushed voice.

“To talk to the target.” You say.

“Nice try, sunshine. I’ll talk to him.” He says.

“What makes you think he’ll talk to you?” You asked. “He’ll most likely talk to me.” You say.

“What makes you say that?” He asks.

“Cause I know how to sweet talk people. Your first instinct is to beat the shit out of people to get the information you want.” You say.

You’re right and Lloyd knows it. He let go of your arm.

“That’s what I thought. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have business to take care of.” You say.

Lloyd watched you walk over to the bar where the target is.

“Whiskey, please.” You say to the bartender.

“Coming right up.” The bartender says.

The bartender gave you a glass of whiskey. You gave him a smile as a thank you. You casually looked at the target who was sitting in the chair next to you as you took a sip of your drink.

“So you’re a whiskey girl?” He asks.

“Yep.” You say, putting the glass on the bar counter.

The target motions for the bartender to get you and him a couple of drinks.

“So tell me, what’s a woman like you doing here by yourself?” He curiously asks.

You’re not about to blow your cover so you made something up that sounds believable.

“Me and my husband got into an argument earlier and I decided to come here to calm down.” You made up.

“That’s a shame. A woman like you shouldn’t be getting into fights with her husband.” He says.

“At least you understand me.” You say in a sultry tone.

Lloyd could hear the tone of your voice through the ear pieces you two have in your ears. He didn’t like it one bit.

“I was wondering…” You began, putting your hand on his arm. “If you’ll excuse could tell me something about a certain drive.” You say in a quiet voice.

The target looks around the room before moving closer to you, wrapping his arm around your waist. Jealousy was now coursing through Lloyd’s veins.

“You can’t tell anyone.” He says.

“You can count on me.” You say.

He whispered everything you need to know about the drive in your ear. Little did he know that he whispered the information in the ear that has the ear piece and Lloyd heard every word he said.

“That’s very interesting information.” You say like you’re interested.

“It is. Which is why you can’t tell anyone.” He says.

“You know I won’t.” You say softly.

You downed the rest of your drink.

“It kills me that you’re with him and not me.” Lloyd says in the ear piece.

You smirked to yourself when Lloyd said that. You gave the target a goodbye before leaving the bar. You went to the bathroom to freshen yourself up. As you were, Lloyd walks in the bathroom a couple minutes later.

“This is the women’s bathroom.” You say.

“I don’t fucking care.” Lloyd says.

Lloyd pushes you against the wall and kisses you, catching you by surprise. Your eyes went wide and you pushed him away.

“What the hell are you doing?!” You asked.

“You really don’t see what you do to me?” He asks.

“Do what?” You asked.

“Don’t act like you don’t know.” He said. “The little seduction thing you have going on right now is a real turn on for me.” He says.

“Oh yea?” You asked. “What’re you going to do about it, husband?” You asked seductively.

“You don’t wanna know, wife.” He says.

You grabbed ahold of his tie, giving it a tug to pull him closer to you. You put your mouth by his ear.

“Why don’t you take me into one of these stalls and show me right now, Hansen.” You say softly and seductively in his ear.

A shiver went down Lloyd’s spine.

“You’re killing me.” Lloyd groans softly.

“Don’t act like you haven’t been thinking about it all night, Lloyd.” You say.

You’re not wrong. Lloyd has been thinking about it all night and so have you. He couldn’t help but kiss you hungrily.

“You’re so fucking irresistible, sunshine.” Lloyd says against your lips.

“So are you.” You say.

Lloyd picks you up and takes you into one of the stalls, locking it behind him.

“No more pretending.” He says.

“No more pretending.” You say.

-Bucky’s Doll

[hiswhiteknight]

All I Need

Rip Wheeler imagine based on the song “All I Need is You”

I’d love to hear thoughts from y’all. Comments / reblogs really appreciated ❤️❤️ Tag list - just send an ask to be added @tallrock35 @kmc1989 @pear-1206 @frost-queen @chaoticneutral3 @child-of-of-the-sunshine

The Yellowstone wind, a constant, biting presence, whipped strands of my hair across my face. I pulled the collar of my worn denim jacket tighter, the familiar scent of horse sweat and leather clinging to it, a comforting aroma in this unforgiving landscape. Another Montana sunset was bleeding across the sky, painting the jagged peaks in hues of fiery orange and deep violet. It was beautiful, awe-inspiring, but tonight, it felt lonely.

I was perched on the top rail of the corral, watching the horses mill about, their breath misting in the cool air. The ranch was quiet, most of the hands were already headed to the bunkhouse for supper. It was a peaceful scene, one I usually found solace in, but tonight, a restless unease gnawed at me.

Rip was out. I knew he was, of course. He didn't share his schedule with me, not exactly, but I always knew. When he was gone on some errand for John, some fence-mending mission, or… well, other things that required a darkness that clung to Rip like the dust on his boots.

We weren't…officially together. Not in the way folks in town might understand. There were no dates, no declarations of love echoing across the Montana plains. Our connection was something…deeper, something forged in shared hardship, loyalty, and a silent understanding that ran bone-deep. We were two souls who’d found a haven in each other amidst the chaos and brutality of the Yellowstone Dutton Ranch.

I’d arrived at the Yellowstone nearly five years ago, a broken thing, running from a past I wanted to bury. John Dutton, in his own gruff way, had offered me a chance, a purpose. And Rip… Rip had become my anchor.

He was a man of few words, a man sculpted from granite and grit. His eyes, the color of a stormy sky, held a depth that both intrigued and intimidated me. He was fiercely protective, brutally honest, and possessed a loyalty to the Duttons that bordered on religious fervor. He was also, beneath that hardened exterior, capable of a tenderness that could knock the wind out of me.

And tonight, I missed him. Missed the quiet comfort of his presence, the way his hand instinctively found the small of my back when we walked together, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he managed a rare, genuine smile. I slid off the fence, the ache in my own soul mirroring the fatigue in my bones. I needed to do something, anything, to distract myself from the gnawing emptiness.

The bunkhouse was lively, the usual card game in full swing, laughter and friendly insults filling the air. I managed a smile for the boys, but the noise and the camaraderie felt hollow. I grabbed a beer from the communal fridge and headed back outside, seeking the solace of the vast, star-studded sky.

I found myself drawn to the creek, the sound of the rushing water a constant, soothing murmur. I sat on a smooth, flat rock, the cold seeping through my jeans, and took a long pull from the bottle.

That's when I heard it. The unmistakable sound of a horse approaching, the rhythmic thud of hooves on the packed earth. My heart leaped. It had to be Rip.

He emerged from the trees, a silhouette against the fading light, riding a big, bay gelding. He dismounted, his movements fluid and economical, and the horse blew softly, nuzzling his shoulder.

He saw me then, his gaze locking onto mine. He didn't say anything, just walked towards me, his boots crunching on the gravel. The closer he got, the more I could see the weariness etched on his face, the shadows under his eyes. Whatever errand John had sent him on, it hadn’t been pleasant.

He stopped in front of me, his presence a wall of strength and quiet reassurance. He didn't reach out, didn't touch me, but the intensity of his gaze spoke volumes.

"You alright?" he asked, his voice rough, gravelly.

"Just...thinking," I replied, the word feeling inadequate.

He nodded, understanding flickering in his eyes. He knew me better than I sometimes knew myself. He knew the weight I carried, the ghosts that still haunted me.

He knelt down beside me, picking up a small stone and tossing it into the creek. The silence stretched between us, comfortable and familiar. Finally, I broke it. "Rip?"

"Yeah?"

"I... I was listening to a song earlier," I said, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "On the radio. It just... it made me think of us."

He turned his head, his eyebrows slightly raised, an invitation for me to continue."It's called 'All I Need is You'," I explained, my voice barely a whisper. "And it's about… well, about how everything else can be falling apart, but as long as you have that one person, you can get through anything." I looked down at my hands, suddenly ashamed of my vulnerability. I wasn't good at expressing my feelings, especially not to Rip.

He was silent for a long moment, and I was sure I'd embarrassed myself, revealed too much. Then, he spoke, his voice low and surprisingly gentle. "Sing it for me," he said.

My head snapped up. "What?"

"Sing it," he repeated, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "If it's about us, I want to hear it."

My heart pounded in my chest. I hadn't sung in years, not since… well, since before I came to the Yellowstone. But something in his eyes, something vulnerable and raw, compelled me.

I cleared my throat, the sound rusty and unfamiliar. I took a deep breath and began to sing, my voice shaky at first, but gaining strength as I went on. "When that sun goes down at the end of the day, There's just one thing I can't lose, If you're by my side, I'm better than alright, Baby, all I need is, You in the morning, you in the night, You every day for the rest of my life, You and me together 'til the day I die, I'm all yours if you're all mine, Baby, you're all mine."

I sang the words, each one resonating with truth. I didn't need material possessions, didn't need the trappings of a perfect life. All I needed was right here, beside me. "Now, baby, look at you, You're my wildest dream, I could give it all up, And still have everything

When that sun goes down at the end of the day, There's just one thing I can't lose, If you're by my side, I'm better than alright, Baby, all I need is you."

I looked at Rip as I sang the chorus, my gaze locking with his. His eyes were intense, focused, as if he was trying to absorb every word, every nuance of my voice. "All I need is you, Baby, all I need is you, All I need is you.” 

The last verse hung in the air, carried by the sound of the rushing creek and the whisper of the wind. I looked up at Rip, bracing myself for his reaction. He didn't say anything for a long moment, just stared at me, his expression unreadable. Then, he reached out, his hand gently cupping my cheek.

His touch sent a jolt through me, a mixture of longing and tenderness that made my breath catch in my throat. "You mean that?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

I nodded, tears welling up in my eyes. "Every word," I managed to choke out.

He leaned closer, his forehead resting against mine. "You're all I need too, Y/N," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "You're the only damn thing that makes sense in this crazy world."

He closed the distance between us then, his lips meeting mine in a kiss that was both gentle and fierce, a silent promise of protection and devotion. The world seemed to fade away, the vastness of the Montana landscape shrinking down to just us, two souls intertwined beneath the starry sky.

When we finally broke apart, breathless and shaken, I rested my head on his shoulder, feeling a sense of peace I hadn't known was possible. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight, and we sat there in silence, listening to the creek, the wind, the beating of our hearts. The ranch was still, the bunkhouse quiet, the world outside the circle of Rip's arms seemed distant and unimportant.

In that moment, I knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, no matter what darkness the Yellowstone might throw our way, we would face it together.

Because all I needed was him. And he, apparently, needed me. And in the harsh, unforgiving landscape of the Yellowstone, that was enough. That was everything.

[hiswhiteknight]

A Little Accident

finnick odair x district 13 nurse/medic!reader content warnings: none! summary: finnick crushing on the "cute" nurse. wc: 871

masterlist.

Pain wasn’t new to Finnick Odair.

He’d known it intimately, learned how to turn it off and on like a switch. In the arena, pain kept you alive. In the Capitol, it was dressed in silk and perfume. It was silent and smiling. It never left a mark that could be seen.

So when the hot steam from the kettle kissed the side of his hand that morning in the District 13 kitchen, he barely flinched. It wasn’t even a real injury, just a little red, a little stinging, a little accident. Nothing worth bothering about. But when one of the kitchen workers glanced over and said, “You might want to get that looked at. They’ve got medics down the hall,” he didn’t say no.

Because you were down the hall.

Finnick had seen you earlier, across the dining hall.

You moved differently than the others. Everyone else in 13 moved with urgency, with duty, with weight.

But you? You moved with purpose and softness. Like someone who hadn’t let the darkness here swallow you whole. You smiled when you spoke. Laughed when something was funny. Touched people with the kind of gentleness that made his chest ache.

He didn’t even know your name.

But he knew your face. And the way you made the world feel quieter just by existing in it.

So, yeah. He walked into the medical ward with a mild burn and an embarrassingly hopeful heart.

The air inside was sterile, still, and lined with white. But then there you were, standing at the supply shelf, quietly humming some tune he didn’t recognize, your fingers moving over rows of bandages and medicine bottles with ease.

His breath caught. Ridiculous, really. He’d once stood face to face with a man about to drive a spear through his chest and didn’t even blink. But now, walking toward a girl in a medic’s uniform that made his heart burst? That was terrifying.

You turned when you heard the door.

“Oh-” you said softly, surprised, and then your eyes widened just slightly. “You’re Finnick Odair, aren’t you?”

He gave a crooked smile. “Guilty.”

Your gaze dropped to the faint red mark blooming on his hand. You immediately stepped closer, concern knitting between your brows.

“What happened?”

He lifted the hand a little. “A fight with a kettle. The kettle won.”

That got the smallest smile from you, and he held onto it like it was something precious.

“Well, let’s get that cleaned up before it gets worse.” you motioned gently to one of the cots. “Sit. I’ll take care of it.”

Finnick obeyed like it was an order from the Capitol itself.

As you moved around the room gathering supplies, he watched you, not in the way he used to watch people when he needed something from them. No games, no performance. Just awe, and a strange warmth pooling in his chest. He didn’t even want anything from you. Just…this. Just you voice. You hands. Your kindness.

You sat beside him, the tray balanced neatly on your lap. Your fingers brushed his as you took his hand in your hand, and the sting of the burn was nothing compared to the softness of your skin. You worked with practiced care, gently cleaning the area, your brow furrowed in concentration.

“You’ve got a light touch,” he murmured.

Your eyes flicked up, amused. “I’d hope so. People don’t tend to come back to medics who poke and prod too hard.”

“I’d come back either way,” he said without thinking.

You blinked. Then gave a shy little laugh, cheeks warming. “Well…let’s try to avoid that. Fewer injuries means you’re doing something right.”

Finnick wanted to tell you that avoiding injury had never really been an option for him. That in his world, pain was currency. Survival was bruises and burns and smiles that cost more than they were worth.

But he didn’t. He just looked at you, really looked at you. Your eyes were kind. Not the kind that looked through people, but into them. Like you actually wanted to know who someone was underneath the blood and bone.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Finnick found himself wanting to be known.

“All done,” you said after a moment, gently wrapping the gauze around his hand. “It’s a mild burn, you’ll be fine. Just try not to pick a fight with boiling water again, alright?”

“I’ll do my best,” he said, and it was probably the first true thing he’d said all day.

You smiled at him again, soft, sincere, unguarded. And he swore it did something to his heart that he couldn’t name.

He left the infirmary with a neatly bandaged hand, and a problem. Because now that he’d felt what it was like to be seen by someone good, truly good, he wasn’t sure he could go back to pretending he didn’t crave it.

He left the infirmary that day with his hand wrapped in gauze and his mind spinning in a thousand directions.

Finnick Odair had survived the Games, the Capitol, Snow’s strings.

He’d been adored by the world. Feared by enemies. Desired by strangers.

He’d never been seen like this.

And he’d do anything.

Anything to feel it again.

[hiswhiteknight]

a darling and a virgin | f. odair

masterlist

summary: you are a victor from district four, having just ended your first victory tour. after being confronted by president snow, you have no choice but to lose your virginity. luckily, your previous mentor is willing to provide some guidance.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: mentions of forced prostitution, angst, gentle smut, loss of virginity, fingering, lots of consent, praise, happy but also unhappy ending??, reader takes contraceptives.

notes: i’ve recently found that i’m incapable of writing short smut one shots so… i’m sorry y’all. love describing every detail too much.

word count: 6.8k

Your hands were clasped over the balcony railing of the penthouse you were spending the night in, the vibrant artificial lights of the Capitol burning your retinas as you overlooked the city. You had finally completed your first Victory Tour and were offered one more night in the Capitol to enjoy its ‘luxury’ and ‘generosity’ before returning to District Four in the morning.

For the past two weeks, you had read fabricated speeches to each District, resurfacing both your trauma from the Games and the families of the tributes you had murdered in the arena. The toll it was taking on you was heavy, but you managed to put on a splitting grin for every interview, speech, and disturbing congratulation. But not for your previous mentor, Finnick Odair.

Finnick had been there for you through the whole nightmare, even during the week before your Games. His support was unwavering which was one of the many reasons you had managed to survive from the moment you were Reaped to the end of the Tour. It was hard to tell when his mentorship had turned into something more complicated, but it had. It had become more about feelings than simply survival. Not a relationship per se, but not just a friendship either. You teetered on the line between the two, never crossing it and never discussing the fact that you were both aware of it either.

For six whole months.

When the final destination of the Tour came—the grand celebration at President Snow’s mansion—Finnick had told you it was the easiest part. All you had to do was manage a happy face, mingle with obnoxious Capitol citizens, and eat an abhorrent amount of food. He would have been right if you were a different person. If President Snow hadn’t demanded your singular presence at the end of the night.

You exhaled a shaky breath, watching the white mist drift into the light-polluted sky. The President’s words bounced around your head: Desirable… Customers... Family. The conversation played on a loop in your mind. You could remember the repugnant smell of roses, the overwhelming whiteness in the room, and the way his too-pleasant face lit up as fireworks exploded outside the window.

Shivers trickled down your spine, forming goosebumps that were borderline painful. The fact that you were on the ninetieth floor and wearing flimsy pyjama shorts and a thin long-sleeve shirt wasn’t helping either. The crisp wind blew against your body, but you had no intentions of moving to seek warmth. It felt appropriate to stay in the cold when your body would soon know nothing but unwelcome heat.

So lost in your spiralling thoughts, you failed to notice as another body silently took up space beside yours, warming up the side of your arm. This heat was welcome.

“Pretty cold out here.”

A startled gasp escaped your mouth. You straightened up and turned to the owner of the voice, only to find Finnick leaning against the railing, forearms over the edge the same as you.

“Sorry.” He chuckled. “I know my presence can be a little breathtaking sometimes. Nice shorts by the way.”

He turned his head turned to you, revealing his infamous flirtatious smirk. The dimples in his cheeks were prominent and charming. His bronze hair was perfectly dishevelled as usual, as if someone had purposefully placed each strand to give him the ‘sexy bed hair’ look. He was still wearing his white button-up and black trousers; the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows and a few buttons were undone, revealing his toned chest. The outfit had been accessorised with a metallic golden corset-like belt among other decorations that made him fit in with the Capitol crowd, but he must have taken them off. Now the outfit sort of resembled one that a boy would wear to a Reaping. Simple yet formal. Still gorgeous, not that he needed reminding.

Normally, you would retort with a snarky remark or, on the off occasion, flirt back, but instead, you resumed your previous position over the railings. You weren’t immune to Finnick’s charms; you praised anyone who was. You would usually be internally swooning at the sight of him, especially with the way he looked right now and his obvious flirting. But this night was much different. Flirting and swooning were at the back of your mind. All you could think about was your interaction with the president; the way his guards manhandled and escorted you to his study. The conversation that destroyed your hopes of a peaceful future.

Desirable. One word that sent ice coursing through your veins. Or snow, to be more poetic.

“I don’t think you’ve said a word since we got back,” said Finnick, still a hint of playfulness in his tone. He watched your gaze—eyes distant though not really seeing. It was clear something was wrong, so he continued, this time more softly. “You were gone during the fireworks.”

You remained unmoving, staring straight ahead at the city. Only when he uttered your name did he finally gain your attention. As you turned your head to face him, tears began to well up in your eyes.

Finnick noticed the silent distress in your expression and straightened up his stance. He towered over you, brows knitted together whilst his sea-green eyes flickered across your face, looking as if pieces were slowly falling together in his mind.

“He spoke with you, didn’t he?” he said. “Snow.”

To answer his question for you, a tear escaped your eye, but you were quick to swipe it away with a sniffle.

Your arms wound around your torso, hugging yourself as the words began flowing. “After I won my Games, when I was being crowned, he said something to me that I didn’t really understand." Your voice was gentle, just above a mere whisper. “Months passed and I’d forgotten all about it. Until now at least. He told me…” You swallowed the ache in your throat. “He told me, ‘I have big plans for you, Miss (L/N). I think you will be a very valuable asset to the Capitol citizens.’”

Finnick’s face had melted into an unreadable expression. His entire body turned to stone; it was like he was a marble statue portraying a Greek God. All of a sudden, he was sixteen again. He was in Snow’s study, being told that if he didn’t cooperate and essentially sell himself to the Capitol, his family would pay the price. And they did.

With a sad smile, you whispered, “I know what he meant now.”

Something inside him snapped and he broke from his stupor.

“No.” He vigorously shook his head. “He can’t do that. You can’t. I’ll go to him and—fuck!” His hand ran through his hair, making it even more dishevelled. The bright lights from the city were reflecting off his eyes, revealing the shine that was starting to gloss over them. “I can fix this for you, I swear I’ll—"

“Finnick.”

“He’s a fucking—”

“Finnick.” The plea in your voice ceased his panicked movements. He just stood there, looking completely and utterly helpless. You both did. Another tear slipped down your cheek as you stared at him, your voice wavering as you asked, “Can you hold me?”

He let out a breath as if the air had been knocked from his lungs and in one fell swoop, he stepped forward and pulled you into his arms. Silent tears began to flow more heavily, saturating his white shirt which he held you tightly against. There was a hand wrapped protectively around your lower back and another stroking the hair flowing over your neck.

You were certain Finnick let a few tears slip too because you could feel the cold breeze nip at the top of your head the slightest bit more. He mumbled the words “I’m so sorry” over and over into your hair but you just shook your head. You told him it wasn’t his fault, but he wouldn’t accept it. He had told you months ago about his arrangement with Snow. You couldn’t have imagined what it was like for him then, but you would be able to now. You would know every single little detail.

His embrace tightened as you turned your head and pressed your ear to his thumping chest.

The tears had stopped, and you managed to find your voice again. “Snow threatened to kill my family. What if the customers don’t think I’m good enough and he takes it out on them? I mean, I don’t have any experience.”

You remained silent, awaiting his response. When the hand stroking your hair halted, you realised your mistake. You realised what you had just admitted to him and mentally kicked yourself. Repeatedly.

Finnick moved both hands onto your forearms, gently pushing you away from him to get a clear view of your face. The surprise in his expression was enough to make you want to jump over the balcony ledge in embarrassment.

“You’re a virgin?”

Hearing the words out loud would have sent you over the edge—literally—if Finnick’s large hands weren’t wrapped around your arms. You tried to turn away from him, but his grip was unshakeable. Your eyes began to water again, and you felt pathetic.

“Hey,” he said tenderly as he tried to regain your eye contact. “It’s not a bad thing.”

Your distraught red-rimmed eyes snapped back to him. “Not a bad thing? Of course it’s a bad thing, Finnick! I have to give my body to a stranger despite never even having my first kiss! Let alone sex!” As you said the words, the full reality of your situation began to set in. Panic turned to sadness as you realised yet again, the Capitol was taking another innocence you thought was your own to give away. You looked down, your tone becoming quieter. “I thought my first time would be special. Or at least with someone I loved.”

God, you felt so embarrassed admitting that to him. Sure, a lot of your conversations were flirty and full of sensual banter. Sex, however, was not a topic that came up very frequently. You would never want to accidentally cross a line with Finnick, especially given what Snow forced upon him. So you liked to avoid the subject as much as possible. Now, it was inescapable.

He released his grip and sighed heavily, looking out toward the view as if he were deep in thought. The vivid city lights cast an unnatural hue on his usually golden-tanned skin; even now the Capitol was changing him into something he wasn’t. His eyes shut for a quick second before he reopened them and looked back at you. The only time he had looked this serious was the morning of your Games and the night you returned. It was a little intimidating.

His jaw ticked and his gaze bore down into your own. “Sweetheart, I’m going to ask you something,” he began, “and I want you to know you do not have to say ‘yes’ if you don’t want to, okay?”

Alright, now he was really starting to scare you.

“Okay,” you said warily.

The hardness on his face remained for a moment longer, but then his expression softened and became the most vulnerable you had ever seen.

His voice was gentle. “Do you want me to take your virginity?”

*************

You were sat on the edge of Finnick’s bed, toying with the black satin sheets with a frown. Your room didn’t get satin sheets. It was probably one of the benefits of being the Capitol Darling. Not that you envied him very much. He would probably be content with sleeping on a dirt floor if it meant he got his autonomy back.

Finnick was in the bathroom doing God knows what. You weren’t sure if he was trying to make himself more presentable or hyping himself up to have sex with you. The latter worried you. The last thing you wanted was to pressure him into something he didn’t want to do. Then again, he was the one who asked.

After you had told him “Yes, please”, he had tentatively but oh-so-gently taken your hand in his and guided you inside and to his room. Neither of you had spoken along the way; you just walked in silence toward something that would either ruin or deepen your relationship. Despite being two victors, this was still a mentor making sure his tribute stayed alive.

You heard the bathroom door slide open and looked up to see Finnick standing outside the door. Shirtless, pants still on, and towel in hand. It took everything in you to not stare at his perfectly sculptured torso, his equally toned arms, or his broad and muscular shoulders. Instead, your eyes met his for a split second before you returned to the satin sheets.

Blood rushed to your head and everything felt too real. Finnick Odair was standing before you, looking like an angel and willing to fu—

“You’re allowed to look, you know,” he chuckled.

But your gaze remained on the bed.

“I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“You won’t.’” He spread the towel on the bed, positioning it in the middle. Then he stopped his movements as he realised what you meant. “It’s not like that. I’m not being forced to do this. I want to.”

Your head snapped up and your heart leapt as those three words left his lips—I want to. For a second, you believed him, but then reasoning came to deflate your hopefulness.

“You wouldn’t want to if I weren’t in this situation.”

He let go of the towel, sitting down mere inches beside you, his eyes amused despite the solemn context. “And how do you know that?”

“Because…” you trailed off, searching your brain for an explanation only to find none. “Because.”

He smirked. “We need to work on your argumentative skills, sweetheart.”

A small smile worked its way across your lips. He returned it with a comforting smile of his own, though the sense of playfulness never left. It never really did and that was one of the things you admired most about him. Even in the darkest of situations, he was able to provide some light.

Rosy heat crept into your cheeks and you were forced to break eye contact again. Hiding how much he affected you was pointless now; if this was going to work out, you needed to be vulnerable with him. With each other. You looked down at the space between your bodies. His hand was resting on the bed beside him and soon enough, it was slowly creeping across the sheets over to your own. He gently brushed his fingers across your knuckles before sliding his hand beneath your palm and interlocking it with yours. You couldn’t help but notice how small your hand looked compared to his, feeling butterflies flutter around your stomach at the small observation.

The both of you silently watched your intertwined hands. That is until Finnick decided to speak up.

“I would,” he said ambiguously, caressing the side of your hand with his thumb. “I would still want to. Even in different circumstances.”

The blush on your face reddened even more; your cheeks were on fire at this point. Even in different circumstances. Was that his way of confessing… that he did have feelings for you? It wasn’t exactly explicit, but it was certainly implied. Oh god, you didn’t know what to think.

You didn’t bother to reply; words probably would have failed you anyway. You just gave his hand a slight squeeze in acknowledgement—well, it was more in appreciation. It was obvious how hard he was trying to make you feel comfortable, but no matter how hard he tried, you couldn’t shake the nerves that were rattling your entire being.

Sex was a pretty big milestone—to you, at least—and here you were, on the precipice with someone you trusted with your life. Did you love Finnick? You weren’t sure. What you did know was that your feelings for him were deep, and even though neither of you had ever clearly confessed to each other, you knew he felt something for you too. Which made everything all the more daunting.

“Are you nervous?” he asked softly.

You nodded.

“We still don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

You shook your head, lifting your gaze to his. “No, I—”

His eyebrows pulled inwards, awaiting your answer. His eyes were so inviting and full of understanding, if you hadn’t lost the ability to form full sentences, you would have found yourself spilling all your secrets to him. He was so patient with you. So good. You had to rethink your uncertainty about loving him.

“I…” you tried again. Your eyes flickered back and forth from his sea-green eyes to his soft, pink lips. As shameful as it felt to admit, you had imagined what it would feel like to have his lips on yours many times before. Usually right before you went to sleep. Never would you have thought the day would come when it would actually happen.

He was still caressing the side of your palm, silently reassuring you, encouraging you to communicate with him. You sighed, closing your eyes. If he wanted you to communicate, then you would.

“Finnick,” you whispered. “Kiss me.”

Your words drifted into the air, stilling everything in the room—the air, Finnick’s hand. Your heart. He just stared at you, unblinking, unmoving, like someone had hit pause on the television at the tensest moment. The tension was tearing you apart and you almost got up and left the room. But you didn’t. Because suddenly, the sides of your face were cupped by large hands and his lips were on yours.

Finnick Odair was kissing you.

His lips pressed against yours once more in one long close-mouthed kiss before leaving again. Shock came and left within seconds and you found the courage to copy his actions. Your lips locked perfectly onto his, remaining still, enjoying the pressure and tingly warmth of simply having them connected. Then your lips moved to kiss him again. And again, and again until soon enough, his tongue had slyly slid into your mouth and you had somehow instantaneously become a master at French kissing.

This kiss felt familiar, despite it being your first. Like something you had done millions of times before, but only with him. Like having his lips on yours was the most natural thing to ever exist.

A hand moved onto your waist and suddenly you were being pulled onto his lap, legs straddling his lap. Your hands fell on his chest, mindlessly wandering and feeling the toned muscles ripple underneath your palms as he pulled you closer by the neck to deepen the kiss. Damn the people of the Capitol, but they were right to say he was an incredible kisser.

“Finn,” you huffed in between kisses, “have you got a rock in your pants?”

He pecked your lips once more with a smirk, resting his forehead against yours as you both attempted to catch your breaths. “No,” he chuckled. “I’ve just got a beautiful girl on my lap.”

Your eyes opened to see him grinning at you with mischief. Oh.

“Is that okay?” he asked.

You nodded jerkily. “Ye—Yes, that’s okay.”

“Okay, good.”

Biting your lip, you looked down between your bodies. Curiously, you rocked your hips along the length of his lap once, earning a quiet grunt from him.

He tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. “Careful,” his voice was low, tempting.

And of course, in full defiance, you did it again. His warning was a bluff. He made no real action to prevent you from grinding any further on his erection, so you kept moving, and he kept revealing how good it made him feel. The thin fabric of your shorts created a little barrier between his hard lap and the growing sensitivity between your thighs.

Meanwhile, you found yourself never wanting to be parted from Finnick’s lips. With every rock of your hips, your hands ran over every inch of his upper body, eventually settling in his hair. The way he kissed reminded you of stories of District Twelve. A district full of hunger and desperation. Only what Finnick was craving wasn’t the fullness of food in his stomach, but the desire to devour you whole. To ravage you. And by God, would you give anything to satiate him.

Forget what you thought before. This wasn’t just a victor keeping his tribute alive. As clear as the sea on a sunny day, this was a man giving himself over to a woman he loved. You. Finnick loved you.

When you pulled back to tentatively lift your shirt over your head, his eyes stayed on yours. Your breasts were literally bare and he just continued to scan the features of your face. However, you did notice the subtle shift in his breathing.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, stroking the side of your breast.

A shy, cheek-warming smile crept on your face and then suddenly, Finnick was rolling you over. Your head fell back onto the soft silk pillows, Finnick hovering above you. This position remained for a long while, the time spent simply kissing each other, alternating between deep tongue-filled kisses and soft sweet pecks. There were moments when you both stopped to flirt or giggle. These were the times you entirely forgot the whole reason you were doing this in the first place.

It was just you and Finnick. Two new lovers in a perfect world.

After a while, your lips had swollen with warm, passionate heat. You were flushed and you didn’t even need to look to know your hair was already a tangled mess. But you didn’t care.

One of Finnick’s hands had begun to wander down your stomach, breaking the established pattern of merely making out. You knew what was coming and surprisingly, you weren’t afraid. Unlike outside the penthouse apartment, there was no danger. Not in this room, in this bed, or in the hands that caressed you. He grazed across the skin beneath your belly button, causing your body to flinch up into his.

Of course, he smirked at that—the smug asshole.

He returned to your lips before lowering down to your neck and sucking soft, red marks into your fragile skin. His fingers found the edge of your waistband. At this point, you were already breathing like a marathoner.

His lips detached from your neck. “Can Itouch you?”

“Yes, please,” you breathed.

As he travelled down, down beneath your waistband, he pecked your reddened lips once more. A soft gasp escaped you and warmth tingled between your thighs. His fingers were gentle as he began circling that sweet, sensitive spot only you had ever touched. Having someone else touch you felt so much more different, so much more exquisite. Your body responded to his touch immediately, hips following each movement of his fingers, breaths quickening in pace.

Finnick gazed down at you, observing each pleasured twist of your expression. He began to pick up the pace as he noticed your body familiarising itself with the sensation. More pressure was applied and the gasps leaving your mouth were gradually turning into quiet moans.

“This feel okay?” he asked. Obviously, he knew the answer, but after years of having others take advantage of him, he couldn’t help but want to hear your willingness. Your consent.

But you weren’t sure if the words could form. Everything felt like it was vibrating. All you could do was focus on the pleasure his fingers were building.

“Come on, sweetheart. You can tell me.”

His voice had taken on that seductive purr he was well-known for and you just couldn’t deny him. It took everything inside you to muster up the words. “It—it feels so good.”

He smiled and pressed a kiss to your forehead. The gesture was so sweet, you could have cried. So sweet even with his hand stroking between your legs and his hard cock pressing against your thigh. Time slowed as his fingers sped up. Muscles in your stomach were tightening. Your insides were churning—not like when you first entered your Games’ arena, but in the best way possible. It was a sensation you had never felt before, but before it could build any more, Finnick’s hand stilled. And you genuinely whined at the loss of friction.

Then his hand moved even lower, resting a singular finger over your slick entrance. Your eyes were wide, unsure of how to feel with the sudden turn of events.

Finnick’s eyes flickered between your own. "You trust me?”

You weren’t sure if an easier question existed. “I do.”

And his lips were on yours again, deep and sensual. His tongue rolled over your own, pushing forward and then retreating in a perfect rhythm. He almost successfully distracted you from the feeling of his middle finger sinking into you knuckle-by-knuckle. Some sort of sound resembling a mix of discomfort and surprise vibrated in your throat as his finger bottomed out.

There wasn’t much pain. It was just an odd feeling.

Your lips parted from his and he looked down at you, his eyes holding an immense amount of security as he communicated through your shared gaze.

Does it hurt?

You gave him a gentle smile. No. Keep touching me.

He returned your smile with a grin. Gladly.

His buried finger curled, shooting a sharp pang up into your stomach which caused your back to arch up against his bare torso. Whether you considered it painful or pleasurable was uncertain. Perhaps a mix of both. He did it again. This time you settled on describing it as a tight twinge in your lower stomach which sent a wave of chills down your legs. Definitely pleasurable. Only, he stopped indulging you with the sensation after the second time.

Instead, you felt another finger slowly slip inside you and whimpered. Now that hurt. You felt your inner walls stretch with the second addition and it stung. Especially when he began to scissor his fingers inside you. This was him preparing you for the real deal. How you were supposed to have Finnick inside you when just his fingers had you stuffed was incomprehensible. But you allowed him to keep going, trying to enjoy the comforting kisses he pampered onto you.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he said.

Your hands moved to push back his messy bronze hair as he hovered above you. His dimples deepened with a grin and you swore you would endure any pain to keep them etched on his face. After he deemed you stretched out enough, he slowly rose to his knees, unbuttoning his trousers and throwing them aside. You couldn’t do anything but stare. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

The way you gulped was almost cartoonish. How the hell was he supposed to fit? You had never seen a man naked before—you weren’t even sure Finnick was human. He had a body sculptured by the Gods, a face carved by angels, and a… well, let’s just say he didn’t disappoint in any other areas. You weren’t sure if the smug look on his face was real or a carefully curated mask created for his Capitol customers. By the way it quickly washed away, you could tell it was the latter.

He began sliding your shorts down your legs, tossing them to the floor. Suddenly, you felt extremely vulnerable. Almost inferior. Your knees fell together, concealing the most private part of yourself from him. You avoided his gaze, cheeks becoming red and hot as he observed your naked frame. He had a way of looking at you as if you were a long-forgotten masterpiece, rediscovered from centuries of being lost. No one had looked at you like that before him.

Gently, he pried apart your legs and you didn’t bother trying to resist. Only when he descended and settled between your legs did the insecurity dwindle into the background of your mind. Your naked bodies were hot against each other. His weight pinned you against the bed. Everything that was yours touched all that was his. You thought this experience would feel like a dream, but it all felt so real. You were nervous, you were trembling, and your breaths were shaky.

Finnick was quick to recognise the nervousness radiating off you. His arm curled beneath you, somehow pulling you even closer, meanwhile, his other arm rested beside your head. He brushed strands of hair away from your face, soothing you with his tender touch.

“Tell me to stop and I will.”

You nodded. You wanted this—wanted Finnick. It was just the anticipation that was killing you. Your thighs squeezed his sides to tell him you were ready. For a few moments longer, he restarted the pattern of sweet kisses, rolling tongues, and the warmth of blood rushing to your head. His hand was caressing your cheek; yours were splayed on his back, gliding over the rippled muscles.

Then finally, he shifted, his hand moving south to align himself with your entrance. All you could do was watch his focused expression. This was the moment. The threshold of your relationship would be ­­crossed as soon as he pushed forward. There was no one else you wanted to share the experience with because you knew this wasn’t just sex. Not for him or for you; it was more than that. Something bordering spiritual, breaking the bounds of physical pleasure and entering into a deep emotional connection. Something no paying customer of the Capitol could provide.

He was gazing down at you, half-cradling your head as he began to say, “Are you su—" But before he could finish, you had pressed your lips to his, answering his question. You were sure. He nodded in response.

His eyes were hesitant he began to push his tip between your folds. Your fingers dug into his back, more from anxiety than anything else. It became a game of stopping and starting as he moved deeper inside inch-by-inch, allowing your walls time to adjust around him. Never had you seen someone’s face filled with so many emotions—concentration, controlled gratification, affection. So many feelings twisted his expression. Meanwhile, yours held only one. Discomfort. He was so big; you felt like you were being split apart and he wasn’t even fully inside yet.

Finally, when his pelvis connected with yours, you exhaled a heavy breath. It hurt. Bad. Finnick had the right idea to lay down a towel because you definitely needed it. He had you filled to the brim, stretched out and stuffed. Even the slightest shift in his position had your hands flying to his shoulders in pain.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes, just—” You bit your lip in an attempt to suppress a whimper. “Just go slow.”

He nodded. You smiled. Then for some odd reason, you laughed. And then so did he. Finnick’s face fell into the crook of your neck, muffling his boyish laughs into your skin. The added movements had your insides dully aching, but you didn’t pay it much attention. The moment was so innocently intimate that you wanted to stay in it forever. He lifted his head to press his grinning lips to yours and the laughter began to dissipate. Your mouths moved slowly together, full of heat and fervent emotion, and suddenly, Finnick’s body began to move too.

Careful as not to harm you, he slid himself backward in one slow motion and then pushed forward again in another. Pain stung at your inner walls and your lips left his as a gasp escaped your mouth. You were tempted to close your eyes whilst riding out the discomfort but couldn’t bring yourself to look away from Finnick’s face. He was so mesmerizingly beautiful.

His cheeks were a baby pink. Lips were a rosy red. There was a thin sheen covering his forehead, slightly wrinkled by his furrowed brows. Those messy bronze locks you adored so much fell in strands across his forehead. The evident concentration and care on his face just made him look all the more picturesque.

While you admired his features, you started to notice the pain accompanying his slow thrusts was becoming more tolerable. There was still a sting, but also a dull twinge in your stomach that had you biting your bottom lip. It felt sort of… nice. And you wanted to experiment with that feeling.

Your hands were hooked around his shoulders. “Faster.”

Are you sure? His lustful eyes spoke.

You pulled him back down to your mouth. Absolutely.

And so, his hips started to rock back and forth at a faster pace. You could feel yourself clench around his cock from the change of rhythm but forced yourself to relax. He thrust in and out, rubbing against the ripples of your walls, tip brushing at a spot inside you that was anything but pain. That is what you focused on—that one sweet spot.

Time went on and he gradually increased his speed. Your lips were swollen and red, no doubt from the way he would nip and suck on your bottom lip in between each flick of his tongue. His breaths were coming out louder, heavier, as were your own. Soon enough, you were in a rhythm that was both pleasurable for him and for you. The pain lingered but it was no longer unbearable. A shudder ran down your body and your pussy fluttered around him. Finnick broke away from your lips with a breathy groan that you swore you could feel in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

His thrusts became a little faster, a little more painful. A hand slipped down between your bodies and the pain faded quicker than it came. He was rubbing circles around your clit, occasionally running his fingers across it which caused you to lurch upward. All of a sudden, you came to the realisation that everything bad that had been clouding your mind had disappeared. The ache, the confrontation with Snow. Everything. The only thing you could focus on was the pleasure slowly building between your thighs and in your stomach. And Finnick. His tantalising eyes. His wicked mouth. His throbbing cock.

People always said your first time would be horrible; this was anything but. Maybe it had to do with the fact that you… loved him? Yeah, you loved him. Also because he was something of an expert at sex. You were in a pretty unlucky predicament but having Finnick willingly fucking you was a blessing.

His fingers were relentless, applying the perfect amount of pleasure that had you writhing beneath him. And added with the sensation of his cock repeatedly hitting that spot inside you, your uneven breaths turned into soft moans. He fucked, he rubbed, he nipped and sucked at the delicate skin of your neck. Heat was enveloping your entire body.

“Finnick,” you moaned.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” His voice was strained and hoarse.

His hand left your clit, hooking around your thigh, and curling it around his back so he could thrust even deeper. He restarted his rhythm of rubbing circles, but his thrusts felt different. Instead of just brushing that sensitiveness deep inside you, he was mercilessly hitting it. Over and over. Your moans were louder now; Finnick was more vocal too, grunting and occasionally uttering words of praise.

This went on for a while. His stamina was incredible—if you had a moment to think, you would have realised the depressing reasoning behind it. But you couldn’t think at all. Your heel was digging into his back; nails scratching at his skin. Both of you had a layer of sweat covering your bodies, skin wet, slapping and sliding over one another. Your pheromones had filled the room with the smell of sex, driving your need to finish.

Finnick’s mouth had been everywhere at this point. Your lips, your neck, shoulders, and breasts. Everywhere except your pussy, not that it really mattered anymore.

It was hard for you to comprehend how fucking amazing the sensations you felt were. There was heat and pressure pooling in your stomach, increasing at a slow pace, and growing more powerful by the minute. Finnick’s hips moved at a steady pace, but his hand had begun to slow. Even he had to succumb to fatigue at some point. He sounded like he had run for miles though was obviously pushing himself on for your benefit.

Instead of ceasing his tiring hand movements entirely, he switched hands. And that was when the heat in your stomach turned into a blazing inferno. He was much faster now. Applied more pressure. Your head fell back against the pillow with a cry. His cock was throbbing inside you at the sound.

“That feel good? Huh?” he practically moaned.

He left kisses across the stretch of your neck, running his tongue over the skin and leaving behind red marks.

“Yes!” you cried out.

Your entire body felt like it was being dipped into a white-hot flame of pleasure and the feeling was only increasing. It was clear Finnick felt the same way. His thrusts were becoming more frantic, he was cursing left and right, and he was practically pulsing inside you.

The heat in your stomach was overwhelming but you needed more.

“Finnick, I feel—I feel—” You couldn’t even describe it.

Finnick nodded, breathing heavily above you. God, he looked gorgeous. “You’re gonna come.”

Your half-lidded needy eyes met his. Something about him saying those words sent a wave of acceleration through your body. You hadn’t known what the edge was until you were on the brink of coming, and there was no stopping it. His cock plunged in and out, pushing deep inside you, practically rocketing your orgasm to the surface with each thrust. His fingers moved at such an intense pace you didn’t even know was physically possible.

As your eyes fluttered shut, your mouth fell open and every frantic breath, moan, and cry was able to escape. Finnick had the same problem. Fuck, he sounded so sexy, it only spurred you on.

Then it hit you all at once. “Fu—"

Every inch of your body tensed. You were sent into a space where white noise filled your hearing and bliss was all you knew. No pain. No sadness. Just ecstasy. Electric sparks jolted up and down your body, rising to your head, and causing you to see stars behind your closed eyes. Your moans were uncontrollable and desperate, voicing Finnick’s name over and over.

His thrusts were frenzied and sloppy, prolonging your orgasm as long as he could. He had lifted your lower back into an arch, enhancing the sensation coursing through your body. Your walls were clenching and pulsing around him, so much that he was abruptly thrown into his own high. His hips stuttered and eventually, his cock filled you as deep as he could, spurting out warm strings of white that coated your inner walls.

He collapsed on top of you, face buried in the crook of your neck. Your fingers wound into his hair, clinging to him as the aftershocks of your orgasm ravaged your body. Legs trembling and mouth panting, you lay there allowing yourself to regain your breath and ability to move.

After pressing a lazy kiss to your neck, Finnick slid off you, falling onto the bed beside you. Hopefully the towel was enough to save the silk sheets.

Now that you were resting, exhaustion had the chance to cloud your mind. You weren’t sure what the customs were after sex—whether you made conversation or simply went to sleep. The latter sounded pretty good though. A warm hand slipped beneath your back, turning your body sideways and pulling you so you were half strewn across Finnick’s chest and legs. You made no effort to resist.

Eyes closed, you listened to the heart beating inside his ribs. Thrumming intensely though starting to return to a normal rate.

“Are you okay?” he asked with a murmur, sounding utterly drained.

His thumb drew gentle patterns on the skin of your waist.

You nodded against his chest, remaining silent. After a little while you finally decided to speak. “I’m glad it was you.” And then after a few more moments of silence, you added, “I wish it was just you.”

You felt him press his lips to the top of your head. A long and emotional kiss. The whole reasoning behind losing your virginity returned to mind. It felt heavy, weighing down the atmosphere in the room. No matter how hard you tried to deny it, what was coming was inevitable. You wouldn’t get to stay with Finnick in this bed. You wouldn’t get to belong to him, or he you. You both belonged to the Capitol. To Snow. No matter how much you wished to belong to each other.

He whispered, “Me too.”

[hiswhiteknight]

getting tired while riding dean

parings: dean winchester x reader

warnings: 18+, smut

your thighs were burning, trembling with the effort of holding yourself up as you rode him, your nails digging into his chest for balance. dean’s hands rested on your waist, his grip firm but not forceful, just enough to guide you as you moved. sweat slicked your skin, sticking it to his, and the air in the room felt thick, charged with every breathless sound you made.

but God, you were getting tired. your movements slowed, hips faltering as the ache in your legs grew sharper. "baby," you gasped, voice ragged, your head tipping forward, your hair falling into your face.

dean looked up at you, his green eyes warm, soft even in the heat of the moment. "you okay?" he asked, voice husky but tinged with concern. his thumbs rubbed gentle circles against your hips, a small, grounding comfort even as his body begged for more.

"just... legs," you muttered, barely coherent, too lost in the tension coiling low in your belly.

a small, crooked smile spread across his face, the kind that always managed to make your chest feel light no matter the situation. "aw, my girl’s runnin’ outta gas," he teased lightly, but there was no bite to his words, just a sweetness that only dean could pull off. "don’t worry, sweetheart. i gotcha."

before you could respond, his grip on your hips tightened, and he planted his feet against the mattress for leverage. with a low grunt, he began moving you, his strength taking over as he thrust up into you, his hips meeting yours with a steady, purposeful rhythm. your gasp turned into a cry, your hands clutching at him as he took control.

"that’s it," he murmured, his voice low and soothing despite the roughness of his movements. "just let me take care of you, baby. you feel so damn good... always do."

you could only moan in response, the way he filled you sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. dean’s eyes never left yours, even as his jaw clenched and his brows furrowed in concentration. "but we gotta hurry," he said between breaths, his voice tightening with the effort. "sam’s gonna walk through that door any minute, and as much as i like showin’ off, i don’t think he’s ready for this kinda performance."

the mention of sam barely registered in your haze, but dean didn’t let up, his thrusts coming faster, deeper, as his fingers dug into your hips to hold you steady. "c’mon, baby," he coaxed, his voice dropping into that gravelly tone that always made you weak. "let go for me. i wanna feel you, just once more before we have to stop."

the heat inside you boiled over, your body tightening around him as your climax hit, pulling a guttural groan from deep in dean’s chest. he followed right after, his movements growing erratic before he stilled, his grip on you ironclad as he spilled into you, his head falling back against the pillow with a shaky exhale.

for a moment, the room was silent except for the sound of your mingled breaths. dean’s hands softened on your hips, sliding up to your back to pull you down against him. "there’s my girl," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there.

you barely had time to catch your breath before the sound of a car door slamming outside made both of you freeze. dean let out a soft laugh, running a hand through his hair. "guess we cut it a little close, huh?"

you could only smile, too dazed to care.

taglist: @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis

[hiswhiteknight]

this is so much better.

jake 'hangman' seresin x f!simpsonreader

summary: jake and reader are trapped in an elevator, much to jake's excitement, and reader's demise. t/w: mentions of claustrophobia, on-page panic attack, some fluff. 18+ content mentioned.

“hold the door!!” a southern drawl calls out to you, his handsome face barely visible as the elevator doors start to close.

as you punch the close door button, his strong forearm stops the door, and he runs in.

jake “hangman” seresin feeds you an annoyingly beautiful smirk. you answer with one of your best eye rolls.

“thanks, sugar,” he drawls. his flight suit is unzipped to his waist, showcasing the tight black shirt stretched across his chest.

“in a hurry?” you ask, keeping your gaze straight ahead, watching the numbers countdown.

“i could ask you the same. coulda’ sworn i saw your finger reach for the close door button.” his blonde brow arches up.

god, he’s infuriatingly handsome. and your favorite verbal sparring partner.

“just trying to deliver these reports to, Dad. he left them on the counter and called me in a tizzy,” you reply. “you?”

“oh, i heard you were making an appearance on base and had to see you,” he winks. “couldn’t let the pretty simpson go without a little flirting.”

“don’t call me that,” you say. “hey does the elevator feel like it’s—“

before you can get the words out, the elevator lurches and throws you into jake, the papers you were holding scattered all along the floor. the lights dim out, replaced by a red emergency light.

his strong arms lock around your waist, holding you up. your gaze is locked on his chest where his shirt meets his collarbone. your breaths start to come in short spurts.

“is this a bad time to tell you this is my worst nightmare?” you murmur.

“is this a bad time to tell you i’ve never been happier with the way you’re clinging to me for dear life?” he whispers back, his breath soft on your ear.

for a moment, your fear is replaced with longing. you look up into his green eyes, and he gives you another smirk. you remove your hands from him and try to step back.

he matches your step, not unlocking his arms from your waist. one hand cups your neck.

“your pulse is racing,” he comments. "i didn't know you felt this way about me, simpson." his lip quips up in the corner.

the walls of the elevator feel like they're closing in. in a matter of seconds, you are going to be enveloped between the lacquered wood walls. the roof of the tiny box is joining the walls, ready to squish you into your eternal doom.

"please don't be a smart ass, jake," you managed to say in between your gasping breath.

jake pulls back to take in your features. his green eyes roam over your face. your hands are in fists against your own chest, rising up and down in time if your hyperventalations.

jake reaches for your hands, and you don't fight. he flattens out your fists, enveloping them between his own. realization falls over his beautiful face.

"you're having a panic attack." it's not a question.

in an instance, the jake you know and hate--err, love--is gone. in his place is lieutenant seresin, the aviator with three confirmed kills. the man who is going to rise in rank in no time.

"listen to me, simpson," he says your last name as if he's speaking to your dad, not trying to get into your pants like usual.

his green eyes lock and hold yours. you couldn't look away if you wanted to.

"the walls are closing in. we're going to be crushed," you admit your fears, feeling the tears you've been trying to keep away roll down your cheeks. saying the fear aloud helps you reason with the absurdity of it.

"they aren't," he murmurs, continuing to rub your palms in his. the sensation pulls your thoughts from the elevator, keeping your present with jake.

"the roof too," you whisper. jake shakes his head. there is no sign of the flirty pilot. no sign of raised brows questioning your sanity. lieutenant seresin believes you. he believes this illogical fear.

and he's helping you through it.

"we're stuck," you croak. this time, jake nods. you sink to the floor, and jake goes along with you. he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. reaching over your shoulder, he pushes the call button.

"power outage on base," the collected voice announces. "working as fast as they can. who is in the elevator?"

"lieutenant seresin and y/n simpson."

"noted. hang tight, you two. might be a little while."

a little while. the phrase has your pulse ramping back up. how long is a little while? thirty minutes? an hour? overnight?

as if he can read your mind, jake begins rubbing your palms. you meet his eyes and your breathing starts to steady.

"it's okay. you can be scared. i'm here," he whispers. "you are safe. your biggest enemy right now is your mind."

"i know," you admit. one of his hands lets go of yours to rest on your neck. he slides the hand up to your cheek. immediately, you lean into the touch. he calloused hand rough against your cheek helps to keep you from exploring all the ways this elevator could hurt you. his thumb brushes under your eye, removing a tear.

"i'm sorry," you say, embarrassment replacing some of your anxiety.

jake looks startled. "you have nothing to apologize for." jake looks around the elevator, and in a stage-whisper says, "i used to feel so claustrophobic in my jet."

the admission catches you off-guard. "you don't have to make me feel better, hangman."

he shakes his head. "i'm not. it was a huge thing. i thought i would never make it through the academy."

"but you did."

"i did."

"thank you, jake," you murmur. the serious mask of the lieutenant slips, and your jake is back feeding your soul with that insufferable smirk.

jake's hands are still on your body, and now that you're convinced the elevator is not alive and wanting to crush you, the weight of him fills you with longing.

a longing you have tried to ignore.

jake must sense this too, because he pulls you over to straddle his lap. both hands settle on your face, and yours holds onto his wrists.

"is this how you saw your 'flirting' playing out?" you whisper, leaning into him, stopping millimeters from his mouth.

"did i see the pretty simpson straddling my waist? i can't say i did. i'll admit, i did fantasize about kissing you against the wall." his hands fall to your outer thigh, running his hands slowly up and down them. "this is so much better."

"you fantasize about me?" you ask, your restraint waning.

jake rolls his eyes and slides his hands up to your waist. your body betrays you by shivering under his touch, which doesn't go unnoticed by him. his lips spread into a smile. a genuine smile.

"oh, baby, please." the pet name sends another thrill through you. he's called you baby before. but it's never had the want behind it like it does now. "i know for a second you don't believe i haven't."

his eyes roam your face again, this time, searching for consent. "are you feeling okay enough for me to kiss you?"

"i am dying for you to kiss me, jake," you say. jake's mouth collides with yours in a mixture of relief and wanting. the tension in your bones releases as you press yourself further into him. the groan at the back of his throat causes one of your own to meet it.

jakes hands move to your back, pressing you against him. you are in his lap and still feel like you can't get close enough. his erection presses against his flight suit, a deep flush filling your cheeks.

reading your emotions, he murmurs against your ear, "i can't even attempt to hide what you do to me, but i'm not doing anything you aren't comfortable with."

"i'm certainly not comfortable with the idea of my father pulling the camera footage of his daughter and one of his pilots," you laugh into jake's neck.

"hmmmm," he hums against your ear. "yeah, that'll do it." jake helps you off his lap, and you settle into the side of him. his arms envelope you, pulling you close. "join me at the hard deck tonight? you know, given we're rescued in time to join everyone?"

you answer him with a kiss on the cheek. another wide smile forms, and he pulls you in for a sweet kiss.

a/n: i hope you enjoyyyyeddddd.

[hiswhiteknight]

𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦

pairing: finnick odair x victor!reader

summary: your stylist must hate you, putting you into a corset so tight. thank god finnick odair is there to save you

warnings: female reader, finnick and reader are friends with implied feelings, mentions of capitol people being awful people, finnick being a sweetheart, no use of y/n

: ̗̀➛ masterlist

If there was one thing you were certain of, it was that you hated Capitol parties. They were always extremely extravagant, filled with the most obnoxiously unaware people you had probably ever met. Being a Victor was nothing less than a major pain in the ass. You lived, but you also lived with the pains of the Capitol and Snow breathing down your neck every five seconds.

It wasn't uncommon for Victors to be invited to parties in the Capitol. It was actually rather unusual for them not to be invited. After all, they were the real Capitol stars. So, here you were, drinking some bubbly liquor that tasted incredibly awful in comparison to any other drink, fake smiling and laughing with some socialites who wouldn't leave you alone for more than two minutes at a time.

Their stories were very unimpressive. Dull and lifeless, like how someone stepped on a bug while shopping, or how another ate so much they had to throw up six times. Stories from the Districts were always better. Folk stories or real, it really didn't matter. At least they were interesting and not about something stupid like fashion or gossip.

The worst part of the whole night was that your stylist must've hated you. You wore some long, pirate-esque, flowy skirt with the most painful heels that had ever been made along with the tightest corset you'd ever worn. It was squeezing all of your insides in all the wrong ways. If you turned the wrong way or breathed too hard, it really hurt. You were sure if you bent over, you'd crack your ribs. It was torturous to be wearing such a thing.

You managed to laugh at all their jokes, share stories back and forth, and pretend to be interested just long enough to tolerate the pain. But now it was becoming a little bit too hard to manage. It felt like you could no longer breathe normally. You were all too aware of your breathing. If you stopped thinking about it, there was a chance you'd stop completely, at least, that's what you convinced yourself. Your fake smile seemed harder to keep up as a socialite finished their story.

"Honestly, isn't that just the most terrible thing you've heard?" You fake laughed, nodding along as best as you could with your circumstances and disinterest. "I mean, I couldn't imagine anything more awful that a broken heel!" How ignorant. Ever heard of The Hunger Games?

"I would have thrown a fit it if were me," another socialite said, seeming very remorseful.

A different one nodded, "Truly the most nightmarish ending to your evening."

As you stood there, you wondered if it could it be possible that the corset was getting tighter. There was no possible way it could have been, but it sure felt like it. The squeezing was becoming incredibly unbearable. Every little breath ached your ribs and sides. You were positive there would be bruises in the corset's place tomorrow. Maybe the injuries you'd sustained during your Games a few years ago weren't so bad seeing as you were sure you were about to suffocate and die right there on Snow's courtyard.

"The only nightmarish ending I can think of is leaving this party without a lovely lady on my arm." It was like the heavens had graced you with Finnick's presence. If you could have released a breath of relief, you probably would have. "Good evening, ladies, gentlemen," Finnick turned to you, giving you a small smile. You returned it, strained, but you returned it.

Oh, sweet Finnick. He was your best friend. His presence was so comforting no matter where you were. It was times like these you wondered how he could just waltz over when you needed him the most. You weren't sure how he did it, but you were damn thankful that he did. You were hoping he would get the hint that something was wrong without needing to raise all hell to make it obvious.

"I can't see you having a hard time leaving without a gorgeous, lucky woman on your arm," the first socialite said to Finnick. She must've hoped it was her. "After all, you are our Golden Boy."

Finnick chuckled, smiling with those gorgeous teeth of his. "Well, someone has to keep the standards high."

"I'm sure you won't have trouble leaving here with a lucky man, either, darling." Your eyes shot over to the third socialite who had addressed you. You could barely breathe, let alone speak anymore.

"I'm sure I won't." Your voice felt strained. Did it sound strained? You hoped it didn't. The last thing you wanted was to look like you were suffering.

Finnick, however, could sense the tone in your voice from a mile away. You were his friend, after all. Probably his best one if he was being honest. The sharp nod you gave, the raised, airy tone to your voice were all very worrisome signs. His eyes searched your face for answers you tried to hide from any prying eyes. However, the way you tugged down at the bottom of your corset was.. something. Were you anxious, uncomfortable, upset? Finnick couldn't place it. There were just too many missing details. He knew something was wrong. It was like putting together a puzzle without looking at the picture on the box.

The conversation continued onwards. Eventually, you found yourself leaning into Finnick's hand that moved to softly rest on your lower back. You couldn't decide if it was for comfort or in case you passed out from lack of oxygen. You assumed it was for comfort. The good news was that if your face turned blue, you'd match the shades of your outfit for the night. If you considered that good news. Maybe it wouldn't look all that displaced after all.

Only one singular minute had passed and you quickly realized that not even Finnick's welcomed gesture would be enough to help you. You felt yourself begin to panic, the worst possible thing you could do in this situation. The more you panicked, the more your breathing would increase. That would only cause yourself more pain and frustration, not to mention it would double your anxiety. What a horrible domino effect that would be.

Keeping your cool was becoming impossible. You tried to hold as still as a statue to keep from moving and upsetting the corset more, but it was proving very difficult. Holding your breath wasn't really an option here, so the only thing to do was try and remain calm.

When the first very sharp pain radiated through your ribs, you knew you were done for. You sucked in a very noticeable breath, thankfully, only Finnick had heard. The conversation had continued, but the words had fallen deaf to your ears. It had been long forgotten amid your growing panic.

"Ah," Finnick said, abruptly pausing the conversation, "we completely forgot, but we're meant to meet with the president. If you'll excuse us." Finnick was pushing on your lower back, now. He guided you through the crowd, up some stairs and into one of the first open rooms he could find. The moment you were inside, you pressed on your stomach, trying to give yourself comfort, but ultimately failing. "What's wrong?" Finnick quickly asked, approaching you with worry in his expression. "Sweetheart, talk to me."

Now you were positive you couldn't talk. Your head felt dizzy and your tongue felt numb. You shook your head, tears brimming your eyes as you scratched at the corset. Finnick's eyes were darting to your hands and back to your face over and over, trying to understand what you were trying to convey to him.

You opened your mouth, trying to find words, but all you could manage was an awful wheeze. Your lungs and throat burned like fire. You were sure your face was turning red. Finnick's eyes widened as he quickly grabbed your shoulders, turning you around so your back was facing him. You felt his hands on your back again, but this time, they had a mission. Finnick grabbed a hold of the ribbon of your corset, not so much as grunting as he tore it apart.

The moment the ribbon tore, you gasped, sucking in as much air as you could as you fell to your knees, holding the front of the corset to your chest as you heaved, the air feeling so incredible that you took note to never take breathing for granted. Finnick was by your side in a heartbeat, hand on your back rubbing soothing circles on your now exposed skin. "It's okay, you're okay. Slow, deep breaths. Don't rush, nice and slow." His voice slowly worked the panic out of your system, your inhales deep, but exhales shaky and unsteady.

"I couldn't breathe," your voice was soft, almost as if talking were still too much to handle, "every breath hurt."

Finnick nodded, "I know, honey. I know, it's alright now. You're okay." You looked up to Finnick, watching his expression. He no longer looked panicked, but he still looked just as worried as before. "Do you need anything? Water?"

You shook your head. "Sit with me? Please?"

The two of you sat against the couch, sitting on the floor looking utterly exhausted. It was obvious the night had worn you both out, from the socialization to your near suffocation. Your head fell over, leaning on Finnick's shoulder as his head rested on top of you own.

"Do you want to go sailing tomorrow?" Finnick quietly asked. "I heard the waves will be perfect. You can bring that book you're reading and we can have lunch."

"That sounds nice," you hummed, "I'd like that a lot."

After a few more quiet minutes, you realized both of your absences would start to look rather suspicious. You both knew that it was long past time to go back to the party, but the silence you shared was too nice to give up just yet.

"Thank you for saving me," you thanked, looking over and up at Finnick.

He shook his head with a soft exhale, "You don't need to thank me. I'm just glad I got you up here in time." Finnick slowly stood up, holding your head as he stood so you wouldn't fall over. He held out a hand to help you stand up.

"Wait, I can't go back out there like this." You could. The Capitol people would love it. Seeing you holding the corset onto your chest to cover yourself. You knew deep down that the position you were in would make the people go wild for you. It was the kind of attention you weren't looking for. The kind of attention you never looked for.

Finnick didn't hesitate to take off his poet shirt, leaving his upper half bare, besides his shark tooth necklace. He didn't even need a second thought. The moment you started to speak, he knew what you were going to say. It was an easy choice for him to make. He would do anything to protect you.

Denying Finnick's kindness wasn't something he'd let you turn down, so you accepted. Finnick turned around while you put it on, only turning back around when he heard you fumbling with the sleeves. He helped roll them up so they weren't as long, while you began to tuck it into your skirt.

"You'll get cold," you commented worriedly, remembering what the chilled breeze had felt like on your own skin not too long ago.

"Then stay with me and keep me warm," Finnick replied, a small smile on his face. You chuckled airly, smiling back at him. "You look beautiful. They'll think we both just did a small wardrobe change. And that's what we'll tell them if they ask. I doubt they will. Capitol isn't all that observational."

You looked at Finnick, biting your bottom lip, "I wish we didn't have to go yet." You wished you could stay in this room with Finnick all night. Unfortunately, that was no option.

He seemed to agree based on the way his smile turned lopsided. "Just think about all the fun we'll have tomorrow. The waves, the wind, us. I'll even bring us some coconuts to crack open."

"And my book," you insisted. "I'll read it to you."

"My favorite activity," Finnick nodded. He held his hand out to you, "C'mon, honey. Let's get this night over with." His offer was easily understood, even if he didn't say it. Let's get this night over with together.

[hiswhiteknight]

Swamp Thing

Prompt: Jamie Reagan x Reader fic and the reader is a lawyer with Erin

AN: Can you spot the SVU reference? 

Requested By: ANON

“No.” 

“Look, I wouldn’t be asking unless it was really important, and THIS is really important.” 

You don’t even look at Erin as you walk, your nose buried in a file. You turn into your office and settle behind your desk. When you look up, she’s still there; arms crossed and staring you down. 

“Look, Erin, I don’t know how it works at the Manhattan DA’s office, but here, in Brooklyn, we don’t set our friends up with our little brothers.” 

“It’s not a set up. Jamie recently went through a heartbreak, he broke it off with his finance’ and partner. He has no one to go to this political dinner with, and all Reagans have to be there to support my dad. He checked plus one, and now he needs one. And if we have an empty seat at our table it’s going to look bad.” 

You lean back in your chair, “So you schlep out to Brooklyn, to look up one of your old interns …” 

“And friends. You’ve seen me drunk, that makes you a friend.” 

You snort at that, “Exactly, I got your drunk ass home safe after several shot of tequila, and I held your hair while you threw up.” 

“Friendship.” 

“Or me not wanting you to die of alcohol poisoning, because then I would have had to find a new internship.” 

You stare at each other for a moment before you both grin, “Send me the time, dress code, and address. I’ll meet your group there.” 

She moves behind your desk, gives you a not great hug do to your chair, and says, “Thank you. I owe you one.” 

As she moves out the door, you call out, “You owe me ten Reagan.” 

The event ends up not being for another week. For the most part, other than picking out an outfit, you put it out of your mind. You’ve just finished negotiating a deal with a murderer, double digits and the first one starts with a two, and you can feel the headache brewing. 

Which is why you’re more than a little annoyed when you go back to your office and see an officer sitting outside it, waiting for you. The rest of your afternoon should be clear … you didn’t have any testimony to go over. 

You stop in front of him, and study him for a second. He’s cute. “Can I help you?” 

His head snaps up, “No. Thank you. I’m just waiting on Ms. Y/L/N.” 

You give him a small smile, “Present and accounted for.” 

 He stands up, nods a few times and goes, “Of course you’d be pretty.” 

“Excuse me.” 

He takes a deep breath, “My name is Jamie Reagan, I’m here to undo the mess my 

sister Erin made.” 

Ahh, so that’s what’s going on. You bite your lip to keep from laughing, “Then you should probably come in.” 

He follows you into your office, and each of you takes a seat on your couch. There’s a breath of silence before he says, “Erin, had no right to corner you into going to this dinner that’s coming up. I mean, I didn’t even have a desire to go, it’s just something you do for family.” 

“Torture you mean?” 

His lips quirk, “Yeah. Anyways, I already asked an old friend I went to law school with, she said yes, so you’re off the hook.” 

You lean back into the couch and stare at him, “Well, now that’s a shame.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. I could leave the rubber chicken dinner, but you turned out to be pretty cute. The way Erin was begging made you seem like you were the swamp thing.” 

He nods, “So, as long as I kill her in Manhattan, you won’t have to try my case, right?” 

“Yep.” 

“That means it wouldn’t be a conflict of interest for you to go on a real non-boring date with me next Friday?” 

“The whole being arrested, trial and prison thing might get in the way?” 

He laughs, “For you I’ll drop the murder.” 

“You’ve got yourself a deal.” And you can’t help but think that deal wise… you’re on quite the roll today. 

[hiswhiteknight]

Ya Did Good Kid

Jamie Reagan X Reader

Summary: Jamie takes the reader to meet his family over Sunday dinner.

Word Count: 900

Warnings: None!

Author’s Note: This is my first fanfic post on tumblr!! I’m a little nervous but I hope you guys like it! I’m gonna tag all my stuff under underooswrites and emwrites. Also (Y/N) is your name! Enjoy! (I don’t own any of the characters mentioned)

capsironunderoos masterlist

Keep reading

[hiswhiteknight]

Title: Meeting the Reagans (Part 1?)

Pairing: Jamie Reagan x Reader

Word Count: 1452 (Wow, I didn’t know it was so short)

Author’s Note: My first request! Requested by anon with the specifications of a Jamie x Reader fic where reader is a cop and she goes to the weekly Reagan family dinner with Jamie. Sorry it took me so long to get this done. Also, I might make this into a two-parter since the ending was a little rushed because I wasn’t sure where I wanted to take it.

Trigger Warning(s): Absolutely none besides some small talk of a case (nothing you wouldn’t see on the show)

Disclaimer: I don’t own Blue Bloods, also not associated with it or know anyone involved with it.

Summary: Reader and Jamie have been dating for a while, things are pretty serious and he wants reader to meet his family over the weekly Reagan family dinner.

Y/N = Your Name

Keep reading

[hiswhiteknight]

Chasing You: Part 2

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female OC Avery Simpson (Daughter of Beau "Cyclone" Simpson)

Summary: After getting stood up on a date, Avery finds herself reluctantly accepting Jake Seresin’s company. She still isn’t sure what to make of him but maybe, just maybe, he’s not as insufferable as she thought.

Warnings: Light Alcohol Consumption, Some Cursing/Language

Part 1 is HERE

The Hard Deck was filled with its usual Friday night crowd of pilots, locals, and a few unlucky tourists who’d stumbled into a bar that belonged to naval aviators first and everyone else second. 

Avery had been there for nearly thirty minutes, seated at a small table on the patio overlooking the ocean, staring down at her drink. She watched as the condensation slid down her nearly empty glass. Then her eyes glanced at her phone. Her phone that held no new messages.

She exhaled sharply through her nose, locking the screen before tossing it onto the table beside her mostly melted rum and Coke. 

She wasn’t upset, exactly. Just annoyed. Annoyed at herself for getting her hopes up. 

The guy was a Navy officer she’d matched with on Tinder. He had seemed nice enough. A little stiff in their messages but she thought maybe he was just nervous. Until of course, he’d probably seen her last name, made the connection to Admiral Beau "Cyclone" Simpson and decided she wasn’t worth the trouble.

Avery clenched her jaw, swirling the ice in her glass. It shouldn’t bother her. It didn’t bother her. It wasn’t like she’d been invested in this guy. But it still left a bad taste in her mouth.

She let out a slow breath, rolling her shoulders like she could shake the feeling off. It doesn’t matter. It was just a drink. She could pay for her own drinks. This was just another reminder that she should stop wasting time on men who were never going to stick around.

Then, of course, because her night hadn’t been frustrating enough, Jake Seresin strolled over like he owned the damn place. That familiar mix of cocky confidence and expensive cologne, his movements so damn relaxed it was infuriating.

“Damn. If looks could kill, that glass wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Avery exhaled slowly, lifting her gaze to meet his. Sure enough, Jake was sitting there, one arm draped casually over the back of his chair, his signature smirk firmly in place.

She leaned back. “Not now, Jake.”

Jake didn’t even blink. “Now darlin’, that’s just rude. Could’ve at least said hello.” He nodded toward her empty glass before flagging down a passing bartender. “Another for her. On me.”

Avery rolled her eyes. “I didn’t ask for that.”

“No, but clearly you need it.” He tilted his head, studying her. 

She narrowed her eyes. Tonight was not the night for him to play this stupid game. “And what makes you the authority on what I need?”

Jake leaned in slightly, resting his forearms on the table. “Because I’ve been watching you sit out here for twenty minutes, staring at your phone and then the door like you’re waiting on a miracle to walk through it.”

Avery blinked. The way he said it so casual, like he wasn’t admitting to watching her all night caught her off guard.

Her silence only encouraged him. “Now,” he continued as he tapped the table. “Maybe you just like iced down drinks and disappointment. But my guess?” He tilted his head. “Some jerk stood you up.”

Avery clenched her jaw. Damn him. She should have lied. Should have shut him down. But something about the way he said it like he wasn’t mocking her, like he already knew the answer had her irritation flaring.

She huffed, crossing her arms. “And if that were the case?”

Jake smirked. “Then I’d say he’s an idiot.”

The bartender returned, sliding her new drink in front of her. Avery didn’t touch it yet.

She lifted a brow. “Or maybe he just had common sense.”

Jake’s expression flickered, just for a second, before settling into something unreadable. “Why do you say that?”

Avery exhaled, staring down at the table. “Because anyone in the Navy within fifty miles of this place learn to steer clear of me if they know what’s good for them.”

She hadn’t meant to say it out loud. But there it was, sitting between them, open and honest.

Jake didn’t immediately respond. No teasing remark. No cocky retort.

Avery swallowed and shifted in her seat. “It’s not exactly a secret who my dad is.”

Jake tilted his head slightly, waiting for her to continue.

Avery let out a humorless laugh and shook her head. “Guys figure it out eventually. And the second they do? They run.”

Jake’s brows furrowed slightly. “You think they run because of him?”

Avery nodded as she stared into her drink. “I’ve heard the same thing over and over since I started dating as an adult. ‘You’re Cyclone’s daughter?’ Then suddenly the whole conversation changes. Before I know it they’re backpedaling like they want to pretend they never even met me.”

Jake remind quiet, just listening as Avery spoke.

Avery let out a slow, sharp breath. “Turns out no one wants to risk dating the Admiral’s kid.”

Jake’s expression didn’t shift. He just looked at her for a few moments. Then he murmured, “Not all of us leave.”

Something in his voice made her look up. For the first time, Avery felt like she was actually seeing him. Not just the arrogant pilot with the easy smile, but something steadier underneath.

Avery’s fingers curled around her glass. “Maybe you just haven’t connected the dots the way everyone else before has.”

Jake smirked and tilted his head. “Oh I connected them, sweetheart.”

Avery finally looked up, her eyes meeting Jake’s. “And you’re still here?”

Jake shrugged. “Told you. Doesn’t scare me.”

Avery blinked, caught completely off guard. She didn’t know what to say. Jake was the first person who had figured out who her dad was, who knew what consequences could come if things went bad, and he was still here.

He leaned in slightly, elbows resting on the table. “So? You gonna sit here all night waiting on a text that ain’t coming, or you gonna let me distract you?”

She shot him a dry look. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

Jake grinned and nodded towards the beach. “Take a walk with me.”

She frowned. “A walk?”

He nodded toward the beach, where the last bit of golden-pink sunlight stretched over the water. “Come on.”

Avery hesitated. Every logical part of her brain told her to say no and to tell him to go away. But she was tired. Of sitting there. Of waiting. Of being disappointed. So before she could talk herself out of it, she exhaled sharply, pushing her chair back.

“Fine. But this is not a date. It’s just a walk”

Jake was already standing, motioning for her to go first. “On the beach…at sunset.”

She rolled her eyes and stepped past him, stepping onto the warm sand.

The beach was quieter than the bar, the sound of the waves drowning out the distant music. Avery walked beside Jake, both of them carrying their shoes in hand.

For a few minutes, neither of them spoke. And strangely? It wasn’t awkward.

The rhythmic crash of the waves, the fading warmth of the sun. It was almost…nice.

Finally, Jake broke the silence. “So. You gonna tell me what actually happened back there?”

Avery snorted. “You already know.”

Jake glanced at her. “Did some Tinder date actually stand you up?”

She sighed. “Yeah.”

Jake nodded, thoughtful. “So he was an idiot.”

That startled a laugh out of her. “Or just realistic.”

Jake frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Avery hesitated, then admitted, “I meant what I said at the bar. No one sticks around once they figure out who my dad is…not unless they don’t care about their career.”

She didn’t know why she said it. Maybe it was the ocean, or the exhaustion, or the fact that Jake was so damn persistent that fighting him off tonight felt like too much effort.

Jake didn’t immediately joke or deflect. He just nodded slowly, as if he actually understood. And then, in a tone softer than she’d ever heard from him, he said, “Well I meant what I said earlier too. I’m still here.”

Avery turned to look at Jake. Really look at him. And she saw past the cocky smirk and smooth words. There was something real behind those green eyes.

The wind tugged at her hair causing it to blow in her face. And for a split second, she thought Jake might reach out and tuck a strand behind her ear. And the crazier part? She didn’t hate the idea. 

But then reality snapped back into focus, and she took a step away. Not yet. 

Jake must’ve noticed the shift, because his smirk returned, though a little softer than before. “Still think I’m wasting my time on you, sweetheart?”

Avery huffed out a breath, shaking her head. “You really don’t give up, do you?”

Jake grinned. “Nope.”

They continued walking until the waves licked at their feet, the tide stretching farther up the shore.

Jake smirked down at her. “Bet you’re the type to freak out over getting wet.”

Avery scoffed. “Excuse me?”

Jake chuckled stepping a little closer to the water, letting the foamy edge of the tide swirl over his boots. “You know. The type that squeals and runs the second she gets her jeans wet.”

Avery narrowed her eyes. “Are you always this annoying?”

“Comes naturally, sweetheart.”

Avery huffed, glancing down at his feet.

Then before she could talk herself out of it she kicked the water. Jake let out a genuine surprised laugh as the cold ocean splashed against his jeans.

“Oh, you’re gonna regret that.”

Avery’s eyes widened. “Hangman, don’t—”

Jake kicked back.

Avery let out a startled yelp, jumping back a step as water splashed across her legs. “You jackass!”

Jake was grinning like a damn kid.

Avery crossed her arms. “This isn’t over.”

Jake tilted his head smug as ever. “Oh? You gonna get your revenge, Simpson?”

Avery smirked. “Not now. But when you least expect it.”

Jake chuckled, watching her as she shook out her wet jeans, muttering under her breath.

“I like this side of you.”

Avery paused. Glanced up.

Jake’s usual cocky grin had faded, leaving something warmer. Something real.

Avery’s stomach flipped.

She swallowed. “What side?”

Jake held her gaze. “The one that isn’t running.”

As they walked back to the bar, the dynamic between them changed in a way she wasn’t ready to admit.

Just before stepping inside Jake paused, glancing at her. “For the record, you can do better than some loser on Tinder.”

Avery scoffed. “And you think you’re a better option?”

Jake’s grin widened. “Sweetheart. I think we both know I am.”

Jake pushed open the door to The Hard Deck, holding it just long enough for Avery to step inside. Avery rolled her eyes. But for the first time, she wasn’t so sure she disagreed with Jake Seresin.

For a moment they stood near the entrance, neither of them speaking. Then with a small two finger salute Jake took a step back. "Well, it's been fun. Try not to miss me too much."

Avery rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "Bold of you to assume I’d even notice you were gone."

Jake smirked. "I think we both know you would."

He turned, heading toward the bar, and for some reason, Avery felt her chest tighten. She wasn’t sure why or at least she didn’t want to think about it. All she knew was that for the first time she wasn’t quite ready for their conversation to be over.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she called out to him. Her voice was casual, like what she was about to say was the most casual thing in the world. “Hey, Hangman.”

Jake slowed and then turned towards her, one brow raised.

Avery shifted on her feet, resisting the urge to look anywhere but at him. Instead, she exhaled through her nose and asked, “You any good at pool?”

Jake’s lips twitched, his surprise quickly morphing into amusement. For a beat, he just looked at her like he was deciding something.

Then, a slow satisfied smile crossed his face. He tipped his head toward the back of the bar where the pool tables sat in their usual corner dimly lit by overhead lamps.

“Come find out.”

[hiswhiteknight]

A Stranger's Jacket Series: Part 1

Evan "Buck" Buckley x plus size! reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: School Shooting, Gun Violence, Death, Blood, Angst MDNI +18

Authors Notes: As a master's student, I wanted to create a fic that I could easily write with minimal inaccuracies. I thought about doing a Nurse! Reader x Buck, but it was not flowing as easily as this did. This is also my first time writing for 911, so I hope it's okay!

Masterlist | Taglist

It was a normal day. Or so you thought. 

You were sitting in the graduate lounge, editing the notes you had taken for any missing student’s in your professor’s introduction class. The fan was on, providing a nice breeze on the sweltering hot day in LA. And it would have been great white noise if the fan wasn’t clicking everytime it oscillated.

The first sign was a pop. Your head popped up from the laptop you were working on, pausing as you listened for anything else.The second sign was another pop followed with screams. 

You quickly shut your laptop, moving to turn off the light and lock the two doors to the lounge. You were by yourself. Carefully, you maneuvered under the desk, pulling the chair in front of you and holding your bookbag to your chest as an extra layer of protection. 

The emergency alert system is blaring through the speakers of the building now. Your heart is beating out of your chest, banging in your ears with each thud. Your chest is tight, breathing hard yet trying to stay quiet. You bite your lip to avoid tears, afraid that if you let yourself cry it’ll turn into a sob. You feel nauseous and want to throw up. 

To distract yourself, you start repeating the lyrics of your favorite song at the moment. Yet despite your efforts, you can’t help but count the shots and hear the terrified screams and cries.You were trained to handle an active shooting as a graduate assistant, but you never thought you would have to be in a situation to do so.

You pull out your phone from your bag, quickly putting it on mute when it pings with a text. Your friends, thankfully not in the hall you’re in, are blowing up the group chat. You send a quick message to them that you’re okay, unable to focus on anything else but the sounds of danger.

You glance at the time. The last time you remember was around six minutes ago. There’s been at least 17 shots so far. Two minutes go by and it’s silent. The shooter must be gone.

So when there is a knock on your door, you jump, your hand slaps up to your mouth, biting down hard as you let out a cry.  

“Y/N, it’s Dr. Daniels. He’s in another department, let me in.”

You crawl over to the door that leads to the faculty offices, opening the door. Dr. Daniel’s has dragged himself down the hall, a trail of blood following him. You gasp, crouching to help drag him into the small office before shutting the door and locking it. 

You help him to lay under one of the desks, situating him on his back. You see his abdomen is bleeding through his blue plaid button up. You don’t have anything to hold to his wound. The only option is to take your shirt off.

You rip your t-shirt off, glad that you are in a modest sports bra and nothing more revealing. You both couldn’t give two shits about you being topless, too occupied with trying to survive.

It’s silent between the two of you. You are holding the shirt tightly onto the wound, blood seeping onto your fingertips around the edges of the shirt. You hear footsteps. You’re about to let out a loud sob when you hear the sound of radios and voices. The LAFD announces themselves and you feel relief. Help has come. 

“The 1st floor is clear.”

“10-56, shooter down in west stairwell.”

“Third floor is clear too.”

“Copy that. I need all hands on the second floor, now.”

You look up at Dr. Daniels. You had been staring at the wound and had zoned out, not noticing that Dr. Daniels is passed out cold.

“Dr. Daniels, wake up. Hold onto this, help is here. I have to unlock the door.”

No response. 

You make the decision to start screaming for help. You know the moment you move and take the pressure off of his wound, he is going to bleed out even faster than he already is. Your shirt is soaked with blood and even in the dark, with the lights flashing in the hallway, you can see him palling. 

“LAPD, I’m opening the door.”

The door is busted open. A black woman and a white male stand in front of the door. 

“He’s been shot, shot in the abdomen. He’s losing a lot of blood. He was awake but isn’t anymore. I should have talked to him and kept him awake.”

“It’s okay. What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“Okay, y/n. Let my officer take over and we’ll get you out of here.”

“No! I’m not moving until paramedics get here,” you taste salt, tears flowing down your cheeks as you sniffle “he can’t die. I won’t let him die.”

“Okay, we can do that. Let Officer Townsend check his pulse so we can get him proper help though, okay.”

You nod your consent, pressing hard on the wound. Blood is warmer and stickier than you thought it was. Thicker too. You can feel it building up on your hands.

The Officer moves closer. He squats down, careful not to touch you or bump you. He places two fingers on the man’s pulse before pushing on the radio. 

“Dispatch, we have a male victim, GSW to abdomen, faint pulse. Requesting immediate medics, room 2210.”

You glance back and the woman is gone. The officer kneels beside you, staying silent as he keeps his fingers on Dr. Daniel’s neck.

“I was in his class this morning, I-I GA for him. I’m 22 years old, I didn’t think… think that I would be in a shooting. I was trained for it, you know? I have heard sounds before that sounded like a gunshot, but it never was. And I heard it and I knew it was real this time.”

“You’re in shock. You said your name was y/n? Mine is Owen.”

“Yes.”

“What’s your major?”

But you shut him out, continuing your rambling. 

“I am supposed to meet my friends for lunch in half an hour. At 1. What time is it? I have to go change and wash off blood,” you look at the blood on your hands “oh my god, I-what if he dies? How do I tell his wife and two boys? That I was responsible for his death, that his blood was on my hands and he didn’t get to say goodbye. I can’t, I need him to live. Tell me he’s going to live.”

“You said you were a GA, what’s your major?”

“Political Science.”

“So you’re going to run for office one day?”

It’s the first time you crack a slight smile, shaking your head no. 

“No, I want to do administrative work. Maybe work for a congress member. Or teach.”

You hear more voices and footsteps. The female officer you saw earlier appears with a female and male. You feel instant relief when you see a medical bag on the female’s shoulder. 

“My name’s Hen and this is Eddie. Can we take a look at him?”

You nod, moving out of the way but still keeping pressure on his wound. The moment she crouches down and slowly slides her hand in place of yours, you let go and back up, sitting behind them to watch. The officer leaves, heading down the hall.

“Unconscious but responsive. Airway is clear, pupils dilated.”

The male, Eddie, grabs scissors, cutting the shirt open to examine the wound. Hen searches in the bag for gauze, passing it to him. He uses it to pack the wound. Hen places a pulse oximeter on his finger.

“Pulse is weak, likely major internal bleeding. Get the stretcher in here now.”

The two maneuver to place him onto the orange backboard. They count to three before lifting him onto the stretcher. A grey blanket is placed over him and they rush out of the room. Leaving you sitting on the floor, in a bra and blood on you, your stained shirt left behind on the carpet. 

You sit there for a while, not able to move. You stare ahead at the grey metal cabinet, feeling numb and not much thought. You’re sure everyone has mostly left by now, minus a few radios going off. What seemed like forever has ended abruptly, the first responders and police having worked quickly. 

The blood is sticky and warm, drying on your skin as you wait. Your hands feel tight, and the thought of germs that are not yours feels foreign and uncomfortable. The tears have stopped and are drying on your cheeks.

You push yourself up, fighting the urge to wipe your bloodied hands on your leggings. As you walk out of the room, you jump, startled by the presence of another person. 

“Hey, my name is Buck. I’m a first responder. Are you hurt?”

The handsome man stands in front of you, bending down slightly to look you in the face. To bring you back to reality and out of shock. If you weren’t in distress, you would have been shy to be in just your bra and a pair of leggings. You glance down at your hands again, seeing the blood start to turn a deeper shade of red as it dries.

“What’s your name?”

“No, I uh, it’s my professor’s blood,” you respond to the first question, not registering the second one. Your mind is too occupied with cleaning your hands. “I need to wash it off. The bathroom is down the hall, I should clean it off before I leave.”

“We can get you cleaned up outside,” he states firmly but gently “But you have to let me check you first.”

You can’t stop staring at your hands. The blood is drying now, turning a darker shade. What was once stick is now dry, leaving an entirely different sensation on your hands. You glance back at the floor- where your favorite vintage band shirt lays ruined. 

You shouldn’t be upset as you are about it, considering everything that just happened. But it’s the only thing that your mind will let you focus on.

“Hey, it’s okay. The shirt’s replaceable, isn’t it?”

You nod numbly. He leads you down the hall, but every step feels slow and unreal. You look into the classrooms, seeing one room with blood on the floor and a few personal belongings. The blood on your hand feels even more heavy and you have to tear your eyes away from the scene. You don’t even realize you have stopped in your place and are staring into the room until Buck taps your shoulder and encourages you to follow him. You feel like everything is distant. 

He leads you down the rest of the hallway to the stairwell. Just as he opens the wooden doors to the stairs, the air kicks on. As the old vents screech to life, you let out a small scream. 

“It’s okay, it’s safe.”

He stays right beside you, hand hovering a bit as if to catch you if you start to trip or fall down the stairs. 

When you step onto the concrete pad of the stairs outside, the air is hot and heavy. Compared to the darkness of the office and flashing lights in the hallway, the sun is bright, causing you to shield your eyes. When a light breeze comes out of nowhere and hits your lungs, you feel some relief. The air smells like sweat, asphalt, and a metallic smell- the blood still coating your fingers and palms.

Buck leads you to a firetruck, instructing you to sit down on the back, all of the ambulances are gone, only two fire trucks remaining and a few cop cars. He walks around the truck, opening a door before reappearing with a medic bag. 

“What’s your name?”

“y/n.”

“My name is Evan, but people call me Buck. y/n, I am going to put this on your finger to check your vitals, okay?”

“I’m fine.”

He grabs a pulse ox, putting it on your finger, ignoring your attempt to deny help. But he gives you no choice. Which in most scenarios, would not be fine, but in this case you finally decide that he’s just trying to help you.  

“You’re in shock, which is completely normal. If you want to share your thoughts, I’m here to listen.”

 He kneels down on one knee, looking at you. He shines a light into your eyes, checking if your pupils are reactive. You stare off, not paying much attention to the handsome man in front of you. When a hand is placed on your arm to bring you out of your state, you jump.

“You’re hyperventilating. I need you to breathe in through your nose and push it out through your mouth like this.”

He purses his lips as though he is about to whistle, emphasizing his breathing as he inhales through his nose. He holds it before letting it out through his lips. You start to mimic him, and slowly your pulse starts to decline, the beating in your chest fading back to a more normal rhythm. 

“That’s it, there you go, y/n. Doing great. Now let’s get you washed off, yeah?”

He comes back with some wipes and water, handing you the water while he waits with a few packets of wipes

“Here, you can rinse your hands and then these wipes are sanitizing. Since you don’t have any open cuts, you should be fine.”

“Thank you-” you trail off, trying to recall the name he gave you. 

“Buck.”

“Sorry. Thank you, Buck.”

You open the water bottle with your more clean hand, pouring it on your hand before the other, rinsing most of the blood off. Buck hands you some wipes as he takes the bottle with gloved hands, disposing of it properly. You wipe the little amount of blood on your stomach off and then use another wet wipe to sanitize your hand.

 You feel much better with clean hands, and Buck comes back with a black jacket that has EMS written on it, and yellow and grey reflective stripes across the arms and torso. 

“It may be a little warm, but it's a lightweight rain coat. I don’t have a shirt and the blankets we have will be hot.”

It’s a bit oversized, as you shrug it on. You smile up at him, pushing your hair out of the way. You remember you have a pocket in the side of your leggings, and you reach in there for the hair tie, wrapping your hair into a bun. 

He smiles and gives a quiet ‘atta girl’ as you get comfortable, pushing the sleeves up on the jacket. If he wasn’t so god damn hot, you wouldn’t have found yourself swooning as much as you are at the praise. Your heart rate picks up again and your cheeks get hot, for a different reason this time. 

“Do you want water? I notice you’ve been shaking, are you feeling nauseous or dizzy?”

“A bit nauseous.”

“Are you diabetic, y/n?”

“Uh, no.”

“Okay, have a seat then. I’ll get you water and I think I have a granola bar you can have. Your blood sugar is probably low from the stress.”

“You don’t have to,” you spit out, already feeling a bit out of place sitting here in gear, making Buck focus all of his attention on you “I can eat later. You should keep your granola bar. You’ve done plenty to help me, Buck.”

“It’s my job. You just lived through a school shooting and saved a man’s life. The least you can do is take care of yourself..”

You return a sad smile, realizing that some people may have died. But you bite your lip, willing yourself not to cry again. Instead, you focus on the sound of the door opening with a creak, then some rustling before Buck returns. 

“Hope you like chocolate chip.”

“I do. I have some money in my wallet I can give you for it.”

He laughs as he hands it to you, taking a seat on the bumper beside you. He watches you, and you feel a bit awkward as you stare at it. The more you think about eating it, the more nauseous you become.

“I don’t know if I can eat this. I feel like I might throw up if I do.”

“Just take a bite. I swear it’ll help.”

Your shaky fingers peel the wrapper open. Taking a bite, you’re careful not to make a mess or look stupid doing so. 

“You keep your money. College is expensive and this is nothing,” he pauses, “do you have anyone to call and pick you up? You should probably take a few days to rest.”

“Yeah, I can call my friend to pick me up. I drove here, but I don’t think I want to drive home right now.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” he pauses. “let me go ask Athena if I can go grab your stuff for you.”

“It’s okay, I can wait for it.”

“No, you at least need your keys and phone.”

Before you can further protest, the man is off of the back of the firetruck and jogging over to the officer. She glances back at you before turning to Buck. You see a nod and Buck turns around this time, giving you a thumbs up.

 Athena, the woman, puts the radio up to her lips, and he heads back towards you. A few minutes later, an officer brings you your stuff. You’re not sure how you got so lucky to have such a caring person take care of you.

 But you’re pretty sure you just developed a crush on a complete stranger. 

[hiswhiteknight]

Can't Fight This Feeling Anymore

Summary: Tyler Owens x fe!Reader -> Tyler and you have had a fight and it's up to the Wranglers to make sure you both finally make up and admit the truth to each other.

Disclaimer: best-friends to lovers, oblivious idiots, love confessions, angsty moments mentioned, reader has a sister who finally forces a confession from you, found family, happy ending, mention of a tornado and the damage it can cause. Not Proof Read.

The clock had just past six, the rest of the Wranglers sat at a table in the corner of the bar, watching you and Tyler. 

They weren’t even sure if you and Tyler knew they were there. Boone had been the first one to arrive and when he spotted the pair of you sitting at opposite ends on the same side of the bar, he knew he just had to wait. In the meantime, he’d text the others and told them to be stealthy when coming inside. 

“What are we meant to do?”

Javi shrugged at Kate’s question. “Maybe there’s nothing we can do.”

“We can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

“Kate’s right,” Dexter agreed. “They’ve been off with each other for weeks. It can’t continue much longer.”

“Do we even know what happened?” 

Everyone shook their heads. 

“I think they kissed.”

“Lily!”

Lily turned to the others. “What? I’m not saying it’s confirmed.”

They’d all had feelings about you and Tyler getting together for months. If she’d known something without telling the rest of the group., her gossip privileges would be terminated. 

“But, I mean, look at them.”

Tyler was sitting on one side, and you were on the other. Every now and then, he’d sneak a look over to you and just as he turned away, you’d look back. Both missing each other by seconds. Every once in a while, Tyler’s leg would shake and he’d go to stand up but then he’d shake his head and turn back on his stool and take a sip of his drink. 

The label on the bottle you were drinking from was all scratched off. The paint on your fingernails was in a similar state. Between the two bars of the stool, your feet wiggled side to side, speeding up and then slowing down. You were deep in thought, spiraling, looking at Tyler and calming down. Only to get nervous again. 

“They’ve been friends for so long…I’m saying they’ve kissed and they’ve both freaked out about it.”

“Why would they freak out, though? They’re practically twin flames, let alone just being soulmates.”

Kate started to side with Lily’s theory. “She’s got a point. Just because we can see that, it doesn’t mean they wouldn’t freak out about it.”

“Maybe they did more than just kiss.”

All the Wranglers looked at each other, confused and concerned before looking back. Had you both done more than just kiss? Is that what the awkwardness was about?

It had been a mistake. A fluke. A hideous trick of fate that Tyler had overheard the conversation between yourself and your sister. 

She’d surprised you at the motel you and the team had been staying at. And she’d come along for the ride; she wanted to know what her sister had been getting up to since she hadn’t come home in a few months. 

And it was in the space of three days that your sister had found out, and voiced, your biggest secret. 

You were in love with Tyler. 

She’d suspected it for a long time. From the minute you’d said his name, if she was being honest. At that point, you were just friends with him. But your sister could hear it. The way his name rolled off your tongue. There was something more than just being friends with him. 

Then there was the way you looked at your phone whenever his contact popped up. She knew you didn’t notice the change in yourself, but she certainly did. The light that came to your eyes. 

On the first day, she watched how you and Tyler moved around together. Your eyes tracking him, your unconscious of following him around and the pair of you completing tasks together. Sometimes, neither of you had to speak, already knowing what the other wanted from a single look. 

Your sister had to hand it to you, you were doing a good job at hiding it from people. The trained look in your eyes when you felt heat rise to your cheeks. You forced it back with all of your might. 

The second day was the ultimate confirmation. 

A tornado ripped through a small town and took the diner where Tyler had been picking food up from, out. His voice over the radio crackled away and the fear in your eyes was greater than your sister had ever seen. 

The shake in your voice, the subtle shake in your hands when his voice finally broke away. Yourself and Dexter were trying to track the storm whilst Dani and Javi were reading what data they could. Kate, Boone and Lily started to get things packed up and called emergency services on the way there. 

By the time Javi pulled the truck to a stop, you ran outside and surveyed the damage. Yourself and Kate instructed people on who to help and where to go, you turned to Kate and she nodded before you took off in the opposite direction. 

Your sister watched as you came to where the diner had previously stood. She’d passed it on her way into town to surprise you. It was a large pile of sheets and rubble. 

Then a voice cut through the dying wind. 

From behind the pile, people started emerging from the underground shelter. Tyler included. 

You’d taken off running in his direction and landed directly in his arms, pulling him down to hug him. Your sister saw the way you relaxed under his touch. You hadn’t been like that with…anyone. Usually it was an uncomfortable shrug to get them off. 

Back in the motel, she had tried to hold you still and help calm you down. But hives practically spawned across your skin when she tried. 

“Get off me.”

At the time, you’d shrugged her off you and grabbed what you had been reaching for; the maps. You’d sprawled one open and plotted the direction with Dani. 

Your sister watched as you and Tyler stopped hugging but didn’t step away from each other. Your hand pushed the hair from his forehead as you checked his eyes. Had he been hit? Concussed? Bleeding?

“I’m fine, Sweetheart. Just glad to see you.” 

As Tyler leaned down, you leaned up and hugged him tighter. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“We should help some of the others. Make sure no-one got caught up in the damage.”

You nodded and walked back with Tyler. 

That was when she knew. It was at that moment that she knew you were completely in love with Tyler. The thought of him getting hurt, the idea of him not coming up from that tornado shelter…that was one of the worst possible scenarios you could have thought of. 

Then the signs just seemed to be glaring all over. The way you looked at him, the way you moved with him, the way he was with you, the way his eyes were ultimately always on you. Whenever a joke was told, your eyes would immediately land on each other. The hand holding, the shoulder leaning, the stories, the pictures, the videos…all of it. 

You were completely in love with Tyler, but you weren’t going to do anything about it. Because when she asked you, you denied it completely. 

“We’re just friends.”

That was a tale as old as time. Just friends. Your feelings for Tyler had been something more than friendly for a long time. And, though you hadn’t noticed it, his feelings for you hadn’t been friendly, either, for a long time. 

The next day, your sister confronted you about the lie. 

And Tyler had heard practically everything. 

“What do you want me to tell him? We’re friends! It’s not like I can just go up to him and say, ��hey, Ty. Just so you know, I’ve been head over heels in love with you for three years. What do you think about that?’?”

“Why not?”

“Why not?!” You sighed as you said your sister’s name. “I love him, more than I’ve ever loved anyone. But that doesn’t change how he feels about me or the fact that first and foremost, he’s my best friend.”

That was when there was a clang of a metal bucket outside the door and Tyler cursed himself under his breath. He would have turned around and left silently, maybe asked you more about it when you were alone and hoped you wouldn’t die of mortification before he could tell you what he did think. 

But that was too late. 

You and your sister emerged from the storage closet and found him outside with a bag of ice. 

“People leave all kinds of things lying about the place,” he huffed, trying his best to cover up the fact that he’d heard everything from your sister yelling; “You might not want to tell me, but you should tell him!”

He knew he shouldn’t have listened in but when you asked who and your sister mentioned his name…his feet remained glued to the concrete square just outside the door. 

Your sister had bolted not too long after looking at your reaction at seeing him. And when she walked away, he tried to keep his cover up. 

“How much of that did you hear?”

“Hear of what?”

There was just one problem about Tyler lying. You’d always seen right through his lie. 

“Oh, god-”

“Y/n. I-I didn’t mean to-”

You shook your head. “Don’t- Don’t worry about it. She’s…she’s just-”

“Did you want to-”

“No, no. It’s okay. Just…forget everything that’s just happened. It’ll be easier for everyone that way. And I promise, nobody knows. She doesn’t-” 

You could have killed your sister at that moment. 

“You know what? Yeah, just…just forget about it. You don’t have to worry about it. This is a me thing, not a you thing so…don’t worry about it. And don’t feel bad. We’re friends, right?”

“Yeah, but-”

“Then that’s just it. A couple lines got crossed but they’ll sort themselves out.”

You’d run away as quickly as you could without it looking completely deliberate. For the rest of the day, you avoided Tyler where you could. And once your sister left, it only got worse. You and Tyler were talking to each other but…it was strained. 

You and Tyler trying to talk to each other was worse than watching you both not talk to each other. 

Two weeks later, Boone had been asked by the motel owner if you and Tyler were okay since she heard raised voices and then a slam of a door. 

“That doesn’t sound like them?”

“I didn’t think so, either. But the yelling wasn’t like what I’ve heard before. It wasn’t violent, not one bit of it. It was just…desperate. Hurting. They like each other, don’t they?”

Boone nodded. 

“Well, you might want to do something so they know the other one is in love with them, too.”

After that, Boone had driven to the local bar to try and arrange a game plan with the rest of the Wranglers. Just one problem remained in his way. 

You and Tyler were at the same bar, not talking to each other, trying not to seem petty since neither of you had left.

“There’s gotta be something we can do.” Dani said after a few minutes. 

“I’ve got an idea.” Boone finally offered. “But it might be a long-shot.”

“Might as well try. What do we have to lose?”

Boone downed the last of his drink before taking a few quarters out of his pocket. “Grab your stuff. We can’t be here to see it.”

“Why not?”

“Part of the magic, my man. Come on.”

Boone made his way over to the jukebox before finding the song he was looking for. 

The bar had been mostly quiet. The sound of sodas being sprayed into glasses, food being cooked in the kitchen, the jukebox playing old tunes from old records that were from voices that hadn’t been heard live in almost two decades. 

Until the music cut itself off and over the calm atmosphere of the bar and his own stresses, the soft beginning of Can’t Fight This Feeling Anymore washed over him. 

Tyler looked over at you before then looking at the jukebox where he found Boone stood. With a soft smile and a salute, Boone headed towards the door, shortly followed by the rest of the team. 

How long had they been sitting there? 

As the lyrics became all too real, you and Tyler looked at each other before quickly looking away. But then he made a decision. 

He needed to talk to you. You and him had shared disagreements before. This wasn’t a disagreement, but it sure felt like it. So he did what one of you always did when you had a fight. 

“Dance with me.”

“Tyler-”

“No.” He shook his head. “Not this time. You don’t get to run away this time. We had a fight, and we’re gonna resolve it. Same way we’ve done with every other one. Dance with me.”

In a moment's decision, you agreed and took his hand. For the first time in your life, it felt awkward taking his hand in yours. But it didn’t last long because Tyler kept a steady grip of your hand in his as he led you both to the dance floor. 

And for a while, it felt awkward. 

Dancing so close to him, and yet so far. It was like being back at middle school prom with your crush but since you’re barely a teenager, it just feels awkward as hell. 

Then Tyler’s hand came around your waist and pulled you closer. 

“Tyler-”

“I’m only doing this so I know you’re not gonna bolt when you hear what I have to say.”

“Seriously, Tyler. What my sister was saying- what I was saying. You don’t have to worry about it.”

“But I am.”

“Tyler. I’m telling you, you can completely forget about it. I won’t be hurt. I’m not hurt.”

“But I am.”

You looked at him. How the hell was he hurt? He wasn’t the one head over heels in love. 

The words could barely form on your lips. What the hell was he talking about?

“I’m hurt because you’re telling me I can completely forget about it. But I don’t want to. I don’t want to forget about it.”

You sighed. You didn’t want his pity. 

“Tyler…”

“No, just…hear me out. Please.”

You felt all your insides tense up as you agreed. 

“Believe me, I know listen’n is wrong. But ‘m glad I did. Y/n, you’re my best friend. You always have been and you always will be. But I want you to know that you’re not alone.”

“Alone? Tyler, I don’t-”

“I am in love with you. Y/n Y/l/n. And I have been for a long, long time.” 

It seemed like a relief for Tyler to say those words out loud. 

“You are the first person I want to talk to in the morning and your voice is the last thing I want to hear before I go to sleep. You are the person I want to be dancing with on every dance floor from here to Australia. You are the person I want by my side when speeding ninety miles an hour into a tornado. You’re also the person I want to go home with at the end of the day. I am so completely in love with you, Sweetheart.”

“If this is some kind of cruel joke-”

Tyler shook his head. “Sweetheart, you know when I’m lying. Trust me, I don’t plan on lying about how I feel about you.”

Your eyes scanned Tyler’s face. There was nothing but truth. 

Then Tyler smiled. “Guess the only thing left to ask is, do you still love me, too?”

You swallowed. For so many years, you’d buried your feelings for Tyler. But you finally nodded. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop.”

As Tyler dipped his head forward with a glowing smile, you felt yourself relax entirely. And when his lips finally kissed yours…both of you seemed to forget what the hell you’d been fighting about anyway. 

[hiswhiteknight]

cold call - evan buckley x reader

Based on this request: Hello ☺️ could I please request something along the lines of "oh no, we are going to freeze to death if we don't get naked and share body heat" with Buck? 😂

Of course this would happen.

You and Buck were tasked with inspecting a restaurant's industrial-grade kitchen, making sure everything was up to par. You both decided to go into the freezer at the same time, and of course, Buck accidentally locked the two of you in there.

"Where's your phone, Buck?" You ask, trying your best to shoulder open the freezer door, before giving up entirely.

Buck chuckles nervously. "I forgot it in my locker."

"Wonderful." You groan, knowing that yours was also left charging in the firehouse kitchen.

"Okay, it's fine! I've seen this before, we just need to get naked and share our body heat before we freeze to death." Buck announces seriously.

"I don't think that's how hypothermia works, Buck. We could huddle for warmth though."

"We can?" Buck asks, brightening up immediately.

You respond by shuffling forward to lie your head on Buck's chest and wrap your arms around his back to hug him.

Buck rests his chin on your head and puts his hands on your waist to hug you back. "This is nice." He murmurs.

"It is." You agree, and then feel something poking your stomach. "Buck!"

"I'm sorry! He has a mind of his own."

"He?"

"Buck Junior."

"Oh my god." You laugh, but the two of you are quickly interrupted by Eddie opening the freezer door from the other side. Eddie stares at the two of you, an amused but unimpressed look on his face. "We only left you two alone for three minutes. Does this hug mean Buck finally asked you out on that fancy dinner date?"

You look from Eddie to Buck, who had been shaking his head and making "stop talking" gestures at Eddie behind you.

"You were going to ask me out on a date?" You question Buck.

Buck starts fidgeting. "Well, I didn't want it to be done surrounded by frozen carrots but yes, would you go out with me on Thursday?"

"Not this restaurant right?" You tease, but nod in the affirmative, giving him another quick hug.

"I mean, it wouldn't be so bad. I kind of have a soft spot for it now." Buck says fondly, taking your hand in his. The two of you might've been in a cold room, but the warmth in your heart was indescribable.