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storiesofsvu · 2 months

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Bump in the Night

Aaron Hotchner x reader warnings: language, some anxiety/fear, aaron to the rescue type vibes, nothing serious, just a creeper. This was supposed to be a drabble... I do not know what happened...

While you weren’t actually part of the BAU, you were best friends with Penelope which meant that any girls night’s, baking tutorials, birthday, Christmas or Halloween celebrations, you were invited. Over all of those events you’d become a friend of everyone on the team, a happy face for them to see after a long week or more away. You regularly helped Penelope get things set up for them or were the one out running errands or picking up treats while she was finishing work. It was as if the two of you were their own personal slice of sunshine, which was exactly why Hotch always felt a blooming of warmth in his chest whenever Garcia mentioned you’d be in attendance or he’d round the corner and lay eyes on you.

The two of you clicked, he surprised himself, already coming out of his shell on the first night you’d met, something he usually reserved until he’d had time to fully profile someone and make sure their intentions were good. Instead you had him laughing by the end of the night, a sight that you definitely wanted to see again. There was a mild flirtation, but nothing that anyone else ever picked up on, and not one that ever moved past a little tease here or there, an offhand comment about how you were prettier than the girl eyeing Aaron up, or that the muscley firefighter really wasn’t your type. You were friends, which was all you really needed.

Friends morphed into good friends over the course of the year that you knew each other. First it was a run in at a coffee shop, Aaron halfway out the door in a rush to work, just enough time to flash you a warm smile and say hello before parting ways.

The second time he was pulling into a gas station, spotting you hanging up the nozzle a few pumps down before you got back into your car to peel away down the street.

The third was the produce section of the grocery store, you spotted him first, eyes darting through the items in his basket, nearly making him jump when you suddenly spoke from behind him once you’d figured out what he was making for dinner.

Number four was a bright sunny Saturday afternoon, Jack had insisted on going to the park with a few friends and Aaron ended up chaperoning. One of the kids spotted a friendly dog and when they raced of to pet it, he realized you were on the other end of the leash and made a comment that he didn’t know you had a dog. With a glittering laugh you explained you were dog sitting and the moment Jack realized you were a friend of his dad’s; Aaron was the one stuck dog sitting while you were being dragged around the playground.

The fifth was a late Friday evening, Jack was away for the weekend and Aaron had stopped to pick up a bottle of wine to have with his take out. While he stood staring at the bottles he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye but didn’t look up until he heard the familiar laugh as you snuck in front of him to grab your favourite. He asked if you had a hot date and you practically snorted, saying the only company you had that night was a pair of sweats and your couch. You then raised a playful eyebrow and teasingly asked if he’d been stalking you and his cheeks instantly tinged pink, nearly fumbling his words as he tried to explain he lived around the corner. Your hand on his elbow suddenly brought him back down to his senses and he was able to laugh it off when he clued in that you were completely joking, explaining you’d been wondering the same thing.

Upon the discovery that you were in adjacent neighbourhoods and that you worked from home, you exchanged phone numbers. On the off chance the jet was delayed, you could pick up Jack from school, stopping at the park for an hour until Aaron was home, maybe even get started on dinner and homework. If there was a last minute case and Jessica was still at work, you’d head over to be the in between buffer so Hotch could leave right away. He was insistent on you calling whenever you needed anything, he picked up your mail when you went on vacation, helped out with the leaky pipe in your laundry room and came in very handy when it came to changing the light bulbs you couldn’t even dream of reaching.

Currently, Jack was away at summer camp and Aaron was swindled into finally using up some of his vacation time. The first few days he’d deep cleaned the house from top to bottom, next it was a similar treatment for the yard. By the time he’d reached the second Tuesday he’d ran out of things to do until he ran into you at the corner store and you suggested seeing a movie considering neither of you had anything to do and the movie theatre air conditioning couldn’t be beat. With the heat on the rise, and a plethora of summer blockbusters you continued the new tradition each night that week. Most days you drove together, Aaron either picking you up or walking you home from his place depending on the weather.

Friday you’d been out with friends for a late lunch, had a handful of errands to run and were closer to the theatre than home, meeting him there. When he asked if you needed a ride you let out a small laugh, explaining that you’d driven, but thanked him anyway, the smile evident on your cheeks as he wordlessly insisted on walking you to your car at the very least.

Car windows down you had music going on the drive home, pulling into the driveway and enjoying the song for one more chorus before finally turning off the ignition and collecting your things. You made your way through the front door, relocking it behind you and tossing your keys down onto the small table in the entry way as you toed off your shoes.

You were making a beeline through the house to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water when a couple of thumps from the other side of the wall caused you to jump, your heart leaping in your chest. You left the kitchen light off, tip toeing through the room and you realized you’d left the kitchen window ajar earlier to get some fresh air in. Letting out sigh of relief you pushed it down so it was only open an inch or two, though your eyes caught movement across the yard, a clattering that sounded like your garbage bins and your brow furrowed, wondering why the automatic security light hadn’t caught what you figured was a raccoon.

Padding across to the doorway you flicked the light switch a couple of times, normally if the light was activated already that did the trick, but this time the yard remained pitch black.

“For fuck’s sake.” You muttered, digging around in a cupboard until you found a spare bulb before unlocking the back door and stepping onto the porch. Reaching up you went to unscrew the bulb and let out another annoyed sigh that it was actually just loose, so you screwed it back in, shielding your eyes as it burst to life.

The screen door swung shut behind you as you stepped back inside and you noticed a small duffle bag on the edge of the porch that at first glance didn’t look that familiar, but you didn’t really think much of it. A few people on your street often leant things to one another and you had been waiting on a couple of gardening tools, but you weren’t about to look into it now. The hairs on the back of your neck were still standing up and you were ready to be back inside behind locked doors, especially as your motion stilled and the light flicked off once again.

As you crossed through the kitchen to finally pull open the fridge you heard yet another clatter from outside and your stomach dropped when the security light flicked back on. Fridge quickly shut you backed into it, up on your toes in an attempt to peer out the window, praying it was just an animal. There was a light scuffling right at the back porch and you were so thankful for having immediately locked the door.

You were even more thankful for the lock when your eyes finally caught the movement, a hand creeping up through the railing near the duffle bag and you couldn’t help the gasp that left your lips. At the sound, the hand froze and you immediately leapt forward, slamming the kitchen window all the way shut and you saw a shadowy figure dart through the outskirts of the yard, just out of reach of the light. Your heart thundering in your chest you were honestly surprised you were able to dig your phone out of your pocket and find Aaron’s contact.

“Hotchner.”

You felt a brief wave of relief wash over you at how quickly he answered, “I’m really wishing I’d taken you up on that ride now…”

“Why?” His voice immediately tensed, “what’s wrong?”

“There’s someone in my yard…” you let out a breath you’d been holding when the light outside flicked off, your shoulders starting to relax, “pretty sure he was there before I got home.” A crash echoed through the air and you jumped, your voice wavering when you spoke again “fuck he’s still here.”

“I’m already on my way, keep the doors locked, the lights off and stay away from the windows.”

“Yeah.” You muttered, heart racing as you heard his car start through the phone and he assured you he’d be right over before the phone line clicked.

Trying to keep your breath calm you kept your eyes trained on the window, backing into the pantry door so you were concealed by the fridge but could still see if the light went off again. It was only a matter of moments later you heard a car squealing to a halt out front, the door slamming shut followed by Aaron’s voice. You caught his shadow moving around the side of the house and the light in the backyard flicked back on when he announced himself, the gate booted open and you were just able to see someone launching themselves over the back fence into the alley before running off. All they needed was the threat of a federal agent and the assumption of a gun to peel off into the night.

You felt your breathing calming down as the sound of running got further and further away, finally dropping down into a chair at the kitchen table. Aaron, being Aaron, wasn’t satisfied with just running the perp off, doing a full sweep of both your front and back yards, checking the alleyway, under the porch and any nooks and crannies anything or person could possibly have been stashed. You heard him on the back step and glanced up to see him sifting though the duffle bag, a frown on his face, his lips pressed into a firm line. With a huff he scooped up the bag and sauntered across the yard, dropping it on the other side of the fence with the garbage before making his way back to the door. A brisk knock echoed through the kitchen followed by his voice,

“He’s gone, it’s just me, Aaron.”

You couldn’t help but let out a breath of a laugh, as if you hadn’t had your eyes on him the entire time, making sure everything was okay. Crossing the room you finally turned the kitchen light on, unlocking the door and letting it swing open.

“Hey.” You smiled softly, “thanks.”

“Of course.” His lips formed a tight smile as he stepped into the house, locking the door behind himself, “just to be safe I want to do a sweep inside, stay put.” His hand squeezed at your elbow as he moved past you and you were left awkwardly standing in your own kitchen until he returned.

“No psycho killers?” You asked, a shaky laugh in your throat.

“All empty.” He nodded, his features softening as he noticed the rapid rising and falling of your chest, “are you alright?”

“Yeah, sure.” You tried to wave him off but he took a step closer to you.

“Come here.” He crooked his hand and you surprised yourself with how quickly you closed the gap between the two of you, enveloping yourself in his arms. Aaron squeezed at you tightly, tucking you under his chin and just letting you breathe until he felt the tension begin to melt away from your body. “It’s alright. He’s gone and I highly doubt he’s coming back.” His lips brushed against the top of your hair as he spoke and something about it calmed you even further, finally pulling out of the embrace.

“What was in the bag?”

“Trophies.” He replied with a sigh and he only caught himself when your eyes widened. “No, no, not those kind of trophies.” His hand squeezed at your shoulder, “sorry. Keepsakes, prizes, expensive things that can be pawned or sold to the highest bidder. My guess is he was only here to get your valuables, you spooked him coming home and he just wanted the bag back, he probably hit a few houses on the block before here.”

“God he was on the porch.” You shivered, “probably right as I walked in.”

“And your instinct was to grab a light bulb?” Aaron’s lips twitched up in a teasing grin and your brow furrowed until you followed his gaze and realized you hadn’t let go of the object yet.

“No.” You huffed, “the backyard light wasn’t working, I went to change it but it just needed to be tightened.”

“You were out there?”

“Yeah.” You shivered again, this time heavier, “he was probably less than a foot away. God, that was stupid.”

“Agreed.” He frowned in your direction, “that happens again you call me right away, alright?”

“You think he loosened it?”

“Most likely. Easier to stay in the darkness, not alert the neighbours of anything weird. You’ve always said Mrs. Ferguson was a bit too nosy.” His lips flicked up into a grin again and you let out a small laugh, “he probably cased the neighbourhood, have you been keeping the same daily routine recently?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, “movies with you. But we almost always go at the same time and tonight’s movie wasn’t any shorter or anything, so why would I have been home before he expected it?”

It was Aaron’s turn to fumble over his words, his cheeks turning a pale shade of pink while he quickly ducked his gaze, letting out an awkward laugh before he glanced back up at you. “I guess now would be the proper time to admit that when I drive, I tend to take the scenic route…”

Your head titled in a curious and adorable way that didn’t help the burning in Hotch’s cheeks, “what? What’d you mean?”

God you were absolutely going to be the death of him and he knew it. This summer had finally brought something to the edge for Aaron and he’d been holding back, happy with the time he got to spend with you. The evening hangouts had began to start to feel more and more like dates with each one that went passed and he’d been hoping that you would start to think the same and be the one to break the tension. Instead, he found himself feeling flustered, standing in your kitchen at nearly midnight having to explain it to you.

“Don’t get me wrong, the movies are great, but there’s something about the way you light up afterwards that just makes me smile.” He started and you felt a fluttering begin in your stomach, one that finally wasn’t due to fear, “hearing you gush about things, delve so deep into characterization or the cinematography of it all, seeing you so passionate about it.. it just makes me happy. Honestly, it’s my favourite part of the day.”

“Oh…” you replied, the realization washing over you and for a moment Aaron was afraid you were about to step back, ask him to leave, but then you giggled and the smile broke out on your lips, “so you’re just a big ole’ softie?”

He shook his head, the smile bright on his cheeks, “I’ve grown to adore the time we spend together. I was planning on taking a detour tonight too, Pintango just launched a lavender honey flavour this week—”

“And you remembered that I couldn’t shut up about wanting to try it after the movie last week…” you felt your cheeks heat, “embarrassing on my part yet endearing on yours.”

“And lucky on life’s behalf that it didn’t happen, you’d be down a few heirlooms and pieces of technology.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” You wrapped you arms around yourself, “my adrenaline’s high enough lord knows I’m not gonna be able to sleep anytime soon.” With a sigh you glanced across at him, “don’t suppose you feel like sticking around for a bit? Keeping me company while I ramble on and on about useless facts?”

The sly smile on your cheeks nearly melted Aaron and he laughed softly, “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

He followed you out to the couch, letting you get comfortable while you voted on a number of different movies before finally settling on one. A movie and a half later and you were relaxed into the crook of his arm, his hand just daring to softly play with your hair. You let out a long yawn, sinking even further into his side and he chuckled softly.

“You should get to bed, get some actual rest.”

“I’m still on edge. I don’t want to have to call you to come running for every bump in the night.”

This time Aaron did squeeze at your shoulder, shifting on the couch so you were forced to sit up straight and he could catch your gaze.

“I meant it when I said I wasn’t going anywhere, at least not until sunrise. That creep’s likely going to come back for his bag, that’s why I dumped it in the alley rather than bringing it inside. I don’t want you to be alone for that.”

“Mmm…” you hummed, a sleepy smile on your cheeks, “you’re sweet. Thank you.” Leaning in, your lips brushed against his cheek and Aaron felt his stomach do a flip flop. He squeezed at your hand, giving you a soft smile as you finally stood up off the couch. “Make yourself at home.”

“Sweet dreams.” He replied and you weren’t sure whether it was his words or the sleepiness that was making everything feel warm and fuzzy as you made your way to the bedroom.

It was a few hours later when you rolled over, only awake enough to shift your body into a more comfortable position until a thump outside had your eyes shooting open. It was very quickly followed up by the hissing of two cats and you let out a huff, rolling back onto your side.

Your bedroom door was left cracked open and there was a sliver of light and the tiniest hint of noise coming from the living room meaning Hotch was likely still awake. You swung your legs over the edge of the bed, reaching for a hoodie to tug over your head before you padded out to the living room, finding your overnight company peering out the window blinds. At the sound of your footsteps he glanced back over to you, his body relaxing.

“Did I wake you?”

“No,” you waved him off with a small yawn, “couple a cats outside my window.” You covered a second yawn with your hand and Aaron barely moved from his spot, curious as to why you were up already. You glanced from him to the couch, a mug of coffee on the coffee table, and finally to the television. “Hey…” you started, picking at the sleeves of your hoodie, “I get you’re doing the whole protective thing—and I appreciate it! I really do…but uh.. there’s no reason for you to stay awake all night.” You took a breath, the butterflies in your stomach fully awake and doing laps, “might as well come to bed.”

“Oh, well I was just going to wait until morning, head home to nap…” He started, unsure of what he even wanted to say. He was pretty sure you’d just woken up, and there was a pretty high change that your choice of words weren’t exactly what you intended, “but if you’re feeling okay, I could make up the couch?”

“Aaron.” You laughed, “the sun’ll be up in a couple of hours anyways, you need to sleep too.”

“I still want to make sure you’re safe, I’ll be alert out here.” He offered and you chuckled once again.

“And if he comes in through the bedroom window? No better place to protect me than right beside me.” You extended out your hand, “c’mon, humour me? Maybe I talk in my sleep and you’ll get to listen to more of those ramblings you seem to adore so much.”

It appeared the lack of adrenaline coursing through your veins and a couple hours of sleep made you not only fully comprehend what Aaron had admitted to earlier, but much more ballsy about acting on it. He laughed softly, feeling the heat creeping up the back of his neck and after glancing between you and the couch he knew that the latter was going to do a number on his back if he actually slept on it. So he flicked off the television, scooped up his phone and your hand slid into his like a glove so you could lead him to the bedroom.

You wordlessly climbed back into your bed, curling up on your side, letting out a soft sigh as you nuzzled into the pillows. Aaron watched you for a moment in the low light, a warmth blooming through his chest at just how at peace and comfortable you were with him around and he realized maybe there was something he liked even better than your ramblings.

“If you’re just gonna stand there and stare at me all night maybe I should kick you back to the couch.” You teased, your eyes cracking open and he let out a huff of a laugh, shaking his head as he snuck under the blankets.

“This okay?” He asked, trying not to take up too much of your space.

“Yes.” You replied, a smile on your lips as your eyes fell shut again, “but I can’t be held responsible if we wake up cuddling.”

Aaron chuckled, relaxing into the pillow as his breathing finally began to slow, chest rising and falling at the same time yours did, lulling him into sleep quicker than he could have imagined.

The stream of light coming through the blinds and the chirping of a bird outside your window was what woke him up first, his eyes scrunching slightly before they finally opened. His lips curved up into a grin, as it certainly did seem like you wouldn’t be the one responsible for any cuddling. You’d barely moved from where you’d curled up the night before, just rolled over to face the window, yet Aaron found himself wrapped around your back, arm circled around your waist, his head barely on his own pillow.

He shifted slightly, attempting to stretch out the stiff parts of his body without moving entirely and waking you up. However his attempts proved futile as you let out a soft groan, eyes scrunching at the brightness of the room before you stretched out your legs and rolled over to face him, a sparkle already in your eyes.

“Morning.” You murmured.

“Morning.” He replied, smiling softly.

“So not only are you a softie, you’re a sleep cuddler… what other secrets are you hiding?” You asked with a tease and he laughed.

“Would you believe me if I said I crocheted in my downtime?”

“Not in a million years. You don’t have any downtime.” Laughing, you swatted at his chest before sitting up, fully stretching your body out with a soft groan.

“Guess that one was a little too obvious.” He replied with a chuckle, sitting up at the sound of his phone pinging. He swiped open the notification as you swung your legs out of bed, scrolling through a couple of things on your own phone as you padded toward the hallway.

“Work?” You asked, his footsteps following you down the hallway toward the kitchen, “or do you have time for coffee?”

“No.” He pocketed his phone, “but unfortunately, also no. I promised Garcia I’d help her install one of those cat wall climbing, enrichment, obstacle courses.”

“Cute.” You shot him a smile before scooping out the appropriate amount of coffee for yourself.

“But if you’re free tonight…” he stepped toward you as you turned back to face him, “maybe I could pick you up, we could go get some ice cream?” Somehow Aaron’s heart wasn’t thundering in his ears this time and the smile you looked up at him with really was about to make him melt.

“I’d like that.” You replied, the butterflies in your stomach calmed, spreading warmth through your entire body.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Then it’s a date.” Smiling, his hand reached out, smoothing back a piece of your hair before trailing down your cheek, “I’ll see you at seven.” His hand on your chin he tilted your head to the side, lips brushing against your cheek, lingering for just a moment before he stepped back. You couldn’t help but smile at the slight blush on his cheeks as he gathered his things and headed toward the front door.

“I’ll see you at seven.” You repeated his words, “and Aaron?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t ever be afraid to call.”

“Oh believe me, I won’t.”

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 10 months

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How To Adapt To Fire (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Fireman!John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Journalist!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 4.4k

WARNINGS: Fire(s), intended harm, mentions of death, murder, crime, corruption, arsonist mystery plot, pining, protective!Johnny, flirting, intense banter, etc.

A/N: This is based off of US Firemen just because that's what I'm most familiar with!

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

There was an arsonist in the city, and you were going to catch them.

Getting out of your car, you slap the door closed behind you and rush out, heels clicking over the concrete as the roaring flames continue violently—orange and red going high into the air, all centered around an abandoned warehouse building. Through the darkness of night, everything was lit up like hell.

Your satchel hits against your thigh one fast step at a time, arms pumping as your eyes find the flashing lights beyond the glare, squinting.

“MacTavish!” You shout, jogging to the line of yellow tape and slipping under it through a small crowd of locals who call to you sharply. Voices going in one ear and out the other, you only search for that familiar helmeted head and the Scottish accent that accompanies it.

“What is she doing?”

“How come she gets to go closer!?”

“Stop that woman!”

Your white blouse does little to push back the gusts of molten heat on the roaring airwaves, and neither do your dress pants. You push on with stubborn righteousness, even as the mulling firefighters groan under their breaths when they catch sight of you, all pausing in their various duties and panic of grabbing the hoses and getting the water going.

The iconic red trucks sit stationary, but the man beside one of the three vehicles has his head nearly snapped off when he darts it over to you in a fast instant.

“MacTavish!” You call out again, locking onto wide blue eyes that blink rapidly at your appearance.

An under-the-breath curse is leveled out, heard in between shouts and the spray of water, droplets hitting your hard face.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus. Not again.” Heavy boots jog over, tan and yellow uniform loose beside the places where the straps of his gear attach various items and tools to his body. “What in the hell are you doin’ here, Pencils?”

“My job,” you call stiffly, your finger going out to tap at the small plastic card attached to your blouse.

‘PRESS PASS’

“So be a good informant and tell me how much damage this is going to cause,” your hand is already inside of your satchel, flicking on a hand-held recorder, as your eyes scan about. “The fire was bigger here,” you begin without wasting any time, and the firefighter in front of you sighs in exasperation, clenching his jaw. “Was it because this place was abandoned unlike the last four scenes, or because there was a different accelerant used.”

“I’ve told you, Hen,” MacTavish’s hand moves out in appeasement gestures, glancing at the fire and the rest of the teams that rush to get the rest of the hoses going. “Ya can’t be here when the fucking fire is still ongoing. Do you want to get burnt to a damn crisp?”

“I need answers,” you level, gaze darting back to stare into cerulean blues.

John MacTavish, who everyone just calls Johnny or Soap, for some reason, had been a familiar face to you for upwards of two months. In that time, there had been an alarming amount of suspected arson cases—twelve, counting this one. There was an unprecedented spark-up, most taking place in older neighborhoods and abandoned buildings barring the previous four, of which two people had been seriously injured, and three had died.

But now, it was back to out-of-the-way properties, and you wanted to know why. You needed to.

Such an escalation just to suddenly drop back down to no casualties? It didn’t make sense. If it wasn’t for your career as a journalist, then it was for your morbid curiosity of which Johnny was intently familiar with.

The Scot clenches his jaw, dark eyebrows under his helmet stuck into a line. Around him, the others were getting the blaze under control the best they could—there was no need to go inside to search for anyone and all that had to be done was keep the fire from spreading. So, he had no trouble trying to get you to see sense yet again.

“Do you ever give it a rest,” he asks gruffly, accent thick. “Christ, I’ll be gray before you learn to stop sticking your hands where they don’t belong.”

“You’re not my mother, MacTavish,” you speak, lowering the recorder. “Do you have anything for me?”

Johnny moves up a hand and runs it over his face, groaning. A smirk flickers to your lips.

“You’re worse than a fly,” he breathes, unimpressed eyes opening to stick to you. “I can’t say much right now, most of it is left for forensics. Just from the blaze alone,” he glances over, taking it in. “I’d make a guess that an accelerant was used. Especially with how fast it popped up and the intensity of it. I’d have to get the dogs down here for a sniff, but it’s likely.”

“Do you think it’s—”

“Connected?” Johnny interrupts, lips twitching at the annotated gimmer in your eye. “Aye. This was man-made. There was nothing here that could start a blaze like this.”

You click the recorder’s button and move back with a sigh.

“Lovely.”

The Scot raises a slow brow, looking you up and down, confused. “That’s it?”

“It’s all you can give me right now,” you mutter, sliding a look at him as your eyes squint at the rabid flames. Pieces of screeching metal fall into a heap, a loud boom of spreading smoke and lifeless coughing of material in the air.

“Fucking hell,” you murmur to yourself. “This had to be one of the biggest ones so far.”

It was getting held back from the surrounding buildings—slowly but surely in the morning, the entire place would be a smoldering pile of ash and metal, only more questions left behind.

Johnny sets his hands on the collar of his gear, sighing. “Won’t be the deadliest, though, will it? I’m just glad there won’t be bodies to drag out.”

You send a side-eye his way, feet shuffling. “That, I can agree with. But the pattern doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“Well, sorry, Hen, but you’ll catch me a bit more concerned about the potential next targets than the pattern.” He grunts, rolling his shoulders. “We need to catch this prick. Soon. Resources are stretched thin.”

“It’s like the guy completely switched his M.O.,” you ignore him, eyes narrowing. “Abandoned buildings, then to taking people's lives, then right back to where he started? That doesn’t happen overnight.”

Johnny grunts. “‘Cept here.”

You sigh, tapping your fingers against your bag. The man at your side looks over, shrugging as he takes in the firmness of your expression—the same that he usually wears to any scene he gets called to. Determination.

“I’ll get the report to you soon as I get it,” Johnny breathes, tilting his head. “Figured with all of your connections, you’ll have a better chance at piecing it all together.”

“Thank you,” you nod. The man hums.

“Now, get the hell out of here, yeah? Makin’ me nervous. Tape’s there for a reason Dearie.”

Scoffing, you toss up a hand and shake your head. “I live to make people nervous, MacTavish. You don’t help bust criminals and not make people nervous.”

You begin backing back up, studying the land one more time. Johnny’s lips are thin, and he shifts his legs to stare after you.

“Just be careful,” he calls, fingers tightening at his collar, strong jaw moving as he fixes it. His heart stutters in its course. “Don’t stick your neck where it doesn’t belong, Hen.”

You wave a hand, and then you’re off again, disappearing into the crowd with flames rising high behind you.

The fireman watches tightly, licking his lips before shouting, “I’m serious!”

—

Your list of enemies was seemingly endless.

Drug busts, criminal enterprises, hitmen—there was no shortage of stories you’d broken and your name being printed into the papers; you weren’t at all unknown to the city or the various police or fire stations. Many described you as a public nuisance, but…you were viewed with a modicum of respect as well—even if it was kept under breath.

Yet, where there was respect, there was also the less savory emotion of contempt from the related individuals of those whom you’d landed into the eyes of the law and behind bars.

Perhaps you’d taken this arsonist for a disorganized fool…but you were about to get a very violent reality shift.

“This is the report?” You ask, Johnny sipping from his coffee cup as you both sit in the park three days later, the bench stiff as your fingers play over the manila folder you’d been passed.

“The public one.” Soap huffs when you slide him a look, his finger pointing at you as he holds his drink. “What? Pencils, I don’t care who you think you are, I’m not about to risk my career for something I can just tell you first-hand.”

You sigh, muttering before your hand pushes open the papers. “Go on, then.”

Johnny smugly smirks, chuckling as his free hand goes up to fix the backward ballcap on his head. Under the tight hold of his athletic shirt, gray sweatpants sharply contract your put-together and professional appearance—like night and day. He still smells of smoke and metal.

“You’re bein’ more snappy than usual. Publisher still on your arse, Bonnie?”

“Telling me I need to drop this goose chase,” you grumble, scoffing, eyes skimming down the printed words ahead of you. “As if.”

“Ah, he’ll come round,” Johnny’s lips flicker, flesh crinkling under that stubble of his. An overgrown mohawk leaks from the sides of his hat. “C’mon, tell me what ya need. I’ve got it all up here,” he goes to tap his head, taking another gulp of his coffee.

The morning air is cold all around you, and people pass pushing strollers or jogging—Saturday just beginning to spread over minds and wake those who’ve slept in. Johnny and you weren’t quite like that.

“Our theory about the accelerant?”

“My theory,” Soap grumbles but nods. “Gasoline. Dogs found traces all over—there was a damn lot.”

You tilt your head, glancing at him. “Fits the profile from the other cases except the ones involving casualties.” Your lips pull into a frown, Johnny’s face going more serious. “Weren’t those all started with matches to the curtains in the living rooms?”

“Aye,” Johnny tips his chin to you. “Couldn’t figure that out until—”

“Until you found the matchbox out in the lawn at one of the crime scenes, plus the busted locks on the front doors. All exactly the same.”

The fireman grunts, lips flickering as his face goes a bit red. “Know my job better than I do.”

You pause, a small heat coming to your cheeks, eyes pausing in their search for new information. “I’m not the one who willingly goes into burning buildings, give yourself more credit.”

Johnny leans closer, chuckling. “Was that a compliment, Pencils?”

“No,” you slide out.

He hums a sound of amusement, moving back as his form slouches into the bench. A bird darts past overhead, chirping. “Goin’ soft on me. ‘Bout time—I've been waiting.”

You roll your eyes heavily, closing the manila folder and shifting it into your satchel.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” You face Soap head-on, taking in the deep blue of his eyes and the tease hidden in them. “The station? Home?” Your brow raises. “Animal shelter—I heard they take in strays.”

“Ah,” Johnny flinches, hand raising to his chest as he feigns hurt. “This how you thank your favorite public servant?”

“You’ll live,” you grumble, standing and flattening out your long black coat. “Come on. Seeing as you’re not entirely lost to me, I’m getting breakfast today.”

Johnny’s beaming grin makes your lips pull in a low smile.

“And just like that,” he chuckles, standing up so that his boots hit the ground and his hand falls into his pocket. The empty cup in his hand is tossed into the trash. “I’m a picture-perfect specimen. Not that I wasn’t already, eh?”

“Oh, fuck off,” you breathe, voice exasperated even as your smile breeds along the lines of your face.

The both of you take off side by side, legs mirroring the others’ pace one slow movement at a time. Throughout your meetings for information, Johnny and yourself have grown close to one another—Violet’s Dinner one of the many places that was the unfortunate hub for your intel swapping. However, it was only unfortunate for the patrons, not you.

Soap gave what he knows about the fires and the ways they were started, and you gave over potential next targets based on whatever you can piece together from your police informants as well as others.

You hum as you both walk the trail, slowly weaving away from the bench and down to the gated entrance of the park, slipping past the black iron as John holds it open for you.

“Besides the ol’ fire-freak, then,” Johnny begins, smiling over at you as he itches at his neck, large arm reaching up and flexing. “Any other big breaks?”

Head turning his way, you speak easily. “In which article—the multi-generational money laundering bust at Warren’s Electrical or the murders near Fifth Ave? Or even the drug smuggling near the docks?”

Blue eyes blink. “...Eh…any of ‘em?”

You snort, turning back to the sidewalk and shrugging.

“You asked.” You slyly begin, before getting into the mental paper that you still had to type and send into editing. “Roy Laurence committed the murders near Fifth Avenue—my informant with the SWAT team says he was arrested and booked within an hour of the green light. DNA and fingerprints found at the scene of the last victim.” You raise a hand. “Now, I just have to try and get a spot in the courtroom when a trial date is released.”

“Well,” Johnny breathes, sending you a veiled look after a moment. “Don’t mean to brag, Pencils, but I got to help an old lady cross the street yesterday.”

You laugh, covering your mouth with the back of your hand as Soap chuckles. The sidewalk continues, men and women passing at their slow paces as cars zip past; the fireman taking the chivalrous stance of the person beside the street unconsciously.

“And I’m sure she was very pleased, MacTavish,” you push out, shifting closer to him as an individual passes by, bumping your arm into his.

“Aye, she was,” the man huffs proudly, puffing his chest. “Called me a handsome bloke and kissed my cheek. Blushed a bit.”

“Playboy,” you tease, eyes narrowed over at him. “Cheating on the mutts back at the station?”

Johnny gasps, putting on a serious face. “Don’t you call Mr. Spots a mutt, Dearie—that’s too far.”

“Christ,” you breathe, and an arm settles over your shoulders, shaking you a bit and squeezing your flesh before chuckles follow.

Trying not to sink into the feeling of heat and the promise of fire, you live in this moment of nearly something. There was the close sensation of borderline affection—just brushing the sense of care and…pining.

You knew the Scot was interested in you, or, at the very least, knew he had some modicum of attraction to you. Hell, the way he’d flirted with you when you’d propositioned him to be your link to the fire department was nearly laughable even today. All smirks and glinting eyes.

John was funny, no one was denying it.

There was that firm push and pull between the two of you, a string attached to your wrists that wouldn’t snap—that had seemingly only grown stronger over the months of mystery. But the arsonist took precedence.

Play can only come after work, and you were the picture of professionalism. Or maybe just stubbornness.

“The regular?” Johnny asks, letting you go as he pushes open the front door of Violet’s with his shoulder, keeping it there as you move inside and nod.

“Sure. Same seats?”

The fireman smirks. “Always.”

You smile, walking off to the corner booth as John goes up to the front, waving down the familiar face of the waitress to let her know that the both of you are here. The two exchange pleasantries as you sigh and lean back into the red-cushioned seats, letting your satchel drop near your feet. Sending a text to your editor, you tell him that you’ll have an article written up about one of your ongoing fixations by Monday.

Johnny’s broad shadow soon graces you once more, carrying a plate of fresh bread with butter on it.

“Lady’s a fuckin’ lifesaver,” he breathes. “Gave us free bread today.”

Your eyes dart over to Tammy, the waitress, who winks at you before disappearing to help another customer. Hiding the twitch of your lips, you raise a brow at John.

“Don’t you usually get pancakes, too? Your stomach will explode,” you huff.

“Ah,” his face scrunches in dismissal. “There’s always room for fresh bread.”

His large fingers are already around the body of a knife, slathering gooey butter on a steaming piece of the carb, chomping down and swallowing before he speaks—reaching for another.

“So, spill it on me.”

Your fingers reach out, grasping some bread and bringing it to your lips. You chew, swallow, and ease out, “I think there are two arsonists.”

Johnny pauses, wide eyes stuck on you as he stops his hand from bringing up the next piece of food. He blinks, his face tightens as he wonders over the information that you have, and then the groans out a long, “Fucking hell… one who’s doing it for kicks, the other who’s settling scores.”

“Precisely,” you shrug. “It explains the complete break in character, and we have enough fires to show that not only is the way the flames started different, but for different reasons as well. One wants to kill, the other can’t control it. Impulse.”

“Makes sense,” Johnny grumbles, amused mood for the moment dropping to one of flashing anger. He taps his knuckles slowly on the table, thinking. “You tell the police this theory?”

“Nah,” you shake your head as your legs shift along the seat. “You know how the chief gets about me—I need to do some of my own leg-work. Get more evidence.”

The Fireman is already shaking his head with a chuckle that has no ounce of tease or jest in it. “Nah ah, no fuckin’ way am I letting you get involved with two arsonists—certainly not one that kills people, Hen.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not asking permission,” you smirk as your breakfast plates are brought over. Johnny’s is full of eggs, bacon, and pancakes, and you, your regular. You thank Tammy with a nod and take a sip of your small drink. “There has to be a connection between the victims. I’ve written about them before, my notes have the answers, I’m sure. I need to focus on one at a time—”

“Bonnie—”

“A possible Revenge-Motivated Arsonist is a far bigger threat than one that only has an impulse to light fires and not harm others. I’ll leave the ladder to you—”

A hand grabs at your own, grasping it firmly. Head snapping up to the square jaw ahead of you, which is tight, the stubble moving the scar along his chin one frown line at a time, you pause your quick rant. Face steadily heating as callouses run along your flesh like un-cut granite, your heart stutters.

“You’ll do nothing without me.” Johnny’s expression leaves no room for discussion.

Mouth slightly parted, your eyelids blink before a squeeze is leveled out on your hand, and the Fireman shifts back. Your eyes follow, stuck on how his shirt hugs his large biceps and the gentleness of how he held you—how he always held you.

Focus.

“You’re not getting dragged into this,” you chuckle, tilting your head seriously. “It could cost you your job.”

Johnny shrugs. “Only if I’m caught. If you're half as stubborn, as I already know you to be, Pencils,” he sighs, low smile coming to his lips. “Then I know you’ll be needing my level head.” Cobalt eyes twinkle.

You stare at him, blinking. Ignoring that skip in your pulse. As hard as you would like to try, you can’t say no to that face of his—that open expectation and firm choice.

“As level as a steep decline,” your grumble meets Soap’s ears, and the man’s face twists with an ingrained amusement that breeds the closer you are to him. It was easy to bounce jokes with you—like a pair of birds, squawking and puffing feathers, only stopping at strange intervals to preen one another before the loud chatter started anew.

“And stop it with the dumb nickname already,” you glare. “It happened once.”

John drags his plate closer, picking up a piece of bacon and taking a bite out of it. “It isn’t every day you see a bonnie Hen with seven pencils in her breast pocket, is it? Hell of a first meeting with that serious face of yours and the sight of fabric practically ripping open.”

“I was in a rush,” your face burns, jaw rotating. “At least I was prepared, MacTavish.”

“Well, who’s sayin’ I wasn’t prepared?”

“Me!” Your fingers grab at your fork, pointing it at him. “You were practically covered head-to-toe in ashes!”

Red cheeks on his part, but always that adorning sheen to his expression.

“I was just in from a damn fire!”

Breakfast went as it usually did—good food and better company—but there was a deeper level to it now; a sharp edge of purpose. By the time the both of you were done, you’d already made up your mind to make it back to your apartment and gather the intel that you had. Find a starting point.

But, as mysteries like these always go, the good times came to a rapid cliff-drop. Johnny was muttering about his work schedule back on the sidewalk when he got the call.

Phone to ear, you’d seen his face tighten—feet going completely still as you have to halt and look back at him, confused. A breeze goes by on the air, and your nose twitches to a sharp tang that leaves your fingers twitching.

“What do you mean, ‘fire on third street?’” Your body locks up, and Johnny’s face becomes devoid of pigment, watching yours closely. It was a strange emotion on his face; a hard and hesitant thing all at once. He was staring, brows pulled in as your lungs seemingly went to concrete inside of your ribs.

Third street? Fire?

Soap’s voice goes even lower. Spine even more straight. “...Stillview apartments?”

You’re already running before you can understand the severity of the revelation—dashing as Johnny yells after you to stop.

That was your apartment building.

“Dearie!” The fireman shouts, his boots pounding after, but you had a head start, shoving through the crowds, dodging strollers and trash cans—bags and thrown curses. “Fucking hell, stop!”

Your form darts fast, heart hammering. Already your mind is running through every possibility and explanation. How could this be happening? Why? Has one of the arsonists found you out? But even then, it could only be the one intent on murder—countless others lived in your building; this was more than intent…it was a massacre.

Fires don’t just spark at a time like this to not be called connected.

Even over the air, you could hear sirens above Johnny’s loud pleas to slow down, moving as well as he could through the rush of people.

He’s still on the phone, barking questions and the will of his legs to take him in the direction of the department building. But you. The back of your head in his black-sided vision.

The man knows that if he doesn’t catch you, you’ll run straight into that blaze not only for the principal but your evidence. Your cork boards and their red strings—your pictures and printed articles. Johnny knew you had them, he wasn’t an idiot.

You were too smart for your own good.

He was nearly there—just a few more steps and he could grab the back of your jacket like some stray cat, pull you back until you were in his arms. A fireman, yes, but he’d never get used to the inferno that was you; you consumed him utterly. It was an instant feeling for him, and even with the initial flirting, the immediate latching of his attention held fast. A bird to a wire. Hopeless, he was. Johnny was afraid at how much you trapped him in your ways—your looks and your…you-ness.

And you were only making him more afraid at this very instant.

Soap was the only person ever supposed to be walking into fire.

“Hen!” The fireman barks, sharp and visceral. But you only take the next corner faster, satchel slapping against your thigh.

“No,” you pant, legs dashing. “No, no, no. I left everything I need for this case in my filing cabinet!”

This is what you get for trying to be organized for once.

You smell the smoke before you see it, and feel the heavy hand on your coat collar not a moment after you lock on it.

“MacTavish!” Your angered voice moves out, but it’s all strangled away in a fast moment of the screaming of sirens and the visible fire from your tall apartment building strikes you. Watching blankly, your face falls as strong arms reel you back into a chest.

“Fuck,” Johnny growls, eyes wide as he looks on, phone clenched tightly in one hand. His jaw writhes with tension, vision darting from one fire truck to another and the men available to help. People were doing a myriad of things—screaming, running, watching—but through it all, there was the presence of fear coupled with a static anticipation.

Panting heavily, you watch your life’s work go up in flames, and feel the tight arms of your informant keep you close.

You learn that if you don’t adapt to this fire sooner or later, it’s going to consume you. And still, you can’t understand if you’re talking about Johnny, who murmurs quick words of comfort into your ear, or the case that just locked you in with chains of commitment and rage.

The real work had just begun as ashes fell like snow to the street; the spray of the firetruck’s water flew with sure aim. Your face hardens, and you feel that worried grip tighten, bringing you into a ramshackle hug.

You have an arsonist to catch, and not a single person would stop you now.

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idexindia · 7 months

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shotmrmiller · 6 months

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Consider this: Firefighter! Simon who’s obsessed with you so he sets fire to your apartment building so he can save you

LMFAO!!! wait! he knows what they look for when they're trying to figure out if it was purposefully set off or an accident.

he doesn't wait for the green light or nothing just barges in (literally, the door comes off the top hinge and there's a nasty splintered crack in the very middle) and even though you're crawling on all fours ready to get out, he picks you up by the waist and takes his sweet ass time walking out the building.

if you tell him that you're fine, to please let you down he snaps out a harsh no.

if you squirm in his arms, he tightens his hold to where you whimper in pain.

once he sets you down by the ambulance, his hand definitely brushes over your arse and you stiffen. the emt is like we got it ty but simon doesn't budge, stands directly behind you even when price is calling him over to help with the bloody fire, you dolt!!

maybe simon helps with searching the burnt remains and makes sure no one finds any evidence.

simon being an arsonist while also a firefighter is nutty. like he lives for the thrill of the scorching heat and the acrid smoke stinging his nose. something about the burn in his throat really gets his blood pumping. he's an adrenaline junkie but not in a sane sense because when he jumps off cliffs the only life that's at risk is his (which he doesn't particularly care for) and that's simply no fun.

there's no real risk behind bungee jumping and skydiving. he wants to feel like if he fucks up, there will be severe consequences and that is what he lives for.

and he's crazy over you (literally. he burnt your house down then quietly offered you a place to stay.)

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ryanguzmansource · 4 months

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Full Audio Transcript (5.21.24)

Hey guys, welcome to I've Never Said This Before with me, Tommy Didario.

If you are not watching 9-1-1 on ABC, you are seriously missing out. The show is so phenomenal that it has been renewed for an eighth season and, my guest today—well, he is phenomenal as well. In fact, he is on my show because of you. I saw all of the tweets, the DMs, the emails—all of it so, like a genie in a bottle, your wish has been granted.

The talented actor Ryan Guzman stars in the smash hit firefighter drama series 9-1-1 and audiences fell in love with his character, Eddie, the moment he debuted in Episode 1 of Season 2. Man, he has become a staple on the show and fans have been rooting for Eddie throughout the years, and Ryan plays each moment of Eddie's journey with such care and vulnerability and truth.

We have a lot to cover today and I have a feeling you're going to really enjoy this fun but also personal and deep conversation. We do dive into some very serious mental health conversations, so after the interview, I will be providing resources for anyone struggling with their own mental health. This is one of the most powerful interviews I have ever done, and I really thank Ryan for opening up in the ways that he did today because I know that he is going to help so many people out there feel less alone.

So, let's see if we can get Ryan to say something he has never said before.

[INTRO MUSIC]

Ryan, my friend, how are you doing today?

I'm good, brother. How are you?

I'm good. I know you have been working your butt off. You were just saying you were filming all night. Are you exhausted or are you on adrenaline right now?

A little mixture of both. I got a little coffee pumped through my system. But yeah, I think I worked six out of seven days this last week. We've been doing around 14, 15 hour days. And I just got off last night around 1.30 in the morning. So got home around 2.30. But we're here. We're here.

Well, you were putting in the work. Congratulations to you on all of the success with this show. It's of course now on ABC. People are loving it. The numbers are going insane. And you've always been a fan favorite from day one. When you had that first scene of you putting that shirt on in slow motion and your body was glistening and Whatta Man was playing, people just fell in love with your character. But that's not just why they love your character. I mean, over the seasons, people have found you so relatable and and really, really are truly invested in the role that you play. Why do you think that is?

I like to say that, I mean, I try to play as grounded as I can, but I think the story itself is just the way Tim Minear writes the character. And I think he's always had a special connection with this kind of character. So, just indebted to how he writes and the connectivity between Eddie and his son. I mean, it's just like it pulls at the heartstrings, you know, and that's always been a fan favorite as well. So, you know, I'm living in gratitude for everything that's been written for that character and I try to do as much justice as I can.

Well, you're nearing the end of Season 7 and past seasons for you have been a bit heavier, a bit more intense. You've really gone through quite a lot of things that we'll touch on a bit later, which I know is also part of the reason why so many people relate to you. Are you enjoying this journey this season?

Yeah, you know what? I haven't really been able to kind of flex my humorous side and just kind of lightheartedness, kind of a vibe about Eddie, and I love that aspect of him. So while everybody else is kind of going through chaos, while Cap is going through chaos, Eddie is kind of, you know, trying to keep everybody together while, you know, Chimney and Hen be going at it during the tsunami and The Poseidon Adventure, Eddie is just, you know, being there for everybody as much as he can. So not to say that he's always going to be happy because Tim always has this thing about saying, you know, if I just let you guys be happy, then there'd be no story. You got to have some kind of drama. Nobody wants to show up just for people smiling all the time. But yeah, we've got some things in store for the rest of the season. And from what we've already shot, I've been super pleased about, you know, this new way of life for Eddie.

Like I said, the things you've gone through are intense throughout the years. Do you have any fear stepping into this role or any anxiety before you had to film some of those more intense scenes? Because it's a lot.

Yeah, you know what? Prior to 9-1-1, I might have had some fears about the depth of a lot of the things that we shot. I honestly didn't really call myself an actor until like maybe three and a half years ago.

No.

Yeah. I thought I was just fooling everybody, trying to get jobs and land the movies that I was getting. And then I think somewhere around the third season, a co-star of mine kind of, like, metaphorically slapped me in the face and said, you know, let's really get into this, man. You got some really good opportunity here. So that's when I started calling myself an actor. But to be honest, the depth of Eddie in the past three, four seasons has been amazing as just a class. It's been class for me. It's been an opportunity to flex these emotions that I don't get to flex in my day-to-day life and to access certain things and see how far can I push Eddie, how, you know, in the scene where Eddie is just losing his stuff and he's breaking everything in his house. Obviously, I've never done it in my house, but how do I get there? How can I allow the audience to feel what I'm feeling? And that task itself becomes a challenge. And I really [like] that type of challenge. So again, living in gratitude for all the little things that Eddie presents that, you know, I haven't really been presenting my own life.

So with that being said, is there a storyline that's particularly special to you for any given reason?

I kind of lean automatically towards the military/PTSD just because I have a cousin who served six tours and, you know, he shared with me—and I actually, oddly enough, during the episode of Eddie Begins, I brought him on as a military tech and he helped out everybody in the production. His name is Randy Hudson. I, you know, I love that guy to death—but, yeah, he's shared with me a lot of his issues that he's gone through and a lot of the obstacles he's gone through in his day to day life and what it's like to be a military vet coming back and kind of assimilating back into civilian lifestyle. So that storyline always kind of held a special place in my heart just because it was very close connected with me and my own family. And I always hope that, you know, I did it justice enough for everybody that has that story ingrained in them.

I think you definitely did. I saw a lot of comments when I announced you as my guest saying that that was a very meaningful part of your journey on this show. I'm so curious, you know, quite often in television it moves so fast, there's always rewrites or so much going on. Was there ever a story that you wanted to come to fruition that never did?

I hated the fact that we killed off Shannon so quick. I know she wasn't a very likable character for so many different reasons, but I always loved working with Devin. So I would love to explore a little bit more with that. But yeah, there's always beauty and chaos a little bit. So I would have loved the relationship, mother, father, parenting style aspect of Eddie's life to be a more explored, but unfortunately that can't happen anymore.

There's always so many things going on. I'm sure it's hard to fit them into each episode, and I'm sure things do have to get cut because major things keep happening episode after episode, one of them being recently, of course, Buck realized he's Bi and that's a storyline everyone's going crazy over. Did you see that coming? Were you like, I think one day this is going to happen for him?

Well, I mean, it's always kind of been in the ether. Everybody, you know, all the fans, you know, have their speculations about Eddie and Buck and, you know, for the longest time, I think Oliver and I again had lightheartedness to it. We always kind of like saw it as like, oh, at least they're so interested in our characters. Thank God they're interested in our characters. They're not ignoring us, and I don't know if either of us had a pinpoint, you know, idea on which character or if any character would actually lead in that way.

But again, all credit to Tim Minear. He's the one that knows the way. So he chose Buck's character to explore that route. And now seeing it happen in front of our eyes, it makes so much sense. And it just the way him, Buck and Tommy are getting together and the way they're exploring their own individuality and personality. It's beautiful to watch. I was very excited to see, you know, that episode specifically, just for the fact that it was such a moment between, you know, a friend and another friend who had held this huge secret. And how do you come out to your friend?

I had a friend, you know—because I know I've had this actually in my own personal life. I've said this in prior interviews—I had a friend who was deadly scared of coming out to me. And I realized that that moment itself wasn't so much the journey for me, you know, it was this hard journey for himself. And all I had to do was catch. I just had to be there for him, and I was like, that moment itself is so beautiful. I can't wait to do that scene. I can't wait to, you know, show the world like this is how you be there for your brother.

Wow, how cool that you could pull from your real life experience and make that scene even more special, which is why I think it came off so incredibly powerful. It really was so cool to see. And the reception has been absolutely incredible in terms of people feeling like, you know, they're seen through that character and it's on prime-time TV. And you don't see a ton of that, which is still kind of crazy. But, you know, and of course, there were some negative comments, which blows my mind. I mean, I'm sure that blew your mind, too, to see that because who cares, right?

Honestly, I've got this now filter for negative comments. They just kind of seep right through and I don't even hold on to anything. So all I've seen is really, really good comments.

And one of the best parts is actually I've gone to work and Oliver himself has been like telling me these stories of people saying, man, I did not have the strength to come out until way later on in my life. So I'm like, oh man, could you imagine 20, 30 years of holding on to this repressed thing and then it just eating away at you and not being able to say anything, even to the closest people and then seeing something on television to inspire you. That kind of thing is just like, whoa, okay, we're doing something much greater, much bigger than us.

He's not the only one inspiring its characters like you because you're showing, you know, what an ally means, and I think that's really cool to see this like macho, cool guy that's just like, cool, like who cares? And that's also equally as powerful and as important. Before we put a pin on this, you know, part of the conversation, you mentioned you never know what the writers are going to do, and I think there were talks at one point of possibly Eddie being the one to come out in some sort of way. Do you laugh and have fun with all of the fandom's obsession with you as Eddie and Buck getting together? Like, is that something you guys always are seeing and hearing? And I know everyone brings it up to you and it's something that's always looming. Like, how do you react to that? Does it ever get tiring for you?

Again, if the fans are interested, we're doing our job. So I love the love. And I mean, unfortunately, I'm not the one that writes it. So it's all up to Tim. But me and Oliver have a really good time with the fact that, you know, people are so invested into these storylines. And in fact, they're so invested, they're creating their own storylines. They're sending us clips and edits and videos. And, you know, every now and then, Oliver will show me something, I'll show Oliver something. Like, did we actually do this in a scene? Because they cut it so well together.

Yeah.

So, yeah, I think at the end of the day, you know, we just love the love. We're here to entertain and tell the truth. If it's true to the character, then yeah.”

[COMMERCIAL BREAK]

You can't predict the future. Nobody can on this show. But if the opportunity one day happened to come your way where they were like, this storyline might be explored between Buck and Eddie, would you be open to that storyline in the future? I see you smiling. I see Oliver had the same reaction, a big ass grin on his face when I asked this.

Yeah, you know, like I said, it's got to live in the truth and I think right now we live in a moment—or me, I live moment to moment—so I love the fact that the biggest plot point between these two characters is one happens to be Bi, one happens to be Hetero, and they have this vulnerability towards each other. And that is the truth to me is it's the fact that you have such a safe space and it doesn't matter your sexuality, that you have a safe space to talk to this individual and he can fully accept you. If we can stay with that, then whatever happens, happens.

But I don't necessarily want to push the fact that because you're vulnerable, you have to be one way or the other in your sexuality. Then I would hate to have a lot of other men who are struggling mentally and not sure about, oh, do I even open up? Because will that make me something that I'm not? I would hate to push that narrative. So if we live in the truth, whatever happens, happens. And again, I'm here for it all.

Whatever happens, happens. That's a nice way to put it. And I agree with you. I think there's power in both. I think there's power in showing a strong friendship that you don't always get to see. And then there's power if something eventually does happen. So whatever happens, happens. I like that, man. What can we expect for the rest of the season with your characters? Anything you can tease? The finale is coming up. We have a couple more weeks. What can we expect?

What can we expect? Well, we can expect that Eddie's smiles might turn to frowns.

Oh no.

Or at least confusion, maybe. We'll start to see, you know, has he gotten past certain traumas? Or is he just kind of pushed them to the side and acting like they're not there?

You know, I have to say a lot of people are still holding on to hope that we're going to get that karaoke scene.

I mean, yeah, we had such a good time playing that karaoke scene, and it was kind of a let down a little bit to know that it wasn't going to be in there. But now, again, looking at the episode itself, as fun as it would be, the main story was Chimney. And the way Kenneth Choi played Chimney, and that episode specifically—I mean, I think he got, you know, performance of the week for that—it would have been a disservice to add, you know, a three-minute scene of us laughing and having a great time and being drunks and karaoke and take away from that performance. So I'm glad that Tim made that decision, and I don't know if he has any plans on showing that later on or whatnot or having some extended clip version, but I can tell you this much, everybody from the cast to the crew to the background had a wild and crazy time doing that scene.

And I think what I just heard you say is you might accidentally drop it on your Instagram very soon.

I might get fired if I do that.

All right. Well, we'll see. I'll talk to ABC PR. No problem. What do you want to see for season eight? Like, are you thinking about the future? Is there like, OK, if I can have my way, I absolutely want to explore blank.

To be honest, there's so much going at us so rapid, so fast paced at this moment. The scripts are getting handed in like quick as can be. So we have a moment's notice to kind of know what we're doing and where we're going with our character. From what I know, from what I've shot thus far, I think next season will literally be a refresh button to Eddie. And starting over in so many different ways, so many new ways in which Eddie has never explored and we've never seen Eddie explore. He'll be on his own in a lot of areas.

Speaking of that, I have to bring up season five, the mental health breakdown, man. That was intense. And a lot of people felt very connected to that. How was it stepping into that scene for you and that storyline? Because it's pretty powerful.

Thank you. Man, that was cathartic, to be honest. It was I've gone through my own mental health issues as far as like, you know, my own depression and anxiety, and, you know, I was raised in an age where men aren't vulnerable and aren't allowed to show feelings. So that kind of repression is like a ticking time bomb, you know, especially for a person in Eddie's life, or his lifestyle. So to kind of relinquish this boundary of who Ryan is and step into Eddie and just kind of just full-on dive deep into these this well of emotion, it was, it was almost like therapy. It was crazy because, you know, from the second they started to say rolling, it's like my—I started to, you know, start bawling and crying, and when Buck comes in and, you know, he's trying to check in on me and the whole room is just all scattered around and I'm losing it—it's just like there was no semblance of Ryan anymore. It was just all Eddie and he was just lost, and that's what it is.

It's like if I were to look at my son, you know, five year old son, that's kind of what we revert back to is just this child that is just so scared and not having any sense of direction and—or hope that anybody will ever love him or ever see him. And it's just these like, you know, existential fears that come out within those tears, and that was my goal to portray that whole scene and then the scene following it. So to get there was just let go, just let go.

Well, the work you did was clearly honest and raw and vulnerable. You can't fake the work that you did in that. And it was really a powerful man for many people to kind of go through that with you and for people who have had their own experiences. And you're right, like, I'm from an old school Italian family. And, you know, you grow up thinking men don't go through that and men don't show those emotions. So to have that on prime-time TV is huge.

Yeah, I hope that helped out a lot of people. I hope that people were actually able to see that and at least, you know, go to their best guy friend, and, you know, I think that's what really needs to happen. As far as men, we need to lean on each other. You know, women have their own issues and they have their certain way of connecting with each other, but there's a special connection that you can have with your brother. And I give so much credit to quite a few of my personal brothers—including my actual brother—for allowing me to run to them in my moments of need, in my moments of feeling lost. And them, you know, being men themselves, not having to say one thing to me.

Or they can just, you know, if they see me in a moment of, you know, deep into a problem, they have the ability to say, well, here's a solution. And since I'm, you know, of like mind, I can be like, okay, you know what? Thank you for giving me some kind of direction. So yeah, I implore all men out there to kind of at least have one or two in your corner, you know, because we can't get anywhere without community.

Absolutely. What have you most learned about yourself through playing this character for so many years? You know, you joined in season two. It's been a lot of years now under your belt. Have you thought about that? Have you learned anything through playing, Eddie?

I've learned a lot through Eddie. I've learned patience. He's a—you know, he has a sense of patience that I didn't have in the beginning even prior to being a father, you know, and then kids itself, they teach you how to be patient. So, yeah, I've learned how to be there as a father. Kind of oddly enough, it was just living as one onscreen prior to actually being one in real life, it gave me, say, practice. I get to practice on television what I get to implore with my own children. And, you know, even if it's the worst thing for Eddie, you know, and I see him doing something horrible, at least I come back home, like, well, that can't happen. I can't do that with my kids. So, yeah, and in so many ways, it's helped me grow as a man, let alone a father.

That's pretty awesome when you can take things away from your job like that and become a better person. I love that so much. Can you believe you've been on the show for so long now? Do you ever think like, damn, that's not normal. That's the rarity in the business. So is that a cool feeling for you?

Yeah, I literally just had that moment yesterday. We were filming a scene, all of us, the whole cast, and I'm sitting outside—I can't tell you the location, that's going to blow something—I'm sitting outside one of the sets and I just had that moment to myself. I'm like, oh my God, I'm actually here. How did I get so lucky to be on not only just a television show, the number one television show out there, where we're in our seventh season and we're creating numbers that people don't even get in their first season? So again, if there's a moment to tap into, let's get into that gratitude again and just be super thankful that I was lucky enough to land this.

[COMMERCIAL BREAK]

That is so cool, and that's why I have no doubt you'll continue having so much success in your career and in your personal life because you keep bringing up gratitude, and it's very evident that's something you lead your life with. And in fact, I saw a recent Instagram post where you give a beautiful tribute to Twitch, and you credit him with being able to form connection with people in your life now and to different things and places, and I thought that was such a beautiful way to show people that you're working on yourself and you're a work in progress and that he helps you kind of open your eyes. So that was a really cool moment for you to also reveal.

Thank you, yeah. Yeah, I believe so much of the world right now is showcasing a polished version of themselves. And to be honest, I did it myself for so long that I've become tired of it, and I would much rather get to the raw—the raw, the unfiltered, the, you know, the mess ups, the, you know—I've stuck my foot in my mouth too many times. I've done, you know, stupid things in my life, and I never want to present myself as a person that does everything great because there's so many things I suck at.

So I think there's an opportunity within that rawness to invite others to become raw themselves, and for us to see that, you know, we're not competing with each other, we're competing with ourself and our own image of ourself and friends like, you know, a brother like, like Twitch, you know, and—not understanding what he was going through and that lack of connectivity that I always, you know, felt but never acted on, which again, I felt imposter syndrome for so long of calling him my brother. It really struck a chord in me and now I can't go backwards. Now I'm propelled forward to be like, is this conversation authentic between us or are we just kind of saying what we have to say just so we can pass on to the next person and create whatever that is? And I'm not here for that. I would much rather have that depth and I'd much rather have that rawness.

Beautifully said and a perfect segue into what I want to finish this conversation with, which is based off the title of the show: I've Never Said This Before. So I'm wondering, is there anything that comes to mind that you want to share today that you've never shared before?

Uh. Huh. Yeah, you know what? I've been thinking about this for so long and there's so many things, you know, that come to mind. One specifically, and I've been hesitant to actually say any of this for so long because, you know, it's been years upon years.

About six and a half, seven years ago—and I've really never said this out loud, especially onto a public platform—I had my own mental health crisis and I tried at one point in time to take my own life. And luckily, it didn't work. Luckily, I got a second chance by the grace of God. And from that moment forward, I've taken each step as an opportunity to erase what got me there and build on what allowed me to live forward. So I would say that that moment itself, in addition to what happened to my brother Twitch, are probably the two biggest fundamental moments of my entire life and have allowed me to have a deeper sense of mercy and empathy towards every individual.

So I would implore that all men renounce this fact of, you know, you're a tough man, you have to hold all this in, but lean on your brother, really lean on your brother. And if your brothers aren't being there in the way they need to be, find some new ones. Because that's another thing, if you don't have the people that are conducive to a healthy lifestyle and you're keeping on to them because of loyalty, let them go. There's plenty of other people. There's people that have been through your situation before that are willing and more than willing, you know, to help. So yeah, that was a big one.

Man, first of all, thank you for sharing something so personal and close to your heart with me today. I feel honored that you did open up and share that. And I'm truly—God, this could be another half hour conversation, so I'll keep it short—but I'm truly grateful that you are spreading that message today for anybody listening because, you know, mental health is a crisis and I think people sometimes look at you, they look at me, they think everything's perfect. We are, you know, in this public space and what can be wrong?

And when you humanize real shit like that, it makes people feel less alone. And you got through it, you realize that wasn't the right way to go about it and your life forever changed for the better, and I'm truly grateful that you put that message out today because you have no idea how many people you're going to be helping with that. And I truly know that that's something that's not easy to get off your chest. And for that, I thank you and I know so many people will be thanking you, and I hope you feel kind of like a little bit of a weight lifted that you share that hopefully.

Yeah, it's kind of hard to understand what I'm feeling at the moment. But I hope in what you said is true. And I hope that, again, I would love to do more for mental health, especially for men, I mean, just in general, to be honest. But yes, I hope that there is a new wave out there that's kind of taking over that we can actually have some cohesiveness and connection, a true understanding of what connection is. Let's revisit that. So this issue isn't a common issue anymore. If we can take that down, then let's do it. I'm here for it.

Beautifully said, and thank you again for sharing that. I could talk to you for hours, especially leaving with that. I think you're such a cool person. And you watch people, I get to talk to people all the time. But this to me was a real conversation, and that's what I value. That's why I have a show called I've Never Said This Before, and I want to talk about the projects that the fans love, but also leave room to talk about things that matter. I don't think there's enough of that. So I truly thank you for hanging out, for coming on, for talking about the fun of 911, which we all love, and it's killing it in every way, but also sharing a little piece of you. I hope you enjoyed the conversation as much as I have.

Thanks for having me, my man. Yeah, I had a great time.

Thank you, and remind everyone where, how, when, all the things about your show.

Yes, please watch Thursdays at 8 on ABC.

All right, and stay tuned for the karaoke scene that you just promised you will be dropping.

Yeah, maybe when I'm fired again.

All right, man, until we meet again, take care.

All right, brother.

#ryan guzman #may 2024 #i've never said this before #transcribed #5.21.24

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a-small-writer-in-a-big-world · 1 year

Text

The Only Exception

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

Warnings: angst, minor fluff, canon typical violence, smut mndi (18+), Ghost thinks some dirty thoughts about you, masturbation, serious injuries

Words: 8.3k

Synopsis: You are the only exception to the rules Simon has...

Link to The Roommate Series Masterlist

You are currently reading Part 4 of The Roommate Series

(i ran out gifs to use so it's on to pictures)

The air was dry but still. It carried the sounds of gunfire within it, keeping the smell of gunpowder and blood stuck in one place, taking over any other senses as firefights ensued around the lone warehouse in the middle of nowhere. Bullets flew and screams echoed between the destroyed cars and the rubble from rogue grenades, creating a battlefield full of chaotic deadliness that should’ve been impossible to maneuver in.

Ghost took cover behind a humvee and listened to the bullets that ricocheted off the car while he reloaded his gun to get ready for his next attack. His mind was calm, focused on the plan of getting into the warehouse and securing the intel. He didn’t think about anything else but the mission and how to get his men out of this without losing any of them.

This was light work for him, stupidly easy that he wondered if he was put on this mission to get it done quickly or warm him up for a harder one down the line.

He killed a few enemies with quick precision and took a moment to look around for Soap, hoping that he would be available to execute one of the plans he had come up with.

His eyes landed on his sergeant a few feet from him hiding behind a car as well. Soap’s attention was on the warehouse, his gun pointed towards any enemies who showed themselves and shot them before they even had a chance to raise their weapons.

“I’ll get you an opening to the warehouse.” Ghost said into the comms to catch his attention. “Clear out as many as you can, then I’ll follow.”

“Copy, L.t.”

Ghost leaned out from the cover of the car and began to shoot at the enemies in the warehouse. He kept his sights on the men who weren’t under fire from the squad under his command and took it upon himself to get them out of the way. The bullets flew out of his gun and one by one, he watched the men in the windows of the warehouse disappear with a cry of pain as he shot them all with precision.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Soap take the opportunity to run inside, and provided cover for his sergeant. He waited until he knew that the rest of the squad would be able to take care of the stragglers and rushed inside to follow Soap.

The sound of gunfire echoed in the halls and he followed it, seeking out the smell of gunpowder and copper in order to his teammate. He saw Soap duck behind a corner and reload his gun before he came up beside him, taking a moment to get his bearings of the situation to make a decision.

“How many?” He asked as a bullet clipped into the concrete wall.

“Four.”

Ghost glanced back the way he came and realized that the hallway looped around the building. He was lucky that the enemies had either forgotten about it or they’d be pumped full of bullets by now, but he didn’t care about that right now, not when he saw an opportunity to finish the mission.

He tapped Soap on his shoulder to get his attention and pointed towards the other side of the hallway.

“Head around and flank them, I’ll take this side.” He commanded and watched Soap rush around to cut them off from behind.

Ghost waited for a moment before he leaned out from behind the corner and fired, watching as two of them hit the floor. Before he could shoot the other two, they crumbled to the floor because of Soap and he scanned the rest of the hallway to make sure that there were any left.

“Clear!” Soap called out and Ghost met him down the hall. “This the room?”

They stood in front of the only door in the hallway. Their intel was supposed to be inside where weapons dealers had stashed their information on a next deal, one that could have the potential to lead them to Makarov.

Ghost nodded and he took a spot next to the door with his gun ready, gesturing for Soap to do the same. He couldn’t hear any noise from behind the door but he knew better than to believe that it was empty.

He glanced at Soap before he kicked the door open and let Soap take the lead.

He followed in, shooting at anyone that Soap missed before everyone in the room had dropped to the floor in a puddle of their own blood. He commanded Soap to start searching for their intel and surveyed the room before he heard coughing.

Ghost looked down on the floor to see one of the enemies bleeding out but still alive. He watched him with indifference as the man struggled to pull out a gun to shoot him with it, his body already going weak from the bullet wounds.

The man glared at Ghost as he approached and spit the blood from his mouth at him.

“You’ll pay for this…” He wheezed and Ghost’s eyes narrowed.

Ghost didn’t say anything as he raised his gun and shot the man in the head. He stared at his body and the blood that gushed out onto the floor both of his wounds almost as if tunnel vision took him over.

He stared at the man’s lifeless eyes and for a moment saw himself in the dead body.

The warehouse was far from Ghost’s mind as he stood in a field miles away from it with a cigarette between his fingers and his mind elsewhere. His eyes were distant as he stared at nothing. He could hardly pay attention to the thousands of crickets that chirped in the tall grass, the sounds mixing with his tinnitus that raged louder now that he was out of combat.

He was stuck in the darkest parts of his mind, unable to stop thinking about the images of death and blood that were sewed into his mind now that he didn’t have a distraction, now that he wasn’t killing anyone. The massive weight on his chest made it impossible to breathe and paired with the cigarette smoke he was suffocating, drawing out in the open air.

And yet the cigarette was keeping him from losing it further, the habit being enough to keep some of his mind under control as he waited for evac.

He wasn’t sure why this particular mission had done it for him after working for nearly two and half months now, but he was practically begging in his mind to be put on another one right away. He wished that instead of being picked up to go back to base, he was being picked up to go somewhere, to follow the next lead the intel got them. He didn’t want to stop and rest, he wanted to keep going, he wanted to get rid of the horrible feeling by ignoring it and pushing it down with work. It was a temporary solution to an issue he refused to acknowledge, one that he didn’t have to when he wore the mask.

“L.t.” Soap’s footsteps pushed the tall grass away from him as he walked up to Ghost, alerting his presence to his lieutenant who had taken watch while they waited.

“Johnny.” Ghost replied back without looking away from the spot he was staring at.

Having Soap near him made his shoulder loosen just a bit, not enough to make any real difference to the tension in his muscles, but he felt like he could breathe just a bit more. He didn’t say anything for a long time, letting both of them stand in silence as the night drew on and more stars painted the sky.

Soap nudged his shoulder and he finally looked away from the spot.

Ghost blinked a few times as he stared at Soap. He studied his face, noting that his eyebrows were knitted together as he stared up at him with worried eyes that bounced around the false face he wore. They both stared at each other in silence, and Ghost narrowed his eyes a bit, almost as if to challenge Soap to say something.

Soap gestured to the cigarette in his hand and he clenched his jaw, a short huff escaping his chest before he handed it over.

“Don’t know what’s takin’ so long.” Soap puffed out smoke as he spoke. “Got us out here doin’ grunt work and now they’re taking the piss out of us.”

“We changed locations, so it’ll be a little longer.” Ghost scanned over the open field he stood in and looked in the direction of the warehouse as if he could see from this far away.

Soap groaned and handed the cigarette back to Ghost. He placed his hands on his lower back and stretched his hips forward with a scrunched up face as a loud pop resonated through the air.

“Wish there was a fuckin’ rock out here. I’m aching.” He complained and Ghost rolled his eyes even though he was feeling the same effects.

Ghost finished his cigarette and snuffed it out on the ground with hardened eyes. It had even been a minute and he was already craving another one. He was far too antsy to be standing out here waiting for a helicopter to only sit in it for hours. He was losing his mind over this feeling and his patience was wearing thin, especially since it had been stuck in the back of his mind since he had left home.

He just needed to get through this waiting period until they went back on another mission.

“Meant to ask,” Soap caught his attention and he looked at him. “That book in your vest pocket, is it a good read?”

Ghost blinked for a moment and placed his hand over the pocket, feeling the travel sized joke book that you had gotten for his birthday sitting snug inside of it. He had completely forgotten he had brought it with him, in fact, he wasn’t sure if he consciously made the choice to pack it with him.

He pulled it out and looked down at it, the weight of it in his hand grounding him more than he thought it would’ve for such a small thing, and stared down at the cover with a clearer mind than before.

It had been a simple gift, but he still remembered the warm fuzzy feeling he had when he had unwrapped it. He had expected you to get him something like a pocket knife, something practical for him to use, but instead you gave him a book full of bad jokes because you knew he liked to make them.

Ghost’s face softened underneath the mask.

“Not a bad read.” He held it out for Soap to take. “Especially when you’re bored.”

Soap took the book with a gleam in his eyes before his face fell when he read the cover. He gave Ghost an unimpressed look as his shoulder slumped with disappointment before he thumbed open the pages and skimmed the words.

“You’re the only guy I know to carry a joke book around on a battlefield.” He muttered with the shake of his head.

“What’s red and bad for your teeth?” Ghost glanced at Soap who raised an eyebrow. “A brick.”

“Is that in here?”

“Page twenty.”

“You even know the page number?”

Ghost wasn’t ashamed to admit that he had read the book front to back that he had memorized the entire thing by now. He could tell every joke on each page as confidently as he could shooting a gun. He practically spent the entire first week back on base with his nose stuck in it every night because everything about it reminded him of you.

His lips twitched underneath the mask as he watched Soap flip to the page. He watched as the Scot read with and then grunted with a twinkle in his eyes, clearly amused. It was a far cry from your reaction when he would tell you his jokes, but no one could ever replicate your laughter.

He could almost hear it when he read the words on the page, he could almost imagine the way you scrunched up your face because you knew it was a bad joke but you couldn’t resist laughing and he couldn’t help but continue to make you laugh. Your laughter was quite literally music to his ears and he would give anything to hear it right now, to have you laugh at his stupid jokes instead of listening to the tinnitus in his ears.

A heavy feeling pushed on his chest and he clenched his jaw as his mind threatened to wander to you.

Ghost would have never thought he would be in this much agony over missing someone alive like this. He practically mourned you the same way he did when he thought a little too hard about his mother, and yet you were still alive, you were back at the flat going to class and living a normal civilian life.

His heart ached every time he thought about you. Every time he saw your face behind his eyes, or thought about your smile, the way your eyes lit up with you saw him, he needed to take a few deep breaths to keep the tightness in his throat away. It only got worse when he remembered how you looked when he left two and half months ago,

The way your voice shook and how small you looked, how there were tears that threatened to fall from your beautiful eyes and the fact that you still gave him a smile even though he could see the way you were falling apart, as if you were trying to spare him your pain when you should’ve given him worse for making you feel that way.

He wondered if made things worse by kissing you because that kiss nearly broke his resolve. He had been so ready to call Price and tell him to fuck off for another week after he had felt your lips against his and after you had kissed him back.

It had been better than he had ever imagined. No one had ever kissed him with that much affection, with tenderness that had him breathless and wanting to get on his knees. He had never desired someone as much as you in a way that was more than just blowing off steam.

No, he desired you in a way that made him afraid and yet he couldn’t run away from you. He didn’t want to.

Ghost placed a hand over his heart and shut his eyes and he felt himself go breathless as the tightness in his chest worsened. He wishes it was your hand on his chest, calming him down and telling him that you were right there, that he wasn’t without you.

“Ghost?” Soap caught his attention and he opened his eyes to look at him.

Soap stared at him with worry written all over his face. It was a wonder how he could see what was going on with Ghost underneath the mask but Soap was like you in that he had somehow broken down his walls and waltzed inside. He knew Ghost too well and could tell when something was up even when there was an attempt to keep it hidden.

He looked into his eyes, blue meeting brown, and saw Simon in pain.

“You alright?”

Ghost knew he couldn’t lie to him, he was far too smart for any bullshit that he could come up with, and yet he couldn’t tell him the truth. He wouldn’t dare utter your name in a place like this for fear that maybe there was an enemy even if it was clear.

You didn’t belong in this kind of life.

Someone like you, happy and peaceful, didn’t belong in the context of anger and war. No one should know about you, it was too dangerous for anyone other than him to know about you, even if it was Soap, one of his closest friends.

He opened his mouth to lie, hoping that maybe Soap would be too tired to try to figure out the truth when his ear piece crackled to life. He sighed with relief and averted his gaze from him as he listened to the pilot speak.

“Bravo 0-7, we’re about to land.”

“Copy, we’re ready for you.”

Ghost looked up at the sky but heard the helicopter before he could see it. As much as he didn’t want to go back to base, he needed to get out of this conversation with Soap as quickly as he could before he pressed him any further.

He took back the book when Soap handed it to him and he put it in his pocket, making sure that it was right over his heart as the helicopter came into view.

Ghost hadn’t looked up from his food since he and Soap had gotten back. He was back to feeling those awful feelings and this time it was worse because coupled with it was the intense feeling of your absence across from him. He didn’t hate his teammates but they weren’t you, they didn’t talk about normal stuff like you did, they didn’t make feel like he could be in that life again.

He bounced his leg on the ball of his foot in order to get out some of the energy that was stuck inside of him. He would’ve gone to the training room and worked out the rest of it until exhaustion but Price had asked him and Soap to eat with him while they debriefed on the mission.

He was hungry but he didn’t eat, he couldn’t when his stomach was weighed down with a pit.

“Simon?” Price’s voice cut through his thoughts and he looked at him from the corner of his eyes.

Price was looking at him expectantly under his intense gaze, his eyes staring through him as if he could read his mind. If anyone knew Ghost, knew Simon, it was Price and the old man made it clear any time the two of them spoke. He always looked at him as if he could see him, as if he saw the man that died years ago and not the facade he created so he could continue to live and work in the military.

Ghost knew that Price had suspected something was wrong with him the moment he had walked off the heli. It was the captain’s job to know everything about his men, so of course he knew that Ghost was having a hard time, that he was practically going through the stages of grief without acceptance in sight.

He could see him trying to figure it out as Gaz and Soap waited for him to say something. He didn’t hide it either, he wanted Ghost to know that he was searching for the cause so he could come up with a solution, he always let Ghost know that he was willing to help.

Ghost glanced at the others as he tried to remember what the conversation had been.

“The intel Soap and I got gives us an entire network of Russian weapons dealers.” He explained confidently without missing a beat. “We’d have to survey all of them in order to find the ones that could lead us to Makarov.”

“Easier said than done.” Gaz commented and Soap nodded.

“Makarov has his fingers everywhere.” Price gave Ghost one last look before turning and scratched his beard in thought. “Even if we find one that could get us closer to him, it’s only a small step.”

Ghost felt the weight of his words settle on him and he watched as everyone else realized what it meant as well.

Longer missions, more time spent away from home, more time risking their lives to get a fraction of what they wanted. This job wasn’t easy and everyone knew that to get the results they wanted, it would take time, but this entire mission of finding Makarov consisted of lesser missions that slowly broke down their stamina. That was most likely the point that Makarov wanted to make, to show them that he was always one step ahead of them, but Ghost never knew Price to be a quitter.

In the past, Ghost could live with it, but now that he had someone waiting for him, now that you were waiting for him, he hated how long this was going to take.

“Well we’ve talked enough about this for now.” Price grunted as he finished his food and stood up. “Get some rest, it’s late. Take a break tomorrow.”

He clapped a hand on Simon’s shoulder. Quick but with a comforting squeeze and a smile before he left the common room with his plate, taking most of the heavy weight of work with him.

The three of them didn’t wait to get up and leave as well, finding that they were more tired than hungry. They all said their quick goodnights before they went to their rooms, not to be seen until in the morning when their bodies decided to wake them up.

Ghost entered his room and tried to ignore the fact that he was still feeling everything he didn’t want to. He was feeling the weeks worth of strain on his body and in his mind, the images of killing men just because they were in his way and then the extreme loneliness that he felt as he remembered that this wasn’t his room in his flat and you weren’t just across the hall from him.

He sluggishly began to take all of his gear off, throwing it haphazardly on the floor because he couldn’t find the energy to care about putting it away neatly. He stripped his clothes and boots off as he made his way to the bathroom, keeping his eyes on the floor so he didn’t have to look at himself in the mirror.

Even with the mask on he was sure if he looked in the mirror right now he’d break it. He didn’t want to see whoever was going to look back at him, he couldn’t look at Ghost because he wasn't able to suppress these feelings and he didn’t want to see Simon in such a horrible state.

It wasn’t until he stepped in the shower with the water running did he throw his mask on the bathroom floor.

The hot water ran off his skin as he stood in it. He let it burn into the sweat and grime that had built up, he let it chip away at these feelings as he focused on trying to ground himself with the heat. He hoped that the shower would take it all away as if it would clean the wounds that weren’t physical, as if it would wash out all of the bad that was stuck inside of his head.

Even as the water slowly washed the heavy weight in his chest away, he couldn’t help but think about you as if he lathered soap across his body.

He wondered about what you’d been doing these past two and half months. Did you take your exam? Did you pass it? Have you been taking care of yourself and rewatching your show?

Had you gone to the festival you talked about, the one where he had planned to finally ask you out on a date but you had fallen asleep on him before he could gather the courage to do it? In hindsight, he was glad you had fallen asleep because it would be much worse for both of you if he had.

Did you miss him as much as he missed you? He knew you missed him, he saw it, but he couldn’t help but think that maybe you didn’t. Maybe you were okay with him being gone, maybe you liked him being gone because he was so much of a drag compared to you.

All of these questions raced in his mind as he stepped out of the shower and dried himself off.

He longed to hear your voice to tell him, he desperately wanted to know what you were doing right now, what you’ve done without him. He wanted to know that you were okay and that he hadn’t hurt you too much because of how he left. He needed to make sure that you hadn’t cried yourself to sleep because he would never forgive himself if that were the case.

Ghost knew that he could ask you. He eyed the burner phone that sat on his desk as he got dressed as if it had personally offended him for existing.

He could call you if he really wanted to know, but he had never done it before. It wasn’t that he hadn’t missed you before, he often found himself feeling this way when he was back in his room on base, but he had always told himself that calling you while he was away would be worse. It reminds him of what he’s missing out on, reminds him that this was his choice to leave you for months and that he had no excuse to treat you like this.

He sat on his bed and continued to eye the phone before he turned his attention to the birthday card beside it. He had made sure to take it and the polaroid you gave him before he left, something he had never done before.

There had been no point in taking sentimental things with him and it could potentially be dangerous, and yet he couldn’t part with it when he was packing.

Ghost grabbed the card and took the polaroid out of it. He committed the look on your face to memory and traced you with his eyes as if this were the first time he had ever seen you before. He looked at your smile and the way you leaned into him, he looked into your bright eyes and found himself letting out a deep breath.

Even if it was a picture, he was still stunned by your beauty. He couldn’t get over how you practically glowed when you entered the room. It didn’t matter what you wore or what you looked like, you were absolutely divine.

Looking at you made the weight in his chest get worse and against his better judgement, he picked up the burner phone.

His fingers hit your number before he could even think and he froze from the panic that struck him as he heard the phone start to ring. He didn’t know whether he should hang up before it connected or if he should let it ring and hope that you wouldn’t pick it up.

He stared at the screen with wide eyes as it rang and when the line connected he put it against his ear.

“Hey…”

Your voice was hoarse, heavy with sleep and he mentally kicked himself for being stupid enough to call you at this hour. Of course you had been asleep, it was late and he was sure that today was a week day which meant you had class in the morning.

“Did I wake you up?” He asked, knowing the answer but it was the only thing that could come out of his mouth as he heard your voice for the first time in months.

“No…I was studying.” You lied, a yawn cutting through your words which betrayed you.

Ghost pressed his lips together and gripped his sweatpants. He wasn’t sure what else to say and as much as he liked hearing from you again, he realized that he was in no state to talk to you right now. His mind was far too dark and busy for him to give you the same kind of softness that you were used to since that’s all he wanted you to see him as.

Soft, tender, not a man who has killed others in cold blood. A man worthy of your affection and your attention who you hopefully assumed was better than that.

“Is everything okay, Simon?” You wondered, your voice slowly losing its sleep.

His breath hitched in his throat as you said his name and he swallowed hard. You were over the phone and you still somehow broke through his walls. You somehow calmed his nerves down and steadied his mind even though he was miles away from you.

“Want me to check the doors?” You offered as you assumed he had called you for any other reason than to just hear you.

But you did bring up a good point. He wasn’t there to check the doors and the windows, making sure that the entire flat was locked down to keep you safe. He wasn’t there to look outside of the windows at least three times before he went to bed, trying to discern if a bush was somebody or not, or to do a quick sweep around the perimeter of the flat to see if someone had planted anything.

He had an entire routine set out that he did every night that he couldn’t do now that he was gone. He clenched his jaw and felt his nerves slowly start to work themselves up again as it truly hit him that you were in the flat alone.

Someone could be outside waiting until you went back to sleep to break in and hurt you. Someone could kidnap you or rob the flat, leaving you for dead. There were so many scenarios running through his head that he almost found it hard to breathe.

He wasn’t there to protect you if something happened.

“Yes.” His voice was strained and he hoped that you couldn’t hear it over the phone.

Heard you move out of bed from the other side of the phone and he held his breath, waiting for the moment he heard you scream about someone being inside waiting to attack you. It played out in his brain so vividly that he gripped his sweatpants tightly as he listened to your silence.

“That’s the front door.” You said after he heard the heavy click of the lock. He heard another click from the other door. “This is the back.”

It wasn’t enough. Not enough to keep him from thinking that you were still in immediate danger.

“The windows?”

“Not opened and locked.”

Now he was stuck in his routine. He was going through his mental checklist of what else had to be looked at or thought about. He wasn’t there to do it the way he liked, to be as thorough as possible and to make sure that not even a blade of grass was out of place, but your attempt would have to do.

“Anyone been in the flat?” He asked, almost demanded, as he worried that maybe someone bad had planted something inside to spy on you.

“One of my friends, but I was with her the entire time.” You assured him, your voice still calm and kind.

It still wasn’t enough.There was a possibility that an old enemy of his could still break in and attack you, kill you or worse, and he’d be alone again. It would be like his family, he would be too late to save you and it would be his fault.

“Do you remember where I keep my gun?” He asked, knowing that you didn’t know how to use it but hopefully you wouldn’t have to.

“Yes-”

“My knife?”

“Yeah-”

“Can you-”

“Hey.” Your soft voice stopped him from continuing. “I’m okay, no one is going to hurt me.”

Ghost wanted to argue that it was impossible for you to know that, impossible for you to be so sure that you wouldn’t have to use weapons to save yourself. There was always the possibility that you would be in danger because you knew him, you lived with him and if the wrong person found out you’d be dead because of him.

He couldn’t believe you. He just couldn’t, not when he wasn’t there to see it for himself, to hold you as if he could protect you with his body, to be the one that would take the brunt of everything harmful that came your way.

He trusted you but he couldn’t trust the world.

“Are you sure?” His voice was low and smaller than what either of you were used to and it made him clench his jaw.

“I promise.” You assured him and though you weren’t there to touch him, to hold him, it was like he could feel you.

Ghost took a deep breath and shut his eyes in an attempt to calm himself down. He was shaky and he couldn’t get rid of the pit in his stomach as he listened to you move around the flat on the other side of the phone. He regretted calling you even if hearing your voice was the only thing he wanted to hear.

“Did you take your exam?” He leveled his voice and hoped you would humor him even though it was late.

“Got a ninety on it.” You said proudly and he could see the smile on your face.

He couldn’t help but smile as well. He knew you would’ve and he hadn’t understood why you had been so upset about it before he left, he knew how smart you were, but that didn’t make him feel any less proud of you either. Especially when you had gotten such a high grade when he was sure he most likely would’ve flunked out of university far before you.

“Atta girl.”

You giggled on the other side of the phone and he slowly felt himself unraveling from your voice. He was starting to feel more like Simon again, starting to feel like someone who was worthy of speaking to you like this as if it were normal.

He hoped that you felt the same about him. He hoped that you weren’t upset that he had woken you up and that you liked talking to him over the phone like this.

“How was the festival?” He wondered.

“I didn’t end up going.” You told him, not sounding disappointed about it but he knew that you probably were.

“Oh.”

That’s all he could say. He didn’t want to think that you didn’t go because of him but he knew better than to believe that.

“Can I ask you a question?” You sounded a little unsure and it made him swallow hard as he hummed for you to continue. “Why’d you kiss me?”

Ghost’s eyebrows knitted together and he stared at the floor with narrowed eyes. That was definitely not the question he thought you would ask and he wasn’t entirely sure how to answer it since to him it seemed like it was common sense.

Why wouldn’t he kiss you? He liked you, a lot, probably a lot more than what he wanted to admit right now so it only made sense for him to kiss you. He couldn’t necessarily tell you how he felt so he thought that a kiss would’ve been enough for him to get his point across.

Then again, he wasn’t exactly the right person to have an opinion about these sorts of things.

“Do I need a reason?” He genuinely wanted to know, especially if it meant that he had messed up his chance with you.

“I…there has to be a reason.” You sounded surprised and he frowned.

“I wanted to kiss you so I kissed you.”

You went silent over the phone and he held his breath waiting for you to say something. He hoped that your silence didn’t mean that you were disgusted by him or that he had completely misread the situation. He wished he could just tell you outright how he felt but the words wouldn’t leave his throat and would always strangle him until he gave up.

“I miss you.” Your voice was small and weak as if you were fighting back tears.

Ghost’s heart ached and he clenched his jaw. He was reminded of your sad face again and he shut his eyes as regret washed over him.

“I miss you too.” He said against his better judgement.

He wasn’t lying. He missed you, he missed you so fucking bad that he could hardly sleep without thinking of you and it hurt. It hurt being away from you and he wasn’t sure it would ever go away, even as the years would go by and the two of you continued to know each other.

Ghost meant it when he thought about how you’ve ruined him.

You sniffled on the other side of the phone and he felt his heart break. He wanted nothing more than to be there and hold you, to make up for the fact that he had made you cry. He wished you were in his arms so you could hear his heart beat for you while he took away any of the pain you felt.

“You have to come back.” You pleaded with a shaky voice and his eyes hardened.

“I’ll come back.” He said firmly, as if there was no other option.

“I know you can’t ask you about anything but please be safe. I can’t…you just have to come back home.”

Ghost felt his throat tighten up and he sighed. This was the reason why he had never called you before tonight, he didn’t want to risk making you upset by breaking the standard that once he was gone, neither of you were to hear from each other until he came back. It made it easier to keep his work separate and to keep you safe from the pain he could cause you.

He had to stop this before it got even worse. He couldn’t continue to make you feel this way and make you cry because of his selfishness.

“I have to go.” He lied and he heard you sniffle again.

“Just a little longer?” You pleaded but he was somehow strong enough to resist you.

“No. Get some sleep, yeah?”

You sighed and he stopped himself from thinking about how upset you were, the tears in your eyes and how alone you probably felt now that he was going to hang up on you.

“You too, okay?”

“Yeah.”

Ghost didn’t hesitate the end call as much as he wanted to and immediately placed his hands over his face. Hearing you had calmed him down significantly in that his nerves were no longer raging about work but he now felt the punch of extreme loneliness hit him in the gut, which didn’t really help him with how on edge he had been since the mission.

He huffed and laid back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling as he set the phone back on his desk.

He couldn’t stop thinking about how he was supposed to be there with you. How he could calm you down and wipe away your tears by telling you he was there. He should be holding you to his chest, he should be in bed with you making things better instead of making you cry.

Heat washed over him and he shifted his hips on his bed as he thought how he could make it up to you, showing you just how sorry he was for making you feel this way.

This wasn’t the best time to be thinking these kinds of thoughts and he felt a little guilty about it, but he couldn’t control his mind today. He was stressed, pent-up from so many different emotions that at this point, this was the only thing that could probably get him to calm down.

Ghost placed a hand on his lower stomach but didn’t go any further. It felt wrong to touch himself and think about you, he often felt shame because of it, but this certainly wasn’t the first he had thought about making you feel good.

He imagined holding you in bed and kissing you everywhere you’d let him. He’d run his hands across your body and massage his fingers into your muscles in an attempt to relax you. He would try his hardest to pull the sadness out from you while he showed you how much he truly loved you.

His hand traveled over his growing erection and he let out a long sigh as the weight from his palm made him twitch. He palmed himself through his pants and sunk into his mattress, the loneliness slowly being overtaken by the neediness he often felt for you when he laid in bed.

He’d do the same to you. He’d let his hands travel between your legs and slip his fingers past your shorts to feel the heat that gathered there. He’d push his fingers through your slick folds, gathering all of the wet desire to rub your clit nice and slow.

“Fuck…” His breathing got quicker and he shut his eyes at the thought.

You’d be wet as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear and he’d drag his lips up your neck, leaving hot kisses that would burn into your skin. You’d push back into him and buck your hips into his hand as he made you a promise that he’d make it all better.

Ghost pushed his pants and briefs down until his hard cock sprung free, letting his sigh with relief, before he wrapped a hand over his shaft. He groaned as he stroked himself, feeling breathless from just his hand as he thought about the sounds you’d make.

You’d moan his name in that sweet tone of yours, which made his cock twitch in his hand, and hold his hand. You’d be out of breath as he would slip a finger inside of you and work against that spot in your walls that would have you falling back into him with a whine.

“Simon…” You cry and it would make him push his fingers in as far as he could.

Ghost quickened his pace and bit his bottom lip. He imagined that his hand was your walls gripping around him as he slipped his cock inside of you. He squeezed his hand and bucked his hips into the air wishing that you were there on him. He was sure he probably couldn’t fit all of himself inside of you and the thought excited him as he spread pre-cum all over his hand, wishing that it was inside of you instead.

He chasing your high as you’d tighten around him, begging him to keep going as he fucked you closer to your orgasm.

“You feel so good!” You’d cry and move your hips with his. “So good, you’re so good.”

He whined and stroked himself fast. He shut his eyes and pretended that you were here, using his cock in any way you wanted to in order to make yourself feel better. He would fuck into you, ready to please you so he could make it all better, ready to be good for you so he didn’t make you cry anymore.

He wanted you to praise him, he needed you to do it. He needed to know that he was doing a good job, that he was good enough to be fucking you until you cummed on his cock more than once.

He needed to be good for you.

“Don’t stop! Please, Simon, I need you.” You’d beg but he would give his entire being to you if you ask.

Ghost moaned and felt the band of pleasure tighten as he quickened his pace, letting the whines and whimpers fall from his mouth. He’d bury his face in your neck and kiss you, he’d thank you for the praise by slamming his cock as hard as he could into that spot that would have your toes curling.

He thought about how you would shake on his cock and how your moans would be cut off as you fluttered around him. Your eyes would roll back as he continued to pound into you, unable to say anything as the intense pleasure took over. The pleasure he gave you.

Hot cum spurted into his hand. It ran down his cock as he continued to stroke himself at a fast pace through his orgasm, not wanting the pleasure coursing through his veins to stop. He didn’t care as overstimulation hit him, he continued to stroke himself at the thought of making you happy and making you feel good.

A whimper escaped his mouth was cut off in his throat as the feeling of his hand became too much but he didn’t stop.

Ghost was tired but he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Ghost grunted when the but of a gun was slammed into his face. He was knocked into the wall of the crumbling building as blood soaked his mask but he quickly threw a punch at the enemy in front of him.

He grabbed the gun and with all of his strength, slammed it into the man’s nose with enough force that he heard it crack. He didn’t waste any time kicking the man in the knee, hearing it pop as well, before he pulled out his pistol and shot the man three times in the chest.

As the man’s body crumpled to the ground, Ghost picked up his weapon and raced towards the exit.

His head pounded from repeated blows to it and he was sure that a few of his ribs were fractured from the pain he felt in his chest every time he took a breath. He didn’t pay any attention to the pain as he kept the gun secured tightly in his hands.

The sound of gunshots outside mixed with the ones inside the building and it was hard for him to know where the enemies were or weren’t. This mission wasn’t like the regular chaos on the battlefield, this was a dangerous mess that could result in the death of one or more of them if they didn’t pull back.

“Simon, where are you?” Price’s voice came in through his ear piece and his eyes narrowed. “We need to leave!”

“Almost there-”

Ghost was cut off as he was tackled to the floor. The back of his head smacked against the concrete but he didn’t have time to feel the pain as he fought against his attacker who straddled him.

He slammed his punches up at the man and hit as hard as he could. He tried to avoid any of the punches that were thrown at him but he was no longer fighting with his training, he was fighting out of pure adrenaline and the desire to survive.

The man pulled out a knife and tried to plunge it into Ghost’s chest but he quickly grabbed his wrist, using all of his strength to push it away from him.

Ghost jabbed his fingers into the man's ribs as hard as he could and managed to gain the upperhand in the fight. He shoved the man off of him before he climbed on top of him, punching him as hard as he could before he reached for a gun to end the fight.

The air was knocked out of Ghost’s lungs when the man stabbed the knife into his side at a force that felt like he had been hit by a car. Pain rippled up through his body and he suppressed a scream as he broke the man’s wrist that held the knife, continuing his barrage of punches.

He took the knife out of his side and plunged it into the man's throat. He watched him choke on his own blood with bloodlust until the man went limp.

Ghost felt lightheaded as he struggled to breathe. He could feel the blood gushing out of his side at an alarming speed that not even his hand could stop as he pressed it firmly on his side. He clenched his jaw tightly, suppressing a wince as he crawled off the dead body and stayed on the floor on his hands and knees.

His legs felt weak, almost numb as he tried his hardest to stand but he couldn’t get up. He began to crawl, an attempt to make it to the exit still as he knew he needed to get out of there, and left a trail of his blood behind.

The sounds of gunfire sounded far away in his ears, the voices of his team sounded as if they were speaking to him from the other side of a tunnel.

He could barely crawl across the floor and when he nearly collapsed, he decided to stop and sit against one of the walls.

He felt cold, unnaturally cold as he looked down at his side and saw the growing red stain on his jacket. He grimaced from the pain and leaned his sore head against the wall as his eyelids started to get heavy as he mumbled something into the comms, unable to really understand the words that came out of his mouth.

“I’m coming!” Gaz yelled in his ear but he didn’t reply.

Ghost blinked slowly as he stared up at the ceiling. The last thoughts he had were of you and your smile. He thought about the way you would hold onto him when you hugged him and the warmth you gave him every time. The way you always seemed so happy to see him and how you always treated him with softness that made him feel safe.

He wanted to see you again. He wanted you to fall asleep on him again and he wanted to kiss you like he loved you because he did. He wanted to do everything he used to do with you just one more time but he couldn’t move.

Your name slipped from his mouth as if he were calling to you. As if you would come and take him into your arms one last time.

He heard Gaz call out his name from the room he was in but he didn’t have the energy to keep his head up anymore as his vision went black and he couldn’t feel anything anymore.

Link to part 5

A/N: Figured I would make it up to you guys with smut since I was mean last chapter, expect more angst and smut later on >:) Also ignore the bad action scenes I didn't put that much effort into them since they weren't what the story was about

(don't worry he's not dead I promise)

The tag list is closed!! I am so happy that so many of you want to be tagged for this story but I will not be accepting anymore requests to tag people in this series since this list has gotten long and it's hard to keep track of how many I have to add! Sorry for the inconvenience!

Taglist: @kat-nee @alexwashere82 @suicidal-marshmallow @shuttlelauncher81 @poohkie90 @reiya-djarin @k4marina @mionacaped @igotmajordaddyissues @xxghostyx @pasta-m1lk @imstargazing @c00kied0ugh44 @quesowakanda @jacksonpleasestopkillingme @kgive @konig-is-bbygrl @otaku8 @lialacleaf @frazie99 @gremlin-ghuleh @spencerreidisbae123 @alastorhazbin @writingmysanity @lillianastuff @alastorhazbin @reid490 @projectdreamwalker @backupgal @wobblywolf @lockleywife @sheepsel @dead-noodles @vellicora @marshmallowtraver @sinclairbrosbathmat @argella1300 @sofasoap @crazyfandomist

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #cod ghost x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #mw2 ghost #cod ghost #ghost mw2

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keozrb · 5 months

Text

The Firefighter's Transformation

John trip to a costume shop takes an unexpected turn when he transforms into a stripper firefighter, leading to a wild night at the strip club.

John walked into the costume shop, his eyes scanning over the myriad of costumes. He was looking for something fun and different for an upcoming event.

He spotted a firefighter costume in the corner. 'Hot firefighter' read the label on the bag. Intrigued, he decided to try it on.

John stepped into the changing room, pulling out the costume. It seemed a bit large, but he was hoping it would fit.

As he put on the costume, John felt a peculiar sensation. His body began to grow, filling out the costume until he towered at 6'5 and weighed around 250 pounds, most of it muscle.

His pecs and butt grew, creating a more athletic physique, and his underwear transformed into a speedo. His package also grew, filling out the speedo.

When he exited the changing room, John found himself in a strip club instead of the costume shop. He was now a stripper firefighter, and it was his turn to perform.

The crowd roared as he took the stage, the spotlight illuminating his muscular physique. His heart pounded in his chest, but there was an exhilarating thrill to the experience.

He started to dance, slowly taking off his jacket, the crowd cheering louder with each move. He undid one suspender at a time, the anticipation building in the room.

Finally, he was just in his red speedo, his big package and bubble butt on display. The crowd went wild, women screaming his name and waving dollar bills.

John moved with confidence, the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He enjoyed the attention, the cheers and the exhilaration of being center stage.

He finished his routine with a flourish, leaving the stage amidst a chorus of cheers. The transformation had been unexpected, but he had certainly made the most of it.

As he headed back to the changing room, John couldn't help but smile. His night as a stripper firefighter was nothing short of unforgettable.

#muscle growth tf #ai generated #jockification #muscular

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zepskies · 9 months

Text

Smoke Eater - Part 17

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

AN: Ready for some feels? ❤️‍🩹

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5,500 Tags/Warnings: Angst, injuries, hurt/comfort and feels, tinge of spice.~

Part 17: “The Real Deal”

The first time Dean was awake for longer than a few minutes, he asked about you.

Sam wasn’t surprised. He was frankly relieved that he had an answer for his brother.

“She has carbon monoxide poisoning,” he said. Dean’s brows furrowed, but before he could start worrying too badly, Sam cut in again. “She’s okay. They’ve got her on 100% oxygen. Eileen and Andréa are with her right now.”

Dean nodded on a breath of relief, despite coughing himself. He still wore an oxygen mask, but he knew his exposure hadn’t been as bad as yours.

“CO poisoning’s no joke. Don’t let her take off that damn mask for anything until they clear her,” he said.

Sam raised a placating hand. “Don’t worry. She knows she’s got to stay put this time.”

Dean shook his head. You were so damn stubborn. He still couldn’t believe you’d dragged yourself out of bed within minutes of waking up, just to see him.

…Well, he could believe it, but he didn’t have to like it.

“Okay, do you need anything before Eileen and I run home to get you guys some stuff?” Sam asked.

He’d already drawn up a list for both you and Dean of things you two would need for the next couple of days in the hospital. Dean’s stay would likely be longer than yours.

“Nah, I’m good, man,” Dean replied.

He was still trying to find a comfortable position in bed. His back couldn’t fully touch the mattress, so he had to lie on one side or the other. Truth be told, it sucked. His head swam with the effects of the painkillers and antibiotics they were pumping him with, along with his head injury.

While his body wanted to keep sleeping, Dean wanted to see you. He wanted to make sure you were all right. He wanted to know what happened before the fire, and how you’d found out about Nick being Azazel’s son.

And he wanted to get you both home.

He wasn’t sure if he was going to get to do any of those things, any time soon.

Sam saw his discomfort and frowned in sympathy. He went over to help Dean shift onto his other side. Dean shot him a look of annoyance, but Sam was firm.

“Let me help, or I’m calling Nurse Jeff,” he warned.

Dean's lips pursed. Jeff was nice and all, but Dean could concede this time. At least when it was his brother helping him, he didn’t feel like a complete invalid.

“Andréa’s gonna stay with her?” Dean asked, while Sam helped him ease over and nodded at his question.

“Yeah. Ellen and Jo are on the way too. They’ll keep you company.”

Dean wanted to quip that he didn’t need a babysitter, but he held it in. It would be nice to see Ellen. He remembered seeing his father, briefly, before he fell back asleep. Sam told him John had gone back to the precinct to work out their protective detail, once you and Dean were eventually discharged from the hospital.

Over the last few hours, the rest of his team from Firehouse 25 had come in to see him in small groups, including Benny, Gordon, and Jack, Meg and Chuck, and Bobby himself, with his gruff worrying. Dean knew the Chief felt responsible anytime his firefighters got hurt, but Dean also knew the only one to blame was himself.

Still, he didn’t regret breaking ranks to go and find you. He’d never regret that choice.

Sam’s hand on his shoulder grounded Dean back into reality.

“Okay, I’ll be back,” said Sam.

Dean nodded, with a hint of a smile. “All right, Sasquatch. Get goin’ then.”

Sam’s face betrayed his dry amusement…and a hint of fondness. He squeezed the shoulder he held, and hesitated, almost like he was steadying himself before he left his brother alone.

“Hey,” Dean said. He gave his little brother a true smile, if one edged with tiredness. “I’m okay. I don’t break easy.”

After a moment, Sam nodded. His lips flickered at a smile.

“Yeah, I know,” he replied, clearing his throat. Before they both might’ve succumbed to a dreaded “chick flick moment,” as Dean called them, there was a knock at the door. Ellen’s head soon peeked through into the hospital room. She smiled as soon as her gaze landed on Sam and Dean.

“There’s my boys,” she said. Sam welcomed her in, along with Jo, before he slipped out. The Harvelles brought food, of course, for you and Dean. And Ellen had bought some flowers.

Dean took off his oxygen mask and teased her a little. “Ooh, for me? You shouldn’t have.”

Ellen shook her head at his familiar antics. Jo came up on his other side of his bed and gave him a softer smile than usual. He tried to return it.

“These are for your girl,” said Ellen. “How’s she doin’? Have you been able to see her?”

Dean’s good humor dimmed. “She’s got carbon monoxide poisoning from the fire, but Sam tells me she’s resting. I haven’t been able to get over there yet.”

Ellen frowned, but she nodded and rubbed his arm. “Okay, well you just stay here and rest. I’ll go over and bring these to her, make sure she’s doing all right. Then I’ll come back and give you a full report. How’s that?”

Dean met her gaze with relief and gratefulness in his. “Thanks, Ellen.”

She nodded, giving him a motherly pat on the cheek. Maybe her brown eyes welled up with tears she would refuse to shed. And maybe Dean pretended he didn’t see them, knowing how she’d hate for him to call her out.

“You two are gonna be just fine,” she said. Dean agreed with a nod and a smile. She left soon after with the flowers, discreetly wiping at her face.

When the door shut behind her, Jo took a seat beside his bed. She was looking around at the wires, the monitors, the minor burns and scrapes on his face, while trying not to look at the gauze spanning his upper back.

“How’re you really feeling?” she asked eventually, when she was able to meet his gaze.

Dean chuckled a little. “Like shit.”

She laughed too, though it soon ended in tears. She bit her lip against it, with her eyes squeezing shut.

Dean faltered. “Hey, none a’ that.”

It was an effort, but he reached for her shoulder. She clasped his hand there, then she held it between both of hers. Dean squeezed her hands.

“I’m okay. Scouts honor,” he said. He wished he didn’t have to keep telling people that, but here they were.

When she drew his hand against her cheek though, Dean internally sighed. He had to pull away.

Jo felt the loss of his hand, and of him. She looked up at him with sad blue eyes. Dean couldn’t answer her. Or at least, he couldn’t give her the one she wanted.

She ducked her head and tried not to cry harder.

“Jo,” Dean sighed. “Listen to me.”

She wiped at her face and managed to look up at him again. He was direct, but still gentle as he could be.

“You know I love you like family,” he said, “but you also know…I can’t be that guy for you.”

Her brows furrowed as she shook her head. “We had something, Dean.”

“We did,” he acknowledged. He could admit that much, even as he blew out a breath. “I fucked it up.”

At that, Jo’s face shifted towards resignation. “I did my fair share.”

“You were worried about me on the job, that’s all.”

“But you also didn’t fight for me. The second it got hard, you left and called it quits.”

“I know,” Dean admitted. He thought hard, and he nodded. He was a different man when he and Jo began. He hadn’t totally figured out what it was he wanted. He’d just known, instinctively, that it was different with her. He’d wanted to try to be more for her.

But, he’d let Ellen’s warnings and his own fears take over. He knew he’d been a coward, and at the time, he’d convinced himself that Jo was better off without that in her life. He knew now how that had just been a nice justification for breaking her heart.

“I know,” he repeated. “I guess I wasn’t ready for the real deal…but you’re the first one who made me want to try.”

Jo heaved a tremulous sigh, laced with tears that she brushed away from her face. She had already known it, deep down, but now she supposed she had closure. She knew now that he loved you, for real.

“And she’s the one who made it stick,” Jo supplied.

“Yeah,” Dean said. The truth was in his eyes. She’s the one.

After a moment, in which Jo locked away the rest of her heartbreak and denied herself a flash of jealousy, she wiped her face dry and looked up at Dean.

“Then you rest up,” she said, with a small smile and red-rimmed eyes. “And whatever happens next, you better fight for her.”

Dean smiled back. He gestured at his prone form with a hand.

“And what do you think I’m doing here?”

“Looks to me like you’re sitting on your ass,” she quipped.

Dean laughed so hard he started coughing. Jo shook her head and helped him put his oxygen mask back on.

“God, you’re a mess,” she said.

Dean gave her a mock incredulous look. “Hey, no sympathy for the injured here?”

“If it was sympathy you wanted, you should’ve kept the mask on.”

Hours later, Sam and Eileen came back freshly showered and with plenty of clothes and necessities for you and Dean. And when his hospital room door opened, Dean fought through the haze of the drugs and his swimming head to wake up. He smiled at Eileen, who stepped through the door first. But then his eyes widened.

Sam carefully guided you in a wheelchair, with your oxygen tank rolling in next to you. You held the mask to your face, but Dean still spotted the edge of your smile.

Your eyes shone bright with unshed tears the closer you came. He had to clear his throat himself before he reached for your hand at the same time you held out for his.

“Hey,” you said.

“Hey, yourself,” Dean replied. He brought your hand to his lips and held it there. “How you doin’, sweetheart?”

“I’m okay, thanks to you,” you said, smiling, even though your voice shook. Tears slipped down your cheeks. Your lips trembled, and your face ducked down. “I’m so…so sorry.”

Dean frowned and squeezed your hand. “Don’t you do that. This isn’t on you.”

You shook your head, like you didn’t believe him. Or you didn’t want to believe.

He wasn’t having that.

“Hey, look at me,” he demanded. He tugged on your hand, until finally you did as he said. Your eyes were red and spilling over with tears. It made his heart clench, and out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Sam holding Eileen close. Both of them were getting emotional, though Sam was trying not to.

Jo stood with her mother in the corner. While Ellen dabbed at her eyes, Jo had to avert her gaze. That part, Dean didn't notice, because his lips pressed together as he returned his attention back to you.

“You don’t gotta worry about me,” he said. “I’ll shake this in a few weeks. Tops.”

You nodded, but your denial was still obvious as your shoulders trembled. He could see there was no reasoning with you on this one, so he just tugged you closer—as close as you could get without leaving your wheelchair or taking off your oxygen mask.

He managed to reach for your face, soothing his thumb across your tear-stained cheek. You covered his hand and kept him there, for as long as he was able.

You were discharged from the hospital a couple of days later. It was a few more before Dean was able to join you. He wasn’t happy to learn that his head injury would put him out of commission for at least one to three months.

You wished he would be more fair to himself. He’d suffered a subdural hematoma after he was struck by the beam. The doctor officially labelled it a TBI, or a concussion, and he was already dealing with headaches and bouts of vertigo.

Not to mention the large second-degree burn that was only just starting to heal across his upper back. The doctor also warned that he might suffer some mood swings, due to the head injury.

Meanwhile, you were starting to recover from your cuts and yellowing bruises. Though the carbon monoxide had been driven out of your system, you still had your own headaches, nausea, and a lingering cough.

You both were a bit of a mess. Sam and Eileen had incredible patience, and you were so grateful for their help in those first days back home in Sam and Dean’s apartment. However, you couldn’t shake off your nature to help as much as you could in taking care of Dean while Sam and Eileen were back at work.

You knew your boyfriend wasn’t used to being catered to. He didn’t like being, what he deemed in his mind, “useless.” In your mind, that was just too damn bad. He was going to be cared for whether he liked it or not.

So you helped Dean adjust where he lied in bed for the third time this morning, arranging the pillows just so. All while you ignored his crabby mood.

“How’s that?” you asked, fluffing one more pillow between the small of his back and the headboard. You’d managed to find a way for him to sit up without his upper back touching the bedframe.

“Fine,” he said grumpily. He was channel surfing on the TV above his dresser. “And it was fine half an hour ago.”

His mood was always dour after a shower; it meant you had to help him stand, and make sure he didn’t kill himself by slipping and falling. You sighed and brushed your fingers through his wet hair, mindful of the shaved and bandaged portion on the back of his head. He sure was an awful patient.

“You used to like it when I joined you in the shower,” you tried to tease gently. He shot you a glance.

“Yeah, that was before I could barely piss standing up,” he replied. You rubbed his arm.

“Come on, babe. Don’t be like this. You’ll be healed up in a couple of months, and we can put this behind us,” you said. If he really wanted you not to feel guilty about his current state, then he was doing a bang-up job.

Dean turned to you then, and you understood the look on his face. Will it really be over?

You couldn’t fault him for it because you didn’t know the answer either. You both knew that Savage & Co. burning down was likely just another battle with Azazel, not the end of the war.

And that was when John and Cas arrived for a visit, with the doorbell interrupting the silence. It was the first time they’d come together, and that told you one thing: this was more than a familial check-in.

You welcomed them into the apartment and made some coffee for everyone. Cas helped you get the mugs ready in the kitchen. Meanwhile, it gave John a moment with his son.

John dragged a desk chair over and sat by Dean’s side of the bed.

“How’s your head?” John asked.

Dean nodded, though his face said he wished people would stop asking him that.

“On the mend,” he replied instead.

John nodded in return. The space between them was awkward and quiet, except for the drone of the TV. Both men had their protective walls and their thoughts, but neither one was able to lower their guard.

When you and Cas came into the room with fresh coffee, it was a silent relief all around. You sat beside Dean in bed and handed him a mug of decaf. You might’ve claimed it was the real stuff, but Dean’s nose knew the difference; he didn’t play when it came to his coffee. Yet another reason why he hated being on these antibiotics.

“So, let’s start from the beginning,” John said. He lowered his mug into his lap and looked straight at you. “What happened before the fire? Start from the very top of the day.”

You took in a deep breath and glanced at both Cas and Dean. Cas seemed encouraging, while Dean looked just as grave and interested as his father.

You explained everything from the moment Marv came to give you his report, intended for Nick. You were going to just leave it with his assistant, but his office door had been open a crack, and you’d heard the voices within. You’d been curious enough to approach the door and listen in.

You recounted what you’d heard between Nick and the other man.

“We’re working together on this,” said Nick. “Keep an eye on the cop. Wait for an opportunity.”

“Together, huh? Azazel has his orders. You trying to take his place?” the other man replied. His voice was thin and nasal. You saw his profile, however. His eyes were dangerous.

Your eyes widened at the implications of his words though. Azazel?!

“Dad agrees with me. The guy’s not getting the hint, so we’ll need to remind him who really makes the rules,” Nick said.

Your eyes widened. Holy shit…Nick’s father is Azazel.

You clasped a hand over your mouth before the gasp could escape. A sharp breath still echoed through the hall. The men’s heads began to turn, but you did as well—away from the door and booking it down the hall as quietly and quickly as you could.

You remembered going back to your office, just to find Nick Savage waiting for you.

Dean’s grip on the bedsheets tightened when you told that part of the story. You tried to spare the details, but there were some things you couldn’t avoid…

A strong hand grabbed you and hefted you up. You felt a trickle of wetness rolling down the side of your face as you stared up into his. It must’ve been blood, but all you could focus on was the satisfaction in Nick’s eyes. Finally, they seemed to say.

But then he paused. Confusion was written across his face.

“Do you smell smoke?” he asked. You both saw it climbing under the door of your office.

It was a distraction that broke you out of your frozen fear.

On pure instinct, you jabbed at Nick’s ribs with your taser.

“After I…managed to get out of my office, that’s when I saw the smoke,” you said. Your voice became a tad more unsteady as the memories flit through your mind.

“It was chaos. People were getting trampled trying to get down the stairs…and when we saw the fire coming from below too, I barely made it out of the stairwell.”

You raised a slightly trembling hand to your mouth, but a warm hand slipped into yours, taking it from you. You met Dean’s furrowed brows and softened eyes.

“Come ‘ere,” he said quietly. You let him pull you towards him, against his side, and you blinked past the sting of tears.

“The rest you guys know,” you continued. “I couldn’t get out. Dean and his guys came and found me. He got hurt trying to get us out of there.”

Dean’s hand rubbed up and down your arm in comfort. He pressed a kiss to your forehead while you wiped at the few tears that managed to escape.

“Did you see Nick at all after what happened in the office?” John asked.

You shook your head. “No. I hope he burned to a damn crisp.”

“He’s officially missing, but his body hasn’t yet been identified from the remains at the building site,” said Cas.

That sobered you. You knew there were many people who hadn’t made it out of the building in time. You just couldn’t fathom the kind of person who would intentionally set that fire, damn the costs.

“What about the other man he was talking to?” John asked. You shook your head, but you provided a detailed description of him, from what you could remember: tall and lean, graying short hair, a nasal sounding voice.

“Any other details you can remember? Anything at all. Could be something you saw or heard, or even smelled,” John pressed.

Your lips pursed. The stress alone of reliving all of this was giving you a headache, not to mention making your chest feel tight. Your reply was a bit more clipped than you intended.

“What, other than the part where I was fighting for my life?” you said. “I think I gave a pretty good statement of the events, Detective.”

John paused. His mouth firmed, but he watched you with more sympathetic eyes. Dean saw that his father was trying to ease up. He rubbed your back in comfort again.

“All right, it’s okay,” said Dean. “You did good.”

You glanced at him and took a small, steadying breath. You relaxed a bit and met John’s gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you said, with sincerity. “If I remember something else, I’ll let you know.”

John nodded.

“That’s all right. We’ve got enough to arrest Nick Savage on assault charges, once we find him.” He shared a brief look with Cas. “In the meantime, we’ve got a couple of guys stationed outside the apartment building here. They’ll keep an eye on things.”

You and Dean nodded; it was a relief, but also disconcerting to know the police were watching you. A chime on your phone soon distracted you though. You reached over for where it lay on your nightstand and read the reminder notification. You turned to Dean.

“Ready for your pain meds?” you asked him. You saw the answer in the tightness around his tired eyes. You rubbed a soothing hand on his thigh. “You should eat something first though. Want some of the soup Eileen made?”

Dean shrugged, making an unenthusiastic sound. Your head tilted as you considered him. Then, an idea struck you.

“Ooh, I could make you a grilled cheese on the side,” you offered in a tempting tone. Your leading smile was just enough to get Dean to smile back, if more reserved.

“Hmm?” you prompted. “Come on, three different cheeses on some buttery bread…”

His smile became more genuine. “Okay, sounds good.”

You nodded and pat his thigh once more. You looked up at the detectives.

“You guys want lunch?” you asked. John started to shake his head, but Dean cut in.

“Trust me, you want to get in on this,” he said. The promise of your cooking managed to cut through some of the haze of his pain and discomfort.

Cas conceded first, with a nod. Though he got up from where he’d been sitting at the end of the bed.

“I’ll help,” he said, rolling up his sleeves. He soon followed you downstairs into the kitchen.

Again, it left father and son glancing at one another in silence. John was leaning elbows on his knees, hands folded. His lips drew upwards as he looked up at his eldest.

“Want some advice from an old man?” he asked.

“What’s that?” Dean replied.

John nodded, quirking a smile. “Hold onto that girl.”

A couple of weeks later, however, tensions were still running high. Dean was frustrated with his own inability, worsening with each bout of vertigo, and every time the pain in his skull necessitated a pill to cope with it. Part of it was also that he needed so much of your help when Sam was at work.

Every time Dean saw you cooking, cleaning, changing his bandages, reminding him to take his meds, helping him get around when he was feeling off…

He was grateful, more than you knew. He just couldn’t feel right about letting you do it all when he saw how tired you were. You were still healing up too. And he could only imagine how stressed you were after everything you’d been through in the past few weeks. Hell, in the past few months.

He felt guilty, and useless, and angry at how you’d gotten caught up in all this, and at Nick Savage and Azazel and everything in between.

So Dean now stewed in all of this while he sat watching mindless reruns of some dumbass show about fake ghost hunters, even though he was trying not to think of anything at all. Somehow he had nothing to do but think, even though the meds he was taking often made him want to crawl into bed and sleep.

You appeared from down the hall, looking and smelling like your nice floral soap after a shower, wearing nothing more than one of his old shirts. Your thighs were bare. Your hair was twisted up on top of your head, just asking to be taken down with a practiced hand.

Dean liked the look of you.

Not that I can do anything about it, came a dull reminder.

You came around the couch with a roll of gauze and a medicated cream for his burns.

“Okay, Dean. Let’s go ahead and change the bandages,” you said, nodding at his back.

He was reluctant to move. He was finally somewhat comfortable sitting in the corner of the couch with a shit ton of pillows propped against his lower back. And he hadn’t told you this, but a headache had been building for the last hour. He’d been trying to wean himself off the pain meds.

“It can wait until Sam gets home,” he said. “Why don’t you relax? Take a nap or something.”

You frowned at him, tilting your head. “Sam works late every night. Doesn’t it make more sense to get it over with now?”

“You see it would, if you hadn’t already done it yesterday,” Dean replied, with a dry edge to his tone.

You arched a brow at him. You'd re-bandaged the burn across his back yesterday morning. It was now late afternoon.

“The doctor said once a day,” you said. “You want to get an infection?”

The back of Dean’s head pulsed with pain. He gritted his teeth in trying to ignore it.

“You want to get off my back? Literally?” he snarked.

You frowned at him and set down the medical supplies. Your hands went to your hips as you looked down at him.

“I don’t appreciate the attitude,” you said. “I’m just trying to help you.”

“I get that, but you don’t have to take care of me right now,” he said. “You can just let me watch this shitty-ass show in peace.”

Your brows knitted together. Both of you were stubborn, if in different flavors. You tried to come at it with a gentler approach, drawing near him to set a hand on his shoulder.

“I know it’s unpleasant, but you can’t change your bandages by yourself,” you said. Your thumb swept along his neck. You really hated seeing him in so much discomfort. “Don’t you want to get it over with so you can relax for the rest of the day?”

A sharper pain pulsed behind his eyes for a moment, making Dean take in a deeper breath through his nose. He could later admit, he lost patience with you (and his temper).

He turned off the TV and tossed down the remote.

“What is this compulsive need you have to control everything? Do everything?” he snapped. “Contrary to what you might think, I don’t need you to wipe my ass! Just give it a goddamn rest!”

Irritation was hot under his skin…until he actually looked up at your face. The open-mouthed look of shock, and hurt, your eyes welling up with tears as your hand fell away from his shoulder…

That’s when Dean knew this concussion was fucking with him.

There was no way he could be this much of an asshole, could he?

“Shit. Baby,” he tried, but you shook your head at him, making a negative sound when he reached for you. You walked away from him.

“Hold on!” said Dean. His first attempt to get off the couch was unsuccessful, and it made his head swim.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. He grimaced in annoyance, but he used the couch and the coffee table as leverage and pushed through onto his feet.

Once he knew he was steady, he thought he heard you in the kitchen. He found you there, trying to hide your face behind the open door of the pantry while you cried. It broke his heart, really.

“Sweetheart,” he called to you. His hand rested on your back, prompting you to look up at him with red, watery eyes.

“What now?” you asked. “Want to yell at me some more?”

Dean’s sad frown deepened as he tugged you closer, guiding you into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I really am. I don’t know where the hell that came from.”

Maybe the knife stabbing through the back of your head, 'cause you're too stubborn to take all your damn meds, came the dry edge of his conscience.

You held onto him as tightly as you dared while you pressed your tear-stained face into his chest.

“That wasn’t you, Dean,” you said. “I get that you’re in pain, and that you're frustrated, but you don’t have to white-knuckle it. Or take it out on me, for that matter.”

“…I know,” he agreed, laying a kiss on your forehead. “If it happens again, I give you full permission to slap me. Concussion be damned.”

You snorted at that, despite a couple more tears slipping down your cheeks. You wiped them away.

“I know I was being a bit pushy,” you said, with a sigh. “But Sam does work late. I’d feel like shit just lying around here waiting for him to help you. And I’m the reason this all happened anyway, so I might as well—”

“Wait. Stop,” Dean said. He pulled away so he could grasp your arms and look down at you. His brows furrowed, and his jaw worked. “What did you just say?”

You looked up at him, and he saw the vulnerability in your eyes. Your lips pressed together, and you averted your gaze.

“No,” he said, curling his fingers under your chin and lifting your face back up to his. He didn’t like what he saw.

“Okay. Sit with me,” he said. He guided you to the dining table, where he pulled out both chairs. After you sat, he raised a waiting finger to you, just so he could grab his prescription from the kitchen counter and down what should've been his morning dose of pain medication with some water. Then he returned to the table and sat across from you.

By the time he got you to look at him again, your eyes were already filled with tears. He took your hands in both of his.

“What happened to me wasn’t your fault,” Dean said at last. He’d said it before, but apparently it hadn’t gotten through your head.

“You disobeyed a direct order to find me,” you argued.

“I would’ve gotten called to that fire no matter what,” Dean countered. Still, that didn’t seem to sway you.

“You don’t know what it was like,” you said. You squeezed his hands, and your voice shook. “When I saw you in the ICU…”

All those wires, the newly wrapped burns, the oxygen mask, his skin pale and clammy, and his eyes closed…

“Before you got to me, of course I was scared. For a minute there, I thought I was going to die,” you managed to say. His hold tightened on yours. “But in that room, it was…it was different. It was you, but it was also my grandfather all over again. And I was so damn afraid.”

After that confession, you crumbled once again.

Dean slid his chair forward and held you close. His fingers swept through your hair after taking down your haphazard bun. He managed to pull you into his lap and he shushed you gently.

He glanced up heavenward and actually asked George for the right thing to say to you right now, because he had no damn clue.

After a moment, he released a humorless chuckle.

“You wanna know fear?” he said. “When my dad told me what you’d found out about Nick. And when I got the call that the building was on fire, somehow, I knew you were still in there.”

His fingers brushed along the shallow cut above your brow that was still healing.

“You had to deal with that bastard by yourself. That alone pretty much kills me,” Dean admitted. “And if I hadn’t gotten to you when I did…I’ll never regret that. Ever. I’ll take the whole damn building on top of me if that’s what it takes.”

You leaned back and shook your head at him, but he took your chin between his fingers and stilled you.

“But I told you,” Dean said firmly. “I’m not leaving you.”

Your eyes met his before you let out a shaky breath. Maybe this time you would believe him.

He leaned down and kissed you soundly, so you’d get the idea. Your hand reached up to caress his cheek, and you moaned when his tongue caressed yours. His hand tightened on your hip.

“Dean.” Your warning was gentle. The doctor hadn’t cleared this yet for him, and he knew it.

“Just a little bit,” he said, smiling against your lips. His hand slipped under your (his) shirt and teased the edge of your panties.

You sighed with conflicting need when you felt the pads of his fingers stroke you through the fabric. It also stroked your arousal back to life.

“Okay, bedroom,” you caved. “But go easy. I’m serious, Dean.”

He smirked and pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

“Oh, I’ll definitely be easy.”

AN: Lol trust Dean to push his limits there. 😅 We also got some closure on the Jo & Dean arc, some supportive Sam and Eileen, and some major feels.

In Part 18, Sam and John work together to try and pin down Nick and Daniel/Azazel, Law & Order style...

Next Time:

The charges included four counts of murder in the first degree: the murders-for-hire, enacted by Alastair Rolston.

Followed by attempted murder in the first degree, ten counts of murder in the second degree (those who had lost their lives in the most recent building fire), conspiracy to commit murder, arson, and if that weren’t enough, a charge each of attempted sexual assault and sexual harassment.

When the last two charges were read out loud in the courtroom, Nick looked visibly angry.

Sam glanced over at the defendant with thinly veiled satisfaction. Some days, it was difficult for him to come to work.

Today was not that day.

“All right, that is a laundry list of potential misdeeds,” Judge Deveraux remarked. He looked up at Nick Savage. “How does the defendant plead?”

At the prodding of his lawyer, Amelia Richardson, Nick spoke up.

“Not guilty,” he said. Though he rolled his eyes, as if this was a waste of his time.

“What’s the deal here, Mr. Winchester?” Judge Devereaux asked.

“The primary charges are murder-for-hire, your Honor,” Sam replied.

Keep Reading: PART 18

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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