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jessesluvr · 15 days ago

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im going crazy imagining jesse watching reader fight a bloater by herself like what tommy did on the show, while jesse is trapped somewhere and can't get to her and help. could you write something about that?? she wins in the end ofc

through the glass | jesse x reader

author's note : heyy ! i actually loved this idea, i hope it's written to your standards ! slowly, making my way through the requests currently. tysm, please request anything else!

summary : while trapped behind reinforced glass, jesse is forced to watch helplessly as you face a deadly bloater alone in a collapsing outpost. against all odds, you defeat the monster—but the ordeal leaves jesse shaken and unable to hide just how much you mean to him.

word count : 1.8k

the snow crunched beneath your boots, brittle and thin in the mid-morning sun. you adjusted your grip on your rifle and glanced back over your shoulder. jesse was two steps behind, shotgun slung casually across his chest, brows furrowed.

“did you have to volunteer us for the outpost sweep?” he asked.

you smiled thinly. “it was either that or sorting rations all day.”

“sorting rations sounds like less of a death sentence.”

you rolled your eyes, but jesse’s grin was fond, warm. the easy banter had become a comfort between you two—a buffer against the cold, the fear, and the grief that hovered around jackson like its own form of weather.

the patrol route had started routine enough. a two-hour hike east to an abandoned power station tommy wanted cleared for possible supply caches. the place had been sealed off for years, the old chain-link fence still mostly intact.

it wasn’t supposed to be bad. just a sweep. in and out.

famous last words.

you’d barely made it through the main generator room when the first runners appeared, screeching as they hurled themselves down rusted catwalks. it was manageable at first—jesse on your flank, your rifle picking off the fast ones, his shotgun roaring like thunder in the enclosed space.

the problem wasn’t the runners. the problem was the collapse.

you’d heard the groan of metal and shouted a warning, but too late. a support beam gave way with a shriek, crashing through the walkway between you and jesse.

the world shuddered, dust choking your lungs. when it cleared, you were alone on one side of the control room, jesse on the other—separated by a thick pane of cracked security glass, reinforced and spiderwebbed but still intact.

you ran to it, pounding with your fist. “jesse!”

he was already up, bruised but moving, slamming his own fist against the other side. “shit. you okay?”

“yeah.” you coughed. “you?”

“fine.” his gaze flicked over your shoulder, sharp suddenly. “behind you.”

you spun. two more runners. you dispatched them quickly, breath coming fast.

“i can’t get through this,” jesse said, trying the door next to the glass. it was fused shut from the collapse, handle twisted uselessly. “stay put. i’ll find another way around.”

but your heart had already started to pound harder—not from exertion, but from the low, guttural roar that echoed up through the lower level vents.

a roar you’d only heard once before.

“bloater,” you whispered.

jesse’s face paled. “no. fuck—no, no, no.”

there was nowhere to run.

the floor vibrated with its steps before you saw it—a hulking shape emerging from the far end of the room, tearing a reinforced door clean off its hinges.

moss-covered plates of fungus armored its body, thick and rotted with age. the smell was suffocating—wet decay and spore-thick air that burned your throat even through your scarf.

the bloater paused, its eyeless head tilting, sensing movement. then it let out a roar and charged.

you barely had time to roll behind a concrete pillar, the thing’s massive arm smashing down where you’d stood a second before. shrapnel of concrete and spores exploded into the air.

through the haze, you heard jesse’s voice, frantic.

“(y/n), move! you can’t fight it alone—don’t! just hide until i—”

“i can’t!” you shouted, shouldering your rifle and firing. the bullets hit its armor with sickening thunks but didn’t slow it. “i have to.”

and jesse couldn’t reach you. he could only watch, fists white against the glass.

“please,” he said, voice cracking. “don’t do this.”

you didn’t answer. you couldn’t. not with the bloater closing in again.

you ran. not away, but to higher ground—a rusted metal staircase half-collapsed but still climbable. you scrambled up as the bloater swung at the supports. the whole thing shuddered under its strength.

from your vantage point, you lobbed a molotov, the flame blooming against its fungal plating. it roared in fury but kept coming, tearing a pipe from the wall and hurling it toward you. the metal bar missed by inches, embedding in the wall behind.

“come on,” you muttered, reloading. “burn, you son of a bitch.”

jesse’s voice came again, hoarse. “it’s too armored! you need to hit the soft spots! under the plates!”

you knew. but knowing and hitting those weak spots while being hunted was another matter.

the staircase groaned ominously as the bloater grabbed it, pulling the whole structure down. you leapt clear, landing hard on your shoulder. pain lanced through your side, but you rolled to your feet, teeth gritted.

jesse was still pounding on the glass. “(y/n), you gotta move! there’s a gas line—see the valve near the generator!”

your gaze snapped to it. a bright red wheel near a rusted pipe.

you sprinted. the bloater chased, slower now but relentless. you reached the valve and turned it hard. the hiss of escaping gas filled the room.

“now what?” you gasped.

“spark it! spark it!” jesse shouted.

heart hammering, you drew your pistol, aimed at a nearby fuse box sparking with exposed wires—and fired.

the explosion was deafening.

fire rolled through the lower half of the room. the bloater shrieked, flailing in the flames. pieces of armor cracked and fell away, revealing raw, fungal flesh beneath.

now. now.

ignoring the heat and smoke, you ran, vaulting a fallen beam to get close. you switched to your shotgun, hands shaking but steady enough. you fired point-blank into the exposed tissue at its side. again. again. fungal matter sprayed in wet chunks.

the bloater swung wildly, catching your side with a glancing blow. you hit the ground hard, ribs screaming in protest.

“get up!” jesse’s voice cracked over the ringing in your ears. “please—get up!”

you forced yourself upright. the bloater was wounded now, sluggish, but not dead. you had one shell left.

you limped forward. blood trickled down your temple. you met its blind gaze—and fired the last round straight into its exposed throat.

for a moment, there was silence.

then the bloater collapsed with a final, shuddering groan, its body steaming and smoldering.

you stood over it, swaying. the room swam around you. but you were alive.

you heard the sound of metal giving way. jesse had found something—an old crowbar—and was prying the damaged door open with desperate strength. he burst through the gap moments later, sprinting toward you.

“(y/n)!”

you tried to smile but staggered. he caught you before you fell, arms wrapping around you like a lifeline.

“jesus. jesus christ.” his voice was rough, torn. “i thought—i thought—”

“i’m okay,” you managed, voice hoarse. “i’m okay.”

“you’re not. you’re bleeding.” his hand hovered near your side, eyes wide and glassy. “i just—i couldn’t do anything. i had to stand there and watch, and it killed me. you could’ve—” his voice broke off.

you reached up, fingers brushing his jaw. “but i didn’t.”

his gaze locked with yours. for a second, it looked like he was going to say something else—then the dam broke.

“i love you, okay?” the words tumbled out, raw and desperate. “i’ve been trying to hold it in, trying to be smart about it, but watching you fight that thing and thinking you were gonna die and i couldn’t do a damn thing—” his breath hitched. “i can’t—i can’t do this anymore without telling you. i love you. you’re it for me.”

your heart stuttered. through the pain, the smoke, the blood, the words landed like a spark in your chest.

“jesse…” you cupped his face with a shaking hand. “i love you too. i—i didn’t know if i’d get the chance to say it. i kept thinking: if this is it… you should know.”

relief washed over his features, almost breaking him. a breathless laugh escaped him—half joy, half grief.

“come here,” he whispered, and leaned in.

the kiss was soft, trembling, reverent. no more words needed.

when he pulled back, his forehead pressed to yours. his voice was quieter now, steadier.

“you scared the shit out of me.”

you managed a faint smile. “no promises.”

he exhaled a shaky breath, then straightened, slipping one arm beneath your shoulders. “let’s get you home.”

you nodded, and this time you didn’t argue—you let him carry you out of the wreckage.

weeks later, when your ribs had mostly healed and the bruises faded to dull yellow, jesse still woke some nights gasping, sweat-soaked.

you could always tell when it hit him worst. his breathing would change first—short, sharp. you’d wake before he even spoke.

“jesse,” you’d murmur, pulling him close. “i’m here.”

he’d clutch you then, as if grounding himself. sometimes he’d shake. sometimes his voice broke:

“i couldn’t reach you,” he’d whisper into your hair. “i just had to watch you fight that thing—i thought i was gonna lose you.”

and every time, you’d kiss him, slow and certain, fingers stroking his jaw. “you didn’t lose me. you won’t.”

he never argued, not anymore. he just held you tighter, as though afraid the promise would vanish if he let go.

it was a month after the outpost when tommy finally cleared you both to return to lighter patrols. that first evening back from the foothills, jesse surprised you—he didn’t head straight to the mess hall, didn’t suggest meeting the others.

instead, he led you quietly through the back streets of jackson to his cabin.

there were no words as you kicked off your boots by the door. he lit the stove, set a kettle to boil, then crossed the small space to where you sat curled on the couch.

jesse knelt in front of you, brow furrowed. he cupped your face gently, as though still half-afraid you’d vanish under his touch.

“i meant it,” he said softly, searching your eyes. “what i said back there. i love you.”

you smiled, fingers curling into his shirt. “you’ve shown me every day since.”

his breath caught—half a laugh, half relief. “yeah, well. i plan on keepin’ at it.”

you pulled him in then, your kiss slow and sure. there was no desperation in it now—just warmth, belonging, the quiet truth that neither of you had to run anymore.

later, after tea and laughter and shared silence beneath the worn quilt on his bed, jesse whispered against your temple:

“i used to think i had time. that i could tell you later.” his voice cracked faintly. “but watching you fight that thing—thinking it was too late—it changed everything. i won’t waste any more of it.”

you shifted closer, your voice a murmur. “me either.”

outside, snow began to fall again, soft against the windowpane. but inside, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world was warm, steady, and—at last—safe.

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