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uses-for-fics · 15 days ago

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Picture You | Boone (Twisters)

smut ahead 🫡

The sky had been darkening for hours. It was almost too quiet, the calm before the storm, the adrenaline was thick in the air. YN wiped her dirty hands on her coveralls as she stared at the monitor. The wind was picking up, and Tyler had just shouted at Boone to grab the camera and follow him. The thing was, Boone wasn’t moving. He stood frozen, hands pressed against his sides, eyes glued to the tornado in the distance.

“Boone! Are you good?” YN called, her voice rising with concern. She rushed over, pushing past the equipment scattered across the truck while hopping off it. Her heart was already racing, a sick feeling crawling up her spine. She had seen him take a hit when the wind had picked up, a freak gust sending him tumbling but she hadn’t expected him to be in this bad of shape.

He looked over at her, a slight grimace on his face. “I’m fine, YN. I’m fine.” She wasn’t convinced. The bruise on his face was more pronounced now, his movements stiff.

“You don’t look fine,” she shot back, her voice tight with worry. “We need to get you back to the truck.”

His eyes flickered, something unreadable there, before he straightened up and took a step back. “Don’t make this a big deal.”

“Boone, you’re hurt,” she protested, her hands hovering near him, unsure of whether to help or pull away.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but his frustration was mounting. “I’m not some damn fragile thing, okay? I can handle myself.”

She wasn’t backing down. The worry gnawed at her. She couldn’t just ignore it. “You’ve been through enough today. You can’t keep pushing yourself like this.”

The wind howled louder, and for a second, it was as if everything else faded. There was only the two of them, standing too close. YN felt the tension in her chest, the worry, the protectiveness, the something more.

Boone’s voice cut through her thoughts, rough and sharp. “We’re not dating, so why do you care so much?” The words struck her harder than she expected. She stepped back, her face flushing. The implication hung heavy in the air. Was that what he thought of her? Was it really just this to him? Was she just an annoyance to him while she worried about him day in and out.

She blinked, refusing to let her emotions get the best of her. She couldn’t let herself care like this. She shouldn’t care this much. “I care because I don’t want you to get yourself killed, Boone!” Her voice cracked a little, but she forced herself to hold it together.

Boone immediately regretted his words the second they left his mouth. He saw the hurt flash in her eyes, and his gut twisted. “YN—”

She was already stepping away, shaking her head, refusing to meet his gaze. “Forget it,” she muttered, moving to gather her things.

Boone opened his mouth to apologize, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he watched her retreat, his heart sinking in his chest. What the hell was wrong with him?

———

YN had arrived back to her hotel room. She slammed the door behind her, the sound of it thudding in the quiet room a physical manifestation of her frustration. Her breath was still shallow from the argument, from the adrenaline rush of the chase, and now, from the way Boone’s words echoed in her head.

“We’re not dating, so why do you care so much?”

She didn’t know why it hurt so much. They were teammates. That was all but, why did it feel like so much more?

She kicked off her boots, the exhaustion of the day sinking in. The moment she'd been holding in since the tornado chase hit her all at once. A mix of anger, desire, confusion, and longing. She needed to calm down, to somehow shut off the voices in her head and clear the tension in her body.

Without thinking, she turned the shower on, hot steam quickly filling the small hotel bathroom. The water was warm, almost scalding, and as she stood under the stream, the heat settled in her muscles, trying to melt away the tension but, her mind wouldn’t stop racing.

She reached for the candles Tyler had given her a couple days before when they were at a truck stop. A scent of lavender and vanilla filling the air as she lit them one by one. The flickering light cast a soft glow around the room, almost too calming, but she needed something, anything, to distract her.

When she stepped out of the shower, her skin was tinted with pink from the heat, and she wrapped herself in a towel, her thoughts still swirling like the tornado she’d just chased. She glanced at her phone, but there was nothing that could offer her any comfort. Not Boone's message, not Tyler’s random joke, nothing.

Frustrated, she lit another candle on the nightstand before flopping onto the bed. She grabbed her phone, scrolling through pictures of the team and the chase, trying to calm her racing heart, but nothing worked. Her thoughts drifted back to Boone, his smirk, the way he looked at her right before the argument, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in her memory.

The silence in the room was suffocating, and she felt a deep ache, a need she couldn’t quite name. Something had shifted in her, something deep and primal, ignited by their close calls and the way Boone's hand had brushed against hers earlier. The words he’d said haunted her, yet they only made the desire to be close to him stronger.

She felt the heat in her chest again, but this time, it wasn’t from the shower. It was her body reacting to the tension still simmering inside of her. A quiet desperation crept in, and before she could talk herself out of it, she slid a hand between her thighs, a soft exhale leaving her lips as her fingers found their way to the ache.

Her breath quickened as she let herself imagine Boone again, but this time in full detail. She pictured him there, touching her, feeling the weight of his hands on her skin, his voice low and rough. The thought of him, of what it might be like if they could ever cross that line, sent a shiver through her.

The first slow motion of her fingers was almost instinctive, her body remembering the feeling of being touched, of needing something that had been denied for so long. Her mind raced with images of Boone, his lips, his body, his eyes.

Each flick of her wrist, each pull of her breath, brought her closer to something she couldn't name, but wanted desperately. She let the fantasy consume her, letting the tension build and build, not even trying to hold it back anymore.

Boone’s image swam in her mind again, his face, his voice, the way his body might feel against hers. The fantasy became too real. She could almost feel him, his hands roaming, his lips tracing her skin.

“Do you feel the same?” She thought, her body trembling, caught between the weight of the day, the argument, and the overpowering need for something more. Something she could never have.

Her pulse quickened, the need only growing stronger, louder, until she couldn’t hold it back any longer. She dreams of him.

The room fades. Boone is suddenly there, his eyes locking with hers, the intensity between them unmistakable. He doesn’t speak, but there’s a message in the way he looks at her, a silent invitation. She sees him, the bruises on his skin from the chase, the roughness of his touch when he pulls her closer, and she can feel the heat of his body against hers.

Her hand moves quicker now, the rhythm mirroring the frantic beat of her heart. It’s as if he’s there with her, his breath hot on her neck, his lips pressing against her jaw. The sensation is vivid, like he's real, she can almost taste him, feel the stubble against her skin, the way his hands travel under her shirt, so familiar but never fully given.

She’s lost in the fantasy of it all, imagining him as her lover, someone who sees her the way she sees him. Not as teammates, not as two people who can never be more, but as two souls who fit together like puzzle pieces.

Even in the dream, there’s a boundary. His voice echoes, a whisper in her ear as she feels him press against her. “Do you picture me like I picture you?”

Her breath hitches, her body trembling in the heat of it all. It’s dangerous. It’s forbidden. Yet, in this dream, it’s exactly what she’s been wanting, longing for someone who wants her as much as she wants them.

Boone’s figure shifts, and she swears she can feel his lips at her ear, his hands guiding hers, teaching her exactly how to touch herself, exactly how to make her mind unravel. She’s burning up now, everything inside of her thrumming as she imagines the weight of him, the way his body feels on top of hers, the way he whispers her name like it’s the only thing that matters.

“Tell me you want this,” he breathes against her skin.

It’s too much. Her fingers falter, but she can’t stop herself. The sound of her breath, of the intimacy, echoes in the air around her, mingling with the fantasy of him…the dream shifts. She’s back in the hotel room. The energy is different now, more electric, more intense. The air feels thicker. His words from earlier streak across her thoughts again "We’re not dating, so why do you care?"

She wonders: Does he care?

The candles had long since burned low, the room filled with a sleepy warmth. YN lay tangled in the sheets, her skin still flushed, heart finally steady. The ache inside her had dulled, but the emptiness... that lingered. She stared at the ceiling, exhausted but restless, replaying everything Boone had said. Everything she wished he’d said instead.

A soft knock rattled the door.

She sat up sharply, the towel slipping down her body. For a second, she froze. It was almost midnight… who the hell would—

Another knock. A little more urgent.

Heart hammering in her chest, she yanked on the first thing she could find, an oversized hoodie, and padded barefoot to the door.

She cracked it open just a little, peeking out.

Boone stood there, shoulders hunched like he’d been pacing the hallway before working up the nerve to knock. His hat was gone, hair messy from running his hands through it, and his eyes…his eyes looked wrecked.

"Hey," he said, voice low, almost breaking. "Can we talk?"

For a moment, she just stared at him. The moonlight from outside spilled into her room, casting him in a soft glow. He looked so unsure, so raw, and something deep in her chest twisted painfully.

She stepped back without a word, opening the door wider.

Boone entered slowly, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed. He smelled like soap and rain and something distinctly him. YN stayed by the door, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

"I shouldn’t have said what I said," Boone started, shoving his hands into his pockets. His voice was hoarse. "About... about you caring. That was bullshit."

YN bit the inside of her cheek, keeping her expression guarded. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

Boone ran a hand through his hair again, pacing a few steps before turning to face her. "You care because you’re... you’re you. You care about everyone. You’re the reason half this damn team is still breathing."

He let out a breath like he was trying to steady himself. "But with me..." he added, voice dropping even lower. "It's different, isn’t it?"

YN’s breath caught. Her fingers tightened around the hem of the hoodie. She didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to lay her heart bare unless he was going to catch it.

Boone took a step closer, his eyes searching hers. "It's different for me too." Silence stretched between them, thick and fragile.

"I’m scared," she whispered. It slipped out before she could stop it.

Boone's face softened. He moved closer, so close now she could feel the warmth radiating off him. "Me too," he said, almost smiling, but it was a sad kind of smile. "But I'm more scared of not doing anything. Of not trying."

Another step closer. His hand lifted, hovering near her cheek but not quite touching. "Tell me to leave," he said, voice rough. "If you want me to. Tell me and I’ll go."

YN’s breath shuddered out of her. But she didn’t tell him to leave.

Instead, she reached out, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him in, crashing her mouth to his in a kiss that was messy, desperate, hungry. Boone made a rough sound in the back of his throat as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him like he’d been dying to do it for months.

The kiss was all teeth, tongues and years of tension finally snapping.

Boone backed her toward the bed, never breaking the kiss, YN knew they weren’t going back. Not after this. Boone’s hands slid down her back as she tugged him toward the bed, both of them moving with the kind of urgency that came from pretending not to want each other for too long.

YN fell back onto the sheets, breathless, her hoodie riding up as Boone leaned over her, bracing himself with one arm beside her head. His eyes searched her face for just a second—checking, asking—before she pulled him down again, kissing him like she needed air and he was the only source.

His other hand slipped under the hoodie, calloused fingers skating over bare skin. Her thighs parted without thinking, welcoming him between them, heat blooming in the space where they met.

“You’re killing me,” he murmured against her neck, voice rough and ragged. “I’ve wanted this—you—for so damn long.”

YN whimpered, tilting her head back as his lips trailed down to her collarbone. “Then show me,” she whispered, breath hitching. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Boone groaned low in his throat, like that unlocked something in him. He pushed the hoodie up slowly, reverently, and she lifted her arms to let him pull it over her head and toss it aside. His eyes drank her in, like he’d been dreaming about this moment and couldn’t believe it was real.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, barely above a whisper.

She pulled him down again, her legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. Their bodies pressed together, all heat and friction and months of stolen glances finally unraveling in the open. Boone kissed her slow and deep at first, but it didn’t stay slow for long, not when her nails scraped down his back and he let out a sound that made her whole-body throb.

Clothes disappeared in between kisses and gasps, Boone’s touch moving with a purpose, like he knew exactly what she needed, exactly how to give it. He was so there, so present in every look, every breath, every slide of his hand.

When he finally sank into her, slow, deep, like he didn’t want to miss a single second. YN moaned, legs tightening around him. Boone pressed his forehead to hers, his voice shaking as he whispered her name like a prayer.

“Tell me this means something,” she breathed, her hands on either side of his face.

“It means everything,” he said, kissing her like he meant it.

They moved together like they were made for this, like all the storms, the chasing, the tension, had just been building to this moment. When they came undone, it was together, mouths pressed close, names falling from their lips like confessions they should’ve said ages ago.

When it was over, Boone stayed wrapped around her, his hand brushing softly over her side. “Still scared?” he asked, voice sleepy, honest.

She looked at him, really looked at him, and then smiled faintly. “Yeah,” she whispered. “But I’d rather be scared with you.”

---

Boone stayed pressed against her, their heartbeats slowly syncing. His hand traced lazy patterns along her spine, like he wasn’t ready to let her go. He finally had something he wasn’t willing to lose.

YN tucked her face against his neck, breathing him in. Boone smelled like salt and soap and something warm and solid she wanted to drown in.

"I’m sorry," he whispered after a while, voice barely breaking the quiet. "For saying that earlier. About you caring too much."

She pulled back just enough to look at him, brushing her fingers through his messy hair. "You scared me," she admitted, voice soft. "I thought you didn’t feel the same."

Boone’s eyes darkened, something fierce and protective flashing across them. "God, no. I feel—" He broke off, swallowing hard. "I feel everything for you, YN."

Her breath caught, and without thinking, she kissed him again. Slower this time, sweet and lingering, like a promise.

They stayed like that, tangled up, hands roaming but no urgency now, just quiet touches, soft kisses on bare shoulders, whispered apologies and half-laughed confessions shared in the dark.

Eventually, Boone fell asleep, his arms wrapped tight around her like she might vanish if he let go.

YN stayed awake a little longer, her heart finally settling.

Maybe this was crazy. Maybe it would be messy, but lying there, with Boone breathing slow and steady against her chest, she realized something: She wouldn’t trade it for anything.

---

The next morning, YN woke up to soft sunlight pouring in through the thin hotel curtains and Boone, snoring lightly beside her, sprawled across half the bed like he owned it.

She stared at him for a moment, smiling against the pillow. He looked boyish and peaceful, hair sticking up wildly. It was ridiculously unfair how hot he looked first thing in the morning. Unable to resist, she poked him in the ribs.

Boone grunted and cracked one eye open. When he saw her grinning, he groaned dramatically and rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow.

"Five more minutes," he mumbled.

"You’re in my bed, Boone," YN teased, propping herself up on her elbow. "You don’t get to make demands."

Boone peeked up at her, a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Pretty sure it’s our bed now, sweetheart."

She threw a pillow at him, laughing when he caught it one-handed without even lifting his head.

"Real smooth," she said.

Boone chuckled, finally sitting up and raking a hand through his wild hair. His bare chest was all tan skin and muscle, and YN had to bite her lip to keep from staring too openly.

He caught her looking anyway and grinned. "See something you like, darlin’?"

"You wish," she said, nose scrunching as she shoved him playfully.

Boone caught her wrist gently, pulling her closer until she was straddling his lap. His hands settled on her hips, and suddenly it wasn’t so funny anymore, not when he was looking up at her like she was the only thing he needed.

"I don’t have to wish," he murmured, voice low and rough. "I’ve got everything I want right here."

YN rolled her eyes, but her cheeks burned all the same.

Boone leaned up, brushing a slow, teasing kiss against her mouth.

And just like that, the morning stretched wide open in front of them — full of possibility, full of hope, full of them.

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