✦summary: everything was fine between you and dean until you moved into the bunker. everything is tolerable until you get hurt on a hunt. dean loses his mind. and when you try to apologize, dean tells you exactly why.✦
✦warnings/tags: Dean Winchester x female!reader, no use of y/n, no description of reader, age gap (20s - 40s), angst, pining, average dean winchester emotional intelligance, shameless smut (dry humping, knee riding, praise kink, soft!dom Dean, oral f!reciving, pussy slapping, fingering, breif mentions of spanking, dean's dirty talk, big dick dean, overstimulation, body worship, dumbification, crying, creampie, squirting), love confessions, fluff✦
✦wc: 10.3k✦
✦author's note: old dean you've done nothing wrong ever. murder? what murder? i can't hear you over how fine he is.✦
“She should stay in the car.”
“I’m not staying in the car-“
“It’s a small nest.” Dean doesn’t even acknowledge you, tapping his thumb on the wheel as he addresses Sam. “She’d just be an extra block, you know we can clean that place up blindfolded and ball-gagged-“
Your nose wrinkles. “Why would you be ball gagged-“
“We leave her with a knife.” He keeps ignoring you. “Lock the doors, crack the windows, and we’re in and out like-“
You slam your feet into the back of Dean’s seat, cutting him off with a grunt. He whips around to shoot you a glare, and you stick out your tongue.
“What the hell was that.”
“I’m not a dog, dipshit.” You snap, and he scowls.
“I know you’re not good at listening, sweetheart, but I didn’t call you one-“
“It was implied.”
Dean rolls his eyes, giving Sam a you see what I gotta deal with expression, like he’s not the one making the whole fucking issue.
“I’m not staying in the car.” You repeat, louder than before, and Dean chuckles dryly.
“Yeah. You are.”
“I’m not-“
“You are-“
“You lock me in here, I’ll start screaming-“
He gives you an unimpressed look. “I’ll gag you.”
You grin at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “Kinky.”
Dean jaw clenches. You beam. Somewhere in the background, Sam sighs.
“Guys…”
“You’re staying here.” Dean snaps. “That’s that.”
“You’re not the boss of me, Winchester-“
“The hell I’m not-“
“You don’t offer me health insurance-“
“None of us get health insurance, sweetheart, that’s why I’m telling you to stay in the car-“
“Guys.” Sam sighs, looking between you with the same, exhausted expression as usual. “We only have until the sunrise, and it’s already 4am. Can you please do this after?”
You don’t look away from Dean. He doesn’t look away from you. You raise your brows mockingly.
“He’s talking to you, Dean. Can you do this after?”
Dean narrows his eyes, and he opens his mouth to bark something at you that you probably would’ve deflected now—using taunting words and matching his harsh tone—then cried about later. In the safety of your bedroom, where Dean can’t see you. The only place that you can go to let everything out. It’s safe in your room. Dean never even knocks on your door, always sending Sam in his stead. But you don’t go to his room either. It’s an unspoken rule that you’ve never had steady enough feet on the ground to bother breaking. You’re pretty sure that if Sam doesn’t kill you both over this, he’s going to strangle you later for making him a messenger pigeon.
But you need that solace. That quiet, where Dean can’t shake your world with sneers and glowers. It hits something raw in you, a wound that you’ve never bothered to stich up or cauterize because you love the bleeding too much. It pours all over your hands when you hug your stomach, out of your mouth like bile when you try to defend yourself—to make him stop just seeing you as some stupid, naive civilian girl he needs to heard around—and out of your eyes when you cry over all of it.
The things that do make you that naïve civilian girl. The things that make you barely any better than a teenager with a crush, wandering around after the boy you like and pulling at his sleeve for just an ounce of attention.
No one can blame you for falling for the hero who saved your life and swept you off your feet. Offered you a new life, taught you how to shoot a gun with his arms around your body—you can still feel him sometimes, when you rub your shoulders—and told you that he’ d always keep you safe.
Dean had been straight out of a romance book. You’d let yourself get starry eyed, you’d daydreamed that he lingered around you out of affection rather than obligation. You’d been an idiot, and you’d gotten comfortable, and when Sam said you had a knack for the lore and were more than welcome to stay, you’d said yes without a thought.
You’d thought Dean would’ve been happy.
But you’d told him, and he’d looked like he was going to put his fist through a wall.
Everything had shifted, like a picture into the negative. Dean stopped seeking you out for anything, stopped training you, almost stopped looking at you all together. In the first months, he’d walked out of a room the moment you entered. At one point, you’d overheard him having a very loud fight with Sam about letting you stick around.
He hadn’t been speaking to Sam either. They’d gotten over it, because they always seemed to. Your second foolish fantasy was that Dean would get over whatever you’d done to him—you’re still not all that sure—and decide that he actually did like you. That he’d remember how good things had been at the start, and if you proved yourself to him, everything would go back to normal.
But it’s been a year.
And normal is this now.
Dean hates you. He must hate you. There’s no other reason he’d argue with Sam about bringing you on hunts, even when they need the extra hands or your research. And even when Sam wins the fight—which is always, you think he might have a cheat code that makes Dean always agree with him, and you’d very much like access to it please—Dean still acts like you don’t exist. Or worse, like you do, and it’s the bane of his entire life. For the whole fifteen hour drive, and you get handed snacks without eye contact and checked on like you’re a dog he’s making sure didn’t piss all over his precious car.
For the entire hunt, you’ve been able to feel his attention burning through you. Whenever you’d look over, he would’ve already looked away, but you could feel it. And you’re the one who tracked the nest and identified the mutation in these vamps that made them daywalkers, but when you’d looked to Dean with a hopeful smile for approval, he’d looked away again.
You might’ve sat in the bathtub with the water burning yours shoulders and useless tears sliding down your cheeks after. Clawing at your face like you could remove the pain, remove all the love you felt for him with all the brutal precision of a hungry animal. But if you did, it’s none of his fucking business.
And you might not want to join in on the actual hunt—that sounds gross, and bloody, and kind of scary—but Dean doesn’t get to win. You can handle it, and if you can’t he’s there.
It makes you feel safer than it should. Dean always makes you feel safer, and you hate him for it.
The thing about loving him is that it’s not so much a choice as something that slammed into you like a comet. Dean left a massive depression in something so vital you think it might be your soul, and now it blooms all the time. Alone and in the dark, finding sunshine in every piece of him that’s worthy of such a feral, unyielding devotion.
It’s most of him. He’s still that hero who saved you, and your body knows it better than your head sometimes. He opens doors for you even when he keeps his gaze fixed firmly over your head. He makes you coffee in the mornings before stalking out of the room like you make the whole place reek.
He’s going to keep you safe, even if he bitches about it and shouts at you the whole time.
And it’s so easy to love him for all of that. In the end, most of your desperation isn’t really to stop loving him.
It’s to scream loud enough that he stops pretending he can’t hear it. That he saves you again, even if it’s from yourself.
You win the argument about going into the house. For all his postering and deep, commanding grunts and threats, Dean’s not actually that good at telling you know. You’ve told Sam it’s because you have the numbers against him. Sam always gives you a strange look and says uh huh, like you’re supposed to know what that means.
“You stick with me.” Dean snaps, pulling out his dainty little baby gun and passing it into your hands. “You wanna speak, think five times, then don’t say it. These things are noise-sensitive, they hear you breathe, they rip you up.”
“I know.” You grumble. “I discovered them.”
Dean sighs heavily, just loud enough for you to know he heard you. “I don’t want you out of my sight.” He mutters, and you give him a flat look.
“So you’re planning to look at me today?”
He shoots you a glare, saying your name in a low warning, and you roll your eyes.
“Never mind.” You mutter under your breath, like a petulant child. “Guess it’s easier to look at ugly things when they’re in the dark.”
That makes him flinch back, like you punched him in the gut. He’s going to say something again, and you really don’t want to hear it.
You stalk over to Sam, leaving Dean gaping and rigid at Baby’s truck. Sam looks between you, but doesn’t bother to ask what you’re fighting about. He rarely does, and it’s always followed by an annoyed now, like it’s somehow your fault Dean thinks everything you do is a sin. What are you two doing now. Why are you mad at him now. Why is Dean being an idiot now.
He’s always an idiot. A handsome, insufferable idiot you want to sucker punch, then make out with until you can’t breathe. If you tried to hit him, maybe he’d catch your wrist and pin you to something. His massive body crowded over yours, his face inches away, lips brushing as he shouted at you, then gave up when you moaned—he’d be too close, his crotch pressing you down, you’d probably moan—and started touching and kissing you until your legs gave out and you were putty in his hands and he worshipped you with the same soft attention he used to offer-
“Stop flirting and fall in.” Dean snaps at you and Sam, standing in complete silence.
Sam rolls his eyes, and hisses something to Dean when they walk past each other that makes Dean look murderous. You flush—thankfully hidden in the dark—and grip your baby-gun tight as you follow.
“Stay with me-“
“I know.” You snap, not looking him in the eyes. “I’m not an idiot.”
Dean grunts, and you can’t tell if it’s an agreement or dismissal. You’re not sure which would be worse.
The moment you’re in the nest, you remember why you don’t usually do this. Why you actually prefer waiting at the motel for them to come back, or just staying in the car with an anxiously bouncing knee. You always ask to go with them because you hate the dread. Hate watching them—both of them, because you might not be in love with Sam but he’s sort of your only friend anymore—walk out the door for what always might be the last time. They never think it will be.
You do. Every time, Dean pulls out of the parking lot with your heart in his dumb, big hands, and you know it could stop beating any second. That you won’t even know until you get a phone call, and a part of you withers that’s never going to be reborn.
So you ask to go with them. To help. Do first aide, be extra hands, anything so you don’t just have to wonder if they’re okay.
But then you actually get here, and you hate it.
It’s scary. Scary and quiet and loud all at once. You have to physically yank yourself back from grabbing Dean’s forearm and clinging to him. He radiates heat, and this barn is so fucking cold, and you’d like to go back to the car now, thank you very much-
Everything happens so fast. It always does, on a hunt.
You find the vamps. Sam offs one, Dean gets another two, and your fingers tremble but you manage to kick a third back into Dean’s machete. He gives you an approving look, and you feel like you’ve grown wings.
Then another on comes out of nowhere. Slams into Dean and starts driving him backwards.
You scream, and shoot. It won’t kill them, but it’ll distract.
And it does.
The vamp stumbles when you hit his calf, dropping Dean to the floor. It turns on you with glinting eyes, and lunges.
You’re thrown to the ground with teeth gnashing near your throat. There’s a roar in the background, and you feel a rush of pain through your stomach as the vamp hits you. Heat burns over your neck, and your arms are starting to get weak, and-
All the noise stops. The body over you slumps.
You open your eyes to find Dean standing over you, just like that first time he saved you.
Only now, he looks like he wants to cut off your head next.
He’s staring at you a strangely furious and pallid expression all at once. There’s something glinting in his eyes that you can’t place. His breath is heavy through his nose, and he’s not even blinking as he scans over you.
His eyes widen, when he sees the blood blooming through your shirt. He drops his machete, bends down, and scoops you up into his arms.
The rest of the night is a little hazy.
Dean carries you to the Impala. He smells good, like leather and pine trees and something a little spicy. He looks really good, too. Covered in blood and grease and so angry he’s almost feral. His hands are warm, and make you feel fuzzy when they brush over your stomach, checking the wound.
The whole thing feels like a dream. Especially after he coaxed some painkillers down your throat, and the world all becomes just color and Dean’s undivided attention, pressing over you.
He doesn’t speak to you the whole time. He’s humming something, fingers brushing over your bare skin, and the feel oddly light. Almost shaky.
You breathe out his name. You don’t know why. Through the drugs, it’s sort of the only word you know.
His hands still for a heartbeat, then grab you a little tighter.
Before you pass out, your vision swimming and thoughts covered in a fog, you could swear you see him bow his head against your chest. He holds your hips tight, lips brushing against your exposed stomach.
Your weak fingers reach up, brushing through his hair. A deep sound rumbles from his chest, and it’s soothing.
The world goes peacefully dark, and Dean stays wrapped around you all the way into your dreams.
He hasn’t spoken to you.
It’s been three weeks, and Dean hasn’t said a single word.
It’s worse than before. Worse than it’s even been. Even those first months after you moved in permanently, he’d at least acknowledge your existence. It had been via avoiding you like the plague and snipping and glaring, but at least you’d known he could still see you. That he still thought of you.
Now, he’s treating you like a ghost.
The first week you’d expected. The drive back from the hunt had been tense, everyone dead silent. Rest stops happened when Dean decided they would. Sam never once asked him to turn down the music. You turned your face into the window and hid behind your jacket, hoping to hide the shame burning through you.
Dean had been right. You couldn’t handle that hunt.
But he hadn’t even rubbed it in your face. Hadn’t done an I told you so.
When you got back to the bunker, he’d shoved the door open and marched inside without looking back. Sam had rubbed a hand over his face, given you an apologetic look in the mirror, and you’d just shaken your head.
“He’ll get over it-“
“It’s fine, Sam.” You’d muttered. “I’m fine.”
You were not fine.
You hadn’t even been able to sit up without Sam’s help. He’d half carried you out of the car, a hiss of pain escaping your with every movement, and when you’d finally gotten on your feet you’d looked up to find Dean standing in the doorway.
His hands had been fisted at his sides. He’d been staring at you like he wanted to say something, jaw clenched so tight you could see a vein.
You hadn’t quipped. Hadn’t pushed. You’d just watched him, praying he’d do anything but just stand there. Part of you had wanted him to yell. To let out all the anger you could see simmering behind his gaze, so you could all move on.
But Dean had turned, and stalked back into the bunker.
The ignoring had begun. And you didn’t think you could last a day of it, let alone almost a month.
When you’re in the same room, he pretends you’re not even there. If you’re talking to Sam, he cuts you off like he didn’t hear. If you pass each other in the hall, he looks firmly ahead and bumps your shoulder. If you’re blocking him from getting something in the kitchen, he just reaches over you like you’re part of the room.
His chest presses against your back, and your breath hitches. You bow your head, fighting the instinct to moan and push back into him. He’s so warm, a secure and unwavering pillar of resolve that you want to worship at the feet of forever. He’s sturdy, he’s safe, his muscles flex around you and his breath is warm on your neck and he’s acting like you don’t even exist.
It’s cold when he pulls away.
You retreat to your room, and lie on the floor until you’re out of tears.
Part of you wonders if Dean even knows what he’s doing to you. He can’t. He thinks you hate him with all the fever and loathing he hates you. There’s no possible way for him to understand that every second he ignores you, something in you cowers and whines. That you’ve been passing the door to his room just to try and run into him, even though that breaks the unspoken rule of never invading such a sacred space. That this is killing you more than the injury did, because at least that was allowed to heal.
Dean fixed you, there.
Here, he’s just clawing you wider and wider, until there’s a gaping pit in the cavity of your chest, and you’re about to fall through.
He’d been going out drinking every night. He comes back reeking of liquor and perfume, but he comes back. Every single night, he’s back around 1am.
You know, because you stay up waiting.
Dean always walks past your room, when he gets home. His shadow lingers under your doorway, and sometimes you swear you hear a thud against your door. As if he’s knocking, or just leaning there.
Breaking the rule himself.
It’s the only way you still know you’re not a ghost. That he still knows you exist.
But that’s it.
Otherwise, you’re nothing to him at all.
You can’t take it anymore. Sam says you haven’t been eating as much, but you barely even noticed. You’re too tired, from losing sleep. And everything tastes like ash, anyway.
Sam also says that Dean’s being a dick, but he’ll get over it. They went on a hunt a few days ago—they’re talking again, although from what you’ve seen it’s clipped, and they’re both still pretty pissed—and Sam told you he’d try to talk some sense into Dean and his silent treatment. You have no faith it will work. Sometimes living in the bunker feels like a pissing contest of who can be the most stubborn, if every contestant had an infinite bladder and thought they’d die if they lost.
You’ve been checking your phone for updates every ten minutes. You’re getting itchy and restless, and you can hardly breathe. What if this is it, and foul voice reminds you. What if he dies, and he dies angry at you, and you can’t even remember the last thing he said to you because it was a month ago.
The seams in you are coming apart. Sam sends you a brief text, saying the hunt is over and they’ll be back tonight. You don’t bother to ask how the talk went. If Sam even went through with it, you already know the answer.
But you can’t. You can’t keep living like this. That voice is only going to get louder, and you’re only going to waste away, and Dean won’t even notice with how determined he is to make you nothing at all.
You’ve been crying too much. Your eyes are red when you look in the mirror, and your lips are swollen.
Maybe you shouldn’t stay here. Maybe Dean’s right, and you never belonged here at all.
He once acted like you did. And you still don’t know what made him change his mind.
And you don’t want to leave. This is home. Dean is home, because despite everything you still think of him, and you feel safe.
You know that’s why it hurts so much. You’re not weak. You can stand to be ignored, and you’ve certainly had louder and more violent and cruel fights with people you’d actually been dating. But Dean being so mad feels like your heart is trying to eat itself. And you can’t take it.
It takes all night, but that’s the perfect amount of time. You go out to the grocery store and get everything you need, then haul up in the kitchen and bake like your life depends on it. A fairly big fraction of it does.
You think about writing I’m sorry or You were right on the pie with whipped cream. That feels like a little too much. Hopefully, that part will speak for itself.
When they get home, it’s with a slam of a door. There’s no shouting, but you have a feeling it’s because the fight already passed. You watch Sam give you a tight smile before slumping off to his room, and you know he tried. You appreciate it. But only you can fix this now.
“Dean.” You force your voice to be steady. It doesn’t work that well. “Dean.”
He looks up at you with a heavy, tired glare. He doesn’t speak, but he looks at you, and it makes you sit a little taller. You can do this.
“I’m sorry.” You push the pie forward, and he blinks.
“You’re sorry.” He echoes, like he doesn’t believe what he’s hearing. “You’re sorry?”
You nod, chewing your lip nervously. “Yeah. For- For the hunt. And anything else I did to you.”
“Anything else you did.”
“Um- mhm.”
Dean stares at you, and you push the pie again. Look down to it, then back to him, swallowing the nerves in your throat.
“I- I made you pie.”
“Yeah. I can see that.”
“Oh- Okay.”
The silence is suffocating. Your face is starting to burn, and you’ve never cried in front of him before, but the tears are insistent. The ache of loneliness, of just missing him, it’s insistent. Like a hurricane, devastating and impossible to ignore. You bite the inside of your cheek to hold them back, and that usually works.
It’s useless now. The first tears burn on your cheeks, and you wipe them away with trembling, frantic hands.
Dean rasps your name, taking a lurching step forward. As if someone shoved him, his hand reaching out before he yanks it back.
You swallow, and find a painful, barbed lump in your throat. You shake your head, and look to the side.
Dean repeats your name, his voice thick and strained.
You realize this is the first time he’s said it in a month.
A damn breaks in your chest. Something snaps near your ribs, and a pathetic, choked sob rips from your throat. You can’t stay here.
“I- I’m sorry.” You shoot to your feet, pushing the pie roughly forward. “It’s- It’s cherry.”
“Sweetheart-“
“The pie.” You clarify, staring at Dean’s knees.
“Yeah, I know-“
He takes a step forward. You take a step back, and he freezes.
When you look up, he’s watching you like you’d just smacked him in the face. You swallow, lip wobbling as you keep losing the battle against your own tears.
“I- I’m sorry.” You choke out, wrapping your arms around your stomach.
Dean works his jaw, shaking his head. “You said that already-“
“I- I know. I’m sorry-“
“Stop saying sorry!”
He takes a larger, firmer step forward. His voice echoes off the walls, and you bite the inside of your cheek until it stings.
Dean rubs his face, lowering back down to rough, low words as he says your name. “Just- Fuck- I don’t want a sorry.”
“I-“ You cut yourself off, shrinking further into your body.
He doesn’t want an apology. He doesn’t want you.
“I’ll go.” You whisper, looking down to his shoes.
Dean makes a choked sound. “You’ll- What-“
“I’m going to go.” You can’t be here right now. Can’t break down when you’re really not sure if he’ll pick you back up. “I- I’m-“
You swallow another apology, and duck past him. Dean shouts after you, so you walk faster. Almost running to the safety of your room, to the one place he won’t follow. Where you can fall apart alone, and wrap yourself in blankets you pretend are his arms, because you’re the exact, pathetic, stupid girl he thinks you are. You’re crying so hard you can’t breathe, and you hate him, and you hate yourself more for knowing you’ll still love him once the tears dry out.
There’s a knock on the door. The fight must have been that loud.
“Go away, Sam.” Your voice is muffled through the sheets.
Dean’s is muffled through the door. “Not Sam, sweetheart.”
You sit up, still holding your blanket to your face. As if he might somehow see you. There’s a long silence—he’s not supposed to be here, why is he here—and Dean coughs.
“It’s, uh- It’s Dean-“
“I know.”
“Oh. Okay.” He pauses, then, “Are you gonna open the door?”
You shake your head, then remember he can’t see you. “No.”
Dean grunts your name, and you raise your voice a little.
“Leave me alone-“
“No. We gotta- There’s stuff I have to- Fuck.” There’s a thump on the door. You think he’s leaning against it. “You’re crying, alright? Just let me in so I can fix it-“
“I’m fine.” You snip, and he laughs dryly.
“I can hear you. I know you’re still upset, and-“
“Why do you care?”
Dean goes silent, and you glare at where you think he’s standing.
“Why do you care, Dean. You never cared before-“
“That’s not true.” He snaps, and you roll your eyes.
“Don’t lie-“
“I’m not lyin’, I just-“ He cuts himself off. “Just open the door, alright-“
“Not until you tell me why you give a shit-“
“I just do, alright?”
“No, you don’t-“
“Stop- Stop saying that.” He’s not shouting, but you can hear him fighting against the urge. “Stop telling me what I care about, you don’t get to decide that-“
“I’m not deciding.” You push the words out, even as they burn on your tongue. “You just don’t get to act like you care about me when you wish I didn’t exist.”
The silence falls again. It’s thicker than before. So heavy it pulls your heart down to your stomach. You’re so sure he’s going to walk away, just leave you there to finally, fully break.
Instead, when he speaks, his voice is rough.
“Don’t say that.” He grunts. “I’ve never wished that. Not once.”
Your heart flutters. You want to smack it, remind it that it’s only hurting because of him. “Whatever.”
The door shakes again, as Dean’s shadow shifts.
Despite yourself, you lean closer.
“Open the door.” He says your name again, the tone a command.
You raise your chin. “No.”
“Come on, just open it-“
“Go away, Dean-“
“No.” It’s shockingly firm. You sit up in surprise. “No, I’m not- I’m not just gonna leave and let you go, no. That’s not fuckin’ happening, sweetheart, just- Open the door-“
His voice is getting louder, every word sounding more and more strangled. You shift to your knees, saying his name softly through your tears, but he doesn’t seem to hear.
“You can’t leave me, alright? You win, you fuckin’ win, I’m the idiot. You can stay and run me into shape, whatever the hell you want, just- just open the door, please-“
You’ve never heard him like this before. Rambling like a broken record. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was crying.
“I’m sorry for being a dumbass.” He’s not pushing the door anymore, but his voice is muffled and loud all at once. He’s leaning against it. “Sorry for being a dick, sorry for- For whatever the hell you’re cursing my name with, I know I deserve it, I was a douchebag and if you wanna hate me you got every right, but-“ His voice breaks. “Don’t leave me. Fuck- Please don’t leave me, please-“
You slide off the bed, gliding across the room like you’re in a trance, and open the door.
Dean stumbles forward, catching himself against the doorframe. He’s only inches away, and you can read it all over his face. How much he means every strangled word.
His hair is disheveled, his eyes red as he scans over your open, sad features, his jaw clenched so tight you think he might break his teeth. His arm flexes over your head, hand fisting and unfisting at his side. There’s a stain of a tear on his cheek, gleaming in his stubble like he’d half wiped it away.
He watches you like he’s a dog, bracing to be kicked.
You hold his gaze, letting your voice stay small. You have a feeling he’d cling to every word if you only breathed it out.
“You’re sorry.”
He nods. You swallow.
“Why-“
“All of it.” Dean mutters. His eyes are locked onto yours. It’s almost too much, making you feel molten when you need to be unmovable.
You look down to your fingers. “What you said?”
“And did. And-“
“Being a douchebag.”
He chuckles, but it’s more of a rasp. “Yeah.”
“For how long?” You look at him under your lashes, and maybe it’s a bit of a test, but you need to be sure he understands. The sheer magnitude of how this—all of this—has hurt you.
“The whole year.” He says immediately. “From when Sammy told me you were staying to- Shit, five freakin’ seconds ago. I’m sorry.”
You hear it again, even if he doesn’t say it.
Don’t go.
“You didn’t want me to stay here.” You say lightly.
Dean shakes his head. “That’s not true-“
“You told Sam he never should’ve asked me.” With all the bravery in your body, you meet his gaze. “You said you wanted me far away from here.”
Shame almost pours from Dean’s expression. He bows his head, as if he’s trying to make himself smaller. “I- Uh- I didn’t know you heard that-“
“You’re both very loud.”
“Ah.” He pauses, shifting on his feet. His handsome features twist into a tight frown. “But- That’s not what I said.”
“Yes, it is-“
“I said you should be far away from here.” He mutters. “Not that I wanted you there.”
“That’s the same thing-“
“No, it’s not.” Dean gives you a firm look, his voice dropping impossibly lower. “What I want and what’s right?” He chuckles dryly. “Ain’t ever really the same thing.”
For a long moment, you just watch each other. And he means it. Every inch of you knows that, right into your bones. But you’re still fragile from a year of him acting like you were nothing. And you want that to be enough, you want that so desperately. To just give Dean all of you to freely break, and trust that he won’t. But-
“What about me.”
Dean blinks. “What?”
“Am I right?” You raise your chin, crossing your arms over your chest. Dean’s frown deepens.
“Are you-“
“You’re sorry. You said you don’t me to leave.”
“I don’t.”
“So I was right.” You challenge. “I was right to stay.”
Dean swallows. You don’t waver.
“Do you care, Dean. If you don’t want me to leave then you have to tell me why you’d even fucking care-“
“I care.” He grunts, pressing further over you. “I care more than you can imagine.”
You snort. “I don’t know about that-“
“I can’t imagine it, sweetheart.” Dean reaches down slowly, cupping your jaw. You freeze. “Sometimes I- I can’t even work it out in my head. Can’t measure it, can’t justify it, can barely even understand how it’s possible.” His thumb drags over your cheek. “How much I fuckin’ love you.”
Oh.
Oh.
“Love is different than care.” You whisper, and Dean’s lips twitch.
“Yeah. But not by that much.”
You stare at him. He stares back, and when you don’t move away he drops his brow. Presses it against yours, his voice lowering gently.
“You don’t gotta forgive me. Just-“
“I love you, too.” You blurt, and Dean’s eyes shoot open. “And I’m not leaving.”
Dean swallows. Searches your gaze, like he’s trying to find the a tell that you’re lying. “You don’t have to-“
“Shut up.”
You grab his neck, and drag him down. You’re tired of talking. Of fighting and crying and being so far away. Even an inch feels like too much right now.
Dean must feel the same way.
When you pull him into a kiss, he’s rigid for a second. The brief, electric brush of your lips. Your noses bump, and your nails dig into his neck. He grunts, his hand on your doorway sliding down. You flush and try to pull away, but he’s not having it.
Dean melts over you so fast your brain can’t keep up.
He grabs your hip, blunt nails digging into your shirt, and tugs your head gently back as his lips work over yours. It’s so sudden you don’t immediately kiss him back, just grabbing the collar of his shirt for balance. Dean grunts, the hand on your hip sliding around your lower back. Grounding you against him as he almost bends you backwards, never once breaking the kiss.
His lips are softer than you dreamt of. Plush and a little chapped, but still so soft. He moves them slowly but insistently over yours, tasting and letting his tongue brush slightly. When you shiver and try to rise up a little higher, he meets you immediately. He kisses like he already somehow knows exactly how you like it. Easy but a little messy. Close, so close he’s almost eating your face while you try and claw closer. He tastes like salt from the tears, but under that is a little bit of cherry.
“You-“ You speak between kisses, dizzy from desire. “You ate the pie-“
“Tasted it.” He grunts, walking you back into your room. “Checkin’ it wasn’t poison.”
You lean back, glaring up at him. “I would not poison you-“
“I know.” He grins, kissing your pouted lips. “But I woulda deserved it if you did.”
You want to argue with that, too, but Dean’s faster. He kicks the door closed behind him, grabs your waist, and picks you up with barely a grunt. Your arms fly around his neck as you yelp in surprise, but the sound quickly falls into a loud, long moan when he pins you against the door.
His kisses are turning more frantic. Hungry and bruising, but still restrained. His hands stay politely on your clothing, his lips pressed over yours with only small grazes of his tongue.
You open your mouth in a long, shaky moan. Dean takes the permission, grabbing your jaw and tipping it a little further back. His tongue brushes over your teeth, and you wrap an arm around his neck. His chest is pressed right against yours, and it’s secure and sweet and hot. You’ve never been this hot just from a few kisses.
Passionate, messy kisses. With Dean. His broad fingers on your soft skin, and his solid body right against yours. You comb your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, and he groans. The noise vibrates through you, and you shudder with that burning, needy heat.
Dean notices. Of course he does. He’s Dean.
“Do you want-“
“Yes.” You moan against his lip, trying to spread your legs. “God, Dean- Fuck-“
He sucks on your lower lip before releasing it with a wet pop. Licks over the hurt before travelling down. Over your cheeks, then your jaw, repeating the same motion. Your arms wrap tight around him, your hips bucking mindlessly up.
“Oh- Dean-“ Your nails scratch his neck, and he hums. “You- You can’t just- Holy shit-“
He shoves his knee right between your thighs, the sudden pressure a curse and a relief. Your hips roll like they have a mind of their own, and head dropping against Dean’s shoulder as you cry his name. He moans, his hand on your waist tugging at your shirt.
You grab it and move it under the fabric, moaning at the feeling of his rough callouses, his warm palms, how possessive just a light touch can be. His fingers splay, the tips pressing into your skin, and you’re fully humping him now. He hisses when your knee bumps into his hard crotch, and you giggle, dragging a hand down his spine.
Dean pulls back, watching you ride his thigh with hooded eyes and a lazy grin. “Something funny, pretty girl?”
You giggle again, pressing purposefully against the bulge in his jeans. He groans, pressing his brow to the top of your chest.
“Shit- You’re tryin’ to fucking kill me-“
“Nuh uh.” You breathe out, not caring how convincing it is. You can feel the pressure building in your core, but it’s not quite enough. You need him to give you more. “De- Dean-“
You grab his wrist again, trying to pull it to your ass, but he resists. He yanks his hand from your grip, sliding it up your ribs slowly. His thumb brushes under your breast, and you bow into the touch with another loud moan.
“Jesus.” He mutters. “You look fuckin’ gorgeous like this, sweetheart. Think putting you on my cock might turn me into a religious man.”
You grab his shirt, yanking desperately, and he clicks his tongue. His voice is deep and taunting, and he leans forward so his lips brush yours with every word.
“Easy, baby girl.” He coos, his thumb grazing over the curve of your breast. “Thought about this for so long. Wanna take my time with you, show you that I mean what I’m saying. Love these pretty tits,” he palms it as he speaks, grinning as you moan like a shameless whore. “And this smart fucking mouth.” He nips your lower lip. “And your whole, sexy fuckin’ body. Love it almost as much as that impossible, pretty head you got. And I’m not wasting my shot on making you mine.”
You shake your head, the wet heat becoming almost unbearable. “Al- Oh-“
Dean’s mouth attacks your neck and shoulders, and you have to take a deep breath to remember how to speak.
“Already yours, Dean, always been yours, always- Fuuuuck-“
He grabs you hips and moves them so your clit is always dragging against him, the friction from his jeans and your panties making your head spin.
“I know.” He mutters, breath warm against your ear. “You think I didn’t know, princess? That I didn’t see every time you’d give me those Bambi eyes and beat my cock in the shower that night, thinkin’ about what you’d let me do to you?”
You moan as shock and surprise burns on your cheeks, but it also floods south. Right to your core, making you squirm in his arms. Dean chuckles, watching you with a dangerous smirk.
“Thought it was just a crush, at first. Thought you’d get over it, move onto someone better-“
“No- No one better.” You breathe out despite yourself, and Dean’s eyes flash. “No one better, Dean, just you, just you-”
He grabs your jaw, kissing you long and rough. You whimper, pressing your tongue into his mouth. He pushes you further back against the door, kissing you with teeth and spit. You give in immediately, just trying to chase anything, anything he can give you at all.
“De- Dean-“
“Always someone better for you.” He growls against your lips, grabbing under your knee. He squeezes it tight before hiking it up, offering even more friction.
You moan, dropping your head back against the door. He’s almost fucking you through your clothing, his bugle pressed right against your throbbing pussy. Dean’s mostly just letting you grind down onto him, but every few moments he gives a shallow thrust of his hips, grinning when the pleasure shakes through your whole body.
“Look at you.” He coos, reaching up to smear some of his spit on your cheek. “You deserve the fuckin’ world, sweetheart. Deserve a guy with his shit all in order, someone half as sweet as you are-“
“You- You’re sweet-“ You gasp when he shoves his hips up, slamming right against your clit. “Holy shit- Dean-“
“I’m sweet.” He mocks, and it shouldn’t make you feel as needy and light as it does. “I treated you like shit, baby. Thought it would help you get over it, but look at you. You like this. Like bein’ my pretty fuckin’ slut.”
You let out a guttural, strangled noise of desire, and Dean taps his thumb against your lips. When you open them, he slides his thumb inside. You suck obediently, watching him under dazed eyes. His throat bobs, eyes blown out with lust.
“Good girl.” He mutters, lips twitching when you hum happily around him. “Oh, you like that, too. My good girl.”
He leans forward, whispering into your ear, and your eyes flutter hopelessly.
“You’re such a fuckin’ brat, sweetheart. You’d sass me and I’d think about kissing you nice and stupid, then giving you the whole fuckin’ world.”
You whine, and Dean pulls his thumb out to let you speak.
“Don’t- Don’t want the world.” You gasp. “Just want you, Dean, please-“
He hauls you off the bed, and your legs wrap around his middle. This time when he kisses you, he’s holding you over his body like you’re something for him to worship. He’s slow and sweet, just like you know he is. He tosses you down onto your bed before pulling off his shirt and prowling over your body. He pulls your pants down, kissing back up your ankle, your knee, your hipbone. He sucks your clit lightly through the fabric of your ruined panties, pinning your pelvis to the bed when your hips slam up.
You fist a hand in the sheets. “De- Dean-“
He hums, pressing you down harder. His tongue flicking, and you pant, desperately trying to wiggle out of his grip, to chase release.
Dean stops suddenly, chuckling when you whine like a spited child. Two fingers hook around the center of your panties, and he yanks away the ruins fabric like it was made of paper.
“So wet.” He mutters, dragging two fingers between your pussy lips. “You’re like a fuckin’ dream, baby, son of a bitch.”
He slaps your clit once, grinning when the reaction shakes through your whole body. You can almost see him making the metal note, before moving on. Dean grabs the hem of your shirt and tugs it over your head, kissing your tummy, your sides, the valley of your breasts and a tiny mark he’d left on your neck.
His lips meet yours, lazy and gentle. He palms at your exposed breasts, slowly kneeing your legs apart.
When he settles between them, he slows down even more, his breathing ragged and voice low and almost desperate.
“Say it again.” He mutters, and you hum.
“I want you.”
Dean kisses the corner of your mouth. “And- The other thing.”
“I love you.” You say, easy as breathing. “Love you, Dean.”
He grunts, planting a kiss on your nose. “Thank you, my love.”
You smile, letting your hands wander over the broad planes of his back. You’re still so close to the edge, tingly and aching, and maybe he’s just going to fuck you stupid like he promised right now-
Dean pulls away.
He sits up on his knees, one hand pressing you into the mattress. His thumb lingers just above your clit, capable of reaching it if he reaches. But instead he just watches you, shuffling out of his own pants and tossing them off to a corner of the room.
You swallow, salivating at the sight. He’s thick. Long and thick in every way you’d imagined. Broad and angry at the top, leaking with pre-cum that he swipes with his thumb. You’ve only see cocks like that made of silicone with a vibrator built in. You bought one once, feeling pretty brave. You’d given up very fast.
“De- Dean-“
“Yeah, baby?”
He squeezes your thigh, and you look up to him with wide eyes. “I- I can’t take that.”
“Yeah, you can.”
“No, I-“
“Shh.” He coos, thumb grazing over your clit. You shudder, grabbing his wrist.
“Dean-“
“I’m gonna help, princess.” He says. “You’re gonna take it.”
He says it so certainly, you fucking believe him. He’s got a goddamn monster-porn cock, but his rich, deep tone has you convinced you can somehow fit it easy.
“Guess that’s why you’re so confident all the time, right?” You giggle nervously, and Dean raises his brows.
“Excuse me?”
“Just if- If I had- That-“
“You mean a big dick?” He drawls, and you flush.
“Um. Yeah.” You turn your face into the pillow, trying to hide. “Shut up.”
He laughs, guiding your face back up as he leans down. Dean kisses you slowly, and you hum dazedly into his lips. He starts to drag his thickness up and down your soaked cunt, and your mouth falls open in a loud moan.
“You’re so fuckin’ cute.” He mutters. “My girl.”
“Yours.” You echo, and he grins.
“Can we try something, baby? You trust me?”
“Mmmm,” you mumble, mostly thinking about the friction he’s giving, the pleasurable shock every time his dick bumps your clit.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You breathe, and Dean smirks.
“Good girl.”
Then he’s gone again. Your fluttering eyes shoot open, and you try to reach up but he slams you right back down. Pinning you to the mattress as he sits on his knees, watching you drink him in a slowly stroking his cock.
“Here’s what we’re gonna do.” He drawls, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “You’re gonna tell me exactly what you want me to do to you, then I’m gonna make you cum until you can’t even talk.”
You gape at him. “Wha- What-“
“You’re so smart, princess.” He taps your clit, and your breath hitches. “Talk.”
“Dean, don’t tease-“
“Not teasing. I’m dead fuckin’ serious.” He gives you a stern look. “You don’t tell me what you want, you don’t cum.”
You glare at him, and he just shrugs. He’s still pumping himself with thick, long strokes, and you’d kill him if you didn’t feel like a firework only he could set off.
“Touch me.” You grumble, and he gives you a flat, amused look.
“How.”
“I- I don’t know- With your hands- Oh-“
Dean’s thumb starts to rub around your clit, and your let out a shaky breath. The gleam in his eyes tells you all you need to know. You listen, you get a reward.
“Touch me there.” You breathe, nervous and breathy. “Keep- Keep doing that, Dean- Ooh-“
He snorts as you hug yourself, pressing his thumb directly down and making you squeak.
“Fuck-“
“You’re bad at this.” He observes, and you reach up to whack his forearm.
“I’ve never done it before, dick-“
“So I’m givin’ you a new skill-“
“You’re making me insane.” You whine. “Just- Just fuck me, Dean, it shouldn’t be that hard!”
“Yeah?” He grins down at you, letting go of his dick to rub your thigh. “Big words from the girl who’s not gonna do any of the work.”
You stick out your tongue, and he laughs.
“I knew you liked being a little cockslut, dripping just thinkin’ about taking me, probably gonna call me daddy and beg-“
“Shut up-“ Face burning, you kick his chest, and Dean catches your ankle, kissing it before moving it back to the bed.
“Well if it’s so easy, I should be guessing right-“
“I just want you to fuck me stupid, Dean!” You shout, the words desperately pouring out of you. “Just- Just take your hands and toss me around, use me and- and kiss me and touch me- Fuck-“
He’s rubbing your clit again, eyes almost black with desire. You push on, grabbing his arm to keep focus.
“Use- Use your fingers and make me cum on your hand.” You breathe out. “Then- Then flip me over and fuck me- Fuck me until I can’t talk, fuck me stupid, Dean, please-“
Your words fall off in a moan as Dean rubs faster, leaning down over your body.
“You want me to talk?” He rumbles, and you nod.
“Talk- Talk the whole time- Oh my god-“
“Tell you how good you’re doing for me?” He mutters, a finger teasing over your entrance. “How good your pussy feels, how crazy you make me, what a perfect fuckin’ girl you’re being when you take my cock-“
“Yes.” You whine, pussy squeezing as he presses that finger slowly inside of you. “Yes, fuck, yes-“
“You want it rough?” He pumps slowly in and out, his thumb still working your clit. “Wanna feel me? Be fucked like you deserve?”
You nod, babbling agreements. He drags lightly against your g-spot and you let out a shuddering gasp, scratching at his shoulders. Dean groans, adding a second one, pushing them knuckle deep and scissoring the thick digits inside you.
“Fuck- Fuck-“ He’s kneading that gooey spot, and you’d already been wound so tight. “Dean, oh my god- Yes-“
“And where am I gonna cum, princess?” He coos in your ear, setting a shallow, deep pace with his fingers. They open you up and massage your pussy until it’s fluttering, until there’s a fuse burning your tummy that needs to be lit, that needs Dean to light it-
“Inside.” You breathe. You need more of him. All of him. “Want you to cum inside Dean, God, please-“
He moans—fully moans—and rubs your clit in furious, tight circles as he kisses you.
“Knew you could do it.” His thumb flicks as he presses your g-spot, and you whine. “Cum for me, baby girl, show me what you’ve got-“
Your release hits you with a scream of Dean’s name, making your toes curl and your back arch off the bed. Dean groans, twisting his hand so his palm is flat against your clit, rubbing and pressing down until you’re trembling and trying to shove him away.
“Look at you.” He says under his breath, like he’s admiring some sort of art. “Look at you, so goddamn sexy, making such a mess on my hand. Bet you’re gonna look even better, getting wrecked on my dick.”
“De- Dean-“
“I know.” He mutters, pulling his fingers fully out. “Soon. I’ll fill you up nice and pretty, fuck you ‘till you can’t think. It’s gonna feel so good, sweetheart. This tight fuckin’ pussy, strangling me while you beg.”
He lands a sharp hit on your pussy, and you barely get out a broken plea before he’s grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your stomach. You squeal, scrambling for a grip on the sheets as Dean drags your ass into the air.
“Such a mess.” He hits your pussy again, and you press your cheek into the mattress, panting as heat floods your body. “Greedy little pussy, don’t even gotta do much to get you ready for me. No,” he pushes his fingers back inside of you, the angle letting his knuckles massage your g-spot. “Basically fuckin’ begging for it, trying to fuck yourself on my fingers. Dirty girl.”
You hadn’t even realized you were doing that. Fucking back onto Dean’s hand, ass wiggling in the air as his free hand soothes down your spine. You’re shaking, but already ready for more, the sensitivity from the first orgasm building you back up.
“Deeean-“ You whine, spreading your knees wider. “More, need more, please-“
“Ah. Just feel this.” He yanks his fingers out, spanking your clit three sharp times before shoving his fingers back in. “You asked me to touch you, I’m touchin’. Touching you real good.”
He starts to knead your g-spot again, kissing slowly up and down your spine.
“Want you to come for me again, baby girl.” He mutters, lips wandering over the curve of your ass, then your thighs. “You’re gonna cum until you can’t stay up, then I’m gonna fuck you. Alright.”
You nod, but there isn’t something he could ask you that you’d say no to right now. “Oh- Okay.”
“Awesome.” Dean sucks on the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, pushing you higher in the air. “Hold onto something.”
Your hands fist in the sheets, right before his sinful mouth latches onto your clit.
You almost scream. Dean starts to make out with the bundle of nerves like it can kiss him back, shifting below you until you’re almost sitting on his face. His fingers keep grinding down onto your g-spot as his tongue flicks back and forth, your button sucked between his soft lips, and you push your hands into the sheets, almost unable to take the pleasure.
“Dean- Dean- I- I’m gonna- Fuck-“
A sharp spank lands on your ass before grabbing a handful of the fat and shoving you fully down. You cum with a scream of Dean’s name, the pleasure rolling through your body like a wave.
But he doesn’t stop.
Dean keeps you trapped against his face, working you so hard you see starts, then other universe. His stubble burns against you and it’s perfect, his tongue moving so relentlessly—in tight little kitten licks, working you into a blind frenzy—and the feeling to overwhelming you can’t even remember how to close your mouth. Dean drags you on his face when you try to pull away, chuckling against your pussy, and the vibration is too much.
This time when you cum, you’re shaking and boneless. You think you might be about to cry, but maybe that’s just how hot this is.
He still isn’t stopping, and you might be in heaven. Blissful and dumb from pleasure, just a fuck doll in Dean’s big, careful hands.
You’re about to cum again, and you didn’t know you could do twice, let alone four times.
“De- Dean-“ You whimper. “Can’t- Can’t do it again-“
Dean grunts, lifting you over his head. “Yes, you can.”
He yanks his fingers out, rubbing your clit quickly before flipping you back over. You blink up at him, the coil in your stomach burning to snap. You’re so cockdrunk and dazed you almost don’t feel it at first.
Dean’s cock, slowly pushing into you.
When it hits you, he’s already got the thick head inside. You mewl, trying to cover your chest as he presses in deeper, but Dean grabs your wrists and pins them next to your head.
“Let me see you.” He mutters, sounding just as wrecked as you are. “Wanna watch you. So pretty, fucking crying for me.” He leans down, kissing your cheek, and you sob with delight. “Feels good, doesn’t it. So- Shit-“ You clench around him, and he hisses. “So fuckin’ good.”
“Good.” You repeat, just trying to stay conscious as Dean drags through your oversensitive, abused pussy. “So, so good, Dean, so fucking- Ooooh-“
He bottoms out, and you could swear you feel him up your spine and in your mouth. You’ve never been so full before, never had someone hit so many sensitive spots inside of you, and it lights you up like a summer sky.
Your eyes cross, as the almost peaceful orgasm blooms from your womb to your lips. You smile up at Dean, twisting to tangle your fingers together, and he swallows.
There’s a soft shine in his eyes. Pure, utter affection as he watches you come undone around him. It even moves into his voice, all the teasing and dominant command coated in devotion.
“You’re so beautiful.” He murmurs, bowing over you until there’s no telling where you stop, and he ends. “Feel that, baby?” He gives a long, lazy roll of his hips, and you gasp. “Yeah, that’s right. That’s you, takin’ my cock. Just like I said you could.” He kisses you, repeating the motion. “Good girl.”
You pant, grabbing his bicep as he fucks slowly into you. He mutters low praise in your ear, bullying your pussy open with every thrust. You’d asked for it rush, but this is better. You feel priceless. You feel like Dean’s.
“Breathe.” He reminds you, and you take a stuttered gasp. “Good job, princess. Don’t want you passing out on me. Need to see those pretty eyes when I cum inside of you,”
You moan, body moving in a mindless rhythm with his, and Dean grins.
“Yeah, I’m gonna fill you up, sweetheart. Make this pussy mine, let it drip out, show everyone who fucks you so good.”
“You.” You whimper out. “You, Dean, ‘s you- Fuck-“
“Damn right it is.” He grunts, dropping his hips so he hits your g-spot even better. “You’re my girl, never gonna let you think anything else again.”
You nod, your breathing getting short and desperate. The room is filled with the wet sound of his dick sliding in and out of you. Your body is slick with heat and Dean’s kissing every inch of it he can reach. Grabbing and squeezing soft skin until you’re sure you’ll be covered in handprints and finger-shaped bruises in the morning, but you can’t bring yourself to care.
Not as his cock drives deep into your with every, precise thrust.
Dean kisses you, dragging his tongue over your upper lip, and your pussy flutters.
Oh. God. “Dean, I- I think-“
“I know.” He grunts, like he’s just attuned to that. “You can do it, baby girl.”
“No- No-“
“Yes.” Dean kisses the tears, streaming down your cheeks from overstimulation. “Do it for me, come on. Just feel it, let it happen. Bet it’s good, isn’t it. Nice and sweet, right here.”
He presses down on your pelvis, right over where the fire is building. You sob with pleasure, and Dean grins.
“That’s right, there it is, come on-“
You cum like you were struck by lighting. Every muscle in your body seizes, the pressure where Dean’s pressing breaking like a damn. You gush and squeeze around his cock, arching off the bed like you’re trying to take flight, and Dean drops over you with a shameless moan.
“Fuck- Fuck yeah-“ He presses his face into your neck as you milk his dick. “Holy- Christ-“
Thick spurts of Dean’s release fill you up. They’re hot, and you hug Dean’s head, whimpering in his ear as you take them. He’s kissing your shoulder, but it’s unmeasured and desperate, and you’re sure you’re having the same control issue right now.
The feeling is so consuming you can’t think of anything but Dean. You’re saying his name like a prayer, as he ruts into you, sloppy and desperate. Neither of you really come back to earth, as your orgasms fade. Dean just slumps over you, cradling your body in his arms, and you smile at the ceiling, completely fucked out.
“Shit.” Dean rasps, and you giggle.
“Yeah.”
“You know you could squirt?”
You shake your head, and he grins against your neck.
“Awesome.”
His cock twitches inside of you, and you hit his shoulders.
“Dean, oh my god-“
“Not now.” He groans, rolling onto his back and hauling you with him. “But later, right?” He gives you a hopeful, almost boyish look.
Like you might reject him while he’s still fucking inside of you.
“Cause I meant it.” He adds quickly. “Everything before, uh- This. Meant every word, promise, and- You can hit me or something, if that makes you feel better-“
You lean down, taking his sweet, dumb face between your hands and kissing him. Dean hums in surprise, but kisses you back immediately. One hand slides through your hair, the other up your spine, but he lets you lead. Looks up at you with a drunken smile when you pull away, like you’re some kind of god.
“I don’t want to hit you.” You say, tracing his tattoo.
He nods quickly. “Good. I mean- for me-“
“But you have to ask me out for real.” You give him a firm look. “And take me on a nice date.”
“I can do that.” He grins. “And then… You’re my…”
He trails off. Lets you fill in the space.
You think he got it right, just like that.
“Yeah,” you smile. “But you’re mine, too.”
And there’s nothing on Dean’s face that tells you he’s going to argue with that.
✦End note: im drooling. i know most of you prob dont read my main dean series, but every day i dream about getting to the end and just making him old and happy. very normal about how i want this old ass man.✦
✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦
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✦Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)✦
please PLEASE learn how to tag your fanfics. Don’t tag fluff when it’s angst, don’t tag smut when it’s fluff and please don’t tag characters that ARENT EVEN MENTIONED IN THE FIC!!!!
— a movie date is quick to lose its appeal when a little bit of teasing (and your favorite cherry lip oil) leads to a much better way to spend the evening
pairing: early!season spencer reid x reader
warnings: none, spencer being a cutie wc: 624
Spencer watched, mesmerized, as the silicone applicator swept over your lips, leaving a glistening trail in its wake. His legs swayed gently back and forth — his shoulders were hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees and his cheek pillowed against the palm of his hand.
No wonder he’s always complaining about back pain, you thought.
Catching his gaze in the mirror, you arched a pointed eyebrow at him. A few stray, curled strands of hair fell over his eyes as he shook his head in amusement and finally straightened up.
"We’re going to be late, you know," he hummed, reaching up to nudge his glasses back to the bridge of his nose.
"Nuh-uh." You pressed your lips together, smoothing the lip oil into an even, glossy layer. "Don't worry, sweetheart. We have plenty of time."
Sweetheart. That one word never failed to melt him on the spot. It wasn't just the pet name, it was the effortless way it rolled of your tongue. As if you saw past the facade of awkward smiles, fleeting eyes contacts and shield of endless facts and found something worth loving — maybe one day he'll see it too.
"I guess you're right."
"Mhm. I'm always right. You should be used to it by now."
The comment drew a quiet chuckle from him. And the moment he was within arm's reach, your fingers hooked into the soft knit of his cardigan, tugging him sharply toward you. He let out a small yelp as he stumbled, heat instantly flooding his cheeks.
"What are you—"
You cut him off, pressing your lips against his in a deep, lingering kiss. Beneath your hands, you felt his shoulders finally relax.
"Hey," you murmured against his mouth, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.
"H-hey," he stammered, brushing a loose lock of hair away from his face with a nervous laugh. He was still getting used to this — the proximity, the way you loved him so openly and without hesitation. It was overwhelming in the best way possible.
"It’s sweet," he whispered before he could stop himself, his blush deepening. "Your l-lip thing. It’s sweet."
"You like it?" you teased.
"I—I...of course. I do. Yes." He swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing. "Cherry?"
"Nope. Try again."
Spencer stared at you for a beat, wide-eyed, wondering if he'd somehow heard it all wrong.
"Come on, Spence," you encouraged, softly tugging him forward.
"O-okay." Still a little unsure, he leaned in again. He brushed his lips against yours in a tentative, questioning kiss, as if checking for permission. When you didn't pull back, he grew bolder, deepening the kiss as his hands rose to tenderly cradle your face.
When he finally pulled away, he looked slightly dazed — his rosy lips swollen and his thoughts clearly scattered. You were grinning.
"So?"
"Hm...uh...mango?"
"Nuh-uh. Try again, handsome."
And so he did. Over and over again, whispering quiet assumption against your your lips each of which was met with the same answer — no, sweetie. So he kept trying until you were both breathless, until every trace of lip oil had been kissed away, and until his hair was a wild mess and his tie sat askew. The movie you were supposed to see was now long forgotten.
"I-I give up," he panted, leaning his forehead against yours as he fought to catch his breath. "What is it?"
"Cherry."
Spencer blinked, his brain finally catching up. "But...that was the first thing I said!"
"Really?" You widened your eyes in a look of faux-innocence that might have actually fooled him, if not for the triumphant glimmer of satisfaction in your eyes.
p.s. thank you so much for reading. reblogs ,likes and comments are always appreciated. have a nice day<3
Regret
Pairing - Garrick Tavis x RiorsonSister!Reader
Summary - After bonding a dragon, you're running on a drunken high when you run into Garrick. Of course it all comes crashing down when you finally give in to your urges.
Warnings - None!
Word Count - 2.7k
Even as your feet hit the ground, your heart still thundered against your ribs, every beat echoing the rush of wind and dragonfire still burning in your veins. Your breath escaped your lungs in a rush as the world finally stopped moving. Before you were able to take another deep breath, arms crushed you in an embrace, and a familiar scent wrapped around you.
The scent of home.
Relief crashed over you in a wave, and you hugged your brother back tightly. “What happened to keeping a low profile?” You murmured into his chest, but you wouldn’t let go for the world.
“Don’t care anymore.” Xaden replied, his voice rough. “Not after thinking I lost you. Any particular reason you’re so late?” He asked, and loosened his arms enough to scan your face, looking for signs of injury.
You nodded your head back to the dragon behind you, “She was hard to find.”
You didn’t know if you’d ever get used to the way her voice thundered through your skull, low and hypnotic. “Clearly not, or I wouldn’t be bonded to you in the first place.”
“You act like I held you against your will and forced you to bond.” You said back to her.
She snorted. “As if you could do such a thing.”
“So you’re okay?” Xaden asked again, taking a step back so he could get a full look at you, but he kept his hands on your shoulders.
You nodded again. “I’m fine. I promise.”
“Leave it to you to make a fashionably late entrance.”
Gods, you hadn’t expected the reaction of your body. Your lungs filled with air, your heartbeat steadied, and a smile tilted your lips. While the relief of seeing Xaden had calmed you, it was like the sight of Garrick soothed the deepest parts of your soul. “You know I have to keep you guys on your toes.”
“Hard to do,” Garrick said, his gaze sweeping over you and pride softening his expression, “when I never doubted you for a second.” He said the words easily, simply, as if he didn’t have to think about whether they were true or not.
The easy confidence in his voice made your heart stutter. “Glad to see you’ve finally come to your senses,” you teased, unable to hide your grin.
Garrick grinned back at you, and the sight of those dimples made butterflies soar in your stomach. He opened his mouth to say something, but the next second, a voice interrupted him. “Riorson!”
You turned just in time to get lifted off your feet into a bone-crushing hug by Ridoc, laughter bubbling out of you as he spun you around hard enough to make your vision blur. “You’re alive!”
“We’re alive!” He corrected, sitting you back down on the ground with a wide grin. “Come on, it’s time to celebrate! Rhiannon, Sawyer, and Violet all bonded too!”
A wave of relief you hadn’t even known you would feel swept through your body. You had become more attached to your squad than you had ever imagined, and hearing that so many of them had bonded eased the tension a little more. So you let Ridoc grab your arm, tugging you back over to where you could see some of your squadmates waiting.
But you couldn’t help it. You glanced back.
Xaden stood watching, a faint smile curving his lips, pride written all over his face.
But Garrick . . . Garrick wasn’t smiling. His eyes were locked on where Ridoc’s hand circled your wrist, something like longing flickering across his face. A look that said he wished he was the one dragging you away to celebrate.
Part of you wished he was.
——————————
Okay, so maybe stumbling around Basgaith drunk wasn’t your brightest idea, the ground kept tilting in ways it shouldn’t, but in your defense, everyone was doing it. You’d spent the last few hours celebrating with all your friends, so glad that they had all bonded. As the night had gone on though, you’d all started to separate, and when you’d noticed Ridoc exchanging eyes, and then hands, with another cadet, you knew it was time to make yourself scarce.
However, all the alcohol in your system made you more clumsy than usual. Your shoulder hit something solid, someone solid, and you pinwheeled forward.
Strong hands caught your hips, steadying you so you hit the ground.
Oh. Oh no. Oh gods.
You didn’t have to look up to know who it was. The way his hands settled on your hips, large and familiar, combined with that leather and cedar smell that always made your stomach flip, left no doubts in your mind who you’d tumbled into.
But you still looked up at Garrick, a smile on your face eased by the alcohol in your system.
“You’ve never been prone to clumsiness, Spitfire.” He said, but instead of annoyance, his tone was filled with amusement as he looked over your face. “Had plenty of fun celebrating tonight?”
A hiccup escaped you before you could stop it. “Amazing. Such a fun party. Best night ever.” You tried to say the words with the most sober voice and expression you could.
By the way his dimples popped up, you were pretty sure you failed. “Little Spitfire . . .”
Your breath hitched when he tipped your chin up with his thumb, guiding your eyes to his. His touch was gentle, but the intent behind it felt anything but.
“Are you drunk?” He asked, clearly amused.
“Wha- why - why would you think that?” You asked.
Gods, why was your voice breathy? Why did he have to smell like every good memory you’d ever had?
“Maybe because your cheeks are flushed. Or,” he added, his thumb grazing your bottom lip again, slowly, like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. “It might be that you can’t form a proper sentence.”
You bit your lip, and you watched as his eyes tracked the movement, hungry, but startled, like he hadn’t meant to react but couldn’t help it.
It gave you more of a rush than the alcohol ever could.
“Don’t tell Xaden?” You whispered. Don’t tell him you were drunk. Don’t tell him that his best friend was touching his little sister like this. Don’t tell him that you didn’t want Garrick to stop.
Garrick’s hazel eyes, warm and safe met yours once more, “Our little secret.”
You weren’t sure which thing he was referring to either.
“Speaking of secrets . . .” His eyes almost seemed to sparkle as he took a step back, his hand slipping from your hips. His touch left a cold ache you hated, but then he caught your hand instead, palm rough, fingers sure. “I’ve got some place I want to take you.” His grin turned to a smirk as he took a step back, tugging you with him. “That’s if your drunk ass can make it.”
Heat flooded your cheeks, but you lifted your chin. “Even drunk I’m still faster than you, Tavis.”
His eyes lit up at the challenge. “Prove it.”
With a tug of his hand, the two of you were off, crashing through the treeline.
You tried to be quiet. You failed.
Your laughter kept breaking free in helpless bursts, and Garrick’s chuckle followed every time, warming you up and making you laugh even more.
Garrick only had to help you up twice before he pulled you into a clearing, his arm around your waist, his breath warm against your cheek, both of you breathless from running and laughing and . . . whatever this was turning into.
You expected him to step back, remove his arm from you, but he didn’t. Instead he leaned even closer, his breath brushing your ear as he whispered into it. Your knees nearly buckled from the warmth of it. “Remind you of anywhere?”
Your brow furrowed as you looked at your surroundings. Focusing was easier said than done when he was that close, but you tried.
You were sure you hadn’t been here yet. Nothing about the place stood out. It was filled with trees, moonlight, and shadows. Everything here was ordinary.
Except him.
Except the way his body pressed against yours.
“Wait for it,” Garrick whispered again.
Seconds later, it happened. A rush of air swept over you, stirring your hair as wings beat against the night. You looked up to see a massive shape glide across the moon, brown scales glinting silver in the light.
Just like that, you were back in Aretia. Your shoulder pressed against Garrick’s in the grass, dreaming too big, wishing too hard, believing that someday the world might let you both fly.
A smile lit your lips, and you found yourself leaning back against Garrick’s shoulder to get a better view of the sky. “Why did you wait until now to show me this?” You asked.
“I wanted to wait until you bonded,” Garrick murmured, his thumb tracing slow circles into your stomach that made your breath catch. “So the next time you looked up at the dragons in the sky . . . you’d know what it felt like to touch one. To ride one. To belong to one.”
A wave of affection crashed into you, sudden and terrifying. You turned in his arms, hands settling on his chest before you even realized you’d touched him. “What if I hadn’t bonded? What if I came back without a dragon?”
“I told you,” he said, brushing that loose strand of hair back again, slower this time. “I never doubted you for a second.”
His voice wasn’t teasing now.
It was reverent.
Gods no one had ever looked at you like this. Or believed in you like this. So easily and without any doubt. For almost your whole life, Garrick had been the one constant. The one who believed in you without question, who never once treated you like you were fragile or lesser or something that needed saving.
It was the only reason, besides the alcohol in your system, you had the courage to do what you did next.
One second you were staring into his soft hazel eyes. The next, you made your choice.
You rose onto your toes and pressed your lips to his.
They were soft, warm, but unmoving against yours. You could feel the tension line his body beneath your hands, rigid and coiled, and it terrified you.
You pulled away.
Gods what had you done? You’d crossed a line you couldn’t uncross. You opened your eyes to find Garrick staring at you, his jaw tense and eyes now dark.
The rejection was instant and brutal. It made your chest hurt and your stomach felt like it was hitting the ground beneath your feet. You couldn’t believe that you had been that stupid. To think that there was something there, and that he wanted you the same way that you wanted him. At least you could blame your actions on the alcohol.
“I’m sorry,” You said, breathless as you let go of his shirt as if it burned you. “I shouldn’t have -” You swallowed hard. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
Garrick didn’t say anything.
You scrambled to fill the silence, saying anything to keep it from being more embarrassed. “We can pretend it didn’t happen. I mean, I thought you might feel something for me, but clearly that’s not the case.” You bit your lip, stepping back and wrapping your arms around yourself. “I was being stupid -”
Suddenly your back was against a tree, bark biting into your spine, and a gasp left your lips at the impact. No longer was there any space between you and Garrick, no room to breathe, no room to think. Every inch of his hard, warm body was pressed against yours, making every thought you’d had moments before flutter away.
A shaky breath left your lips as his forehead pressed against yours. “You weren’t being stupid.” Garrick whispered, his voice rough, so close that his lips brushed against yours with every word. “Not at all.”
You watched as he glanced down at your lips, your heart ready to explode out of your chest as you realized the reason his eyes had darkened earlier hadn’t been anger. No.
It was desire.
“Garrick,” You whispered, your voice so soft no one but him had a hope of hearing it.
That was all it took.
He closed the distance between the two of you and kissed you.
And you realized at that very moment that every kiss you’d ever had would never come close to this.
Everything went quiet, lost in the background of your mind. There was nothing more important in the world at that moment but the way that Garrick was kissing you. Not the fact that he was your brother’s best friend, that you had bonded a dragon, that war was knocking at the door ready to burst into your life.
Nothing mattered except his soft lips, and the way they felt so perfect, so right against your own.
You melted into him, your hands wrapping around his waist to hold him even closer, desperate to keep him there and extend this moment for as long as possible.
He didn’t seem in any hurry for it to end either, slipping his hands into your hair, and parting his lips to deepen the kiss.
You saw stars.
A groan left his lips as your nails dug into his back, and the kiss, innocent seconds ago, changed into something else entirely. It was like years of pent up desire exploded, and you couldn’t seem to get enough, and neither could he.
Tongues and lips explored each other as if memorizing every inch. His hips pinned you to the tree, and you let out a soft moan of surprise and pleasure at how quickly desire curled low in your stomach.
Garrick pulled away at the sound, letting out a rough, “fuck,” as he started kissing down your neck, leaving a trail of heat everywhere his lips traveled. “If you keep making noises like that,” he warned, “I’m not going to be able to stop myself.”
“Who said I want you to?” You said breathlessly, slipping your hands under his shirt to drag up the bare skin of his back like you’d dreamed of doing so many times. You felt his body shiver under your touch, and loved the rush it gave you knowing the effect you had on him.
He lifted his head from your neck, staring into your eyes like there was nothing he wanted to look at more. “Gods, you're dangerous.” He murmured.
Before you could ask him what he meant, he wrapped your hair around his fist, tugging your head back and enveloping you in the hottest kiss you’d ever had.
You let out a whimper against his lips, and seconds later a dragon’s low growl rolled through the clearing, vibrating through the ground beneath your feet.
Garrick jerked back like he’d been burned. His eyes were wide as he stared at you, his cheeks flushed and hair wild.
You didn’t like the way he was looking at you. Like he’d woken from something he shouldn’t have allowed himself to want.
He was looking at you with regret.
“Garrick,” you whispered, and you hated the pleading edge in your voice. You didn’t want him to go. You didn’t want him to take back everything that had happened between the two of you like it didn’t matter.
Like it hadn’t flipped your world upside down.
His eyes dropped to your lips, and his face softened for the briefest moment, but then he shook his head, like he was shaking himself out of it. “I have to go. Xaden . . .”
Your shoulders slumped, you felt the rejection creeping into your chest, stinging your heart with every passing second. He was really going to do it. He was going to let Xaden get in the way of something between the two of you. “Then you better go.” You crossed your arms over your chest, holding yourself together. “You don’t want to keep your best friend waiting.”
He said your name, his hand twitching like he wanted to reach out to you, like stopping himself hurt.
But you took a step back, putting space between you before you could change your mind. “Just go.” You said, and although you wanted to sound strong, all you heard in your voice was weakness.
Garrick continued to stare at you, like he was waiting for you to stop him, for himself to say something he couldn’t take back, but then he nodded, and with one last glance, he left you there. The sound of his footsteps fading until it felt unbearably quiet.
And in that moment, you would have given anything to not know what his kiss felt like.
Garrick Tavis x Rider!Reader (given last name, Hammons)
Summary: She isn’t ready, but she's managed to survives anyway. Brittle and quiet and stubborn in all the wrong places. Bound by their dragons, Garrick is forced to train a cadet who flinches from help as much as she flinches from blows, and he can’t decide if she’s a liability or not.
Warning: none
Word Count: 1.5k
A/N: Hello! I'm back after the madhouse these past few months have been. I've had this sitting in my drafts for almost a year now and recently found it. Don't know what it could lead to but I guess we'll see. I also have more parts for my Brennan story and Dain story as well, just struggling with time management.
The sky is bright, too bright. The kind of light that makes everything feel harsher than it needs to — the heat on your back, the ache in your shoulder, the weight of your boots scraping across the packed dirt of the sparring ring.
You don't want to be here.
Not like this.
But Kyerra had pushed the thought into your head the second you finished formation. A gentle nudge. Go. Try. Survive. You hated how easily you listened.
Garrick Tavis is already waiting when you arrive. He looks exactly how you'd expect him to — like a threat. Black sleeveless training shirt clinging to the muscles across his shoulders, hair slightly damp from a run, blades strapped neatly across his back even though it's supposed to be a hand-to-hand session. Always ready. Always armed.
His eyes land on you the moment you step into the ring.
"You're late."
You barely hold back a sigh. "I'm early."
"You were supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago."
You press your lips together. Maybe I was hoping you'd leave. Instead, you say nothing and cross to the center of the ring. Garrick tosses you a wooden training blade. You catch it, hand closing around the hilt with more force than necessary. The familiar weight settles in your palm like disappointment.
"What's the plan?" you ask, keeping your voice as flat as possible.
He doesn't rise to the bait. "Stay alive. Improve. Build muscle memory."
"And you're here because..."
"Our dragons are mated," he says bluntly. "That makes you my problem now."
Your jaw tightens. You hate how small those words make you feel. He steps into a loose combat stance. It looks casual, but you've seen enough of him in the field to know he can kill someone in half a breath. You don't take a stance. Not yet.
"I don't need your help," you say.
"You need help," he replies, not cruelly, just factually. "You just don't like that it's coming from me."
"You've never paid attention to me before now. Why would I believe you care if I make it?"
Something shifts in his expression — not guilt, not pity. Just clarity. "Because now I have to."
The words hit harder than they should. You drop into a defensive stance, eyes on the dirt. The blade feels wrong in your hand, your stance too rigid, your chest too tight. You already know how this will go: he'll hit you, you'll fall, and it'll confirm every quiet thing you already believe about yourself.
Too slow. Too weak. Too late.
He circles you, eyes scanning your posture, your grip, your hesitation. "You're fast on your feet," he mutters. "But you don't use it. Your steps are light — that's rare. Most cadets stomp around like they're toddlers."
You don't respond.
"You should lean into that. Use your silence."
You swallow hard. It's the first compliment you've received since Threshing. It doesn't make you feel better. It makes you feel like a fraud. He comes at you with a simple forward strike — slow, deliberate. A test. You knock it away, but your balance is off, and your foot skids on the dirt.
"Again."
You reset. Move. Strike.
He blocks easily. "You hesitate before every attack."
"I don't—"
"You do."
You grind your teeth. "Maybe I'm not good at this."
"That's obvious," he says without venom. "But with time and training, you could be."
Your stomach twists. That flicker of potential — it feels worse than being ignored. Worse than being insulted. Because if you could be good, then not being good is a choice. A failure. Your fault.
He backs off, blade dropping slightly.
"Why are you fighting against this?" he asks, genuinely confused.
You blink at him. "Because I don't need anyone to hold my hand."
"I'm not holding your hand," he snaps. "I'm giving you a chance to survive."
He steps forward, frustration bleeding into his voice now. "You want to prove something? Then stop sabotaging yourself."
You step back. His words land like slaps.
"I'm not—"
"You are," he cuts in. "You're angry. I get it. You didn't want to be here. You didn't want Kyerra. You sure as hell didn't want me. But you're here. You bonded a dragon. That means you fight. You learn. You adapt."
You hate that he's right.
You hate that your eyes are starting to sting.
You hate that you can feel Kyerra in the back of your mind — quiet, calm, waiting.
You lower your blade. Your arm trembles, not from exertion but from everything else — the pressure, the noise in your own head, him.
"Fuck this."
You drop the blade to the dirt and turn away.
"Y/N."
You keep walking.
His voice sharpens behind you. "Hammons—"
You don't stop. You don't even look back. Because if you do, you'll crack. And you've already done enough of that for one day.
You shove open the gate of the sparring ring and leave it swinging behind you. The courtyard is empty. No one to see. No one to ask why your eyes are glassy or why your fists are clenched like you're holding the pieces of yourself together.
You didn't need that.
You didn't need him barking orders like you hadn't been surviving on your own for weeks. Like his sudden attention meant something. Like he was the answer to a question you never wanted to ask.
Your boots hit the stone steps unevenly as you climb them, fast, like you can outrun the burn in your chest. It's all pointless anyway. You're not strong. Not like the others. Not built for this.
You didn't earn Kyerra — she chose you for reasons you still don't understand. Garrick only started noticing you because of her, not because of anything you did. You're still the same girl who stood in the sparring circle two weeks ago and got knocked on her ass in thirty seconds flat. Dragon or no dragon.
A fluke.
That's all this is.
You make it to the empty barracks and sit down on the edge of your bunk hard, hands shaking in your lap. Kyerra is still there — warm, quiet, patient. Like she trusts you'll come back around.
You curl forward, resting your elbows on your knees. The silence presses in.
He doesn't leave the ring, not right away. He stands there in the heat, her training blade in one hand, the silence loud in the space she left behind.
Dust settles. His jaw ticks.
She dropped it like it meant nothing — like he meant nothing. Just another voice trying to bark her into submission. Another threat to ignore. He exhales slowly through his nose.
"You handled that poorly," Chradh says, his voice cutting clean through his thoughts.
Garrick's hand tightens on the hilt.
Here we go.
"She walked away," he mutters. "Wouldn't listen, wouldn't even try. What do you want me to do, beg?"
"I want you to adjust."
Garrick scoffs. "She doesn't respond to orders. Doesn't respond to anything. She's been here for months now and has barely spoken to a single squadmate. She failed her first two grappling exams. She's late to formation half the time and somehow always disappears after drills. And I've let it slide because I didn't think she'd make it past Threshing."
He throws the training blade down into the dirt, the thunk dull and unsatisfying.
"But she did."
Chradh doesn't answer. And that silence grates more than anything.
"You've been pestering me about her for weeks," Garrick says, pacing the edge of the ring now, dragging a hand down his face.
"She needs help."
Garrick grits his teeth. "That's not a reason."
"It's a truth."
He stops walking. Glares out across the empty field.
"She's a liability," he says finally, quieter now. "You know that. You've seen what I've seen."
"She's not a liability. She's unfinished."
He flexes his fingers, jaw working silently. Chradh never spoke about people like that. Not unless he saw something. And that? That's what pisses him off the most. Because Garrick can't see it.
He's been watching her now — really watching — and all he sees is a cadet flinching at every challenge, closing herself off from people who try to help. She's smart — sure. Observant. Quiet on her feet in a way that makes him take notice. But she doesn't use any of it. She holds back in sparring. She doesn't speak in tactical briefings. She avoids conflict until it lands right on top of her.
She survived Threshing.
But barely.
And now she's bonded to a dragon mated to Chradh. Which means Garrick is tied to her whether he understands her or not. Whether she wants him or not. He runs a hand over his jaw, tracing the edge of the scar. There's something in her. Something she's burying. And for whatever reason, Chradh's decided that Garrick is the one who's going to dig it out.
He exhales, grounding his hands on his hips.
"Fine," he mutters. "Fine. You want me to help her, I'll help her."
Ever like… update your tumblr when you’re 19, forget that even you have a tumblr and spend the rest of your days guarding said tumblr because you don’t want the guy you wanna marry know you’re lowkey into the weirdest shit?
Yeah… no… me neither but I’m 22 now and I still don’t want to update a single thing😅
Pairing: (Y/N) confesses her feelings to Tyler only to be friendzoned. It’s when she’s moving on that Tyler realizes his mistake.
Warnings: Angst. Heartbreak. Jealousy. Arguing. Friends to lovers. Intimate scenes.
Words: 5,333
Notes: not proofread, so I’m sorry for any inaccuracies or errors. Leave some feedback!!!
⚡
The storm season in Oklahoma City was in full swing and the Wranglers’ team was back in action, finally.
You’d always been the quiet one in the team – shy, quick with a joke when the moment finally hit you just right, impossibly bright when it came to the science behind every funnel cloud – but mostly content blending into the background while everyone else chased the weather.
Except one person.
Tyler Owens.
You didn’t know exactly when or how it happened. Maybe it was the way his voice always carried easy confidence, or how he never belittled your passion for meteorology. All you knew was that your feelings for him had quietly grown into something far bigger than you expected. You’ve fallen hard in love with Tyler.
You tried to dismiss your feelings, ignoring them fully and you actually thought you were making an amazing job at hiding them.
Until Boone and Lily called you out on it, leaving you crimson red.
“Just tell him how you feel”, Boone said that afternoon while the team packed up trucks after a long chase.
“He literally has no clue you exist outside of weather grids”, Lily chimed in with a grin. “You’ve got jokes, use them!”
You blushed, fiddling with your cup of lukewarm coffee.
“I’m fine”, you mumbled. “He knows I… I mean, he knows how smart I am. And funny. I’m just… not his type.”
Boone and Lily exchanged that look – the one that said no way we’re leaving this alone.
“Seriously”, Boone pushed. “He keeps looking at you differently. That means something. Right?”
Lily snorted. “Or he just thinks you’re really good at explaining dew-point differentials.”
Both of them nudged you mercilessly that afternoon. You walked away red-faced, clutching field notes to your chest that suddenly seemed far more interesting than confronting Tyler about your feelings.
And, of course, the moment finally came – in the middle of a calm patch between storms. You took a deep breath and just said it, your whole body trembling in fear and nervousness as you did so.
“I… I have feelings for you.”
It didn’t really go as you rehearsed it. It didn’t sound like you thought it would, you didn’t say all the things you thought you would.
You just… told him.
You breathed.
And he said:
“I really do think you’re amazing. Like, you’re brilliant – one of the sharpest people I’ve ever worked with. But I… I just see you as a friend.”
It was the kindest rejection you could imagine, but it still stabbed straight through your chest. You hated yourself for getting your hopes up. You knew this would happen.
“I don’t mean to-“
You cut him off. “It’s fine. I- I’m gonna go.” You stumbled on your own words, wanting desperately to leave as tears started to pool on your eyes.
⚡
Six weeks have gone by since that day.
You totally rewrote yourself. You pulled back.
You became professional only. Work-related conversations. Efficient. Polite. Distant.
Tyler didn’t seem to notice. Neither did you think he would, in all honesty. But, deep down, you hoped so.
You did notice. Every time he smiled – one of those warm, team-bonding smiles – you had to swallow down the pull in you chest.
One evening, after weeks of tense professionalism, the team decided to unwind. A modest local bar – the kind with cheap beer and loud music – somewhere to chill after a long deployment.
You stayed mostly quiet in the corner of the booth with Lily by your side, Tyler and Boone across you. You’ve been lost in your thoughts sipping your drink, mostly nursing it in all honesty, and pretending you weren’t just watching Tyler laugh with Boone and Lily.
Then, the doors opened.
Your breath caught. Your mouth fell open.
They noticed. Tyler noticed.
So he followed your gaze to see with his own eyes what had left you mesmerized.
It was a man. A tall, broad-shouldered man. The kind that leaves women mesmerized. The kind Tyler is used to be.
His eyes locked with yours across the room with intensity, as if the energy was pulling you together. Tyler, Boone and Lily stared between you and the man confused looks on their faces, but Tyler’s held something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.
“Do you know him?” Lily finally asked.
“I- Yeah, I do.” You mumbled still in shock, your whole body felt like electricity was running through your veins.
He approached your table, small smile on his lips. He was even prettier than you remembered - small stubble on his face, his eyes piercing blue, his black hair perfectly cut but messy as he always used to wear it.
He opened his mouth to say something but you didn’t let him, you got off the stool and pulled him into a hug. The kind of hug you were needing for weeks now.
Familiar. You took in the scent you used to know so well.
Warm. You took in the warmth of the body that used to melt against yours so easily.
“Thank God you’re here”, you mumbled into his chest, your voice muffled by the tears threatening to spill.
He pulled back slightly, his hands still resting on your lower back as he took in your features, as if he was staring deep in your soul and could see everything that hurt you.
“Y/N”, he sighed and you realized you missed the way he said your name. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m… I’m fine.” You lied through your teeth, fake smile plastered on your face, but Mike could see right through it, you knew he could.
He pulled you to his side facing the booth you were just in, his arms pulling you to him by the waist. “Sorry guys, mind if I steal this girl for awhile?” He asked, smiling brightly.
Lily grinned widely and opened her mouth to reply, being quickly cut off by Tyler.
“Who are you exactly?” Tyler asked, the arrogance palpable in his tone. He wasn’t happy, whatever the reason was.
“I’m Mike”, he replied softly extending his hand out for Tyler to shake.
Tyler shook his hand firmly as he pressured again, fake smile on his face. “Mike, uh.” Mike nodded in response. “And how do you know our Y/N?”
Boone and Lily exchanged looks, fully knowing Tyler was fuming. They always knew he had feelings for you. They did wish he figured it out by himself, just not like this.
“I’m an old friend.” Mike replied simply, tugging you closer. “If that’s all, we have some catching up to do.”
With that, he grabbed your hand and pulled you to another booth across the room. Tyler’s eyes scanning the whole traject as you did so.
“An old friend my ass.” He scoffed as he downed his beer in one sitting.
⚡
Hours passed.
The noise of the bar melted away.
You laughed about inside jokes you forgot you shared. You talked about what went wrong – gently, honestly – no recriminations, no shouting. Just two people who once loved each other exploring why it didn’t work.
All night.
And the whole time – somewhere across the bar – you felt Tyler’s eyes on you.
Lily nudged Boone.
Boone stared back.
“You okay, man?” Boone asked, knowingly.
“Couldn’t be any better.” Tyler replied dryly.
You could see Boone saying something to Tyler but you couldn’t figure out what he said. Tyler mumbled something, frowning, jaw tightening.
You were blissfully unaware – wrapped in genuine connection, actual laughter, and a surprising warmth you didn’t expect to feel again.
Finally, when the bar announced last call, you both stepped outside into the night. Your ex walked you to the trucks – respectful, warm, all the things you’d hope someone would be – and then:
He kissed your forehead.
Soft. Gentle. Like an old song you used to love.
And then he walked away.
You watched his retreating back for a moment – at peace, no confusion – just something like closure.
That’s when you sensed Tyler right beside you.
He didn’t say anything at first.
Just watched you.
“Hey”, you offered softly, uncertain.
Tyler exhaled – slow – like he’d been holding it for months.
“You look… happy”, he said.
You blinked.
“I am,” you admitted.
No pretense. No awkward shift in your voice. Just honesty.
He didn’t speak right away.
Then, quietly – almost too soft to hear – he asked: “Are you… okay with him?”
You met his eyes. And you realized something:
You were okay.
Not because Tyler wasn’t important, but because you finally stood in your own feelings instead of hiding from them.
“It wasn’t bad”, you said. “It didn’t end badly. And… it was good to talk.”
Tyler nodded. Then, quieter: “I’m glad.”
For the first time since you told him you liked him, you didn’t feel like you were shrinking.
You just breathed.
And maybe – just maybe – Tyler was finally seeing you for exactly who you were – shy, funny, brilliant, and far stronger than you ever gave yourself credit for.
⚡
The next night, the team decided to hit the same bar again — something about the cozy dim lighting and the jukebox that Boone swore played the perfect storm-chasing playlist. You were hesitant at first, but curiosity and a craving for a normal night out won over.
Of course, fate had a sense of humor.
Your ex walked in again, this time with a few members of his team. You froze for a heartbeat, remembering the long conversation from the night before.
Tyler Owens, standing a few feet away, was immediately… tense. His jaw was tight, his arms crossed, and his eyes flicked toward your ex like he wanted to shove him through a window.
Boone leaned over to Lily, whispering, “He’s definitely simmering.”
Lily smirked. “Oh, he’s full-blown storm mode. This is our chance.”
You tried to be polite. Tyler came over, putting on his usual professional mask. “Hey. Everything okay?” he asked, voice careful.
“Yeah,” you said softly. “Everything’s fine.”
But it wasn’t long before you gravitated toward your ex again. The two of you found your booth — tucked in the same corner you’d claimed the night before — and instantly fell back into conversation.
Tyler stood nearby, pretending to talk to the bartender, but every so often his gaze darted toward your booth. His brow furrowed each time you laughed at a joke from your ex. He didn’t speak, but the frustration was practically radiating off him.
Boone and Lily exchanged looks.
“Time,” Lily whispered. “Go.”
They strolled over to Tyler, who stiffened immediately.
“Uh… hey,” Boone said casually. “You seem… tense.”
Tyler gave a tight-lipped smile. “I’m fine. Just… focused on work.”
“Uh-huh,” Lily said, smirking. “Focused on work and watching your crush have an all-night conversation with her ex?”
Tyler froze. “I - what?”
Boone leaned in, teasing but sharp. “You know, you can admit you’re jealous. We won’t tell anyone. Promise.”
Tyler’s jaw twitched. “It’s not… I’m not -”
“You’re glaring,” Lily interrupted, clearly enjoying the show. “Straight-up, full-on storm-chasing glare. At the bar. At your teammate. Classic Tyler Owens.”
Tyler’s face turned slightly red, a rare crack in his usually calm demeanor. “I’m… not jealous. I just… I don’t like seeing her… like that.”
Boone grinned. “Yeah. That’s called jealous, buddy.”
Meanwhile, in the booth, you and your ex were talking quietly, leaning in to be heard over the background music. You laughed about the old chase season mishaps and exchanged small updates on your lives since you last saw each other. The world outside that booth didn’t exist — Tyler, the bar, even the teasing from Boone and Lily — all of it faded to white noise.
From across the room, you could feel Tyler’s tension radiating. His shoulders were rigid, his knuckles white on the bar counter, and every now and then his eyes flicked to you, silently wishing he could rewind time or fast-forward the conversation — or maybe just shove himself into it.
Boone nudged Lily. “I think he might explode before last call.”
Lily grinned. “Let him stew. He’ll figure it out.”
For the first time in a long while, you weren’t worried about Tyler. You were enjoying the conversation you’d postponed for months, laughing freely, leaning back into the comfort of someone who had once mattered — and maybe still did in a different way.
Tyler, meanwhile, was forced to confront his own feelings, and Boone and Lily couldn’t resist reminding him of the truth: some storms aren’t on the radar — some are in your own heart.
The booth was dimly lit, the hum of the bar fading around the edges as you laughed at something your ex said — that familiar warmth and easy humor that had once drawn you in. Your cheeks hurt from smiling so much, and for a brief moment, it felt like no time had passed at all.
Then, in a quieter, softer tone, he leaned closer, eyes locking onto yours.
“I… I missed you,” he admitted.
The words hung in the air like a sudden stillness before a storm. Your heartbeat accelerated. Everything seemed to slow: the bar noise, the distant music, everything.
You looked at him, his gaze steady and full of unspoken longing. And then, before you could stop it - before you even realized what you were doing - your lips met.
The kiss was brief at first, hesitant, but the electricity between you was undeniable. It was a spark that had always been there, dormant, now reignited.
Across the bar, Tyler froze. His jaw clenched. His hands curled into fists at his sides. He tried to focus on something - anything - and turned toward Boone and Lily.
“Uh… I gotta go. Something came up. Emergency,” he mumbled.
Boone and Lily exchanged a knowing glance. Boone smirked. “Emergency, huh? Must be a real tornado.”
Lily laughed softly. “Go, Tyler. We got this.”
Tyler didn’t argue. He stormed out of the bar before you even had a chance to notice him slipping away.
You gently pushed your ex back, breaking the kiss and taking a breath. “We… shouldn’t,” you murmured, heart still racing.
He studied your face, his expression soft but knowing. “I figured,” he said quietly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “It’s him, right.”
He didn’t ask, he just stated. And you didn’t bother to reply. He already knew the answer.
⚡
Tyler’s imagination ran wild as he drove home, convinced you and your ex were going to… well, the thought of you with someone else made his stomach twist. The next morning, he carried that storm with him straight into work.
The next day, Tyler was different. Dry. Short. Snapping at everyone, but mostly at you.
“Are you even listening?” he barked as you tried to explain the new storm models for the day.
You blinked. “I - I was - yes, I was.”
He sighed, his eyes avoiding yours, but you could feel the tension in every word. “No, you weren’t.”
That was it. Something inside you cracked. The combination of last night’s emotions and now this sudden coldness was too much. Your chest felt tight, your throat raw.
“I can’t do this,” you muttered, pushing your papers aside. “I… I’m done.”
Before he could respond or do anything, you stormed out, your heart pounding, tears threatening to fall.
Later, Tyler found Boone and Lily in the break room, looking far too smug for his mood.
“She’s upset,” Boone said calmly.
“I know,” Tyler snapped.
“She left storming off home,” Lily added. “Not because of you yelling, Tyler… because she’s worried about your attitude. And…” She leaned in, smirking. “She turned her ex down. You can relax.”
Tyler froze. “Wait… what?”
“She said no,” Boone confirmed. “She didn’t. She didn’t… whatever you thought might happen.”
Tyler’s jaw dropped. The storm he’d been imagining in his mind - the disaster scenario he’d painted of you with someone else - evaporated, leaving a mixture of guilt, relief, and frustration swirling in its place.
Lily shook her head, smiling softly. “You really need to get your feelings under control before she comes back. If she comes back.”
Tyler ran a hand through his hair, staring down at the floor, realizing he’d let his jealousy and assumptions push you away - and for what?
The bar incident, the kiss, the imagined betrayal - it had all been a wake-up call. And now, Tyler had to figure out how to face you without making another storm worse than any tornado outside.
⚡
You didn’t mean to slam the door when you got home. But you did.
The quiet of your apartment swallowed you whole the second you stepped inside. No roaring engines. No team chatter. No Tyler.
You sank onto the couch, pressing your palms into your eyes. You were supposed to be smart. Logical. Emotionally composed. You analyzed supercells for a living - you understood patterns.
So why couldn’t you predict this one?
Tyler rejecting you.
Tyler glaring at you.
Tyler snapping at you like you’d done something wrong.
And worst of all?
The way your heart still chose him anyway.
⚡
Tyler stood frozen after Boone and Lily dropped the truth on him.
“She turned him down,” Lily repeated, arms crossed. “She literally pushed him away.”
Boone nodded. “And you bit her head off this morning because you assumed she didn’t.”
Tyler exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I saw them kiss.”
“And?” Lily challenged. “You told her you only see her as a friend.”
That hit harder than anything.
Boone softened a little. “You don’t get to reject her and then act like she’s cheating on you.”
Tyler looked like someone had knocked the wind out of him.
“I thought…” he started, then stopped. “I thought she was going to go home with him.”
“And that bothered you,” Lily said knowingly.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
Boone clapped him on the shoulder. “Go fix it before she decides she deserves better.”
⚡
You weren’t expecting a knock that late.
When you opened the door, you nearly shut it again.
Tyler stood there, hands shoved awkwardly in his jacket pockets. No cocky grin. No easy confidence. Just nerves.
“Can I come in?”
You hesitated - just for a second - then stepped aside.
The silence between you felt heavier than any storm cell you’d tracked together.
He didn’t sit. He just stood there, looking at you like he was recalculating everything he thought he knew.
“I messed up,” he said finally.
You crossed your arms - not defensive, just holding yourself together. “You’ve been doing that a lot lately.”
He winced. Fair.
“I thought you were going home with him,” he admitted. “I saw you kiss him and I just-” He exhaled. “I couldn’t handle it.”
You blinked. “Handle what?”
“You. With someone else.”
Your chest tightened.
“You told me you only saw me as a friend.”
“I know.” His voice cracked slightly. “And I meant it at the time. Or… I thought I did.”
You swallowed.
“What changed?”
Tyler stepped closer, but not enough to crowd you.
“You stopped looking at me like I was the center of your world,” he said honestly. “You got distant. Professional. And I realized I hated it.”
“That’s what happens when someone tells you they don’t want you,” you replied quietly.
He flinched again.
“And then seeing you laugh with him… seeing you look happy… I realized something,” he continued. “It wasn’t jealousy because you were mine.”
Your breath caught.
“It was jealousy because I wanted to be the one making you look like that.”
The room felt smaller.
You tried to steady your voice. “So what? You just changed your mind because someone else might want me?”
“No,” he said immediately. “I changed my mind because I was stupid enough to almost lose you.”
The words hung in the air.
“I didn’t go home with him,” you said softly. “I didn’t want to.”
Tyler nodded. “I know. Boone and Lily told me.”
A small, watery laugh escaped you. “Of course they did.”
He smiled faintly.
“I was scared,” he admitted. “You’re… you’re not just smart. You’re not just funny when you think no one’s paying attention. You’re steady. You’re real. And I didn’t think I deserved that. And you deserve more than what I have to offer.”
Your heart thudded.
“You don’t get to decide that for me,” you whispered.
Silence.
Then-
“I don’t see you as just a friend,” Tyler said, voice firm now. “I haven’t for a while. I just didn’t know how to admit it without risking everything.”
You searched his face for hesitation. There was none.
“You hurt me,” you said honestly.
“I know.”
“And if you snap at me like that again, I will absolutely leave you in the middle of a tornado.”
He let out a soft laugh — relieved, hopeful. “Fair.”
You studied him one last time. “Are you sure this isn’t just jealousy?”
Tyler stepped closer, gently brushing his knuckles against your hand.
“If it was just jealousy,” he said quietly, “I wouldn’t be here apologizing. I’d be sulking.”
That earned a small smile from you. “You do sulk,” you teased softly.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “But I’d rather risk getting it right than lose you completely.”
The storm between you shifted.
Not explosive.
Not chaotic.
Just… clearing skies.
You let yourself step into him, resting your forehead lightly against his chest.
“This is terrifying,” you murmured.
“Good,” he replied gently. “Means it matters.”
He leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull back, to say no. But you closed the gap, pressing your lips together.
This kiss was intentional.
Slow.
Certain.
Like the calm after the storm.
⚡
Boone checked his phone. “No explosion yet,” he said.
Lily grinned. “Give it time.”
Boone smirked. “You think they kissed?”
Lily sipped her drink. “Oh, absolutely.”
And somewhere across Oklahoma City, the sky rumbled faintly - but for once, it wasn’t the kind of storm anyone needed to chase.
⚡
The kiss wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was slow - like he was memorizing you.
Tyler’s hands rested carefully at your waist at first, almost hesitant, like he was still afraid you might pull away. But when you didn’t - when your fingers curled into the front of his shirt and you kissed him back with equal certainty - something shifted.
The restraint snapped.
His hands tightened slightly at your hips, grounding you against him. You could feel the warmth of him through the thin fabric of your clothes, the steady rise and fall of his chest as his breathing grew heavier.
“Still terrifying?” he murmured against your lips.
“Yes,” you breathed, but you didn’t move away.
Your hands slid up, fingers brushing the back of his neck. He shivered - actually shivered - and the realization sent a flicker of confidence through you. Shy didn’t mean unsure. Quiet didn’t mean weak.
You kissed him again, deeper this time.
He responded immediately.
One of his hands moved from your waist to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek with surprising tenderness before his fingers threaded into your hair. He tilted your head just enough to deepen the kiss, and your knees nearly gave out at the slow burn of it.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said softly, pulling back just enough to search your face.
“I won’t,” you replied, voice quiet but steady.
That was all he needed.
He walked you backward carefully, giving you plenty of time to change your mind - but you didn’t. When the back of your couch hit your legs, he paused again, checking you with his eyes.
You nodded once.
He kissed you like he meant it. Like he wasn’t going to let fear ruin this again.
Your laughter slipped out unexpectedly when he nearly tripped over the coffee table, and he groaned softly.
“Don’t ruin my moment,” he muttered.
“You’re very graceful,” you teased breathlessly.
He shook his head, smiling against your lips. “I chase tornadoes for a living. I don’t do furniture.”
That broke the intensity just enough to make it real - to make it yours.
When he pulled you close again, it was slower. Hands exploring with reverence rather than urgency. Foreheads touching. Soft murmurs between kisses.
No jealousy.
No insecurity.
No running.
Just warmth building between you, steady and certain.
Eventually, the world outside your apartment disappeared completely - the storms, the team, the ex, the doubt. There was only him brushing his thumb over your collarbone. Only you whispering his name like you were testing how it felt in a different context.
When he lifted you gently and carried you down the hallway, he paused at your bedroom door.
“Still with me?” he asked.
You kissed him in answer.
The door closed softly behind you.
And the storm finally broke — not wild or chaotic, but consuming in the best possible way.
⚡
The door had barely closed behind you before the air shifted.
Not rushed.
Not frantic.
Just charged.
Tyler put you down, his hands quickly placed at your waist pulling you close, thumbs brushing small, absent circles against your sides like he was grounding himself.
“You sure?” he murmured softly, searching your face.
You nodded.
That was all it took.
He kissed you again - slower this time - walking you backward until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. You let yourself fall onto it with a quiet breathless laugh, and he hovered above you, bracing himself on one arm so he wouldn’t crush you.
For a moment, he just looked at you.
Like he couldn’t quite believe this was happening.
“You’re staring,” you whispered.
“Yeah,” he replied quietly. “I am.”
His fingers slid gently along your arm, pushing your sleeve up inch by inch before letting his knuckles trail back down. Goosebumps followed in their wake.
You swallowed. He noticed.
That steady confidence he carried during chases was gone, replaced by something softer. Careful. Intentional.
His hand moved to the hem of your shirt, pausing there.
“If you want me to stop at any point- ”
“I won’t,” you breathed.
His jaw flexed slightly at that.
Slowly - deliberately - he lifted the fabric up, exposing skin a little at a time, like he was unwrapping something fragile. He didn’t rush. Didn’t tear or tug.
He kissed every new inch of skin as it appeared.
Your fingers moved to his jacket next, pushing it off his shoulders. It fell to the floor without either of you looking. Then your hands found the buttons of his shirt, fumbling slightly.
He huffed a quiet laugh against your collarbone.
“Nervous?” he murmured.
“Shut up.”
His grin brushed your skin.
When his shirt joined the jacket on the floor, you took a second to look at him - really look at him - and that small flicker of confidence you carried during storms sparked in your chest.
“You’re staring now,” he teased softly.
“Yeah,” you answered, mirroring him.
The room felt warmer.
Quieter.
Every movement after that was slower than the last - layers slipping away not out of urgency, but trust. His hands never wandered without checking your expression. Your fingers traced over familiar muscle like you were mapping him for the first time.
When he finally lowered himself over you fully, bare skin meeting bare skin, it wasn’t explosive.
It was steady heat.
Foreheads touching.
Breathing syncing.
“Still terrifying?” he whispered against your lips.
You smiled faintly. “Yeah.”
He kissed you again.
And this time, neither of you held back.
⚡
You woke up before he did.
Soft sunlight filtered through your curtains, warm and golden against the quiet of your bedroom. For a moment, you just lay there, blinking sleep from your eyes, trying to remember why your heart felt so steady.
Then you felt him.
Tyler’s arm was draped securely around your waist, his hand resting at your hip like he’d fallen asleep making sure you wouldn’t disappear. His breathing was slow, even, warm against the back of your neck.
You smiled to yourself.
Last night hadn’t been rushed. It hadn’t been about jealousy or proving anything. It had been soft where it needed to be, intense where it mattered - and full of whispered reassurances between stolen breaths. He’d treated you like something precious, not something temporary.
You carefully shifted to face him.
He looked younger asleep. Less storm-chasing confidence. More boy who had almost lost something important.
His eyes fluttered open.
For a split second, confusion crossed his face - and then memory flooded back in. His gaze softened instantly.
“Morning,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
“Morning.”
There was a beat of comfortable silence.
Then his eyes flicked across your face, searching. “You okay?”
The fact that he asked - that he needed to know - melted something inside you.
“I’m good,” you said softly. “You?”
A slow grin spread across his face. “Best morning I’ve had in a while.”
You rolled your eyes, shy smile betraying you. “That was dangerously smooth for someone who almost tripped over a coffee table last night.”
He groaned. “You are never letting that go.”
“Never.”
He pulled you closer, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. No urgency. No storm. Just warmth.
And for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel like you were waiting for something to go wrong.
⚡
Boone noticed immediately.
It was subtle. The way Tyler stood a little closer to you during briefing. The way his hand brushed yours when passing you a tablet. The way you didn’t avoid eye contact anymore.
Lily, on the other hand, noticed everything.
She leaned toward Boone. “Ten bucks says they finally talked.”
Boone smirked. “Oh, they definitely talked.”
Tyler tried - and failed - to act normal. He was focused, yes, but lighter. And every time you cracked one of your quiet, perfectly timed jokes, he looked at you like you’d hung the moon.
Unfortunately for him, Boone couldn’t resist.
“So,” Boone said casually during equipment checks, “you sleep okay, Tyler?”
Tyler froze mid-step.
You coughed to hide your smile.
“Yeah,” he replied carefully. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Lily leaned against the truck. “Just wondering. You look… well-rested.”
Your face went crimson.
Tyler shot them a warning look. “Drop it.”
Boone grinned. “Hey, I’m just glad the tension finally broke. Was getting hard to work around all that unresolved emotional weather.”
You let out an involuntary laugh.
Tyler looked at you, mock offense written all over his face. “You’re enjoying this.”
“A little,” you admitted.
He leaned closer, voice low enough that only you could hear. “Just wait until I get you alone again.”
Your stomach flipped.
Lily clapped her hands loudly. “Okay! That’s enough cryptic flirting for one morning. We have an actual storm to chase.”
⚡
The chase was clean. Smooth coordination. Sharp calls. You and Tyler worked together like you always had - except now there was something unspoken threading between every glance.
And when the team regrouped at a roadside stop after successfully tracking the system, your ex’s truck pulled in across the lot.
He stepped out, eyes scanning the group.
They landed on you.
Then shifted to Tyler standing beside you - closer than before. Familiar. Certain.
Understanding dawned immediately. He gave you a small, knowing smile.
You returned it - gentle, appreciative, but final.
No unfinished business.
No lingering “what if.”
Tyler’s hand brushed yours - subtle, protective without being possessive.
Your ex gave him a respectful nod. And that was that.
No drama.
No confrontation.
Just closure.
As the wind picked up lightly across the plains, Tyler leaned down slightly.
“You okay?” he asked again, softer this time.
You squeezed his hand. “I am.”
He smiled - not the cocky grin he gave the cameras. Not the easy charm he gave strangers. This one was just for you.
And for once, the only storm on the horizon was one you were both ready to chase - together.
ooh when the ex made that entrance i was betting all my money on them getting back together and riding into the sunset just to make tyler suffer mwaha; but fortunately, you made it even better GREAT MOVE BTW NIIICE
jealous tyler is such a cutie patootie 🤗
... and then that soft angsty confrontation, giving us that beautiful ending with the perfect love scene (which i ADORE because of how cute, humorous and spicy it is - the witty banter between them was lovely af 😍 here's a 🏅 for that one) and all that fluff ❤❤
well written and captivating, i really enjoyed reading it!! 100⭐ 1000/10 would recommend!
ps: sorry that was long and i suck at words... and basically at everything else too lol trying not to spoil but failing hehe
when I was like 14 I used to reblog these posts on here that were like "YOUR 20S ARE NOT AN IMAGINARY RACE YOURE DOING JUST FINE!!" just to be positive towards my older mutuals even though i didn't really get what they were about and I'd be in the tags like "#so true!! #everyone does things at their own pace!!" and now im 24 I'm thinking back to it and it's like Oh of course the imaginary race. Which im losing
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