The headlights were the only thing that lit his way in the middle of the night in some podunk town. He had grown used to driving at all hours and even though he could barely see through the downpour, he still kept going. The truck roared along, sure to wake up anyone that was trying to sleep at this hour. Fresh off a hunt, he was buzzed on adrenaline and whiskey, neither inhibiting him from leaving the bar and heading out for a new hunt. He had places to go, things to kill, a demon to track.
She was the last thing he had been expecting to come upon. Anyone with half a brain would know not to be out in a storm like this. But the moment she turned into the headlights, his body stiffened. He brought the truck to a stop off the side of the road and he climbed out slowly so as not to startle the young woman. She was drenched from head to toe, only in a tank top and jeans. She was barefoot but what caught his attention most was the blood and bruises all over her body.
Hey Char, I know your thing is for Thor, but would you write any other Hemsworth characters? I just re-watched Extraction and it's such a "netflix" movie if you know what I mean, but this time I felt things for Tyler Rake, like, dude really needs a hug
A/N: Tyler Rake x F!Reader. I gave these lovahs a super soldier backstory because straight up he would not have survived that bullet wound. Smut on a table. Idiots in love.
It’s not that he doesn’t love her. It’s that he does.
You can’t have two mercenaries together. It’s suicide. It’s a target. But he comes back to her. Every. Fucking. Time.
He staggers through her door with blood painting his face or sheeting down his thigh and she puts him back together. Sometimes it’s her who comes to him. She finds him like she’s got a piece of herself inside him. A North Star. A bit of telepathy. She falls into him - lips quivering around some half-hearted description of whatever injury she has. She’s inhaled toxic fumes or gotten a stab to the gut that should have killed her, but didn’t. He attends to her. He attends to her in all sorts of ways.
No matter the wound, they live.
It’s because of who they are. What they’re made of.
