Specops x reader smut

Chapter 1-Saviour

You were headed to your local riot. You lived smack dab in the middle of Mississippi and had found yourself thrown into a civil rights movement. You of course realized the importance of these riots and were heading out to protest police brutality. Before leaving, you used a t-shirt to wrap around your mouth and head to mask your identity. You wore a medical grade mask over it to try and protect yourself from COVID-19. You packed multiple pairs of clothes, a portable phone charger, first aid kits, and many bottles of water in your backpack. You slipped into a pair of leggings and neat black shirt with comfortable walking shoes. You pulled on some gloves and put some spares in your backpack.  Finally, you grabbed your sign that said "Hands Up Don't Shoot" on it and headed out. 

You stepped out of your door and saw a crowd formed maybe 300 feet in front of you. You walked quickly over, slipping in between an older black women and teenage boy. You marched for nearly an hour, everyone doing their best to keep things peaceful. Eventually you reached a wall of police men, and heard a commotion in front of you. Your fingers tightened on your backpack loops as you looked towards to noise. A tall man, at least 7 foot, was bent down in front of the police. He laughed in their faces and called them names. You flushed red as you stood a few feet behind him. Your heart pounded. He just radiated dominance and power. He was dressed head to toe in a large riot suit, making him even more intimidating. Something about his height caught you off guard, but you shook the attraction off. This was a protest, not a tinder date, you reminded yourself sheepishly. 

You pushed your way through the crowd, intrigued by this mystery man. As you got closer you could hear some of his words. "Pigs! You'll be held accountable little man." You stifle a chuckle. Part of you wants to join in. The police's face twitches slightly as the crowd starts to push them back. "Hey, everyone back. NOW!" One the police, slightly to the left of the mystery man yells, raising his gun into the air. People rush backwards, yelling in fear and tripping over each other. Someone knocks you over as they turn around and fly past you. A single shot is fired, and people's screams start to overlap with each other. The tall man stands strong in front of the police, taking a single step back and still managing to hover over all of them. You're frozen in fear and slowly stand. Next to you, a white teenage boy grabs a brick from a suspiciously placed pile. You watch in horror as he throws it through a car window, then sprints of. A black women is running behind him, not realizing a police man aiming right for her. You finally get up and jump in front of her without hesitation. 

A rubber bullet hits your upper thigh, causing you to cry out in intense pain. You fall to the ground, screaming for help. Your pathetic cries are drowned out as chaos breaks out around you. You pull yourself to the side of the street, watching in panic as your leg begins to bruise an intense shade of purple and blue. You pull your backpack off, but your hands are too shaky to give yourself any first aid. Defeated, you sob and curl into the fetal position. Suddenly, a large hand gently touches your shoulder. "Can I help you?" a muffled voice asks. You look up, tears blurring your eyes. It's the mystery man from before! He kneels slowly in front of you, bulky gear getting in the way. It's unnerving not being able to see his expression, but you feel a deep sense of care and trust coming from him. "P-please help. I have a first aid kit but I just can't." You choke out between sobs. He nods "Is it alright if I pick you up?" he asks. You cough slightly and give him permission. He slowly and carefully lifts you, holding you securely in his arms. He makes sure not to bump your leg, shifting you slightly. You wrap your arms around his neck, crying softly as he moves quickly away from the violence. 

He brings you to a sitting area behind a closed café. He tenderly places you into a white plastic chair. You wince slightly but try not to cry out. You feel pathetic. "I'm sorry. There a-are more people hurt. I came to h-help them." You say weakly, full of defeat. His voice is soft but deep as he responds. "Don't say that. You took that bullet to save someone. You did help them." He pauses from working on your leg to put a hand under your chin. He slowly lifts it with his gloved hand, forcing you to look up at him. "You did good" He insists. You drop your head back down and he returns to your leg, carefully applying pressure with a bag of frozen peas. You're tired of feeling so useless and weak. "My house is just a few miles back, I'm alright now." You say, feigning strength. He shakes his head "I'm sorry but I can't let you head back out there and feel good about it. You could come stay with me for the night, if you'd like." You pause. He's taken good care of you and seems kind, but he's a stranger and you're a young women. You pull out your phone and let a few close friends know where you're going, just in case. "Alright, well thank you....?" "The names Brett." he replies.

You chat a bit about the BLM movement and your lives on the car ride to his house. It's a short ride, maybe 5 minutes in the opposite direction of yours. It's a neat suburban type house with a wrap around deck. You feel like you could walk at this point, but don't complain when he scoops you up in his arms and carries you in. He places you in his living room in a big, comfortable lounge chair. "Hungry?" he asks. "Just a bit, mostly tired." You reply with a yawn. He nods and quickly makes you some sandwiches. You're hungrier than you thought and eat quickly. He watches you quietly but pulls his gaze away whenever you catch him. 

A gorgeous man with long dreadlocks walks down the stairs. "Who's this?" He asks, raising an eyebrow. He has deep caramel skin and eyes so brown they almost look black. "I'm y/n. Brett picked me up from a protest after one of the pigs hit me with a rubber bullet." You reach out and he gives you a firm handshake. His hands are slightly calloused and noticeably larger than yours. Brett chimes in "This is my good friend Richie. Helps out at protests all the time." Richie smiles "You may know me as "Riot" online." You were fully unaware of the Spec-ops existence in riots before this, but as you pull up twitter, you flush red. "Have you guys...seen what people say about you?" Brett laughs loudly, his deep chuckle rolling through the room. "We're flattered, it's pretty crazy honestly" he says with a smirk. "Listen, I've got to get this gear off and I'm sure you're tired, wanna head up?" Brett asks. Richie winks at him and laughs as Brett groans.

You smile slightly, everything seeming a little surreal. "Sure." You pause. You've always been a little shy and aren't exactly one to shoot their shot, but you sputter out "Could you um...carry me up?" Brett doesn't miss a beat, holding you like a princess and walking you up to his room. He has red walls and a pretty plain room. Black bean bag chair, small aquarium, and dark oak desk. He settles you into his bed, then pulls of his gear piece by piece. You pull out your phone and pretend to flip through Instagram as you not-so-subtlety watch him strip. He pulls of the head piece first, revealing short dark brown hair. It's flat after a day of hard work and being stuck under that helmet. You just want to run your fingers through it and fix it up a bit. He tugs off the vest and upper body next. Your heart pounds as you see his back muscles flex. He pulls it over his head, arms shining with sweat. He's been on his feet saving people and fucking up police all day and it's taken a toll on him. Lower body comes off then. He leaves on a pair of tight boxers. You smirk. He has a great ass and strong, well-built legs. He grabs some loose checkered sleep pants and turns around. You hardly manage to avert your eyes before he notices you've been gaping at his figure. 

"You wanna change?" He asks. You look up and swallow hard. Sweat has left his gorgeously chiseled abs and chest literally glistening in his bedroom light. Is he even real?  "Hello? Earth to y/n?" Brett laughs. You cough and finally muster up a response "Sorry. I feel so gross in these clothes but I don't know if I can even change I'm so sore." He nods and suddenly you regret your response. "You could help." You blurt out. He raises his eyebrows. "Sorry?" "Just maybe you could help me or something. If you were ok with that." You say, trying to cover your tracks. He steps slowly towards you. He moves like an animal stalking his prey, a confident smirk on his mouth. He tucks his hands under the sides of you top, slowly pulling it over your head. His fingers are warm on your cool skin, making them feel almost electric as they brush your bra. He's gentle, yet dominant as he peels off your leggings, avoiding your bruise. He stands beside you, slipping his hands around your back. He pauses, eyes softening. "This alright?" you nod, trying to control your breathing. You've been in quarantine for months and his touch is expert. The angle is awkward, so he slowly leans beside you, then hovers over you, one bent leg on either side. You sit up a bit to make it easier and he pulls of your bra. 

His breath hitches slightly but he stays respectful. He grabs you some clothes from your bag, slowly covering you back up. Little do you know, you both share the same wish. The wish that he would just pull everything off and fuck you like the little slut that you are. 

(A/C: OML I'm so sorry for naming him Brett but I'm six chapters in and can't change his name at this point. I wanted to give him a different name and I'm genuinely tired of getting comments about so please just ignore it ty 🥺 <3)

(A/C: Check out my new enemies to lovers series! 'My Bully, My Lover' is out now!