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dollgxtz · 2 months ago

Text

Shattered Birdcage

Word Count: 9.5k

Summary: Sylus loses control due to the Frenzy Enhancer and you don't find the activater in time...causing him to become sexually aggressive and desperate to claim you for himself :3

Tags: praedator!Sylus x fem!reader, predator x prey, noncon, intense choking, rough sex, forced orgasm, degradation, biting, blood, injury, cunnilingus, creampie, threats, mentions of breeding, nicknames like little bird, near death experience (no one actually dies don't worry!!), fluffy ending to soften the blow :33

Taglist: @magpie-the-goblin-girl @sxremmie @lem-hhn @silverbrain @sizzlingtigerkitten @msslytherin00 @letharue @yu-irene @poptrim @monster-effer @ditsynddotsy @size0forhollywood @its-regretti @queenofstresss @reiheis @valentinared

AN: Hiii guys!! Are we enjoying the new banner? I AM! This is literally a dream come true for me. So I decided to write a fic based on it with a little twist hehe. Please heed the warnings guys, this is a very intense fic and I tagged it accordingly. This is legitmately straight up noncon, not cnc. If you asked for a tag and weren't tagged its cause I couldn't find your age on your profile anywhere, sorry! Enjoy!

You exhale slowly, fingers brushing over the edges of the movie tickets still tucked in your pocket before letting them go. The paper crinkles softly, a fragile reminder of something almost normal. But it doesn’t belong to you anymore. Maybe it never did.

Then, the world shatters.

The fire alarm shrills, a piercing, agonizing wail that erupts through the hospital like a banshee’s scream. Panic spreads instantly, as sudden and violent as a tidal wave crashing over an unprepared shore.

The chaos begins.

Screams.

Heavy, frantic footsteps thunder down the halls. The sterile walls of the hospital, once cold and quiet, now tremble with the desperate energy of fear. The mechanical beep of heart monitors, the faint hum of fluorescent lights—all of it drowns beneath the raw, unfiltered sound of survival.

Somewhere outside your room, a woman’s voice splinters the air.

"Fire! Help!"

Her cry is swallowed by the deafening roar of the alarm, by the clatter of overturned medical carts, by the stampede of bodies flooding the halls. A shadow streaks past the glass window of your door, her silhouette vanishing into the growing plumes of smoke curling along the ceiling.

Then—movement behind you. You turn, locking eyes with Sylus. He doesn’t flinch.

He leans casually against the wall, utterly unbothered by the pandemonium unraveling around you. Smoke licks at the edges of his leather top, but he remains still, red eyes gleaming with something sharp, knowing, entertained. The ghost of a smirk plays at his lips.

"They’re right on schedule," he murmurs, his voice smooth, unaffected, like this is nothing more than a carefully executed performance.

He extends his hand toward you, as if inviting you into a dance.

Your pulse kicks up, but you don’t hesitate. You take his hand.

His fingers curl around yours—strong, steady, warm despite the growing heat. With a single pull, you propel yourself forward, slipping past the threshold of the hospital room and into the chaos beyond.

Smoke greets you first, thick and curling, its acrid tendrils slithering into your lungs like a living thing. The air is already changing—heat warping it, bending it, making it heavier. The moment you inhale, your throat burns. You clamp your sleeve over your mouth, but the effort is futile. The stench of burning plastic and antiseptic chemicals invades your senses, clawing at your eyes, your nose, your lungs.

Outside, the scene is worse.

Patients in hospital gowns stumble through the smoke, their movements disjointed, frantic. Some clutch at IV stands like lifelines, others trip over their own feet, disoriented by the blaring alarms and the thick, suffocating haze.

Doctors and nurses shout over the chaos, their voices lost in the hurricane of fear. Someone grabs your arm—a patient, her face streaked with sweat and panic, begging for help—but you pull away. You don’t have time.

You aren’t here to run.

You and Sylus move against the current, pushing past the flood of bodies surging toward the exits. The sheer force of them is overwhelming, a sea of desperation crashing around you, dragging you under. A body collides with yours their fingers tangling in your sleeve—but you break free, heart hammering as you surge toward the stairwell.

"We’ll lead them to the rooftop!" you yell, the words raw in your throat.

Sylus doesn’t answer, but he’s right beside you, his presence like a gravitational pull you can’t escape.

The stairwell looms ahead, doors thrown open as black smoke pours inside, bleeding into the emergency lights like a living shadow. The second you reach it, you don’t hesitate.

You take the stairs two, three at a time, Sylus still close behind you.

The heat is worse here. It rises from below, clawing at your legs, your back, the nape of your neck. Your breath comes in ragged bursts, your lungs searing, aching, screaming for fresh air. Each step feels like an eternity, each turn of the stairwell winding tighter, suffocating.

But you don’t stop.

Then—light.

A final shove against the rooftop doors, and you break through.

The moment you stumble outside, the temperature drops violently.

The cold slaps you across the face, stealing the breath from your lungs, shocking your overheated body into momentary stillness. The wind howls, slicing through the thick sweat on your skin, tangling through your hair, but it does nothing to mute the screams below.

And these screams are different.

Not panicked. Not desperate.

Dying.

A sickening weight drops into your stomach. Sylus steps up beside you, his stance tense, rigid, watchful. He doesn’t need to say it. You already know.

Ever’s assassins are here.

Your skin prickles as you scan the rooftop, the smoke too thick, the night too quiet. You can feel it in your bones—something is waiting.

Then—a shadow moves.

Then another.

Then—

Gunfire.

The first shot splits the air like a knife through silk.

You react instinctively, twisting your body out of the way as the bullet slams into the concrete near your foot, sending a sharp spray of dust and shattered stone into the air.

Another shot.

Sylus shoves you sideways, his movements lightning-fast, the force of it throwing you just out of the bullet’s path. Another impact—a bullet embedding itself into the rooftop behind where you had been standing only seconds before.

A crack split the air, followed by another. Sparks erupted as bullets ricocheted off metal pipes and rooftop vents, spraying embers into the night. Instinct kicked in before thought—you dropped low, rolling to the side just as a round zipped past your ear, embedding itself in the wall behind you.

Sylus moved with effortless precision, dodging fire as if it were choreographed. His jacket billowed as he twisted, reaching for his blade. A flash of steel. A wet gurgle. One assassin crumpled before he even realized he was dead.

You pivoted on your heel, raising your own weapon. A pull of the trigger—a sharp crack through the air. The man before you barely had time to react before the bullet found its mark. His body jerked violently, blood misting into the wind before he collapsed.

Another shot. Another fall.

They kept coming.

More shadows emerged from the darkness, gunfire tearing through the night in an unrelenting onslaught. You both wove through them like ghosts, striking fast, striking first. Your heart pounded as you ducked beneath a swing, countering with a sharp jab to the ribs, twisting your opponent’s wrist until his own weapon turned against him. A single shot. A final breath.

Sylus barely broke a sweat, his movements fluid, brutal, decisive. He drove his blade into one assassin’s chest, twisting just enough to make it agonizing. The man gasped, a short, choked sound before Sylus wrenched the blade free and let him drop.

"Pathetic," he muttered, stepping over the body without a second glance.

More gunfire. More bodies dropping.

Silence.

The last assassin twitched once, then stilled, his fingers curling in the pool of blood spreading beneath him. The night was thick with the scent of gunpowder, metal, and death.

And then—sirens.

A chorus of wailing alarms grew louder in the distance, flashing red and blue bleeding into the night sky.

The battlefield of bodies lay still, the chaos settled into an eerie quiet. The stench of gunpowder and iron filled your lungs, coating your throat with the acrid tang of death. The last spent cartridges hit the concrete, rolling in slow, uneven circles before finally resting among the carnage. Smoke lingered in the cold night air, twisting in delicate tendrils around the lifeless figures strewn across the rooftop.

You pushed out a slow breath, feeling the adrenaline still burning in your veins. Your fingers flexed around the grip of your weapon before you finally holstered it. The police would be here soon, their sirens growing louder in the distance, but they weren’t your concern. These bodies—the nameless, faceless pawns of Ever—would be cleaned up. Their presence erased. Their deaths categorized as classified in some sealed document, buried beneath bureaucratic nonsense.

"Sylus, we're clear! Let's move!" your voice came out sharper than you intended, urgency overtaking you.

He didn’t respond right away.

He was standing unnervingly still, his usual cocky demeanor replaced with something unreadable. His expression was neutral, but there was an intensity in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, a glint of something dark that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. His movements were slow as he wiped away the smear of blood on his cheek, his fingers leaving faint streaks of red against his skin. The way he stood—too relaxed, too quiet—set off alarm bells in your mind, though you couldn’t yet pinpoint why.

Something in his expression made your gut clench. His usual amused arrogance was absent, replaced with something darker. His pupils were slightly blown, the faintest edge of something feral lurking in his gaze. The air around him felt charged, electric. Wrong.

Then a sound.

A wet, strangled cough.

You both turned.

The last assassin—one you had assumed was already dead—was still moving. Barely. He lay twisted on the ground, one arm stretched toward you, his fingers twitching, curled like claws. His chest rose and fell unevenly, each breath rattling, wet, his lungs failing him.

But his lips—coated in blood—were curled into a grotesque smile.

"Even though..." he wheezed, a broken chuckle rattling out from somewhere deep in his ruined throat. "We can't kill you or him..." He spat a thick glob of blood onto the ground, his grin stretching wider, his yellowed teeth bared like a rabid dog. "Both of you...can rot in hell!"

His fingers twitched, curling weakly around something small, something you hadn’t noticed before. Then, in one sharp motion, his fist clenched, and a sudden crack rang out. Glass shattered, the sharp snap almost lost in the cool air, but the moment you heard it, your stomach dropped. A dark, viscous liquid seeped between his fingers, mingling with the blood pooling on the rooftop floor.

Then you caught the scent.

It was faint at first, nearly masked by the coppery stench of death, but the moment it hit the back of your throat, your entire body locked up in realization. The chemical tang was sharp, bitter, something that curled into your lungs like acid. It was distinct. Familiar.

Your body reacted before your brain fully processed the danger.

"No—!"

Your pulse thundered in your skull.

The Frenzy Enhancer.

A biochemical compound designed for one thing: triggering an uncontrollable transformation in Praedators. The LCBI had confiscated hundreds of these vials from underground labs, tearing them away from illegal deals before they could be sold to the highest bidder. But no matter how much of it was taken off the streets, more always surfaced. It was unpredictable. Uncontrollable.

It worked fast—too fast.

You turned, heart pounding in your chest. Sylus had gone rigid, his muscles locking as though every nerve in his body had seized up at once. His breathing was deep, too deep, pulling in the scent like his body was craving it against his will. His head tilted slightly, nostrils flaring, a shudder running through him from head to toe.

A low, guttural growl rumbled from his chest, barely human.

Your blood turned to ice.

His pupils dilated until the irises nearly vanished, red pools swallowing the color in his gaze. His lips parted slightly, sharp, elongated canines catching the dim rooftop lights. He was salivating. A slick sheen of moisture gathered along his lower lip, his body trembling with the effort to hold himself together.

But he was losing the battle.

The Frenzy Enhancer wasn’t just a stimulant—it was a detonator. It bypassed control, restraint, morality. It didn’t just enhance what he was—it unchained it.

And right now, it was unraveling him.

"Sylus," you said carefully, your voice firm but measured. He twitched at the sound of his name, his head snapping toward you with a sharp, unnatural movement. His muscles trembled as if barely keeping himself together, but his gaze was locked onto you now—not as a comrade.

As prey.

You had seen this before as an Enforcer, watched it unfold in others who had been exposed to the drug. The Frenzy Enhancer didn’t just bring out what they were—it unchained them. It severed the link between logic and instinct, driving them into a state of raw, uncontrolled bloodlust. But this wasn’t just any Praedator—it was Sylus. He was already dangerously close to the edge even on a normal day, always teetering between control and destruction. Now, with the drug coursing through his system, you weren't sure how much time you had before he lost himself completely.

You had to move.

Reaching forward, you grabbed his arm, fingers locking tight around his wrist. His skin was hot, too hot. His entire body was trembling with need, his breath shuddering against his clenched teeth. The growl rumbling in his chest vibrated beneath your palm, every muscle in his arm wound taut like a spring waiting to snap.

"Come on," you gritted out, pulling him forward with force. He resisted, his stance firm, as though something inside him was battling whether to follow or attack. Your pulse thrummed in your throat.

Then he staggered.

It was slight, barely a misstep, but you used it. Yanking him forward, you dragged him across the rooftop, forcing his unsteady body toward the stairwell. His breath hitched in a ragged snarl, his movements twitchy, erratic, but he followed.

For now.

Each step was a battle. He stumbled against you, his balance skewed, his instincts fighting him at every turn. By the time you both reached the underground corridors of NightStrix HQ, his breathing had become ragged, his body burning up from the inside out. His restraint was slipping fast.

You shoved open the heavy steel door, dragging him inside. Deep within the base, hidden away from the rest of the world, the reinforced cage ready to hold the beast that was about to be unleashed.

Sylus grunted against you, his breath coming in hot, ragged bursts as you dragged you both into the containment cage. His body was burning up, his muscles twitching violently under your grip, every fiber of him trembling with the overwhelming need to break free. Each second that passed was a countdown to catastrophe. The Frenzy was about to take full hold, and if you didn’t restrain him now, you might not get another chance.

You fumbled with the heavy iron chains, fingers slick with sweat as you worked to loop one around his thrashing limbs. The muzzle. You needed to get the muzzle on first. Your heart pounded as you grabbed it from the steel hooks on the wall, forcing it over his mouth while he snarled, his body lurching violently against you.

"Sylus, stop—!"

He thrashed hard, nearly knocking you to the floor. His strength was unnatural, monstrous, and it was only getting worse. With a final shove, you managed to secure the muzzle around his face, locking the metal straps tightly at the back of his head. But before you could reach for the second chain, he bucked with terrifying force, sending you stumbling backward. You barely had time to clasp the restraint around one of his legs before you were forced to scramble out of the cage.

The second you slammed the heavy door shut, he lunged.

The impact rattled through the metal bars as his shoulder slammed into them, the force sending vibrations into the floor beneath you. You jumped, heart hammering in your ribs, your breath coming too fast. He slid down slightly, panting, his chest rising and falling in heavy, uneven gasps.

Then, without warning, he laughed.

A dark, guttural chuckle, low and mocking, twisted through the air like poison. His pupils were blown slightly wide now, black swallowing the color of his irises as he tilted his head toward you. Even through the muzzle, his teeth gleamed, sharp and lethal.

"Won’t you help me?" he rasped, his voice thick with something twisted—half-growl, half-seduction.

You froze.

He was still partially unrestrained. That single remaining chain wasn’t enough—if the Frenzy fully took hold, he could snap it in seconds. If you waited too long, he would be too far gone.

You had to finish restraining him now.

Swallowing the tight lump in your throat, you slowly stepped forward into the cage. Your pulse roared in your ears, your body screaming at you to run, but you forced your limbs to obey. You kept your eyes on him, watching every twitch of his muscles, every flicker of movement. You knelt, reaching for the second chain, moving with deliberate slowness so you wouldn’t startle him.

"I’m not going to watch you turn into a monster, but I—"

You never got to finish.

Sylus lunged.

A blur of motion—heat, strength, raw power.

You barely had time to react before white-hot pain exploded in your neck.

A strangled scream tore from your throat as his teeth sank into your flesh, piercing deep, his jaws locking down like a predator making its first kill. Agony shot through your nerves, the sharp burn of torn skin flooding your senses. Your vision whited out for a second, pain so intense it nearly stole your breath.

Then instinct took over.

You snarled, swinging your fist up hard, your knuckles cracking against his cheekbone with enough force to send his head snapping sideways. The impact jarred his teeth free, a sharp burst of pain ripping through you as he tore away from your skin. Blood dripped from the wound, warm and wet, seeping between your fingers as you clutched your neck in blind panic.

For a moment, all you could do was breathe through the pain.

The air was thick with the scent of your own blood, sharp and metallic, mixing with the sweat and heat that clung to you both. Your hands trembled as you pulled them away from the wound, your fingers smeared crimson. The realization sent a sickening chill through you.

He had bitten you.

Not just attacked. Bitten.

Your gaze shot back up to him.

Sylus was licking his lips.

He ran his tongue slowly over the blood staining his mouth, eyes fluttering shut for a brief second as though savoring it. Then his pupils snapped back open, razor-sharp hunger gleaming in them.

"You taste delicious." His voice was thick, dripping with need, his words slurred with the edges of something inhuman. His breath came in heavy, fevered bursts, chest rising and falling as his restraint frayed further.

A shudder ran through his body, muscles twitching beneath his skin. His fingers flexed, nails digging into the concrete floor as his entire frame shook with the need to consume more.

"Come...just a little more..." he purred, voice dropping to something low and lethal.

Then he lunged again.

You dodge just in time, barely avoiding the brutal force of his lunge. The heat of his breath scorches the space between you as he snarls, his entire body moving like a coiled beast just barely restrained by human skin. The instant he gets too close, you strike—your fist colliding with his cheekbone in a sharp, jarring impact that sends a jolt of pain radiating up your arm. The force of the hit knocks his head to the side, his body twisting under the sudden blow, but even as he stumbles, something in your gut tells you it isn’t enough.

Your heart pounds wildly, your breath coming in uneven gasps as you prepare yourself for whatever comes next. But Sylus doesn’t fall. He doesn’t even cry out. Instead, he slowly turns back to face you, a sluggish, almost lazy motion, as if he’s savoring the sting of your hit. And then—he smiles.

“Oh…I like when my prey puts up a fight,” he purrs, his voice slithering through the air like something alive. His eyes gleam with raw, unhinged hunger, pupils swallowing what little color remains. The way he tilts his head, the way his lips curl over the metal of his muzzle—it sends a sickening chill down your spine.

The Frenzy has him now. Completely.

You swallow hard, trying to suppress the shudder threatening to wrack your frame. Every inch of your body is screaming at you to run, but you plant your feet firm against the cold concrete, refusing to let fear consume you. If you let him see weakness, if you let him smell it, you’ll lose control of the situation entirely.

"Sylus! Stop it!" you shout, willing your voice to be strong. "Please, I know you're in there somewhere! I just need to—"

He lunges again.

The movement is blindingly fast. One second he's still and the next, he’s twisting, lunging toward you with a violent, predatory force. You barely manage to throw yourself to the side, feeling the rush of displaced air as he snaps at the space where your throat had just been. You seize the opening, grabbing hold of the second restraint with trembling hands and slamming it onto his other wrist. The sharp clank of metal follows as his chains yank him back, keeping him from reaching you—but only barely.

Your pulse slams against your ribs. If you don’t finish this now, he will get free.

His body writhes violently in front of you, hot with fever, drenched in sweat, trembling with animalistic hunger. He’s caught. Fully restrained now, arms suspended in place, unable to do anything but snarl and thrash.

Your arms shake as you stumble backward, breath ragged. You barely register your own hands drifting to your neck, fingers pressing against the torn skin where his teeth had sunk in only moments ago. The wound is deep, hot, raw, but you won’t die from it. Your body is immune to a Praedator’s venom—it’s one of the only reasons you’re even still alive right now. But that doesn’t stop the sick wave of nausea that rolls through you as your fingertips come away stained with more blood.

Sylus laughs.

The sound is low, rough, and dangerously amused.

"You scared?" he murmurs, voice still ragged with the aftershocks of his transformation, his breath coming in heavy, uneven bursts. His eyes flicker over you, roaming your body from head to toe, slow and deliberate, as if memorizing every tiny tremor in your stance.

Your stomach tightens. You don’t answer.

His gaze lingers at your neck, at the place where his teeth had torn you open. His lips part slightly behind the muzzle, and his tongue flicks out, running along the bloodied edge of his mouth as if tasting the remnants of you still clinging to his skin. His chest rises and falls heavily, as if trying to restrain himself, but there’s something else lurking behind his eyes. You watch as his eyes roam up and down your body, seemingly lost in thought. He's thinking about something.

Something dark.

"Your idea of help is heartwarming," he muses as he staggers towards you a bit, his voice softer now, mocking, but no less dangerous.

You force yourself to hold his gaze, even as your breathing refuses to steady. Even as something deep in your gut tells you that Sylus isn’t as trapped as he looks.

Because despite the chains, despite the restraints keeping you apart, he’s still in control.

And he knows it.

"When you approach your prey, you must ensure your own safety first. You taught me this, Sylus."

Your voice is calm, controlled, but the pain radiating from your neck betrays the lie. Each breath you take feels like a blade dragging against raw flesh, a sharp pulse of heat throbbing beneath your skin. You try to ignore it, pushing past the discomfort, pushing past the rising tide of fear that threatens to anchor itself in your chest. There’s no time to waste. You need to find the activator—now. It’s buried somewhere in his body, a trigger designed to override the Frenzy and pull him back from the brink. If you don’t locate it soon, he’ll break free, and there will be no reining him in after that.

Sylus lets out a low scoff, but there’s no real amusement behind it. His breathing is heavy, uneven, his chest rising and falling in quick bursts as though he’s barely holding himself together. Sweat beads at his temple, strands of hair clinging to his skin, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if there’s any part of him left fighting from within, if the Sylus you know is still buried somewhere beneath all that raw, seething hunger.

"Prey?" he murmurs, rolling the word slowly across his tongue like he’s savoring the taste of it. His voice is hoarse, thick with something not quite human, something that sends an instinctual shiver down your spine.

You don’t answer. You can’t. The way he said that definitely indicated that he is not the prey here.

Instead, you move carefully, methodically, circling behind him. His arms are still suspended above his head, iron restraints locking him in place, but you know better than to let yourself feel safe. Chains mean nothing to him. They’re a hindrance at best, a mere delay in what will happen if you fail. Even now, his muscles flex, the sharp ripple of movement beneath his skin a silent warning of what he’s capable of. The heat coming off him is unnatural, feverish, almost suffocating.

You steel yourself, steadying your breath as you press your fingers lightly against his back. Your touch is slow, deliberate, barely there as you search for the small, embedded activator. It should be beneath the skin, nestled somewhere between the shifting planes of muscle. But finding it means keeping your composure, means moving carefully enough that you don’t trigger a reaction.

Your fingers glide along the ridges of his spine, trailing lower, feeling for anything out of place. Every shift of your hand feels like balancing on a razor’s edge. Sylus flinches under your touch, his body tensing hard before he exhales, a low, guttural sound vibrating through his chest. You feel it under your fingertips, the tremor of restraint, of struggle.

A bead of sweat slips down your temple. Nothing. No scar tissue, no ridge of foreign anything beneath the surface that you can find.

“It’s not here…” you murmur under your breath, your stomach twisting as unease settles deep inside you.

Sylus lets out another breath, but this time, there’s something different about it. A chuckle—slow, deliberate, curling like smoke in the thick air between you.

"Do you think I’m putty in your hands?" he asks, his voice low, teasing, laced with something dangerous.

The sound sends a flicker of unease racing up your spine. He’s getting antsy. The patience he had been holding onto—if he had any at all—is unraveling quickly. His muscles are shifting beneath his skin again, his fingers twitching, testing the strength of his restraints. You don’t need to see his face to know he’s smiling.

Your heart stutters. You need to hurry.

Just as you reach toward his ribs, he jerks violently.

A metallic snap rips through the air.

One of the restraints—one of the goddamn chains—breaks free.

Your breath catches in your throat, eyes snapping up just as Sylus rolls his newly freed wrist, fingers flexing as if he’s testing how much control he has left. Slowly, his head tilts toward you, his eyes burning like fire in the dim lighting.

The smile he gives you is chilling.

You don’t think. You react.

With a burst of adrenaline, you tackle him, shoving him hard enough that it sends you both tumbling to the ground. A low, reverberating growl rumbles through him, his chest vibrating beneath your hands as his body tenses against yours.

The struggle between you and Sylus is a mess of tangled limbs and desperation, your bodies locked in a frantic battle against the cold, unforgiving floor. Every shift of his body beneath yours is like wrestling with something barely restrained, a predator on the verge of breaking free from its chains. Heat radiates off his skin, far too intense, far too unnatural, as if his entire body is burning from the inside out. The feverish warmth seeps into your own skin, making it harder to focus, harder to breathe.

Your hands move over his chest, urgent, searching, pressing against the hard muscle beneath you in a frantic attempt to find the activator. It has to be here somewhere—it has to be. Your fingers skim the ridges of his abdomen, feeling for anything out of place, a small foreign lump beneath his skin, a sign that the override switch is still there. But the longer you search, the more panic digs its claws into your ribs.

Your wound throbs, a dull and persistent ache pulsing from your neck, sending sharp spikes of pain through your senses with every movement. The smell of blood—your blood—is thick in the air, mingling with the scent of sweat and something deeper, something primal that radiates from Sylus like a caged animal ready to tear through steel.

"Tell me—" You swallow hard, ignoring the dryness in your throat, trying to suppress the fear that’s creeping into your voice. "Is the activator here?"

Sylus doesn't answer immediately. His breath is coming heavy, uneven, his chest rising and falling in sharp, controlled bursts beneath you. Then, slowly, he grins.

The sight of it sends a ripple of unease down your spine.

"Don’t…" he growls, his voice low and guttural, slipping between clenched teeth. His body tenses beneath you, coiled muscle flexing, veins prominent beneath the sweat-slicked skin of his arms. His hands twitch rhythmically, fingers curling like claws ready to rip you to shreds.

"Don’t press it."

You ignore him.

You have to.

You shift, dragging your hands lower, pressing over his ribs, smoothing your fingers down the hard planes of his stomach, searching for any change in texture, any break in the muscle that could indicate the activator. Your fingertips glide over his skin, past the deep ridges of his abdomen, dipping lower—

A sharp, ragged exhale.

Sylus’s entire body jerks beneath you, his spine arching suddenly, pressing into you before falling back against the ground. His breath stutters, his hands clenching into fists as a sound rumbles deep in his chest—low, guttural, something between a moan and a growl.

Your movements falter for the briefest second.

Did you find it? Did you hurt him?

Your heart pounds violently against your ribs. Your hands remain pressed against him, frozen mid-motion, fingers still splayed across the hard muscle of his lower abdomen. You can feel the way his body shudders, tense and coiled, every fiber of him locked in place, the warmth of his skin searing against your palms.

You don’t know if the reaction is pain or something else, and the uncertainty sends unease coiling in your stomach.

Sylus exhales another uneven breath, his chest vibrating beneath you. His head tilts slightly, red eyes flickering open, dilated again and dark, and he looks straight at you. Not through you, not past you—at you.

The grin he gives you is slow, deliberate.

"That-," he murmurs, voice edged with something dark, something lustful. His lips curl at the corners, his teeth flashing between parted lips as his gaze flickers lower, trailing over the places where your hands are still pressed against him. "That feels...good".

Your breath caught in your throat as the realization hit you like a freight train barreling down the tracks. Your eyes widened as you lowered your head and took in the unmistakable bulge of his erection, straining against the confines of his pants, a tangible proof of the pleasure you were unwittingly providing.

This isn’t pain.

The second he senses your moment of shock, Sylus strikes.

With terrifying ease, he yanks you upward, your feet leaving the ground for a brief, weightless second before he drives you downward. The world tilts violently, your stomach dropping as you’re thrown forward, your body twisting midair before—

Impact.

The breath is knocked from your lungs as you hit the cold, unforgiving floor, your stomach smacking against the hard surface with enough force to send a sharp shockwave through your ribs. Your arms instinctively splay out, palms slamming against the ground to steady yourself, but the weight that follows keeps you from moving.

Sylus presses down against you, his entire body covering yours, his hands locking around your wrists before pinning them flat against the floor beside your head. His hips press firmly into yours, locking you in place, trapping you beneath him.

Panic seizes your chest.

You try to twist away, to jerk free, but his weight is unmovable, pressing down hard enough that every shift only grinds you further against the floor. The heat of his body seeps into your back, feverish and all-consuming, the ridges of his toned chest molding against your spine.

You thrash, breath coming hard and fast, struggling against his grip, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t budge. Doesn’t even react—except for the slow, deep inhale that shudders through his chest.

Then, he breathes against your skin.

"You smell like fear," he murmurs, voice low and silken, curling around your ear like smoke.

Your entire body locks up.

His lips are too close.

The warmth of his breath ghosts along the side of your face, his nose grazing the edge of your jaw before dipping lower, hovering over the sensitive skin of your throat. Your pulse races, hammering so violently beneath your skin that you know he feels it.

His grip tightens.

"And something...sweet," he muses, dragging the words out slowly, tasting them like something decadent.

Your struggles escalate, knowing exactly where this is going.

"Sylus! Stop! No!"

Your fingers claw against the floor, legs kicking, desperate to throw him off, but Sylus doesn’t move an inch. If anything, his hold only grows firmer, heavier, more absolute. The pressure of his body against yours makes it impossible to move, to breathe properly, to think.

Then—he lowers his head.

The brush of his lips against your ear is featherlight, teasing. A sharp contrast to the overwhelming, inescapable strength of his grip.

And then—his teeth sink in.

A sharp, precise nip to the outer shell of your ear, quick and fleeting, followed immediately by the slow, deliberate glide of his tongue. He slides all the way down to your neck, lapping up the still dripping blood from your wound. He alternates between licking and nipping, as if feeding himself and claiming you all at once.

You flinch violently, a shudder ripping through your limbs as heat explodes beneath your skin. Your breath catches, fingers digging into the cold floor as a rush of pure, primal panic flares through your nerves.

Sylus hums. A deep, satisfied sound.

"Something very sweet," he repeats, his voice edged with amusement, hunger, something else entirely. His fingers flex against your wrists, nails pressing into your skin—not enough to break, but enough to remind you of the power imbalance.

"Makes me want to devour you whole."

A violent shiver wracks through you, your entire body locking up in terror.

Move. Move. MOVE.

Desperation surges through you like wildfire. You snap your leg back, aiming a blind, vicious kick toward his leg, his thigh—anything that will make him falter, make him let go—

But he’s faster.

Before you can even make contact, he moves. His weight shifts, his grip flexes, and suddenly—you’re being crushed, pressed even harder into the ground.

Your breath chokes in your throat as his body presses flush against yours, one of his hands releasing your wrist only to grip your hip, pinning you down even harder. His fingers dig in, securing his hold, ensuring you have nowhere to go.

"Nice try," he murmurs, voice dipping into something thick and sultry, rich with amusement. The warmth of his breath trails lower, sweeping along the side of your bloodied throat, down to the nape of your neck.

A slow, wicked grin spreads across his lips, and you feel it—feel his smirk against your skin, feel the way he’s drinking in every panicked breath, every tremor, every racing heartbeat.

"You should know better," he murmurs, his voice a low, teasing growl. "Prey that struggles only makes the hunt more exciting."

His fingers flex against your hip, nails pressing in just enough to send a sharp, prickling sting through your nerves.

"Why resist me now? You made your choice when you stepped inside," Sylus taunts, a dark chuckle rumbling from his chest. Tears prick at your eyes, threatening to spill over as the harsh sound of ripping fabric echoes ominously in the confined space. Your skirt! You cry out, trying to lunge forward, to escape, but his grip is relentless, fingers suddenly tightening around your throat with a firm command.

"Stop. Moving." His growl is a sharp command in your ear, his weight pressing down on you, pinning you to the ground with an unyielding force. The air is forced from your lungs in a rush as he yanks the remnants of your skirt away, tossing it aside carelessly. The room's cool air brushes against the exposed skin of your legs, and you shiver, fear and vulnerability intertwining as you plead with him.

"Sylus...this isn't you. Please—" Your words are abruptly silenced as he tears your underwear away, his actions speaking louder than any words could. The chill against your bare skin draws a sob from your lips, a desperate sound swallowed by the room's oppressive silence.

He's going to take you right here on the cage floor. Claim you. And there's nothing you can do. This isn't Sylus you know anymore.

"My my...this was what you were hiding underneath that skirt?" he growls, a feral edge to his voice. He leans forward, trailing his tongue along your back, the sensation a disconcerting mix of heat and cold that leaves you trembling beneath him.

"Please...snap out of it! Don't do this...!" you scream, your voice raw and desperate as you squirm helplessly beneath him. Your pleas are met with a soft, almost soothing "Shhh..." as if he's trying to calm you, but the sharp sound of his zipper coming undone is a jarring counterpoint, a grim reminder that he's too far gone.

This is it, you think, swallowed by a tide of helplessness. It could be worse...right? A gasp escapes your lips as you feel something large, hot and throbbing press against the middle of your ass. Sylus moans, a deep, primal sound that reverberates through you, sending shockwaves of dread and involuntary ache coursing through your veins. He spits, the wet warmth landing on your skin, slicking the path as he rubs his cock between your cheeks, each movement deliberate and unhurried.

"You looked divine in that uniform when we met again," he murmurs, his voice a silken thread of temptation and threat. "Would it be awful of me to say that I've been wanting to tear you apart with my cock ever since I saw you again?" His words are accompanied by a deep chuckle, a sound that seems to vibrate through your bones.

You squeeze your eyes shut, fighting against the warm, wet sensation that overwhelms your senses. No...this isn't the real him, you remind yourself, clinging to the hope that somewhere beneath the Frenzy Enhancer's influence, the true Sylus still exists. He's still in there, right? The question echoes in your mind, a desperate mantra as you hold onto the sliver of hope that the man you know will resurface, that this nightmare will end.

The moment of hope you had was shattered in an instant as you felt a sharp, piercing pain between your folds as he grips the skin of your ass, a large intrusion attempting to force its way inside you. You screamed, your voice raw with agony, as you tried to pry his hands away, your nails digging into his skin. "It hurts! Stop, please!" you begged, your pleas desperate and frantic.

Sylus grunted and moaned, his body a contradiction of pleasure and annoyance as he struggled to push his cock deeper into your tight folds, his tip breaching your entrance only to retreat, the pain searing and hot. "Hmm..." he growled, his voice a mix of frustration and desire.

You shook, your body trembling from the pain, your lower half throbbing, the intrusion gone but the ache still spreading. Suddenly, your hips were gripped and your lower half was raised up, your ass raised in the air, your hands bracing against the floor, your body now positioned for his taking.

"You just need a little...preparation," Sylus whispered, his voice low and dark, belying the wicked intent behind his words. Before you could protest, his hot tongue was sliding down your cunt, his skilled mouth working to prepare you, his touch both electrifying and unwittingly arousing, a wicked precision that left you trembling, your body betraying your mind's resistance.

"Mghn! S-stop...please, Sylus!" you pleaded, your voice hoarse and desperate, your fingers clawing at the floor as you tried to escape the pleasure-pain he was inflicting. But his death grip on your hips was unyielding, holding you firmly in place, his tongue a relentless force, licking and slurping at your folds with primal hunger. Like a beast that hadn't eaten in weeks.

If he doesn't stop soon you'll definitely-

"Those cute noises you make drive me wild" Sylus growled, his voice a low, guttural sound. You can't see his face, but you can feel his eyes roaming up and down your now soaked cunt, no doubt wishing he was deep inside you right now. "Reminds me of the sound a rabbit makes just before its eaten."

You gasp and shiver at the depraved sentence that leaves his mouth before something wet and long enters your hole, making you cry out. Sylus's tongue, hot and insistent, buried itself deep within you, his mouth working in a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure through your core.

Sylus's grunts and moans escalated into a primal chorus as he delved deeper into your folds, his tongue a relentless force, his hands digging into your hips with increasing urgency. Your body was a tempest of sensations—pain, pleasure, and ecstasy—a melting pot of conflicting desires. You tried to hold on, to keep yourself from succumbing, but your body had a mind of its own, and you went limp, surrendering to the pleasure he was delivering.

"Mghn!" you cried out, your body shaking, your hands gripping the floor as you fought against the overwhelming pleasure. "Don't cum... don't cum..." you pleaded, your voice hoarse, your lips bitten to stifle the moans that threatened to escape.

But Sylus found that sweet spot, that spongy part inside you, and twisted his tongue, sending you over the edge. You bit down harder on your lip, trying to muffle the sounds of your climax, but it was no use. The pleasure was too much, and you came undone, your body shaking, your cries echoing in the cold cage as waves of pleasure washed over you.

Sylus lapped up your essence, his tongue working feverishly, his grunts and moans a testament to his own pleasure as he reveled in the taste of your orgasm, his primal satisfaction evident as he continued to lap up your juices like a thirsty dog.

"This taste..." Sylus groaned, his voice thick with greed, as he brushed his tongue against your inner thigh, catching the drippings of your pleasure, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. You gasped for breath, your body still trembling from the orgasm, your mind racing for a way out of this predicament.

"Your scent has filled the room now...its driving me mad. I can't wait any longer".

Your thoughts turned to the activator, the key to your freedom. You needed to get turned around, to find it somehow. "Sylus, w-we should—" you started, but your words were cut off by the sudden, sharp intrusion of his cock slamming into your cunt with a force that sent shockwaves of pain and pleasure through your body.

"Agh!"

The initial penetration was rough, but easier than before, his cock sliding into your wet hole, stretching you, before he pulled back slightly and sheathed himself completely inside you, his grip on your waist tightening as he began to thrust, his hips pistoning in a relentless rhythm.

"Ahh...it hurts..." you whimpered, your body writhing in his grip, trying to escape the pain of his thrusts. But Sylus chuckled, his voice dark and amused. "Keep squirming, little bird. It only makes it feel better."

His words were a taunt as he continued to plunge into you, his cock pistoning in and out, his body a cage of pain, his grip on your waist unyielding, his thrusts relentless, driving you to the brink of ecstasy and agony, your cries and moans filling the cold cage with a symphony of raw, primal sex.

You begin to try and dissociate from everything by focusing on the concrete floor, but Sylus primal grunts and growls as he slams into you, using your body for his own pleasure, makes it hard to escape reality. Think! Just think! You've been in worse situations before, what can you do to get turned around?

A lightbulb goes off inside your head. Its risky, but at this rate...

"F-for a Praedator...I honestly expected this to be much better. A little disappointing after waiting all these years Sylus" you spat, trying to sound more confident than you truly felt. Sylus momentarily slows his thrusting, not completely stopping but definitely enough to ponder your words. You shiver as you hear a deep chuckle.

"Is that so?"

Your entire world flips around as he grabs you, spins you around and pushes you roughly against the concrete floor. Before you can continue speaking, his hand slams into your throat, squeezing slightly. Not enough for serious harm, but its a clear warning.

Sylus's gaze is dark, beastly and terrifying as he leans down to your face, as if trying to look deep into the depths of your soul. Your heart aches as you recall your last encounter with him earlier that day, when he gave you the movie tickets. He had looked so soft...unlike the beast that was in front of you now.

"I can give you rougher, if that's what you crave," Sylus purred, his voice laced with dark humor, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous light. "I quite like you in this position, that look of fear in your eyes turns me on" He began to laugh, a low, menacing sound, as he pushed his still-hard cock back into your aching hole, his hand never leaving your throat.

Sylus's other hand, strong and sure, reached out, tearing your top with effortless ease, the fabric ripping as he exposed your breasts to his hungry gaze. Your nipples hardened in response to the sudden exposure, the cool air on your sensitive skin a stark contrast to the heat of the moment.

Your breasts bounced with each powerful movement of his hips, the motion causing a mix of pain and fear, your body a canvas of sensations, your mind struggling to process the whirlwind of physical reactions.

You whimpered as pain, pleasure, and fear mingled within you. His hand squeezed harder with each thrust, cutting off your air supply, and you clawed at his fingers, desperate for breath, your nails digging into his skin.

"C-can't...breathe..." you gasped, your voice hoarse, your heart hammering in your chest, sensations blurring together. Despite your struggles, your body began to respond to his relentless thrusts, your muscles squeezing around his cock, a reaction you couldn't control.

"Oh, you like this, don't you?" he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "Gonna cum while you can't breathe, little bird? I could've given you this pleasure sooner if I'd known. I'd have gladly delivered your demise, one way or another."

His words sent a shiver through you as your body betrayed your mind's resistance, succumbing to the pleasure he was inflicting, your climax building despite the pain and the fear, a testament to the twisted game he was playing with your body and mind.

Were you truly going to die this way? After everything, after fighting for so long to see him again? This is how things end between the two of you? You look into his eyes. His rabid, feral eyes and feel tears begin to prick them. You look past him, your eyes resting at the revolver still strapped to your leg.

You still have one more option.

"I-it won't be me succumbing to my d-demise" you choke out, staring into his eyes. He doesn't stop thrusting into your body, but his eyebrow does raise. "Even if you make it out of here, what do you think they'll do with you when they realize the only immune person is also pregnant with a Praedator's baby?"

Your eyes widen at his words, your brain barely processing their meaning as your vision begins to blur. No! No! You begin to thrash as the sounds of his evil laughter fills your ears, and his thrusts pick up relentless speed.

"D-don't cum in me! Please!" you choke out, your voice hoarse and gravely as your forced to continue take the relentless pounding of Sylus's cock. He's ignoring you, he doesn't care. He only has one goal now. You feel your lower half begin to ache and pulse, evident that you just orgasmed beneath him. But you barely register it, as your top half begins to hurt.

Your lungs burn as if set ablaze, the oxygen in your body dwindling, your chest seizing with every desperate attempt to inhale. A thick, suffocating haze fills your head, making your thoughts sluggish, disjointed, slipping between the cracks of fading consciousness. Your body betrays you, limbs losing strength, muscles growing weak as an unbearable heaviness creeps into every inch of your skin. Your fingers, once clawing at the iron grip around your throat, are failing you now, slipping away, no longer able to fight against the pressure stealing your air.

A dull ringing overtakes your ears, growing louder, drowning out the world around you. Your vision narrows, dark spots creeping into the edges, threatening to swallow everything whole. A strange lightheadedness overtakes you, a weightless, dizzying sensation that makes it hard to remember where you are, what you’re doing. Your body is shutting down, giving up, preparing to surrender to the void clawing at the edges of your mind.

No. No, no, no. It can’t end like this.

A spike of panic jolts through your fading awareness, but your body refuses to listen, sinking deeper into helplessness. You strain, forcing your head up just enough to look at him, to plead, to beg, but the words won’t come. Your throat is locked, crushed beneath his grip, and no matter how much you try, no sound escapes past your lips. Sylus barely seems aware of you now, his expression dazed, half-lidded, his breath uneven as he lingers on the edge of his own orgasm. His fingers twitch slightly, tightening then loosening, but he isn’t paying attention, isn’t thinking, isn't entirely here. He’s too close to the edge, too lost in wanting to finish inside you.

That’s when you see it.

A flicker of red, faint but undeniable, flashes in one of his eyes. It’s barely noticeable, a fleeting pulse of color in the red of his irises, but it’s there. Your slowing mind struggles to process it, to make sense of what it means, until the realization slams into you like a shock of ice water.

The activator?!

Adrenaline floods your veins, shoving back the creeping darkness threatening to pull you under. The sheer, primal will to live surges through you like a lightning strike, reigniting every dying nerve, forcing your limbs to respond even as they scream in protest. With the last of your strength, you move.

Your fingers twitch, barely managing to form a fist. Gritting your teeth, you summon every ounce of energy left in your failing body, pull your arm back, and slam your thumb directly into his eye.

A guttural, animalistic roar rips from Sylus’s throat as his grip on your neck vanishes, his entire body jerking back in raw, instinctive pain. The instant pressure is released, air floods your lungs, rushing in so fast that your entire chest seizes from the force of it. A sharp, shrill gasp tears from your throat as you suck in a desperate, wheezing breath, the burning relief almost as unbearable as the suffocation had been.

Your vision, once clouded and swimming, sharpens in an instant, the murky haze lifting as the world snaps back into terrifying clarity. Every nerve is raw, every muscle trembling, but you’re alive. You can breathe.

Sylus's eyes widened for a moment, a brief flicker of surprise as all the Frenzy enhancer seemed to leave his body, and then, just as quickly, the feral intensity left his gaze, his face softening. But it was too late for his body to catch up, as his hips froze mid-thrust, his cock twitching inside you, releasing a hot flood of cum against your womb.

You gasped, your body trembling from the unexpected climax, the sensation of his release filling you, an intense mixture of warmth and fullness.

Sylus’s eyes met yours, the fire in them flickering unsteadily as the weight of what just happened crashed over him. The frenzied hunger that had gripped him moments ago had drained away, leaving behind something raw—horror, confusion, and something close to regret. His breath came fast and uneven, chest rising and falling as he struggled to process what he had just done to you.

His lips parted slightly, but no words came at first. His red eyes, now normal, darted across your face, lingering on the deep red imprints, blood, and bruises his fingers and teeth had left on your throat. His grip, once unrelenting, had been torn away, but you still felt it there—the phantom sensation of his hands crushing the air from your lungs.

“Are you…” He swallowed hard, voice hoarse, like it physically pained him to speak. “Are you okay?”

You coughed, your throat burning, the rush of oxygen still too sharp, too overwhelming. But you managed to nod, your limbs still weak, your entire body trembling from the shock. You could feel the marks he had left, the lingering ache that pulsed in time with your heartbeat, but you were alive.

Sylus was still staring at you, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes now—guilt, realization, something heavy and unspoken pressing down on him. His hands twitched at his sides, fingers curling like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if he should.

“Why didn’t you press it sooner?” His voice was quieter now, filled with something vulnerable, almost desperate. “The activator… you could have stopped me before—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head, frustration with himself evident in the tightness of his jaw. “Before I did this to you.”

The look on his face—haunted, shaken—was so unlike him, so different from the Sylus you knew, that something in your chest ached. He wasn’t just horrified by what had happened. He was horrified by himself.

You forced a small, reassuring smile, even though your throat still ached, even though your entire body was still reeling from the ordeal. “Because I couldn't find it. But I knew you were still in there,” you whispered, voice raspy but steady. “And I was right.”

Sylus let out a slow, uneven breath, his gaze locked on you like he was trying to convince himself you were telling the truth. Then, without another word, he moved.

Before you could react, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, the warmth of his body pressing against yours in a way that was nothing like before. This wasn’t dominance or power. This was desperation. He was still inside you, but neither of you cared to address it at this moment.

His grip was strong, but careful this time. His hands, which had moments ago been your greatest threat, now held you like you were something fragile, something breakable. His fingers curled against the back of your head, as if grounding himself, as if he needed to feel that you were real, that you were still here.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured against your hair, voice rough, low, and laced with something unspoken. “I wasn’t…I couldn’t—” He exhaled, tightening his hold. “I didn’t want our first time to be like this.”

You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to sink into the embrace. Tears of relief slipped from the corners of your eyes and dripped to the concrete floor. Your hands gripped the leather of his top, grounding yourself in him, in the fact that he was back now. His heartbeat, still fast, thrummed against your own, and for a moment, neither of you moved, neither of you spoke. The silence was thick, but not empty.

“It’s okay,” you whispered finally, resting your forehead against his shoulder. “You’re back now.”

And then you kissed him.

It was slow at first, hesitant, but the second your lips met his, Sylus shattered.

His grip on you tightened even more, arms pulling you flush against him as he kissed you back like he had been waiting for this, like it was the only thing tethering him to reality. There was nothing controlled about it—it was desperate, messy, full of every unspoken thing he couldn’t bring himself to say over the years. His fingers slid up your back, then tangled into your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, to claim more of you, to drown in you.

You could feel his pulse beneath your fingertips, still racing, still alive. You weren’t sure who was shaking more—you or him—but neither of you pulled away. Neither of you wanted to.

When you finally parted, both of you were breathless, your foreheads still pressed together. His lips hovered just over yours, his hands still holding you like he couldn’t bring himself to let go yet.

It was all going to be okay.

For the first time since this nightmare had begun, Sylus let himself believe it.

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incendiorum · 1 year ago

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tag dump #2

#⌜❝ 𝚃𝙱𝙳. so long. good luck. goodbye. ❞ ⌟#��❝ 𝙻𝚄𝙲𝚁𝙴𝚉𝙸𝙰 𝙸𝙲. and after each midnight begins a new day. ❞ ⌟#⌜❝ 𝙸. we are never what we intend or envision. ⟩⟩#𝙼𝙰𝙸𝙽 𝙸𝙲. only a copy of a compromised creation. ❞ ⌟#𝙼𝙰𝙸𝙽 𝙰𝙱𝙾𝚄𝚃. and if you make it out alive hold that bloody head up high.❞ ⌟#⌜❝ 𝙰. is this what the resurrection feels like? ⟩⟩#𝙳𝙴𝚄𝚂 𝙸𝙲. and when the sun comes up you’ll find a brand new god. ❞ ⌟#𝙳𝙴𝚄𝚂 𝙰𝙱𝙾𝚄𝚃. slept in a murder scene last night. ❞ ⌟#𝙳𝙴𝚄𝚂 𝙰𝙴𝚂 / 𝙸𝚂𝙼𝚂. it’s a little bit heavenly. a little bit sick. ❞ ⌟#⌜❝ 𝙸𝙸. i’m the world ender & i’m back from the grave. ⟩⟩#𝚂𝙴𝚁𝙿𝙴𝙽𝚂 𝙸𝙲. i am the burning temple. a throne of tooth and nail. ❞ ⌟#𝚂𝙴𝚁𝙿𝙴𝙽𝚂 𝙰𝙱𝙾𝚄𝚃. this little beast was nature’s own error. grew like a tree; born to spread terror. ❞ ⌟#𝚂𝙴𝚁𝙿𝙴𝙽𝚂 𝙰𝙴𝚂 / 𝙸𝚂𝙼𝚂. got high from a holy vein. crashed down in a hurricane. ❞ ⌟#⌜❝ 𝙸𝙸𝙸. i wait on you inside the bottom of the deep blue sea. ⟩⟩#𝙼𝙴𝚁 𝙸𝙲. just a memory left for dead and gone forever. ❞ ⌟#𝙼𝙴𝚁 𝙰𝙱𝙾𝚄𝚃. lie where i land. let my bones turn to sand. ❞ ⌟#𝙼𝙴𝚁 𝙰𝙴𝚂 / 𝙸𝚂𝙼𝚂. abyssus abyssum invocat. ❞ ⌟#I'm posting these and also tentatively poking tumblr to see if it remembers them :skull:

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delusional-day-dreamer · 4 months ago

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Sleepy Girl - p.b.

‣ paige bueckers x gf reader!

‣ wc: 2k of smut 😛

‣‣ synopsis: waking up in the morning horny and ur girlfriend is right there tbh (ending is kinda rushed and the fic is not yet edited so please bear with me)

‣‣‣ a/n: hey guys... i know i completely ghosted this app for a good while but thank you for all the support even while i was MIA. this idea came to me at 11pm on vacation and i figured i should grind it out and make a return. i have a lot of drafts and ideas i came up with but no idea if i'll be able to write them all. in the meantime enjoy and happy holidays!

The warm sunlight spilling in to your bedroom and directly onto your face from the small gap in your curtains seemed to have it out against you.

It was one of the incredibly rare weekends of the season, where your girlfriend, Paige, didn’t have morning practice, lifting, or any PT sessions for residual pain after coming back home late from a basketball game (UConn won, obviously) and the two of you planned to make the most of it.

Having been in a relationship for almost a year now, the two of you had gotten to know each other pretty well over time. From working with the basketball team as a photographer to sharing a class with Paige, to running into each other literally everywhere every single day, metaphorically and physically, the universe seemed to have an intricate plan to bring the two of you together. And with such insistent force, who were the two of you to rebel?

The past ten months dating Paige had been a small roller coaster, the days spent together blissfully were obviously accompanied by the occasional argument of time management or messy rooms or even slight jealousy, but it was nothing the two of you couldn’t work through.

And of course, it was all accompanied by the mind blowing sex you couldn’t stop having. Bent over the kitchen counter, in the shower, in the living room, standing up, from the back, you name it.

But, there was one thing you and Paige had discussed exploring, but never gotten the chance to pursue, and it seemed like this morning was the perfect chance to test it out.

Depending on who woke up first, the two of you often liked to wake the other up with gentle kisses, roaming hands, and sweet nothings. But your synced ovulation cycles brought on a new possibility: morning head.

Although the concept of fucking your girlfriend while she was asleep seemed… well, odd to say the least, the two of you had discussed consent extremely thoroughly, and you weren’t going to sit (or lay in this instance) here and pretend that the sight of Paige laying in your bed right now wasn’t actively turning you on.

She had come to your off campus apartment immediately after her game at XL center and crashed pretty fast, only stopping to shower change into an old, oversized yet cropped off the shoulder sweatshirt of yours and a pair of boxers she left in your drawers.

Currently, she was conveniently splayed out on her back, her left arm stretched above her head raised the hem of your sweatshirt upwards, exposing the curve of her chest and the slightest glimpse of her pink nipples, which were already slightly peaked from the cold air radiating from your fan.

It didn’t take long for you to make up your mind, softly crawling over to rest in between her legs as you leaned over her sleeping figure, using your left hand to gently lift the fabric over her perky tits, exposing her creamy skin to you. You slowly peppered kisses on her boobs, not wanting to create too much stimulation that would wake her before you got to the more exciting part. Although, you weren’t sure you would have to worry about that. Paige could sleep through a hurricane if she was tired enough.

You nipped and sucked at her chest, making sure to pay special attention to her nipples before beginning your descent down her toned abs, bringing your hands to rub at her thighs simultaneously.

Paige groaned softly in her sleep, unconsciously spreading her legs out wider as your fingers danced over the waistband of her boxers.

Deciding that there was no reason to be a tease, especially with the growing ache in between your own legs, you hooked your fingers in her boxers and pulled them downwards, being extremely careful when taking them off her body fully and throwing them off into a corner of your room.

You shift lower, aligning your face with Paige’s already wet cunt as you grip her thighs and blow into her folds lightly, gently arousing her.

You start softly, small kisses and hickeys leading inwards before you finally allow your tongue to lick a long stripe from her entrance up to the sensitive bundle of nerves that made her breath slightly hitch.

Even in her sleep, Paige’s body was actively reacting to the growing pleasure as you circled her clit with your tongue and hummed into her, sending shockwaves running through her body, legs spreading, mouth dropping open with low moans, and back arching.

And yet, she was still asleep. You had no interest in waking her up forcefully, it would defeat the whole purpose of morning head. So, you dutifully detached your lips from her clit, opting to replace it with your thumb as you run your fingers through the slick she had accumulated before inserting your middle finger into her, curling it upwards in the way you knew she loved, which seemed to do the trick.

Her eyes began to flutter open the moment you added in your ring finger, mouth dropping with a groan as her right hand reaches out to cup the side of your face.

"Good morning," you rasp out, your breath hot against her sensitive cunt as you smirk at the already fucked out expression on her face.

"Fuck baby, God I didn’t think it would be this good when we talked about-”

Her sleepy whines were cut off with another loud moan as you reattached your lips to her clit, pressing into her g-spot with your fingers while simultaneously sucking her clit, small laughs vibrating through her core as you watched her body shudder at your actions. Her hand immediately moved up to your scalp, placing a firm grip in your head as she secured your spot deep between her legs, anchoring you in place.

"Aw shit ma, fuck you're so good at that, right there just like that, such a good fucking girl for me, don't stop mama you're gonna make me cum," her breathless rambles were endless as she used her left hand to play with her already exposed nipples.

The added stimulation pushed her closer to the edge, and it wasn't long before her muscular thighs began to shake around your head, closing around the sides of your face as she began to grind her hips into your mouth, chasing every second of her orgasm as her mouth hung open with cries.

She eventually let up after you finished licking her clean, even making a show of pulling your fingers out of her and sucking her juices off of them. Her gaze darkens as she pulls you up and over her body once again, capturing your lips in a deep kiss.

She nips at your bottom lip before pulling away, feigning annoyance in her tone. "As much as I loved the little stunt you pulled just now, shit pissed me off too. Brought this up in the first place cause I wanted to surprise you."

"Actin' like it's that big of a deal P, you can just do it a different morning," you teased, hand running up and down her side.

"Mm, whatever. All I care about right now is gettin' you right ma," she mumbles against your lips, reconnecting your lips as she slips her tongue into your mouth, grabbing your ass and rolling your hips into her at the same time.

"Nuh uh, it's your day to pillow princess. Lemme spoil you a little bit. You're still tired and sore from your game yeah? Besides, I have a better idea," you insisted, rising up and straddling her waist.

You shoved your sweater off her body before Paige's large hands pulled your grey tank top up and over your head, tossing it somewhere either of you couldn't be bothered to check. Her hand pressed into your mid back, forcing you to arch over her, conveniently placing your perky tits right over her mouth.

Her teeth scraped against your stiff peaks as her other hand, which had quickly returned to its place resting on your ass, began rocking your hips back and forth over her abs, drawing out deep sighs of pleasure from the multiple sources of friction and stimulation.

"Fuck Paige," you whined out, "why you gotta make it so hard for me to take care of you sometimes," you half-heartedly reprimanded, pinching her nipple roughly as you tore yourself away from her, shimmying your basically non-existent thong off as you resettled yourself in between her legs.

"Crawl up to the headboard," you demanded, raising your eyebrow at her inquisitive expression.

"Please," you added in with a soft pout, satisfied when she complied with your request. You eagerly followed her body, stationing your hands on her shoulders as you draped your right leg over her left, maneuvering her right in order to rest over your own left before gently lowering yourself down, hissing the moment your cores met.

You rolled your hips forward tentatively, moving your left hand down to Paige's right thigh while you sank forward, circling your other arm around her neck as you moaned against her lips.

The kiss was a needy, open mouthed mess of saliva and moans as you continued to roll your hips into Paige's with the help of her guiding hands, shocks of pleasure licking your spine every time your clits aligned.

As you approached closer to your orgasm, your head tipped back, mouth hung open with desperate, borderline pornographic whines constantly spilling out, impairing your ability to kiss Paige back. Though, she would never complain and simply kept her mouth busy by sucking hickeys along your neck and chest, whispering filthy words of encouragement into your skin.

"My girl's such a slut for me, huh? Riding me so good, pussy so wet she's dripping all over me, 's basically crying for me ma. You like that?"

Her gravely voice added to the fuzzy feeling that had taken over your brain, driven only by the tight coil threatening to snap any second in your belly. From the feeling of yours and Paige's warm slickness coating your entire cunt, to the deep throbbing you clit was experiencing.

You moved your left hand from Paige's thigh up to the headboard, using it to grind down harder against Paige's center, and the pressure on your clits had moans ringing out from both of you.

"God, Paige. So close baby, fuck I'm so close," you whined near incoherently, eyes screwed shut from the way your entire body was on fire, on the edge of immense pleasure.

She moved her mouth to the sweet spot behind your ear, nipping at the skin as she her fingers deftly began tweaking your nipples. "Cum for baby, give it to me. Please need it so bad."

You cry out as a freight train of an orgasm hits you, Paige's words and hands sending you over the edge, and the sight of you coming undone, not to mention the sounds you were letting out, left Paige no choice but to follow your lead.

Your body shuddered against hers, the pleasure slowly washing over you, leaving you breathless and extremely sensitive. You untangled your legs from Paige, collapsing on the bed next to her and pulling her down with you.

You kissed her sweetly, intimately, a far cry from the sex you were just having.

"I love you so much you know that?" You muttered against Paige's lips, cracking your eyes open to see the lazy smile set on her face.

"I love you too, even though I'm pissed you stole my surprise," she whispered defiantly.

"What you don't think those two orgasms made up for it? We can go for round two if you really insist," you smirked, knowing that there was no way your body could handle another orgasm immediately.

Before she can even answer, your stomach growled loudly, inciting loud laughter from both of you.

"How about we take care of that first yeah? We can go for round two in the shower after breakfast," she responded slyly, pulling you up and out of bed with her to get dressed and have breakfast together. To you, nothing in the world could beat mornings like these with Paige.

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siempre-bucky · 2 months ago

Text

existence

Joaquin Torres x Fem!Reader

summary: There's a rumor at the base that MRs. Torres doesn't exist. No birthday parties, no drinks at the bar after a mission, no base run functions. Sam crashes at the Toress' after the White House incident and sees if she actually exists.

wc: 1457

a/n: Spoilers for CA:BNW

His ears were still ringing.

Echos of gunfire and police sirens shrouded his mind, Sam’s body was on autopilot with his eyes burning holes into the dirty apartment complex carpet and his sore feet dragging along it. He still doesn’t comprehend how Joaquin could be in a chipper mood after that. Sam noticed the limp in Joaquin's step and the bruise on the back of his neck. It could have been worse, the President could have died, Cap reminded himself.

“Wait till you meet her, Sam! Ugh, I have been waiting for this for the longest time!” he cheered, clearly forgetting the late hour. Right, Sam blinked, he was finally meeting Mrs. Torres. After working together for three years, he thought this mystery woman didn’t exist. The younger man would make excuses “She’s working overseas,” or “She has no service.” But after catching a glimpse at his lock screen which proudly displayed a photo of the pair at a Hurricanes baseball game he changed his mind. The rest of the base thought it was AI-generated.

“I’ll believe it when I see it, man,” Sam forced out a chuckle, ribs screaming back at him.

Joaquin stopped at the door, digging his key out of his pocket and turning the lock. The echoes disappeared once Sam took a step into the small DC apartment. The smell of baked goods and a soft “We’re home, Amor” coming from the other man was enough to silence them for a moment, the pain in his ribs dulled with the feeling of anticipation rising.

She was real. His brown eyes discreetly widened as she appeared in the doorway that divided the kitchen and living room, wiping her hands with an orange and green rag. He didn’t take his eyes off her, she examined Joaquin up and down before giving herself the ok to crash into him. “I’m so happy you’re ok,” She muttered against his neck, his arms holding her against him.

The soft interaction made something in his chest ache, and the way Joaquin then cradled her face and whispered reassurance in two languages almost made him tear up. Almost. He’d be sure to make fun of him for this later.

“Sam, this is my wife.”

The woman smiled softly, aware of the situation at the White House, and introduced herself, outstretching her hand. He noticed her firm grip, but he could feel the tremble. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Sam. I can’t get him to shut up about you,” she chuckled, leaning back into Joaquin’s embrace.

“Nice to meet you too,” he said with a small smirk.

“There’s a pillow and blanket on the couch for you along with some clothes. Half his closet is just U Maimi stuff—I hope you don’t mind the colors.”

Sam turned around and glanced at the neat pile resting on the arm of the couch. “It’ll do fine. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome anytime. I’m going to get him cleaned up, let me know if you need anything else.” She patted her husband on the back and ushered him into the kitchen, dismissing all of his protests.

Sam walked towards the couch and ran his fingers over the plush olive green material of the blanket before picking up the vibrant green t-shirt. He snickered and tossed it over his shoulder.

“Shit!” a shrill curse came from the kitchen followed by soft apologies. It was instinct for the hero to look over and check out the scene. Joaqquin was fine, sitting on the counter with a piece of gauze covering his eyebrow. She stood between his legs, a look of sympathy on her face while she dabbed at the wound.

Love looked good on the kid. In their line of work, there wasn’t much room for love or even just the look of it on someone's face. He remembered the first night he saw it on Joaquin’s face; it was at a bar somewhere in Europe and Sam had been counting on his fingers how many girls the other had turned down for a dance.

“Five,” he laughed wiggling his fingers in his face.

Joaquin rolled his eyes and playfully shoved his hand away, “Yeah, yeah.”

“Wanna go for six or do you wanna tell me why you’ve said no to every pretty girl in this place.”

The curly-haired man took a swig of beer for confidence, letting out a deep sigh as he put the bottle back on the table. “I have someone back home,” he finally admitted.

“You got a little girlfriend!”

There was a small blush on his cheeks and a smile so soft and sweet it was sickening. “A wife.”

“Wife,” Sam repeated slowly.

“College sweethearts, I think that’s what it’s called.”

Yeah, love looked good on him. Sam snapped out of his memory and opened the blanket his eyes watching her press her hand against Joaquin’s chest with his wrapped around her wrist, his thumb swiping along the bone. His heart was beating, he was alive. Sam wondered if that was something they did after he came home from deployment, or now when he returned from a mission. Tonight was just supposed to be a fun night celebrating their mission, not stopping an assassination attempt.

“Sam…bro, you good?”

The couple stood in front of him, a red first aid kit in her hands. “Go get changed, I’ll patch up Captain America,” she smirked. Joaquin smiled and kissed her on the temple before retreating to the bedroom down the hall.

“I’m fine,” Sam laughed it off.

Her eyes flickered down to his arm, wet crimson staining a patch of his forearm. “Sit,” she told him firmly.

He took off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeve. Well, I’ll be damned, he thought as he looked at the sliced skin, it shouldn’t need stitches. She popped open the kit and got to work in silence. He should say something, the gears in his brain working overtime to come up with something appropriate.

“You know, I was starting to think you didn’t exist.” He settled on that. Nice going, Sam.

Thankfully she laughed, pouring a clear liquid over the cut that made him wince. “We get that a lot. We have a tally of all our friends who’ve said that.”

“Sorry to add another. Work keeps you away?”

She smiled and nodded, “I work for a charity. Helping communities rebuild after the blip. Some places haven’t been as lucky as we have. I was away a lot—it worked out when he was deployed.”

A sadness began to loom over her as she gently wrapped his arm with a white gauze. She missed him, and he missed her just as much. “Was?” he narrowed in on the past tense of her words.

“I requested a transfer to a desk job as soon as he finished those wings. I need to be here if something happens.” There was a tremor in her voice, “Him being Falcon puts him in even more danger. I want—need to be closer to him.”

“He’s a good man,” Sam told her gently, “a damn good Falcon, he learned from the best.” He got a smile and a small chuckle out of her relieving her of some of the nerves she carried.

She put her hand over the gauze and looked at him dead in the eye. “Keep him alive, Sam.” It was a gentle command. “He means everything to me.”

His lips parted and glanced down at the silver wedding band around her finger, thinking of a way to tell her that he might not be able to in this line of work. Joaquin saved the day, strolling into the room with a signature toothy smile. “Have you been talking about me this whole time?” he joked.

Her smile instantly brightened. “You wish,” she laughed, collecting her things from the couch and rose to her feet.

“She’s a miracle worker.” Sam raised his arm to show his partner the neatly wrapped gauze.

“Looks good, Sam!” The other man cheered, leaning forward to get a better look. “We don’t have a well-stocked medicine cabinet for nothing.”

“Yeah, I learned after too many scraped knees from the basketball court back in Maimi.”

Joaquin winced and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close to his side. “Let’s let Captain America get some sleep,” he suggested, pressing his lips to the side of her head.

“Let us know if you need anything, Sam,” she told him.

“Will do, Mrs. Torres. Thank you for everything.”

“Anytime. We’re here or you.”

Sam got comfortable on the couch, and surprisingly he felt like he could fall asleep instantly. Pulling out his phone, he sent a quick text to his friends at the base: ‘Mrs. Torres exists.’

#joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres #captain america #captain america brave new world

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pretentious-blonde · 1 month ago

Text

offically

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: steve panics as he has never had that talk with you, and staying true to form, he overthinks the situation entirely

warnings: 18+ this contains smut, m oral reciving, thigh riding, steve being a nervous sweetheart <3

a/n: idk if i'm happy with this BUT i had to get it out of my mind. also this could be counted as switch!steve so do with that what you will!

series masterlist

A low rumble of thunder echoed outside, and the rain tapped steadily on the classroom windows as Mr Harrington huddled on the floor with his group of second graders.

It was indoor recess—a golden opportunity for this nail-biting Jenga showdown. Steve’s team and the opposing side of giggling kids faced off over a tower stacked higher than it had any right to be, teetering ominously near the top.

Everything else in the room was buzzing with activity—board games and colouring sheets spread out on tables—but the teacher’s full attention was on the wooden blocks in front of him. He was as serious as any professional athlete under stadium lights. Tension thrummed in his chest, and he could swear the kids on the other side were practically holding their breath, too.

“All right,” he murmured, leaning closer and tapping at a lower block. “What are we thinking, guys?”

One of the students on the other team let out a sharp gasp.

“That’s cheating!” She accused, pointing at Steve’s probing finger.

“Not cheating,” he huffed out a laugh. “It’s called strategy.”

He rolled his shoulders back, confidence in his eyes and his heart pounding at the childish competition.

“What does that mean?” A young boy asked with a confused expression.

“Strategy means…” He glanced around the tower, “figuring out how we’re gonna win.”

He sent the kid a playful wink. Instantly, a small chorus of giggles broke out across the table.

“Pick that one!” one of his teammates whispered urgently, pointing to a precariously wedged block near the middle.

“Yeah, bud, I think you’re right,” he agreed, feeling a surge of pride that this little second grader had even braved an opinion in such a pressure-cooker situation.

Without further hesitation, he leaned forward slowly, fingertips tingling with anticipation. The room seemed to hold its breath.

He nudged the block—just a hair’s breadth out of place. It was going smoothly at first, half the block was free—until suddenly, the entire tower swayed and came crashing down with an echoing clatter. Wooden pieces scattered across the carpet as laughter, shrieks, and theatrical groans erupted from all sides.

“That’s your fault!” wailed one of the kids on Steve’s own team, arms flopping in exasperation.

“Mine?” Steve exclaimed, eyebrows shooting up in feigned offense. “You’re the one who told me to pick that block in the first place!”

The child folded his arms, trying to keep a straight face.

“Yeah, but I would’ve done it so it didn’t fall.”

Steve burst into laughter, tossing a block gently back into the box.

“Okay, hot shot. Next time? I’ll let you take the lead.”

He glanced at the clock mounted high on the wall, signalling the end of playtime. With a clap of his hands, he stood tall and called out over the ruckus.

“All right, party people, fun’s over,” he announced. “You’ve got five minutes to get this place looking like it did before we started.”

He fought a grin at the unified chorus of dismayed groans. He raised his brows, crossing his arms in a mock-stern stance.

“If you don’t put it away, next time we don’t play. Got it?”

A smattering of Yes, Mr. Harrington, rang out, and the kids jumped into action. He allowed himself a moment to watch them scatter—tiny hurricanes of energy, racing to scoop up board game pieces, crayons, and Jenga blocks from around the room.

Teaching was his chance to make a difference, sure, but also to indulge in childlike wonder—when everything felt hopeful.

His gaze flicked to the farthest table, the one that always looked like a rainbow explosion had taken place—glue sticks, coloured pens, and tiny scraps of construction paper littered every inch of it.

With a soft chuckle, he strolled over to help. Beginning to collect lids and snapping them onto markers, relishing the simple, grounding routine. One of his quieter students, Alfie, stood nearby, cradling what looked like a small, folded card against his chest.

“Hey, Alfie,” he said gently, tilting his head toward the colourful paper in the boy’s hands. “Whatcha got there?”

Alfie blinked up at him, eyes wide with shyness. He held out the card.

“It’s for Ellie,” he mumbled, voice barely audible over the rustle of paper scraps.

“Oh yeah?” Steve asked. The name tugged at his heart in a different way than usual—he thought briefly of you. Seems like love has been on everyone's minds recently.

Ellie was busy putting them away now, small arms struggling around the stack, and Steve felt a pleasant feeling in his chest at the simple reminder of your first meeting, all spurred on by a simple request for children's reading material. He shook his head as he returned his gaze to his younger student.

“Special occasion?”

The boy’s cheeks pinked as he fiddled with the corner of the card.

“I’m…gonna ask her to be my girlfriend.”

He had to bite back a grin; the pure earnestness was almost too sweet to bear.

“That’s a big step, bud,” he said, tone soft as he screwed the cap onto a glue stick. “You nervous?”

“Kinda.” Alfie’s shoulders lifted in a half-shrug. “I’ve never asked someone before.”

There was such bravery in those words that triggered a familiar swell of empathy. He crouched down so he could be eye-level with the kid, giving the card a closer look.

“Well, you’re doing it right.” He said as he got closer. “A nice card? Thoughtful. Girls like that.”

“What if she says no?” Alfie peeked at the little hearts he’d drawn in the corner.

“Then that’s okay,” Steve replied, voice warm and unwavering. “Just means she wasn’t the right one for you.”

The boy studied his own artwork, as if absorbing some ancient wisdom.

“Go put it with the rest of your stuff so it doesn’t get lost,” he patted him gently on the back. “It’s important, right?”

Alfie nodded, teeth catching his bottom lip in a shy smile before he scampered off to tuck the card safely in his cubby.

Steve straightened, scooping scattered crayons into a box. He was keenly aware of the other children zooming past, arms full of supplies and games, but his mind drifted toward a realisation that made him pause.

He had never actually asked you to be his girlfriend. Not in any official sense, anyway.

His thoughts began that familiar racing which was practically muscle memory at this point.

You and him were clearly together—you spent half your evenings with each other, cooking dinner, stealing kisses around your shop, taking turns meeting the other from work. You even called each other on nights when neither of you could slip away from your busy schedules.

And that other day in your kitchen, on the counter, his head between your—

The memory threatened to flood him with heat, and he cleared his throat, forcibly shutting down that train of thought.

There were children present, for crying out loud.

But still, he couldn’t shake the question. Should he say something? Did you even want him to? You’d always been so content with the small gestures—picking up your favorite snack at the movies, leaving a sweet note behind the register.

He’d been out of the dating game for God knows how long, but this—this felt like a crucial step, one that couldn’t be ignored or fumbled.

Running a hand through his hair, he surveyed the classroom. The kids were nearly done, the once-messy tables now growing tidy. He hefted the box of coloured pencils and returned them to their spot on the shelf. In his chest, the question still glimmered, stubborn and insistent.

Are you his girlfriend?

He exhaled, a sigh that seemed to carry all the pent-up yearning in his heart, and wandered back to his desk. As he sank into his chair, he knew this thought wouldn’t leave him alone. Not until he found the right moment to bring it up with you.

And with his luck, it was sure to be more of a challenge than necessary.

Sunday in Hawkins was supposed to be mellow—just a quick coffee, maybe a grocery run—but alas, things don't always go to plan.

You had somehow transformed this simple outing into a mini shopping spree, darting from shop to shop with that almost pleading expression he could never say no to. And while his arms were definitely beginning to ache, he wasn’t one to complain. Not when he got to watch you light up at the sight of each new treasure you found.

He followed you into a cosy little home goods shop, the kind with shelves stacked to the rafters with mismatched antiques, colourful glassware, and odd knickknacks. You drifted to a shelf with an impressive selection of vases—round ones, tall ones, some painted with delicate flowers.

“It’s… very you.” Steve teased safely as you eyed up a beautiful glass vase, soon holding it up for his opinion.

“What?” you shot back, grinning over your shoulder. “You don’t like my interior design choices?”

He shifted the other bags onto one arm, the lingering weight reminding him just how many stops you’d made that afternoon.

“I didn’t say that,” he replied, giving you a playful smirk. “It’s just…do you really need another vase?”

Your shelves were already pretty cluttered, and he just couldn’t see how you could possibly fit anything else up there. And that’s not to say he didn’t like the eclectic style of your flat, but the practicality was something he was finding difficult to ignore. Even with your excited expression.

“Uh, no?” You didn’t miss a beat, your matter-of-fact tone making him roll his eyes. “I want it. There’s a difference.”

“Sound argument,” he conceded as he followed you to the counter, trailing behind you good naturedly.

He had some experience shopping with women, and he learnt pretty fast that questioning the validity of such purchases was a redundant argument.

But hey, if you're happy, so is he—and it meant getting to spend more time with you.

He watched quietly as you paid. He’d tried to do it himself in the first shop you'd visited, but you'd quickly shot him down—not that it stopped him from wanting to. You were rather insistent when you set your mind to something. But that was alright; he’d just have to get creative in the future.

If he really thought about it, this could even count as market research—practice for when he got you something special himself.

As soon as you finished thanking the young woman behind the till and tucked your wallet back into your bag, he swept in, picking up your purchase before you even had the chance to reach for it.

If he couldn't pay with money, he could at least help this way. Besides, he enjoyed the glances he received from people on the street. The approving looks that confirmed he was doing something right.

“You think I shouldn’t have bought that?” you teased, nudging his shoulder with yours.

“That’s not what I’m saying.” He relied as he pushed the door open with his shoulder, following behind you once again.

“If it’s too heavy, you can just say that.” You smirked, eyes dancing with mischief.

He let out a small, theatrical huff as he shook his head.

“You’re lucky I like you, y’know that?”

Your face softened, a grin blooming so sweet it made his stomach do a small flip. You hooked your arm through his as he fell in step with you.

“I am lucky,” you said, your voice warm and fond. “And hey, you look good carrying my stuff.”

His cheeks warmed at that, a heat spreading as he basked in the little thrill your words always seemed to ignite. And yes, he had to agree—he did look good carrying your things. He looked like your boyfriend carrying your things. Once again, that same nagging thought resurfaced, the question of whether you two were ‘official’ pulling insistently at the edges of his mind, just as it had all week.

Before he had a chance to vocalise any of his racing thoughts, the clouds that had been looming overhead all afternoon finally decided to make themselves an issue.

A single raindrop splattered onto the tip of your nose. Another hit his arm, quickly followed by a deluge that washed over Hawkins in a matter of seconds. You let out a startled squeal, gripping his sleeve in an attempt to dodge the worst of the sudden downpour.

“Shit—this way,” he called, reaching for your wrist and gently tugging you along. Rain pelted the pavement, soaking through his hair and dampening his jacket. His shoes splashed in gathering puddles, and he could feel you stumbling to keep up, breathless laughter tumbling from your lips.

“Steve!” you gasped, half-exasperated. “The car is in the other direction!”

He cradled the bags protectively to his chest, blinking raindrops from his eyelashes.

“Yeah, well, someone decided to go off track with all those extra stops,” he retorted, voice raised above the hammering rain. “My apartment is closer!”

“Seriously?” you said, eyes widening even as you followed him down a side street. The walkway glistened with water, and your shoes squeaked on the slick pavement.

“Yeah, so follow me if you don’t wanna get drenched,” he insisted. Though you were both already pretty soaked, the idea of shelter felt too good to pass up. There was just one small detail that caused a surge of excitement in your chest.

You’d never been to his apartment before. Not once.

You'd spent plenty of time at your place, curled up together on the sofa after closing, or wandering aimlessly around town—giggling in coffee shops and buying far too many pastries along the way.

But his apartment?

This was new.

It wasn’t like he’d intentionally hidden it from you; it had just never seemed to fit naturally into your plans. Whenever you went on a date, he usually just walked you back to your doorstep. After work, your place was conveniently on his way home. And whenever he was in town, you always seemed to be there, somewhere close by.

His place had simply never come up.

The thought of you stepping into his home—into the space where he felt safest—felt like a huge step. He valued it deeply, the one place where he didn’t have to pretend to be anything other than himself.

Inviting you inside meant sharing a significant part of who he was.

When the two of you finally tumbled inside his apartment, the door slammed shut behind you with a dull thud, muffling the roar of the storm outside. Rainwater dripped from the hems of your clothes, creating a small puddle at your feet. Steve, still balancing your many shopping bags, set them down by the door with a sigh. You might've felt guilty about him carrying everything, but the excitement of being inside his flat quickly overshadowed any lingering worries.

He turned to you, taking in your damp hair and the tiny droplets clinging to your lashes, and felt a gentle tug of tenderness in his chest. Without thinking, he reached out, carefully brushing a few strands away from your forehead, his expression softening with concern.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, voice light, “you’re drenched.”

A delighted laugh bubbled from your lips as you raked a hand through your soaked hair.

“Yeah, well, so are you.” Your gaze swept over his own waterlogged sweater, making him acutely aware of just how chilled he was.

“Point taken,” he conceded, trying not to shiver. He glanced at the window, where sheets of rain still pounded against the glass. “Hang on, I’ll grab you something dry.”

“Steve, seriously, it’s not—” You moved to protest, arms folded beneath your chest.

He shook his head, a firm but amused glint in his eye.

“You’re gonna catch a cold like that.” His tone was teasing, but he meant every word—he couldn��t bear the thought of you being uncomfortable on his watch. “Just—stay here,” he added, vaguely gesturing for you to wait by the couch.

Without giving you a chance to argue further, he ducked into the short hallway that led to his bedroom. As soon as he was out of your line of sight, he let out a soft exhale and ran a hand through his hair, sending droplets flying, nerves building slightly. You were here, in his space. And rather than scaring him, it filled him with excitement.

The last person he'd brought here had been Robin, but that hadn't felt particularly special—she was around so often, comfortable enough to make herself at home without asking. But now you were his guest, and suddenly he was playing host. It made him giddy, his thoughts drifting to fantasies of coming home to find you already waiting, or casual phone calls where he'd simply just tell you to come over.

He flicked on the bedroom light, mentally cursing the scattered laundry he’d forgotten to fold. The room felt lived in, the walls adorned with movie posters he'd sneakily acquired from his old job, and a modest bookshelf tucked neatly in the corner.

He snatched a dry sweater from the closet for himself—quickly changing out of his soaked one—before rummaging for something comfy in his drawers, settling on a soft, oversized number he hoped would fit you well enough.

As he padded back into the living room, tugging his own fresh change of clothes more into place, he caught you gazing at one of the framed photos on his bookshelf.

You couldn't help yourself as you continued to look at all of his photos, each one turning his space into a gallery of vivid memories. Everywhere your eyes landed was something positive, something bright.

It was clear he had crafted this intentionally—surrounding himself with reminders of joy and comfort, so whenever anxiety or overwhelm crept in, happiness wouldn't be far away. And now, seeing you here in the middle of it all, it felt as though he'd included you in that gentle optimism, too.

“Here,” he said, offering you the bundle of clothing. The jumper practically swallowed his arms—he’d picked the largest one he owned. “It’s probably too big, but at least you’ll be warm.”

“Thanks.” You took it, fingertips skimming the worn fabric.

Then, as casually as if you were in your own home, you peeled off your soaked shirt. He froze, his pulse jumping to his throat. You were still wearing a bra, sure—but you might as well have been waving a neon sign because he couldn’t look away.

In the grand scheme of things, you'd both done far more intimate things together, yet this caught him completely off guard.

A surprise, absolutely, but definitely not an unwelcome one.

“You staring?” You arched a brow at him, a cheeky grin playing on your lips.

He cleared his throat, snapping his gaze to a nearby lamp.

“Uh—no,” he lied, feeling heat flare across his cheeks. “Shut up,” he added, but there was no real bite to his words.

Your laughter came soft and sweet, he felt a fierce ache of pride that you were comfortable enough to joke like this around him. Watching you pull on the jumper, he couldn't help but notice how perfectly it fell just past your hips.

He was just about to tease you—some witty remark about how good you looked in his clothes—but then your fingers moved to the button of your jeans, and his heart nearly short-circuited.

You shimmied out of them, leaving you in nothing but his sweater, which barely concealed your underwear. You held out your wet clothes at arm’s length, droplets pattering onto the floor.

“Can you…” you trailed off, offering him an apologetic smile.

“Yeah,” he said, breath catching. “Y-yeah, of course.”

Gingerly, he took the soggy bundle, hyperaware that his brain was racing at the mere sight of your bare legs. He forced himself to turn away, inhaling a calming breath.

“I’ll put these on the radiator.”

Slipping into the adjoining room—an open doorway that led to a compact kitchen and a laundry nook—he carefully spread your clothes over the warm metal. A burst of thunder rattled the window, shaking him from his smitten spiral. He cleared his throat, ran a towel quickly over his hair, and then made his way back to the living room. You were already curled up on his couch, legs tucked beneath you, your attention drawn to the rain hammering the glass.

Something about the sight—you, looking so relaxed and at home—melted the last of his hesitation.

He sank down beside you, the old couch cushions dipping under his weight.

“Better?” He asked, voice quieter than usual.

You turned, letting your gaze lock with his. “Much better.”

He sighed in relief but had to make a very conscious effort not to stare at the bare skin of your legs, no matter how tempting it was. He glanced away quickly, hoping you hadn't noticed, but when his eyes drifted back to yours, he saw that playful glint in your expression—clear evidence you'd caught him red-handed.

His heart jumped, a little embarrassed, but you weren't going to let him off easy; he knew that mischievous look far too well.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice already betraying him with a slight tremor.

Instead of answering, you shuffled closer. Closer still, until the thin cushion separating you ceased to exist and you were practically pressed against his side.

What were you planning?

“You still cold?” he teased, trying and failing to keep his composure as you inched even nearer.

Sure, it was a silly question—he was the one who felt like his blood was on fire—but the words spilt out before he could rethink them. His own breath caught in his throat as he began to catch onto what was happening.

“Maybe,” you replied, a playful lilt to your voice.

He was about to muster another snarky comeback, maybe tease you about the goosebumps on your legs, but you swung yourself over his lap before he had the chance. You leaned in to sweep away the stray strands clinging to his forehead. The simple gesture sent a warm flush skittering through his veins.

You clearly wanted to play with him.

“Wh-what are you doing?” he managed, voice just a bit hoarse. The way he looks when he’s flustered only urging you to tease him further.

“Nothing,” you murmured, tilting his chin gently upward until his gaze locked with yours. “Am I not allowed to look at you?”

The words echoed in his mind, and he blushed so hard that he was sure you could feel the heat rolling off his face.

“I mean—yeah, you—” He stammered, unable to form a coherent response before you leaned down and pressed your lips softly against his.

His eyes fluttered shut almost instantly, hands drifting up to settle on your waist as he held you close. You pulled back just for a moment, your breath fanning across his cheek, and he swallowed thickly in anticipation.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, “what are you—”

“I’m saying thank you for today,” you whispered, sliding your mouth over his again. A shiver ran through him at the warmth of your lips, the gentle press of your body against his. His fingers curled in the fabric of his own sweater you were wearing, anchoring you closer.

Your lips trailed a path to his neck then, soft and insistent. His breath hitched, and his mind went blank save for the electric pulse racing through his body. He felt your teeth graze delicately against his skin, and a low groan escaped him, unbidden. The next instant, he was arching up, a rush of heat coursing from his neck all the way down to his toes.

“Gonna let me thank you for real, Steve?” you purred against his ear, followed by a nip that had his vision hazing around the edges.

He was so easy to fluster—it was almost unfair, but you couldn't deny how adorable it made him. Especially when all he could manage was a ragged exhale. The sensation of your lips skewing his ability to think straight.

“Shit,” he mumbled, voice wrecked and hardly recognisable. “I—yeah, yes—please,” he breathed, mind whirling.

Any coherent thought dissolved when you leaned back and studied him, your eyes dark with want.

“Wanna try something,” you murmured, and every nerve in his body lit up at once.

He swallowed, throat suddenly dry.

“Whatever you want.”

And he meant it. He trusted you—completely.

You could take care of him; he knew that deep down.

You slipped off his lap and sank to your knees in front of him. A jolt of pure, dizzying shock flared behind his ribcage at the sight, sending his heart into a frenzied rhythm. He blinked, mind scrambling to keep up.

You brushed your fingers gently along his thigh, your movements deliberate and careful—letting him know without words exactly what you were doing. His breath caught softly, grateful that you were communicating so clearly, even if words escaped him entirely right now.

He vaguely registered your hesitation about undressing him, aware you hadn’t quite crossed that bridge yet. Normally, he'd have appreciated your thoughtfulness, but right now, his mind was struggling to concentrate on anything other than your touch.

Your hands were purposeful, nails grazing the denim lightly, and he nearly jolted at the sensation. When you looked up at him with those wide, doe-like eyes, he felt an embarrassing hitch in his stomach. You were wearing that almost-innocent expression that never failed to make him want to do anything you asked.

“Look so pretty like this,” you said, voice low and soft as you let your hand creep to the waistband of his jeans.

And he did—eyes blown wide, lips flushed and parted—he was a vision, utterly breathtaking. You couldn't tear your gaze away, captivated by how beautifully undone he looked above you.

“Fuck, angel,” he mumbled, fighting the urge to sink deeper into the cushions. “Can’t just say stuff like that.”

“What?” you teased, tugging gently at the button of his fly. “It’s true.”

A strangled sound escaped him, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. You had his zipper halfway down, and he barely remembered to breathe as you began peeling away the damp denim from his hips.

The thought that this is happening looped wildly in his mind, making it impossible to focus on anything other than the smooth press of your palms against his skin.

Some part of him was still spinning—still tangled up in the swirl of half-voiced questions about what, exactly, you and he were. When your fingers found the elastic of his boxers, he felt his pulse spike. You were about to tug them down, already leaning in closer, when a burst of panic fused with desire in his chest.

“Hey, wait, no—wait, stop,” he blurted, placing a hand gently over yours.

You froze, wide-eyed and contrite.

“Sorry,” you whispered, already starting to withdraw your hand as though you’d touched something forbidden, terrified that you took things too far. “I’m sorry, what did I do?”

Fuck.

“No—no sweetheart, you didn’t—” he rushed to reassure, heart twisting at the worried look on your face. He swallowed, willing his voice to cooperate. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

As you stayed there, still on your knees, hand resting on his thigh, he felt heat flush his cheeks. God, you looked so concerned. And he felt utterly ridiculous for choosing now, of all times, to bring up the one conversation he’d been dancing around for days.

“What are we doing?” he asked, voice cracking on the question.

You blinked up at him, confusion knitting your brow.

Wasn't it obvious?

“Um, I was gonna—” and the embarrassment colouring your cheeks made his stomach clench. You looked as though you thought he was rejecting you—which couldn't have been further from the truth.

He exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his messy hair.

“Not that—definitely not that,” he clarified, wincing because this was probably the worst way to go about this. “I just…” A groan rumbled in his chest as he struggled to string his thoughts together. “Are we…are we, like, together?”

Silence stretched for a moment, his heart hammering relentlessly in his chest. He watched you carefully, catching the uncertainty in your expression. He knew you weren’t misreading him—you never did. You always seemed one step ahead, taking his hesitation without question and guiding him towards an answer.

Even now, you understood him. You saw past the nervousness, the awkward pause, the apology in his eyes. He was still learning—still figuring out how to put his feelings into words without tripping over them—but you didn’t need him to say it outright. You could read between the lines, pulling meaning from the things he couldn’t quite articulate.

“What do you mean?”

You had an inkling of what he meant, had already pieced it together in the way he looked at you, the way he paused—but hearing him say it, hearing him put it into words, made it all the sweeter.

“I mean…” His frustration with himself flared. He pressed his palms against his eyes, mortified by the timing. “Are we, you know, together?”

There it is.

A knowing smile curved your lips as you leaned in, letting your hand trail just a little higher on his thigh. Slow and deliberate. His breath hitched, and you could practically see the anticipation warring in his expression.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

“Which part, exactly?” you asked, unable to hide your amusement. “The part where you spend all your free time in my shop? Or the part where you fall asleep on the phone with me practically every night?”

He let out a tortured groan, hiding his burning face in his hands again.

“This is so not how I wanted this conversation to go,” he muttered, shoulders tense even as he recalled the soft memories.

“Oh, wait—was it the part where you carried all my bags today?” You paused, as if savouring how flustered he was, before lowering your voice further. “Or maybe it's the part where you ate me out on the kitchen counter?”

Your words snapped something inside him, and his head lifted sharply, heat rushing straight to his cheeks as he desperately tried to silence the sinful image of you unraveling above him—an image that was both utterly filthy and entirely unhelpful in clearing his scattered brain.

“Stop,” he managed, somewhere between a whine and a protest.

“Alright,” you relented, your grin practically lighting the room as you decided he had been tortured enough. “I’m done. Promise.”

“Thank you,” he breathed, relief tangling with embarrassment.

You tilted your head, eyes still dancing with affection.

“So go on,” you urged softly.

“Huh?”

“Ask me what you want to ask me,” you murmured, guiding his hand to rest against yours on his thigh again, your skin warm beneath his touch, letting him know that you’ve got him.

He stared, trying to corral his thoughts into something understandable. His pulse thrummed through his entire body.

“Are…are you my girlfriend?”

He cringed inwardly, mortified at how childish he sounded. Hell, even his students could probably navigate this conversation better than he was currently butchering it.

“Do you want me to be?” you asked, fingers toying with his own.

“Yes,” he said, maybe more forcefully than he intended. “Yes, I want you to be my girlfriend.”

The reward of hearing him finally ask you officially was more than worth the trial you'd just put him through.

In truth, you had already considered him yours. There was no question of where his heart lay, no doubt that his gaze was fixed solely on you. But this uncertainty had been eating away at him, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts for days. Honestly, you were more than happy to put his mind at ease.

Even if you had a little fun with it first.

“Good,” you cooed, then trailed your palm over the front of his boxers. He shuddered at the sensation, heart flipping as you teased. “Because I’d really like to make my boyfriend feel good," you paused, glancing up to meet his eyes, "if he’ll let me?”

He swallowed hard, his throat clicking audibly.

Boyfriend.

The label settled over him like a perfect fit, especially when it came to you. It felt right.

More than that—it felt earned.

After years of therapy, of unlearning, of piecing himself back together, he had finally reached a place where he could be that again. Where he could embody that for you. And God, if he could, he’d shout it from the rooftops—because after everything, he was finally here.

“Anything. Anything you want, just—” His breath came out shaky as he watched you hook your fingers into the waistband and finally ease him free, the sight of your hand on him making his brain sputter out.

He was fully at your mercy, and he knew it.

You freed his cock from his jeans, fingers wrapping around his length with a touch so deliberate it sent a shiver through him. Your strokes were slow, teasing, dragging out his anticipation until he was fighting the urge to buck into your hand. The pace was torturous in the best way, every movement intentional, every flick of your thumb over his tip pulling ragged curses from his lips.

“Please,” he rasped. It felt like an admission—like you’d unraveled him so completely that the only word he could utter was a plea.

The playful glint in your eyes didn’t wane for a second.

“Since you asked so nicely,” you murmured, leaning down to take him into your mouth.

His vision went momentarily white at the initial jolt of pleasure.

“Ah—fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned, voice breaking on the last syllable.

His hand shot out, gripping the couch cushion to keep from tugging you closer too quickly. Every nerve in his body screamed to feel more—to sink deeper into that warm, wet heat of your mouth—but he wanted you in control, you setting the pace. No matter how undone he was becoming.

His heart thundered at the smug little curl of your lips around him, and a full-body shudder tore through him. You’re a fucking minx. The way you thrived off his torment, off every broken sound he made, was downright sinful—and God, he loved it.

“You’re—you’re gonna be the death of me.” He managed to choke out, though there was more desperation than accusation in his tone.

You didn’t answer—only laced your free hand with his, threading your fingers together. That tender gesture clashed beautifully with the wicked rhythm you kept, your mouth sending jolts of pleasure through every inch of him. Intimate and filthy all at once, and the contrast was dizzying.

He squeezed your hand to ground himself, giving another breathless moan that might have sounded embarrassing if he’d been capable of caring about anything other than how good you felt.

When you finally pulled back for air, you looked up at him, flushed and triumphant. The sight knocked the wind right out of him.

“Want you to cum like this,” you murmured, your voice low and sweet as you guided his palm to the side of your face. “Let me make you feel good.”

You settled over him again, lips wrapping around his cock, and his grip tightened involuntarily. This time, he couldn’t fight the broken whine that tore from his throat.

He tried—God, he tried—not to push you too hard, but every brush of your tongue shattered a piece of his self-control. The way his fingers twitched against your cheek and travelled to your hair, urging you deeper and apologising for his urgency.

“You are—” he managed to babble, voice raw. “You—God, always—” The rest of his sentence disintegrated into a choked, needy noise as you quickened your pace. His breathing came in short gasps, and his pulse hammered so fiercely that he felt it in his fingertips.

“Don’t stop,” he begged, the words half-lost. He couldn’t stop the slight thrust of his hips, the heat coiling in his abdomen reaching a breaking point. The blissful pressure threatened to overwhelm him.

“Shit, wait—baby—” His voice broke, hands trembling around you. “I’m gonna—”

“Let go,” you whispered. And then you were taking him even deeper, pushing him right over that dizzying brink.

It was too much, too intense—pleasure slammed through him, wrenching a ragged cry from his chest that he barely recognised as his own. His body went rigid for a moment, and then he felt it all wash over him in waves that left him trembling. Throughout it all, you held him, your hand entwined with his, guiding him through the spiralling bliss until he finally went boneless against the couch.

When the reeling from the blissful high began to dissipate, he glanced down at you, taking in the sight before he dared to move.

He leaned forward, his elbows braced against his knees so he could meet your gaze on equal footing. His heart was still hammering in his chest, and he had to remind himself to breathe steadily, to find some semblance of composure. Yet the moment his eyes absorbed your flushed cheeks and the subtle rise and fall of your shoulders, any hope of calm unravelled.

God, just look at you. By some miracle, you were his—truly, officially his.

“You’re something else, y’know that?” he murmured, voice a little hoarse. There was a soft reverence in his tone, as though he still couldn’t believe his own luck.

A flash of self-satisfaction curved your lips, and before you could respond, he closed the distance. His kiss was as gentle as he could manage, though there was no denying the heat behind it.

You melted into him, arms looping around his neck, your fingertips grazing the hair at his nape. The scent of you—slightly musky from exertion, threaded with the faint warmth of your body wash—made his head spin all over again.

When he guided you onto his lap, you went willingly. The move ended with you straddling his thigh, and the firm press of his denim against your underwear made you jerk in surprise.

He felt the tremor that shivered through you and swallowed down a groan. Despite how tender he was still feeling from his release, an echo of desire began to thrum low in his stomach, and his mind latched on to a new idea—one that had him downright giddy with anticipation.

“Mmm,” you teased, smile dancing on your kiss-bruised lips, “you just figuring that out now?”

He scoffed softly, but the playful glint in his eyes couldn’t be missed. Pulling back a fraction, he rested his hands on your waist, tracing small circles into your hips through the fabric of his sweater—your sweater now, technically, but it bore his scent and that fact made him hum with satisfaction.

Your brows furrowed in curiosity as he edged you slightly backward, enough to slip his palms over your hips. Then—so subtly you almost questioned if it was by accident—he dragged you forward over his leg. The friction had your breath hitching, your eyes going wide with recognition when he repeated the motion.

“Oh,” you breathed, voice hitching, and he couldn’t help the slow grin tugging at his lips.

“Yeah,” he rasped, dragging out the syllable, “oh.”

You braced your hands on his shoulders. The lazy confidence unfurling inside him felt new but exhilarating—after all those times you’d teased him into a breathless mess, it was his turn. He watched your cheeks burn hotter, and the awareness sank in that you’d realised exactly what he was planning.

His girlfriend. Official. Right here, perched all pretty on his lap, pliant enough to shatter on his thigh. A possessive thrill coursed through him at the thought. He wanted to make you feel as incredible as you’d just made him.

And from the look in his eyes—the slow, self-assured fire that glowed beneath his lashes—you knew it too. You might’ve been the one teasing him earlier, but by the gleam in his expression, you could tell he wasn’t going to relent until you were undone.

“Steve,” you started, your voice low and edged with apprehension and want.

He merely grinned, letting his hold on your hips tighten, urging you to move again.

“No, angel,” he drawled, mischief lacing his tone. “Don’t back down now.”

He continued guiding your hips, the gentle pressure of his palms keeping you tethered. When you tipped your head back, exposing the graceful line of your throat, he fought the urge to dip in and kiss every inch of skin he saw. Desire coiled low as he watched the way your body moved with each drag across his denim.

“Feel good, baby?” he asked, voice catching with that newly emboldened edge. His gaze swept over your flushed cheeks, your parted lips.

You only managed a strangled murmur that it felt so good, and he smiled—completely enthralled, slightly smug. He was the one rocking you like this, making you whimper and cling to him, and the knowledge shot straight through him like a jolt of adrenaline.

“Gonna get off like this?” he pressed, flexing his thigh more pointedly beneath you. Your only response was a nod, desperate and unequivocal. “Good,” he murmured. “Use me all you want. I’m yours now, aren’t I?”

It was such a shift from the breathless, near-begging mess he’d been earlier. That single reassurance you’d given him—claiming him—seemed to have flipped a switch inside him.

Steve Harrington never was the type to do anything by halves once he’d given his heart away, and this, right here, was proof he was ready to take care of you just as thoroughly as you’d done for him. He flexed his leg again, and you let out a shaky whine, head lolling back.

“No, none of that,” he chided playfully, giving your thigh a light tap. When your gaze fluttered to his again, he softened ever so slightly. “Keep those eyes on me, alright? Wanna see you.”

Your stomach knotted with need at his command, and you dug your hands into his shoulders for balance. Each roll of your hips sent pulses of molten pleasure through your core, and his steady grip on your body only pushed you closer to the brink. The intensity of his gaze, locked on yours, made it all the more dizzying.

“One day,” he said, breath hitching at your frantic movements, “gonna have you ride me like this.”

“Fuck—Steve,” A quiet gasp escaped you, surprised at how confidently filthy he’d become. Instead of blushing and letting the moment go, he kept going, emboldened by the way your eyes widened.

“Yeah, you like that?” He rasped, “ S’okay to want it, baby, I' know you do.”

You swallowed thickly, clinging to him as you sped up, each stroke of friction bringing you higher, closer. He watched your hands quake slightly where they gripped his sweater.

“Just know you’d take me so well,” he went on, voice rough with longing. His thumb slid across your belly, pressing gently just above the waistband of your underwear. “Gonna feel me right here—can’t wait to see it, gonna look so fucking beautiful, I just know it.”

Your control began to unravel. The pleasure built too high, too fast, and the broken syllables falling from your lips told him everything he needed. He held you steady as you tried to warn him, though it came out garbled, your body tensing in telltale desperation.

“Oh, I know—I know,” he whispered, coaxing you right to the edge. “C’mon, show me, angel. You can let go.”

And with that, you did. Each quiver and wave of your release pulsed against his thigh, the grip you had on his shoulders almost bruising. He welcomed every ounce of it, eyes locked on your face. He wore the raw, awestruck expression of a man witnessing something indescribably precious—like he wanted to imprint this moment forever.

When the tremors finally subsided, you slumped forward, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. Steve’s arms came up around you in an instant, holding you securely, chest heaving with exertion. He skimmed the back of his knuckles along your spine in soothing strokes, dropping a few featherlight kisses against your hairline.

He sensed the flutter of self-consciousness in the way your cheeks glowed pink as you pulled back, and it only made him grin wider.

“Oh? You shy now?” he teased, voice low.

Your immediate no, came out suspiciously soft, which made him snort. He tugged you closer and felt his heart skip at how you pressed against him so naturally, even through the bashfulness.

“So,” you ventured after a beat, a tiny smirk tugging at your lips, “do you feel better now?”

“Which part?” His mouth quirked up as he asked in a mock-innocent tone. “Because the part where you were on your knees—”

“No, not that,” you groaned, heat creeping up your neck. “Jeez, is that all you keep me around for?”

His laugh was unabashed this time, eyes shining with mischief.

“Well, if I’d known you could do that, I would have asked you a lot sooner,” he bantered back, just to rile you up.

You huffed and moved to stand, but he was quicker, shoving his arm out to stop you in your tracks.

“Wait, wait, no—come back here,” and pulled you back onto his lap with a gentle but insistent tug. His fingers drifting absentmindedly as he traced small patterns into your skin. You realised with a jolt of warmth that he was already more openly affectionate, more physically clingy.

Maybe the relationship label was all he’d needed to show this side of himself.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to ask,” he murmured, tone now serious. “I was being stupid.”

You shook your head and looped your arms around his shoulders, fingers playing with the hair at the base of his neck.

“You’re not stupid,” you said softly. “It was…kind of sweet.”

He snorted, a playful scoff, as if unconvinced.

“Yeah, that’s one way to put it.” But the corner of his mouth quirked up, betraying how relieved he was to hear you say it.

Your eyes drifted to the window then, and you frowned. The steady drumming of rain had quieted, replaced by a gentle, sporadic dripping against the glass. He felt you tense in his arms and immediately straightened, concern flitting across his face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice laced with that newfound protectiveness. He was clearly prepared to fix whatever had put that crease in your brow.

“We should probably head back to the car." You sighed. "Looks like the storm’s over.”

He followed your gaze to the clearing sky, then shook his head.

“We don’t have to,” he said quietly, eyes flicking back to you. “Not if you don’t want to.”

Confusion flickered over your features.

“Steve, you have work tomorrow. It’s Sunday—”

He shrugged, sliding his hands up and down your sides.

“Yeah, but you don’t. And I can…what, pack my bag or something in the morning?” He rolled his eyes in good humour. “It’s not like I need much time to check I got my stickers.”

A small giggle escaped you, and your fingers toyed with the neckline of his sweater. He could tell you weren’t truly convinced, though he also sensed your reluctance came more from courtesy than disinterest. He smoothed a hand over your spine, trying not to beam too much with how badly he wanted you to stay.

“Please?” he added softly, his eyes bright and earnest. “I’m asking nicely.”

A warm flush spread across your cheeks; you chewed on your lower lip as though mulling it over. He recognised you were almost certainly going to agree, so he threw in one last incentive for good measure.

“I can order pizza for dinner.”

That sealed it.

“Sold!” you exclaimed, the tension in your body dissolving instantly.

With a sudden rush of affection, you flung your arms around his neck and buried your face in the crook of his shoulder. He laughed, the sound light and filled with relief, cradling you to him as if you were something precious.

He was really going to have a sleepover with his girlfriend.

His heart fluttered with excitement he didn’t even try to hide. Visions of you sprawled on his couch, rummaging through his secret stash of Family Video flicks, drifted through his mind. He pictured your socked feet propped up on his coffee table as you dozed against his arm. Maybe you’d share a blanket, occasionally sneaking kisses during the slow scenes.

His arms tightened around your waist. Leaning his head against yours, he allowed himself to revel in the moment. Because this was exactly the thing he told himself he would never achieve again.

But here you were—in his arms—proving his theory entirely incorrect.

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#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #stranger things x reader #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things imagine #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #teacher! steve harrington #teacher!steve harrington x reader #teacher!steve harrington #teacher steve harrington #stranger things series #stranger things fic

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dykeforhire · 26 days ago

Text

I Wanna Be Your Dog

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x afab!reader

Description: a night out with the team and a hurricane shot strikes up some interesting experiences between you and Chief Prentiss.

Warnings: (18+) Smut (rough sex, choking, hair pulling, spitting, slapping, strap-sucking), dirty talk, use of she/her pronouns, pet names like good/pretty girl, etc but no full on descriptors.

Playlist: I Wanna Be Your Dog - Joan Jett, Mars needs guitars - Voodoo Gurus

Word count: 13k (sorry not sorry<3)

Read on ao3 | Masterlist

A/n: FINALLY ITS HERE!! enjoy;)

…

It’s been a grueling week for the entire team.

The last case was long and exhausting, a seemingly never-ending chase. That is until they finally caught the break they needed to take him down. It was like a tidal wave of relief had crashed over the team. And so, that is how you and the ladies ended up at a bar in town, huddled around a table in the corner of the room, passing around jokes and playing ridiculous games that co-workers most definitely should not play together. But tonight, you are all simply close friends.

“Okay, okay- Y/n! How about you?” JJ quipped playfully from the other side of the table, her warm, blonde locks tousled messily over her shoulder. “What is your craziest sex story?”

You flush slightly under the gaze of your intrigued co-workers, eyes falling to the half-empty glass in your hand. “Oh man, I don’t know…” You tipped your head back in thought, gazing up at the ceiling with a squint.

“When I was a teenager, I had this girlfriend…” You laugh at the ridiculous memory. “She’s a sweet girl, but she’s from a pretty religious family. And one time, when we were y’know… doing it in her bedroom, her mom walked in on me laid out over the desk with her daughter's head between my legs…” You heard a couple of gasps from around the table, followed by laughter.

“And her mother genuinely screamed and ran! I had to jump out her bedroom window half-naked!” You motioned dramatically with your hands, before sipping on your drink.

“Oh my GOD, Y/n!” JJ guffawed, tossing her head back in laughter.

“That’s- oh my, I don’t think I’d be able to live after that!” Penelope sits stunned next to you, her bracelets clinking together as she shifts to face you, her hand landing on your shoulder.

“Yeahh… safe to say I never saw her again.” You chuckled. “Her mom sent her off to some private academy the next week, and the last I heard from her was in a letter she wrote, stating she found god and that I should repent too!” Your eyes widen for dramatic effect as you lean back in your chair, tilting it on its hind legs.

“Oh Jesus…” Tara mumbled, a low chuckle rumbling from her chest as she took a swig from her beer.

“Never again with the religious girls…” you shake your head, laughing to yourself silently.

“Unless they’re ex-religious! Those are the interesting ones…” JJ raises her finger in the air, giving you a bright smile. You can’t help but raise your brows at the response, a small smirk pulling at the corner of your mouth as you give her a curious look.

“Are you insinuating something, JJ?” Your voice is low, your finger drawing circles over the rim of your drink.

“No! No… I’m one of them! I also just know a few things I shouldn’t about some people…” Her eyes drift conspicuously over toward Emily's shadowy figure in the corner of the table.

All eyes shift to her and Emily looks up from her lap, presumably fiddling with her cuticles. Her dark eyes, almost black in the low lighting, and her strong shoulders are sharply accentuated by the fitted blazer she has on.

You can’t deny the ridiculous crush you have on the Unit Chief. Ever since you met the woman upon her return from Interpol, you’d developed quite the infatuation.

You’re entranced by the way she carries herself with such effortless confidence. The way her dark hair frames her gracefully (and very attractively) aged face, the way she handles a weapon, and the way she takes complete control over a situation fills you with a quiet aching that so desperately itches to be taken care of.

“What?” Emily deadpans, her perfect brows arching while her eyes search the faces of the table for an answer.

“Nothing, just JJ insinuating that you’re a freak in the sheets.” Penelope chirps. Emily rolls her eyes, her thumb and middle finger squeezing at her temples as she lets out a sigh.

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t discuss my personal life at the table, Jayje.” She gives JJ a pointed look.

“It’s just the topic of conversation, Em. I didn’t say anything, just made a comment.” JJ waves her hands in the air in sarcastic defense, shooting the ravenette a cheesy smile.

You know the women have been close friends for ages, but their banter seems to strike a faintly jealous nerve in your stomach. Do they have history? Or are they just so close that they know intimate details about each other's sex lives?

Either way, you didn’t really want to find out.

“I’m not very in favor of sharing details regarding my intimacies with other women… that’s strictly between them and myself.” Emily shifts so her arm could rest comfortably over the back of her chair. The buttons of her blouse pull tought with the position, showing a sliver of her milky chest.

Your eyes linger there for a moment, and upon their return to Emily’s face, her eyes are already locked on you. A smirk tilts the corner of her mouth, minuscule enough that you almost don’t notice it.

Chest thick with embarrassment, you turn your gaze away. A flush prickling over your skin.

“Oh! Let’s go dance!” Penelope suddenly blurts beside you, her hands tapping excitedly at your shoulders as she hops up from her chair.

The bass of the music buzzes through your bones as Penelope practically drags you to the cramped dance floor.

You crane your neck to see if the others are following, you find Tara and JJ practically shoving Emily along. Her boot-clad feet shuffle across the floor as she moves, while a contradictory smile curls across her lips. You notice she’s shed the blazer, leaving her in a simple pair of black slacks and a matching button-down.

The air is cloudy and thick with the smell of sweating bodies and cologne. Penelope finds a decent-sized hole in the crowd and pulls you in, twirling you around as she begins dancing. You can’t help but laugh and wrap your arms around her, swaying back and forth in a soft embrace.

JJ’s hand suddenly cuts between you two, her cheeks glowing with the strength of her smile as she worms into Penelope’s space, bumping you out of the way with her hip.

You see Tara moving in closer to JJ and Penelope, but Emily is nowhere to be found. Your eyes scan the crowd, hoping to spot her head above the rest. Without luck, you begin dancing alone but close to the others.

A pair of hands squeezing at your waist from behind causes you to jump. Quickly, you spin around, ready to confront whoever it is.

Unsurprisingly, it’s a man you hadn’t seen, his face dripping with a thick layer of sweat. You could smell the liquor on him as he tried to pull you closer. Your fingers claw at his wrists in attempts to free yourself but to no avail.

He smiles eerily down at you, as your hands press against his damp chest, attempting to create enough distance to break away.

“Let g-” you start, but your demand is cut off when the man is aggressively shoved away from you. His arms clamber at the nearby bodies of strangers as he falls backward, inevitably landing on the floor despite his attempts to balance himself.

You jump back, wrapping your arms around yourself as you turn to greet your hero.

And of course… It's Emily. And God, does she look hot when she’s mad.

Her face is red with anger as she brushes past you, standing over the man all while clawing at his shirt, her arms flexing under the material of her blouse as she lifts his torso from the ground, landing a solid punch across his nose before pulling him in close and shouting something illegible in his face.

Your mouth hangs agape as the man wiggles away from her sheepishly, his eyes wide with fear and nose leaking blood as a few burly bar employees rush in and drag him outside.

She flashes her badge as one strides in her direction, waving him off.

When Emily turns back to you, the veins in her neck are bulging, pumping adrenaline throughout her body. Her eyes find yours immediately, big and full of concern. Her hands find you next, wrapping delicately around your biceps and pulling you against her chest.

Your limbs fall languidly around her waist as you lean against her. Her warm scent fills your senses as you take a deep breath, calming the incessant beating of your heart.

She smells like clean laundry and sweet shampoo, mixed with the heady essence of sweat that clings to the back of her neck. It’s intoxicating.

Your eyes scan the room in a daze of shock as Emily strokes the side of your head. But deep within you, something is crackling into a blaze– like the pit of a volcano that some delinquent teenager kicked a rock into.

There was just something so attractive about her protecting you like that. Putting herself in harm's way, practically mauling that man for putting his hands on you.

You see Penelope shuffling into your line of sight, her warm hand reaching out to cup your cheek as her eyes worry over you. Emily pulls back from the hug, a hand sliding to rest against your trap, squeezing the muscle lightly as she watches your interaction with Penelope.

“Oh, my sweet, Y/n! Are you okay? That was insane!” The woman crowds you, checking over your skin for any sign of blemishes.

“Yeah, yeah, Pen. I’m okay…” Your gaze flicks over to Emily, her eyes already fixated on you. The darkness of her irises still glints with that mixture of anger and concern. She slips her hand from your shoulder, you almost protest the removal and reach for her again. But you don’t.

“Oh good. The audacity of men! Thank god Emily caught that!” Penelope sighs frustratedly, her palms cupping your jaw while her thumbs brush over your flushed cheeks.

“Yeah- thank you… Emily. Really.” Your eyes find her again, smiling shyly as she nods curtly in acknowledgment.

“It’s no problem. That douchebag needed a reality check and I was happy to give it to him.” She chuckles, showing off that infamous smile of hers.

You can’t help but grin back at her, laughing softly as the image of Emily taking a man nearly double her size to the ground replays in your mind.

“My knight in shining armor.” You give Emily a pout, reaching out to punch her shoulder teasingly.

“Don’t flatter yourself too much now…” she scoffs. “Come on… I’m gonna get you a drink.”

Before you can respond, Emily starts towards the bar. You give Penelope a quick smile, reassuring her and the others that you’re alright before quickly following after the older woman.

You find her perched against the countertop, resting one of her feet on the foot-rail. The sleeves of her blouse are rolled up to her elbows, her forearm muscles twitching deliciously as she reaches for her drink.

“Hey…” you settle in next to her, your arm brushing against hers with the closeness.

“Hey, you.” Emily smirks. “What are you drinking? Want a shot?” She looks at you excitedly, her brows jiggling as she flags the bartender down with a wave of her finger.

“Oh Christ... I don’t think I can stomach more shots. Water will do just fine.” You laugh, shaking your head. Emily nods in acknowledgment, repeating what you said to the man behind the bar.

“Thank you…” You give her a soft smile, fingers tapping anxiously on the mildly sticky wood of the bar. The feeling of being so close to Emily wracking your body with a sort of nervous energy. You could smell her perfume lingering in the humid air, a sense of groundedness within the unruly scene.

“No problem.” Emily smiles at you over the lip of her drink, her nose crinkling as she takes a slow sip.

The pair of you sit in a mildly uncomfortable silence while you wait on your drink, butterflies swimming in the pit of your stomach.

You admire the way Emily’s skin glows in the low light of the bar, the faint colors from the dancefloor reflecting a warmer tone onto her porcelain complexion. With a flick of her chin, Emily’s thick locks whirl over her shoulder, giving way to the soft curve of her jawline.

You’re pulled out of your trance when the bartender places the drink in front of you, which you immediately pick up and take a long sip. Emily studies you with an amused expression, her head tilting as she turns and leans her side against the counter.

“Ahh, refreshing.” you sigh, placing the glass on a napkin.

“Yeah?” Emily feigns a concerned look. “Are you sure you’re alright? I can get you a ride home if you-”

“Yes- sorry… I’m fine, nothing I haven’t seen before.” you flash her a tight-lipped smile as you reach for your drink again.

“Well...” Emily’s warm hand reaches out, her palm rubbing over your tricep. “If you ever happen to encounter a guy like that ever again, just know you can always count on me to take care of it.”

You can’t help the giggle that erupts from your chest. A blush spreads over your face as you shy away from her gaze, your full attention on watching the condensation drip from your glass.

“What?” Emily gives you a questioning arch of her brow.

“Oh- it’s nothing…” you brush her off, looking down at the amber liquid swirling in your glass.

“It’s obviously not nothing, you’re acting funny.” She chuckles, scooting a bit closer to you and resting her elbow on the bar top, somewhat trapping you in place. “What’s on your mind?”

“Oh god…” you sigh, a flush creeping up your cheeks as you place the cup down and hide behind your hands. “You getting all aggressive when that guy was on me was kinda… y’know…” you peek over at Emily through parted fingers.

She has a sarcastically confused but prideful grin on her face, dark eyes raking over your body as she steps even closer.

“Was what?” Emily leans in, her hip resting against your own. “I’m not sure what you mean.” She tilts her chin at you, her tongue poking through her teeth suggestively as she speaks.

“I think you do, Prentiss… you’re a profiler AND you have eyes.” You scoff, downing the rest of your drink– a slight relief from the dryness in your throat.

“I might have an idea, but…” her eyes leave you for a moment, glancing at the crowd, before leaning in so close her lips brush against the shell of your ear. “I want to hear you say it.”

Emily’s voice is molten against your skin, sending a shiver throughout your entire body. When she pulls away, it’s only by a few inches, her eyes trained heavily on you. Your eyes dart between hers for a moment, and you can feel the thick warmth pooling in your gut as she watches you.

“It was really hot.” You state bluntly, a bit unsure of where the sudden courage stems from, but it leaves your mouth without a second thought. There’s a sparkle in Emily’s eyes when she hears those words, her small smirk growing once again.

“That wasn’t so hard, hm?” She reaches up to brush the loose hairs from your shoulder, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You blush even harder as her hand gently cups the back of your neck.

“I bet…” her thumb presses into the soft flesh below your ear. “You would do whatever I told you to…” Her bottom lip glistens as she glides her tongue across the skin before pulling it between her perfect teeth.

You watch her thoughtlessly, eyes following the movement of her mouth as you struggle to find any semblance of a response. A bit stunned by how forward she’s being, but by no means opposed.

“Such a good girl, aren’t you?” She cups your jaw, and you nearly moan aloud at the contact mixed with her words, successfully stifling it down to a hardly innocent whimper.

“Oh, she likes that…” Emily beams, her hand trailing underneath your chin to aim it towards her. “Hmm, let’s see… and how would she feel about being my good girl tonight?”

You’re quite mortified by the statement internally, not in a bad way, of course— but it doesn’t show. Never in your wildest dreams would you think something like this would ever happen, especially since she is your boss. The same boss that you’ve been pining after for months.

“Yes…” your voice is nearly a whisper, leaning desperately into her warm touch. Emily smiles proudly in the wake of your response.

“Hmm, well… why don't you start by dancing with me?” She squeezes your jaw before releasing it roughly. You let your head fall to the side as she downs the remainder of her drink. A dopey grin crosses your face as you look back at her through fluttering lashes.

“Come on, this is a good one…” Emily chuckles, gripping your clammy hand and tugging you back to the dancefloor.

[So messed up, I want you here]

The heavy sound of guitar fills your ears, you recognize the song instantly; I Wanna Be Your Dog by Joan Jett– of course, Emily loves this song.

[And in my room, I want you here]

Emily wraps her arm around your waist tightly, pulling you flush against her body as she sways with the music. You let your arms wrap around her neck, fingers tangling into the hair at her nape as you lean into the embrace.

Emily smiles down at you, and it's like there is no one else in the room. It feels like your skin is burning and you couldn't be happier (and hornier).

[yeah, and now we’re gonna be face to face, ugh]

“You're beautiful, I hope you know that” You flush at the compliment, burying your face into her shoulder as your bodies twist together to the rhythm of the music.

“Thank you. You’re really really gorgeous.” Your nose brushes against the soft skin of her neck as you return the compliment. You feel her finger looping through your belt loop, just barely grazing the curve of your ass. She chuckles and you can feel the vibrations from her chest against your own.

[And I’ll lay right down in your favorite place]

“Yeah! You know where that is!” You sing along to the song with a smile, pulling away from Emily and spinning around, your ass brushing against her front as you gyrate against her.

[Now I wanna be your dog!]

Emily's hands settle low on your hips, the tips of her fingers digging into your upper thigh. You feel her hot breath tickling the back of your neck, soon followed by the subtle brush of her lips.

[Now I wanna be your dog!]

You let your head fall back onto her shoulder, mouth falling open as she places a full-fledged kiss on the hot skin. Your hands settle atop hers, letting her wrap around your waist tighter.

[Now I wanna be your dog! Ow!]

“Oh, fuck…” you whimper as she nips at the shell of your ear, her hands gripping tightly over the muscle of your hip, shooting sparks of heat straight to your core.

You can hear her raspy chuckle, and you can already see the smug face she’s wearing in your head. You spin out of her grasp again– she follows along, twirling you a few times before pulling your front against her.

[Ooh, give it to me]

“Ooh, give it to me.” you sing in unison with the song, smirking up at Emily as she growls in response. Practically eating you alive with her eyes, and god you wish she would.

“You’re naughty…” Emily’s hands slip into your back pockets as her thigh shifts between your legs, pulling you in. To surrounding eyes, the move might simply look like dancing with a girlfriend, but you both know that isn’t the case. Especially with the soft moan that slips from your throat as she flexes subtly, the hard muscle pressing against your center through the fabric of your jeans.

[Now I’m ready to close my eyes]

“Jesus, Emily…” You meet her dark gaze with hooded eyes, nails clawing at her shoulders for stability.

[Now I’m ready to close my mind]

“What, baby?” Emily’s voice is low, if it weren’t for the closeness you wouldn’t have heard it. Her nose brushes against your cheekbone, her breath hot against your skin. You shiver, preening at the use of the pet name.

[Now I’m ready to feel your hands]

“I think… I think we should go somewhere…” you practically pant into her ear, her hands pressing your pelvis into her harshly.

“So needy already, hm?” Emily murmurs, her body swaying to the music.

[Lose my heart on the burning sands, ugh!]

“Yes…” your nails press into the base of her skull, the sharpness makes her hiss.

“You’re gonna have to tell me what you need, or you won’t get anything at all…” Emily’s eyes scan the crowd once again, watching as the team dances, off in their own worlds. You can only whimper in response.

“Although… the idea of letting you stew, all hot and bothered, suffering through seeing me tomorrow and thinking about what I could do to you, does sound quite enticing…” She presses her cheek against yours, her canines grazing the flesh.

“Please…” You’re practically falling at her feet, breathless and desperate for mercy. Desperate for anything she could give you.

“Please what?”

“Please… I need you.” You pull back for a moment, meeting her eyes with a daring glance. There’s a flash of something deep within her irises, dancing beneath her long lashes.

Emily smirks, studying you for a beat before one of her hands reaches up to brush a few stray hairs from your face, trailing over your cheek and neck before settling against your collarbone.

“There you go…” the lines of her eyes crinkle as her smile widens, her thumb dipping into the hollow of your throat.

[Now I wanna be your dog!]

“Now I wanna be your dog…” you sing quietly, eyes never faltering from hers as a silent declaration.

Emily pulls her lip between her teeth, her palm sliding up your lower back. There’s a faint flush creeping up her exposed chest, you want so badly to press your lips against it. Feel the heat of her soft skin.

“You’re heading into dangerous territory, agent…” Her hand grips at your waist, squeezing just enough for you to let out a quiet yelp.

“I’d like to think I’m well prepared… Chief.”

Emily holds your gaze, just smiling down at you darkly. For a moment it looks kind of like she’s about to lean in and kiss you, but the moment is swiftly whipped away when Penelope makes a sudden appearance.

“GUYS! They’re doing hurricane shots at the bar!! You have to watch!” She babbles excitedly, pulling you and Emily apart and dragging you to the bar.

Emily shoots you a glance, a shocked expression crossing her features. You chuckle, shaking your head as you let yourself get dragged across the room.

The bar is crowded with rowdy patrons as they all watch the bartender climb atop the bar, sitting in front of the eagerly awaiting young man.

His cheeks are flushed a deep shade of crimson as the woman leans in to make sure he’s ready, when he nods there is a roar of cheers and a sea of phones being whipped out to record the interaction.

“Oh my gosh, this is so exciting!!” Penelope squeals, jumping up and down and clutching at your arm.

You look over at Emily with an excited smile, she winks causing you to look back in the direction of the bar.

There’s a short countdown before the man quickly shoots back the shot, lowering his hands to brace himself as the bartender unfurls the cup of water over his face and lands a sharp slap across his jaw.

“Ohhhhh!!” The crowd whoops, bursting out in laughter and cheers as the man flushes impossibly deeper, stumbling out of his stool towards his cheering friends with a cheesy grin.

“Jesus…” Emily murmurs, looking at you and Penelope with a shocked expression, “She did not hold back.”

“I would so do that.” You say aloud before you even realize what you’re confessing.

Penelope turns to you, aghast but intrigued, a bright smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“You should do it! Tonight! Oh my god, let’s do it now!” Penelope jumps up and down excitedly, hands gripping your shoulders as she shakes you.

“Oh man, I don’t know… I’m not sure how I feel about a stranger slapping me.” You tilt your head in contemplation.

“I’ll do it,” Emily turns toward you, a smirk playing over her lips. “If they even allow that.”

You see a flicker of something behind her eyes, and you are so very interested in what it might be.

Penelope grows even more excited at her statement, gripping both of your arms and giggling adorably.

“Oh my gosh, guys… this is going to be so good,” the blonde beams, tugging you and Emily under her arms in a side hug. “You both are freaks... But I love ya!”

“You really wanna slap your subordinate across the face, Prentiss?” You challenge her, chewing at your bottom lip. “In public, nonetheless?”

Emily sighs, letting out a low chuckle. “I am not your boss tonight, Y/l/n… this is just fun between friends.” You notice the flush creeping up her neck as she speaks, and her eyes glistening with the unmistakable sheen of arousal.

“If you say so…” you smirk, your pointer finger prodding at her waist from behind Penelope’s back.

Penelope shrieks, dragging you and Emily towards the others.

“Guys! Y/n’s gonna do the hurricane shot with Emily!!” She announces, which grabs a few shocked expressions from the rest of the team.

“Oh, yeah?” JJ gives Emily a suggestive look, arching a brow.

“Yeahhh…” you and Emily say in unison, glancing at each other crookedly.

“Well let’s do it then! I’ll grab some shots and water.” Tara waves her hands up excitedly, stepping off towards the bar.

You stand between Penelope and JJ shyly, your fingers suddenly becoming very interesting.

“Alright… two shots and two waters.” Tara places the tray on the table. “If you guys are gonna do this I wanna see it both ways.”

Your eyes widen at the thought of slapping Emily back, but you most definitely aren’t turned off by the idea. Matter of fact, the idea turns you on… quite a bit.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Emily questions you earnestly, but you can still see the excitement in her eyes as she gets closer.

“Yes. I’m sure.” You hold her gaze longer than you should, just staring. With a nod she steps back, picking up one of the shots before handing the cup of water to you.

“I’ll go first… ready?” She plants her feet on the floor and lowers herself slightly so you can angle yourself better.

“As I’ll ever be…” you laugh as you stand in front of her, readying yourself.

Penelope stands to the side counting down as Emily puts the glass to her lips, when she reaches one, Emily tosses it back as fast as possible, relaxing the muscles of her face in preparation for the incoming slap.

You toss the water at her as soon as her mouth is closed, hesitating momentarily before landing a solid crack just above her jaw.

The group cheers and Emily’s eyes shoot open wide, immediately connecting with yours with a groan. Her black irises gleam dangerously as a welt the shape of your hand forms over her cheek.

“Whew!” Emily shakes herself out, putting the glass back on the table and picking up the water for herself.

“You good?” Tara asks, knuckles pressing into Emily’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m great… that was nothing.” She scoffs. “You hit like a little girl.”

“Your face says otherwise…” you tease, eyes raking over the red splotch once again.

“Whatever…” Emily rolls her eyes, raising her palm to the side of your head to guide her aim.

Penelope starts the countdown once again, and you’re shuddering in anticipation, planting your toes and raising the shot glass before tossing it back on the count of one.

The icy water hits you before you even have the chance to fully swallow, and the singe of Emily’s palm against your cheekbone brings tears to your eyes.

Not because you were actually in tremendous pain, it hurt, but that’s simply your body's natural reaction to the deliciously overwhelming nature of what just happened.

And to be quite honest, you would let her do it again.

You can hear the faint laughs and cheers of the people around you as your mouth falls open, releasing a thick breath as you squint up at Emily through dripping eyelashes.

Her brows hold a bit of concern in their creases, but the smirk she’s wearing says otherwise. She knows you liked it.

“That was fun, wow-” You wipe the water from your face, tapping gently at the stinging skin of your cheek. “I think I’m done for the night now…”

“Yeah, I think it’s time we all cool it…” JJ steps behind you, squeezing your shoulders as Penelope hands you a few napkins to dry yourself.

“We all do have to be at work tomorrow morning so…” Emily chuckles, running a hand through her dampened hair. “Don’t want my team chasing killers with hangovers!”

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow, this was fun!” JJ leans into your side as she bids her goodbyes, repeating the process with the rest of the women before heading to the bar to pay her tab and leave.

You, Tara, Penelope, and Emily settle back down at the table, settling back down at the table for a while, nursing some water and a shared plate of fries.

As the first yawn of the night strikes Tara, she bids her farewells and Penelope soon follows, leaving you and Emily completely alone for the first time tonight.

“So…” Emily starts, standing up and moving to a chair closer to you, she leans back in it, looking over at you— blank of expression except for the faint tilt at the corner of her mouth.

“So?” You mirror her, raising a brow.

“Alone at last…” she smirks, the toe of her boot poking out to slide up the back of your calf.

“So it seems…” you retort lowly, resting your chin in the palm of your hand. “How’s your face?”

Emily chuckles, running a hand through her hair before brushing her fingertips over the fading redness on her cheek. “Doesn’t hurt… just stings a little, but it’s good.” She smiles, folding her hands together over her lap. “How’s yours? Looks pretty sore to me…”

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

Emily just looks at you for a beat, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth as her eyes trail over you the same they did at the bar earlier.

There’s a mysterious and alluring tension lingering between the two of you as you stare at each other, a hunger within synced breaths and static touches. The rise and fall of her chest draws your attention as if it’s calling for you through the open collar of her shirt. The sun-dappled constellations across her skin, the sheen of perspiration between her breasts, the dainty chain that sits in the dip of her clavicle— it’s all overwhelming.

“Dance with me again.” Emily jumps up from her seat and tugs you from yours, not asking, ordering.

“And what if I don’t want to dance?” You slip your fingers between hers and let her lead you to the dance floor.

“Well, you certainly aren’t putting up much of a fight…” Emily murmurs, glancing at you. You admire the slope of her nose as she does so, the faint arch, the sharp tip, the tiny scar below her columella.

You stay silent as Emily guides you into the crowd, letting it envelop both of you. Shoulders brushing against sweaty bodies, the smell of liquor and the pungent mixture of perfume and body odor filling your senses.

The bass of the music makes your lungs feel as though they’re vibrating, Mars Needs Guitars by the Hoodoo Gurus.

Emily wraps her arm around your waist, pulling you against her and swaying.

[I’m primitive, I’m a primitive man, got a primitive girl, we make primitive love]

The lyrics make the urge to be closer to Emily nearly impossible to ignore, not that you really can get much closer— your chests are already pressed together, bodies sliding against one another.

“Where were we…” Emily smirks, her fingertips digging into the flesh of your hip. “Y'know… before we were rudely interrupted.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong…” you scan her face, taking in the gleam in her dark eyes. “But I think you were about to kiss me, Chief…”

[I'm primitive that's what I am, I'm your primitive mate, I wanna be your man]

“Hmm…” Emily sighs, her free hand climbing up your side and landing at the base of your neck. “I think you’re right…” her lips curl into a wolfish grin, perfect teeth fully on display.

“You should. Kiss me, I mean…” your fingers twirl the hairs at the base of her neck, “only if you want to, of cour-” Emily silences you, swooping in and pressing her lips against yours with an aggressive passion.

You let out a shocked moan as her palm cups your jaw, tilting your head as she runs her tongue over your bottom lip. You graciously let her in, opening up just enough for her to lick inside your mouth before twirling against your own muscle.

[I said, I’m primitive, I’m primitive, you know what that means]

Clutching at the nape of her neck, you pull Emily impossibly closer, clawing at her skin and kissing her as if your life depends on it.

Ignoring the surrounding bodies bumping against you, the kiss grows hungrier— deeper.

It’s sloppy and open-mouthed, teeth and tongue clashing carelessly. It’s anything you could ever want, and you desperately need more.

Pulling back reluctantly, you look Emily in the eye, noting the swollen redness of her lips— her cheeks glazed and flushed. You think about how you probably look quite a mess if the way you felt on the inside matched the outside in any sort.

“You taste good.” Emily murmurs, leaning down and pressing a wet kiss on the corner of your mouth, the tip of her nose pressing into your hotly blushing cheek.

“I want you to taste more…” you groan, pulling her mouth back to yours, sealing your lips together and sucking in a sharp breath. “Do you want that, Emily?” Another kiss. “To taste me...”

“God, I want that so much.” She says through gritted teeth, “Let me take you home… have my way with you…” The hand that was on your jaw slips in your hair, tugging just enough for your head to tilt back.

You let her trail hot kisses over your throat, without a single care that wandering eyes can see.

“Please…” you whisper through panting breaths, “I want-hm… do whatever you want, I’m all yours.”

Emily’s lips drag over your pulse point and jaw, nipping at the skin every once and a while. “That’s quite the statement, agent…” she nips at your earlobe, “do you think you can handle me?”

“Yes…” you gasp as she digs her thumb into your hip, sucking the earlobe into her mouth. “I want it… I can take it.” You turn slightly to press a kiss to her cheekbone, your hand sliding down the back of her neck and under the collar of her shirt, before settling between her shoulder blades.

Her skin is hot to the touch, sweat lingering in the dips of muscle— you want nothing more than to lick it off of her.

“Come on…” Emily slips from your grasp all too quickly, her hand grasping yours and pulling you back out of the crowd.

The lights and bodies blur around you as you’re tugged along, you can make out the phone in Emily’s hand, probably setting up a ride as she is way too respectable to get herself a DUI in the name of sex.

Emily’s hand slips from yours when you reach the table, making quick work of scooping up both of your belongings. With a nod of her head you’re following her out the door, hand fisted in the back of her blouse as you try to keep up.

“Impatient are we?” You joke, nudging at her hip through the fabric.

Emily shoots you a warning look as she holds the exit door open, making sure to slip a quick handful of your ass when you pass, pulling a squeak from your throat.

The waiting period is short, but still incredibly awkward. The brisk nighttime breeze— blowing Emily’s raven hair into her face. You watch with desperate eyes as she lifts a hand and tucks the flyaways behind her ear.

The night casts a blue film over her body— pale, sweat-dampened skin, glowing in the moonlight. She looks like pure sex and adrenaline, her chest rising and falling with quick breaths as she turns to look at you.

“Are you sure you’re sure about this? You can always back out and we can just keep it… mildly professional…” Emily trails off, searching your expression for any form of doubt.

“I think I made it pretty clear what I want, Emily. I want to do this—” You step closer, taking her hand in one of yours while the other cups the side of her neck. “I want you.” Your lips brush against hers as you pull her in, tongue darting out to moisten the skin before capturing her mouth in a deep kiss.

Emily’s hand clutches at your waist as she moves to deepen the kiss, her lips parting and letting your tongue dip inside— dancing over her teeth and twirling with her hot muscle.

If you could equate the feeling to anything, it would be like slipping a nicotine pouch into your mouth and letting it soak into your gums. The sweet taste of her mouth pulls a sting from your salivary glands as if you’re sucking on a sour lozenge.

Your hips press against Emily’s, the cool metal of her belt buckle nipping at your belly through the thin fabric of your shirt.

A moan slips from your throat, fingers tangling in hairs at the nape of Emily’s neck. You hear her groan as you tug gently, the vibrations sending a chill down your spine.

The sound of tires on gravely pavement and the obnoxious beeping of a car horn pull you out of the moment.

“Cars here…” Emily whispers against your lips, a small smile tugging at the corners of hers.

With a sigh, you step back— letting Emily open the car door for you to fall inside. The driver greets you with a disdained ‘Hello, Emily?’ To which she responds with a ‘yes’, buckling her seatbelt and urging you to do the same.

Emily’s hand lands atop your knee, her thumb pressing into the flesh teasingly. You give her a pleading look. A look that begs for her to keep touching you and never stop. She just smiles.

Somehow you both manage to keep it PG for the entire ride to Emily’s place, not wanting to traumatize the poor driver.

Her quaint townhouse is unsurprisingly gorgeous, exactly the type of home you’d picture a woman like Emily Prentiss living in. The brick walls are pristinely kept, with some sort of ivy growing over them.

“This is nice…” you exhale, eyes wandering over the building. Emily’s hand is steady on your lower back as she guides you towards the front door.

“Thank you… I’m quite fond of it myself.” She chuckles, pulling her keys from her purse and unlocking the door.

Stepping inside, you’re met with a rush of something entirely Emily. The scent of her perfume and musky cashmere candles— even the familiar note of her Marlboro cigarettes in the air.

You watch as Emily places her things down and tosses her keys into a dish on the entryway table, then turns to face you— leaning her hip against it.

You stalk over to her, placing your things next to hers and mirroring the position, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as you take in her form below the dim light of the foyer.

“Hi.” She murmurs, her hand reaching up to run along the side of your face.

“Hi…” you lean into her palm, fluttering your lashes as you stare at her. Her thumb brushes over the sore spot on your cheek and you suck in a hissed breath.

“Still sore?” Emily’s eyes trail over the blotchy red spot over your cheekbone before leaning in and pressing a featherlight kiss over the sensitive skin.

“Just a little, only to the touch.”

“Hmm…” Emily pulls back, the tip of her nose brushing against yours. “A little pain isn’t a bad thing…”

Your gaze falls to her mouth, entranced by the way her lips move as she speaks, the delicate lines in the rosy skin— the dimples that make her angular and sexily aged face look rather adorable.

“Definitely not,” you wrap your arms around her waist, nestling into her.

“You’re a tease, y’know?” Emily chuckles, her fingers raking through your hair.

“Enlighten me?” You smirk, tucking a hand in the back pocket of her trousers.

“Well for one…” she dips down and presses a single lingering kiss at the corner of your mouth. “You’re so eager to please…and I love that.” Her hand fists at your hair—forcibly yanking your head backward, making room to kiss and nip at your neck. You let out a desperate gasp.

“Like right now for example…” She sucks at the sweet spot below your pulse point. “Letting me pull your hair, mark you up like we don’t have work in the morning…” her teeth sink into the curve of your jaw, pulling a whimper from your throat.

“So needy…” you feel her nails against your scalp, her tongue dragging hot, wet lines over your skin. “You’re practically a puddle on my floor, love…”

“Please— Emily…”

“Please what?” She nips at your earlobe before pulling back to look you in the eye. “You’re gonna have to use words if you want something.”

“Take me to bed…” your hands grasp at her back, clawing at her through the fabric. “Please—need you.” You breathe wildly as your hand moves to fiddle with the buttons of her shirt, fingertips prodding at her sweltering skin through the seams.

“Are you gonna be a good girl?” Her hand slides from your hair, her thumb and index finger pinching at your chin to lift your face towards her.

“Yes… I’ll be so good. Whatever you want… I need it.” You surge forward, attacking her mouth with enough force that she stumbles backward.

She corrects herself quickly, gripping at your head as she deepens the kiss. Her teeth nip at your bottom lip, tugging on it before letting it pop back into place.

Your breath fans across her face as you just stare at each other with lust-filled eyes. Emily smiles devilishly, her hand wrapping around your throat with a groan as she pulls you back to her mouth.

She kisses you almost selfishly, stealing all the air from your lungs as she practically swallows you whole.

You fumble with the buttons of her shirt as her tongue licks into your mouth, popping them open from the bottom up.

The air grows stifling as the sounds of your mouth against Emily’s fill the room. The moans, the frantic sounds of wet suction, the ruffling of clothes against bodies… It's completely suffocating in the best of ways.

Emily tightens her grip on your throat as she begins slipping off her shoes, kicking them to the side as she pulls you towards the bedroom— you can’t help but whine.

You manage to completely open her shirt by the time the back of her heels hit the stairs, your palms flattening over her belly. You can feel goosebumps spreading over the soft flesh as your nails dig into her sides.

Emily releases your mouth with an audible pop as she slides her hand from your throat and down to the collar of your shirt— gripping it and pulling you up the stairs.

Your eyes are wide and wild as you make the treacherous climb, hands clambering at the walls— at the back of Emily’s legs.

The second floor smells more like Emily than the first, and it excites you more than you could ever possibly enunciate.

With a wickedly strong hand, Emily shoves you into the bedroom door. Forcing a small grunt out as you collide with the solid wood, it morphs into a gasp as her lips reattach to yours.

With her body pressed firmly against you, her hands start roaming over your clothed skin aimlessly. You reach for the doorknob, twisting it open and stumbling inside as she grips at your shirt.

Her fingertips slide beneath the fabric, running over your stomach and the sides of your rib cage before pulling the offending fabric over your head and discarding it.

Her hands cup your breasts, squeezing them roughly through your bra. You let out a choked moan at the sensation, your hands knotting in her hair as you try your hardest to keep kissing her.

Emily doesn’t linger long outside of your bra, making quick work of pushing you further into the room and swiftly unclasping it with practiced ease.

“Bed.” Emily’s voice is low and raspy as she orders you, her hands tugging the bra from your arms and forcibly shoving you down onto the mattress.

“Yes, ma’am.” You gasp, scooting up onto your elbows and spreading your legs mindlessly— already so accommodating.

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous.” Emily growls, unbuckling her belt and slipping her trousers off before crawling over you and settling against your pelvis.

You catch a glimpse of the simple black cotton briefs she has on, the color starkly contrasting her pale thighs.

“I couldmh-” Her lips are on yours again before you can finish your sentence. The kiss is urgent, her mouth opening and closing against yours desperately.

She moves her assault down your neck and chest, giving you a chance to catch your breath. “I could say-hmph.. the same for you—oh fuck.” her lips close around your nipple, sucking the already pebbled flesh into a solid peak.

Emily’s teeth scrape over the bud before soothing the sting with a swirl of her tongue, while her hand works in tandem with the opposite breast; squeezing, tweaking, pinching.

“Fuck that feel nice…” you pant, sitting up in your elbows to watch as Emily continues her affections.

“Yeah?” Her eyes flick up to yours, irises black and shining. Her cheeks shine with a faint dusting of flush, highlighting the sharpness of her cheekbones.

Her tongue is boiling against your already hot skin, dragging over each dip and curve with an agonizing slowness.

“Yes… love your mouth.” Emily smiles as she swiftly moves lower, biting just below the curve of your breast. Your head falls back with a sigh as she moves to take your nipple in her mouth again— hollowing her cheeks as she sucks, flicking her tongue over the swollen bud.

Your hands claw at the back of her neck and shoulders, pulling her closer.

“Such a gorgeous thing… so perfect.” Emily groans, releasing you from her mouth and climbing back up to kiss you again.

“Thank you…” you smile into the kiss, nipping at Emily’s bottom lip before swiping your tongue over it. Emily chuckles, taking your tongue into her mouth and closing her lips around it.

Your hands wrap around her middle, trailing over her sides and up to the clasp of her bra. “May I?” You whisper, pressing a light peck to her top lip.

“I suppose…” Emily practically purrs, her arms sliding up so her elbows rest on both sides of your head—trapping you.

The clasp is undone in a matter of seconds, the fabric falling loosely between the two of you.

“Let me see you.” Your hands press at her waist, urging her to sit up, but she doesn’t budge.

“That’s not how we ask for things, sweetheart.” Emily’s hand moves to cup your face, her thumb sliding over your jawline and down to your throat.

“Please… I want to see you—please let me see you.” You practically moan, your body writhing desperately beneath her weight.

“Good girl.” Emily smirks, patting your cheek. You can’t help but whimper at the residual stinging from the slap earlier.

Emily sits back on her heels, slipping the bra from her arms slowly, teasingly. Your eyes are wide as you watch her, scrambling up onto your elbows.

You trail your gaze from where her hips meet your inner thighs up to her face— the delicious curve of her hips, the lines of her belly that falls ever-so-slightly over the edge of her pants, the dusting of freckles across her skin, the heaviness of her breasts as they drop from the cups of her bra.

“Oh, fuck me.” you sigh, eyes frantically taking in every detail you could find. “I don’t think I’ll ever get over this…” you laugh in disbelief— can she get any sexier?

You reach out, fingertips barely making contact before she’s shoving you back down on the mattress— one hand holding your wrists above your head while her other is wrapped solidly around the base of your neck.

“I never said you could touch.” Emily looms over you, her face mere inches away from yours. You can feel her breasts pressing against your own, her belly brushing against your pelvis with each breath.

“I’m sorry… Please, let me touch you.” You whimper, eyes pleading.

“I might have to teach you a lesson if you keep misbehaving like this, y/n…” Her tongue flicks out to lick her lips, the tip of her thumb feeling along the ridges of your esophagus. “You wanna touch me so bad, hm?”

“Yes. Please, Emily... God, please let me touch you.” You’re practically gasping for air as you beg, the feeling of her body over you, her hand on your neck, her lips just out of reach— it’s all too much.

“I love it when you beg. So eager…” Her thumb prods at your lips and you let your mouth fall open, allowing her entrance. “I’ll let you touch... but on one condition.” The pad of her thumb presses down on your tongue, all you do is nod.

“I’m gonna sit on your face, and you’re gonna make me cum…” you moan at her words, closing your lips around her digit. “Can you do that for me?”

“Yes. Oh god, yes.” Your hands clutch the pillows where they’re being held. Emily smiles, craning down and pressing a rough kiss to your mouth.

She slides off of the mattress, pulling her panties down and tossing them at you. Her scent hits you almost immediately, the rich, heady smell of arousal and something purely Emily.

This might just kill you.

“Lay back on the pillows.” Emily instructs and you nod, eagerly moving up the bed.

Emily crawls back onto the mattress like a panther, her hair falling like a curtain around her face, enhancing the dark look in her eyes. You feel like you’re being hunted and you couldn’t be happier.

Emily straddles your waist first, leaning down to kiss over the hickeys on your chest and neck— her hands grasp at the headboard as she moves up to your head. You wrap your arms around the back of her thighs as she gets comfortable, palms sliding over the smooth skin.

Your mouth waters as she gets closer, the source of her arousal only inches away from your face.

“Stick your tongue out.” Emily barks, you oblige— opening your mouth and letting the muscle hang out as far as it’ll go.

She smiles innocently at you before lowering her sex onto your awaiting mouth. You groan at the taste, the vibrations pulling a gasp from Emily’s throat.

Her hips stutter slightly as she grinds herself along your tongue. You grip her ass, holding her steady as she moves.

Emily’s hand falls from the headboard, landing at the crown of your head— gripping at your hair as her hips begin rutting harder against your mouth.

She uses her grip to angle and maneuver you, fucking herself on your tongue. You curl the muscle ever so slightly, letting it dip inside.

She tastes absolutely heavenly and you can’t get enough.

Panting breaths fall from her lips as she lets the pleasure overtake her, letting her weight settle atop you. It grows a bit hard to breathe, but you couldn’t care less. Emily Prentiss is actively riding your face— a better death does not exist.

You gaze up at her with heavy lids, watching the way her breasts sway with her motions, the way the muscles in her stomach clench each time you rub against a sensitive spot, the sweat glazing over her chest. You can feel the trimmed hair over her pubic bone tickling lightly at your nose.

You reach a hand up, cupping a singular breast and brushing a thumb over her nipple. Emily groans, meeting your eyes with parted lips. The hand in your hair screws tighter causing you to moan against her— she twitches, breathing out a quiet whimper.

“Fuck, baby… such a good mouth.” Emily pants, her pace quickening as she chases her orgasm. You squeeze at her breasts with both hands this time, pinching at her nipples.

Her hips grind fast and hard against your mouth as she reaches the final throes leading up to her orgasm. The sound of your mouth against her sex is absolutely filthy, tongue and lips working in tandem, sucking and licking.

“Shit—” Emily hisses, shuddering above you, her body clenching and face screwing up with pleasure as she tumbles over the edge.

You feel her pussy flutter against your tongue as she eases herself through her orgasm. Your hands fall to her sides, squeezing gently as an aid.

“Hmm…” Emily sighs, her fingers untangling from your hair and running over the messy locks, smoothing them.

She looks down at you again, her face flushed a deep red. You run the tip of your tongue through her slit, flicking at the underside of her clit, teasing— she flinches, swatting your forehead and lifting herself off your face.

“Naughty girl…” Emily dismounts, swinging a leg over you and sitting back in her heels.

You just smile dazedly up at her, limbs flopping against the bed and face slick with the remnants of Emily’s arousal.

She leans in, pressing a sloppy kiss to your lips. Her tongue— licking into your mouth, humming as she tastes herself on you.

“You taste good.” You murmur between kisses, hands sliding over her sides. Emily hums a wordless agreement, her hand inching its way over your thigh. Her nails drag over the sensitive skin, you spread for her, hoping for any kind of relief from the burning affliction between your legs.

“I can feel how wet you are from all the way out here…” Emily whispers, her fingertips teasing the hem of your underwear near your inner thigh. “So warm…” Her palm slides over your covered mound and up to your abdomen. You pant, your body arching into her touch.

“You did good.” Emily hums, nipping at your jaw, her hand tracing delicate patterns over your chest. “Now… I want you…” she pauses, circling your nipple. “To sit at the edge of the bed, I’ll be right back.” With that, Emily abruptly slips from your grasp— leaving you exposed, goosebumps engulfing your body as the cool air rushes in.

“What…” you furrow your brows, reluctantly sitting up and following her orders. You watch as Emily nakedly disappears into what appears to be a walk-in closet.

Taking a moment to breathe, you inhale to a count of three, hold, then exhale the same. As Emily fumbles around in the wardrobe, your heart thumps wildly in your chest with anticipation.

When she re-emerges, a wave of heat rushes straight to your core.

Clad in nothing but a thick leather harness over her hips, she stalks towards you holding two dildos— one probably average-sized and the other a bit smaller.

“Take your pick.” She holds them out.

You analyze them both for a moment, either would be fine, but she wants you to decide.

Biting your lip, you take them from her, feeling their weight—their girth in your hands. You decide on the bigger of the two, you most certainly won’t mind feeling the remnants of tonight in the morning.

“This one.” You go to hand it back to her, a shy smile gracing your lips.

“Strap it in for me, baby.” Emily steps closer, jutting her hits towards you and tossing the other dildo onto the nightstand.

Nodding, you slip from the bed— landing on your knees in front of her. Emily hums at the sight, her fingers smoothing over your hair.

Once the toy is secured, you look up at her with wide eyes, nibbling at your lip. Your hands slide over her calves and up her outer thighs, steadying yourself as you lean in, pressing a kiss to the tip of the toy's head.

“Fuck, you don’t have to do that…”

“I want to…” you sit up a bit, pressing a kiss below her belly button, taking the length of the toy in your hand and stroking it slowly as if it were a part of her body.

And with the soft noises Emily makes, it certainly feels like it might be.

“You’re gonna suck my cock, baby? Get it nice and wet for me?” Emily's voice is rich as velvet as she strokes your hair, her hips rocking forward in your hand.

You lick a stripe along the underside of the shaft, humming at the feeling of its ridges against your tongue, the faint taste of cool silicone.

Your eyes stay on hers as you take the head into your mouth, swirling your tongue over it before urging forward— taking about half its length before you pull away in favor of not gagging.

“Jesus Christ…” Emily crouches, bringing herself more in reach. “Such a perfect little slut… on her knees, taking my cock so well.”

You moan at the filthy praise, your sex clenching around nothing as you grind subtlety into the air.

Her hand clutches at your scalp while the other rests on her hip, not forcing your head— but keeping it steady as you bob slowly, taking more and more length with each pass.

Your eyes water as the toy hits the back of your throat, but you don’t relent. You just keep pulling her closer, urging her on. Emily groans, somewhat in awe of how well you’re doing.

You watch her face the best you can through teary eyes, noting how her brows knit together each time you release faint noises around the toy, gurgling tremendous amounts of saliva as you let her fuck your mouth.

“Fuck, enough of that… get on the bed.” Emily tugs you by the hair, pulling your mouth from the appendage. “Now.”

You gasp as she spins you, shoving you down face first— pinning you to the mattress, your feet still planted firmly on the floor.

One hand remains tangled in your hair while the other grips at your hip, pulling you against her. The toy prods at your inner thigh, and you can feel her hot breath against the back of your neck as she hunches over you.

“God, I bet you’re drenched…” she growls, the hand that was on your hip— snaking between your legs, her svelte fingers sliding through your slick folds. “Hmm, would you look at that… I was right.”

You buck into her hand as she brushes against your clit, pulling a needy whine from your throat.

“Please…” you pant, arching into the mattress.

You can feel Emily’s breasts pressing into your shoulder blades as she lets her weight fall onto you, keeping you in place.

“Please what?” She draws featherlight circles over your swollen nub.

“Please— Emily… fuck me.” You let out a choked moan as she adds more pressure, tweaking it between scissored fingers. “I need it… please. I need you inside of me.” Your body shudders, knees weak as she nips at the cartilage of your ear.

“Hmm, good girl.” Her thumb runs through your slit, teasing at your entrance before dipping inside.

You mumble out your pleasure in illegible babbles, body gyrating against the mattress in an attempt to further soothe the desperate— burning ache in your sex.

“More…” you pant, hands clutching at the duvet. “I- fuck...” a sharp moan tears from you as she pulls out and pumps two fingers inside you, curling— pressing.

“Such a needy girl…” Emily purrs against your ear, dipping down to bite at your shoulder. “Taking my fingers so well.” She puts more force behind her thrusts, the lewd squelching sounds echoing throughout the room.

“Oh—fuck…” you push back against her, needing to feel her deeper. The hand in your hair loops over your shoulder to squeeze your breast aggressively.

“You want my cock, baby?” She pinches your nipple between her middle and index finger. “Want me to fill that pretty pussy?”

“Fuck yes. Please...” You crane your neck, her nose pressing against your cheek as you pant. “God, please fuck me.”

“Spread your legs.” She nips at your jaw, fingers slipping from your clenching pussy and gripping the base of her cock, coating it with your arousal.

You spread yourself open as much as possible, raising a knee to rest against the mattress with a whimper. You can feel your wetness dribbling down the inside of your thighs, it’s humiliating and Emily is eating it right up.

“What a fucking slut… making such a mess.” Emily runs the tip of the toy through your folds, before drawing teasing circles over your clit. “So desperate to get fucked, spreading herself open for me. God, you’re perfect.”

You moan at the praise, arching your back and jutting your ass into the air. Emily groans, slapping your ass cheek before canting forward, barely pressing the head of her cock inside.

“Ooh, fuck.” You moan, clutching at the sheets as you brace yourself for the intrusion. “Fuck me…”

“I am fucking you, baby.” Emily mocks, expelling a breathy chuckle before rutting herself even deeper inside.

The pressure forces a silent moan out of your throat as you clutch at the bed sheets. The ridges of her cock— rubbing delectably against all the sensitive spots within your walls, stretching, filling you up.

The rhythm of Emily’s thrusts begin to gain more fluidity, dragging the entire length back and forth in an agonizingly slow gesture, the head tapping at your cervix with each pass.

“Shit… harder.” You pant, using your hands to rock back against her thrusts.

Emily straightens out with a guttural groan, a sudden gust of cool air fans across your back in her absence, sending a shiver down your spine.

Her strong hands clutch at your hips, fingernails digging sharply into your skin as she pulls your pelvis towards her forcibly, meeting her thrusts— the entire length of her cock slamming into you without relent.

The pure force of it nearly knocks the wind out of you, the perfect mix of pain and pleasure pooling wildly, deep in your gut.

“Fu-uck…holy…shit…ohmygod.” You moan, your words escaping in choked spurts as you drop from your hand to rest on your forearms.

“Mm, I can’t believe I’ve waited this long to fuck you.” Emily murmurs, you can hear her panting breaths as she keeps up her rhythm. “I've been wanting to have you like this since the day I met you…”

You hardly register the words as they float over your head, the feeling of Emily’s aggressive pounding practically knocking your brain from its place in your skull. But you register them enough that a faint smile curls into your mouth as your top half falls limp against the bed. Your bottom half pushes up onto tippy-toes, better angling yourself for the older woman.

“Me too… God, you’re so fucking hot, Emily.” Your body feels like it’s burning as you try to steady your erratic breathing. “You feel so good…”

“I know I do, baby…” You can feel the smirk on Emily’s face as she says that, one of her hands shifting to swipe over your hypersensitive clit.

You twitch at the sensation, your body arching into the air— attempting to further itself from Emily’s hand against your own will. But God, you want her to touch you like that. To work and play with your body till you’re shaking and crying with overstimulation.

“So sensitive…” She purrs, the hand that’s still in your hip travels up the length of your spine, her palm pressing into your tense muscles, before landing at the base of your neck— tangling in the hairs and shoving your head into the soft duvet.

Somehow, her thrusts manage to hit even deeper with the new angle. Her body looming over your back as she angles the toy downward— you can feel her in your guts, the skin of your lower belly brushing against the sheets as the tip prods through the skin.

Emily’s hand on your clit seems to sense it, easing up on the throbbing bundle of nerves and sliding to cup herself over your abdomen.

“Feel that, baby?” Emily presses her palm against the protrusion, adding pressure as her thrusts slow but gain in force. “Feel how fucking deep I am?”

“Ungh- yes… I love it.” You gasp, letting the Unit Chief manhandle your body. The power of her hips, plowing you further into the mattress— her hands, firm against the back of your neck and belly. You can hear the slapping of skin on skin, her heavy panting, the thumping of blood in your ears.

Emily groans at your desperation, gripping harder at the back of your neck and tangling her fingers in the hair at your nape. Your back arches almost painfully as she tugs, using it as an aid as she fucks into you.

“Mm, scoot up on the bed for me.” She grits, her voice low and gravelly as she uses her free hand to lift your lower half onto the mattress. You can’t hold back the whimper that falls from your lips as her cock slips out, the wet silicone— dragging a slick trail over your inner thigh.

Emily grabs your waist as you try to move up the bed with wobbly limbs, flipping you onto your back. Her hands slide up the back of your thighs, cupping the posterior of your knees and pressing them to your stomach.

The feeling of her hot mouth over your sex shocks you, a squeak slipping out as you twitch against her flicking tongue. The muscle is anything but gentle as she licks through your puffy folds— dipping into your entrance and gathering your arousal with a pointed tongue, before spreading it messily over your clit.

“Oh!” You yelp, your hands moving to grip at her scalp through parted legs.

“Mm, you taste good.” Emily hums, the vibrations sending an extra wave of pleasure straight through you. Your hips buck wildly, already overly-sensitive from the aggressive onslaught of her strap-on.

Placing a final wet kiss on your clit— Emily rises, shifting so that her pelvis is pressed to your ass, the toy resting between your legs. With a wolfish grin, she releases one of your knees, using the now free hand to align the toy with your entrance.

Your breath comes in frantic, shuddered gasps as you watch her. She teasingly swipes the tip through your folds before slapping over your clit, causing you to twitch and whimper quietly.

Your hands settle on the base of her ribcage as she uses her thumb to press the head inside, the majority of its length gliding in without any resistance.

“Hm–fuck.” You gaze up at Emily through half-lidded eyes, her face and chest red and glistening with sweat from all the exertion.

Leaning back and resting a hand on the bed, her hips begin rolling into you smoothly. Her eyes travel the length of your body, so thick and heavy with the weight of desire it makes you dizzy.

Her lips part as she pants slightly, her breasts swaying with each roll of her hips— muscles beneath the soft skin of her abdomen flexing.

You let your head fall back onto the pillows, eyes fluttering closed as you try to focus on how she feels inside you. The feeling of her long fingers gripping at your thigh as she pulls you against her, the blunt ridges of her cock rubbing against your g-spot— knocking tiny whimpers and moans out of you with each pass. The familiar, and rather rapid, burn of a climax building in your womb.

Emily’s thumb stroking your clit pulls you out of your thoughts, forcing you up onto your elbows. You manage to look up at her again, she meets your eyes with a smile— bottom lip pulled between her teeth as she watches your body shiver under her ministrations.

“How ya doing, baby?” She purrs, licking at her thumb before placing it back on your clit, circling. “Feel good?”

“Yes… harder- I need you harder.” You reach out, clutching at her forearm. “Wanna cum so bad. Please.”

“Yeah?” Emily leans forward, the hand that was on your thigh moving to wrap around the base of your throat as the one on your clit loops under your arm, bracing herself between the pillows and your shoulder blade. “My needy girls gonna cum for me? Gonna cum all over my cock?”

You can only nod as her fingertips press into the sides of your neck, staring up at her in a lightheaded daze. She uses her grip as leverage as she speeds up, pulling you into her powerful thrusts.

Your eyes practically roll out of their sockets at the overwhelming feeling of it all. Your stomach and breasts sliding against one another as a layer of sweat forms between overheating bodies.

“Open.” you hear Emily murmur, nipping at your bottom lip. Eagerly obliging— you tilt your chin up to meet her, letting your mouth fall open. Her saliva coats your tongue not even a second later, you groan at the taste of her, letting it settle into your tastebuds for a moment before swallowing.

“Thank you.” You smile, pleased, craning up to kiss her again.

She catches your moans in her mouth as she fucks you hard and steady— taking what she wants without abandon, and you’re more than happy to let her do so.

Your arms wrap around her torso, nails digging into the muscles of her mid and upper back, muscles that flex and curve with each perfectly calculated, punishing thrust. Emily hisses and you think for a moment that you might’ve drawn blood— but the worry is quickly washed away as the hand on your neck snakes between your legs, pressing down on your swollen nub.

A sob wracks through you as you hurdle closer and closer toward the edge, that consistently rising flame in your gut rapidly approaching a full blaze.

“Fuck, Emily… so close- please, can I cum?” you choke out, eyes struggling to stay open as her intensity grows.

“Good girl, go on…” she puffs, her mouth moving to suckle at your neck. “Cum for me, honey.”

The mixture of Emily’s low, rough voice, her teeth nipping at your jugular, and the fingers on your clit— shoves you right off that cliff. The coil of tension in your belly snaps like a wishbone, causing your body to lock up on itself. Your muscles tremble and your sex clamps down on Emily, holding her in place.

Your mouth falls open with a silent scream as the immense pleasure distorts your features, eyes clenching shut— forehead crinkling. It’s like a fireworks show setting off on the back of your eyelids as you let the waves wash over you, flashes of pure white heat.

Emily noses at your jaw as your body relaxes— trembling in her tight grasp.

“Jesus Christ…” she chuckles wryly, pressing sloppy kisses over your chin and cheek.

“Fuck, I think I might’ve just seen him.” Your arms fall limp at your sides, fingers splaying out over the sheets in an attempt to bring yourself back to earth. Your pussy flutters around the toy as the final aftershocks run their course, your breathing quick and shallow.

Emily laughs again, nipping at your collarbone before letting her head fall to rest against your shoulder.

“Man, I am getting way too old for this.” She lets out a drastic sigh. “My back will most definitely be feeling it in the morning.”

You scoff, swatting at the back of her head. Emily shoots up, giving you a curious but challenging look.

“Oh, stop it.” You pet the offending spot gently, soothing whatever hypothetical pain she might be feeling. “You are not old.”

“Forty-six is pretty damn old…” she arches her brow.

“More like pretty damn sexy…” you grin cheesily at the Unit Chief, raising your hand to wipe a few sweaty strands of hair away from her forehead.

Emily smirks, growling as she swoops down, kissing you hard. You wrap your arms around her waist, your body arching into her as her strap shifts inside of you faintly. With a burst of confidence, you shove the older woman off— flipping her onto her back and swinging your leg over her hips before letting the toy sink inside you once again.

She stares up at you with wide eyes as you let out a breathy moan, grinding your hips subtly.

“Now you don’t have to worry about your back.” You tease, smirking down at her as your palms land on her chest, cupping her breasts.

“Mhm…” Emily’s hand clutches at your hips, her thumb digging into the sensitive muscle over your hip bones while the other folds behind her head. “Maybe I should just sit back and enjoy the show? Let you do all the work?”

“Well where’s the fun in that?” you whine, frowning at her as you pick up speed— raising off the toy momentarily before plopping back down into Emily’s lap and repeating the process over again.

“But you look so pretty like this…” Her fingers trail over your stomach, the muscles twitching beneath the skin as she passes, cupping your breast in her palm and tweaking your nipple with her thumb. “And I must say, I do love watching you work for it.”

A whimper slips past your lips as she brings her hand out from behind her head, wetting the pad of her thumb with her tongue before pressing it to your clit, drawing slow circles.

“Emily…” you groan, falling forward onto your elbows, your face inches away from Emily’s. “Fuck me.”

She doesn’t need much convincing because as soon as those words slip from your mouth it’s like a switch flips. Her arm wraps around you, fingers tangling at your scalp and tugging your head back harshly. Her mouth is at your throat next, teeth scrapping over the thin skin.

She plants her feet on the mattress and fucks up into you, hard and fast, forcing a strangled sound to escape from the depths of your throat.

“This what you wanted?” The skin of her hips slaps against the back of your thighs. “Wanted me to pull on your hair and fuck the shit out of you like the slut you are?”

“Yes-ohfuck, yes…” you gasp, the head of her cock hitting particularly deep while the base of her harness nudges at your clit.

“Dirty fucking girl…” Her palm lands on your ass with a sharp slap, the sound of it cracking through the near-silent room.

“Mph, shit- slap me again.” You cry out, clutching at her shoulders as you try to sit up, rocking against her thrusts.

Another slap comes down on your ass, more solid this time. You smile at the mix-up, spanking is nice but you want something more. You want it hard and across your cheek, you want her to grip at your jaw so hard it feels like it might break under the pressure, God you want her to do it all.

“No… hm-slap me across the face.” You pant out, meeting her eyes. “Please…”

“Fuck… I knew you liked that.” She groans, her hands slipping for your hair and cupping your cheek, rubbing at it before pulling back and landing a harsh crack against the flesh.

You let your head roll with the force of her hand, the sting shooting straight between your legs as Emily smiles up at you almost as if she were in awe.

“I loved it.” You correct her, falling back down against her damp chest and burying your face in the crook of her neck. Breathing her in, you note the faint smell of sweat mixed with the lingering essence of her perfume.

You run your tongue over the vein that protrudes just above her collarbones, tasting the saltiness of her skin. Emily puffs out a shaky breath as she keeps up her fast-paced rhythm, using both hands on your hips to move your body in time with the strokes.

“Emily-” You gasp, clutching tightly at her as your second orgasm begins to build.

“Yeah? Already close baby?” She turns her head, her cheek squishing against yours.

“Yes… fuck keep going, just like that.” Your teeth graze at her pulse point, the movements of both bodies growing wild and sloppy— aimed solely at getting you there.

You can feel her nails digging into your skin, freckling your waist and hips with tiny red crescent moons. Your chests rise and fall rapidly in tandem, and by the looks of it, Emily might be on the verge too.

“Can you feel it?” you ask, dipping a hand down to tweak her nipple.

“Yes, might cum with you if you keep doing that…” Emily’s voice is almost needy as she says it, and you might be addicted to how desperation sounds on her.

You hum, pinching harder— she reacts with a jerk of her hips, slamming the head of her cock into your cervix.

“Shit, Em-” You moan, panting wildly against her neck.

She keeps pumping into you like that, jerking up roughly and hitting the same spot over and over again— it drives you absolutely wild. You can feel the muscles in your legs begin shaking as they struggle against the rhythm, relying completely on Emily’s strength to keep you going.

“Using nicknames now, are we?” She chuckles breathily, bumping her head against yours as she tries to face you.

“Shut up…” you avoid her gaze, shying into her neck further.

“Look at me.” Her tone is one that makes your ears perk up, immediately doing as you're told. “I wanna see the look on your face when you cum, you look so gorgeous like that.”

Your lips part slightly, eyes locking on her with heavy lids as you try to keep them open.

“That’s a good girl…” Sweat beads at Emily’s temples and down the valley of her breasts. “Come on, cum for me again, baby.”

Just watching the look on her face is enough to push you over the edge, your spine curling into the air as the floodgates burst inside you, ripping a shuddered moan from your throat.

You can hear Emily’s quiet gasps as she keeps pumping, chasing her own orgasm. She finishes not long after with a shudder and a low groan through clenched teeth before promptly pulling the toy out.

Your torso lies limp against her, breathing quick and shallow as you work through the tiny shocks that seem to wrack your entire body. Emily’s palm slides over your spine, rubbing soothing patterns over your vertebrae.

“Thank you.” you rasp, pressing a chaste kiss below her ear.

“You did well...” her blunt fingernails scratch over your shoulders, a wave of goosebump spreading across your naked skin. “So good for me.”

You smile softly at the praise, the gentleness of it juxtaposing with the rest of the night almost hilariously. Emily shifts below you, single handedly loosening the harness and wiggling out of it— tossing it haphazardly into the room.

“How does a bath sound?”

—————————————————————————

A/n: i hope you guys enjoyed reaading that as much as i enjoyed writing it... happy masturbation!!

Taglist: @keepinggcomposure @lez-talk1 @joanofvarc @darkcolorphantom @kat-prentiss @seasonsmaywinter @piiinco @nikoniclove @maybe-a-humanbean @whoreforolderfictionalwomen @mrsines @decadentcatcrusade @inlovewithlaurenlopez @jeansmartswhxre @prentisslvrsworld @criminalmindswhore @xoxo-maryssa @prentissmultiverse @blackcatlesbo @sleep-deprived-athlete @marvelover123 @21cannibal @katieswain123 @teeshatequila

#emily prentiss x reader #unit chief emily prentiss #emily prentiss #wlw #criminal minds #ao3 #reader insert #lesbian #wlw smut #this is freakish...

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emmkayyy03 · 4 months ago

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✨ How Your Dominant Planet Secretly Shapes Your Teenage Brain ✨

Have you ever looked back at your late teens and wondered why you were so obsessed with certain things? Like, one friend was glued to their guitar and poetry journals, another was training for their fifth marathon, and you? You were probably neck-deep in your thing. Here’s the deal: your dominant planet was pulling the strings behind the scenes, shaping how your mind worked and what you gravitated toward without you even realizing it.

Let’s break it down:

🌞 SUN Dominant: "I need to shine—what’s the point otherwise?" Late teens for Sun-kissed folks are like a personal hero’s journey. You’re obsessed with figuring out who you are. Your brain’s constantly asking, Am I good enough? Do people see my worth? You might’ve been the captain of the debate team, the drama club star, or just that person who somehow made walking to the cafeteria look like a runway. How your mind works: Everything feels like a stage, and you want to perform your best—even in front of yourself. You seek validation, yes, but deep down, it’s about finding your inner confidence.

🌙 MOON Dominant: "I feel… everything. Is that normal?" For Moon folks, the late teens are an emotional hurricane. You’re all about understanding feelings, whether it’s yours or everyone else’s. You probably overthink texts (why’d they only reply with “k”?), cry over movies you’ve seen a million times, and have deep, borderline-therapeutic convos with your bestie. How your mind works: You process the world emotionally first, logically second. You’re learning how to handle your empathy without drowning in it.

🔥 MARS Dominant: "Let’s go! But… where are we going?" Mars kids are powered by action and passion, and your late teens are when you’re learning to channel that fire. Your brain thrives on challenges, so you probably signed up for every sport, pushed yourself in the gym, or got way too into proving someone wrong in an argument. Impulse control? We’ll work on that later. How your mind works: You process through doing. Sitting around theorizing makes you twitchy. You need action, even if it’s messy. Picking fights on the basketball court because the ref made a bad call, then realizing you’re actually just mad your crush didn’t text you back.

💬 MERCURY Dominant: "Wait, how does that work? Tell me everything!" Mercury-dominant teens are curiosity machines. Your brain’s like a search engine that never stops running. You want to know why, how, who, and what if. You’re that kid who can’t let a fun fact go without looking it up. Debates? Bring ’em on. Trivia? Your jam. Group chats? You run them. How your mind works: You connect ideas at lightning speed. Learning isn’t just a necessity; it’s your love language. Staying up until 3 a.m. watching YouTube videos about conspiracy theories, then showing up to school explaining why aliens totally built the pyramids.

💎 VENUS Dominant: "Why settle for okay when life can be beautiful?" Your late teens are a crash course in pleasure, relationships, and aesthetics. You’re probably experimenting with your style (cue questionable fashion phases), figuring out love (hello, hopeless romantic), or diving into art and music. Life needs to feel good, or it’s just not worth it. How your mind works: You’re tuned to beauty and connection. Your decisions are emotional but driven by desire—whether it’s for love, art, or the perfect selfie.Spending an hour perfecting your eyeliner just to go to the grocery store because what if you meet someone cute?

🌍 SATURN Dominant: "I’m too busy for nonsense." While your friends are out making impulsive mistakes, you’re busy building your future. Saturn-dominant teens have an old-soul vibe. You’re focused on responsibility, probably working a part-time job while juggling school and worrying about saving for college. Fun? Sure, but only if it’s productive. How your mind works: You crave structure and long-term success. While others wing it, you plan 10 steps ahead. Skipping a party to study for finals because failing isn’t an option—not because of pressure, but because you expect better from yourself.

🚀 RAHU Dominant: "What’s the wildest thing I can do right now?" Rahu teens are like explorers charting unknown territory. You’re obsessed with breaking rules, chasing thrills, and doing the forbidden. If it’s edgy, you’re into it. You’re the one sneaking out, dyeing your hair neon green, or trying things that make adults nervous. How your mind works: You’re wired to seek more. More excitement, more knowledge, more of life’s extremes. Going on a spontaneous road trip with friends, breaking the rules, or getting into something your parents wouldn’t approve of—just because it felt like the next big adventure.

🌌 KETU Dominant: "I’m here, but also not really here." Ketu teens are all about spiritual detachment. You’re introspective, reflective, and a bit aloof. While everyone else is chasing their dreams, you’re figuring out why dreams matter at all. Meditation, tarot, or even just staring at the stars for hours—you’re vibing on a higher plane. How your mind works: You reject surface-level stuff, diving into the depths of existence. But you also need to learn to be present. Skipping out on big social events to sit at a park by yourself, journaling about the mysteries of life, or getting into spiritual practices like meditation because they felt more authentic than anything else.

🚀 JUPITER Dominant: "Knowledge is freedom, and I’m going after it!" Jupiter-dominant teens are all about growth, knowledge, and the bigger picture. Your late teens were likely filled with plans for the future, exploring new ideas, and constantly looking for ways to improve. You may have been the one always talking about your next big trip, your dream career, or the philosophies that shaped your world view. How your mind works: You crave expansion and understanding. Learning is your path to freedom. Deep-diving into a topic you just discovered, researching potential career paths, or discussing ideas about travel, culture, and self-improvement with anyone who would listen. Your teenage years were wild, weren’t they? Which planet had your brain on lock? Reblog with your planetary dominant and let’s compare chaotic late-teen stories. 🌠

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nsk96 · 6 months ago

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I second this. I currently live in Florida (born and raised) and I'm aware that Florida often gets the hate it does because of it being a red state. But also, I think the people here in south Florida (especially Fort Lauderdale and Miami) also contribute to the bad reputation because of how rude we can be.

That said, ngl, sometimes it sucks here, being surrounded by people whose political beliefs go against my rights and my safety can be scary sometimes. However, I stand by the point that everyone is deserving of basic empathy and human decency.

Community down here looks a little different. We can argue with a neighbor one day but share food and supplies with each other the next. I've seen countless food drives, enough homeless-community outreach, and fundraising events to know that most people here do care. Their political beliefs shouldn't matter nor what community/tribe/neighborhood they're part of...Being compassionate, being stupid, happy, upset, being in pain, are all part of the human experience which we all have in common. "Human" is what I see when I look at them. If you wish death, destruction, and loss for people you don't like, then you are the awful person; you are no better. It's time to unlearn your hate.

The news about hurricane Milton is terrifying but I can’t deal with the Hurricane jokes or hounding on people who can’t evacuate or even going so far as to say “Florida deserves it”. I’m so worried about what this could mean for the Seminole tribe, which the White House has authorized FEMA for to help prevent catastrophe. Some of you are deeply evil and say all of this while you sit at home and watch on your phones as people die.

#I’m not in the direct path but as I hear these wind gusts crash through our trees and slam violently against our shutters #I’m hoping everyone is safe and survives this #we are still under tornado watch down here of course #there was just one earlier in Weston I think #which is south from me #hurricane milton #florida #hurricane

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srslyblvck · 5 months ago

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calm to his storm, klaus mikaelson

pairing: klaus mikaelson x fem!reader

synopsis: you are the calm to his raging storm. so what happens when his only calm is taken away from him?

genre: fluff, a little bit of angst,

warnings: mentions of torture

word count: 2.6k

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ THE ANTIQUE CHANDELIER ABOVE shook slightly as another crash echoed through the Mikaelson estate. Klaus’ rage tore through the air like a hurricane, sending priceless artefacts and heirlooms scattering across the room. Rebekah stood a few feet away, her arms crossed, a mix of irritation and concern on her face.

“Klaus, for heaven’s sake!” she snapped, her own temper flaring. “Must you destroy everything? That was from the 18th century!”

Kol leaned casually against the doorway, arms folded. A smirk played on his lips, though even he seemed wary. “Let him have his tantrum, sister. It’s like watching a storm obliterate a quaint little village. Entertaining, don’t you think?”

Elijah entered the room, his usual calm demeanor strained. He surveyed the chaos—broken vases, shattered glass, the remnants of Klaus’ fury—and pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is getting out of hand.”

“And when has that ever stopped him?” Rebekah shot back, throwing her hands in the air.

Another crash—this time a painting flung off the wall—interrupted her. Elijah sighed deeply, his gaze shifting toward the grand staircase. He seemed to consider his options for a moment before turning to leave.

“I’ll fetch her,” he said simply, his voice tinged with both resignation and relief.

Upstairs, in stark contrast to the chaos below, your room was a haven of peace. Soft lamplight illuminated the plush armchair you sat in, legs curled beneath you. A leather-bound book rested in your hands, and beside you on the side table sat a glass of red liquid—whether it was wine or blood was anyone’s guess, and you enjoyed keeping them guessing.

The muffled sounds of Klaus’ outburst barely registered. To you, it was as normal as birds chirping or wind rustling leaves—a background hum of the Mikaelson household. You turned another page, utterly unbothered.

A soft knock at the door broke the tranquility.

“Come in, Elijah,” you called without looking up, already knowing who it would be.

Elijah entered, his steps measured as always. He stood for a moment, hands clasped in front of him, as though reluctant to disturb you further. “It seems,” he began in his polished tone, “your presence is required downstairs.”

You raised an eyebrow, setting the book down carefully. “Klaus?”

“Who else?” His lips twitched into a faint, weary smile. “Rebekah is losing her patience, Kol is doing nothing helpful as usual, and I suspect this will only end peacefully with you.”

With a small sigh, you stood, smoothing the folds of your dress. “He’s really upset this time, isn’t he?”

“You could say that.” Elijah offered you his arm, a gesture that always made you smile, even after all this time. “Though I must say, I sometimes wonder how you manage him so effortlessly.”

You took his arm, your smile soft. “It’s not effortless. It’s just… understanding.”

The sight that greeted you in the living room was chaotic, but unsurprising. Klaus stood amid the wreckage, his chest heaving, fury etched into every line of his face. Rebekah was glaring at him, hands on her hips, while Kol lounged in the doorway, twirling a broken candlestick like a baton.

“Klaus,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the tension like a balm.

His head snapped toward you, his wild eyes meeting yours. For a moment, he looked ready to lash out again, but then he saw you—calm, composed, untouched by his rage. The storm in his expression faltered.

“You’ve been shouting for an hour,” you continued, stepping into the room. “Are you okay?”

Klaus scoffed but didn’t respond, his hands flexing at his sides. You moved closer, resting a hand lightly on his arm. “What’s wrong?”

The smallest touch from you carried a weight nothing else could. His anger didn’t vanish, but it dulled, like a smoldering ember instead of an inferno.

“It’s nothing that concerns you,” Klaus muttered, his voice quieter now.

“It concerns me if it upsets you,” you said, tilting your head to meet his gaze. Your soft tone carried no judgment, just an earnestness that Klaus couldn’t resist.

Elijah silently excused himself and pulled the others with him, muttering about how he didn’t want to witness Klaus being "domesticated."

When the door clicked shut, Klaus turned to you fully, his posture still tense. “You don’t understand, love. This—this betrayal, this treachery—it deserves blood.”

You placed your other hand on his chest, the gesture anchoring him. “Maybe it does,” you said softly. “But you always remind me that timing is everything. You don’t need to act now, not when you’re this angry.”

Klaus exhaled sharply, the weight of your logic pressing against his instinct to lash out. His hands moved to your waist, gripping you gently as if you were the one tethering him to the ground.

“You make it sound so simple,” he murmured, his voice softening further. “But you don’t know what it’s like to carry this rage. It consumes everything.”

You smiled, shy but radiant, the polar opposite of his stormy intensity. “That’s why I’m here. To remind you that not everything has to be consumed.”

Klaus studied you for a long moment, his eyes searching. Finally, he leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. “What have I done to deserve you?”

You chuckled softly, a sound that Klaus secretly adored because it felt like sunlight in his otherwise dark world. “You don’t have to deserve me,” you said simply. “I’m here because I love you, Klaus. All of you.”

He closed his eyes briefly, savoring the words that he didn’t hear often enough. When he pulled back, some of the tension in his frame had dissipated.

“Thank you, love,” he said softly.

You brushed a hand across his cheek, and for once, Klaus Mikaelson didn’t feel like the monster the world claimed he was.

The full moon hung low in the sky, its light filtering through the dense forest. You were returning to the Mikaelson estate after a quiet evening in town, a much-needed break from the volatile energy that often permeated the house. The path was eerily silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves underfoot.

Something was off.

The hairs on the back of your neck prickled as you slowed your steps.

They came out of the shadows, cloaked in spells that masked their presence. A coven of witches, their eyes burning with vengeance, encircled you.

“Ah, the little darling of the Mikaelsons,” one sneered, his voice dripping with malice. “The one they’d burn the world for.”

You didn’t wait for pleasantries. In a blur of speed, you lunged at the closest witch, your vampiric strength taking him off guard. He crumpled under the force of your blow, but the others retaliated quickly. Spells lit the night as energy pulsed around you, slamming into your chest like a battering ram.

You gritted your teeth and fought back, feral and determined, but the odds weren’t in your favor. One by one, they overwhelmed you, their magic precise and relentless. You tore through two more of them, leaving them bloodied and unconscious, but a searing pain shot through your veins—a vervain-laced dart embedded in your shoulder.

You stumbled, your vision swimming, but you kept fighting, even as your strength waned. Finally, the world blurred and darkened as they dragged you away, their triumphant laughter the last thing you heard before the void consumed you.

When you awoke, you were bound to a chair in a dimly lit chamber. Your wrists burned where the vervain-laced ropes dug into your skin. The air smelled of damp earth and old magic, and your head throbbed from whatever spell they’d used to keep you subdued.

“You’re awake,” one of the witches said with a wicked smile, crouching before you. “Good. We wouldn’t want you to miss the fun.”

Their leader, a tall woman with piercing green eyes, approached with deliberate steps. “Do you know why you’re here?” she asked, her tone almost conversational.

You met her gaze despite the pain. “Because you’re bored and pathetic?”

She slapped you hard across the face, the sting sharp and immediate. Blood trickled from the corner of your mouth, but you refused to give her the satisfaction of flinching.

“Brave little thing, aren’t you?” she sneered. “We’re here because of your beloved family. They’ve terrorized witches for centuries, and now, you’ll pay for their sins.”

They tortured you methodically, using spells to inflict pain, cutting into your skin with vervain-coated blades. Every time you began to fade, they used magic to jolt you back to consciousness. They wanted you to suffer, to feel every second of it.

Still, you held onto your resolve, refusing to give them what they wanted. When they demanded information about the Mikaelsons, you laughed through the pain. “Do you really think they’ll let you live after this?” you taunted, your voice hoarse but steady. “You’ve made a mistake.”

It didn’t take long for the Mikaelsons to notice your absence. Klaus was the first to sense that something was wrong. The moment you didn’t return home, his paranoia kicked in, and when they found the bloodied trail in the woods, the fury that followed was palpable.

“Witches,” Klaus growled, his jaw clenched tight as he examined the scene. “They’ve taken her.”

Elijah placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, his own expression grim but composed. “We’ll find her.”

“No,” Klaus snapped, his voice low and dangerous. “We’ll kill them.”

Rebekah’s eyes burned with determination. “They won’t live long enough to regret this.”

Kol, always eager for chaos, twirled a dagger in his hand. “Let’s not waste time then, shall we?”

You were barely conscious when the first explosion rocked the chamber. The witches scrambled, their spellwork faltering as the Mikaelsons descended like a storm.

Klaus was the first through the door, his eyes locking onto your battered form. His rage was palpable, a force of nature that seemed to suck the air from the room. He didn’t waste words. In a blur, he tore into the nearest witch, snapping their neck with a savagery that made the others freeze in terror.

Rebekah followed, her fury no less potent. She flung one witch across the room, her face twisted with righteous anger. “You dared to lay a hand on her?” she hissed, plunging a dagger into the witch’s chest.

Kol’s laughter echoed as he dispatched two witches with brutal efficiency. “I’ve got to say,” he quipped, wiping blood from his blade, “you lot make terrible hosts.”

Elijah moved with his usual grace, dispatching the leader of the coven with a calculated strike. His focus, however, was on you. He reached you first, his hands gentle as he untied the ropes and eased you into his arms.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice tight with concern. “You’re safe now.”

Your head lolled against his shoulder, your strength utterly spent. “Took you long enough,” you whispered weakly, a faint smile playing on your lips.

Klaus appeared beside him, his hands trembling as they hovered over your face, not knowing where to touch without hurting you further. His eyes were wild with guilt and rage, his voice cracking as he spoke. “I’ll kill every last one of them,” he vowed, his gaze darting to Elijah. “Take her home. Now.”

Elijah nodded, carrying you out of the carnage as Klaus and the others finished what they started. You heard the screams of the remaining witches as the Mikaelsons exacted their vengeance, but you didn’t feel pity. They’d made their choice.

The house was unusually quiet. The kind of quiet that seemed too fragile, as if one wrong move might shatter it. You lay on the bed, propped up by a stack of pillows, your body still recovering from the ordeal. Though most of your injuries had healed, a dull ache lingered beneath the surface—a reminder of what had happened.

Klaus hadn’t left the room since you were brought back. He sat in the armchair by the window, bathed in moonlight, his hands steepled under his chin. His silence was unnerving.

“You’re awfully broody tonight,” you said softly, trying to lighten the mood.

He didn’t respond at first, his eyes fixed on the dark forest outside. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but heavy. “I failed you.”

You sighed, shifting slightly despite the discomfort. “Klaus—”

“No,” he interrupted, his tone sharpening. “They took you because of me. Because of who I am. And they hurt you. If I had been faster, smarter—”

“They would’ve still tried,” you cut in, your voice calm but firm. “This isn’t your fault.”

He turned to look at you, his expression haunted. “How can you say that?”

“Because it’s true.” You held his gaze, your voice steady despite the fatigue in your body. “You can’t control what others do, Klaus. You can only do what you did—save me.”

He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as he began to pace. “I should’ve torn them apart the moment I sensed something was wrong. Instead, they touched you—hurt you—and I…” He trailed off, his hands clenching into fists.

You watched him for a moment before patting the space beside you on the bed. “Come here.”

He hesitated, the weight of his emotions visible in the tight set of his shoulders. Slowly, he approached, sitting carefully beside you as if afraid his presence might cause you more pain.

Reaching out, you took his hand in yours, your touch gentle. His fingers were tense at first, but they relaxed under your warmth. “Klaus, look at me.”

He did, his blue eyes stormy with guilt and frustration.

“I’m alive,” you said softly. “Because of you. You came for me. You always do.”

“I should’ve protected you better,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

“And yet, here I am.” You gave him a faint smile, squeezing his hand. “You don’t have to carry this guilt. I don’t blame you.”

For a moment, he said nothing. Then, his free hand reached up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. The touch was so tender it made your heart ache.

“I can’t lose you,” he said, his voice raw.

“You won’t,” you replied, leaning your head against his shoulder. “I’m tougher than I look, remember?”

A soft, humorless chuckle escaped him, but the tension in his body began to ease. He shifted slightly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you leaned into him.

For a while, the two of you sat in silence, the world outside the room forgotten. His hand rested on your arm, his thumb tracing absent patterns against your skin, as if reassuring himself that you were real and not some fragile illusion.

After a while, you tilted your head to look at him. “Klaus?”

“Hm?”

“You’re going to need to stop blaming yourself. It’s exhausting to watch.”

A small, genuine smile tugged at his lips. “You always know how to put me in my place, don’t you?”

“Someone has to,” you teased, though your tone was gentle.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Thank you,” he whispered, his lips lingering against your skin.

“For what?”

“For not giving up on me. For always seeing the good in me when no one else does.”

You tilted your head up to meet his eyes, your hand brushing against his cheek. “Because it’s there, Klaus. Even if you don’t see it, I do.”

For the first time that night, the shadow in his gaze lifted, replaced by something softer. He leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and fervent, as if pouring every unspoken word into the touch.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet room. “You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice a mixture of possession and reverence.

“And you’re mine,” you replied with a soft smile, your fingers brushing through his hair.

In his arms, the lingering aches of your ordeal seemed to fade. The storm that had raged in him had settled, replaced by the calm only you could bring.

divider by @dollywons

#klaus mikaelson #klaus mikealson fanfiction #klaus mikaleson imagine #klaus mikaelson one shot #klaus mikaelson x fem!reader #klaus mikaelson x reader #the vampire diaries imagine #the vampire diaries #the originals imagine #the originals #klaus mikaelson fluff #klaus mikaelson angst

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scealaiscoite · 7 months ago

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⋆˚࿔ build-a-fic no. 2 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

➴ chose a scent, an item of clothing and a weather forecast (a number, letter, + creature), and write/request to your heart’s content my dears!

𓂃 ࣪˖ a smell

꒰ 1 ꒱ rich, incensed perfume

꒰ 2 ꒱ burnt coffee

꒰ 3 ꒱ resinous pine needles

꒰ 4 ꒱ steadily-baking bread

꒰ 5 ꒱ inescapably strong disinfectant

꒰ 6 ꒱ expensive, pungent red wine

꒰ 7 ꒱ cheap cologne

꒰ 8 ꒱ salty air rolling off of crashing sea waves

꒰ 9 ꒱ mouth-watering home cooking

꒰ 10 ꒱ a too-strong vanilla candle

꒰ 11 ꒱ fresh-cut, perfectly ripe stone fruits

꒰ 12 ꒱ overpowering tiger balm

꒰ 13 ꒱ smoke unfurling from a wood fire

꒰ 14 ꒱ spiced incense

꒰ 15 ꒱ all-too familiar coconut shampoo

꒰ 16 ꒱ strong herbal lavender

꒰ 17 ꒱ newly turned earth

꒰ 18 ꒱ motor oil

꒰ 19 ꒱ just-washed bedsheets

꒰ 20 ꒱ petrichor after a rainshower

𓂃 ࣪˖ a piece of clothing

꒰ A ꒱ a wrinkled black tie

꒰ B ꒱ mismatched socks

꒰ C ꒱ faded blue jeans

꒰ D ꒱ a hotel bathroom

꒰ E ꒱ a stolen hoodie

꒰ F ꒱ a crisp white button-down

꒰ G ꒱ an expensive, lush fur coat

꒰ H ꒱ a pair of beaten-up combat boots

꒰ I ꒱ plaid pajama pants

꒰ J ꒱ loose-fitting boxer shorts

꒰ K ꒱ a yellow football jersey

꒰ L ꒱ a papery hospital gown

꒰ M ꒱ a blue, lacy thong

꒰ N ꒱ a brown belt with a gold buckle

꒰ O ꒱ cheap swimming garb

꒰ P ꒱ six-inch high heels

꒰ Q ꒱ a dark-red evening gown

꒰ R ꒱ a thick knitted sweater

꒰ S ꒱ a chef’s white coat

꒰ T ꒱ a flimsily-made tourist t-shirt

𓂃 ࣪˖ a weather advisory

꒰ 𓆉 ꒱ hammering, unrelenting rain

꒰ 𓅨 ꒱ warm, golden sunshine

꒰ 𓆣 ꒱ hair-raising rolls of thunder

꒰ 𓃰 ꒱ thick, looming fog

꒰ 𓃗 ꒱ a clear, chilly evening

꒰ 𓃱 ꒱ blazing heat

꒰ 𓃟 ꒱ a nighttime lightning storm

꒰ 𓆟 ꒱ a grey sky laden with rainclouds

꒰ 𓆈 ꒱ cold, drizzly mist

꒰ 𓅫 ꒱ an unexpected snowstorm

꒰ 𓅟 ꒱ bone-chilling sleet

꒰ 𓃵 ꒱ breathless humidity

꒰ 𓃓 ꒱ blustery winds

꒰ 𓆌 ꒱ rain-induced floods

꒰ 𓆏 ꒱ spitting showers of hailstones

꒰ 𓅭 ꒱ a freezing, sudden drop in temperatures

꒰ 𓆗 ꒱ a hurricane warning

꒰ 𓃢 ꒱ a tropical storm

꒰ 𓆧 ꒱ a warm, temperate breeze

꒰ 𓃔 ꒱ road-closing landslides

#a lil more abstract than her predecessor but i hope it’ll still inspire!!! xx #prompts #build a fic prompts #prompt list #writing prompts #writing exercise #rp meme #dialogue prompts #otp prompts #imagine your otp #otp writing #writing games #writing ask games #ask games #drabble meme

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lovetommyactually · 9 days ago

Text

White Noise

BuckTommy - Tommy & the 118 - Tommy & Maddie Ι WC: 5900 Ι cw: suicidal thoughts, blood and injury

Tommy never meant to chase after the call—he certainly never meant to get buried under a crumbling house with too many regrets and a body giving out beneath him. But one bad feeling led to a collapse, a broken leg, and a 9-1-1 call he almost didn’t make. With Maddie on the line and the 118 closing in, Tommy confronts more than just the pain.

[Read below or on ao3]

Tommy wasn’t the kind of guy who went looking for trouble. He went to work, clocked out, and went home. Sometimes, if the stars aligned and someone actually had time for him, he’d make plans. But most of the time, he liked his own company—muay thai practice in the garage, tinkering with the ancient car he couldn’t seem to give up on, watching cheesy rom-coms that he could quote line for line. Occasionally, he’d wander into a bar just to try something new, maybe listen to a band no one had heard of. He was curious in a quiet, careful way—but not reckless. Never reckless.

Well… not unless he was on shift. Or if someone asked him a favor. He’d flown into a hurricane once for the 118. But poking into weird call reports? That wasn’t him. He didn’t pry. He didn’t need to. Except today, something had itched at him.

They’d brought in a guy—mid-30s, unconscious, supposedly a fall. But the bruises didn’t match the story. The pattern looked wrong. Tommy had seen worse in his life, knew how to read signs. Defensive wounds. The man had a cracked rib, but no external trauma to suggest a stumble. There was something in his eyes when he woke up too—panic, the kind that wasn’t just from pain. When Tommy mentioned it in passing, his colleague waved him off with a laugh. “Don’t read into it, Kinard.” Right. And now here he was, surrounded by crumbling drywall and busted beams, realizing maybe he really shouldn’t have read into it.

But before everything came crashing down, he had found something. In the back hallway of the bungalow—walls scorched from fire damage, floorboards creaking with every step—he’d spotted an overturned medical bag. Not theirs. Older. Dried blood crusted on the edge. It was tucked beside the rusted remains of a couch, like someone had tried to hide it. Tommy crouched down, ignoring the way the air stung his lungs, and reached for it. There were bandages, a half-used roll of gauze, a name scribbled on a folded paper. He didn’t get to read it. The moment he stood, the floor groaned, deep and angry, and the ceiling above gave way with a roar.

Then everything went dark.

Darkness pressed heavy around him, not just from the rubble, but from the silence in his own mind. For a long moment, Tommy didn’t move. Didn’t open his eyes. He couldn’t remember where he was—or why. All he knew was that everything hurt. His head pounded in sync with each heartbeat, and something sharp throbbed near his ribs. He blinked slowly, vision flickering in and out of focus, catching nothing but shadows and dust.

Where…?

It was like waking up from a dream and forgetting what it was about—except this dream had weight, and blood, and pain. The wreckage above him groaned every few seconds, like it was debating whether to finish the job. He lay still, eyes open now, staring at a beam just inches above his face. His breath caught. There was blood on the corner of his lip. His own.

He didn’t move. Didn’t try. Not yet.

For a second—just a second—he thought maybe he shouldn’t.

What if he just… didn’t?

What if he stayed right here, let the silence stretch longer and longer until it was quiet forever? Would anyone even notice? Would anyone care beyond a shift or two of guilt and a few kind words at a memorial? Maybe they’d say he was brave. Or stupid. Or both.

He shut his eyes again. Stop.

It wasn’t the first time that thought had crept in. But he’d been good at burying it. Patching it over with purpose, routine, even laughter. But now, here, bleeding into the floor of a forgotten house in a forgotten part of the city… the thought whispered louder than it had in years.

Then the pain surged again, fiery and insistent, and instinct took over.

He grit his teeth and tried to move—just a little. A groan escaped his throat before he could stop it, raw and guttural. His leg was definitely pinned. His chest felt like it was being crushed. He bit down hard on his bottom lip, tasting blood.

His hand twitched, fingers brushing against something. His pocket. A lump beneath the fabric. Phone.

His heart kicked up.

It took nearly everything in him to fish it out—awkward, shaking fingers, a gasping breath every time he shifted. Dust clogged his throat. His vision blurred again, then cleared just long enough for him to see the screen when it lit up.

Cracked.

One bar of signal.

But the numbers still worked.

He pressed 9, then 1, then 1.

And prayed someone answered him this time. Then, almost immediately, he wished he hadn’t.

The numbers blinked faintly on the cracked screen, but even staring at them, he wasn’t sure why he’d called. His mind still felt fogged—like he was underwater, reaching for something just out of grasp. A name, maybe. A reason. Everything was blurred at the edges.

He didn’t even remember what had brought him here. Why he was lying under splintered wood and choking on plaster dust. Why his chest burned when he tried to breathe.

His thumb trembled over the speaker icon. His lip split further when he bit down again, trying to focus.

Why am I here? What happened?

He didn’t know. But somewhere inside the ache, there was a whisper—one sharp enough to cut through the haze.

Call someone. Call someone.

So he did.

Even as doubt settled in, heavy and bitter. Maybe he shouldn’t have. Maybe he should’ve just let the silence stretch out a little longer. No need for sirens. No lights. Just one more forgotten mistake in a forgotten building.

He almost canceled the call. Almost let his thumb slip back toward the screen.

Because what was he even going to say? He doesn't even know where he was...

He squeezed his eyes shut, the pain behind them hot and sharp. His ribs screamed when he shifted. He almost dropped the phone right there, almost let it slide from his fingers into the dust and give in to the quiet.

Just lay back. Close his eyes. Let it fade.

But then—someone picked up.

And suddenly, he wasn’t alone anymore.

The voice cut through the ringing in his ears like a blade through smoke.

Soft. Professional. Familiar in a way he couldn’t quite place.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency.”

He parted his lips but nothing came out—just a wheeze, wet and weak.

“Hello?” the voice asked again. “9-1-1, can you hear me?”

He blinked, tongue heavy in his mouth. Swallowed hard. Tried again.

“…M’phone…” he croaked. “…hurts…”

“Okay, I hear you,” the voice soothed gently, but now there was something beneath the calm—a shift. A tightening. “You're doing great. Can you tell me your name?”

He had to think about that one for a second.

His name.

Who was he again?

He licked his lips. His throat burned. Blood mixed with dust, bitter and metallic.

“…Tommy,” he rasped finally. “I think…”

A beat of silence.

Then her voice changed completely.

“Tommy?” she asked again, but this time softer—like she already knew. “Tommy Kinard?”

He swallowed, wincing. “…Y-Yeah.”

A quiet inhale on the other end. Not fear. Not yet. But recognition.

“It’s Maddie.”

His eyes slipped closed.

Maddie.

Yeah. That… made sense. That felt real.

"H-Hi Maddie"

Her voice gentled instantly, but it was laced with urgency now. “Tommy, I need you to tell me where you are. Can you look around?”

He blinked slowly, trying to make out anything in the mess around him. Smoke. Rubble. No signs. No streetlights. Just the steady creak of broken wood above his head.

“…I don’t know,” he admitted, the words like gravel scraping his throat. “Sorry. I… don’t know where I am.”

“It’s okay,” she said quickly. “I’ve got your call. We’re pinging your location now. Just hang in there a little longer.”

Tommy coughed, winced, then sucked in a breath between his teeth. “Building… c-collapsed on.. me.”

“How bad are you hurt?” Maddie asked, keeping her voice steady, calm.

“My leg…” he breathed. “Pinned. Probably broken. Ribs too. Head’s ringing. I don’t know how long I was out.”

She was quiet a moment, typing in the background, then speaking low into her headset—coordinating everything as she talked to him.

But Tommy wasn’t done yet.

His voice cracked as he said it, “Maddie—p-please. Don’t send the 118.”

A pause.

“Please,” he rasped, more desperate this time. “Just d-don’t. Not them.”

Maddie hesitated, and when she spoke again, her voice was careful. Gentle. “I’m sorry. They’re the closest. But Buck’s not on shift.”

A beat of silence stretched across the line.

Tommy’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

“…O-Okay. Okay,” he said. Then softer—more like a plea than a request— “Just don’t tell him. Yeah?”

“I won’t,” Maddie said firmly. “I promise. Help is on the way. Stay with me, okay?”

He tried. God, he tried.

But his breath hitched. The pain was rising fast, sharp and disorienting. A groan tore from his chest as the phone slipped slightly from his fingers, scraping against the floor.

“Are you still there?”

“Still… here. Just… tired.”

“Okay, okay Tommy talk to me.” Maddie’s voice cut sharp through the static.

Then nothing.

Dead silence.

Not even a groan.

On the other end of the line, Maddie didn’t waste a second. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, dispatching responders even as her heart pounded in her chest.

To the responding units, she typed and relayed through her headset

Be advised—victim has possibly lost consciousness. Priority one. Structural collapse, potential crush injuries. Location ping confirmed. Use extreme caution. Victim is one of ours.

She sat straighter, gripping the mic tighter, staring at the location tracker lighting up in front of her. Her fingers moved fast over the keys, updating the responders.

Then, a crackle.

A faint breath.

A shifting sound.

“Tommy?” she tried again, holding her breath. “Tommy, can you hear me?”

A faint groan.

Then his voice, distant and thick like he was dragging himself out of quicksand.

“…still here,” he muttered. “Didn’t… mean to sleep.”

Relief flooded her chest.

“You gave me a scare,” she said quietly. “Don’t do that again.”

Tommy exhaled a broken laugh. “No promises…”

Tommy's breathing was shallow, but steady. For now.

Maddie stayed with him, her voice a lifeline threaded through the line. Calm. Present. Holding him there.

Then, after a long stretch of silence, she said softly, “We should’ve talked more. When you were dating Buck.”

Tommy gave a dry, raspy laugh. It cracked in his throat. “Maybe… would’ve made things harder.”

Maddie didn’t laugh.

Silence fell again, but this one was different. Not the kind laced with fear or fading consciousness—just quiet. Waiting.

Then, almost too softly to be anything but honest, she asked, “Why did you leave him?”

Tommy didn’t answer right away.

He let the question hang there, like the dust in the air around him. Thick. Lingering.

His fingers curled slightly against the phone. The pain in his chest wasn’t just physical now.

“…Because I loved him, but… h-he didn’t.” he said at last. His voice cracked on it.

There was a pause on the other end.

Then Maddie asked, quietly, “And he told you that?”

Tommy hesitated, eyes slipping shut. “…Something like that.”

Another silence. Not cold. Just weighted. Maddie waited, like she was giving him space to keep going or pull back.

“And I knew he wasn’t done figuring himself out,” he added after a beat. “I didn’t want to be the reason he stopped.”

Maddie let out a slow breath, barely audible. “Ah… figure his feelings for Eddie, right? That’s what you thought?”

Tommy didn’t say anything right away. But she could hear it—how his breathing changed. Sharper. Shorter.

“…Yeah,” he murmured eventually. “I did.”

Maddie was quiet for a moment. Then her voice came through, low and steady, but with something harder underneath—something that trembled at the edges.

“Tommy… you don’t get to decide what Buck felt.” A beat. “I don't get to decide that either. We both need to stop doing that.”

She let out a bitter little laugh—half guilt, half something else. “God, we’re such idiots.”

Tommy didn’t have the strength to laugh back, but something in his chest tightened.

“And you don’t get to rewrite what he gave you just because it ended.”

Tommy blinked slowly. His chest ached in too many ways to count. The words hit somewhere raw. Somewhere tender.

He remembered Buck’s voice, barely awake, complaining about how cold the bed got when Tommy left it—even if it was just for water. The way Buck would bump shoulders with him on purpose just to hold his hand afterward. The quiet awe in his tone when he said, “You’re really here,” like he couldn’t believe it.

And God, that smile—wide, boyish, dimpled. It lit something in Tommy every single time, like a match striking in the dark. It didn’t matter how shitty the day had been—Evan’s smile could make it feel less heavy.

He used to laugh at the way Buck would get so worked up over the strangest things—deep diving into ancient myths or space disasters or haunted house theories until 2 a.m., rambling with wild hand gestures and eyes too bright for the hour. He argued that some objects had to be cursed, and pouted when people didn’t believe him—an exaggerated, dramatic little thing that Tommy loved more than he ever admitted. That pout had been his favorite—soft and stubborn and so easy to kiss away. It was ridiculous. It was adorable.

It was him.

It was everything.

The way it had felt like home.

And then the way he’d walked away from it.

His throat tightened, breath catching somewhere between pain and something heavier.

“I didn’t want to ruin it,” he whispered. “Didn’t want to ruin him.”

Maddie’s voice came through again, quieter now. Almost to herself.

“I saw how he looked at you,” she said. “Or when he talked about you. I just… didn’t understand it at the time.”

She exhaled slowly. “But I do now.”

But Tommy shook his head, even though the motion made his vision tilt.

“No,” he murmured. “He didn’t love me, Maddie. He’s just… too kind. That’s all. He-he made it feel like love because that’s who he is. But it wasn’t.” His chest heaved with effort. “This way it’s easier. For him. For me…”

Maddie didn’t respond right away.

So Tommy kept going, like the truth had claws and was digging its way out of him.

“I told myself it was the right thing. That it would hurt less this way. For him, at least.”

He exhaled slowly, and it sounded like something leaving his body.

“Didn’t work, though,” he added. “Still hurts.”

Maddie let out a sharp breath that bordered on a scoff. “He was hung up on you for months, Tommy. All the months you two didn’t talk? God, he baked for the whole city.”

Tommy blinked. “…B-baked?”

“Baked,” she confirmed with a sigh. “Cakes, scones, loaves of bread. Brought pastries to the station. Muffins to the dispatch center. I think even his neighbors got banana bread. It was like living next door to grief-flavored Martha Stewart.”

That dragged a sound from Tommy—half a wheeze, half a laugh. “That’s so stupid…”

“You two really need to talk to each other,” she said, softer now. “You’re both miserable and assuming the worst.”

His lips parted again. Breath shallow. Fragile.

“H-he’s jus’… s’kind,” Tommy murmured.

“Okay, Tommy, hey—stay with me,” Maddie said, her voice tightening again, edging toward panic.

A pause.

Then softer, barely audible:

“...Mmm maybe… jus’ tell him I did love him, ’kay?”

“Hey, hey—no,” Maddie said quickly. “You tell him yourself. They’re close, Tommy. Help is close.”

A shaky breath on the line. His voice was distant now, like it was coming from somewhere far away.

“Y-yeah?…”

“Yes,” Maddie whispered. “Hold on.”

But his lips only moved once more, forming something too slurred to catch—maybe a name. A whisper. A wish.

Then the line filled with static and silence.

He was unconscious again.

The world came back all at once.

Light—too bright. Sound—too loud. Everything sharp and jagged.

And pain. God, the pain.

It tore through him like fire as something shifted—no, lifted—off his chest. He couldn’t breathe for a second, couldn’t think. The pressure was gone, but the agony spread in its place like it had just been waiting for an opening.

“Tommy!”

The voice cut through it all, urgent and panicked.

“Tommy, hey—Tommy! Stay with me, man!”

He knew that voice.

Howie.

Tommy’s eyes fluttered, then squeezed shut again. Even blinking hurt.

A hand came to rest gently on his forehead—then shifted under his jaw, bracing.

“C-collar now,” Hen said sharply. “Suspected head injury. Don’t let him move.”

Cool plastic slid around his neck as firm hands held him steady. The collar locked into place with practiced ease.

He groaned, his throat raw, lungs barely keeping up.

“Easy—don’t move, don’t move,” Chimney said, crouched close beside him, gloved hands steady but shaking just slightly. “We’ve got you. You’re okay.”

Another wave of pain ripped through his leg as more debris was pulled away.

Tommy choked on a cry and tried to twist, instinctively, away from it.

“Pain’s flaring—he’s reacting to movement,” Hen’s voice came next, sharp and clinical but full of worry. “Ravi, hold that beam steady! We need to stabilize before we move him again.”

Tommy tried to say something, anything—but it came out as a hoarse mumble. Something like “Maddie” or “Evan.” Maybe both.

Chimney leaned in, one hand gently brushing Tommy’s dirt-streaked forehead. “They’re okay. Maddie’s the one who found you. And Buck’s safe, alright? You’re safe now too. Just keep breathing. We’re almost there.”

But the pain kept coming.

And Tommy—he just wanted it to stop.

“Okay, on my count,” Hen said, voice calm but urgent. “We lift and slide. Chim, you keep his airway steady. Ravi, brace the leg—don’t let it shift.”

Tommy couldn’t track what they were saying. The words blurred together, drowned under the throb in his head, the fire tearing through his leg, the crushing pressure in his chest that never quite went away. His body felt like it wasn’t his anymore. Just pain. Only pain.

Hands moved around him—professional, careful, but they had to move him.

And the moment they did—

Tommy let out a sharp, strangled cry.

His hands twitched against the board, chest heaving with shallow, uneven breaths. The collar locked his neck in place, keeping him frozen in agony.

“Ngh—stop,” he gasped, barely getting the word out. “Just—wait… hurts…”

His voice broke near the end—not loud, but raw, like he was forcing it back down and failing.

Chimney’s voice was close, steady. “I know, I know—just a few more seconds, Tommy. We’ve got you.”

Tommy blinked through the blur, jaw clenched so tight it trembled. “’S too much…”

“Almost there,” Chimney said again, even as he adjusted the oxygen mask.

Tears welled in the corners of Tommy’s eyes, but he didn’t sob. He just breathed—fast, shallow, like trying to outrun the pain—“No, no, no—don’t—don’t—!” he gasped as they started moving again, slurring the words through sobs.

Chimney’s voice came fast, close to his ear. “Hey, hey, I know, I know, Tommy! I got you—just breathe for me, man, we’re almost there—”

Tommy was crying now, actually crying, which was more terrifying than the blood or the wreckage.

Chimney had known Tommy almost twenty years. He’d seen him come out of fires and wrecks and firefights with bruises and cracked ribs, but never like this. Never crying.

“Stay with me, alright? Keep your eyes open,” Chimney pleaded, shifting with him as the team carried the backboard out of the rubble. “You’re doing so good, just a little more, we’re gonna get you in the rig.”

Tommy’s head lolled slightly. His mouth moved again, lips trembling.

“Mmm—hurts… ‘s bad… s-sorry, I—” The rest dissolved into a groan so guttural it didn’t sound human.

Hen was at his side now. “He’s tachy, BP’s crashing. Let’s go!”

The doors of the ambulance opened, and cold air rushed in as they hoisted him inside.

Chimney climbed in after him. “You’re gonna be okay,” he said, even as his voice broke. “Just stay awake, alright? You hear me?”

Tommy whimpered again, tears still slipping down his face—despite the visible effort to hold them in. It was the kind of quiet breaking that hit harder than anything he could’ve screamed.

“Push the morphine now!” Hen’s voice cut through the air, sharp, decisive—like even she couldn’t stand seeing him like this.

Bobby’s voice cut through the chaos—steady, no room for argument.

“Hen, you drive. Chimney’s got this—I’ll ride with him.”

Hen hesitated for only a heartbeat. “Cap, I—”

“I’ve got him,” Bobby said again, already climbing in.

She looked at Tommy—at his pale face, the trembling in his hands, the streaks of blood and dust and tears—and gave a sharp nod. No more protest. She ran for the front, slamming the driver’s door behind her.

The rig rocked as the doors slammed shut behind them.

“Hang on, Tommy,” Chimney whispered.

Tommy didn’t answer.

He just let his eyes close.

Not from surrender. Just exhaustion.

Tommy’s breathing had eased—not normal, not comfortable, but manageable. The morphine had dulled the sharp edges of the pain, settled the panic in his chest, blurred the worst of it into something he could ride out.

He didn’t know how long they’d been moving, only that he wasn’t crying anymore. His voice didn’t shake. His hands had stopped clawing at the edges of the stretcher.

His eyes flicked to the side as Bobby appeared in his peripheral vision, crouched beside him with a steady presence, one hand braced near his shoulder.

Tommy blinked slowly. “You didn’t need to come, Captain Nash.”

Bobby’s brows lifted. “And let Buck kill me?”

Tommy let out a low, rasping exhale—a sound that almost passed for a laugh. A fond smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, slow and crooked.

“It’s fine, kid,” Bobby added, voice gentler now. “I wouldn’t leave you alone like this.”

Tommy nodded faintly, then glanced down at his leg.

Even with the drugs in his system, the sight of it—braced, bloodied, bone clearly visible—hit him like a weight in his stomach.

“…S-shit,” he muttered.

Then, after a beat

“…Well,” he muttered, blinking slowly. “That’s not supposed to be sticking out, I think.”

Chimney let out a breath that came out more like a laugh and a sob all at once. “Thank God you’re back.”

Tommy tilted his head slightly. “Was I gone?”

Chimney didn’t answer. Bobby did.

“For a minute,” he said softly. “But it’s good to see you again.”

Chimney exhaled, then added, “You didn’t crash Tommy—you just… scared us, man.”

Tommy blinked slowly, the weight of that landing somewhere deep in his chest.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

Chimney gave a small smile. “Yeah, well. Don’t do it again.”

Tommy let the silence settle for a moment, the soft beeping of the monitors a steady rhythm under it all.

Then he looked toward Bobby, voice quieter now. “Does he know?”

He nodded. “Yeah. He knows. I told him.”

Tommy’s eyes drifted slightly toward the ceiling. He didn’t say anything at first, but something shifted in his expression—just a flicker of guilt, or maybe fear.

“He’s already on his way to the hospital,” Bobby added gently. “He’ll meet us there.”

Tommy closed his eyes for a second. Not from pain this time—but to breathe.

“…Okay,” he whispered. His throat bobbed like he wanted to say something else—but didn’t.

Bobby watched Tommy for a moment, the rise and fall of his chest finally even. The worst was over—for now.

“So,” he said gently, not pressing, “what were you doing out there anyway?”

Tommy blinked slow, drugged and dazed. “Dunno. Don’t remember.”

Bobby nodded once, not surprised. “Okay. Then let me ask something easier.”

Tommy turned his head slightly.

“How’ve you been doing… in general?”

Tommy didn’t answer right away. His gaze drifted toward the ceiling again, like maybe if he stared hard enough, he could find a different truth up there.

Bobby didn’t fill the silence. Just waited.

Tommy’s jaw twitched. Then—quietly, almost too quiet—“There was a moment. Back in the house. Before I called.”

Bobby blinked, not moving, but his attention sharpened.

“I almost didn’t,” Tommy continued. “Thought… maybe it’d be easier if I didn’t.”

He didn’t cry, didn’t tremble. But something in his voice wavered, just slightly.

“Not because I wanted to die,” he added. “I just… I didn’t see the point. For a second.”

A heavy silence followed.

“Okay, Tommy. Thank you for telling me.” His hand rested gently on Tommy’s shoulder. “We can talk about this later—when you’re more awake, yeah?”

A quite defeated nod

“But I’m really glad you called.”

“Tommy…” Chimney’s voice came from behind him, softer now. Not judgmental—just full of feeling.

Tommy blinked, then let out a quiet, slightly slurred, “…Shit. Forgot you were here.”

It didn’t land like a joke, but there was the smallest flicker of a smile on Chimney’s face anyway. Like he understood.

After a long beat, Tommy scoffed under his breath.

“You said easier.”

Bobby let out a small huff—amused, but not surprised. “Fair enough.”

Tommy sighed, the sound long and quiet, then finally spoke—voice softer now.

“I-I thought… maybe if I left, it’d give him room to figure himself out. That it’d be easier for him if I wasn’t…”

He trailed off.

“In the way?” Bobby offered, gentle as ever.

Tommy gave the faintest nod.

Bobby sat back, letting that settle in for a breath. Then shook his head.

“Tommy, you weren’t in the way,” he said softly. “You were the way.”

Tommy blinked.

“I’ve known Buck eight years,”

“You’re like his father,” Tommy cut in, voice low but certain.

Bobby huffed a soft laugh. “Yeah… that happened.”

He let the moment settle for a beat, then he looked down, making sure Tommy was still with him.

“And I’ve seen him try—really try—to build something that felt real. Something solid.”

He glanced at Tommy, eyes gentle. “He’s always been full of heart. Brave. Loyal. But for a long time, he didn’t know where to put all of that. He was searching for something to hold onto. Something that made sense.”

A pause.

“And when he was with you… things made more sense to him. He didn’t stop being Buck. But he stopped trying to outrun himself.”

Tommy didn’t respond. His gaze stayed on the ceiling, unfocused but steady, like he was holding the words somewhere deep inside.

Bobby didn’t push.

He just reached out, resting a firm, gentle hand on Tommy’s shoulder.

“Talk to him,” Bobby said softly. “I think you both would benefit from that. No matter the outcome.”

The ambulance backed into the bay with a low whine and a hiss of brakes.

Even before the doors opened, he was there.

Buck.

Standing in the harsh wash of overhead light, hands clenched at his sides, eyes wide with barely restrained panic. The moment the doors swung open, he moved.

“Tommy—!”

Tommy winced as the gurney shifted, pain blooming again under the haze of meds. He grit his teeth, groaning softly as Chimney and Bobby worked around him with practiced calm.

“Careful,” Hen warned, holding the IV steady.

Buck reached the side of the gurney just as they rolled it down the ramp. His voice cracked on the first word. “What happened? Are you okay? Where is he bleeding—why didn’t anyone call me earlier—?”

“Evan,” Tommy said, breath catching as they hit a bump, “it’s okay. I’m fine. I told them not to call you.”

Buck froze.

The look on his face—just for a second—was like someone had slapped him.

But Tommy caught it. Saw it. And the pain in his leg—white-hot, throbbing, radiating with every movement—was nothing compared to the sudden, gut-deep ache in his chest.

Because he knew that look. He’d seen it before, back when he ended things. That flicker of disbelief, the quiet betrayal that Buck never said out loud, just carried with him like a second skin.

And now Tommy had put it back there.

Even for a second. Again.

He hated that.

Hated that he’d caused that expression. Hated that he was the one who made Buck’s shoulders tighten and his eyes go distant like he was trying to armor up before the next blow.

He hadn’t meant it like that. God, never like that.

So before Buck could speak, before that silence could settle too long and twist into something sharp—

“I-I just didn’t want to worry you,” Tommy said quickly, voice breaking with the effort to sound calm. “That’s all.”

Buck’s jaw clenched. His eyes didn’t move from Tommy’s face.

“Well I am worried,” he said, not yelling, but not whispering either. “Jesus, Tommy.”

Tommy’s mouth tugged into the faintest, guilty smile.

Inside, the trauma team took over. Bobby, Chimney, Hen, and Ravi stayed close but out of the way, standing just beyond the curtain line as the nurses did a fast assessment.

Vitals steady. No signs of internal bleeding, will be confirmed with imaging. He was lucid, responsive, and stable.

“He’s clear to wait for imaging,” one of the nurses called over her shoulder. “We’ll prep for CT and X-ray, then call ortho for the leg.”

Chimney exhaled in relief and bumped shoulders with Ravi. Hen gave a small nod like she didn’t trust herself to say anything else.

One by one, they each stepped in to squeeze Tommy’s shoulder or give him a quiet word. Then they left—only when they were sure he wasn’t circling the edge anymore.

The curtain drew back.

Tommy looked up. Buck hadn’t moved far. Just enough to give the nurses room.

He looked like hell. Pale and wide-eyed, fists tucked under his arms like he was holding himself together by force.

Tommy reached out—not far, just a few inches.

Buck took the hint and stepped closer.

“I’m okay.”

“You’re not,” Buck replied gently. “But you will be.”

They looked at each other. Neither moved.

“I’m sorry,” they both said at the exact same time.

A beat.

Then they both laughed—Tommy wincing through it, but still.

“Well, good to know we’re on the same page,” Buck said, shaking his head, eyes soft.

“Y-yeah…” Tommy breathed out.

A small pause. Then “…You baked?”

Buck’s eyes widened. “W-Who told you that? N-no, don’t believe it—it’s Chimney, right? You can’t trust him—”

“It’s Maddie, Evan. She told me.”

Buck stopped. Frowned. “Maddie? When?”

“She was the 9-1-1 dispatcher.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah…” Tommy let the word stretch. “So.. you baked?”

Buck looked away, cheeks turning red. “Uh, I-I-, ugh, yes! E-Every time I felt the urge to call you, I-I baked, okay? It’s embarrassing. Don’t make a thing of it!”

Tommy smiled. Soft. Warm.

“It’s adorable.”

Buck gave him a look, but there was no real heat behind it.

“Why didn’t you just call?” Tommy asked, voice quiet now.

Buck didn’t answer right away. Then he met his eyes again.

“Tommy… y-you ended things. I didn’t want to annoy you. O-Or cling… I thought I was giving you space.”

Tommy swallowed. “Fair…” His voice cracked a little on it.

Then—suddenly—something shifted behind his eyes. His brows pinched together. A spark lit up in the fog.

“Evan.”

Buck startled. “What?? What is it? What hurts?”

“No—your phone,” Tommy said quickly, urgent now despite the pain. “Call Sergeant Grant. Now.”

“What? Tommy—what’s going on?”

“Evan, just do it! Please.”

Buck didn’t waste another second. He was already reaching for his phone as Tommy’s voice sharpened with clarity.

“I remembered why I was there.”

After around 10 minutes

Buck ended the call, slipping his phone back into his pocket. His brows were furrowed deep in confusion.

“Wait,” he said, blinking. “So the guy was what?”

Tommy leaned back against the pillow, exhaling slowly. “The one we picked up earlier today. Mid-thirties. Unconscious. Supposedly fell.”

Buck nodded. “Yeah, the victim?”

Tommy gave a slow nod. “His injuries didn’t match the story. Defensive wounds. Internal bruising in the wrong spots. I couldn’t shake it. Something just… itched.” He glanced at Buck. “I went to check it out after shift.”

Buck looked horrified. “Alone?”

Tommy gave a sheepish wince. “Yeah, okay, bad call. I didn’t think, and the house was already burnt. But I found something. Old medical bag. Dried blood. Hidden like someone didn’t want it seen.”

Buck sat on the edge of the chair now, brows still drawn. “So what was it?”

Tommy’s eyes drifted shut briefly. “Sergeant Grant was already working on the case, turns out. She confirmed the guy wasn’t just a victim—he was a witness. Might’ve been part of something bigger. She’s gonna tell me more later, but she said what I found will help to confirm some of their suspicions for now.”

Buck let that settle, then gave a small nod. “So you were right.”

Tommy nodded, lips twisting into a tired, ironic smile. “Yeah… Didn’t let it go, guess trusting my gut was good for something after all.”

Then a nurse stepped in. “We’re ready to take him up to imaging and prep for surgery.”

Buck nodded, but didn’t look away from Tommy.

Tommy blinked slowly, the meds making his limbs heavy again. Then—quietly, almost like it surprised even him—he said, “Evan, I-I need to tell you something…”

Buck’s brow furrowed. “What?”

Tommy looked at him. Then away. Then back again.

His eyes were shaky, glassy—but when he spoke, his voice didn’t waver.

“I know things are… complicated—between us right now. I don’t know what will or could happen, but Evan, I-I—” he drew in a breath, steady this time. “I love you.”

Buck sucked in a breath. Didn’t speak. The silence stretched.

Tommy fidgeted, flustered now. “Uh, y-yeah, s-so, um—I think now you tell me to fuck off and I’m too late and—”

“Shut up.”

“What?”

“No!”

“What??”

“No, you’re not telling me now,” Buck said, waving a hand at the hospital bed, at the IVs and the leg brace. “Like this!”

Tommy blinked. “What?”

“No, Tommy! You’ll go, then come back, then we talk properly—no running this time—” he pointed dramatically at Tommy’s leg with a half-smirk.

Tommy winced. “Rude.”

“Then,” Buck said, leaning forward just slightly, eyes warm and alive, “you’ll tell me. Properly.”

Tommy stared at him for a beat, then softened. “Oh…”