warnings ‘,• censored profanity, mentions of weapons and violence, wounds, needles
Rain tapped a slow rhythm against the windowpane, a sound soft enough to almost lull the house to sleep. Morning came pale and unsure, light stretching through the thin curtains like it was afraid to wake anyone.
Jeriah sat by the cot in the corner, one hand steadying the IV line while the other adjusted the blanket around the boy. He was so small it hurt to look at him—bare wrists, ribs sharp under the fabric, eyes moving behind closed lids as though still running from something.
She didn't know if he dreamed of freedom or the lab he'd escaped from. Maybe both. Most of them never told her.
"Breathe through it," she whispered. "You're safe now."
He flinched, murmuring a string of half-words she couldn't make out. Sweat dampened his hairline. Jeriah reached for the damp cloth in the basin, wrung it out, and placed it across his forehead. Her movements were slow, practiced—muscle memory born from too many nights like this.
When the worst of it passed, she leaned back against the wall. The vanilla-scented candle on the table burned low, flickering shadows across her face.
Eli was the fourth she'd taken in this year. Thirteen. Withdrawals severe. Heart rate unstable. But there was fight in him—that quiet kind that clung to life when nothing else would.
Jeriah's eyes drifted toward the file resting beside the cot. Subject 8A. Former Vought Youth Program Participant.
She'd stopped reading after that line. The rest didn't matter.
Somewhere beyond the thin walls, a siren wailed faintly in the distance, its echo swallowed by rain.
She stood, joints stiff, and moved to the window. The world outside was gray and soaked—just how she liked it. Harder to be found that way.
Still, something felt off. A weight in the air. Like the silence between lightning and thunder.
Her gaze flicked back to Eli. He was sleeping again, chest rising in uneven rhythm. She forced herself to breathe with him, to match his pace.
"Almost there, kid," she murmured. "Almost safe."
The words barely left her mouth before a sound cracked through the stillness.
A heavy thud. Then another. Boots—measured, purposeful, drawing closer.
Jeriah froze. Years of military upbringing snapped into place behind her calm. She crossed the room in two silent steps, reached under the small table, and pulled out the pistol she never wanted to use.
Outside, voices. Muffled at first. Then a shout.
She turned back to Eli, heart hammering once, just once, before she pushed the feeling away. Fear didn't help anyone. Not him. Not her.
Then the door exploded inward.
The sudden rush of cold air swept the candlelight to the floor.
Jeriah spun, raising her hands before the weapon even finished falling from her grip.
"Don't move!" a man barked. His accent—French, sharp. Another shadow behind him moved fast, methodical.
Her voice stayed steady. "Please—he's not a threat."
"Hands up!"
She obeyed, slow, palms open. "He's just a kid. He needs medical—"
"Bollocks," came another voice, rougher, closer to a growl. "You've got five seconds to tell us who the bloody hell you are."
Jeriah's eyes found the man in the doorway. Broader. Quieter. His weapon never wavered, but there was something different in the way he held it—precise, not cruel.
Her pulse steadied as she looked straight at him. "I'm not your enemy."
He said nothing.
"That boy was eight when Vought started testing on him," she continued. "He doesn't even know his real name anymore. I've been getting kids like him out."
The man's jaw flexed. Still silent.
"Why in the f**k should I believe you?" he finally asked, voice low, worn.
"Because lying doesn't save anyone," she said simply. "And I stopped trying to survive that way a long time ago."
The air in the room shifted—quiet again, but not empty.
The Frenchman's weapon lowered first. "She's telling the truth, mon frère. Look at him."
The broad man—Marvin, she'd later learn—kept his eyes on her. She could feel the calculation behind his stare, the weight of a man used to being disappointed by people who claimed to be good.
Then, finally, his shoulders eased. Just a little.
He nodded once. "Let her work."
Jeriah exhaled slowly, barely a sound. She turned, kneeling beside Eli, her hands steady as she drew the stabilizer from her kit.
"This will sting," she whispered to the boy, though he couldn't hear.
Marvin watched from the corner of her vision as she injected the serum. The boy's breathing slowed, steadied. The tension in the room shifted with it.
When she looked up again, she caught his eyes for a heartbeat—something unspoken there.
Not trust. Not yet.
But the first quiet recognition of it.
—
The silence that followed was fragile—like glass cooling after the heat. The team moved with the practiced rhythm of people who'd seen too much, their voices low, clipped.
Jeriah kept her hands busy with Eli's pulse, counting beats beneath her fingers until her own steadied again. When she finally looked up, the strangers were still watching her.
The Frenchman was the first to speak. "You patch him up like you've done this before," he said, voice soft but pointed.
Jeriah met his gaze, then the larger man's. "I have."
"Who are you?" the quiet one asked—the same deep tone as before, measured but carrying weight.
She hesitated, then said simply, "Dr. Jeriah Louis. Trauma therapist."
The man's brow furrowed. "And what's a trauma therapist doing in a Vought-funded safehouse?"
"Cleaning up what they leave behind."
For a beat, no one moved. Then the lanky one near the door—Hughie—shifted, trying to ease the air. "So... you help kids like him?"
Her eyes flicked toward Eli. "The ones who make it out alive."
Butcher's voice broke through, rough and cutting. "Touching. But until we know you're not feedin' us a load of shite, you're comin' with us."
Jeriah straightened. "I'm not leaving him."
"You don't have a choice, love," Butcher said, stepping closer.
She didn't flinch, though her jaw tightened. "If I go, he goes. That's the only way you get my help."
The air thickened, tension stretching taut between them. It looked like Butcher might push it—might force her hand—but Marvin stepped forward, voice low.
"She's not lying."
Butcher turned to him. "And you can tell that how, exactly?"
Marvin's eyes stayed on Jeriah. "Because she didn't beg."
The quiet settled in again.
Jeriah finally exhaled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "You can point as many guns as you want. I'm still getting this boy out alive."
Frenchie gave a small, approving nod. "I like her."
"Course you do," Butcher muttered. "Fine. Pack it up. We're movin' before Vought shows."
As they gathered their gear, the tension eased—not gone, but reshaped into something steadier. Frenchie offered his name first, then Kimiko's, then Hughie's. Butcher didn't bother.
When it came to the last man, the one who'd spoken up for her, he met her eyes and said simply, "Mother's Milk."
She blinked, unsure if he was serious.
He cracked the faintest smile. "But you can call me Marvin."
Jeriah nodded once, quiet but firm. "Jeriah, then."
Something almost like understanding passed between them. Nothing warm—just recognition.
She went back to packing her bag, pretending not to feel his gaze linger as she zipped it shut.
• synopsis { The Boys are sent on a mission to investigate a suspected Supe sympathizer who's been quietly funding underground labs tied to Vought. The team is skeptical, but when they raid a safehouse, they find an unknown woman- not a villain, but a trauma counselor who's been working with former Vought test subjects and trying to rehabilitate them off the radar. MM is instantly suspicious of her. But when she saves Frenchie's life during the raid, and later calms Hughie out of a panic attack, the team gives her a second look. Turns out, she's been burned by Vought too-and she might be exactly the ally they didn't know they needed.
warnings ‘,• mentions of blood , gore , weapons , violence , wounds , etc. ((let me know what I miss))
Delicate sounds of John Coltrane drift from the speakers resting on the television stand. The warm scent of vanilla candles fills the air, mingling with the faint crackle of the fireplace. Between the golden lamplight and the flicker of the flames, the room feels alive—calm, safe, and steady.
Dr. Jeriah Marie Louis, licensed trauma therapist and former military brat, smooths out her worn college sweater over her cuffed jeans.
"Would you like anything to drink, Mr. Gordova?" she asks kindly, hovering near the fridge. "A water's fine, Doc. Thanks." His voice is small, uneasy, fingers fidgeting against his lap.
"No problem." She smiles softly and retrieves two bottles, letting the cool air from the fridge fade quickly against the room's warmth.
She returns to her chair, setting one bottle on the coffee table before uncapping her own. The first sip cools her throat, grounding her.
When she lowers the bottle, she notices the way her patient stares at his—brows furrowed, distant.
"Is there something wrong, Mr. Gordova?" she asks gently, tilting her head.
No response.
"Mr. Gordova?" Her tone firms, though still kind. Still nothing.
"Mr. Gordova," she repeats, this time like a melody.
He blinks, startled. "Yeah?" His wide eyes refocus on her face. "What happened? You sort of froze just then," she says.
He swallows, shrugging. "Uh... I don't know."
She nods. "Okay." No pressure. Forcing a door open only makes it slam harder.
"Do you want to tell me about your day?" she asks, casual as a friend. His shoulders tighten. He shakes his head.
"That's alright," she assures, voice low and warm. "We don't have to talk. Would you like to play your favorite game?"
He hesitates, then shakes his head again. Her brows knit. He always wanted to play. "Hmm. How about something simple—tic tac toe?" she offers with a hopeful grin.
A shrug. That's enough. "Okay," she says brightly. "Tic tac toe it is."
She rises, crossing to the TV stand. The cabinet creaks open; she retrieves the small wooden board, its edges smooth from use. Setting it between them, she unpacks the familiar plastic Xs and Os.
"Alright," she says lightly, "you first." For the first time that session, he smiles faintly.
While they play, Dr. Louis watches him relax—slowly, cautiously. Every move on the board is a small victory. He may not be ready to talk, but he's here, and that's enough.
When the session ends, she sees him out with her usual calm smile. But the moment the door closes, the warmth of the room shifts. The air feels heavier. She exhales, sinking into her chair, rubbing at the bridge of her nose.
Her phone buzzes on the table. Unknown number.
She hesitates, then answers.
"Dr. Louis speaking."
A clipped voice replies, military precision threaded through every word: "Doctor, this is Agent Grace Mallory. We need to talk. It's about your work with the test subjects."
Dr. Louis straightens, heart thudding once. "Who is this?"
"Let's just say... I'm part of a group that keeps tabs on people Vought prefers to forget."
Silence stretches between them, filled only by the crackle of the fire and the faint hum of Coltrane's saxophone.
Then Grace continues, "We could use your help. And whether you like it or not—someone's already looking for you."
The line clicks dead.
Dr. Louis stares at her phone, pulse quickening. She glances at the soft light, the candles, the tidy calm of her office—her sanctuary. Then, slowly, she stands.
Her eyes land on the folder sitting at the edge of her desk: Subject 8A – Recovered Juvenile, Former Vought Test Candidate.
The same boy she'd been treating.
Outside, distant sirens wail.
She caps the bottle of water she never finished, blows out the nearest candle, and murmurs to herself, "Guess peace was too much to ask for."
:::
By morning, the world outside her window was pale and washed-out, rain tracing thin veins down the glass. Jeriah hadn't slept much. She never did on intake nights.
The boy on the cot stirred again—barely a shadow beneath the threadbare blanket. He was all bones and bruises, the kind that didn't fade with time. The tag on his wrist still bore a Vought insignia, half-torn but visible enough to twist her stomach.
Eli, that's what he'd whispered before passing out. Thirteen years old. Former test subject from a shuttered facility in Detroit. Found wandering a freight yard, cold, hungry, terrified of his own hands.
Now, those same hands twitched against the blanket as his body fought another withdrawal wave. Jeriah crouched beside him, voice low. "It's alright, Eli. You're safe here."
He whimpered something—an apology, maybe. They all started that way.
She reached for a cool cloth, pressing it gently against his forehead. "You didn't do anything wrong," she said, her voice barely more than a breath. "You were just born in the wrong place, that's all."
When his breathing evened out again, Jeriah sat back on her heels, rubbing at the tension building in her neck.
This was what peace looked like for her now—saving whoever she could, one broken kid at a time. Even if it meant keeping herself invisible, off the grid, surrounded by ghosts and silence.
She leaned back against the wall, eyes heavy but unblinking, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest.
Then, outside, a car door slammed.
And the peace shattered.
author’s note { what do you guys predict will happen next?
Hey! Hope you guys are well and healthy! Y’all damn sure better be drinking water! However, I just wanna make a quick announcement. When you all send your requests, I wanna ask that you all specify the gender, pronouns, or if you’d like to use a name. It doesn’t have to be a real name. But it is kind of difficult for me to do gender neutral oneshot/fics. So, if you all could add that to your requests, that would work wonders and would be very much appreciated. Thank you all. Have an amazing day! Or night. LOLL!
an ‘,• GUYSSS I KNOWWW this took soo long (OVER A MONTHHH) to do but I've recently become more motivated with the free time I’ve gotten and I was finally able to push through the final stretch and finish!! I HOPE YOU LOVELIES ENJOYYY!!
pairing ‘,• kevin atwater x gn!reader
• synopsis { you told kevin about your family event months in advance and he still didn’t show up. when you reach your breaking point and you are ready to leave, in walks kevin with his own ways of begging you to stay and let him make it up to you.
warning ‘,• mdni, angst, smut, p in v s*x, makeup s*x, mentions of blood, praise kink, begging, soft!dom kevin, dom/sub if you squint, profanity, proceed and read at your own risk.
based on this ask/comment!
You were awakened by the bright sun peaking through the curtains of your shared bedroom. The apartment was quiet with occasional footsteps from the apartment above and faint music coming from down the hall.
You turned over, stretching your stiff limbs and releasing the tension in your muscles. With a big yawn came a heavy sigh. Only when you reached over, fingers searching the soft duvet, did you realize that Kevin was no longer in bed beside you.
Confusion slowly creeped in, the feeling morphed into your once relaxed features. You reached up, rubbing your face of sleep. You lied there for a moment—thinking, wondering.
You sat up, debating your next move.
“Kevin?” You called out—hopeful. “Are you here?” You asked when you didn’t receive an immediate response.
Upon the confirmation that he was indeed not in the apartment, you groaned in aggravation. He was supposed to had taken the day off. You reached over to grab your phone from the nightstand on your side of the bed.
No message.
No call.
No voicemail.
Nothing.
When you looked at the clock, it read 10:34. You sighed, tossing your cellphone amongst the covers. You tore said covers off of your warm body and hopped up from the bed. You passed the living area straight into the kitchen.
You needed an energy boost. Your drink of choice always got the job done. It soothed you. Calmed your nerves.
Kevin was supposed to be attending a family gathering with you today. He got approved for time off and everything.
You’d hate to admit it but this happened quite often. You and Kevin had been together for a year now and it was safe to say you both loved one another. It disappointed you to say the least. How quickly Kevin would drop everything for his job.
You hated being down in the dumps but you couldn’t help thinking about it. And him. Should you call?
No. The least he could’ve at least left a note like usual. But he didn’t even do that! Was he in that much of a hurry? Maybe he didn’t get the chance. Or maybe it slipped his mind.
Now you’re making excuses.
‘Don’t do that.’ You think to yourself.
You sighed, traveling over to the speaker on the television stand. You turned it on before going to the bedroom for your cellphone you had tossed so carelessly earlier. You turned on your best playlist to uplift your spirits, cleaning and dancing your way through the apartment.
Although, you loved Kevin you refused to allow his actions to bring your mood down. Nor his devotion to his work.
You took your time getting ready for the party. Maybe he’d show up, maybe he wouldn’t.
You took good care of yourself. Hot shower. Moisturizer. Fixed your hair. And with a new sway in your hips, you strolled to the closet to pick out your outfit for the day.
Sexy top—that he bought for you and had yet to wear. Jeans and your favorite shoes. You fixed your necklace—another gift from Kevin that you refused to take off.
After making sure your appearance met your desires, you exited the restroom to proceed gathering your belongings. You had a habit of forgetting things. Luckily you weren’t in a hurry.
It was now 12:45.
You rolled your eyes and decided there was no use in waiting and being late to the event with false hope that he’d magically appear right that second. Without hesitation you gathered your belongings and walked right out the door.
—
When you arrived at your family’s home, you sat in your car for a brief moment. It was far too late to turn around but you decided it was best to take a breather before heading inside. You didn’t want anyone to notice right away. Then you would be bombarded with questions that you didn’t have answers to.
Once you felt like you were grounded, you gathered your belongings and pushed open the door to your car. You stepped out, standing tall and steeling yourself for the inevitable mountain of inquisitions about Kevin’s whereabouts.
You went straight to the backyard through the side of the house where you know everyone would be comfortable and partying. The smell of barbecue on the grill instantly filled your nose. There was smoke in the air. Loud chatter. People smoking and drinking. Talking and laughing. Overall, just enjoying each other‘s company as family does when they get together.
You smiled. This was your home away from home. You found solitude in the presence of your family. On your way toward the back door, you hugged and greeted everyone in your path. Cousins, aunts, uncles, siblings. They were all happy to see you.
Inside the home was a more feminine energy. Loud laughter and over talking. Playful debates. Gossiping. You name it.
When you entered the kitchen, you saw your mother, grandmother, sisters, more of your aunts, and other family friends. They were cooking preparing dishes, and wine drinking.
Nothing could hide the excitement that exuded from them and appeared in their expressions. You saved the best for last. You swayed in your mother’s embrace.
“Where’s Kevin? He didn’t come with you?” She asked you once you both pulled back.
Your smile faltered slightly. You knew it was coming sooner or later. But you reluctantly responded anyway.
“No, mom. He’s at work.” You replied with a tight lipped smile.
“I thought he took the day off ahead of time.” She continued. By now your a smile had faded completely.
“So did I.” You spoke flatly.
“Well, will he come a little later?” She inquired further.
“Ma, please. I don’t know. Can we not talk about Kevin? Is my presence not enough? I need a man by my side at all times?” You joked halfheartedly, despite trying desperately to lighten the mood and change the subject.
Your mother let the subject go per your request not wanting to make you uncomfortable. As the clock winded down and the night made it's appearance, you'd united with family and seen faces you hadn't seen in various periods of time.
Although, over the course of the night, your mood shifted with every mention of Kevin and the reminders of his absence. You managed by eating, drinking—not excessively, catching up with family members, watching competitive card games and harmless feuds, taking a nostalgic cousin's stroll, and joining the line dances.
When the night had finally descended into a calm end, you had helped store leftovers and clean up the mess from your tornado of a family. They sent you on your way with hugs, kisses, and greetings and regards for Kevin.
—
When you returned home, you dreaded walking into your apartment. Your thoughts were filled with the possibility that Kevin still hadn't returned. That possibility alone was enough to make your heart sink and your stomach ache.
You turned your key and pushed the door open. As soon as you stepped one foot in the air turned cold. You looked around. Upon first glance, there was no sign of him. As you walked in further, the feeling of doubt unwillingly creeped into your mind.
There was one simple fact, that couldn’t shake that doubt. Kevin hadn’t returned any of your calls all day.
You tossed your things on the sofa and walked straight into your bathroom and turned on the shower. You needed to relax.
After a long, thoughtful shower, you changed into your T-shirt and baggy jogging pants. You sat on your bed and you waited.
And waited.
And waited.
In reality, there was nothing you could do. You couldn’t sleep without him, this much was true. After so long, your body had become accustomed to his presence while you slept. So, there was no use in trying. Your leg hadn’t quit bouncing since you sat down. You had burned a giant hole into the floor with your unmoving gaze. You hadn’t moved for hours.
Then, the clock struck 12:00 and suddenly… you heard the lock turn. When you heard his boots thud as he entered the apartment, something inside you shattered. You listened to him shift around the living room.
There was no rush in his movements. Like he could no longer feel your energy. As if he had no clue how his absence affected you.
You couldn’t stop your eyes from welling up with tears. You were filled with so much anger. More so now that you didn’t even have control of when you cried. If you were being honest, you were fed up. And you knew, as a man, he wouldn’t understand until it was too late. Maybe it was time to teach him my lesson.
You hopped up from the bed and stormed to your closet. You grabbed the first bag you saw and tossed it on the bed. You made work of tearing your clothes off the hangers and shoving them in the bag.
“Baby?” He called out with a hint of concern or confusion in his voice.
Now he wanted to call you. How ironic.
When he didn’t receive a response, he called out again. “Baby, you good?” he questioned walking toward your bedroom. He approached the threshold, halting in his tracks. He noticed you stuffing clothes into a bag and grew immensely confused.
“What’s going on? Where you going?” He asked following your every move.
You went into the bathroom and gathered your essentials. Not without slamming cabinets and items on the sink.
“Baby. Talk to me. Tell me wassup.” He urged as you stormed out of the restroom with your things. You threw them on the bed without a care in the world before spinning around to face him with tears. You scoffed in disbelief at how much he seemed to care now that he was too late. Typical male behavior.
His expression softened and contorted with concern as his instincts kicked in. “What happened? Did somebody hurt you?” He insisted, rushing to your side in order to get a good look at you.
A mass amount of anger surfaced suddenly and before you could stop yourself, you pushed him—as hard as you could. He only stumbled back a step. He was shocked. Where was this coming from?
“What the hell?” He frowned, holding his hands up. “What’s wrong with you? I can’t fix what you not telling me.”
“You’re what’s wrong!” You yelled in response.
“What is that supposed to mean?” He questioned. He knew that the both of you yelling and screaming would fix nothing and get you both nowhere.
“Do you know what today is?” You asked crossing your arms over your chest as if to guard your heart from the pain.
He thought long and hard about his answer. He searched past the files, cases, violence, reports, suspects, and witnesses from work that clouded his mind.
“My family reunion!” You replied before he could even find an answer in the clutter of thoughts his brain. “What happened to you getting approved for vacation days weeks ago?!” You tossed your hand to the side.
“Baby—” he says only for you to cut him off.
“No! Don’t “baby” me right now! This city means more to you than I do. I can’t and won’t compete with that.” You continued as tears streamed down your cheeks. You turned back to your bag, aggressively tossing the rest of your belongings into it and zipping it up.
You tugged on your hoodie and stomped past him. He followed you to the front door and watched you pull on your gym shoes. You spun toward the door and opened it only for it to be slammed shut. You looked up to see his large hand on the door and his arm reaching over you.
You felt his strong hands grip your waist, pushing you away from the door.
“Get off me, Kevin!” You tried to push him away, failing miserably against his grip.
He let go, only to stand in front of the door, daring you to move him. If you wanted to leave, he wasn’t going to make it easy for you—you’d have to move his massive figure to get to the door.
“Kevin. Move.” You demanded too calmly.
“Baby, can you just hold up for a second? Please!” He pleaded with unadulterated emotion. “I-I’m begging you…” his voice softened. “Please, don’t leave.” He whispered and stepped a bit closer—cautiously, in fear you’d retreat. Or worse. Reject him and walk out the door anyway. “You’re the one person I can’t take losing.”
When he saw you standing still, he inched closer and closer, lessening the distance between you both. He slowly reached for your hand. “Could you put the bag down? Please.” He begged, reaching to take the bag from your shoulder.
When you pulled away, he held his hands up. “Okay. Okay, I won’t touch you. But I’m begging you to listen. Please.”
“Listen to what, Kevin. What could you possibly say to change my mind? What excuse could you offer to explain why this keeps happening?” You cried, gesturing adamantly with your hands.
“No excuses. My actions alone will prove it to you.” He stepped closer. “But for right now, let me make it up to you.” He offered.
“How, Kevin?” You dropped your shoulders.
He reached up, cupping your cheek. He stared down at you with those softened big brown eyes. You couldn’t resist—he knew that. He was cracking the wall you had built. “Let me show you how sorry I am.” He continued softly as his brows knit.
You scoffed and looked away. “No, Kevin.” You stood your ground—or at least, attempted, to the best of your ability.
“Look at me.” He said, caressing your cheek with his thumb. You refused to move, knowing he was trying his hardest to break through and doing a d*mn good job.
You shook your head and shifted your eyes to your shoes, swallowing the lump that reformed in your throat. You were trying so hard to stay strong but your walls were weakening every second you remained where you stood.
He used his finger to lift your chin. It wasn’t until you made eye contact—once again, that your walls shattered and tumbled drastically. He gazed at you with so much love and regret.
“Stay. Give me a chance to fix this.” He said softly, slowly leaning down. He shifted his fingers, delicately cupping your chin, turning your head slightly.
“Kevin. Sex doesn’t fix—” he cut you off, kissing your favorite spot on your neck. “Everything.” You gasped as your grip on the bag handle faltered. He knew exactly what he was doing and he was going to use every other spot to his advantage until you forgave him. He wanted you to stay. There was no doubt about it.
“Shh. I know, baby.” He whispered softly in your ear. “But it’s worth a try. I won’t stop until I know you forgive me.” He leaned back to look at you.
You thought back to the many shared nights, the countless times you made love. It hit you… you didn’t want only memories. You didn’t want to depend solely upon the thought of him or the memories you shared or experiences you both created. You wanted him there. You wanted him present and as long as this job took up all his time, you couldn’t receive that.
And while you don’t have a problem with him having a job, you have a problem with him being gone all the time. Let’s be honest, he needs a job to get by and provide, you understood that. But what affects you is him slipping from the covers in the early morning, coming in at all odd hours of the night, and the lack of communication.
Whenever they needed him, he came running. You didn’t like that but it was who he was. Maybe you were just being selfish and you should rethink your decision and feelings.
“Kevin. M-Move.” You place your hands firmly on his chest to push him away. He ignored you, refusing to budge. He continued his assault on your neck, weakening you. He pulled the bag off your shoulder and dropped it on the floor.
Kevin trailed his hands under your hoodie, caressing your waist over your tank top. He squeezed and kneaded your flesh along with every dip and curve on your sculpted body. Your ragged breathing and every sound you'd make was music to his ears.
You inhaled sharply when he wrapped his arms around your waist and tugged you against him. A chill rushed through your body as he traced your spine. He pulled back from your neck to gaze down at you. You stared back, breathless. It wasn't until you glanced at his lips that he knew you were his- completely.
He crashed his lips into yours. You kissed him back with just as much fervor as he did. He reached up and gripped your nape. When you whimpered, he took the opportunity to delve his tongue past your lips. A soft moan slipped past your laced tongues. He gripped the hem of your hoodie and top, breaking the kiss to pull them over your head.
After he tossed it, he wasted no time latching his lips back onto yours. He groaned, his arms acting as an anchor, as if you would vanish at any given moment. He dipped down gripping the back of your thighs hoisting you up.
Kevin guided you both back to the bedroom. By the time your head touched the cool pillows, all thoughts evaporated. You watched as he sat up and pulled his shirt over his head. You were always in awe of his physique. He was so big. You adored running your hands along his abdomen, tracing every dip and curve of every muscle.
But tonight was different. While you remained conflicted, you didn't leap at the chance to caress every inch of his sexy body.
Kevin tossed his shirt onto the floor, pulling off your shoes, pants, and underwear as well. Leaning down to shower you with affection. He kissed along your collarbone making his way to your chest. Your eyes followed his with each soft peck he traced lower and lower on your body. He really took his time. Your breathing picked up when his tongue lightly caressed the area beside your hip bone. He knew that spot never failed to make you shudder and tremble.
He grazed his fingertips on the opposite side as you released a shaky sigh. When you glanced down, your eyes met his once more.
"Kevin." His name escaped your lips in a desperate plea. Yet, you had no clue what you were begging for. He was blurring your mind.
"Hm?" He hummed in response. "You want me to stop?" He pulled back.
You whined at the loss of contact, tossing your head back against the soft pillow beneath it. "No." You finally said, avoiding eye contact while staring at the ceiling.
Kevin spread your legs apart and his teeth grazed your inner thigh. His large calloused hands gripped your hips before settling between your thighs. He slowly licked a wet path along your center. He heard you gasp and he sighed pleasantly against your core. He watched intently as you arched when he circled your sensitive skin with his tongue.
Your moans sent chills down his spine. The music to his ears. His very salvation. He smirked against you when he saw your hands grip the duvet beneath your bodies. He entrapped his thick lips around your mound and sucked softly—teasingly. Almost subtle foreshadowing for what was to come.
He loved watching your face contort with pleasure. He found it fascinating the way you held your breath for seconds before releasing and inhaling a sharp breath to intensify your pleasure.
Kevin etched his name into your sensitive skin. He squeezed your hips tighter. When you began bucking your hips, he was proud. He was forcing your thoughts to scatter until the anger in your chest melted into pure, liquid need.
You jerked when he sucked hard so suddenly. Your loud, uncontrollable moans fed his ego. Kevin groaned deeply, grounding his pelvis into the mattress. He flicked his tongue with practiced ease, dragging it lower. His beautiful eyes fell shut as your slick coated his tongue. His brows knitted tightly as a guttural moan escaped his lips.
“F*ck baby, you taste so good.” He confessed just above a whisper. You looked down to find his dazed expression. You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood as you watched him lose himself in… you.
“Oh, Kevin.” You moaned, reaching down to tangle your hands into his thick fro. You continue to rock your hips against his tongue.
“Hm?” His eyes found yours effortlessly. “That make you feel good baby? Seeing me get lost in your body?” He questioned so innocently.
You nodded, whimpering as you felt the coils tighten in your core. “Don’t stop, Kevin. Please.” You begged, tossing your head back.
Kevin caressed your body slowly while he feasted upon your warmth. He groaned lowly grounding his hips a little harder. He was growing more and more eager to feel you.
The more unhinged your moans and groans became, he knew he was drawing you closer and closer. He circled, flicked, and sucked your heat.
Wearing a satisfied grin, Kevin studied the quick rise and fall of your chest with each heavy breath. He noticed the change in pitch of your moans when you came. He sucked harder and refused to let up as you shook.
Holding your hands at your side when you tried pushing his head away. “What’s the matter baby? Too much huh?”
Groaning, you cursed the man for his cockiness. The man’s ego was far too large for your liking at this particular moment. Again, the heat built in your core quicker than you imagined possible.
Your legs tremble uncontrollably while your heat pulsed rapidly. Before you could stop it you came again, orgasm bursting through you like a waterfall. Kevin chuckled, licking up your nectar like a drink you spilled. Releasing your wrists and climbing between your legs.
“You made a mess baby.” He smirked. “I think I’m gonna have to punish you for that.” He nudged your nose, tilting his head.
“I think you’re the one who needs to be punished.” You countered quickly.
“Is that right?” He asked. Chuckling as you nodded. “We’ll see.” He added, standing up and removing the rest of his clothing. His hard length sprung up, leaking precum.
Kevin climbed back on top of you unhurriedly. Kissing your neck and caressing every inch of your skin. Until, he pulled back, gazing deep into your eyes with mass amounts of adoration. “I love you.” He whispered softly.
You gasp lightly, staring back at him. Your brows knit upward, caught off guard.
“I love you too.” You replied, swallowing the lump in your throat.
“Can I?” He questioned, lifting your legs and lining himself up with your entrance.
You nodded, but Kevin was not satisfied. “I need words, baby. Say it.” He demanded.
“Yes.” You said, tugging your lip between your teeth.
With your granted access, he began to slowly push inward. You winced slightly, never really used to his size. He sighed heavily, delving into your overwhelming heat. His length softly caressed your walls as he bottomed out.
You both moaned as he stilled inside. Reaching down interlacing your hands and placing them above your head. He kissed your jaw, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. You giggled as he chuckled.
He pulled out to the tip before flushing his hips against yours. Squeezing each other’s hands. As your moans increased, so did his pace. Every sound that escaped your lips slipped directly into his ear.
“Shit, baby. I’m so sorry.” Kevin groaned, maintaining the steady flow.
He released his grip on your hands, holding himself up with one and lightly wrapping the other around your throat. Slowing his stroke to hard thrusts.
He smirked against your skin when you gasped. You squeezed his arm and dug your nails into his back.
“You forgive me? Huh?” He rasped softly, wincing at the sensation.
You whimpered unable to form coherent words nor thoughts.
“I can’t hear you, baby.” His gripped tighter, watching you toss your head back. “Focus.” He chuckled cockily.
Kevin abused the soft spot inside you. His thrusts were unrelenting causing your eyes to roll back.
“Uh uh. Look at me with them pretty eyes.” He demanded while you tried your best to comply. You let go of his arm only to push against his abdomen. “Fuck. Move your hand.” He moaned, trailing his hand from your throat to your nape.
“Kevin please.” You squeezed out, bracing yourself on the headboard.
“Hm? I’m right here baby.” He replied, heavy breaths fanning over your neck where he placed soft kisses.
“Please. It’s too much!” You begged, feeling that familiar coil in your core.
“You’re doing so good for me. I’m so proud of you.” He praised. “You love when I give it to you like that, baby?”
“Yesss! I love it, Kevin.”
“Yeah, you love it.” Kevin groaned as he looked down. “Look at the mess you making on my dick.”
When you looked down, watching him go in and out, in and out, you could see the mess he was referring to. His length was coated with your juices, creating a white ring around the base of his cock.
You whined, tossing your head back. He continued his long, hard strokes, hitting that spot repeatedly as you arched into him. Your walls tightened, barreling toward your release.
“I-I’m so close.” You squeezed out, wrapping your arms around his neck.
“I can feel it, baby. You forgive me now? Huh?” Kevin grunted softly in your ear, gripping the pillow beside your head.
You could feel Kevin twitching inside. He delivered a long upward thrust making you moan out loudly.
“Tell me you forgive me or I stop?” He declared followed by a guttural moan. “You don’t want me to stop do you?”
“No, Kev! Please don’t stop! I’m so close.” You cried out as a tear slipped from your eye.
“Look at me.” Kevin slowed down and leaned back, lightly gripping your chin. “Say it.” He demanded.
“Kevin, I forgive you.” You claimed squeezing his shoulder.
“Yeah? Say it like you mean it.” He thrusted hard.
“I forgive you.” You moaned as he picked back up the pace.
“Say it again.”
“I forgive you.” The coil in your core tightened as your eyes rolled back.
“Louder. Let the neighbors hear.” He smirked, breathing heavily as your walls convulsed around him. His strokes grew sloppy.
You shouted incoherently as the coil snapped and your release came crashing over you. Your legs shook uncontrollably.
“Fuckkk baby!” Kevin groaned, gritting his teeth as he came. His warm cum filled you up. He stilled, jerking uncontrollably as he came down, gripping the pillow until knuckles whitened.
“Damn.” He collapsed on top of you, breathing heavily in your ear. “Told you I wouldn’t stop until you forgave me.” He chuckled.
“Shut up.” You scoffed slapping his shoulder.
Kev slipped out making you whimper while both your juices leaked out of your opening. He hopped and strolled into the restroom. You heard the water running for a moment until he came back with a wet towel.
You whined as he cleaned you up with the warm towel. He was careful with how sensitive you still were. He disappeared into the bathroom once more to clean himself off.
When Kevin returned to the bed, he cuddled up beside you. You could feel his warmth radiating off his body as he draped an arm over your midsection. You were nearly on the brink of sleep when you heard his voice.
“I truly am sorry. I promise.” He placed a kiss on your head. “I love you. I’m gonna do everything in my power to prove that to you.” He whispered genuinely.
“I know. I love you.” You mumbled half sleep.
Kevin sighed heavily, shifting to get more comfortable as he waited for sleep to take over.
—
The next morning, you groaned awakened by an annoying ringing noise. Kevin grumbled irritably, turning over to grab his phone from the nightstand. You peeled your eyes, rubbing them to clear your vision of sleep.
As soon as you peeked over, you saw who was calling him.
Voight.
What a coincidence. You thought.
However, what surprised you was the fact that Kevin declined it. You frowned slightly, confused by his actions.
Kevin turned over again, wrapping his arm around you tugging you closer. He buried his face in your neck.
“This city can wait.” He muttered against your skin. You rose your brows in shock, giggling at the way his lips tickled you as he spoke.
Nonetheless, you were happy. He was putting you first. Keeping his word to prove to you how sorry he was and how much you meant to him. This was his first step in making it up to you.
• synopsis { Wallace Boden, recently retired from active duty, now spends his time at the CFD History Museum and running a mentorship program for new recruits. When a local journalist, Celeste, begins documenting the history of Black firefighters in Chicago, her interviews with Boden unlock memories of his early days-and a personal loss he's never come to terms with. Through shared moments, conversations, and community events, Boden and Celeste develop a deep, quiet connection. But the weight of Boden's past-and the life he's built around carrying others-makes him afraid to accept love again.
warnings ‘, • none
Many dream of a career that doesn't feel like a job. Desire profiting from deeds they'd do for free. Hobbies they're classified. Others claim passion that emits from the soul. A destiny. A purpose that is pursued and reached by goals.
"Thank you, Genevieve." Ms. Leota said with gratitude as Genevieve held the door open. "No problem, Ms. Leota. Enjoy!" Genevieve smiled, nodding at the woman that slipped past her into the Archive Room.
"Always." The woman replied as the door shut. She took a deep breath, thoroughly analyzing her surroundings. The room was brightly lit, a wooden table sat below it. On the wall to her left, rows of shelves were stacked with labeled boxes, folders, and the aroma of carpet cleaner lingered in the air. Her footsteps padded further into the room.
Books lined the shelves on the right. Portraits adorned the walls, accentuating the nostalgic aura emitting from the space. A small television sat atop a mobile TV stand near the far-right corner of the room.
She delicately placed her belongings in a chair rested neatly beneath the table. She pulls her phone from her bag, along with her earbuds, to play some music that would intensify her euphoric state. After sliding her heels off of her feet, she replaces them with a pair of fuzzy socks.
The calm woman took a deep breath as the soft melodies filled her ears.
She strolls casually around the room, exploring the bookshelf, travelling over to the row of shelves. She didn't know where to start. She had no idea what she was looking for in particular. Then, a person she hadn't expected, popped into her mind prompting a smile to transform her features.
"Hm." She hummed, tilting her head with curiosity. She starts searching for a box labeled 'Firehouse 22'. She remembered reading something about that being the firehouse they earned their captain title. Once she laid eyes on the box, she carefully pulled it from the shelf before carrying it over to the table. Pulling the top off, she found files, photos, and tapes inside.
'1987 Jackson Street Fire' read the file that she had picked from the box. Pulling an empty chair from beneath the table, she placed the file upon it and took her seat.
She began reading the incident report inside. She treated the report as if it were a novel. As she read, her positions changed endlessly. As did her emotions. Curious, surprised, sad, sympathetic, and anticipation.
She wondered why this specific fire hadn't been mentioned in any of the interviews she had previously researched. There was only one person who could provide her with the information she desired.
With that notion, the determined woman quickly removed the fuzzy socks, slipping her heels back onto her feet. She left her cellphone and earbuds in a hurry to leave the room.
When she stepped into the dimly lit hall, she looked both ways. She had no idea where they could be. Therefore, she walked the corridors mindlessly. Exploring the display cases. Enjoying the way the led lights from the cases illuminated her path. Analyzing historical souvenirs. And debris of heroic acts. Her heels echoed through the halls. Notification of her presence before her arrival.
When she rounded a corner, she unexpectedly found the person she had been searching for.
Wallace Boden.
He was standing before a large display case. Clipboard in hand. Cataloging old helmets. That sparked her interest.
"I've read four interviews with you and not one of them mentions the 1987 Jackson Street fire." She states, hinting at her inquisitions. "Is that oversight or avoidance?" She questioned with a slightly playful tone.
Boden hadn't turned around to look at the woman as she spoke but decided to play along. "Depends on who's asking." His baritone echoed toward her.
"Someone who doesn't like fiction masquerading as history." She confessed with an uncontrollable grin.
"Then you'll need more than paperwork." She could hear the smirk in his tone. Something flickers in her eyes— curiosity, or challenge. She quietly removes her heels once more, holding them in a loose fist.
She stealthily steps forward. "You gonna' give me the real version." He noticed the difference in proximity of her voice. Boden turned around facing the barefoot woman a foot away from him. A smile broke his stern features as he scoffed, chuckling with amusement.
"Am I supposed to confess to someone I know nothing about?" He raised a challenging brow.
He takes a few slow steps closer.
There was an elastic moment of silence between the two individuals. The woman had been contemplating her decision before she responded.
She raised a welcoming hand toward the man gazing down at her. "Celeste Leota." She smiled softly as she introduced herself. He delicately placed his large calloused hand in hers, returning a sideways grin. "It's nice to meet you, Celeste Leota." He replied with a nod.
"It's nice to finally meet you, Wallace Boden." She smirked up at him. He laughed. A real hearty laugh. Celeste's smirk transformed into a bright smile. His smile was beautiful.
"Yeah, you've done your homework. I can tell." He said. Not in an overly confident manner. Just in an informative manner— knowing. Celeste's hand slipped from his own.
"You ready to confess, Chief?" Celeste inquired, squinting slightly. He felt the shift, but acted accordingly.
"Only if you're ready to carry it." He replied with a newfound seriousness.
"If only you knew." She said.
Boden's brows knit as his head tilted slightly. He analyzed her features thoroughly, as if the answer to his questions would appear. Celeste stared into his eyes as if she they'd be the ones to tell the secrets he was withholding.
Both of their responses sparked curiosity in the other. They had no clue what to conclude from their conversation. However, they knew there was more than meets the eye with one another.
Celeste's desire to explore history, left hope for the secrets yet to unravel.
