#sobs in a little heap on the floor

[tiredassmage]

oops, I caught feelings about JK Nar Shadaa & Rhyst & Maltaf and... I had to do a little something about it before I could move on in peace >.>

“Master..?” Rhyst blinked. The troubled lines and slopes across his features had somewhat eased, but a slight frown remained across his lips.

“Yes?”

“Master Satia says your people greatly value history,” he said. “You wear your entire lives for everyone to see - good and bad, just from a glance. That… that seems like a lot to carry.” The slight furrow in his brow and the unease lingering across his lips voiced the true question of the younger Knight. Maltaf offered a quiet smile. “For some, I imagine it is. Burdens are what we make of them, Rhyst. That is why we reflect, we meditate.” Rhyst ducked his head as one hand reached up to toy at the scorched ends of his hair. He’d said one of the Power Guards had gotten too close - he’d had to cut himself loose. It’d frightened him. “Jedi aren’t meant to make decisions with their feelings.” “In… a sense,” Maltaf said carefully. “Not with haste. But your compassion still guides you, does it not?” Rhyst chewed on his lip for a moment, eyes tracing along the lines of the rug beneath them. “I… If it's always with you.., how do you let go?” Maltaf was silent in thought until Rhyst’s eyes met his once more. “Acknowledgement is an important step, Rhyst. We can be hobbled by that which we do not know - especially what we choose not to. It’s normal to be scared. What matters is what we do with it and what we give back.” He gave a small nod to the saber clipped to Rhyst’s belt. “Why did you fight today?”

Rhyst’s brow furrowed as his head titled in consideration. “I… don’t want anyone else to… to lose everything, like my sister and…” He tugged at the fit of his gloves. “I know we can’t account for everything, stop it all, I just-” He shook his head. “And sometimes I still feel…” He swallowed. It disgusted him - the lack of oversight. It still angered him that the Sith, the Empire, looked upon life as such a game, that it continued to rob so many of so much. Galen begging him to… Rhyst closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around himself. He couldn’t change what had already been done. But Galen had been good. He couldn’t… Maltaf rested a hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “We do what we can,” he said. “No matter how small. It always matters to try, Rhyst. Always. I promise.”

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, omega verse/hybrid au, size difference, pet-play, predator x prey, collaring, double-pen, gangbang kinda, tag-team

♡ fem reader

It’s been a month since your new owner brought you home, and despite expectations, you’ve yet to be eaten by the predators you share your den with. On the contrary, the six hybrids seem to have accepted you as their seventh pack member despite you being at the very bottom of the food chain.

You’ve come to trust that, despite the look of hunger in their eyes… food isn’t exactly what they have in mind. 

The hyena seems to be the only one your age. But he’s also a bit of a bully. Always goading you with ticklish poking until you stomp your feet and whine at him to stop. 

He never listens to you, though – he just cocks his head, finding it funny how you try giving him orders – only grinning as he pins you instead, chewing some on the lops of your ears while squeezing your cottontail – smirking and giggling at your pouty face getting all frustrated.

Your weak kicking is so cute, and so is how you try clawing at him despite having but blunt nails – he can’t help but laugh at the way it tickles him. 

It’s so painstakingly clear you’re not made to fight back, and it’s so adorable how you don’t even realize you already surrendered the moment you rolled over on your back with your belly up. 

It makes him go absolutely feral when you pull on his ears and mane, begging him to stop as he laves at your slit and clit, delving his long tongue deep within your walls until the tip prods your womb. It’s course against your skin and harsh on your insides and scratches your poor clit until it’s all swollen and throbbing for him – making you sob as his feral smile teases your chubby mound with a bite – only satisfied when you cum in his mouth.

But while the hyena enjoys play-fighting with you, the rest are more prone to fight each other…

The panther and leopard are good friends, whilst the fox and wolf seem to tolerate each other – and you don’t know whether it’s unfortunate or a blessing in disguise that both pairs only want you for themselves and often end up fighting over you.

You’d say the four are the most trigger-happy of the pack – always hissing and barking at each other. But everyone knows that cats and dogs don’t get along.

The canines are a little scarier, you think. They’re rougher with you.

The wolf especially. He’s older than you, a big heap of hulking muscles that bear down over you with the daunting superiority of a seasoned hunter. 

He doesn’t take lightly to you talking back to him – acting as though he’s actually offended when you so much as open your mouth if it’s not to swallow his tongue. Even if all you ask is for him to go a little slower, he’ll just growl at you – threatening your neck with fangs while chewing your collar – and otherwise ignore your cry completely. Calling you his bitch while telling you to quit your whimpering even though he’s been breeding you sore for the past hour, ramming your poor cunt so hard your muscles have all given out and left you to lie on the floor with only his paws keeping your hips upright.

He's always extra rough when you reek of cat – as though it’s your fault. Huffing and puffing as he now has to spend so much effort scenting you again.

It’s a never-ending war between them all. You go from camp to camp, getting marked again and again like territory, only for your owner to clean you up at the end of the day.

But the wolf is the worst. One time he’d gone so far as to piss on you… 

But he was later scolded by the owner – bonking his head with a rolled-up newspaper, telling him he had to learn to share or else he’d have to go sleep out in the doghouse. He’d also been told he had to stop breaking skin when biting you unless he wanted to be muzzled.

It only made him all the more grumpier. Growling in your ear that the one who ought to be muzzled is you and your snitch-mouth always crying wolf like some bitch who never learns her place – that next time you go talking to the owner, he’s going to eat you like the piece of meat you are.

You come to learn that he’s more bark than bite after a while. 

When you get used to him and his stamina, you stop crying and start holding onto him instead. And it’s when you’re burying your face in his neck and begging for his seed that he softens up for you.

He stops biting and starts sucking instead – laying hickeys all over your neck and chest, blushing with closed eyes when suckling your tits like a pup. You learn he’s a sucker for being called good boy and will wag his tail when you sit on his face. 

He’s also the one with the most owner-sickness of the pack, always clinging to you, growling when others get close, and never ever sharing when his turn.

He only begrudgingly allows the fox to eat his scraps afterward. 

You can only mew as he mounts you next. 

His tempo is always a bit of a shock – a bit juvenile, but who can blame him when he’s had to wait for so long? He’s a little younger than you – eager and desperate for it every single time.

Pounding you sharply – hard and fast with howls and heavy panting – even whimpering as you hold you tighter and tighter, squeezing you free of air as he savors the feel of your wet pussy clamping down around him.

He doesn’t growl too much when you whine. Instead, he laughs – elated and frenzied – eyes manic as he sticks his tongue as far down your throat as he can – drooling uncontrollably as he sinks his knot inside you and spills his worth inside your womb.

It’s a relief he doesn’t last as long as his bigger partner.

He’ll suck love-bites on the chubs of your cheeks as he unswells – lick all the sweat from your skin and come down by the sweet taste. Laying sloppy kisses all over your body and lapping over all bruises and soreness in gratitude – looking at you somewhat sheepishly with big puppy-dog eyes as though suddenly embarrassed that he’d been so feral.

The felines are less spastic. 

But they also like to lick you – with sand-textured tongues scraping at your fur and skin until they’ve made sure you’re coated with their scent. They seem to enjoy grooming more than anything, always snuggling with you.

But they get flirty, too… you’ll know when they start kneading your softer parts – blinking at you slow and expectantly until you return the favor.

They’re the same age and have known each other all their life, practically brothers, and do everything together as though they were a pair of Siamese – including when they mate with you. 

They’ll lay you down on one lean chest while the other is poised above you. Purring as they take turns with you – both so gently.

The panther always has a sly smile on his face when looking down at you – his claws retracted while he sticks his slender fingers inside your mouth to play with your tongue. He says it’s one of his favorite things about you – so soft and so silky, so different from theirs when you lick his skin.

It makes the leopard pout behind you, nuzzling you tight, his cheek to your cheek, asking the other if he doesn’t like it when he grooms him. 

The panther only smiles down at both of you, promising that he likes both your tongues until he proceeds to swap between which one of you he kisses.

When the leopard kisses you, he also admits he likes your tongue – whispering all depraved things that come to mind – loves how smooth it feels in his mouth and on his lips and neck and nipples and cock and balls.

Eventually, the heat gets to their heads, and their pointy ears start to droop, looking at you with such dark glossy eyes, opium-blown with pleasure and lust for more – kissing each side of your face, asking whether you won’t allow them both inside you at the same time – their pretty pleas making your head go silly, panting while nodding your head for them, bucking your hips stuck between the two while begging for both of them.

You feel their slim tails coil around each of your thighs as they sink inside your drooling heat together – their breaths deep and shuddering while they feel your tightness squeeze around them. 

They coo at you – telling you how perfect you look trapped between them like that – as their pretty little double-stuffed toy. And you’re too cock-drunk to do anything but agree.

After flooding you with cum, they go back to cuddling – sleeping – the both of them purring with lanky limbs all tangled on top of each other and you in the middle.

The bear is also a lazy fellow – a gentle giant. Something you’re grateful for – you don’t think you’d survive if he ever tried mounting and pounding you like the other boys.

He’s the eldest of the pack. Twice your age. You feel the seniority in his movements – all unhurried, savoring every second with a warm smile.

He’s satisfied with having you on his lap – cock-warmed by your tight bunny-cunt while you hand-feed him berries. You feel a little safer with him knowing you have the same appetite and that he isn’t thinking about eating you. 

He hums, a rusty sound that comes from his gut – telling you he likes seeing you eat – that it’s cute how you take such small bites – and the way your nose scrunches and your cheeks fill.

Sometimes he’ll tell you to hop on his lap – his massive warm paws placed on your haunches with large black claws gently denting the plush flesh found there, encouraging you as you ease up and down the great length that bulges from your belly. 

The size of it makes you pant.

You’re glad he’s happy having you at the end of the day – after you’ve been loosened up by the others. You fear he’d split you in two if otherwise.

The owner collects you before bedtime after everyone’s had their share – clips a leash onto your collar, and leads you to the bathroom – crawling on all four like an actual animal. You’ll often collapse halfway there, but he doesn’t mind scooping you up to carry you instead – always with a few patronizing words leaving him while mollycoddling you, almost speaking baby to you, telling you how proud he is of how domesticated you’ve become.

There’s always a bath waiting for you – a gift for being such a good little pet, he says. 

It reminds you of when you were first brought here, as he washes you with his own hands – rubbing the filth of spit, cum, and sweat from your sore limbs, messaging your flesh into nice limber softness again.

He’s always mumbling about human matters under his breath – money, business, estate – ruffling your hair when you give him a blank stare. Apologizing while saying he won’t trouble your pretty head with such complicated topics.

All you have to worry about is being his stress-relief – something clueless and dumb and dependent on him. You realize that without him needing to say it. It’s communicated through all the other things he says anyway.

He’s always whispering in your ear before bed – sweet nothings about what a good bunny you are – how you’re the cutest, softest, sweetest little thing in the entire world – telling you how much he loves you and how happy he is that you’re finally settling in – how you’ve become the most precious little housebroken pet for him.

It feels different when he touches you. The other hybrids make you feel small, but there’s a familiarity with them – something about being hunted fairly and squarely, like out in the wild. 

With the owner, you’re reminded you’re a pet eating out of his palm – something tame warming his bed at night with your leash tied to the bed frame.

He doesn’t fuck you with the same intent as the others do – there’s no rut behind his cold movements. It’s not mating or breeding. It’s something else you can’t put your finger on. Something human. Something alien to you.

Something in the way he has his hand fisting your leash as he sinks inside your heat – something in how he babies you, calls you cute when you shake and cum around his cock like you can’t control yourself.

It all makes you feel like some mindless animal.

Impulsive and primitive in comparison to him and his calculated thrusts and how he only cums inside you after you’ve all but begged him to breed you.

♡ part 1

Owner: ♡ BNHA - Aizawa, AFO ♡ JJK - Nanami, Kenjaku ♡ HQ - Ukai Hyena: ♡ BNHA- Shigaraki ♡ JJK- Mahito ♡ HQ - Tendou Wolf: ♡ BNHA - Bakugou, Dabi ♡ JJK- Sukuna, Naoya ♡ HQ - Sakusa Fox: ♡ BNHA - Denki, Kirishima, Deku, Amajiki ♡ JJK- Yuji, Yuuta, Choso ♡ HQ - Hinata, Nishinoya Leopard & Panther: ♡ BNHA - Denki & Shinso, Dabi & Hawks ♡ JJK - Geto & Gojo ♡ HQ - Miya twins, Oikawa & Kageyama, Kuro & Kenma Bear: ♡ BNHA - Enji, Aizawa, All Might, Mirio ♡ JJK- Toji, Nanami, Higuruma ♡ HQ - Daichi, Ushijima

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[forever-rogue]

Your fics kill me and bring me back to life queen! Requesting Joel and fem!reader almost dying from a clicker attack; Joel and her end up getting blood stained, give each other a bath in the same tub, and talk about what’s to come.

AN | This concept is both so sad but so soft ❤️

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language

Word Count | 1.9k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Both you and Joel were covered in blood, guts, and bits of brain. 

You’d been doing your best not to cry, trying to remain somewhat composed but it was hard. The tears were welling up in your eyes but none of them had managed to roll down your cheeks just yet. You were fighting them back; you knew that once the tears started it would open the floodgates and all the pent up emotions would come right out. 

Joel, meanwhile, looked almost…fine. Not fine, but not like you, ready to fall apart at any moment. You supposed that he was more used to it, the violence and gore, while you were still fairly…unfamiliar. Admittedly, you had very little ‘real’ world experience compared to Joel. You knew that one day, you’d probably come across the infected, but you hadn’t expected that it would come close to costing you your life. 

Your partner had been all but silent as he sprang into action to help save you while you panicked, screamed, and cried, probably attracting almost everything around you. Joel had remained the image of cool and collected as he took them all down to make sure you were safe. 

Once you were safe and accounted for, he’d hauled you to your feet and started making his way back home, keeping you close behind. Neither of you spoke a word, the silence loud enough to speak volumes. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

By the time you got back to the home you shared with Joel, you felt like you were on the verge of a mental breakdown. You closed the door behind the two of you, before leaving against it and sliding to the floor, in a small heap of sobs. You weren’t able to contain the emotions any longer and they all spilled out at once. You didn’t even care that you were dirty and smelly, you just couldn’t be bothered to keep going at that moment. 

Joel had already started making his way upstairs but stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he heard your first sob. He turned back around and quickly made his way over to you, dropping to his knees right to see what was going on.

“Hey,” he whispered softly, reaching for your face and gently taking it in his hands. He hated to see you crying, especially right now, when you had just had a near death experience. Joel brushed your tears away, trying to hide his frown when he noticed all the grime and blood still sticking to your skin. He wished you hadn’t had to experience such a thing; he’d tried to protect but failed. He could have, should have, done more, “baby, you’re alright. It’s okay, I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

You managed a small nod, your lip trembling as a few more tears ran down your cheeks. Joel gently shushed you before pulling you into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around you. With the little energy and strength you had remaining, you hugged him back, burying your face into his chest. He held you for a while, letting you get out your tears, and occasionally offering you a few gentle words of reassurance. When you felt like you were all dried up and your throat was raw, you pulled back and looked at him with puffy, red eyes and a forlorn expression on your face. 

“You’re going to be okay,” he promised, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I swear it.”

“Joel,” you managed to choke out his name, “I…today...it was horrible.”

“I know,” he brushed his knuckles along your cheek, his heart hurting for what you had just been through. He’d gone through it enough times himself and had gotten to the point where he had become almost numb to it all. It was a horrible thing really, to become so desensitized to actions that had once been considered carnage. He was silent for a few moments, unsure of what to say. There wasn’t much to say and he couldn’t just turn back time, “it becomes easier over time, but I don’t want it to become easier for you. I don’t want you to have to go through that again.”

“But,” you looked at him with wide eyes as you grabbed his hands and held them tightly in yours. You’d been so caught up in your own woes that you hadn’t even considered how Joel could have been feeling, “are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he offered you a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, that didn’t quite feel genuine, “I’m alright.”

“Are you?” your question came softly, whispered just loud enough for him to hear. He paused for a moment before hanging his head and giving it a gentle shake. You breathed in softly and exhaled through your nose before wrapping your arms around his neck and giving him a tight hug, squeezing him with everything you had, “I love you.”

“I love you,” he murmured softly as he buried himself in you, breathing in your soft scent and allowing it to wash over him.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

After a short while, you slowly untangled yourselves before making your way upstairs to the bathroom. You were almost desperate to get the dirt and grime and whatever else was on your body so you could feel like a human again. 

When you got upstairs and into the bathroom, Joel immediately turned on the shower, getting it just as warm as you liked. He turned to you, slowly and reverently starting to peel off your clothes. You lifted your arms as so he could remove your shirt, a small sound escaping your lips as the cloth stuck to a few of the superficial wounds you’d managed to obtain. It already felt a million times better just to be free of your shirt, which was quickly followed by your bra. 

Joel’s touch was gentle as he undid the button of your jeans before helping you to step out of them and kicking them to the side to get them as far away as possible. Your underwear was next and you left standing there naked. It didn’t matter though; just shedding the layers allowed you to feel a million times better.

You wiped some of the grim from your face before motioning for Joel to step closer to you. He did so, his face becoming more gentle as he watched you. You reached for the hem of his henley, slowly pulling it over his head and tossing it into the pile of your clothes. Your lips pulled into a small frown when you realized that his ribs and shoulder were already starting to bruise. You trailed your fingers softly along his skin, tutting under your breath.

“It doesn’t hurt that bad,” he insisted, which you knew was only for your benefit, “nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” you insisted, reaching for his belt buckle and slowly undoing it before and tugging his jeans down his legs. Joel pulled down his boxers before kicking it all away, “I already feel better. Just having the gross clothes gone.”

He made a small sound in response before pulling the shower curtain back so you could get inside and under the warmth of water. You let out an audible sigh at the feeling of the warm water cascading all over your skin. Joel stepped in after you, shoulders sagging with relief that the day was over and that you were both home safe. 

“C’mere,” he grabbed your shoulders and tenderly traded places with you. He grabbed the shampoo bottle, pouring some into his hand before moving to wash your hair. You tried to ignore the water that was running off your bottles and red swirls that ran down the drain. It was over and you were okay. Joel started to lather the shampoo into your hair, massaging your scalp just how he knew you loved. You had to work to keep in the moan that threatened to spill out of your mouth at the feeling. 

He worked in silence for a while as you tried to relax and forget about the horrors of the day. It was when he was about halfway through conditioning your hair, you realized that tears had run down your face. When you stepped under the water to rinse your hair, Joel wiped away your tears, which managed to bring the smallest smile to your face. 

Once your hair was washed, you went to reach for the bar of soap but Joel beat you to it, working quickly to get your body clean and wash away the rest of dirt and grime that had been left on your body.

“Thank you,” you whispered softly, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a tight hug. The two of you stayed that way for a while, until you felt yourself start to get pruney, “come on, handsome. It’s my turn to get you all clean.”

Joel knew better than to argue with you, and admittedly loved getting his hair washed just as much as you did. You took your time to make sure he was just as clean as you were, pressing gentle kisses to his shoulders and neck. At one point, he took your face in his hands and kissed you until you were breathless. You let him hold you until the water ran cold and both of you were ready to get into pajamas and get into bed. 

Once you got out of the shower and dried off, you stole a shirt and a pair of boxers from Joel and slipped into them before getting into bed for some much needed rest. Joel followed suit and quickly joined you in the bed, letting out a groan at the comfort of being clean and in bed with you. 

He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into his warm frame so he was your big spoon.  You put your hand on top of his and offered it a gentle squeeze. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder before whispering in your ear, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you responded, “thank you for protecting me today. I don’t…I don’t know what I would have done without you today. I might be-”

“Shh,” he cut you off, “don’t say anything else. You don’t have to. We’re here now, safe.”

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat in an effort not to cry, “I’m glad for that.”

“Me too,” he promised, “me too.”

It wasn’t long after that until you both managed to fall asleep. 

[luvjunie]

— trust who?

pairing: e-42!miles x 1610!fem!reader

contains: angst, mentions of death, yandere?miles

summary: you were taken from him a year ago, and now it seems the universe has given him a chance to do things differently— and this time, he’s not letting you go. no matter what. wc: 1,648

a/n: i got a lil carried away w this one won’t lie, lol. i love this song, and i put a little twist on it to match the plot. song lyrics are in small, bold italics

🎧: Not You Too - drake (ft. chris brown)

“trust- trust who? trust me and i can set you free. left your man came straight to me you the real mvp, my love.“

dimmed hues of red lights spotted your vision as you came to, eyelids heavy as they peeled apart to reveal the room you assumed would be the setting of your demise. your head snapped up when you finally regained consciousness completely, fright-riddled eyes darting around to scout out an escape plan. but just as you went to move, you heard chains clink from above as your body swayed, and realized you couldn’t. you looked down to find your legs bound by rope, as well as your hands, as well as the rest of your body to a firm, stuffed sack.

feet dangling from the ground, you let your head fall back against the punching bag, defeated, and settled for your only remaining option. “help!” you yelled, voice rasped and weak. “help!” you tried again.

“don’t bother, can’t hear a thing down here.”

an artificial, robotic voice sounded from above, warranting your eyes to meet a masked man who resided on a high beam, crouched in place, watching you. how long had he been there?

he jumped down, catching himself and effortlessly hanging from one arm before his sneakers met the steel floor. they were untied, you noticed.

fear permeated your entire being as he strolled over to you, a semblance of uneasiness coursing through your veins, pumping into your blood and rendering your spine straight as the ominous figure stopped just in front of you.

“ple—please, i don’t know why i’m here,” the words tumbled out in a broken heap of suffocated, stifled sobs as tears welled in your eyes.

“shh, it’s okay,” he shushed you, a hand reaching out to gently pinch your chin, lifting your head back up after it’d fallen. his touch was delicate, like he was scared he’d break you.

“i’m not gonna hurt you, mi vida. i’d never hurt you… you know that.” the voice distorter cut out, your breath catching in your throat and your eyes fluttering over every inch of this strange mask. it reminded you of a ventilation mask you’d seen in miles’ room once, a mask used to protect your lungs from the fumes of spray paint.

as if your mind were working against you, you found yourself… calmer than you were just a few seconds ago, and even more confused. why did the voice sound so familiar?

something wasn’t right.

“who— who are you?” you gulped.

“you don’t remember me?” the shield over his face pulled back, the quiet sound of mechanical whirring as it revealed his face drowned out by the heavy thrumming of your heart in your ear drums.

here stood your boyfriend in front of you, the same features, but… different. his entire demeanor had shifted since you had last seen him just prior to whatever time it was now, to something sinister. his hair was longer, pulled back and braided. an accent, almost resemblant of his mother’s lingered on the tip of his tongue, dripping within the words he spoke. his face was harder, etched and carved like the weight of the world had chipped at it piece by piece, only to settle on his shoulders, leaving him with no time for himself.

this couldn’t be right.

“miles?” you choked out, mouth gaping to find your voice. “w-why… what am I—you’re, you… but different? what is this? where am i?”

a puff of air shot through his nostrils, his best effort at a laugh as a small, smile lifted the corner of his lips, braids gliding over his shoulders when his head tilted to the side.

“you came back to me, mi amor. and god…you’re even more beautiful than i remembered.” he breathed, eyes flickering with sorrow for just a moment as they studied your face, a moment that was almost too brief for you to catch.

when he’d encountered you and his counterpart on the roof with his uncle, he swore his prayers had been answered. somehow, someway you’d been brought back to him— the pain of witnessing the bullet that pierced through your chest that fateful night just a year ago drifted from his mind, and replaced itself with the all consuming, peaceful, sleeping image of you the minute he’d picked you up and cradled you in his arms. it pained him to inject you with the needle to sedate you, but he had no other choice, he could never truly hurt you. no, he would never do that.

“i missed you so much.”

“first time in a long time hurtin' deeply inside”

the hand sporting his mechanical gauntlet lifted towards you, fingers bending so the claws wouldn’t scrape your skin as he let the cold metal brush against the swell of your cheek. the sound of the steel joints ticking made you flinch, chest stuttering for breaths you couldn’t keep within your overworked lungs as you turned away from him.

you looked at him with so much fear in your eyes, when all he’s ever wanted to do was keep you safe, to protect you, to make you feel comforted and secure. and he failed at that before, he knows that, but he’s ready this time. he’d been given a second chance, and he’d be damned if he let you slip through his fingers again.

“it’s me, hermosa… it’s okay, you know me. just trust me, and i can set you free, and then we can be together. just like old times.” his brows furrowed, his tone one of sincerity as he assured you, but it did nothing for your racing heart.

“trust—“ you sputtered, voice wavering when you spoke. “trust who? you? how can i when you have me tied up like this?!” you balked, your bewilderment such a stark contrast from his bleak, seemingly unmoving disposition.

“yeah… i’m real sorry ‘bout that. uncle aaron made me, so i tried not to make ‘em too tight. you know something like this would never, ever be my idea.”

you shook your head, was this some kind of sick joke? why wasn’t he understanding a single word that was coming from your mouth?

you grew frustrated, time was not on your side, and honestly you were getting tired of this game.

“i don’t know anything about you, i don’t even know who you are. you might have his face, and—and his body,” you looked him up and down. “but you… you are not my miles.”

he felt a pang in his chest, the words you uttered, the way you said ‘my miles’, as if he wasn’t right here, as if he wasn’t right in front of you. the version of himself he’d buried in the ground with you just last year wanted to jump out and yell at you, plead with you, anything to make you see he could be just like your miles, because he was your miles.

“oh,” he pulled the skin of his cheek between his teeth as he turned away with an agitated nod, extending his arm out to point towards your miles, who was still unconscious, chin dropped to his chest as he hung from another punching bag.

“him?” his voice raised in volume and broke apart with desperation, a humorless chuckle unintentionally escaping his trembling lips. “what’s the difference? huh? tell me.” he demanded, nostrils flaring as he tried to maintain his composure, staring deep into the eyes of the girl who would’ve burned the whole world down with him if he asked. the girl who was in his grasp, right in this moment, yet still so far from his reach— reserved for the one who had everything that belonged to him.

your head whipped to where he pointed, and the moment your eyes landed on your boyfriend your blood ran cold, a pained gasp rippling your chest. “miles! oh god, please!” you called out for him as you struggled against your restraints, his counterpart interrupting you by blocking your line of your view with his body.

“cálmate,” he hummed, “he’s fine, just unconscious. i’m not cruel. is that how you remember me, mamí?” he questioned, voice bleeding with hurt.

your gaze drifted over to your miles again, hope swelling within you when you heard him groan.

“no, no, princesa. don’t look at him, look at me.” he urged.

he didn’t understand. you always used to say you would love him in every universe, that you’d find him in every lifetime, what happened to that?

“please, we need to get home, if we don’t… he won’t be able to save his father, he—he’ll die. you have to understand.” you pleaded, the tears finally bubbling over your waterline, streamlining down your cheeks.

“you are home! it’s me, mi amor, i’m right here. what about everything we went through?” he asked tenderly, voice full of hurt and eyes still soaking in the slight difference in your features. he was too distracted by the fact that the girl he thought he’d never see again, was right here in front of him to even try and comprehend what you were trying to say. “please, don’t cry. you know i hate seeing you cry.”

nothing else seemed to be working, so you settled for empathizing with him. he was still miles, after all, different universe or not, he was still the same person deep down. and from the way he was looking at you, love flowing from the eyes that held so much anguish within them, you knew some version of you had loved him, too. in the same way you loved your own.

“look, i’m sure i-“ you stopped to correct yourself, “she, loved you, but i’m not her. i’m not from here, and i’m sorry she’s gone, and i’m sorry you have to live with this pain, but, please… you have to let me go.” your tone was forbearing, words teetering off into a hushed plea, your lingering apprehension threatening to tear through the seam of your heartfelt spiel.

“let you go?”

you nodded tentatively.

he moved closer to you, to unbound you from this elevated prison, you assumed. because maybe, just maybe you’d managed to get through to him.

but this wasn’t your universe, and this… this was not your miles.

for the first time in your entirety of knowing miles morales, you felt your heart stop— and not in the way that brought a flurry of warmed, passioned butterflies to flutter within you— but in a way that invited his words to settle like ice in your bones, allowed panic and dread to inhabit your senses, clutching you in a selfish grasp of resentment that had no intentions of letting you go— you realized, as this time, his gloveless hand swiped away yet another tear you hadn’t even noticed you’d shed.

“why would i do that?”

“I've given you enough time. hurtin' deeply inside.“

- please do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to other platforms!

likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated 💗

©luvjunie 2023

[rainylana]

“My pussy.”

Eddie Munson x female reader

warnings: language, smut, fingering, rough smut, dom!eddie, use of a vibrator, spanking.

summary: eddie finds your vibrator in the bathroom.

to the anonymous user, thank you for requesting!

You were sitting in front of the tv, crisscross on the floor as the Andy Griffith show played in front of you. You were clad in your socked feet and matching pajamas, putting polaroids in your album. It was a calm night, a sweet, romantic one you and Eddie were spending together, just a relaxing night in.

“Hey, babe!” Eddie called from the bathroom. “Come take a look at this! You’ll never believe what I found!”

You grimaced. “In the bathroom? Gross, Eddie! I’ll wait out here, thanks so much.” You chuckled, shaking your head at him.

The sound of a high pitched whirring flooded your ears, and immediately, heat went to your face. You pounced up. “No, no, no, no, no!” You screeched and screamed, running to the bathroom.

You found Eddie, leaned up against the sink and smirking, looking proud and cocky as ever. His hand propped him up against the sink, the other swung your pink vibrator side to side like he was trying to hypnotize someone.

You screamed. “Eddie!” You quickly leapt for it, but he stood tall and held it above your head.

“I don’t think so!” He tsked. “Didn’t know you had one of these laying around. Am I not satisfying you?” His eyes darkened playfully, making you roll your eyes.

“Oh, please, Eddie, drop it.” You jumped to reach it. “Please, forget you- Jesus, you’re tall!”

He scoffed and handed it to you, buzzing still loud and when you got it, you quickly switched it off, face burning and hands shaking from embarrassment. “Sorry you had to see that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He bounced off the sink to follow you into your bedroom. “We could have had some fun!”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged your shoulders. “I guess it’s just private, I suppose.”

Eddie smirked, taking a long stride over to you. He put his hands on your shoulders. “Well, my dear, I think I’ve been missing out. What do you say we add a little something new to the mix?” He kept his eyes on you, slowly walking you backwards to your shared bed.

You wiggled your brows and hummed, matching his lips in a hot kiss. You both fell to the bed in a heap, clothes flinging off to the floor one by one. You squeaked when he gripped your hips and spun you around, putting you face first into the mattress. He grabbed you and lifted your hips up to meet his face. She smirked, spitting in his fingers and rubbing them up your slick cunt. You gasped, reaching out to grab a pillow.

“Uh, uh.” He smacked your ass, making you squeal. “Keep your hands still.”

He pushed into your pussy, standing behind you at the foot of the bed. You moaned pathetically, drooling into the pillow so quickly it barely had even started. That’s the way sex was with Eddie. He knew you so well, knew all the right buttons to push.

You couldn’t help but blush when the sound of your vibrator turned on, and when it pushed at your clit, body bent over and ass up, you sobbed, a tear pushing past your lids. Eddie knew how stimulated you got and how quickly you did so. “Fuck,” You cried. “Oh, let me me feel you, please!”

“No.” He turned up the speed of the toy, smacking your ass with his free hand. “You wanna play with yourself without me? Then you’ll take your punishment and enjoy it.”

He spanked you again and again from cheek to cheek, making you jump out of your place and yelp from the sting of his hand.

“It’s mine.” He sneered. “My pussy.”

“I’m sorry!” You sobbed. “Just fuck me please!”

He slipped the vibrator into your cunt, the pink tip disappearing inside of you. He thrusted it in and out of you quickly, smacking your ass here and there until you were near purple with bruises. You saw stars as you came, panting heavily and shakily.

When you collapsed. He stood there with a dumb, goofy grin on his face. “See? Fun, right?”

[princesssmars]

making abby squirt with the nails she just paid for…nsfw.

you had seen the cutest nail set one of your friends got on her instant story, and after complimenting her and getting the techs account you couldn’t stop your eyes from widening a little at the prices.

but you only get time to pout about it for a few minutes before abby is prodding you about what’s wrong, scoffing at your complaint about the expensive service and telling you that she’ll ’handle it’.

you almost thought she was kidding until she urged you to book the appointment, even driving you to the location and putting the cash in your hand with a kiss.

so what better way to admire your new nails and repay the favor to abby then to make her go crazy with pleasure beneath you?

well, technically in front of you, trapped between your legs as the both of you face your floor length mirror. convincing her to not only completely bottom for a night but to also use a mirror was a challenge, but with some pleading and batted eyelashes she gave in.

it’s funny to think about, how she tried to be so tough and act like she she didn’t want to be on the bottom like she wasn’t currently moaning and twitching like her life depended on it. you bring up a hand that was grasping her large thigh up to her breast, lightly pinching her left nipple and giggling at the broken sob that leaves her lips.

“please, please, ‘s too much.” her begging is raspy, throat strained by the constant use of her voice. her hands are tied up behind her back and you can feel her trying to free them by the jabbing of her shoulders into yours.

“aww, poor baby.” you coo, pressing sweet kisses to the side of her cheek and neck, heart warming when she pushes her head back onto your shoulder for more affection.

“you’ve only had three, and you always give me at least five. what’s wrong, can dish it but can’t take it?”

she lets out a groan as you simultaneously bite her neck while moving your right hand back down to her pussy, not bothering with teasing her further and instantly going to rub over her clit until she’s the one biting into your neck, hips jerking and mumbling words you can’t make out other than that she’s so close, she’s so god damn close-

you have to bite your lip to keep from squealing as a steady stream of liquid ejects from her, squirting onto the sheets, the floor, even the fucking mirror, giving you the perfect view of the sight of her cumming with your hand still rubbing between her legs, too weak to close her legs to stop you.

all too soon her body calms down, sweaty heap of muscles resting into your chest as her chest rises and falls while she tries to catch her breath. her eyes are closed while she tries to bring herself back, only opening when she hears the telltale sign of you sucking your fingers, hoping it doesn’t show on her face that the heat is already growing again between her thighs.

“can i pay for your nails every time if you do this?”

“of course you can, baby.”

“great. really great. geez, what’ll happen if i pay for your hair appointment next?”

“i’m getting you pregnant, is what.”

“wait, what?”

sorry i thought the ending was funny. idk why i’m writing so much bottom abby am i giving fake pillow princess. ok bye.

[tradgedyinwaves]

First Choice - Part 9

Part nine of this Poly141! x fat!reader tw: anxiety, panic attack, angst

You could feel the first tickles of a panic attack, heart rate rising, breathing getting a little more difficult and the tell tale pain in your chest like it’s caving in on itself. You knew this gala was going to be a bad idea. 

Snatching another glass from a passing tray, you knocked back the entire thing and looked for your boss. You weren’t getting paid for this and it wasn’t worth the pain in your feet or the way your chest was tightening further. Finding him, you quickly informed him you were leaving and began stumbling towards the door.

Digging through your bag, you yanked out your phone and began ordering an Uber, not looking where you’re going. It’s this trek between your boss and the door where they see you. Or rather, you smacked right into Johnny’s chest, distracted by your phone. 

When you looked up, your eyes narrowed and you dodged around him, beelining for the door. The cool breeze that wafted over your face as you stepped outside helped soothe your overrun nerves, breathing it in and letting it take the rest of the anxiety away. Of course, that didn’t last long when Johnny was calling your name just as your ride pulled up. 

Leaning through the passenger window, you confirmed the ride and the driver before stepping back to get in the back seat. With the door open and a foot inside, Johnny finally caught up to you, gripping the frame of the door. 

“Please, bonnie. We can’t leave, but let us explain later, please,” he pleaded with you and you almost fell into the sea of blue staring at you. “It’s fine, Johnny. Go have fun with your date. I’m sure she’s missing you.” At that, you slipped into the car and tugged the door shut, leaving Johnny standing on the sidewalk with a broken look on his face. 

You weren’t sure why you thought they’d be any different than the rest, you thought to yourself as you fought the urge to sob in this random person’s back seat. Luckily for you, the event had been held close to your home so only ten minutes later you were unlocking your door and bolting all of the locks. 

You all but tore the dress from your body, leaving it in a heap as you stripped off the spanx and strapless bra you’d had to get specifically for said dress. You left all discarded on the floor as you started to turn the tub on for a bath, abandoning the idea when memories of spending time with Kyle flashed through your head. A hot shower it was then as you turned it on and stepped in, washing the hairspray away and the perfume you’d spritzed on your body. 

Hours later, a knock rattled you from your cozy place on the couch. Standing from your nest of blankets and pillows, neck of a bottle of wine still in your hand as you cracked the door open, chains crossing the space.

On the other side stood all four of them, still donning their suits as Price stepped up, the default spokesperson for the team. “Please let us explain.” You wanted to. Really. But you were so tired of being thrown around and used and forgotten. Not this time. “No. It’s-It’s okay, really. I hope you guys have a good life,” you murmured back before shutting the door and locking it again. 

Pressing your back to the door, you took a deep breath before letting the tears flow again. How stupid could I have been? Four gorgeous men wanting anything to do with me? It’s a fucking fantasy. Too good to be true. 

Or was it?

The muse is flowing today, I guess. Have another part! Enjoy!

<- Part 8 Part 10 ->

[sh1-n0bu]

♡︎ 𝙗𝙚𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙠’𝙨 𝙙𝙤𝙤𝙧 ♡︎

anon asked: Soo I saw you take requests even for npc's so I figured I'd shoot my shot or whatever though I know you have a lot of asks so if this stresses you out don't worry about it but the fatui pyro agents? The fucker with the fire knives? Yeah that bitch? I firmly belive someone should fuck him till he crys and begs to cum

characters: sub!fatui agent x nb!dom!reader

warnings: overstimulation, orgasm denial, begging, dacryphillia, “master” kink, hair pulling, exhibitionism, degrading, size kink, dumbification, creampie, cock can be interpreted as a strap on!

notes: nobu back in her horny era! on today’s post we have, fucking an npc stupid! repost bc tumblr can’t win against me

how did it come to this? with the strong, reliable, capable agent being railed stupid as his supposed next target keeps his salacious sobs and cries of pleasure silent with their bigger hand, the other holding his leg up. pushing it up further and further into an impossibly hard angle as he claws at the doors of northland bank.

a mewl slips out of his mouth as his target slips their hand off of their mouth, instead opting to keep him up by fisting at his short, grey locks. the tears that were welling in his eyes starts to fall as a drool slips from his lips and down to the floor. legs shaking as his hips weakly, pathetically twitched back to meet up with your thrusts.

“maah-! master! please!! not-noT HEREE MNGGH!♡︎♡︎” biting down on his already bruised and bleeding lips, the agent lets out another sob as he felt his orgasm approaching.

everything felt too much but so little at the same time. he wanted more. more of your cock, more of your cum, more more more!!

the fatuus felt your cock split him open. veiny, long girth breaking him apart as the tip harshly kissed his prostate over and over again. archons, he didn’t even know something like that existed until you forcibly pushed him inside one of the empty rooms of his workplace and had your way with him.

he wanted it, he craved it - no. he needed it.

needed to be fucked by you until his mind breaks, leaving behind nothing but the delicious feeling of your strap forcing him open over and over.

needed to hear you call him degrading names as tears fall from his eyes. sobbing and keening loudly, unable to form any sentences. not even a single plea to save himself and his pride.

needed to trash around as you placed a hand over the bump on his stomach. pushing on the growing bulge of your cock and cum mixed together as he writhes against the wall, sliding down more and more as your large hands on his waist leaves bruises.

needed it as you forced him not to cum again as the strap pours another large amount of cum into his gaping hole. almost falling down to the floor if it wasn’t for your strong arms keeping him up.

needed to beg. whine, wail, keen as you wrap a hand around the angry tip of his cock, placing your thumb over his dripping slit as he begged you in a heap of mess. trying to get the blinding feeling of finally cumming.

“mas-! master!! maste-anngh haah mmph♡︎♡︎!! please? pleasepleasepleaseplease-♡︎♡︎!!” another orgasm denial as you force his smaller body flush against the wall while still continuing to pound into his hole.

the fatuus’ leg shook horribly, standing on his tiptoes as you forced his walls to get used to your size, to remember your shape, to carve every little detail into his mind, into his body. into his prostate.

“you’re not gonna cum haah fuck- until i allow you to. got it, slut?” whispering in a hoarse voice next to his ear, you continued to pound into his sensitive spots. not even caring that the amount of cum you forced him to take dripping down his shaking thighs. some even dripping down to the floor, mixing with his tears and drool.

“yes-! yes master! master! master! my master♡︎♡︎♡︎!!” drunkenly blabbering about some random gibberish, the agent let out another whine as your seeds filled him up again. the skin of his stomach stretching more and more as if his body craved your cum.

finally feeling satisfied with how much you filled him up, you stood up straight to look at the beautiful art you created out of him.

trembling body flush against the wall as his hands desperately clawed at the stone, legs barely holding himself up only thanks to your help. large amount of cum gushing and slipping out from around your strap, dripping down, staining the perfect, wooden floor of the bank.

what a perfect toy you found for yourself.

slipping yourself out, you ignored his babbles about sex drunken shit before pulling out a toy from your bag - a butplug.

fingering the cum back into his fluttering hole, you plugged him close with the toy. a lewd shlick! coming out followed by the agent’s sobs.

“keep them all inside until our next meeting okay, my slut?” giving a warning squeeze to his still shaking thighs, a cruel grin spread across your face as he nodded dumbly.

maybe you should do this to him more often.

[skipppppy]

I still think the most tragic part about Betty’s character is she might’ve actually been able to save Simon and stay together if she hadn’t jumped into the future. We know that he only became the Ice King because he kept wearing the crown despite what it was doing to him. And for a good chunk of time he was so devastated about losing her that he didn’t value his own life enough to resist putting it on again. When PB and Marceline go into the labyrinth they learn that some people (like Santa) had only put on the crown once, gone a little crazy, but still retained most of their sanity and lived relatively normal lives. Even after a few years of wearing the Crown (in Simon and Marcy), he’s still mostly there, and only goes crazy when he puts it on. It STILL takes another 4-5 years of him wearing it for him to decide he’s too far gone to be around Marceline without hurting her. If Betty had stayed she might’ve convinced him to get rid of the crown after he wore it the first time and prevented any further suffering- he would’ve lived with the condition in its most manageable form. They could’ve been okay. They could’ve been happy. Her love for him, her need to save him might’ve been the very thing that ruined him in the first place.

But then they might’ve just died in the Mushroom war if that happened. Without his Ice Powers he wouldn’t have been able to protect young Marcy or himself. None of them would have made it. Which presents a really fucked up paradox. They all survived in the current canon, but at the worst possible price. I’m SO excited to see what Fionna and Cake does with their characters I just know it’s going to have me sobbing in a heap on the floor

[a-leg-without-fear]

Because of You (pt.1)🩸🌧️

angst angst angst angst angst this is only angst

Ship: Worst!Logan Howlett x Mutant!Fem!Reader 🩸

Rating: 16+

Wordcount: 4.3k

Warnings: angst, main character death, violence, blood, cursing, child endangerment, death of children, alcohol abuse, grief, gun violence, a little platonic fluff, depressive thoughts

Series: Because of You

The coppery scent of blood coated Logan’s entire world in red. Pierced his sinuses and left him reeling, dizzy and nauseous. It dug deep into his chest and made his heart hammer at his adamantium ribs. Thick ichor coated his arms to the elbow, stained his white tank top, dotted along his dark beard.

“L-Logan,” you spluttered, more blood leaking from your parted lips. Your yellow suit-adorned chest was riddled with smoking bullet holes. Blood leaked from the wounds and coated you in a waterfall of crimson. A pained wheeze rattled your throat, “Logan, please.”

“I got you, baby,” he whispered into your sweat-soaked hair. He held you close to his chest, unperturbed by the blood soaking into his clothes. One hand buried in your hair at the base of your neck, the other wrapped around your midsection. 

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fucking fair. When the humans did their attack on the mansion, you were the one to be targeted. Forget the rest of the X-Men, forget the professor, forget Wolverine. You, “Bleeder,” were the one that drew the humans’ ire.

Though you’d abandoned that moniker, and the life it meant, long ago, those fucking cowards targeted you all the same. Chased you through the mansion and shot you ‘till you’d stopped running. By the time Logan had caught up with them and killed every last one, it was too late. You were in a crumpled heap on the ground. Ribs broken, chest and stomach practically swiss fucking cheese, blood coating your entire body.

“Don-Don’t leave me,” you begged through gritted teeth. Blood steadily dripped from between your lips and down your chin. Trembling hands clutched at Logan’s shirt.

He shushed you, pressing a gentle kiss into your hairline, “I won’t. I promise. I’m not going anywhere.”

Shivers started to overtake your body. Tremors quaking your limbs and making your teeth chatter. Logan squeezed you tighter to his chest, tears pricking at his eyes.

Why? Why the fuck was it you, and not him? He could recover in no time from this, wounds mending themselves and making the bullets cascade from his chest to the floor. The balls of lead killing you would be nothing more than pinpricks to him.

All he could do was watch as life slowly drained from your broken body. Eyes darting between his hazel ones, chin coated in blood, fingers scrabbling at his shirt.

“I’ve got you, doll. I always do, don’t I?” he asked with a brief chuckle. Logan lifted a hand and brushed a stray hair away from your sunken face. It wouldn’t be long now. Before you breathed your last, before you would leave him. Grief tugged at Logan’s stomach.

“Yeah… Always, Lo,” you replied, a small smile stretching at the corners of your lips. Your fingers traced along his jaw, blood stained digits carding through his beard. Logan laced his hand in yours.

“I need you to stay with me. Can you do that?” he implored. Desperation clawed at his heart, anguish crawling up his throat and nearly choking him. He pressed a chaste kiss to your knuckles, “Stay with me, vampire.”

“I-I’m trying, Lo,” you said shakily. Another tremble coursed through your frail form. Logan adjusted his grip around your back so your head could rest on his shoulder. He traced soothing circles into the back of your hand.

“I know you are. You’re doing so good, doll,” he breathed, sobs wracking his chest. Hot tears spilled down his cheeks and dripped down onto you. 

A warm hand squeezed Logan’s shoulder. Palm larger than yours, fingers digging into the muscle, “Logan…”

Scott. It was Scott, voice laced with fucking pity. Logan bared his teeth and snarled at him.

“Back the fuck off!” he growled over his shoulder. The intrusive hand disappeared from Logan’s senses. He looked back down at you. Eyelids drooping, blood slowing in its rapid escape of your body, hand curled in his losing its grip.

“I love you,” you mumbled, words slurring into one another. Logan held your palm to his cheek.

“I… I love you too, doll. You stay with me, you hear?” he demanded through gulps of air. He tuned his keen senses in to hear your heartbeat. Slow, uneven, strained as it tried to pump life through you. Logan squeezed his eyes shut.

“Logan…” 

He opened his eyes just as yours started to close. The light behind your usual joyful gaze was snuffed. A final, rattled breath escaped your parted lips as your hand went limp in his. Your head lolled into the crook of his neck.

“Vampire? Hey, stay with me,” Logan begged, gently shaking your unresponsive shoulders. 

The air fell still around him. Usual hums of electrical appliances silenced, crickets chirping just outside ceased in their music, wind battering the windows eased in its barrage. 

Your eyes fell closed for the last time.

Anguish gripped Logan’s chest like never before. Cold, brutal jabs dug into his heart and choked the breath from his lungs. Tear-filled eyes raked across your lifeless body. A strained sob kicked out of Logan’s throat.

He buried his nose in your hair, desperate to fill the rapidly growing hole in his chest with your scent. Desperate to keep some piece of you with him. Desperate to cling to you for just a little longer.

“Logan. She’s gone,” Scott said from behind him. The accursed hand found its way to Logan’s shoulder again. Anger bubbled in his stomach like boiling lava. 

“Don’t say that,” Logan muttered, steam practically pouring from his ears. Your scent filled Logan’s mind. He squeezed you impossibly tighter, tears soaking your hair. You couldn’t be gone. He had you in his arms. You were here. Still warm, still smelling like you. As long as he held you, as long as he was with you, you weren’t gone.

Rage licked up Logan’s body like branding, blazing flames. Those fucking humans. They thought they could take you from him. Thought they could storm into the mansion and kill what’s most important to him. What kept him alive all these fucking years. Swirls of wrath and grief chased each other in his clouded mind.

“C’mon, bud. Let her go.”

Those humans will fucking pay for this. They’re going to pay for covering your scent with blood, for stealing the air from your lungs, for taking you from him. Logan will make sure every single fucking human pays.

For you.

~~~~

Your boots pounded into the blood-soaked grass as you raced over to them. Heart thumping in your ears, breath ragged as it coughed up your throat, clothes torn and bloodied from the fight that’d just ensued. Body after body flew by as you sprinted. Blood pooled in thick puddles in the dry dirt.

“Logan!” you screamed across the clearing. You had to get to him. You needed to.

X24 had Logan’s tank-top gripped in its bloodied fist. Logan’s boots dragged across the grass as his clone hauled him over to a dead tree. Sharp roots pierced the air and dug deep into the mud. Pained grunts fell from Logan’s chapped lips, hands scrabbling at X24’s vice.

Time seemed to slow as the clone hefted Logan’s body into the air. Raising your lover off the ground and above the tree. Dread filled your stomach like a lead ball. 

Logan’s yell of pain echoed around you as a large root stabbed through his abdomen. A wooden spear jutting from his bloodstained tank-top, fresh ichor leaking from the sizable wound.

Fury like you’d never felt flooded your mind like oil in water. Clouding all reason, choking your thoughts and leaving a flaming rage to fuel you. Blood seeped into your eyes as you ran. 

Your consciousness slipped beneath the clone’s form. Tracing his veins and the chemicals powering his actions in a split second. You followed the labyrinth of his body until you reached his brain. Pure, unadulterated hate filled your lungs as you destroyed his hypothalamus. 

The clone remained standing. It shook its head, only swaying slightly, before it reared back and stabbed its claws into Logan’s chest.

“No!” you shouted, feet so fucking close to carrying you to the pair. You could barely breathe. All you were was fury, unbridled rage filling your lungs like black smoke. You focused on the clone again.

Just as you crushed its entire brain with a thought, its head exploded from a gunshot to your left. You glanced over, seeing Laura holding a pistol in her hands, then focused back on Logan as you finally reached him. The clone collapsed, dead, next to your feet.

“Logan,” you said. He groaned beneath you, wide, hazel eyes looking at you in pain. Each grunt that left his mouth gurgled harshly. The red clouding your eyes dissolved as you assessed his situation.

Pale wood protruded from the right side of his ribs, a single spear piercing his abdomen and making spurts of thick blood course from the wound. Numerous stab wounds and bullet holes coated his body. His once white tank-top was quickly becoming red. Logan’s aged face was screwed up in agony, eyes rolled back in his head and shaking hands reaching out to you.

Quick footsteps circled around you until Laura stood on the other side of Logan. Her jean jacket and unicorn t-shirt were just as torn and bloodstained as your own clothes. Quiet mumbles of “no, no, no,” whispered from the desperate frown on her young face.

“Cut the tree,” you instructed as grief bubbled up your throat. You needed to stay strong. If not for Logan’s sake, then for his daughter’s. You swallowed down the tears threatening to overtake your vision.

Both Laura and Logan yelled as she used her claws to cut at the root. You squeezed Logan’s hand in yours.

“Hey, Lo, look at me,” you said, using your free hand to tilt his face towards yours. His brows furrowed as he met your gaze. Another chop, another pained yell. You ran your fingers through his gray beard, “Keep your eyes on me. I’ve got you.”

One last swing of Laura’s claws and the root broke free. Logan squeezed his eyes shut as he grunted. You quickly looped your arms under his shoulders and lowered him to the ground as gently as you could. Rough, agonized groans filled your ear.

Laura gripped at your jacket as sobs wracked her chest. She looked between the root speared through Logan’s midriff and his bloodshot eyes. You set Logan down on the wet grass beneath the dead tree. He looked up at you, clutching at both you and Laura.

“Take the kids, and run,” he breathed through strained gasps. An immediate “no,” came from Laura as she twisted her fists in both your jacket and Logan’s tank-top. He swallowed thickly, “Run. They’ll keep coming and coming.”

“We’re not leaving you,” you replied sternly. You wiped a bead of sweat off his wrinkled brow.

Logan nodded slightly, the action making him screw his eyes shut, then he turned his head to look at his daughter.

“Listen, you don’t have to fight anymore,” he said, taking Laura’s hand in his. She ran her fingers through his gray hair. Logan breathed heavily for a few heavy moments, then whispered, “Don’t be what they made you.”

Sorrow leaked from your eyes as you wrapped an arm around Laura’s shoulder, keeping your other hand against Logan’s chin. Your entire world, your lover and his daughter, clutched in your arms. You blinked your tears away.

“I’ll watch over her, Lo. I swear,” you solemnly promised. Logan’s eyes fell closed, a relieved smile spreading over his chapped lips. You pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of his head, “I’ll take care of her.”

“Laura… Laura,” he muttered like a prayer. His eyes wrinkled in the corners as he looked between you and her. Laura sniffled, cradling Logan’s hand to her chest like a precious treasure.

“Daddy,” she murmured softly. You ran your thumb along Logan’s cheek, smoothing the digit into his leathery skin.

“Go ahead, Lo. You can rest now,” you said, his eyes meeting yours one last time. You gave him a small, reassuring smile, trails of tears streaming down your face. He breathed a rattled sigh. Serene melancholy lingered over the three of you like a dark rain cloud.

Logan’s fading gaze landed back on Laura. Immortal experiments, bonded in both blood and trauma, looking at each other in understanding. In love. His grip on both you and Laura loosened.

“So… So, this is what it feels like,” Logan uttered quietly. 

“No!” Laura cried, clutching his hand bruisingly tight. You pulled her into your side while whispering reassurance into her hair.

Logan’s smile faded, darkening eyes trained on you and Laura, as he breathed his last. Hazel eyes staring blankly at the two things that mattered most.

You choked back a sob as you enveloped Laura in a tight embrace. She cried against your chest, gasps of “daddy, daddy, no,” spilling from her and fueling the despair that slinked up your throat. You did your best to bite back your emotions. This wasn’t about you. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay,” you said, rocking her back and forth. 

As you glanced back at your lover, his aged face finally relaxed, your promise filled your mind like a budding flower. Laura would never face the challenges you and Logan had. She would never starve, or suffer, or feel alone. She would wake every morning to a loving mother, would spend her days at your side, and would go to sleep knowing she’s loved.

For him.

~~~~

Logan grunted as the toe of his boot caught on a stray branch. His ankle twisted, drunken body falling like a cut tree, and collided with the dew-kissed grass. The green blades dug into his face and tickled his nose. His head swam as he screwed his eyes shut.

Another day gone by. Another night spent drinking his feelings away. Another minute without you.

He’d spent the day at The Last Drop, a greasy bar ten minutes from the mansion. Ass planted in a bar stool, downing shot after whiskey-filled shot, mind drowned under three bottles worth of alcohol. It had taken the owner eight hours to kick Logan out. By that time, the Wolverine was thoroughly shit-faced.

Pathetic.

He was pathetic.

What right did he have to say he was an X-Man? He couldn’t even protect you, the immortal love of his life. He’d let you die in his arms and didn’t do shit about it. Just held you and watched the light in your eyes snuff out.

The anger that’d filled Logan like a raging house fire, making him pledge to avenge you, had dispersed the moment you’d been buried behind the mansion. Cement headstone embedded in the grass where your head would be, an engraving of your face decorating the front along with your name and how long you’d lived. 1905 - 2020. 115 fucking years. And not nearly enough.

Absolute misery had flooded him like a tempest. Swirled and churned in his mind, washing away any cognitive thought, leaving him wrecked like a ship after a hurricane. You were the lighthouse that had guided him through the constant storms battering his mind. Without you, he was lost at sea.

A piercing wail broke Logan from his drunken stupor. Young, feminine, bouncing across the mansion’s expansive yard and cutting through the midnight air. He pushed himself to his knees, head still reeling, as he tried to listen closer.

Another scream. A child, a boy this time, crying out into the night. Logan’s lungs seized behind his adamantium ribs.

He took off in a sprint across the damp grass. Pale moonlight shone from the cloudless sky and bounced off the claws now stretching from between Logan’s knuckles. A low growl rumbled deep in his chest.

Thick, brown boots made deep footprints in the dirt as he raced toward the mansion. More screams echoed ahead of him, urging him on, driving his legs to run faster and faster.

Gunshots.

Fiery pops silencing the screams. One after another after another. Like a landslide of thousands of rocks hitting a tin roof. Flashes of bright lights illuminated the darkened windows. 

It was happening again. The humans had come to the mansion to kill Logan’s people. Mutants, both children and adults, were being slaughtered all because humans couldn’t learn to tolerate those different from them. So emboldened by their piety that they killed anything different from them.

The same had happened the night you’d died. Logan grit his teeth, his jaw clenched as bile burned the back of his throat. Just the brief flash that passed his mind of you held in his arms, dead, was enough to make him swerve in his steps. Stumbling over his own feet in his grief.

“Fuck,” he grunted, catching himself on a tree to his right. The rough bark beneath his palm helped ground him to the present. You were gone. Have been for two years now. Nothing could change the gaping void you’d left in his heart.

Who was he kidding? He was pathetic. Logan could barely muster up the energy to get out of bed and trudge to the bar, let alone save the mutants in the mansion. All he’d do was make things worse. That’s all he was good for.

Logan’s back collided with the tree. A thunk rattled his foggy mind as he rolled his head back on the bark. The memory of you cradled in his arms drowned out the gunfire and screams. Your rattled gasps, the fear in your wide eyes, how you gripped at his shirt like he had the power to keep you alive. Like he was worth something.

In the drunken haze of his mind, Logan landed on the thought that had swirled consistently ever since you’d died.

He wasn’t worth shit.

~~~~

It was eight years after Logan died. 

After you’d made sure Transigen was thoroughly redirected from Laura and the rest of the children, you’d decided to settle down. Bought some land in Vancouver and started a farm. A small farmhouse, white wood with gray details, filled to the brim with mutant children and various knick-knacks you’d gathered over the years, sitting in the middle of a few acres of grass fields and dirt paths.

You did your best to give the children a good childhood. Taught them the way Charles had taught you, gave them unwavering support, made sure they were always fed and loved. The kids would spend their days in the classroom to learn everyday skills, would work in the barn and in the fields to take care of the flock of sheep, then would train in the evenings to harness their abilities. 

A worthy successor to Charles Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters if ever there was one.

The setting sun cast streams of golden light across the yellow grass field. Soft breezes created ripples and waves. The occasional call of a bird in the surrounding green forest, chirping cicadas creating an underlying tone beneath the serene sounds of nature. A gentle waft of baking bread floated from inside the farmhouse and across where you sat on the sheltered porch. Utterly tranquil.

“Goddammit, Haymish!” Laura shouted from inside the red-wood barn. You smirked, pushing yourself to your feet from your rocking chair. Heavy work boots thumped along the porch as you descended the front stairs.

Frantic scrambling came from the open barn doors. Tracks of strewn hay scattered across the dirt ground feathered out from the opening. Typical barn smells covered the baking bread that had surrounded you like a warm halo.

Your shoulder leaned on the doorway, arms folding across your flannel-adorned chest, as you observed the scene in front of you.

Laura, dark hair pulled in a frizzy bun and clothes muddy, was attempting to wrangle a rather upset looking sheep. Strings of curses flew from her deep frown. The woolen animal, named Haymish by Chloe, was struggling against Laura’s arms.

“Need any help?” you called to her, a smirk spreading across your lips. Seeing Logan’s daughter frustrated only reminded you of how similar they were. Easy to anger, violent, softies on the inside. You loved them both more than you could ever express.

“Puta madre, no. I’ve almost got him,” she grunted in response. With one last shove, the sheep was corralled into where you kept the younger sheep. A smaller stable, the floor lined with a thick layer of hay and plentiful troughs filled with water and food hung on the wooden walls. Laura held the ten miffed sheep back as she latched the metal gate shut.

“How’s Ray Toro doing?” you asked, watching as your daughter worked. Laura heaved a bucket full of water over the waist-high wall and dumped the contents over the top. The sheep funneled away from the gate and over to the trough.

“The infection on his ear has gone down,” she said as she set the empty bucket on the ground. A calloused hand ran over her sweat-slick forehead. You pulled the clean rag you always kept in your back pocket free, holding it out to her.

“Here, kid,” you offered with a grin. She took the rag with a quiet “thank you.” Your eyes trailed along the metal gates of the other stables. Each doorway had a plaque nailed to the side with the sheep’s names. Q-Tip, Bartholomew, Edward, Tina, Baxter, Phillis, Brick, Christoph, Harold, Marino, Charles, Woolverine, Buttercup, Woolie, Doug, Gordon Ram-say, Meryl Sheep, Wooly Wonka, and Gerald were written in scrawled marker on the plaque next to the adult sheep’s pens. All names chosen by the kids you’ve been raising.

“Is Amanda cooking tonight?” Laura asked while slinging the rag over her shoulder. You hummed in response.

“Yup. Bread bowls and soup,” you replied. A relieved sigh came from your exhausted daughter. You laughed, shaking your head, “Go wash up. Sam’ll take over for you.”

“Thanks, mama,” she said as she approached the door. You took the damp rag from her hand and tucked it back in your pocket as you walked, together, to the farmhouse. 

Light conversation flowed between the two of you. Out of all of the kids in your care, Laura was your favorite. You’d known her the longest, having met her in Mexico and traveled across the country with her and Logan, and she reminded you of him every day. Her smile that dug dimples into her cheeks, her heavy brows that cast shadows over her hazel eyes, her dark hair that almost always ended up messy. She was the spitting image of Logan.

Laura stooped to grab her backpack off the front steps. Made from green cloth and weathered around the edges, it was the same bag she’d carried all those years ago. Seeing it slung over her shoulders pumped a wave of nostalgia through your chest. You placed a hand on her jean vest-clad shoulders. Her eyes met yours, crinkled at the edges from an easy smile, and pure adoration flooded your chest.

“I love you, kid,” you breathed, tears pricking at the edges of your eyes. Her smile widened, pointed teeth peeking out from beneath full lips, as she enveloped your waist in her thick arms. You buried your face in her hair as your arms wrapped around her shoulders.

“Love you too, mama,” she mumbled against your chest. 

The two of you remained like that for a while. Laura’s head tucked under your chin, rocking slowly, hums occasionally buzzing your lips. A little ritual the two of you shared. Every night, when the two of you found time and were alone, you’d hold each other and let your affection pour into one another. You’d both been through so much. In the time you’ve known each other and before you’d met. Solace from the stresses of your lives was found in each other’s arms.

A strange sound behind you broke the comforting silence. Electric, alien, like a quick whoop in the evening air. You immediately spun on your heel, pushing Laura behind you, as you confronted the noise.

Intruders.

Men and women, clad in thick body armor and wielding batons, stepped through a handful of glowing, orange doorways. About a dozen armed intruders. Anger gripped your throat in a tight vice.

“Who the fuck do you think you are? This is my home. These are my kids. You think you can just barge in unannounced?” you shouted to the group.

One of the men towards the front, with darker skin and a deep scowl etched across his face, stepped forward. The tip of the baton clutched in his hand extended and glowed orange. He shouted your full name, then Laura’s.

“You both are sentenced to The Void due to a probability of resistance in your timeline’s decay. You will come quietly, without altercation, or we will be forced to retaliate.”

A sharp growl rumbled from Laura’s throat. Her claws shot out of her fists with a snikt. Your eyes flooded red as blood clouded your vision.

“Leave. Now,” Laura roared through bared teeth. Your consciousness slipped beneath the skin of the intruders. You traced the millions of veins snaking under their skin, following pumping blood and flowing chemicals as they coursed through them. 

“Last chance. Comply, or we will use force,” the man commanded again. A cacophony of electric hums echoed around him as the rest of the group’s batons extended and started to glow.

“No fucking way,” you said, finally reaching the frontal lobe of most of the group. With a flick of your fingers, half of the group’s brains were squashed inside their skulls, making them crumple to the grass. Blood pooled from their bodies and seeped into the dirt.

Just as Laura raced in front of you, claws brandished and furious shouts bellowing from her chest, you heard the same whoop behind you. A sharp sting met your back before you could react. You cried out, back arching, as the world around you faded to black.

first part in a new series!!! hope y'all like :)

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[pygmi-cygni]

lust - Steven Grant

Lust - excessive desire for sexual pleasure

part of my Seven Sins series

similar to my Nathan Bateman hc, I think Steven takes a little warming up for physical affection to be a-ok with him

but once the dam is broken....

cw: quickies, messy sex, praise, 18+, afab reader

You cried out, elbow digging uncomfortably into the shelving you were currently crammed up against. Steven swallowed the sound greedily, sucking and moaning at your lips while he fumbled to pull down your waistband. Books slid onto the floor as your feet scrambled for purchase through his voracious attack.

Steven had no patience for this. Grunting dissent, he absolved to haul your hips over his and jam his fingers up as far as they would go. He clapped a hand over your mouth as you shrieked and bucked, howling from the sudden stimulation.

"Shhh, shh, it's alright," he soothed around a moan, "it'll be nice real soon, love, promise."

His pace slowed considerably once he felt the familiar warmth of your walls thrumming around his thick knuckles. You huffed and whined around his hand, trying to hump yourself harder. The rubbing on his callouses on your clit had stars blinking in your vision.

Steven watched, awestruck, as you matched his pace, rosy cheeks and pouty lips nuzzling against his. He pushed harder, cock throbbing at the feeling of your petal-soft warmth flexing on his digits.

This was...a common routine. He'd ambush you whenever possible, rucking up your shirt and rutting rabidly into you, collapsing into a sweaty heap once you'd both finished. Only to do it again an hour or two later. Most days you stumbled around sore to hell and pleading for a break.

Oddly, he was the only one of the three boys who preferred rabbit-like fuckings throughout the day. The stamina was impressive, but you were tired of spilling coffee from how urgently he'd grab at your waist.

From the moment you could feel his hands tickle your sides under your shirt, you knew it would be a long day.

After a month of constant quickies, you'd set a firm limit; no more than two a week. Which was generous, considering Steven's idea of a quickie wasn't very quick. He'd been needy all week, practically crawling in your lap for kisses and hugs.

He'd done a solid effort of waiting. For three days.

He was on you the moment you walked through the door, hands roaming and eyes silently begging for relief. You couldn't say no; by that point your pants were around your ankles. He'd sucked your clit into his mouth without a second thought.

Currently, he was staving off a boner he'd had for the last hour listening to you rant about your coworker. Steven gritted his teeth and crooked his fingers, urging you forward to pleasure. You heaved and sobbed, trying to overcome the sudden wave of warmth seeping from your cunt.

His hands were so perfect you wanted to cry. They stroked just right, hitting the right places not too hard or too fast, even in the rushed state. You moaned out praise, grinding onto his thumb. Steven nipped giddily at your ear, basking in the attention.

"Please," he rasped, pinching your clit. You sobbed into his shoulder, back thumping against the bookcase. He did it again, firmer. A final stab of golden heat into your core and you were gone. Cool wetness gushed onto his hand, pooling around his palm and dripping onto his shoes.

Steven hunched to catch your quaking legs, clumsily cramming his fingers into his mouth. He sucked and whined, humping into your hip. His cock was so hard it hurt; rubbing enthusiastically against his jeans. You could sense his urgency even in your blissed out state, and helped pull his length free. He gave an appreciative sigh as you slipped onto him, shuddering from relief.

"Thank you," he cried, and you petted his hair.

"Such g-good manners," you said sweetly, hissing as he bumped up the pace. Warmth enveloped your breasts when he latched onto your chest. His grip would leave bruises with how hard his was ramming you up and down on his cock, each thrust sending a licking heat up your legs.

You knew you weren't going to crest the peak again; this was all for him. As he furiously chased his high, length stroking hard and fast against your messy folds, you pressed as many sloppy kisses as you could to his face and neck. There was a ticklish spot beneath his ear, one that brought him to his knees.

You exploited this power greedily, sucking and nipping like your life depended on it. Steven howled and sank to the floor, turning your onto your stomach and slamming his hips forward. Your lungs tightened, making your choke. The cold floor stung your aching nipples and sent shivers across your bare stomach. He mumbled apologies, plastering himself on top of you to continue.

He was too excited. His thrusts too sharp, too hard. He was shoving the both of you up against the wall, a long, continuous moan tearing from his throat. oh oh oh ohohohokayokay oh-

Steven stuttered and whined, arching his back to feel your folds suck him deep, the gummy tension twisting perfectly around his sensitive length.

"'S great, love, really, oh it's so-"

You cut him off with a soothing hush, redirecting his focus to finishing. Steven thrust once, twice before he was through, tremors rocking his core as he pumped sticky seed all over you. He'd slipped out in his vigor, making a mess of the floor. His plush bottom lip was bleeding from the how forcefully he was trying to restrict the sounds.

He calmed with a few stuttered moans, still sucking your essence off his fingers. It pleased you to see him like this - finally taking what he wanted. You could work on boundaries later; his confidence was shining.

While you struggled to pull your slacks back up, he murmured an apology and reached out to help. You sat back and breathed, wiping the sweat from your cheeks.

"No- pull them up, Steven-" you scolded, realizing your pants were further towards your ankles than where they'd started. He giggled, playfully evading your defensive maneuvers. You tried to tug him away by the curls, but he got his wish, licking happily at your petals.

"Just cleaning up," he mumbled into your cunt, kissing your pearl delicately. You flinched, whimpering. He clicked his tongue, rubbing circles into your thighs. "I'll be gentle, don't worry."

The soft, warm strength of his tongue brought a smaller orgasm to light. It wasn't shattering - just a nice, lulling finale to the frantic coupling of earlier. You let the tide sweep you under, melting fully into his embrace. Steven smacked his lips, finally coming up for air.

He looked to you for assurance and you smiled, kissing his cheek. His brown eyes sparkled at you from the floor. Still coming down from the intense session, you stroked his cheek, hands shaking. Tomorrow you'd be wonderfully sore, but he could make up for it later.

tags! comment to join xox

@krakenkitty @ominoose @bulletgoth @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @justsomeonecalledemma @iolaussharpe-24 @rosegnome @twwcs @heeheehoohoofictimr @steven-grants-world @ael-xander

[finallydoingfanfics]

Stalemate - a Spencer Reid imagine

At the BAU, you’ve always been the one to hold the team together—smart, compassionate, and unwavering. But behind the calm exterior, you’ve been in love with Spencer Reid for longer than you’d like to admit. When Maeve’s death shakes Spencer to his core, you step in, offering him the comfort and support he needs. But in the midst of your quiet devotion, it becomes harder to ignore the feelings you’ve kept hidden for so long. Warnings: mention of death, depression, angst x fluff

The shots rang out, jarring and final, their echoes slicing through the tense air. The space between the two bodies—the life now lost—seemed to stretch into eternity, everything else falling away, drowned in a sharp, suffocating silence. Diane and Maeve lay motionless on the floor, the world around them holding its breath, and in that moment, the oppressive weight of what had just happened pressed down on the room. The team stood frozen, their guns still drawn, eyes wide with disbelief. Y/N could feel the heaviness of it, too—their breaths shallow, their hearts racing, each person lost in the gravity of the tragedy.

But it was Spencer who commanded her attention, his face a mask of shock, his body rigid as he stared down at Maeve’s lifeless form. His eyes were glassy, unblinking, not seeing anything around him, not seeing her. He was lost, distant, swallowed whole by the crushing sorrow.

Y/N’s heart twisted, and without thinking, she took a step toward him, her hand outstretched, silently offering him what she always had in moments like these—her steadiness, her warmth, the comfort she had always been able to give him when the world became too much. She couldn’t bear to see him like this. She needed him to turn to her, needed to be the one to help him through this.

But he didn’t.

He didn’t even look at her.

And it was the most painful thing she’d ever felt—this cold, unbearable space between them. She knew he was suffering, but as he stood there, utterly still, completely lost in his grief, he didn’t reach for her. Didn’t acknowledge her presence.

She took another step forward, her voice soft, breaking through the thick silence. “Spencer…”

His body trembled, the first sign of emotion breaking through the stoic façade he had carefully constructed. A tear escaped from the corner of his eye, but he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. And then, in a moment that shattered everything, Spencer crumpled. His knees gave way beneath him, and he sank to the floor in a heap, his chest shaking with the force of the sobs that tore from him. His hands gripped the floor, his breath ragged, as the dam finally broke.

Y/N stood frozen, her heart in her throat. The others were still, too, their eyes sympathetic, understanding, but none of them moved toward Spencer. It was his grief to process, his to carry. She started to move toward him, her instinct to comfort him overwhelming, but as she reached out, he flinched, pushing her away.

She froze, staring down at him, hurt flashing across her face, but her eyes softened almost immediately, realizing what she had done. She hadn’t meant to be pushy; she hadn’t meant to force him to respond. Two shots, two lives lost in an instant. But the only thing that truly shattered her was knowing that in the end, she wasn´t able to comfort him, even in a small way.

Weeks had passed since Maeve’s death, and Spencer had slipped into a darkness so deep that even his closest friends struggled to reach him. They tried—Penelope left baskets filled with thoughtful little gifts outside his door, each one overflowing with his favorite teas, warm scarves, books he’d yet to read. Every day, the baskets sat untouched, gathering dust, ignored, as if their very presence was too much for him to bear. JJ came by more than once, knocking, her voice warm and persistent as she called his name, hoping he’d find the strength to open the door. But her gentle words were met with silence.

In the end, they’d called her—one more friend, one more plea, one more person who wouldn’t give up on him. By the time JJ called, she was already on her way, her car humming softly against the quiet of the early morning. The city was beginning to light up but she barely noticed, focused entirely on what lay ahead. She could still hear JJ’s worried voice in her mind, the way it cracked when she whispered, “Please, he won’t even look at us. We don’t know what else to do.”

As she reached Spencer’s apartment, she took a deep breath, forcing herself to hold steady, to keep her emotions in check. She knocked gently, three soft taps on the door, then called his name. “Spencer,” she said, her voice low but firm, hoping he’d hear the determination woven through it. “It’s me. I’m here to help, but I need you to open the door.”

Silence. She waited, listening for any sign of life inside, but heard nothing. Her brows knitted together, and she knocked again, this time with a little more force. “Spencer,” she repeated, her tone firmer now. “Please. Just open the door.”

Still nothing. She clenched her jaw, her frustration mounting alongside a deep, aching worry. She’d seen him break before, watched him struggle and come out the other side stronger, but this felt different. This time, he was truly shutting everyone out. Taking a step back, she squared her shoulders, her voice dropping to a sharp edge.

“All right, Spencer. If you don’t open this door, I’m going to break it down. Morgan-style. You know I’m serious.”

Still, there was nothing. Her chest tightened with a mix of anger and sadness, she’d given him enough time alone, it was time she went over and star helping, actually helping. Bracing herself, she took a step back, focused her weight on her foot, and kicked the door with all her strength. The lock gave with a loud crack, and the door swung open, revealing a dark, silent apartment.

The sight that met her inside was worse than she’d imagined. Spencer’s once orderly, meticulously maintained apartment was a mess. Books lay strewn across the floor, some pages half-ripped, others lying open as if he’d tried to distract himself with their words and failed. Dirty dishes sat piled on the coffee table, takeout containers scattered across the counter. The room was dim, the curtains drawn, casting a murky shadow over everything, and there, in the middle of it all, was Spencer.

He was sitting on the floor, hunched over, his back against the couch. His eyes were hollow, rimmed with dark circles, and his clothes hung off him, wrinkled and stained. His hair was disheveled, a far cry from the neat, careful way he usually kept himself. He looked up at her, but there was no spark of recognition, just a dull, vacant expression as if he was barely even aware of her presence.

“Spencer,” she said softly, kneeling down in front of him. Her heart ached as she looked into his tired eyes. “You can’t keep doing this. You have to take care of yourself.”

He mumbled something, words half-formed and incoherent, his gaze slipping away from her, and she could feel the weight of his grief pressing down on him, crushing him under its terrible burden. She wasn’t going to let him drown in it. Taking his hands, she gently helped him to his feet, guiding him toward the bathroom.

“You’re going to take a shower,” she told him, her tone gentle but firm. “You don’t have to do anything else, just… let the water wash over you.”

He stared at her for a moment, blinking slowly, and then, as if too exhausted to argue, he nodded, shuffling into the bathroom and closing the door behind him. She could hear the faint sound of water running, a small win, but nonetheless a win in her book.

While he was in the shower, she took a deep breath and surveyed the wreckage of his apartment. She gathered the empty takeout containers first, tossing them into the trash, then stacked the dirty dishes in the sink, scrubbing them clean one by one. Moving through the room, she picked up the scattered books, careful not to touch the torn ones, stacking them neatly on the corner by the bookshelf where they belonged. She stripped his old bed covers for new ones she brought from her own home, and laid a soft, fresh pair of pajamas she’d bought for him on her way there on top the neatly made bed. She even started his laundry knowing he wouldn’t have thought of it himself.

Once the apartment looked somewhat presentable, she checked on the laundry and went back to the kitchen, unpacking the groceries she had picked up for him, starting on a pot of chicken soup, the warm scent of spices soon filling the air. She took a quick glance toward the bathroom door, noting the faint wisps of steam coming from underneath. Her heart softened as she thought of him finally allowing himself this small comfort.

When he finally emerged, freshly showered, his hair damp and skin warm from the heat of the water, he looked around, blinking in surprise. He seemed almost disoriented, as if he’d stepped into a different world entirely. The faint scent of his fresh pajamas reached him—a soft, familiar smell that stirred something deep within him, something that had been numb for weeks. The clothes smelled like y/n, like her warmth and gentleness, and for a moment, he closed his eyes, letting that feeling wash over him.

She handed him a glass of water, watching as he drank slowly, his gaze beginning to clear, if only just a little. “You need to rest,” she said softly, guiding him to the couch where she’d laid out a blanket. He nodded, too tired to protest, and lay down, letting his head sink into the cushion, his eyes fluttering shut.

While he slept, she continued her quiet work around the apartment. She aired out the room, opened the windows just enough to let in a breeze, then returned to the kitchen cooking the various dishes she had planned, a combination of Spencer´s comfort food as well as some nutritional options. By the time she was done, the apartment smelled of warm chocolate chip cookirs, fresh air, and a hint of her own familiar perfume, creating a quiet, comforting warmth.

A few hours later, Spencer stirred, blinking as the scent of home-cooked food filled his senses. He looked around, the apartment feeling strangely light, almost unrecognizable. He took a deep breath, the unfamiliar feeling of peace settling over him. For the first time since he’d lost Maeve, something inside him felt almost, maybe, just a little bit alive.

When she noticed he was awake, she brought him a steaming cup of tea and settled beside him, offering him a gentle smile. “Feeling any better?” she asked, her voice soft, careful not to push.

He nodded slowly, wrapping his hands around the warmth of the cup. “A little. Thank you,” he whispered, his voice rough with disuse.

They sat in silence for a while, the quiet hum of the apartment filling the spaces between them. He could feel the weight of her presence beside him, solid and unyielding, a quiet strength he didn´t want to admit he’d needed. Spencer clenched his fists, the guilt twisting inside him like a knife as he felt the faintest urge to reach out for her. He hated himself for it—how could he even think of finding comfort in someone else, in her, when Maeve was gone? It was a betrayal of everything he'd lost before he even had it, a cruel reminder that he could still feel something other than the ache of grief. But the quiet pull toward her, the instinct to lean on the steady warmth she offered, was there, and that only made the shame burn deeper. He didn’t deserve her kindness, not when Maeve’s memory was still so raw, not when the emptiness felt like it should last forever. But she softly put her hands on his, caressing his tough skin, and finally every thought he had went away.

Just then, the doorbell rang, and he looked up, confused. She exchanged a small smile with him and stood, crossing the room to open the door. There, waiting outside, were the rest of the team—Morgan, JJ, Penelope—each of them carrying the same worried expressions, softened now by the relief of seeing him safe, even if still broken.

As the team settled in, they moved quietly, almost instinctively, each taking up a small task as if they’d rehearsed this a thousand times. JJ and Morgan set about picking up the torn books, handling each one with care as they pieced his beloved library back together. JJ gently ran her fingers over the spine of each volume, smoothing out pages that had been crumpled in Spencer’s desperate, frustrated hands. She and Morgan worked in unspoken harmony, taking each book to the shelf, restoring order to the chaos one small piece at a time.

Across the room, Garcia moved to the collection of gift baskets she’d left outside his door, carefully unpacking each one. She picked up a small, hand-written note from the top of one of the baskets, her eyes softening as she read it aloud: “Spence, I found these at that little bookstore you love. I thought they might make you smile.” Beneath the note were two novels, each carefully selected, and wrapped with a ribbon Garcia had tied herself. She placed them on the coffee table, their bright covers a reminder of the love and effort she’d put into every detail.

Rossi straightened the picture frames that had been tipped over, adjusting the angle of a few things that looked out of place. Spencer’s apartment had always been neat—organized to the point of obsession—but now, it was a reflection of a man who had lost all sense of normalcy. Rossi placed a framed photograph of the team on the mantle, setting it in a way that made it visible from the couch, hoping that even in his sorrow, Spencer would see them, all of them, watching over him.

Hotch, standing near the window, crossed his arms and watched as the rest of the team restored Spencer’s world. He finally joined in, opening another basket, pulling out a small, heartfelt letter Garcia had written. It was filled with little messages of support and humor, each one signed with a heart. Hotch read it quietly, his expression softening before he placed it where Spencer could see it, so that he’d be reminded of everyone’s love whenever he reached for the small comforts Garcia had filled her baskets with.

Y/N set the pot of pesto gnocchi, whose recepie she had perfected with Rossi by her side on the counter and walked back into the living room, glancing at Spencer as she passed. He was looking at the photograph Rossi had placed carefully on the mantle, his gaze distant, lost. She hesitated for a moment before quietly taking a seat next to him on the couch, just close enough that she could feel the heat of his presence but far enough to give him space. Her eyes caught his for a fraction of a second, and it was enough to make her heart race unexpectedly. It was a fleeting moment—too quick for him to realize, too quick for either of them to really acknowledge—but in that brief glance, something shifted. A small spark of recognition, maybe even something that felt like warmth, passed between them before he quickly looked away, his grief still too heavy for him to allow anything else. She swallowed hard, forcing the fluttering in her chest to settle. She knew, of course, that he was still hurting. The grief of losing Maeve—of everything that had happened—hadn’t left him. And it wasn’t something she could fix.

She doubted if she was the right person to help him through this, if she could truly understand the depth of his loss. The thought struck her—if it had been Maeve who was still alive, would she be doing a better job? Maeve had reached him in ways that no one else could, filling parts of his heart that felt out of her own reach. Maybe Maeve would have known the words to say, the silence to hold, a way to soothe him that she just couldn’t seem to find. The ache of that thought left her feeling hollow, as if she’d failed him before she even began.

Just as Reader’s doubts threatened to overtake her, she saw Spencer shuffle toward the kitchen, his movements slow and tentative. Her heart stilled as he reached for one of the cookies she’d made, his fingers trembling slightly as he picked it up. It was such a small thing—one bite, barely a glance in her direction—but it was enough.

In that fleeting moment, something clicked inside her. She’d loved him from day one, quietly and completely, understanding him in ways she hadn’t even realized until now. She knew his habits, his fears, just how much sugar and butter was needed for the cookie batter to taste just the way he wante it. Spencer, who could barely bring himself to look up these past few weeks, had turned to her, even if it was only for a simple comfort like a homemade cookie. She felt the weight of her doubts ease, replaced by a steady certainty that maybe, just maybe, being there for him—knowing him better than anyone else—was exactly what he needed.

As the team began to gather their things, their voices hushed with sympathy, Reader prepared to leave with them. She’d spent hours here today, helping where she could, watching over Spencer as he navigated his shattered world. But as she turned to follow them out, she felt a light touch on her arm. Spencer’s fingers grazed her sleeve, hesitant yet deliberate. She looked up and saw something in his eyes—a silent plea that he didn’t have the words for. It was clear as day. He didn’t want her to go. She gave him a small nod, and the team exchanged knowing glances, understanding her unspoken promise to stay.

The apartment grew quiet after they left, the air thick with a bittersweet stillness. Spencer hadn’t spoken since he’d asked her to stay, but that was alright; she was in no hurry to fill the silence. They both sank into the quiet, letting it wash over them like a balm to soothe the day’s grief.

Finally, as the hour grew late, he looked up at her, eyes weary. "Would you…stay the night?" he asked softly, barely above a whisper. She nodded without hesitation, gathering a pillow from the couch, preparing to settle there.

But he reached out again, his hand brushing hers with an urgency that made her pause. He didn’t say a word, but his gaze shifted toward his bedroom, the unspoken invitation clear. She understood immediately. He needed her close, needed to feel that he wasn’t alone in the dark abyss of his sorrow. She followed him to his room, her heart thrumming as she took her place beside him.

As they settled in the quiet of his room, Spencer seemed to be wrestling with words that wouldn’t quite come. After a long silence, he finally spoke, his voice low and hesitant. “I keep thinking about what I could have done differently… how maybe if I’d been smarter, or faster, I could have saved her.” He stared down, his fingers knotting in the edge of the blanket. “All those years I spent learning how to solve things, save people… and none of it mattered when it actually counted.”

She listened, letting him speak at his own pace, her heart aching with each word. She wanted to tell him that he’d done everything he could, that none of this was his fault, but she knew he wouldn’t believe her. So instead, she reached for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. He didn’t pull away.

Spencer took a shaky breath. “And now… it’s like everything that made sense just disappeared.” He paused, his voice breaking slightly. “I thought I finally knew what it was like to be seen, to be… loved. And now…” His voice trailed off as he looked away, the words seemingly too painful to finish.

He was quiet for a long time, his face etched with a sorrow so deep it seemed to swallow him whole. And then, in a voice so soft it was almost a whisper, he continued, “I think I lost my chance at being loved. I think that… that was it." His words were fragile, aching, the sorrow woven through each syllable.

She turned slightly, her chest tightening at the helplessness in his tone. “Spencer, I’m so sorry,” she murmured, struggling to find the right words. “I don’t know what to say. I wish I could make this easier somehow, but this… this might be the hardest thing you’ll ever have to live through. And I don’t know how to help you.”

He was silent for a moment, his hand inching toward hers on the bedspread, his fingers grazing hers. “The worst thing that could ever happen,” he said slowly, his voice barely holding together, “is the thought of losing you.

"You know," he continued, his words halting and filled with a shame that seemed to pain him as much as his grief. "As horrible as it sounds… I’ve thanked God, over and over these past weeks, that it wasn’t you. That you’re still here. Becase I know—if I lost you, too, I would choose to not go on.”

Her heart broke at the despair in his voice, and she couldn’t hold back any longer. Reaching over, she took his hand, squeezing it tightly, as if she could anchor him to the moment. “Spencer, listen to me,” she said, her voice unwavering. “You didn’t lose your only chance at love. Maeve was a part of your life that mattered, and nothing will ever change that. But you… you haven’t lost everything.”

He looked at her, his eyes searching, vulnerable. She took a steadying breath, feeling the words press forward, too powerful to hold back any longer. “Because you’ve already been loved, Spencer. I’ve loved you from the very start, from the first moment I laid eyes on you when Gideon introduced us on my first day at Quantico.

The words settled between them, soft and certain. She felt a weight lift, the truth finally out in the open, like releasing something she’d held too close for too long. His gaze softened, his eyes wide with an almost childlike wonder as he looked at her, his thumb brushing gently over her hand in silent acknowledgment. He didn’t say anything, but she could see the emotion flickering in his expression, the small glimmers of disbelief and relief as he took in her words.

Slowly, he reached out, wrapping his arms around her, his embrace both tentative and fierce, as if she were the one lifeline he had in the darkness. He held her close, pulling her to his chest with a vulnerability that felt like both a surrender and a grounding. His lips found her forehead, pressing a gentle, tender kiss there, then another, and another, each one like a quiet promise. With each kiss, she felt him relax, felt the tension give way to something softer, as though her presence alone was beginning to soothe the raw edges of his grief.

They didn’t need more words. As they lay there, their breaths finding a rhythm together, she felt his arms tighten around her, his presence like a warm shield against the loneliness. She closed her eyes, feeling her heart steadying as he held her, thinking that if this was how it felt to be close to him, she couldn’t imagine how beautiful it would be when he was truly ready to love her in return.

They were no longer in zugzwang, now resting in a stalemate, where neither had to move. And though checkmate loomed on the horizon, it no longer mattered who claimed it first—both had already won.

[brummiereader]

MASTERLIST PREVIOUS PART

Uptown Girl (Part Three)

Summary: After an eventful morning of bickering between you and Tommy over a misunderstanding on his part. He attempts to make amends in his own way by inviting you out for the evening. But as growing feelings start to arise between the two of you, so does Tommy's frustration for your continued defensive stance about your fiance's violent tendencies towards you.

Warnings: Language, fluff, angst, mentions of domestic violence

Word Count: 5286

Authors Note: The song played during the performance is called "Pas De Deux" by Tchaikovsky. A famous song you may have heard from the renowned ballet "The Nutcracker".

He can't come. No. Absolutely not! Why did he even agree to it? What was he up to? your nagging brain bugged you with a deluge of questions about Tommy's unexpected acceptance of invitation to your engagement ball as you tossed in your bed, kicking the white linen covers tangled around your legs with a huff. Had he caught on to your plan? Was he going to...sabotage it? your eyes flew open as you bolted up, your head quickly snapping to the wall behind you and the squatter that dwelled in the room next to yours.

That bastard, your burning eyes narrowed in on the empty ivory wall, accusing him of a multitude of misgivings your tired weary brain had concocted up. Now it was you, who was lacking in sleep.

For just as you had refused the blue-eyed trespasser little rest with your impromptu morning wake-up calls. Tommy had been quick to return the favor, when during the late hours of last night, he had invited a guest to his room. Keeping you up with her incessant moaning, begging and whatever other ungodly noises he had coaxed from her.

He did it on purpose, you convinced your frazzled brain as you glared at the wall and the scuff marks from your furious banging that seemed to only have spurred on his loud antics. But as Arrow Houses' bustling life entered your ears, dulling out your frantic thoughts, your body slumped down to sit at the end of the bed in a heap. The anger you had felt for the entirety of the night as you plotted your next retaliation, rapidly seeping from you as a sudden wave of exhaustion settled above your shoulders, weighing them down with further despair as you watched the fluttering shadows of the large oak tree outside your bedroom window dance across your paneled flooring.

How many more years would you keep this act up for? That you could battle through anything, with only witty comebacks to hide behind? You could feel your facade slipping day by day. And in the quieter moments of your life where you found yourself alone with your thoughts, you would remove your mask and find the vulnerable girl scared of not only the future, but the next hour staring intently back at you.

The lack luster you felt for the life you had been born into, had started to feel as foreign as the many Latin books your governess would have you learn in your dreary years of schooling. Mr Shelby's presence only making your feelings ever the more poignant

For as much as his appearance into your life had conjured up a fury enough to match that of Grannie's short temper, he had also brought excitement. And after the previous nights' relentless noise, jealously. Jealousy for the sounds of pleasure you yourself had never experienced. For the love you assumed they shared.

Is this what you were destined for, a life of service to your awaiting husband? Seen not heard, like an unwanted child? Forever chained to his wealth, but penniless? Violently rutted into like an animal at his will? you thought to yourself as your absent stare, welled with tears blinked through your soft sobs. Suddenly it seemed easier to wear the mask after all. Rather that than face your potential future and the tormenting hope you still held out for that the deeds to Arrow House would return in your favor.

Poor little rich girl, they would surely call you when everything came to light, when the scandal broke and the gossiping began. And with your lack of funds to give yourself a life of meaning. Those words couldn't be truer.

"On the left. No, to the left, Curly. Bleeding Christ man!" you heard the raspy voice from outside your room as you rubbed the tears from your eyes, when a loud thud to your door had you racing for its glossy brass handle.

" What...what on earth have you done to my wall?" you frowned upon seeing two men outside your bedroom with a stack of boxes between them and a large dent in your once immaculately painted hallway.

" Moving this junk to the attic" the tallest with a peak cap and a burning cigarette between his lips spoke as he picked up the hefty box in his arms.

So you were the posh girl that Tommy had been burning his ears with every bloody day after work. Same girl he wouldn't stop ranting and raving about until last orders at the Garrison, he thought to himself as he squinted at you through the fumes of tobacco drifting between you both. Infatuation for a pretty face, and a stubborn enough will to match his own, more like.

" Not junk, Charlie. Get a pretty price down market for this" the other eagerly replied as he pulled out a pair of ladies' hair rollers and a bundle of weathered ballet programs.

"Shut up, Curly" his friend replied, notioning with his head to the end of the hallway, when you stopped him and began rummaging through the contents in his hands.

" Junk! JUNK!" You shouted, grabbing the dusty box of your mother's belongings from his arms as his brow furrowed at your erratic reaction, now frantically pulling all the remaining boxes into your safeguard.

" Who told you to..." you stopped yourself, as your hand came to your sweaty forehead and an agape smile of both disbelief and annoyance appeared on your reddening face as the only culprit capable came to mind. "Him right?! The squatter?!" You pointed to Tommy's door as your hardened stare flew to the two men staring back at the unlikely image of a woman that had spent most of her life learning her P's and Q's, waving her finger around maniacally like a mad woman with wild frazzled hair.

" That's it. That, is, it!" you shouted as you stormed the few feet to his bedroom door, your marching arms making a strong enough point to your two bystanders just how furious you were.

" Better warn Tom, Charlie" Curly leaned quietly into him as he watched you begin to pound on the door with angry fist's

" Nout we can do for him now. Best leave 'em to it" he replied, pinching his cigarette between his fingers from his lips as he turned down to the stairs. "Curly!" he called after his giddy friend as your once perfectly primed patience lost its ability to wait any longer, and you threw open his door.

" Fucking hell, here she comes" Tommy mumbled, turning his head to see you charging towards him with a face like thunder.

" Get up. Get up!" you screeched at him and the stranger sleeping beside him as he reached to light a cigarette before you pulled the covers from his body without any caution as to exactly how much clothing he was wearing.

With a gasp of shock from you, and a horrified scream from the woman beside him, you quickly span around with blushing cheeks from the image of Birmingham's most notorious gangster as naked as the day he was born. Oh dear. You may have taken it a little too far this time.

"What the fuck! Crazy bitch!" the stranger who had spent the night with him bellowed aloud as she leaped from the bed, scrambling for her clothes.

" I'm ever so..." you began to apologise to the woman who shut you up in one quick scornful glare, waiting by Tommy with her hand out as your curious eyes darted subtly to the side to see the exchange of money for her services. So you had been wrong. They were not lovers. At least, not in the sense you thought, your mind quizzed you as to who exactly had been servicing who last night with the sounds of her moans of ecstasy still ringing in your ears.

" Learn to knock" the woman spat, pushing past your shoulder with a thud as she sauntered from the room.

" Mr Shelby..." you said at the sound of the door closing when Tommy stopped you from not only giving him his daily telling off, but from your flushed face from turning around.

" Unless you want another look, sweetheart. I'd stay put until I put some clothes on" Tommy said with a smirk, practically seeing your rolling eyes of irritation from the back of your head.

" I do not" your heated cheeks huffed impatiently as you let the weight of your annoyance sit on your hip cocked to one side. Something Tommy had no shame in enjoying the view of as he pulled up his trousers, purposely taking his time to button them up to get a better look at your nightie draped over the curves of your waist.

"Are you decent?"

"Yes" he mumbled through the cigarette now clasped between his lips as he ignited the orange glow, pulling his eyes away from the plump bum in front of him.

Spinning around, ready to give him a piece of your mind, and if he wasn't careful, a blow to his perfectly chiseled jaw. You came face to face with not a fully clothed man, but one only partially dressed.

Decent, you huffed to yourself in annoyance at his inability to dress correctly in front of company, as your lingering eyes that seemed to have garnered a brain of their own lately, glanced over his strong form and the various inked tattoos across his torso.

"Y/N?" Tommy broke the brief silence with a grin, blowing out a cloud of smoke as his own eyes raked over your less than modest clothing. Sheer enough to see the beckoning shadow of your...

" Do you possess anything other than a pair of trousers, Mr Shelby? A shirt perhaps?" You frowned, scrambling away from your heated thoughts about the half naked man in front of you.

" It's summer, Y/N. And hot " Tommy replied nonchalantly as he stubbed his cigarette out on the metal knob of the bed frame, earning him another scornful glare.

" Hm, really? I thought you looked rather cold" you smirked, looking down at his suited trousers as Tommy cocked a brow, and audibly loud scoff at your snarky remark that he was not as endowed as his enormously large ego simultaneously leaving his lips.

" I think you're the one that's cold, love" Tommy nodded down at the thin fabric loosely shielding your modesty. The open window and summer morning breeze drifting through, resulting in an embarrassing pointy display. Or that's what you told yourself, and not the result of your eyes falling upon the sizable manhood you had just insulted.

" Go on then. Tell me what I've done now, ey?" Tommy asked, perching himself up against the bedroom dresser as he watched you stomp towards him with a knitted blanket now guarding your revealing sleep wear, and a ferocious frown to match it. A frown he had begun to find a small, endearing charm for. His very own personalised greeting you welcomed him each morning with as you barged into either his office or bedroom.

" You may have commandeered my office, Mr Shelby. Crammed it full of your ghastly sense of decor. Taken over half of my house. But nothing, nothing gives you the right to move those boxes" your lip quivered with fury at the thought of your mother's memory being banished to the attic in the house she had died in, when ill health prematurely took her from you.

" Boxes, love. Nothing to get your knickers in a twist over. If you were wearing any that was, his intrusive thoughts about what lay beyond your night gown entered his brain as he cleared his throat. "They were collecting dust. Damp with water "

" Boxes to you, Mr Shelby" you replied, hiding the pang of guilt now sitting in your stomach for the care he had shown for them and not that of your own, having been so caught up in your life's recent events to notice your mother's possessions slowly spoiling.

" Y/N" he grabbed hold of your arm, realising they held more meaning than what you was willing to let on as you tried to escape him from seeing your rapidly mounting embarrassment, and misplaced emotions." They were sitting in water, love" he marched after you as you shrugged off his hand. " Had them moved to the attic until the leak was fixed" he called out, following behind your plodding steps down the stairs as your Grannie watched in the foyer, waiting for the morning tea you had arranged with her to finalise the last details of you father's funeral set to take place the following day.

" Not talking to me now, eh?"

" No I'm not!" you turned around, abruptly coming to a sudden stop. " I wouldn't even have to entertain the thought of talking to you if you would just leave my house and stop being so stubborn!" You bellowed, using the occasion to push him to vacate your home.

" I'm stubborn?" Tommy scoffed pointing at himself as your Grannie watched the half clothed conflict with widening eyes, steadying her racing imagination with her cane firmly adhered to the marble flooring.

Oh dear lord, he had corrupted your innocent nobility. A backstreet criminal! Grannie's brain whirled dramatically in horror at history repeating itself. Her own history, that was. Filled with unsavory secrets she had done her upmost to not see the light of day until she herself was firmly six feet under to avoid the scandal it would create among high society.

" Darling, you're the one having the tantrum" he said following after your stomping feet as you continued your decent down the stairs, ignoring his remarks before you launched something at his head, and the last of your taught lady like manners along with it.

" Annie" you said coming to a stop in front of one of the youngest maids under your employment as Tommy loomed beside you, the unfinished argument and continued half-assed silent treatment only grating on him further. " Please tell the cook to prepare chicken for lunch" you smiled to her as you turned to leave, only to walk into the blue-eyed barrier right behind you.

" Mutton, Annie" Tommy corrected your dinner orders as you stood mere inches from his muscular, sweaty frame. So close, you could see the follicles of the graying tuft of hair on his firm chest and that of his armpits as he waved his arm about.

" Excuse me, but no. No we won't be having "mutton" "you did your upmost to mirror his deep brummie lilt, replicating the heavy grovel of his accent with as much flare as you could as Tommy's arching brow looked down at you.

" Chicken, Annie. Please" you span back around, only for Tommy to interrupt your dinner suggestion a second time as the young worker and your Gran watched your bickering recommence with darting eyes.

" Shut up! Shut up!" Annie blurted out with scrunched eyes when her hand flew to her mouth as her outburst caught up with her frazzled thinking

" Annie" you gasped in surprise, when both a giggle from you and a low chuckle from the trespasser behind you followed. Mutually finding amusement in the usually composed maids' sudden scolding of you both as your Grannies hand flew to her chest in horror for the disorder of things you two had created in such a small amount of time.

" Oh god. Please don't fire me, or...or shoot my knee caps off" the young maid panicked as Frances rushed to bring things back to a status quo, ushering the jittery member of staff away before an ambulance was called for your Gran, who was now frantically fanning the dizzying distress from her face.

" I'll ask the cook to prepare both chicken and mutton. Can you both agree on that? " Frances looked between you both with raised brows as a mother would her unruly offspring, trying to keep the peace in her chaotic home free from the constant bickering of two strong-headed children.

" Fine" you both said in unison before going your separate ways, having been reprimanded by your housekeeper. Both of your abilities to rile the other up in an exceptional amount of time, simmering for a brief moment for the rest of the household to take a well-earned breather from your back and forth demands.

" Frances, dear" your Grannie beckoned your loyal housekeeper quietly to her. "Tell me" she said, holding onto her arm with her frail hands as she leaned in. " How long has it been since war was declared?" she queried, pressed to puzzle through what she feared was truly behind both of your dramatic disdain for the other. For nothing could get past Grannie's keen eye, and knack for discovering the truth.

" Ever since Mr Shelby shot Miss Y/N's piano, Mam. I'm starting to believe they're enjoying it" Frances sighed as your Gran nodded her head in agreement, fearing you had inherited the same taste in men she herself found her younger years in a pickle with after a dally with a man from Digbeth she'd sneak out to see every night.

" It seems so, Frances. It seems so..."

" Get changed" Tommy ordered you as he swung your bedroom door open later that day, rummaging through your wardrobe, then throwing one of your many evening dresses into your lap as you read quietly in the corner by a small lamp.

" I will not" You scoffed as your eyes darted up to see him motioning with his hand to do as you were told as if it was the norm between you both to just barge through someone's bedroom.

" Come on. Chop, chop" he said, cupping the domes of his palms around the flame at the end of his cigarette.

What did he want to do, watch? Not that you would do anything he says, you huffed with your brows raised as you returned to your book, neither questioning nor entertaining what exactly it was you had to change for.

Well, you hadn't told him to leave. That was a start. Did you want him to stay and watch? Tommy's mischievous eyes perked up as a playful smirk etched on the corner of his plump lips.

" Y/N" he said, snapping the book close between your fingers with a grin. Gaining your attention and a knitted frown firmly sat on your brow.

" What do you want?" You pouted, placing your book to the side as he loomed next to you. Awfully close next to you. A red cheek inducing closeness that your eye level met not with his insufferable cocky face but, halfway down his body to his buckled belt.

" Think of it as my way of saying I was...wrong" he said, removing two neatly pressed pieces of paper from within his jacket." This time" he pointed to you before your triumphant smile grew any bigger as he handed them to you.

Since your blazing row earlier that morning, Tommy had made a point to understand what exactly had you so riled up over a few boxes. So, after making a beeline for the attic, and to the items in question that had you barge into his room. He quickly came to the sudden realisation of what caused your unexpected emotional outburst when he pulled out a bundle of aged ballet tickets crayoned with hearts and flowers in your younger self's name and that of the former lady of Arrow House. The keepsakes of precious memories spent together buried within many trinkets and cherished belongings. Your mother's belongings. Shit.

" Ballet?" You looked up at him with a quizzical brow. " Didn't think you the type"

"No. But you are. How longs it been since you last went to Royal Theater, eh?"

"Many...many years" you said absently turning them in your hand as a yearning to for your childhood years panged in your tightening chest and the olive branch of peace he had offered you

" And if I decline what will you do? Shoot me?" You quirked a brow as Tommy's lips tightened together with a smirk.

" I've shot people for a lot less, love" he said shoving his spare hand in his pocket as he took a drag from his cigarette with a smile.

"Be ready in an hour" he turned to leave, not giving you any further opportunities to decline his offer. " And if you behave yourself, I might even treat you to a packet of sweets " he called out before shutting the door as you looked down at the tickets in your hand, the inner child in you excitedly biting your bottom lip as a wave of gratefulness for his thoughtful gesture warmed your heart. Not that you would tell him of course, you smiled to yourself as you mischievously planned to delay your readiness by thirty minutes. Just so things were clear, that you were still furiously irritated by his presence. Wasn't you?

After a short drive into town and a bickering match over the quickest route to the theater. You managed to take your seats in the renowned function room without killing each other, with a brown paper bag of lemon drops in your hand promised to you by Tommy on route if you would just give his ears a rest for five minutes.

" 'ere" he beckoned his hand out for one of the boiled treats he had already helped himself to half of as you shoved them into his awaiting hand, succumbing to the fact that he had infact, brought them for himself.

As the lights dimmed, you shot your unwelcome houseguest a stern look of disapproval at his rummaging hands noisily wading through the small packet of sweets. His rolling eyes taking one last lemon treat before folding them into his suit jacket. Since when did he start listening to your bossy demands?

As Tommy quietly sat back in the comfort of his crimson chair, you couldn't have been further off the edge of yours as your hands rested on the balcony edge, watching each pirouette in front of your eyes as the lulling tune of Pas De Deux's strumming harp prickled your skin with each delightful note.

Mesmerised by the graceful dance, a sudden wave of your childhood memories came hurtling towards you, taking you aback with the emotional rippling tides of times spent that came with them.

As you stayed silently captured by the elegant twirling in front of you, Tommy's eyes flicked back and forth towards your glistening stare as you gasped at the male leader throwing the ballerina into the air, then capturing her in his arms before spinning her in his hand.

And there it came, rushing towards him. His own sudden gentle wave in the sea of peaceful music of violins vibrating through his chest and quickening heart, captivating him as it did during your very first encounter. Holding his full and undivided attention as he sat silently in the shadow of the candelabras casting their orange glow around the beauty before him.

The most annoying, most irritating, strong-willed, stubborn woman he'd ever laid eyes upon. The same woman he had tried his upmost to ignore the yearning her beauty had coaxed from him every waking hour. You. Insufferable you.

" I want to thank you, Mr Shelby" you said after returning from the evening of graceful dancing, unaware of Tommy's heavy breath following your every move. The two hours he had spent watching you as your gaze stayed distracted by the nimble-footed dancers whilst he took advantage of the peaceful moment of silence between you both to take in the delicate details of your beauty. The soft feather-like batting of your fluttering lashes, the way your skin puckered with a dusting of goosebumps as the drums boomed throughout the theater, your wetted lips glistening in the light of the soft glow of the candles surrounding you.

Fuck. What was happening to him? You were the biggest pain in the ass he'd ever encountered. Wars with rivaling gangsters were a breeze compared to the daily headache you gave him, he thought to himself as he slowly trekked up the stairs behind you, lingering out his goodbyes for the evening.

" For what?" He questioned you as he came to a stop with you outside your adjoining rooms, yearning to see the peacefulness you had let him glimpse at earlier in the evening that took his breath away.

" For tonight. For letting me forget everything" you replied as you darted your eyes to and from his piercing stare boring into you.

"It was my pleasure" his gravely voice tapered off as you waited on him with a small frown at his sudden lack of snarky remarks. "Y/N, I..." Tommy softly added as your doe eyes and plush lips beckoned his rising hand closer before you turned your head away, unaware of his approaching touch that had already swiftly found its way back home to his side with a sigh.

" I should get some rest. My father's funeral is tomorrow at nine" you said, brushing an escaping lock of hair from your neatly pinned tresses as you watched the knot of frustration bob up and down in his neck.

" Right" he cleared his throat as he stepped back, suddenly feeling like a shy schoolboy with a one-sided crush. Was it one-sided?

" Thankfully, it will only be a small ceremony. Just close family. Me, my gran and brother. My father seemed to have burned all bridges with everyone else he knew. Not that I blame them" you exhaled with a small laugh, babbling through your nervousness and the shift away from the constant arguing you had both become accustomed to, absent from your date. Date. Was it a date?

" Your fiance won't be accompanying you? Tommy questioned with a furrowed brow as he watched your hand clasp around the polished door handle as you shook your head.

" He has business to attend to" you replied, as his confusion about your defense of Cal's priorities began to grate on him until he could no longer withhold his opinion on exactly what he thought of Earl Astor and his heavy hand.

" Doesn't sound like the actions of a man about to marry the love of his life" Tommy scoffed as you swallowed back the reality of your loveless circumstances and how true his words were.

" It's complicated. He's complicated" you did it again, without thought. Was you trying to keep up the act, or were you trying to find reasoning for why you gave him so much say in your life?

" He's certainly something" Tommy said as he looked to your bruised wrist, your weighted bracelet having unveiled the blotchy marks as you rested your hand on the knob of the door.

" It's not what you think. You wouldn't understand" you said, quickly covering the blackening marks of violence stained on your soft skin.

" I think I understand perfectly, love" Tommy's brow raised, as he watched your irritation for the truth he was laying bare simmer under your tightening jaw." There's no difference in class when it comes to a man that lays his hand on a woman. The only question I have is why, Y/N? Why does a woman so bloody strong headed, so..." Tommy stopped himself with a sigh at your furrowing brow and scrunched nose in response to his less than flattering remark as his patience grew thin for your acceptance of fate. "so...smart" he said, as his eyes drifted to your blushing cheeks and batting eyes looking up at him. " Let a man like that bastard ruin her beauty and spirit?" he finished, holding your gaze as a silence settled above you both. Tommy's compliments and truthful words of reality embedding themselves into your spinning thoughts.

" Because I have no choice, Mr Shelby " you said, stiffening your bottom lip, stifling both your mounting emotions and threatening tears from escaping.

How could he possibly understand the plights of a woman's life? The pressure engraved into you from early childhood to find a husband and bare his children before you turned into a barren spinster. To be locked away in embarrassment in the darkest room of your family's home, for the future you didn't provide to further their finances and noble name.

Withstand, endure. And if you were lucky, flee from the life you were born in to until that darkened dusty room took it for you.

" Goodnight Mr Shelby" you flatly bid your goodbyes as you opened your bedroom door. Holding onto your sobs until the click of the handle safely shut you away from his watchful eye and you was able to release the sorrow you felt for your almost inescapable future.

" Goodnight"

When the following morning came around, Tommy sat quietly in his Watery Lane office, mulling over the previous night's events and your parting words as he stared absently out the weathered glassed window, listening to the bustling life of Small Heath awake. As the hand of his gold pocket watch struck nine, Tommy rose from his leather seat, striding over to his hat and jacket.

" Tommy, Johnny wants to know where to dump the latest shipment" Arthur sniffed as he pushed the door open with a folder of papers under his arm. "Tom?" He said as he watched his brother adjust his peaked cap on his head, checking the hour of his watch for a second time.

"Sort it out. I've somewhere to be" Tommy replied, as he tucked his gold trinket back Into to the safety of his waistcoat.

" Where?" Arthur called out with a huff, dropping the files of papers onto the mounting stack on Tommy's desk that had yet to be signed.

"Somewhere important"

Stood by the open grave of your father, with your grandmother and brother opposite you and the freshly dug hole. The priest waited with sighing breath at the sorrowful lack of attendees at the service he was set to give.

" Shall we begin?" he looked up to the only three remaining family members before opening his book of prayers.

" Dearly beloved, we gather here today to..." His voice trailed off into silence as your blinking eyes filled with tears looked down at the coffin of your father feet from you when the distinct smell of burnt tobacco and sharp notes of whisky filled your senses, the warmth of his arm pressing into yours as he settled his position next to you.

" We lay our servants' body to rest. That he can..." The priest continued as you turned to look up at the smartly dressed man beside you.

" You came, why?" You quietly sobbed as tears trickled down the curves of your cheeks, a fleeting frown of surprise creasing the soft flesh between your brow at his unexpected appearance.

" To pay my respects" Tommy replied as he looked down at you, and the small smile of gratitude whispering back to him silent thank yous.

" Ashes to ashes, dust to dust..." The priest prayed as your father's coffin was slowly lowered into the ground, and your grandmother's weeping for her only child broke through the silence of the graveyard as your brother held her frail body steady against his own.

As the thud of the coffin hit the bottom of its final resting place, a sudden sob of pain escaped your throat as you stood afar from the comforting arms of your grandmother and brother. That was until your own subtle gesture of comfort was felt when the calloused pads of someone's hand brushed soothingly along your knuckles. The same hand of the man that had shown you more sympathy, more care and attentiveness than you had ever received from your supposed future partner in life.

Mr Shelby. Tommy.

NEXT PART

Tag list: @weaponizedvirtue @un-interneted (unable to tag) @mama-ivy @kmc1989 @leighla3

@emotionalcadaver @mamawiggers1980 @sweetcheesecakesblog @cljordan-imperium @peakyswritings

@tiedyedghoulette @mostly-marvel-musings

[st4rfckerz]

Heist | Dark!James Kelly x Reader

word count: 1.9k

warnings: dubcon (leaning more into noncon), unprotected sex, gunplay, degrading, choking, basically porn without a plot, dddne

summary: James couldn’t stay in the van, so he decides to enter the bank himself.

The minutes sitting in the humming van stretched into an agonizing eternity and James couldn't take the suspense any longer. He unclenched his fingers from the steering wheel and stepped out of the van. His heart hammered against his rib cage as he crossed the street, the sidewalk cold beneath his shoes. He approached the bank, the scent of adrenaline and metal heavy in the air. Without waiting for any kind of signal, James pushed open the bank's heavy door, his black-clad figure silhouetted against the bright interior.

The sound of shattering glass and panicked screams assaulted James’s ears as he entered the bank. He quickly scanned the area for any sign of his brother or the others, his cold eyes darting over the panic-stricken patrons. In the corner, he spotted you as you reached for the phone, your fingers poised to dial. He stalked towards you, his strong hands gripping your arm and throat forcefully, stopping you from making a call. He pushed you up against the wall, your back painfully aching as he held you in place, his body pressed against yours.

“Don’t do that,” he growled, his voice low and muffled from the snug mask covering his face. Your eyes widened in terror, tears welling in them as you struggled against him. He tightened his grip on your throat, his touch unyielding. “Stop.” he commanded, and shook your body roughly, his black-clad arm creating a stinging impact as your head collided with the hard wall. The impact sent shooting pain through your body, and you cried out loudly.

James’s steely eyes widened as the distant wail of sirens filled the air. Realizing the urgency of the situation, he yanked you toward the back of the bank, his strong hands steady as they dragged you into a small storage room. He slammed the door shut, the sound echoing through the otherwise quiet space as if to mock the chaos unfolding outside.

He leaned against the door, his breathing heavy, as he tried to process the situation. It seemed their escape plan had been compromised. The sliver of hope that his brother, or the others might still be able to salvage something from the mess dwindled rapidly.

James, his nerves frayed and desperation mounting, stepped closer to your shivering body until he was nearly touching you. The tree tattoo on his arm seemed to pulse, as he bared his teeth in a sneer. “Stay quiet or I swear I’ll blow your brains out right here.” he growled, his voice cold and menacing. Overwhelmed by the situation, you couldn't help the gentle sniffling that escaped your lips. You tried your best to stifle your sobs, but the fear and adrenaline coursing through your veins made it nearly impossible. “Why are you still crying?” he demanded. “This is fucking ridiculous.” He roughly removes the black mask from his face, feeling as though it is strangling him completely.

James took a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of control. “If you do as I say,” he said, his voice dropping to a threatening whisper, “I won't hurt you.” The desperation in his tone was palpable, a stark contrast to his usual cold demeanor. He needed your cooperation now more than ever, and he had no qualms about using his intimidating presence to coerce it.

Unmoved by his hollow promise, your eyes flashed with defiance. “Fuck you,” you spat out, the words like nails on a chalkboard. With a force that left you winded, he shoved you onto the cold, hard floor, and you landed in a crumpled heap.

“I don’t think you understand what I’m capable of, little girl.” he warned, his voice laced with menace as he climbed on top of you, pinning you to the ground. His tree tattoo loomed ominously over your skin. The weight of his body on yours was suffocating, both literally and figuratively, as the seconds ticked by with deafening silence. He needed you quiet, and he wouldn't hesitate to use whatever means necessary to get it.

“You get off to shit like this, don't you?” you taunted, trying to provoke him. Your voice shook slightly, but the defiance still lingered. The audacity of your words seemed to catch James off guard for a moment, his grip on your arm loosening just enough for you to catch a breath. James's face flushed with anger, his nostrils flaring. Hishand, encircling your throat, squeezed tight, silencing your words with brute force.

“Wouldn't you like to know?” he whispered menacingly, his hand a vice around your neck as he leaned in, his hot breath fanning your face. His gaze bore into yours, a molten pool of fury and uncertainty. A sudden, unexpected wave of arousal washed over you, your body betraying your fear and instincts. It was a shiver of lust in the face of danger, a twisted response you couldn't control. The unyielding grip around your throat, the weight of his body pinning you down, the power he wielded over you - it all combined to wreak havoc on your senses.

James slowly brought the cool metal of the gun down, grazing between your skirt and along your goosebump covered thighs. The gun continued its path, pressing firmly against your clothed cunt, the soft texture of your underwear the only thing separating you from the weapon. The sensation sends a jolt through you, a sharp gasp quickly escapes your lips. He watched you closely, his eyes hungry for any signs of pleasure, any shred of hope that he had you at his mercy.

“You like that, don’t you?” His tone was taunting and low. You release a shaky breath, your chest rising and falling unevenly. The line between fear and arousal had blurred, leaving you confused. Sensing the effect his actions had, James brought the gun slowly up your body, the cold metal sliding over your skin like a snake coiling around its prey. With a cruel smile, he guided the cold metal muzzle to your lips, pushing it between them until it rested against your tongue. James couldn't deny the arousal coursing through him as he watched your lips wrapped around the barrel of his gun. The power he held over you, the submission he forced, was intoxicating

“I don’t wanna hear a thing.” James demands coldly, his gaze holding you in a vice-like grip. Feeling overwhelmed by the situation, you could only manage a faint nod. Regardless of the unwelcome stirrings within you, the realization that your life was in his hands was too potent to ignore. James finally withdrew the gun from your mouth, the cold absence leaving your lips tingling. He then roughly pulled the bottom of your skirt upward and yanked off your panties with one swift motion. Your skirt was left intact, but the sudden, brutal exposure left you feeling raw and vulnerable.

James pulled down his own pants and underwear, stopping just below his balls, leaving himself partially exposed. He paused for a moment, his gaze lingering on your exposed form. The intensity of the situation, combined with his arousal, drove him to take you right there in the small, cramped storage room. Without warning, he thrust into your cunt forcefully, bottoming out with a grunt.

The forceful entry was more than you expected, causing you to let out a yelp despite your best efforts to remain silent. Your body jerked with surprise, your nails digging into the cold floor as you tried to brace yourself. James’s grip on your waist tightened, pulling you closer with each thrust, his own arousal only escalating with your involuntary reaction.

As James continued his brutal assault, he noticed the increased evidence of your arousal, the slickness that coated him with each thrust. He smirked, his voice laced with contempt, “Just can't help yourself, can you?” The way your body responded against your will, and the yelp you let out, only served to fuel James's savagery. He saw it as a twisted victory, a mockery of your defiance earlier.

“Is this what you like? Is this really what gets you goin’?” Your face turned a deep shade of red, shame and humiliation washing over you. “Getting fucked on the ground like a dirty fuckin’ whore?”

“S-stop,” you pleaded through broken whimpers. James showed no sign of relenting. If anything, he increased his speed, his need for control driving him forward, even at the expense of your obvious humility. James's newfound frustration at your pleas found release in the form of a slap across your face that sent your head whipping to the side. He grabbed your cheeks harshly, forcing you to look at him.

“Didn’t I tell you to shut the fuck up?" he snarled. As James continued to ram into your aching cunt without mercy, he leaned back a little, one hand still gripping your hip for control. “Keep. Quiet.” With his free hand, he pointed his gun at your face, the cold steel a stark reminder of the precarious situation they were both in. The room was a cacophony of moans, grunts, and the wet sounds of their bodies working against each other.

“Can I please, I need-” you whined, reaching up to claw at his clothed thighs. You feel the cold tip of the gun barrel pressed against your forehead, your eyes shooting open in surprise.

“Go on ‘nd cum, I know you want to.” he sneers, cocking his head to the side cheekily. Your sudden orgasm crashed over your senses, your body convulsing as you came, the sensation both welcome and repulsive. As your sore body continued to quiver from your release, James followed close behind, his grip on your waist tightening as he groaned, spilling himself inside your leaking cunt.

The mingling of pain and euphoria left you gasping, your body trembling in the aftermath. He watched you with a predatory glint in his eyes, a twisted sense of satisfaction playing across his features as he pulled up his pants and buckled his belt. "Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked, his voice dripping with malice. James pulled up his pants and underwear, readying himself to leave the storage room. There was an air of finality to his movements, as if he were severing ties with the events that had unfolded.

Before James could fully exit the room, the sound of heavy banging on the door erupted. The police, having secured the rest of the bank, had finally found your hiding place. In a matter of moments, they broke down the door, their weapons drawn. You watched in dread as the officers flooded the room, their weapons drawn and focused on James, who stood frozen, unable to process the swift turn of events. The moment of his freedom had vanished, replaced by the unforgiving glare of the law. One of the officers grabbed him in a swift motion, slapping the cuffs on him. The other police officers secured the room, ensuring that any potential escape was impossible.

As James was being led away, his gaze met yours, and he offered you a wink followed by a coy smirk. The defiant expression on his face was the last thing you saw as he was taken out of the bank, his freedom and plan now nothing but ashes.

Now you were left alone in the room, the only witness to the perverted activities that unfolded, as the world outside began to piece together the aftermath of the heist and the brutal actions that took place in that small storage room. The police will soon question you, no doubt, seeking answers to the horrific events that had transpired.

The storied storage room would fade into the background, a mere footnote in the grand narrative of the botched robbery.

[whumpsday]

I Deserved It

Whump Oneshot - Writing masterlist here

content: time loop, pet whump, failed escape attempt, guns, major character death, whumper turned caretaker, suicide

Whumpmas in July Day 3: "___ deserved it."

i wrote this all in one sitting and when i looked up it was 4am. starting WIJ off with a bang!!

-

Day 1

Devran didn’t know it was day one of anything at the time, though he certainly learned fast.

The little shit had tried to escape. It had never done that before, and he certainly wasn’t a fan of it. He’d thought his training was getting him somewhere, Emereo seemed almost completely obedient. But somehow, it had all gotten away from him.

Not enough for the pet to actually succeed, of course.

His captive was weeping in a crumpled heap on the floor by the time Devran was done with it. Devran was careful to never go further than what he could fix on his own–it wasn’t like he could take the damn thing to a hospital without getting arrested. Still, the bruised, broken figure kneeling at his feet seemed thoroughly cowed, and the fresh, smoking brand on its shoulder blade ensured that it would never forget its place again.

He grabbed it by the collar, the pet’s eyes flashing with terror as it was brought up again.

“Master–” Emereo gasped, “Master, please, I’m sorry! No more, I won’t run again! I’ve learned my lesson!” It winced away from him as much as it could without pulling back.

Devran scoffed. “Clearly, you’ve learned nothing. Begging for the punishment you’ve duly earned to stop?”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” it cried. It opened its mouth, then closed it again, no doubt biting back more pleas for it to end.

“You deserved it.” He shook the helpless thing a bit, watching it choke on the collar for a moment before moving with it. “Say it!”

“I–I deserved it, sir,” Emereo sobbed.

Devran dropped it, then kicked it one last time for good measure. Emereo whimpered and curled in on itself, every muscle in its body tensed and waiting.

Exactly how he wanted it.

He dragged it back over to the wall, clipping its collar to the chain there. “No food today or tomorrow. You’re dismissed.”

Emereo slumped over. “Th-thank you, Master.”

Devran left it there, locking the basement up as he went upstairs. Two days nursing its injuries in the dark with no food should give it the time it needed to reflect on its actions.

He went on with his day, not paying any more mind to the crying mess in his basement aside from when he cleaned the branding iron.

Later, he would swear that somehow, when he went to bed that night, he could feel that something wasn’t right.

-

Day 2

“I–I deserved it, sir,” Emereo sobbed.

Devran blinked.

He was back in the basement, his fist coiled around his pet’s collar, just like yesterday. Emereo’s brand was even still smoldering, he noted.

He dropped the wretched thing, taking a moment to collect himself while Emereo shook on the ground. He must have been dreaming, right? The last thing he remembered was falling asleep.

“Sir?” Emereo squeaked.

“Stupid,” he muttered, turning away and back up the stairs. Though he didn’t bother closing the door, the Emereo of his dreams had learned its lesson just as well as the real one and stayed put.

Devran straight up to bed, and though it was still light out, managed to get himself to drift off into a nap.

-

Day 3

“I–I deserved it, sir,” Emereo sobbed.

Devran was not the slow sort.

He only gripped the pet’s collar tighter, drawing it up with a yank. “What’s going on?” he barked.

“I deserved it!” Emereo repeated, pupils dilated. Its hands raised slightly, then lowered as it snuffed out the instinct to loosen the pressure around its neck. “I’m so sorry, Master! Please!”

“Forget about the stupid escape!” Devran threw the pet to the floor, hard. Its skull cracked audibly against the concrete, though it did not lose consciousness. “You don’t remember, do you?”

Emereo’s breaths came quick as it wracked its mind, desperate to placate its master. “R-remember what, sir? I remember my lessons! I won’t forget again!”

“Great. Just great.” Devran stormed upstairs and locked the door behind him. If he was going to figure this out, it certainly wouldn’t be aided by a stupid pet who had no idea what was even happening.

Internet searches returned only science fiction. Obviously, this was out of the realm of the ordinary. He was on his own, but Devran was nothing if not adaptable.

And clearly, he had all the time in the world to figure it out.

After a day of fruitless research, he checked himself into a hotel for the night. Perhaps it was the bed.

-

Day 4

“I–I deserved it, sir,” Emereo sobbed.

It was not the bed.

Devran sighed, dropped the pet, and headed back upstairs without another word. He started writing ideas in his journal, but scrapped that–it would all be erased anyway. He would simply have to remember everything.

He brewed a pot of coffee in pursuit of his next endeavor. Every time he slept, he reset. So he simply would not sleep. Obviously unsustainable, but maybe if he crossed some sort of threshold, time would go forward as it was meant to again. It wasn’t like he’d never pulled an all-nighter before. He would aim to pull two, at least.

On the bleary 40th hour of his endeavor, Devran was pulled from his countless shaky-handed cup of coffee by a soft knocking.

“Master?” came a small voice.

At least it was something to distract from the sleeplessness. Devran opened the door. “What?”

Emereo backed up, almost tripping over itself as it fled to the bottom of the stairs. “C-could I have some water, please? My bowl’s been empty… I’m sorry to bother you. It’s just…”

It was very, very clearly sorry. It was apparent that it would rather be doing anything else at the moment.

Devran rolled his eyes. “Stay.”

The pet obeyed as Devran filled a cup with water, brought it back, and tossed it down the stairs, spilling it all over the floor. It could lick it off the ground if it wanted it so badly. He was too tired to give a shit. “There’s your water.”

“Thank you, sir!” Emereo called as he slammed the door back.

Devran returned to his pacing until he was simply too exhausted, only daring to sit down for just a moment.

-

Day 5

“I–I deserved it, sir,” Emereo sobbed.

“Damn it!” Devran shouted, throwing his pet to the floor. It shrieked, covering its face as it cowered away.

Back to the drawing board.

He stared curiously at the pet curled on the ground. He’d been focusing on himself and his behaviors to stop the loop, but why did he always wake up here? Was it simply random chance, or could Emereo be connected to this, somehow? Even if it couldn’t remember?

Devran lowered Emereo, then released its collar. “Have you ever seen Groundhog Day?”

“W-what?” it asked, completely tense as it looked up at him.

“The movie, the one about the man trapped in a time loop. Keep up.” Devran snapped his fingers.

Emereo immediately positioned itself into a kneeling position. “Yes, sir! I’ve seen Groundhog day. M-my siblings and I used to watch it on the actual holiday.” It covered its mouth suddenly, like it had said something it shouldn’t have.

“I’m stuck in a time loop. Like in Groundhog Day. Do you understand?” Devran asked.

It was immediately clear that the pet thought he was losing his mind. It looked up at him questioningly, trying and failing to hide its obvious disbelief. “...Yes, sir. And… should I be, um, doing something?”

“You should be glad your punishment’s interrupted. I keep resetting right then, why is that?” he muttered.

“I don’t know, sir. I’m sorry.” Emereo’s voice was quiet, trying hard not to trip on unsteady ground.

“Useless.” Devran left it down there and headed upstairs, then out the door.

His friends were even more useless than the internet had been.

-

Day 6

“I–I deserved it, sir,” Emereo sobbed.

Devran dropped it, heading upstairs without another word. It had been a while since he’d opened this drawer for anything other than cleaning, and, well, he’d always wanted to try this. Either it would break the loop and he’d be free, or it wouldn’t and there would be no consequences.

The pet’s eyes grew wide as it looked up the stairs when he returned, straight up the barrel.

“Sir?” it breathed, not daring to move a muscle.

“Good night, pet.”

With that, his basement was painted red. Devran didn’t bother cleaning it up.

-

Day 7

“I–I deserved it, sir,” Emereo sobbed.

It was strange, seeing his pet so full of life after blasting its brains all over the walls. Devran released it to the floor, taking a step back.

“You used to watch Groundhog Day every Groundhog Day with your siblings,” he said simply.

Despite its aching body and cracked ribs, Emereo moved swiftly to prostrate itself, bending until it was the utter picture of submission.

“Please don’t hurt them,” it choked out, “I’ll do anything, Master, anything, I promise I’ll never try to run again, just please. I’ll be such a good pet for you, I swear! You’ll never need to discipline me again! Please don’t, oh God, please–”

“I’m not going to kidnap your fucking family. Get a grip.” Devran snapped, and Emereo in turn snapped up to an upright kneeling position. It cried out as the sudden movement jostled its injuries, but did not complain.

In all their time together, he had never seen it quite this distressed. Devran pocketed the idea to ensure future obedience, once he’d dealt with this damn loop.

“You told me this. I’m trapped in a time loop,” he explained. “Do you believe me now?”

“Yes, sir!” The pet was unreadable this time, its mind clearly elsewhere.

“Listen.” Devran snapped again, and Emereo flinched. “Every day for the past week, I’ve woken up to you crying here, and nothing I’ve tried has worked. I’m half-convinced you’re somehow involved with this.”

“I didn’t!” Emereo insisted, fresh tears brimming. “I s-swear, sir, I didn’t, I’m sorry I tried to escape, but I didn’t–”

“Not like that. In the more… catalytic sense,” he corrected.

Emereo pursed its lips.

“What?” Devran demanded. “Spit it out. I only have all day.”

“H-have…” It cut itself off. “I’m afraid I’ll be… punished again, sir. I don’t want to disrespect you.”

“You’re disrespecting me more by disobeying my direct order to spit it out.”

“Have you ever seen Groundhog Day, sir?” Emereo asked. It put its arm up to guard its face, as if that would do anything.

Ah. Of course that would be the first thing the stupid pet thought of. He hadn’t seen the movie itself, but it had wormed its way into popular culture enough for him to get the gist: a man is trapped in a time loop until he betters himself as a person.

“Very fucking funny. That’s a movie, this is real life.” Devran turned to leave it once more, then stopped.

Why not? He might as well try everything.

“You know what?” He turned back toward the pet.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Emereo wailed. “Please, I didn’t want to say it, you ordered me to!”

“Go.” Devran stepped aside, gesturing up the stairs.

Emereo shook its head, frantic. “I’ve learned, sir. I promise. I’ll never run again, never, never.”

“I said to fucking go.” Devran grabbed it by the collar and dragged it upstairs, throwing it out the door. “Don’t come back.”

He shut the door in its bewildered face.

It wasn’t even an hour later that police showed up to arrest him.

Devran didn’t particularly mind. If it stuck, he would still be imprisoned for less time here than he would be if it didn’t.

-

Day 8

“I–I deserved it, sir,” Emereo sobbed.

Devran abandoned the pet once more to work on his own. While Emereo’s idea was juvenile at best, there was a kernel of worth in it: perhaps there was some use in looking to time loop narratives. If someone else had ever escaped his predicament, perhaps they’d write a book or script about it. It wasn’t like he was lacking time.

He threw some food and water down for the pet so he wouldn’t be disturbed, then set to work.

After Groundhog Day, The Girl Who Leapt Through Time, and Happy Death Day, he fell asleep halfway through 1408.

-

Day 9

“I–I deserved it, sir,” Emereo sobbed.

It had only been just over a week, but the spot Devran had left off in his old life was slowly starting to lose its meaning. He couldn’t find any energy to be angry about the escape attempt anymore.

“Up,” Devran ordered, releasing its collar.

Emereo struggled to its feet. “Yes, sir.”

Devran led it upstairs. “Go sit on the couch.”

“Yes, sir.” Emereo collapsed there, whimpering as it tried to find some semblance of comfort with its injuries.

“Your punishment is over. I’m going to be watching some movies and TV shows. If you’re good, you can stay and join me for lunch and dinner,” Devran offered. Perhaps the recent watch of Groundhog Day had made him soft after all.

The pet wiped its eyes. “Thank you, Master. I’ll be good.”

He put on 1408 again, fast-forwarding until he got to the point he’d fallen asleep at. The pet watched with rapt attention, not seeming to mind having missed the beginning of the movie. It did not speak at all during its run, only looking away to try and fail to spot the brand now taking residence behind its shoulder.

After a horrific torment at the hands of a cursed hotel room, the protagonist ended up setting it ablaze and escaping. Devran had already successfully fallen asleep outside his house, so that didn’t help at all.

“This wasn’t the original ending,” Emereo piped up suddenly. “They changed it because test screeners thought the director’s vision was too much of a downer. There’s actually four endings, ‘cause they made a bunch trying to find a good one for theaters, they included them all in the DVD release. He dies in the fire in the original one.”

Devran turned to look at it.

Emereo shied away. “I-I used to watch a lot of horror movies. Master.”

“Hm.” Well, that was equally as useless. If dying was the only way to escape the loop, he’d be dead after he escaped, and it would be pointless. “Lunch time, I think.”

It turned out that getting through all the movies and staying awake was easier with Emereo’s commentary. It slowly opened up as Devran encouraged it. It even gave recommendations.

-

Day 10

“I–I deserved it, sir,” Emereo sobbed.

Devran lowered his hold slowly, then released it. That brand really did look nasty. All that bright-eyed babbling from yesterday was gone, now.

“Punishment’s over. Come on.” Devran helped it up, his hold firm even as Emereo flinched from his touch. “No more hurting for now.”

Emereo was able to get up the stairs much faster with help. Devran even applied some burn cream to its brand and gave it some ibuprofen for the pain.

“Thank you, Master,” it said after it downed the pills. “You’re… more merciful than I’d expected. Thank you. I really won’t try to run again. I’ve learned.”

It was a pathetically low bar, but it was also the most kindness Devran had ever allowed it at once. This was how he’d imagined it in the beginning, when he’d pictured training a human pet: a loyal, devoted companion, after the pesky conditioning was out of the way. He’d seen others in his circles accomplish the same. He’d thought for a while that they’d simply chosen better victims, and he was stuck with this one now that he couldn’t let it go without the police on his tail. Maybe it just required a gentler hand.

“Good. Maybe I’ve been too harsh with you, and that’s why you felt the need to run,” Devran conceded. “We can both learn from this. A better pet and a better owner.”

He chanced a soft pat on the head. Emereo only flinched a little.

“I’d like that, sir,” Emereo agreed. There was no doubt in Devran’s mind that it wanted to be free more, but its words were sincere nonetheless.

-

Devran fell into a routine.

At the start of each day, he took care of Emereo, learning more and more what words were most effective in calming him down–a he now, eventually–as he treated the injuries he’d inflicted. He made lunch for the two of them, then did something related to the loop. Research or an attempt to break it. As the days went by, he grew lazier and lazier with that, sometimes skipping it altogether as he grew more sure there was no way out after all.

He spent the rest of the day relaxing with his beloved pet, falling into a kind of peace. Emereo never reacted well when he tried to free him or take him outside, only causing more distress after the punishment he’d just taken. So he stayed.

-

Day 259

“I–I deserved it, sir,” Emereo sobbed.

“Good, there you go. It’s over now, I promise. You’re going to be alright.” Devran unclipped the collar from Emereo’s neck and tossed it aside. “You did such a good job. I’m not going to hurt you again. Let’s treat those injuries, okay? Let me help you up the stairs.”

Emereo’s face was the picture of relief. Devran had seen it hundreds of times. “Thank you, Master.”

It bothered Devran that this was the reset point. If only it could have been an hour earlier, before he’d caused so much pain. He’d even prayed for it, during his brief stint turning toward the church for an answer to his loop. But he always woke in the same spot.

After Emereo was all treated, Devran wrapped him in a blanket, brought him to the couch, and served him his favorite food: grilled cheese. It was about the most content someone recently-tortured could look, but through it all, there was always that undercurrent of pain and fear.

It was cruel, really. Devran had made his peace with the loop, but Emereo was the one that truly suffered for it, even if he couldn’t remember.

By this point, there was only one thing he hadn’t tried. He had mulled it over for quite a while, and he’d finally made up his mind. It was a bit drastic, but if it was the only way to free Emereo from his daily torment, he had to at least try, didn’t he?

He took his journal and wrote the names of everyone else he could think of, then tore out the page, folding it in half.

“Emereo? There’s something I need you to do,” he said as he joined him back downstairs.

“Yes, Master?” he asked, suddenly just a little more tense. Devran hated that. He wondered if Emereo would ever lose that fear, if he spent some years away from here. Away from him.

He handed Emereo the paper. “You don’t need to read this, it won’t make sense to you anyway. These are my… friends. If you ever get out of here, give this to the police, okay?”

Emereo looked lost, but that was alright. He didn’t need to understand just yet. “Um, yes, sir.”

“Good. You’re free to do as you please. Use the phone, take a walk outside, whatever you like. You won’t be punished.” Devran left him there and locked himself in his bedroom. He didn’t want Emereo to be the one to find him, even if it reset and he wouldn’t remember.

“Well, here goes nothing.” Devran clicked the safety off and shot himself in the head.

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Saw this post from @thatbuddie and cried writing this. Happy Father's Day to all who celebrate and all who struggle through it. Love y'all 🩷

He doesn't know why he's torturing himself. It's not really torture, but the ache in his heart is. He can't help the smile on his face even through the tears as he looks through the box. Seeing how much Chris' artwork has changed over the years is more than enough to have him in a blubbering heap in the floor of his closet. Seeing it while knowing he won't witness how it'll change for who knows how long is almost enough to completely shatter him. Handmade cards, origami swans Shannon taught him to make, origami frogs Buck showed him, and the heart Eddie insisted on keeping rather than tossing out all sit neatly tucked in the box at the top of the closet. His reasons for keeping the heart are too difficult to explain. It's one of his favorites. He stacks each piece carefully beside him, wiping his tears on the sleeve of his hoodie so he doesn't damage the pages. He's not outright sobbing. He'll take it as a win. Chris still isn't speaking to him, but Ramon sends lots of pictures and updates every day. He says Chris is adjusting okay, but not his usual bright self. Eddie knows the feeling. He opens the card from last father's day and can't help but outright giggle. Chris' handwriting is just like Buck's. Small and slanted and barely legible unless you're used to the style. He doesn't know why it's so hilarious. Maybe he's losing his mind. He collects himself with a deep breath and sets the card aside before reaching into the box and taking the next piece from the pile. This one does break him. He remembers standing on the sidewalk as the bus drove away, surrounded by parents who seemed more than happy to have two weeks without a kid to take care of. Eddie couldn't understand how they were so ecstatic to watch their kids leave. He feels the same way now as he did that day. Glad he let Chris go, but more than a little empty without half of his heart. He feels a tug in his chest, like the string that connects them wants to snap. He resists the urge to hold on tighter, just like that morning all those years ago. He blinks through the tears at the writing in the card. Chris' assurance that Eddie would be fine is the thing that has him choking out a sob, dropping the card to his lap as he covers his face with his hands. "Hey, hey, Eds, it's okay." Eddie hiccups a sob and slumps against Buck's chest. He doesn't know when he showed up. He didn't hear the door, or Buck's usual cheerful greeting. He's just glad he's here. There was a time when he'd try to collect himself. Scoop the broken pieces into some semblance of a person and pretend he's fine. But he's not. And he knows Buck's not either. Eddie twists and wraps his arms around Buck's neck, his shoulders shaking with each sob. Buck rubs soothing circles on his back, whispering reassurances to him Eddie barely registers. "I'm sorry," Eddie whimpers, holding tighter. "Hey, it's okay," Buck says softly, his own voice wavering. "I miss him too. I know."

Eddie doesn't know how long they stay curled around each other, holding each other together as the tears fall away. It reminds Eddie of the day Chris left. How he had turned to Buck and broke. They sat on the floor by the couch for over an hour, simply holding each other, clinging to the one and only lifeline they both had left. Eddie sniffles and takes a deep breath after God knows how long, finally collecting himself enough to lean back. He wipes his sleeves across his face and takes another shaky breath. "No word from him?" Buck asks. Eddie shakes his head. "You?" Buck shakes his head. "Doesn't mean he doesn't love you, Eddie." Eddie knows that, he does. But some days, his mind doesn't let him believe it. That was how he ended up in the closet floor, sifting through the evidence. "You still up for lunch with Bobby?" Buck asks after a few minutes. "If you're not, we can plan it another day. He'd understand." "I still want to go," Eddie says with a genuine smile. Just because he's having a shitty day doesn't mean Buck and Bobby have to as well. Buck stands and offers a hand to pull Eddie to his feet. Eddie stands with a groan and winces as his knees crackle. Buck giggles and opens his mouth to speak. "Don't you say a word, Buckley," Eddie warns, pointing a finger at him. Buck smirks and raises his free hand in surrender. "Wasn't going to say anything. I was just going to find your cane." "You're older than me!" Eddie squawks, lightly bapping his chest. "Your knees say otherwise," Buck grins. He tugs on their still joined hands. "Come on. Cap's waiting on us." He practically drags Eddie to the door. Eddie smiles, already feeling a little lighter. Buck's always been able to do that. Always been able to drag him from the depths of his mind so simply. Both their phones chime as they step out into the afternoon sun. Eddie takes his from his pocket as Buck does the same. Eddie's heart stitches a piece of itself back together at the notification. A message to the Buckley-Diaz (Chris picked the name) group chat: Superman: Happy Father's Day guys Love you The tears that fall from Eddie's eyes this time are filled with joy and love. He beams at Buck, who's wearing his Christopher-specific grin. Eddie pulls him into a hug and they dissolve into laughter laced with relief. Eddie knows they still have a lot of work to do. Frank even suggested having a therapy session with Chris. But this? This is a start. This is what finally lets him believe- "We're gonna be okay," Buck says, cradling the back of Eddie's head. Eddie curls his fists in Buck's shirt, holding tight. "Yeah. We're gonna be okay." He presses his temple to Buck's. "Happy Father's Day, Buck." "Happy Father's Day, Eddie."