#And Logan is made of metal. Metal is heavy. Heavy things sink.

[antisocialpyromaniac]

[readerstories]

Take Me and Ride Me - Logan x male reader

Can be any Logan from any universe, this was just an excuse to write smut. (AO3)

Warnings/tags: male reader, established relationship, plot what plot/porn without plot, anal, bottom logan, dirty talk, praise

Wordcount: 1515

Summary: Having Logan in your lap is heaven, even if he controls the pace.

The thing about having Logan ride you is that it’s incredibly hot. A man made of pure muscle and sin in your lap riding your cock like he was made for it. Moaning so prettily as he sinks up and down on your cock, and you touch him all over, letting your hands wander all over his chest.

Because the thing is, Logan controls the pace. He’s heavy, the adamantium covering his skeleton making it difficult to move him. Sometimes this means he’s riding you so fast all you can do is hold on for dear life, your hands digging into him, leaving marks that disappear in seconds.

At other times, like this time, it means he sits himself down on your cock and won’t move until he gets what he wants from you. His hips still and you frown against his shoulder where you were biting down, hands moving to his hips, trying to push, but he doesn’t move an inch.

“Logan?” A hand in your hair pulls your head back, you make eye contact as he keeps your head still.

“Want to hear you.”

“What, no more biting even as much as you love it?” You try to move a hand down to his cock, certain you will find it leaking, but your hand is knocked away.

“No.”

“Want me to use my words, is that it?”

“Yes.” You snort at his short answers, how he is pretending like he wasn’t moaning out your name over and over again just a few minutes ago.

“Needy.” You tease and Logan growls, but you just grin in return, feeling his hold on your hair loosen just the tiniest amount.

“Want me to tell you how good you feel? Tell you how tight you are around my cock? How well you take me in that gorgeous not so little ass of yours?” Your hands move down to squeeze his ass, and though he doesn’t move, he squeezes around you as a reward, making you grunt.

Logan’s grip tightens on your hair again, moving your head to the side so he can have all the access to your neck he wants. His teeth dance over your skin, brushing over marks from earlier, before finding an unmarred piece of skin to start sucking on. His mutton chops tickles, but his mouth feels like heaven.

“And your mouth, jesus fucking christ. Another perfect thing about you, made to suck and bite, and fuck- Shit!” You exclaim as he moves to your shoulder and bites down hard. Your cock twitches inside of him, and he squeezes around you again.

“Such a fucking tease, want to just cockwarm me while you ruin me, huh?” You feel him grin as he licks over the bitemark, which is all the confirmation you need, and by god, if that doesn’t make you throb.

“Okay, yeah, as if you haven’t done so already.” One hand moves to his hair, tugging at it, messing up the little kitten ear tufts while you squeeze his ass at the same time. He’s so warm underneath your hands, soft under all that muscle and hair, before the metal in his skeleton. You know he’s not even bearing down his full weight on you, you feel it in how his thigh trembles as your hand dances over the tense muscle.

“Come on baby boy, I can take it. I can take you.”

“Don’t call me that.” He mutters, but obliges your request anyway. You hear the bed creak, and you know your hips are going to hurt tomorrow, but you can’t find yourself to care. It doesn’t matter as he sinks himself down completely. You grunt, hands clutching at his hips again.

“Fuck yeah, there we go, such a good boy.” You can practically feel Logan heat up at the praise, and his hole clenches around you, making you moan out loud. His hand in your hair yanks your head back so he can lick down your chest instead of just your neck and shoulders.

“Made to take me, made to sit on my cock as long as you want.” Your hands are not sitting still, stroking and squeezing all over him as his hole keeps your cock hard and leaking, his wonderful mouth helping it all. His hand not in your hair moves to a nipple, tugging at the stiff bud, making you moan for him.

“Pure and utter sin, so fucking sweet for me.” Logan hums, his mouth closing around the nipple currently not in his hand. His tongue brushes up against it, and if he was anyone else, your hips would have fucked up into him. You can’t do anything, but you are sure Logan can feel it.

Lucky for you, he seems to take mercy on you, as he starts to move his hips, just slowly rolling them, feeling your cock inside him, and letting you feel his hole clench around him.

“Ah, fuck yes, there we go. Ride me, take me like I know you want to.” Logan hums against your chest, mouth and hand switching places, making you moan for him again. His nails scratch against your scalp, you can almost feel your eyes roll back into your skull with how it all feels so good. How pleasure shoots through you with every minute roll of his hips, with every stroke of his tongue over your heated skin, with every brush of his teeth over every unmarked piece of you.

“Logan, I am not going to last long like this. Not with you being so fucking sweet towards me.” He chuckles against your chest, something that you swear vibrates through him, and by extension you, making you leak even more inside of his tight and warm ass.

“You call this sweet?” Logan teases, soft lips moving up to your neck now.

“Sweet, incredible, amazing, mind blowing, uh, some other adjective I’ll come up with later when you are not currently melting my brain by sitting on my dick.” Logan snorts, making another pang of arousal flow through you as he deliberately clenches around you again with the next slow roll of his hips. Moving your head so he can press your lips against yours, seemingly happy to not hear any more words out of your mouth, catching them with kisses instead. 

You can feel that familiar tightening in your guts and cock, you know you are close, so you try to move your hand down to his cock again, but again Logan slaps your hand away. You are confused for a moment, but that thought is soon gone as Logan raises himself up, sinking up and down on your cock properly.

All it takes are five proper slides of him over your cock, and you are coming, filling him up as you bite down hard enough on his lips to draw blood. It tastes of copper, and he moans your name into your mouth in return. Your hands digs into his hips as he stills again, leaning back from your kiss.

You are both panting heavily, and all you can do is watch as he keeps your softening cock inside of himself as he starts to jerk off. You want to touch, want to reach out and help him, cover his hand with yours. But all you do is watch as his hand becomes a blur over his cock, jerking himself off while cockwarming you.

“Oh my fucking god. Logan.” At the uttering of his name, your name leaves his lips as he spills over his fingers, his cum hitting your stomach too. You feel so spent, so wrecked, watching and feeling Logan fall apart in your lap. It’s too soon for you to get hard again, but god damn if your cock doesn’t try as Logan clenches around you as he cums. He strokes himself through it, into oversensitivity for you both.

Eventually he does let go of his cock, and swings his leg over you, flopping down onto his back next to you. You let yourself fall back onto the bed as well, closing your eyes as your breathing and sensitive cock calm down.

For a little bit all that can be heard in the room is your shared labored breathing.

Then there’s a hand on your hip, thumb massaging into the muscle there. You open your eyes, looking down to where Logan has moved down so his head is level with your hips. You hadn’t even noticed him move down there in your post-orgasm haze. There’s already at least one bruise forming, and you see Logan frown at it. You thread your hand through his soft hair, making him look up at you, hazel eyes watching you.

“Hey, so fucking worth it.” He lets out a little laugh, leaning over to kiss it. “There, all better and cured.” You joke, tugging at his hair so he will get up and kiss you properly. He obliges you, you can feel him smile against you.

Oh you are going to be so sore in the morning, but yeah, it’s so fucking worth it.

[casualfruit]

If I’d checked the ratings before watching Wolverine: Origins, I probably would have skipped it, but I did get a kick out of how stupid it was so I can’t say I regretted it. It was So Aggressively Late 2000s in the best and worst ways.

The performances were so over-the-top campy that they were verging on self-aware parody, except the film was taking itself totally seriously, which made it even more ridiculous—but that’s exactly what I expected. Danny Huston, Hugh Jackman, and Liev Schreiber absolutely DEVOURED their roles and left NOT ONE SINGLE CRUMB. The only disappointment was Lynn Collins’s lackluster performance as Silver Fox, which was made even worse by being in a movie where everyone else was going for full action melodrama. I was also a bit let down by Gambit’s barely-there southern drawl, but he wasn’t in much of the movie so it wasn’t a huge deal. On the bright side, Will.I.Am and Dominic Monaghan were an unexpected delight.

I will say though, aside from the performances, my favorite part was Logan’s body hair. Especially the shot of his dog tags sitting on a bed of chest hair 🥴 I am a faggot with preferences and I demand that Hollywood stop waxing their male actors and just let them be HAIRY FOR THE LOVE OF GOD JUST LET THEM BE HAIRY PLEASE I BEG YOU—

I really liked the scene where Logan is at the old couple’s house and sits on the motorcycle and it sinks down under his weight. The fact that his metal-coated skeleton is Heavy should be used more in movies. Also, the scene where Stryker says “your country (USA) needs you” and Logan responds “I’m Canadian” and drives away was so fucking iconic.

On the other hand…

The CGI was generally alright, but there were some points when it was straight up Bad. Mainly the adamantium claws, but especially the shot at the very end when the kids are running to Prof X. It was so painfully clear that they were being edited in. I don’t know why they couldn’t just have the kids run towards him for real.

I’m still not fully clear on what Zero’s motivation for being such a shithead was. I wasn’t on my phone half-watching, I was genuinely paying attention to the movie. I assume that he harbored some kind of resentment for Logan… but why? Fuck if I know. It’s not like it really mattered.

As disgusting and mean spirited as it was, the fatphobia with Fred Dukes was also very much of its time. I’m glad that it only lasted for one scene, and I am SO glad that it isn’t as prevalent as it used to be.

And Deadpool… oh god. I’d seen references to him in the DP movies and in videos about superhero movies, but I didn’t realize just how bad it truly was. His self-aware and irreverent humor is one of his defining characteristics; sealing his mouth shut turns him into a generic humanoid monster. And the sword arms were so phenomenally stupid I could barely believe what I was looking at. How the fuck could he move his elbows when the blades were fully retracted? Even if his wrists had mobility, the blades should have gone from the bottom of his forearm to like halfway thru his upper arm. The only good thing I have to say about third act DP is that the rest of his design looked kinda cool as generic humanoid monsters go, but honestly the Mannequin Soldiers from FMAB did it better.

The adamantium bullet memory wipe was such a bullshit cop out ending. Logan’s inability to recognize Kayla was supposed to be emotionally impactful, but I felt nothing because I was too busy being pissed off at how stupid the whole thing was. I think I hated this even more than what they did with DP.

All in all, I’d say this movie earned its Rotten Tomatoes score of 38%

[talesofconjuria]

Are you waterproof or what keeps you from rusting?

“I do not rust like other metals. My body was forged in a way that better protected me from the elements. With that being said, I’m extremely heavy and thus, incapable of swimming.”

“You’re incapable of swimming? Can’t you learn?”

“I, as you would say, ‘sink like a rock.’ It’s not a lack of knowing the body motions required to swim and keep afloat. I am just too heavy for those methods to be efficient. It would be the same as anyone who was wearing heavy armor would have a difficult time swimming against the weight on them.”

“I guess that makes sense. I didn’t think about it like that.”

Patton comes back with an arm full of sticks. He sets up a campfire and lights it with his tinder box. He smiles as he sits down on a log. His head rests on his knees as he stares at the fire, his tail wagging back and forth with the movement of the flames.

Logan watches Patton curiously. “Why are you staring at the fire so intently?”

Roman finishes setting the tent up and looks over. He rolls his eyes, used to this behavior. “He has a thing for fire. He can stare at it like that for hours.”

“It’s just really pretty. The way it moves in the wind, the bright colors. How could you not look at it?”

“Looking and staring are two different things. I swear, you’re going to go blind staring at it.”

Patton shrugs; Roman’s comments don’t bother him.

Roman walks a distance away from Patton and Logan, sitting down on a log as she looks up to the moon. “Hey, mom. It’s me again. I had a crazy day. We wandered into a basilisk’s nest. I slayed the beast, of course. Patton wasn’t too happy about it, ever the pacifist, but it was evil! And it turned out to be the right choice because we needed its gullet to make a cure to the petrification. That’s how we met Logan. I’m not too sure about them. They’re made out of metal. It’s not natural. They’re also damaged. I tried healing them, but apparently, we need to go to Jongvale to get them repaired.

“I know I’m supposed to be finding my brother so we can go on this epic quest and find father, but Patton insists that we escort them back home. So, we are taking a detour, but I promise that once that is done with, we will get back on track.”

~ ~ ~

Patton takes the second watch so that Roman can rest. Logan sits on a log motionless; his glow is dim. Patton wonders if he’s alive since his chest doesn’t move, but Logan explains that he doesn’t need to breathe and thus his chest doesn’t move. Apparently, he only needs to rest for 6 hours, but he’s not unconscious either. He can still see and hear everything; he just doesn’t move or speak. Paxton doesn’t fully understand, but he trusts Logan’s judgment on himself.

While Paxton stares at the fire, he hears a twig snap too late to stop the wolf from charging and biting into his arm. He yelps in surprise, but before he can do anything, another wolf has already struck the unknowing Logan, knocking him over as the wolf bites into his metal shoulder.

The wolf on him continues to bite Paxton, pain flaring in his arm as blood runs down and coats the beast’s teeth and fur. The second wolf tries to bite Logan but can’t seem to break his metal skin.

Paxton tries to push the wolf off of him, but the beast's grip is too strong.

NEXT

[lydsdonovan]

She swallowed the lump that dared to form in her throat in response to Logan's attempt at an apology, simply keeping her gaze focused on the young woman as she spoke. Lydia didn't want to fight -- she never wanted to fight, but between all the Donovan's there was always a spark that, at any moment, was ready to ignite. She was no exception to the rule, as much as she wanted to pretend she was. "Don't do that," she said finally, holding up a hand once her sister had finished, "I'm more than willing to accept your apology, but what I won't accept is you trying to accommodate my feelings by telling me you didn't mean what you said. You did. Maybe you didn't mean how you reacted while saying it, but you don't come up with ways to strike me down like you did on a whim." Her voice was steady, but firm, and in a way it almost made her feel worse not to yell or scream out because she was only proving Logan's point about her being a carbon copy of Meredith. Meredith was typically level headed in her words, a stark contrast to how Harold would be in arguments, and the eldest Donovan always strove to do the same.

"I'm sorry you feel like I set you up for failure, Logan. I truly am," she said, moving to grab the metal sheet of fucked-up muffins and tilting them over so that they slid into the trash, "but I don't ask you guys for anything, ever, save for a few times a month where I ask one of you to pick Landon up from school." The redhead placed the now-empty sheet into the industrial sink, turning back to face her. "And I know he wasn't behaving himself either -- believe me, I'm not as naive as you and Nate would like to believe I am. But Landon doesn't remember Harold being an asshole, he remembers his aunt and uncle walking out on a dinner." A heavy sigh leaves her lips, and her gaze follows, instead moving to focus on her flour-dusted hands. "I'm not trying to make you feel worse, Logan. You're my sister and I love you, and we've gone through a lot of terrible fucking things. I just -- maybe I need to stop trying to make us the happy family we were never destined to be."

Logan couldn't help but release a heavy sigh as she laid eyes on her older sister. At that moment, the guilt she had been struggling to suppress flooded back in full force. Logan had reached her breaking point with Harold's drunk tirades during dinner, and Lydia had unfortunately become an unintended casualty in the chaos. Although she didn't believe that she owed Haolrd an apology for her behavior during dinner, she knew that an apology to her sister was owed, and hoped that Lydia wouldn't hold it against her.

"Sure," Logan nodded and stepped around the display to slide it open. "Actually, yeah. Might help me get out of your way quicker." Logan nodded without looking up from grabbing which pastries she wanted to take with her. After a brief, uncomfortable silence, Logan finally turned her gaze toward her sister. "Lydia, I'm sorry" She admitted, "I didn't what I said about you. I was angry and in the heat of the moment." Her being a carbon copy of Meredith that was. "But you can sit here and tell me that you just expected us… me, to sit there and listen as he throws backhanded comment after comment."

[delimeful]

the shapes in the silence (12)

warnings: dissociation, fighting, mild blood & injury, panic, another hopefully less bad cliffhanger

-

Puff woke up to a gentle hand down his back ridges, his hoard chattering above him, and an odd, high pitched note on the edge of his hearing.

His ears twitched in agitation at the noise, but his hoard took priority, so he took a moment to stretch before finally tuning into the conversation.

The three of them were arguing about another one of their screen viewings, trying to decide which one of their little stories to play. Each of them seemed to treasure very specific titles with passionate reverence, but for Puff couldn’t tell the difference between most of them. The screen was always too bright for his eyes to focus on for long, and the sounds often too loud.

As such, when the decision was left up to him, he simply stared at them blankly for a moment before settling back into a curled up shape to continue dozing.

There was a pause in the chatter (making the strange noise seem all the louder) and then they continued speaking in much more muted tones, indicating discomfort and uncertainty. Puff felt a twinge of discontent run through him and sighed grumpily.

This was the problem with a human-shaped hoard. They were so difficult to maintain.

Not that Puff would trade his hoard for all the shining things in the world. Each of them on their own were more valuable than any number of treasures combined. Every dragon probably felt that way about their hoard, but in his case it was true.

He let his eyes slit open, peering at the nearest of his collection.

Roman, who carried the smell of pigments and an appreciation for the finer things himself, was like a golden gauntlet. Ornate but handcrafted, painstaking care in every detail, and dripping with rubies.

Logan, who needed his hands occupied just as well as his mind, was like an illuminated manuscript. Pages draped in silver leaf edging, needing such a delicate touch to keep the ink from wearing away.

Patton, who watched them all with keen eyes and a warm gaze, was like a polished wooden music box. Inside, rose-colored clockwork met precisely placed metal prongs, together producing the notes to a nostalgic tune.

They were so precious, all of them, but never more than when they were shining their brightest with joy and contentment.

Puff was having a hard time making them happy, lately. Without Not-Puff, it was much harder to figure out which actions would keep his hoard from becoming dull with misery. His tail thrashed irritably as he once again felt the absence in himself.

Despite his constant presence as a part of their shared being, Not-Puff was assuredly not part of the hoard. He was like a rusty, chipped butterfly knife. All double edges and caked dirt from lack of care. Barely even worth looking at.

Still, Not-Puff was better at understanding which choices would make the hoard happy, which meant he was useful to have around. Puff mentally prodded at the barrier aiding in keeping the other half of him tucked quietly away, but there was no response. As the days passed, he’d only stirred when one of the hoard did something dangerous-stupid that went against all of their shared protective instincts, and even then, only barely.

It made Puff think that he didn’t plan on coming back.

It wasn’t like Not-Puff was a dragon, so maybe he simply didn’t care as much about the hoard. And even if he was gone for good, what did Puff care? That just meant more room for him in the empty, echoing space of their mind.

… Whatever.

Puff rolled over and got to his feet, stretching his wings out until they threatened to cramp. How irritating, thoughts like this keeping him up when all he wanted to do was take a nap.

If he couldn’t sleep, he might as well investigate the source of the noise.

He leapt easily to the floor, his hoard having already picked a glow story to watch in subdued silence. Patton called out a parting caution, and then Puff was off, trotting over to the stairs.

He passed Not-Puff’s room with barely a glance down the darkened hall. It was empty, obviously, though most of his hoard didn’t seem to realize. Logan and Patton often stood at the threshold, knocking and trying to coax Not-Puff out with sweet foods or concerned words, and while Roman generally avoided it, Puff had caught him staring more than once.

No matter what they tried or didn’t try, it remained locked up, silent and dark inside. Just like its former resident.

Puff could still get in, though he refrained from using the small flap-like door when others were watching. It wouldn’t do to make his hoard feel excluded, after all.

His dagger, the obsidian one with the gilded edges and honeyed words, could get inside, too.

His dagger-- Puff couldn’t quite recall the false name he used-- spent a lot of his time locked in that room, which was a bit foolish of him. It couldn’t be pleasant. Even Puff could feel the stagnant, fearful aura that lingered there, and dragons weren’t known for being affected by such things.

Not-Puff had complex, many-edged feelings towards their dagger, but it didn’t really matter, because Not-Puff had complex feelings about all of the hoard. He was a strange one like that.

In any case, it didn’t stop Puff from occasionally tromping off to go curl up in his dagger’s lap, letting the silly creature talk at him. He always talked when Puff came to bask with him, trying to coax Not-Puff out with lies and threats and even apologies that made his voice crack.

None of it ever worked.

He wasn’t in Not-Puff’s room now, though. Puff felt around curiously, and found his dagger was out in the real world, playing pretend.

He did that more and more often these days, dressing up to masquerade as Not-Puff for their Thomas. It was a strange practice. Puff much preferred his dagger as himself, all shining scales and black velvet.

Thomas was the crown of their little hoard, of course. It only made sense.

The odd tone grew in intensity, and Puff shook off his distractions, ears flattening against his skull. He could curl up with his hoard later, once this irritating buzzing was-- as Roman would say-- vanquished.

He passed the doors in the hall one after another, listening carefully at each one. After such a thorough inspection, the answer became clear.

Puff studied the portal-like entrance to the imagination, head tilting back and forth as he listened carefully to the noise. Not-Puff’s fear of this realm had kept Puff from wandering into it alone up until now, but the painful buzzing was definitely coming from it.

It was Not-Puff’s own fault for not being around to stop him, he decided, and stepped through.

-

As Puff trotted down cobblestone paths and dirt roads after the sound, it only seemed to grow more and more intense, enough so that he had to stop a few times to shake his head agitatedly, trying to get rid of the ringing headache.

At least those irritating shadow projections Not-Puff spawned weren’t present. The woven thread around his neck seemed to do well enough preventing them, which was good, because Puff wasn’t in the mood to go scampering around avoiding the trifling things. Not when there were noises to attend to.

“So it worked, after all.”

The strange, lilting voice made him spin around, wings flaring defensively.

Up in the twisting boughs of an old oak, the stranger cocked their head, bird-like. “I wasn’t sure it would,” they continued. “You’re a strange one, aren’t you?”

They tossed a hollow stone in their hand, the strange noise emanating from it. The scales along their cloak rattled with every movement, and Puff’s hackles rose in response. He remembered them. The Witch that tried to turn him against his own hoard.

“Now, don’t be rude. I’ve skinned beasts much larger than you with barely a snap of the fingers, you know.” They slid down to the ground, and Puff skittered back a few steps. “Halt.”

The compulsion took root firmly in him, keeping his feet glued to the ground. He hissed viciously, furious that their magic had such a hold on him. They sauntered closer and dropped to a squat.

“So my thrall does affect you… perhaps before was a one-off? I suppose it’s still interesting enough that you somehow keep your mind.” The eyes of their mask were dark and hollow, sending a chill down Puff’s spine even as he continued to growl viciously. “Quiet, now. Keep your mouth shut.”

His teeth clacked together painfully as his mouth snapped shut, leaving an impotent glare as his only form of defense.

“Perfect,” they said, and plucked him up from the ground, calming his struggles with another pulse of magic and a hand down his spine. “His Royal Irritation has been rearing for fight after fight lately, so it’ll be nice to finally have some leverage on my side.”

A chill spread through him.

“How long do you think it will take for him to find you?” they mused, tone light and mocking as they continued to run their hand along his spine possessively. “Days? Weeks? I certainly hope I’ll have enough time to prepare for company.”

Puff felt as though the metal cuff around his leg had grown suddenly heavy. He had a sinking feeling that it wouldn't take them nearly as long as he might hope, not when his hoard had grown so used to having him constantly nearby. Not when there was a tracker to lead them right into the Witch’s trap.

“Don’t fret, little dragon,” they crooned, tapping a finger between his eyes. “Sleep. I’ll wake you for the fun.”

Unable to do anything else, he obeyed.

-

When he woke, it was on the floor of an ornate birdcage, with magic thick in the air.

He uncurled, limbs weak, and pushed himself up to see that not one, but three of his hoard were before him, standing there in the grand hall of an ancient castle, facing off with the Witch.

The sight sent a thrum of alarm through him. The three of them didn’t enter the Imagination together often, and the effects of their combined presence made the place feel more real, more lasting.

Seeing the way they were back to back, surrounded by vicious constructed monsters, that wasn’t a good thing. That was a very, very bad thing indeed.

Even from his position next to the Witch’s throne, he could make out the cut on Roman’s forehead that continued to drip blood into his eyes, the way Logan leaned his weight heavily on one foot as though injured, the exhausted shaking of Patton’s frame as he tossed away a monster at Roman’s back.

More than that, he could feel the strain of his mental connection to his hoard, the urge to keep them from harm nearly all-consuming. They were his, and he would not stand idly by while they suffered.

For the first time in weeks, there was a stirring inside of Puff, like a billowing of air on banked coals. A white-hot glow, expanding with nowhere to go.

A gloved hand flicked the bars of the cage, bringing all his furious attention to the Witch. Their invisible gaze rested intently on him, making his scales prickle.

“Enjoying the show, small one?”

If looks could kill, this battle would be long over. The Witch laughed lowly at him.

“You look at me so fiercely, but this wouldn’t have been possible without you, you know?” They turned their gaze back to the battle with a darkly satisfied tint to their voice. “All three of them, right here in the palm of my hand for the sake of such a tiny, helpless creature. I’d almost think there’s something genuinely special about you. Too bad you probably won’t survive the heartbreak when I kill them.”

The snarl Puff let out seemed too small, too weak to even begin to express the amount of vitriol inside of him. The Witch didn’t even glance at him before rising to their feet to join the battle themself. His body trembled oddly.

He was afraid, he realized with a startle. He was more afraid than he’d ever been before.

That internal stir rose up again at the emotion, but it still felt as though a wall of thick mental fog separated Puff from it, like reaching through a haze. Bracing himself, he pushed past it anyways, dizzy with the effort.

For the first time since they’d been separated, Not-Puff was reaching back. Puff hesitated for the barest of moments.

If they did this. There would be consequences.

If they didn’t do this…

Nothing could be worse than losing them, one of them answered, and the other agreed. Which one was which didn’t really matter, in the end.

He took the anger and the fear that bubbled up inside of him and let them grow, welling up into one singular drive to protect. And, as the empty space around him seemed to vanish, he realized that he was growing, too.

The bracelet was the first thing to go, the connecting thread snapping at the pressure of his changing form. The tracer cuff followed easily, metal crumpling, and then the bars of the birdcage bent until they snapped, and then he was free of every restraint at last.

Virgil half-expected to come back to a human shape at that very moment, but Puff was still more than present in their mind, and as much as he loved their humans, there was clearly a superior option to better keep them all safe.

He flickered up like the flame tongues of a rising bonfire, or a bolt of energy connecting the earth and heavens, until he was big enough that his wings spread and met the adjacent walls of the throne chamber.

Every eye in the room was upon him, and when he growled, it was like the rolling crashes of a thunderstorm. Some of the monsters cowered away from that alone, turning tail and fleeing.

The Witch looked up at him and cackled, exuberant where they should be terrified.

“I knew there was something there, something different! You may have changed shape, little dragon, but my thrall isn’t so weak as to be influenced by size. You’ve only made your hoard’s end that much easier for me!”

Virgil could see the three of them behind the Witch, crowded together and staring up at him with equal parts apprehension and hope. His hoard wouldn’t be hurt a single moment longer. Not by the Dragon Witch, and certainly not by him.

The Witch lifted their arm and snapped their finger at him.

“Stop all that noise, little dragon,” they commanded, and the compulsive magic washed over him and rolled right off.

Slowly, deliberately, he took a step forward, and his growl rose in volume, echoing off the vaulted ceiling.

There was a heady feeling of satisfaction at the way the Witch stumbled back, the mask barely hiding their shock. “I said stop, right now.”

The magic passed, easier and easier to ignore. The Witch would never control this body again, no matter what form it took.

With a howl of wordless anger, they vanished from sight, and all the monsters that remained turned to him with aggression writ in every line of their bodies. An unfamiliar sensation welled up in his chest, waiting to be released.

Might as well see what this familiar-unfamiliar form could manage.

Working off Puff’s instincts, Virgil opened his mouth and let something click in the back of his throat before exhaling what looked like thick, rolling smoke. It filled the air, clumping together dense and heavy, and Virgil blinked, recognizing the form of it.

Huh. Storm clouds.

In the next moment, lightning sparked, shooting down and lancing straight through every attacking creature. Virgil darted a few steps closer, somewhat alarmed that friendly fire might hit the others, but even as they hunched down in surprise, any electricity that neared them seemed to simply veer away.

Of course it did, the more draconic part of him crowed smugly. No magic of his would hurt his hoard.

He went to his humans anyhow, moving slow so as to not startle them. He was the oversized one, now.

He needn’t have worried. As soon as he lowered his head into range, Patton lunged forward, wrapping his snout in the best hug he could manage. He was clearly sniffing back tears. “Oh, kiddo, we were so worried!”

Roman was attempting to casually lean on his sword, but there was clear relief in his gaze, too. “We should have known better than to believe the Dragon Witch would get the better of you, huh, Puff?”

Virgil huffed a cloud of colorless vapor into Roman’s face. Affectionately.

“We should celebrate our reunion later, once we’re safely out of here,” Logan pointed out over Roman’s faux-indignant complaints.

Despite his own words, Logan took a moment to reach out, gently placing a hand on the side of Virgil’s head as though to reassure himself that he was real. Virgil leaned into the touch slightly, an odd pleased chur bubbling up from his chest.

As his eyes slitted nearly shut in happiness, he caught movement from the corner of his vision.

The Witch, holding one hand aloft and casting something that made his skin prickle, aiming not at him, but at the other Sides.

Quicker than he could think, his body was moving, curling around his precious people with only a second to brace himself before the attack struck him solidly in the back.

It seemed a simple strike at first, barely breaking skin, and he regained his footing as the others rose to his defense with a ferocity that made his chest feel strangely pressurized. Between the three of them, the Witch was more than outmatched, and they were finally forced to flee.

It was only then that Virgil noticed the feeling of rot and fever spreading along his skin.

He stumbled, and then lay down heavily as his energy dipped well below what was sustainable. The others fluttered around him like moths, trying to figure out what was wrong.

Virgil let out a sigh, almost too exhausted to be panicked. He’d really thought for a moment that he’d pull it off, that he could deal with the backlash of the huge, energy-draining form on his own in private and maintain this fragile balance. So much for that.

On his next exhale, there was a flash-crack as the transformation came crashing back down on him, leaving him snapped back into the form he’d abandoned. Anxiety.

Around him, there was a stunned silence to replace the earlier clamor. He forced himself to blink his eyes open, resisting the urge to squint and see them more clearly. He didn’t really want to see what kinds of expressions they were wearing.

Whatever the Witch had cursed him with was still active, burning him up from the inside-out like the awful fever Thomas had gotten when he was ten. If the others weren’t going to take the opportunity to discorporate him, the poisoned injury would manage just fine on its own. And he’d just gotten back, too.

At least the others weren’t in danger anymore. Hopefully, Thomas would be okay until he reformed.

… Who was he kidding? Thomas had managed fine all these days with him gone. He would probably be better off without Anxiety, just like everyone had always said.

Still, he was leaving the others without being punished for the deception he’d been subjecting them all to for so long. He was leaving them without any real answers at all.

“Sorry,” he managed to grit out, barely able to think past the blood rushing in his ears. It seemed to break the fragile silence, because the others all began speaking at once, creating an indecipherable tangle of noise.

Soundlessly, Virgil passed out.

[peachyproserpina]

Cherry Pie

Clyde x Fem!Reader

Hello! Welcome to the first part of the “Pie” series where I’ll be indulging myself with banking and writing about the various guys. This was inspired by the very talented and very beautiful @glassbxttless whom I owe my life to, please read their fic Blackberry Pie here (x)

TW: Smut, Food, Oral F!Receiving, teasing, alcohol mention, kinda public sex, cream pies ;)

As always if I miss something or if you need something tagged please let me know!

It’s been a long month for everyone in Boone county. Summers are always hot and long here, which yall are thankful for being as winter can get ugly but this summer is almost too much. It’s still the beginning of July and Clyde’s been busy with the bar way more than ever before, so many new people in and out of town has made Duct Tape a hot spot every night of the week and while you’re thankful that Cylde doesn’t have to worry about making ends meet for the bar you sure do miss your man.

One full month he’s come home too exhausted to even get undressed all the way before collapsing into bed with you and it breaks your heart. One full month since he’s been able to bury his cock into you like how you need and it’s starting to take its toll. Thankfully the holiday is coming up and Clyde has decided to take the day off from the bar, seein’ as the whole Logan clan will be getting together for the celebration and both of you agreed you needed the time together. It’s at Jimmy’s new place, a cute little house on the other side of the state line so he can be close to Sadie, him and Sylvia have fixed it up really nice, a big backyard and a lil pool for everyone to lounge in as well. You’ve been tasked with dessert and Clyde just needs to help with the grill and other than that it’s a chance to relax.

It’s the day of, and you wake up Clyde with a kiss on his cheek and a coffee sat next to him on his little side table, hot and black just like you know how he likes it.

“Time to get up, bear. We have a party to go to.” You press kisses down his neck before placing one right where his heart beats nice and strong in his chest. Clyde grumbles and wraps his arms around you pullin you into bed with him before he rolls over and gets you under him.

“10 more minutes darlin’ please?” His voice is still sleepy dark and it makes you melt, you can feel the way he’s still breathing nice and deep and despite the fact he is squishin’ all the air out of your lungs you laugh. You pat his sides and let out a little sigh when he rubs his face into that tender spot right on your shoulder making you tense up under him.

“Bear, you know we can't, you're on grill duty and I promised Mel I’d bring cherry pie.” He props himself up and looks at you all pouty and sleep still clinging to his eyes. You melt for him even more if that was even possible, between the way the sun is making his eyes go all honey for you and the way he’s all yours always and forever is making you want to keep him in bed all day. But you made a promise, shaking yourself out of the very tempting idea of ditching his family you nod.

“Mhm, homemade cherry pie with ice cream and whipped cream just how ya like Clyde.” You tuck some of his hair behind his ear and he leans into your touch.

“Alright, I’m up. Let's get goin’ sweets.” Clyde presses a kiss to you before he’s really truly getting up for the day and you smile watchin’ him the whole time.

-

It’s not a long drive to Jimmy’s which you’re thankful for. You can feel your thighs sticking to the seat where your sundress has ridden up and your chest is already flush from the heat. How Clyde manages to wear his jeans and button up in this heat leaves you astounded every time. He’s not subtle in the way he checks you out, your Clyde, never has been even before you both started dating. You can feel the way his eyes are on you as yall drive over to Jimmy’s can see the way his hand is itching to ride up your thigh and he’s white knuckled the steering wheel more than he ever has before. You try to hide the smirk, knowing exactly what you were doing wearing his favorite sundress (on account of the easy access for you both.)

You’re pulling into the driveway in record time and the way Clyde does his little jog to rush and open your door for you makes your heart sing. You thank him with a sweet kiss and when you bend over to get the pie and ice cream out of the boot of the car you can hear Clyde cough when he sees the barely there underwear you picked. You smirk and turn to him, giving him a wink while you make your way into the house, ready to cool off with a nice drink and ready to see how far you can push Clyde.

The rest of the afternoon goes on without an incident for the most part, you’re gabbing with Mellie and Sylvia while Sadie runs around with the other kids there. The Bang brothers are there playing horseshoe and making a ruckus, Clyde is manning the grill and there’s smiles all around. It’s not until Clyde is done cooking and you’ve finally broken out dessert that things start to heat up in the late afternoon sun. Clyde has you perched on his lap, cold beer in one hand and the other is splayed all across your back, and you may or may not be rubbing yourself into him. You can feel him tense up and he leans in close, breath puffing against your ear.

“Watch it darlin’ there’s family here.” He mumbles into your ear and you try not to grin, looking over your shoulder you bat your eyelashes up at him and he scoffs, taking a swig from his beer.

“I’m not doin’ nothin’ Clyde.” You say, a little lilt to your vice and the side of your mouth tips up, teasing him. He rolls his eyes and goes back to watchin’ you cut pie to add to the scoop of icecream on your plate. He watches you hot a heavy, he can see the way the cherry sauce drips off your fingers as you push it off the knife, the way you bring those fingers up to your mouth to lick the sauce off, and oh fuck now he’s fully hard in his jeans. He watches you, he’s been fucking aching for you for the last the month. Both of you busy, you’re gone by the time he gets up and you’re either waitin’ up for him tryin not to pass out when he finally stumbles in the door, and honest to god he can’t remember the last time he jerked off this much, musta been before he met you because fuck. It’s been getting bad enough he’s ended up cumming in a tissue in his office with stifled groans and pants almost every day this week, just desperate for you. So when he’s watching you eat his favorite cherry pie and a sweet little drop lands right on the top of your breast he loses it. You go to wipe it off and Clyde’s hand catches you, the metal of the prosthesis cold from where he was holding his beer.

He takes a quick look around, making sure that no one is looking before he is pulling you closer, right on top of the hardon in his jeans and your breath starts to quicken. He leans in close, so close you can feel every puff of breath against your skin before he is licking up the sticky trail of pie and ice cream off of your chest. You let out a little whine and that snaps Clyde into action, he’s standing up your hand still firmly in his grip and he’s pulling you inside, you follow after him, pussy throbbing and dripping down your thighs for him. Yall end up in the kitchen before Clyde turns on you and pulls you into a desperate kiss, it’s hot and heavy, all tongues and when his other hand makes its way into your hair and pulls you moan loud and frantic for him. That makes Cylde pulls away and looks over your shoulder just to make sure no one heard you.

“Darlin’ you gotta be quiet or else everyone is going to know what a lil slut you are for my cock.” Cylde still has a good grip on your hair and you try to nod when he tightens up that grip and you clench down on nothing. Clyde smirks before he’s kissing you nice and deep again, leaning your head up and pulling you close to feel how hard he is in his jeans. You scramble to take off his belt, so desperate for him and he kisses his way down your jaw and sucks bruises where you know you won't be able to cover it up. You wrestle his belt open and start working on his pants, palming his hard on through his jeans the whole time. His hand drops and cups yoru ass under your dress, he lets out a breathy chuckle when he can feel how you’re so wet you've managed to soak your thighs.

“You’re that wet for me Darlin’? So desperate it’s like you’ve been waiting for this. Teasin’ me all day.” Clyde is pulling your panties to the side and teasing your pussy when you finally get his cock out of his pants and he groans.

“Yeah bear, so fucking wet all for you. I’ve needed you so fucking bad these last couple of weeks.” You drool right onto the tip of his cock making the glide of your palm up and down easier, he tips his head back and swallows hard. He pulls his fingers out of you and you whine, but it’s not long before he has you bent over the nearest clear spot on the counter, flipping your dress up and dropping to his knees behind you. You sit up on your elbows and gasp when he wraps his lips around your clit, wasting no time. He smirks and trails his tongue up up up and buries it into you, his fingers now rubbing your clit and it’s almost funny that he already has you this close to cumming and he hasn’t even gotten started. You clench down on him hard and he gives your ass a swat, making you gush all over his tongue.

Clyde’s eyes roll to the back of his head and he laments the fact he has to pull away from your juicy pussy, but his cock is leaking hot and heavy and if he doesn’t sink into your cunt he might bust before he gets the chance to. You whine when he pulls away but stop when you feel him rub the head of his cock between your soaking folds, you stand on your tippy toes presenting yourself just that little more for him and when he starts sinking in you both let out a moan. It’s a stretch, specially after not having him in you for so long, but fuck it feels so fucking perfect. You’re panting and Clyde is leaning over you on the counter, pressing right into you and his fingers tease their way around to flick your clit making you clench down on him hard.

“Now listen here, you’re gonna take my cock, you’re gonna let me fill you up with all my cum.” Clyde whispers it into your ear and you’re nodding cock drunk already and he hasn’t even started. Satisfied with your answer Clyde starts a hard pace, hips snapping into yours hard, the slap of skin on skin ringing throughout the kitchen. You;’re biting your lips so hard you’re worried you might draw blood and you can feel the rumbles coming from Clyde’s chest. You stand on your tippy toes and that gives Clyde just enough leverage to hit that tender spot that makes your vision white out with every drag and his heavy cock. You gasp and clench down, cuming hard and soaking him with your orgasm, catching both you and Clyde off guard with how faceful it is.

“Fucking tight cunt for me. I’m-” Clyde chokes when he feels you squeeze down on him again and you tighten up just for him.

“Come on bear, fill me up please?” It's a breathy and whiney plea that pushes Clyde right over the edge, groaning and filling you up until he is dripping out of you, making a mess out of you both. You let out a little laugh, feeling weightless and so fucking content now that Clyde’s come in you. He slips out and stuffs his fingers right back up.

“Keep this safe, we’re goin’ home right now so you can do that thing with your tongue that I like so much.” Clyde pulls the scrap of fabric over the messy creampie he left you, you look over your shoulder at him.

“But the party. Clyde we can’t just-” you stop dead in your tracks when you catch a glimpse of how dark his eyes are, promising that you won't be able to get outta bed tomorrow you’re going to be so thoroughly fucked.

“Fuck the party, we’re goin home right now and I’m making up for lost time.”

[loganisanobody]

The first thing he was aware of was that his head hurt. He groaned and moved his hand to soothe it, or tried to, but something stopped it.

His eyes flew open, and let in a small gasp of breath.

He wasn’t anywhere familiar, that was for sure.

He looked around frantically, taking in the important details around him as his breathing came more and more quickly: the straps on his wrists and ankles on an ancient, rickety wheelchair in an ancient, dungy room with a dim bulb flickering above him. Something covered his ears, but his other senses were clear and very alert now.

He struggled against the straps, but despite the chair’s apparent age, the straps were well-made and held. Part of him was surprised the chair itself didn’t roll around with his struggling, but he supposed a stop could’ve been put on the wheels and quickly dismissed the thought.

There was no getting himself out, so he just had to protect himself until he was rescued, then. He looked around again. He couldn’t see behind him very well, but in front of him were foggy windows that he couldn’t see out of. What scared him was that on either side of him was an open door, the one on his right leading to a hallway lined with doors and empty hospital beds, and the one on his left leading to what seemed to be some sort of surgical room.

His vision started to go blurry, and he was getting dizzy even just sitting there, and he closed his eyes and tried to remember what… someone… had told him to do when he was scared… anxious. Logan! He had told him to breathe.

Virgil realized his breathing was erratic and shallow.

‘In for four,’ he remembered. He tried, but he only managed to suck in a slightly larger breath than the one before.

‘Hold for seven.’ There was no way he could hold such a meager breath for seven counts, but he tried.

‘Out for eight.’ The breath came out in a whoosh, but he now remembered practicing this enough times with Logan that he didn’t get discouraged and he tried again.

After what felt like forever, Virgil got his breathing mostly under control. There was still the damp, chilly air pressing on the back of his neck like a ghost’s breath that kept him from completely relaxing, but at least he wasn’t going to pass out.

He was trembling, making the chair squeak horribly, which, combined with whatever was over his ears, made it near impossible to hear if anyone was approaching.

Over the next few hours, nothing happened, besides his neck getting stiff from constantly turning right and left to check for anyone, friend or foe.

The light outside began to dim, casting the hallway and surgical room into shadow, and deepening the shadows in his own room. Despite his heightening anxiety at this, Virgil yawned, then shook his head. No, he couldn’t fall asleep. He had to watch for danger.

Another few hours passed. Virgil yawned more and more, and his eyelids grew heavier and heavier.

Finally, it seemed he couldn’t hold back anymore, he had to rest at least a little…

And then someone screamed in his ear.

He jumped, violently, looking quickly around, his heart pounding.

But there was no one there.

Now hopped up on adrenaline, he resumed his vigil of the darkened rooms, but this time more wary. He was sure someone, or something, had screamed, though, he told himself after going through the breathing exercise again, his half-asleep self might have amplified it to sound closer.

As the night pressed on, he thought he heard vague whispers that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and doors slamming that made him jump.

These shot his adrenaline back up in small doses, but eventually he was drifting off again.

He yawned, and his eyes drifted closed.

And then another scream, accompanied by the sound of a saw.

Virgil’s head shot up, and the scream and saw sounds continued, but he couldn’t see anything. He looked around frantically as the screams turned to pleas.

“Help! Please, help! No, please— Ah!”

Then, just as quickly as they started, they stopped, and Virgil was met with absolute silence.

He was breathing hard, and shaking again.

“Viiirgiiilll…” something murmured behind him, and he jumped, craning his neck to look around, but there was nothing.

After that there was nothing, nothing for a good few hours, and Virgil was able to mostly calm down again.

He was even starting to nod off again when…

“No!”

Virgil jumped, whirling to the right, expecting someone to be there. But again, there was no one.

“Virgey, don’ go ta sleeeeep…” a child’s voice said behind him, and he whirled back to the left, but there was again no one.

By now the light was coming back to the rooms and hallway.

Virgil let out a dry sob as he looked back and forth between the hallway and the surgical room again, resuming his vigil. How long would he have to do this? When would the others get here? Who was holding him here? What were they planning? Why wouldn’t they let him sleep?

Over the next few hours, more children’s voices joined the first, seeming to run up and down the hallway, shrieking and laughing, then every once in a while an adult voice would silence them and one would scream down the hallway, through the room Virgil was kept in, and into the surgical room, where it would end abruptly. After some time, the children’s playful voices would return, and the cycle would start over.

It was enough to keep Virgil up that day, despite the achiness and heaviness he felt in his entire body.

When the sun started going down, the children’s voices died down with it, until Virgil was left in silence again.

It didn’t take long for him to start to drift off.

Then there was a scream again.

Virgil looked up blearily, trying to take in his surroundings, but everything was the same. Dingy, dark, depressing, empty.

He quickly started to nod off again.

Then he felt a hand on his shoulder, and a jolt of fresh adrenaline shot through him.

Before he could turn around, hands put something around his neck and chin, making him unable to turn.

His heart beat faster. His breathing was becoming more shallow. No, no, no…

He fought against the straps again, he had to fight somehow.

He thought he saw something move out of the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t make out what it was.

Then the wheelchair started moving, turning. It turned to face the hallway, then started rolling backward into the surgical room.

No, no, no, nonono…

Whispers floated vaguely around his head, the wheelchair squeaked horribly beneath him.

Then the door at the very end of the hallway slammed open, and someone, no, multiple someones ran out.

Virgil’s heart leapt. “Logan!” Logan raced down the hall, past doorways and empty hospital beds, followed closely by the others, though it was harder to see them with how narrow the way was.

“Let him go!” Logan shouted, which sounded more muffled than anything Virgil had heard the previous two days.

A hiss sounded from behind Virgil, and shadowy creatures started pouring out of a doorway to his right, what had been behind him. His heart rate spiked as he realized they could have attacked him at any time.

He heard Roman and Remus yell, followed by unearthly shrieks.

But his wheelchair was still moving backward, and he was fully in the surgical room now.

Some of the shadow creatures followed him into the room and started undoing his cuffs. He fought against them the entire time they removed the cuffs and then lifted him onto a metal table, but either they were too strong for him or he was too weak from lack of sleep. Four of them held him down on the table as he struggled, while one pulled another smaller table over next to his.

He glanced at this tray and all air escaped his lungs. It was full of rusty surgical instruments.

“Logan!”

He fought as hard as he could, and he could hear the others getting closer, but the shadowy figure seemed to be choosing which instrument to choose first, and was taking its sweet time doing so.

Finally, it picked up a scalpel that had definitely seen better days, and walked around to stand at Virgil’s head. Virgil continued to struggle, but he kept his eyes on the scalpel the entire time, watching as the shadow fixed the light above his head, then brought the scalpel slowly down over his face, just between his eyes, positioning it just so…

Something flew through the shadow’s head, and the shadow and scalpel poofed into smoke and dissipated. Virgil let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

The other four shadows were quickly disposed of, and Virgil went limp on the table, free, but oh so tired.

Logan was the first to reach him, pulling off the headphones that were over his ears.

“Starlight, are you okay?”

Virgil could only stare up at the light above him. Logan hesitantly laid a hand on his shoulder, and Virgil let out a sob.

“Oh, starlight.” Logan scooped him up and held him close as he cried, VIrgil clinging to Logan’s shirt.

Roman, Remus, and Janus excused themselves to make sure there weren’t any straggler shadow creatures, while Patton helped Logan sink themselves and Virgil to the commons and settle on the couch, where Logan held Virgil for a good long while, as Virgil cried himself to sleep.

[procrastinatorimagines]

I Want Us Part 3

Fandom: SVU / One Chicago

Series: I Want Us

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 (Final)

Pairing: Carisi x Reader

Warning/s: kidnapping, guns/shooting

Word Count: 2,602

Summary:  When a child abduction case crosses state lines in New York, Intelligence flies out to meet the Special Victims Unit and track down the missing boy. With the clock ticking, both units decide to mix up partners in order to combine their knowledge of the case with knowledge of New York City, pairing Intelligence’s newest member Y/N with Detective Carisi. After a successful stakeout the pair finds themselves on the tail of the suspect, determined to bring him to justice and bring the boy back home.

Tags: @the-baby-bookworm​ // @inlovewith3​ //

Action came sooner than you were expecting, both you and Carisi silently agreeing that the gun shots that sounded from inside the building constituted absolutely necessary as burst from the car, gun out your holster in seconds as you peered around the fence.

A man was running out of the building, Ronny you assumed by the child he was forcefully dragging along under his left arm. Even in the available light, it was clear both were unharmed, the metalic glint of an object in Ronny’s right hand causing you to make the fair assumption that he’d fired the shots you heard.

There was no way to sneak up on him, but soon you lost all need to as he paused by the car he’d arrived in, hesitating before frantically looking around and taking off down the road and into the night.

“We can’t lose him,” you said forcefully, both of you making your way quickly to the entrance of the bar just as another car rolled up. Halstead and Rollins jumping out.

“We’ve got Ronny and Logan, there are at least two men inside, potentially injured,” Carisi told the others, you and Halstead sharing a nod as you followed Carisi down the street, hearing the others disappear into the building followed shortly by a request for two ambulances to their location over the radio.

You followed just behind Carisi, hands gripping your gun as you made your way down the street, footsteps echoing in the silent night. Ronny had heard, glancing back at you before picking up his pace, but if your footsteps could be heard down the road, Logan’s cries and shouts were unmissable. He disappeared around a corner and you lowered your gun slightly in one hand, sprinting with Carisi, the sound of Logan’s despair all the motivation you needed to not slow down for a second.

Not only had this man abducted his own child, he’d just shot two men in front of him. You didn’t understand how anyone could do that, and you never wanted to.

As you reached the corner Carisi signaled for you to hold back, checking the coast was clear before you took off running again, Ronny still on the move. He was getting slower though, you realised, and you weren’t surprised given the uncooperative child under his arm.

He peeled off down and ally as you continued to give chase, seemingly trying to lose you both with his various twists and turns. It wouldn’t work though, you had him now and he wasn’t getting away.

Stopping again to check the coast it was your turn to peer around the edge of a wall, your head barely going an inch before you jumped back, brick breaking off where your head had just been.

“Dead end,” Carisi whispered to you, apparently knowing where you were. Ronny was trapped, which may have been worse you realised with a sinking feeling. He was already a desperate man, and desperate men often thought they had nothing left to lose.

“Ronny!” You called down the ally, your voice bouncing off the stones as Logan’s sobs quietened. “Ronny there’s nowhere else to go, just put the gun down and let us take you in, it’s over, no one else has to get hurt.” You tried to sound demanding but it came out as more of a plea.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he said back, though it sounded like he was talking more to himself than you, “he’s my son, mine! He should be with me, it’s what I deserve-”

Your blood was boiling, knowing full well that all that man deserved was a jail cell. Still, you could tell he was unravelling, and that wasn’t good for anyone, least of all Logan. With a ‘trust me’ look to Carisi you holstered your gun, taking a breath as you stepped out into the opening of the ally, in full view of Ronny and his gun.

Carisi’s eyes went wide in protest and he reached out to pull you back but you shook your head at him. Looking down to Ronny and Logan, you were staring down the barrel of a gun, hands raised as Ronny stood frozen, not expecting you to be so stupid probably. You got that a lot.

“Hey Ronny, hey Logan, my name’s Y/N, I’m a detective with the Chicago police department,” you told them, keeping your hands where he could see them at all times. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Carisi with his finger on the trigger, ready to jump in if this got out of hand.

“Don’t come any closer!” Ronny waved the gun in his hand at you.

“I won’t,” you told him, “okay, I just want to talk okay? See if we can figure this out huh, so how about you tell me what happened?” Make him think you understand him, sympathise with him, make him think your on his side and let his guard down, de-escalate the situation.

“He’s my son, but she wouldn’t let me have him, wouldn’t even let me see him when I was inside, and when I got out... a restraining order?! What gave her the right? No... no no no, so I took him, I took what was mine and I came here, O’Connell promised- he promised!” Ronny ranted as you tried to keep your features neutral as images of the beat down he’d done to his ex wife flashed through your head.

“He lied to you, broke that promise,” you prodded, trying to sound indignant on his behalf so he’d open up more.

“Yes! Said there was too much publicity, he wouldn’t risk getting us out the country, I mean the selfishness- I did what I had to do,” He told you, gun lowering slightly as he poured out some of his frustration.

You inched yourself forward a step, then another, noticing Carisi practically stop breathing from where he stood, completely alert and ready to step in.

“And he shouldn’t have done that, okay, I get it, you’re the victim here alright, so why don’t you put the gun down and we can talk about that huh,” you tried, “it’s clear you love your son okay? Look at him Ronny, look at how scared he is.”

Ronny glanced down at his boy as you took the chance to take another couple of small steps. He was shaking and pale, snot and tears covering his face as his bottom lip shook uncontrollably.

“No!” Ronny snapped, gun back up at you as Logan shrunk back in fear, “you’re scaring him, this is all you!”

You level your breathing and straightened up, “I’m not the one holding a gun Ronny,” you said with a scary calm, watching the realisation dawn on Ronny as he looked from the gun in hand, to his son, who was staring at the weapon with trepidation.

“I...” he floundered. Was he a monster? Yes, but every monster had a weakness.

“Give me the gun Ronny,” you told him as he glanced from it to you, not really registering how much closer to him you had been in the beginning.

“You’ll take me back to jail, I can’t go back to jail,” he muttered, but the gun looked suddenly very heavy in his outstretched hand as he weighed the decision in his mind.

You were very close to him now, so close that what happened next was too quick for Carisi to react to. Logan took that moment to bolt, his father’s grip on him slacking enough for him to break free as he ran past you to try and get away. You didn’t blame him for a second, if you were his age you would have done the same thing, you’d even been anticipating it.

So when Ronny’s focus snapped back, rage filling his eyes again as he now viewed you as someone else trying to keep him from his son, grip tightening back on his gun again with a new found purpose as he began to take aim, you were ready.

Carisi barely had time to step out from around the corner, gun raised but unable to take a clear shot as a small boy collided with him, hiding behind his legs as his father let out a cry of anger.

Ronny was fast, but you were faster, catching his wrist and twisting it around so you ended up behind him, his arm behind his back as you aimed a kick to the back of one of his knees, knocking him to the ground. Ronny tried to twist but you was it coming, shoving him forward so he lost balance and sprawled onto his front on the floor. You kicked the gun across the floor and out of his reach, planting your knee on his back as he struggled, grappling with his wrists as you cuffed him.

“Ronny Parker, you’re under arrest for kidnapping and attempted murder,” you told him, looking up and grinning at a relieved Carisi just as the glorious sound of sirens could be heard approaching from down the street.

Carisi put a comforting hand on Logan’s head as he continued to hug the man’s knees, shaking his head at your actions as you hauled the protesting Ronny to his feet.

Logan looked away as his father was brought past him, struggling to get away from you as you held him fast.

“That was... reckless,” Carisi commented, earning a smug wink from you as you passed Ronny off to a couple of uniforms that had arrived on the scene, the rest of Intelligence and SVU in tow.

“It’s her middle name,” you heard Antonio say, turning to see him approaching with Voight and Benson, who carefully coaxed Logan away from Carisi’s legs.

“Well Logan’s safe and Ronny’s going back to jail for a long time, good job guys,” Benson congratulated you both.

“Honestly Cap? All her,” Carisi told her, gesturing with his head in your direction as Antonio clapped you on the back. You put your hands in your pockets, accepting the praise as you tried to cover up the fact that your hands were shaking.

“Good job detective, you ever consider a change of scenery you let me know,” Benson told you.

“You trying to poach my detectives?” Voight asked and Benson chuckled, saying something to a uniform before Logan was escorted back to a vehicle. He seemed a little reluctant, but at the mention of his mom he couldn’t have moved quicker if he’d tried.

You smiled as you watched Logan wander off, back to his family and his home. You wanted to go with him, but you knew you’d have a lot of paperwork to do before the night was actually over, and it was already past 3 am.

“Hey,” Carisi appeared beside you as he removed his vest, “want a ride back to the station?”

You took a breath of the not so cool night air, sweaty from the heat and the chase, in desperate need of some food and a shower, then sleep. But you weren’t finished just yet, so you gave an appreciative nod to Carisi and let Voight know that you were going to make your statement and write up your report.

He let you go and soon you were making your way down the street with Carisi, back to your car near the bar, which was currently swarming with police and forensics. Carisi greeted a few of them in passing and before you knew it you were driving back to the district.

“Your gut was right afterall,” Carisi noted. You’d found Logan, he was safe, and Ronny wasn’t going to ever be able to hurt him again. It had been a long night, but you’d done good, so you allowed yourself a moment of satisfaction.

“Hell of a night, but yeah I guess so,” you replied, staring off out of the window as the buildings and lights passed by. New York was something else, and you wished you’d gotten a chance to see more of it under better circumstances, and during the day, but it had certainly been memorable.

Your hands weren’t shaking quite so much anymore, but jumping in front of a man with a loaded gun had certainly rattled you more than you’d let on. It had been reckless, more so than usual, but your need to protect Logan and get Ronny behind bars had overridden that bit of sense. It had paid off this time, but you really did have to be more careful, or so Antonio kept telling you.

You turned back from the window when you noticed Carisi throw you a couple of glances as he drove. “You know, there’s a pizza place not too far from here, they’re not gourmet, but they are open this time of night.”

Before you could answer, your stomach growled, earning a laugh from Carisi as he changed course, discussing the best toppings as he did.

Soon, you were both back at his desk at the district, a couple of others had came and went, offering pats on the back for a job well done, but you and Carisi found yourself talking even further into the night until both the paperwork and pizza were done, feeling very satisfied.

“I’ll be the first to admit this isn’t the truest representation of the best New York pizza,” Carisi laughed, throwing on his jacket as you both got up to leave.

It was going on half 4 in the morning, and any food and drink you had after dark hit differently, especially after a long case on a nearly empty stomach. “You won’t hear me complaining,” you replied.

God, you needed a shower, you thought as you put your jacket over your arm, knowing that it would just feel way too uncomfortable and hot to put it on. Voight had booked you all into some cheap motels for the night, but the picture Vanessa had sent you earlier on was making you dread the experience. Carisi had visibly cringed when he’d seen it.

“I know I should probably head to sleep when I get home, but I’m still a little too wired,” Carisi said as you made your way towards the exit.

“I know what you mean,” you told him, eyes and mind still wide awake after the events of the night.

“What, not looking forward to getting back to your five star accommodation?” He teased and you rolled your eyes.

“God don’t remind me,” you complained, earning a laugh at your expense, “but it’s either that or sleep on the street... though the street might actually be more appealing.”

A odd kind of silence filled the elevator then, neither of you seeming to know what to say next before the doors dinged open and you wandered out back into the night, or well, more like very early morning.

“You could... stay somewhere else?” Carisi offered, half awkwardly half suggestively. Was he, suggesting what you thought he was?

Your heart skipped a beat, taking in Carisi as he stood before you, a look on his face that definitely told you he was unsure of whether he should have said that or not. You were still wired, and you’d had half a mind to do a quick workout back at the motel to let off some more steam to try and take a grimey shower and sleep, but that was before you now had another option...

“Lead the way,” you answered, smiling as he did too, your night in New York continuing to surprise you in the best possible ways...

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Little Things in Life - 6

Warnings: cheating, non-consent sex (series); toyplay

This is dark!Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Series Summary: Your suburban life begins to show cracks and your next door neighbour, Steve Rogers, seems intent on shattering what’s left.

Note: I’m a bit all over so forgive me if I bounce around but thank you to all of you lovely readers. Weekend might be a bit of a break for me and I am doing Sinday Drabble for Sunday. :D I do appreciate you all reading. Thanks to everyone for their feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Based on this drabble

You helped Sharon clean up after dinner. Well, you actually did most of the work. She was on her second margarita and you had filled your glass with water. She was regaling you as you washed the dishes with a story about how Hailey down the street had torn her pants in front of her very attractive trainer.

You wondered for a moment if it was inevitable. In this neighbourhood, as dulcet as it was, that one’s eye should wander eventually. Or was it some innate flaw of humanity? You finished drying up as Sharon showed you where it all went. You were reluctant to leave the shiny, marble kitchen.

Steve and Logan barely noticed as you and Sharon entered. Steve stood by the mantle over the artificial fireplace, his hand on the brick as he watched a dusty player slide for third. Logan grumbled at the out and adjusted the leather recliner. Sharon sat on the sofa and you followed her meekly; as if she could protect you.

“How about that selfie?” Steve’s eyes found you as his hand slid along the wooden mantle. He tapped the old metal propped up on its stand. “I promised.”

“Oh, you and your war toys.” Sharon rolled her eyes. “I never took trophies.”

“You never were much for sentiment,” Steve flicked two fingers for you to get up. “Come on.”

He lifted the helmet and the straps hung loosely. You glanced at Sharon and she rolled her eyes. She gulped a mouthful of the melted cocktail and you stood. You crossed to Steve and came up before him shyly. He lowered the heavy helmet onto your head. He fumbled with the straps, his fingers tickling your neck and chin as he did it up.

“Your phone?” He asked.

“Oh, shoot, it’s in my sweater,” You huffed as you reached up to the helmet.. “You know what, I don’t need the picture.”

“Stay here,” He held up a hand to stop you from moving. “Right back.” 

He strode quickly into the hall and you waited quietly as Sharon finished her drink. Logan flicked to another game and you picked at your braided belt. Steve returned with your phone. He handed it to you and you swiftly unlocked it and gave it back.

“Smile,” He said.

He stepped back and framed you with the lens. You gave a thin smile and he snapped the photo. He took another and returned the phone to you. You thanked him quietly and loosed the strap under your chin. He removed the helmet and placed it back on the mantle.

“Now you can brag to all your friends,” He chimed and you went to sit on the sofa beside Sharon.

“Steve, I’m her friend,” Sharon snickered. “And I don’t care.”

He laughed but there was something in the glimmer of his eyes that told you it wasn’t genuine. He crossed his arms and paced across the room.

“I’m sure she has lots of friends,” He stopped just behind the corner of the couch where you sat. “I bought some ice cream bars for dessert if anyone’s interested.”

“I can’t,” Sharon replied. “I’m still shedding my baby weight.”

“I’ll have one,” Logan accepted. “And I’ll have hers too.”

“And you,” Steve tapped your shoulder.

“Sure,” You kept your head down. “Thank you.”

🏠

Logan was well past buzzed by the time you got home. You didn’t feel bad that he had to get up early for work the next day. He stumbled into bed on his own as you hung your sweater on the hook on the back of the door. Your hand brushed something hard in the shallow pocket and you stopped.

You’d already plugged in your phone as it sat on the night table. You peered over your shoulder and slowly reached into the pocket. Logan’s breaths got heavier and longer. You scooped out the tubular object and a paper fluttered to the floor. You knelt and turned the lipstick in your hand.

You stood and unfolded the square of paper. The border was framed in red and blue. The letters scratched across the white space was slanted cursive. ‘I hope you think of me as much as I think of you.’ 

You stared at the lipstick and popped the lid of. The tip was plastic and you felt along the end. You hit the small button there and it buzzed against your hand. You flinched and looked over at the bed. Logan was snoring.

You hit the button again and again. Several times before it stopped. You were mortified. You ripped up the small paper and tossed it away in the bathroom bin. You put the fake lipstick in your makeup box and shoved it back under the sink.

You went back into the bedroom and changed into your loose cotton nightie. You turned off the light and laid down next to your husband. Your phone vibrated beside you and you ignored it. It vibed again and you sighed. You grabbed it, careful not to unplug it and looked at the screen.

‘Lights out, honey,’ The number was unknown but you could guess at the sender. ‘Hope you have fun with your new toy.’

You deleted the text and muted your phone. You placed it face down and rolled onto your stomach. You should’ve drank more; at least then, you would be able to sleep.

🏠

Logan left early. You stayed in bed until he was gone, pretending to sleep as you heard him downstairs. You drank your coffee as you stared at the fridge. The drawing Kayla had made for you weeks ago hung from a flower-shaped magnet. You smiled as your eyes pricked. 

How had everything gone to shit so fast?

Your mother said she’d bring Kayla back just before dinner. A day alone was a rare luxury but now it was purgatory. You needed the distraction of your daughter’s insatiable curiosity. You could work and keep your mind on your computer. At this rate, you’d be ahead of schedule. Ahead of schedule and listless, great.

You leaned back in your chair as your eyes turned bleary from staring at the monitor. You touched your temples and the wheels squeaked as you pressed yourself against the worn pleather. You sighed and dropped your arms. Your mind flew back to all the thoughts you were avoiding, not that they ever truly relented.

“Busy?” Steve’s voice frightened you.

You nearly overturned the chair as you spun around and rolled it back until it was touching the desk. You gripped the arms as your lip trembled.

“What the hell? How did you get in here?” You snarled.

He leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed and one foot leaned against the other.

“Looks like you’ve got an empty house.” He commented. 

“I… have to go get Kayla soon,” You lied. “You should go.”

He smirked and hooked his thumb in the top of his jeans pocket.

“Hey, I just came over to chat,” He said.

“And you just walk in without knocking?” You asked.

He chuckled and stood straight. 

“I texted you.” He raised his eyebrows as he came closer. “You didn’t answer.”

“Yeah, that’s usually a hint.” You stood up. “Go. Now.” You reached behind you for your phone just beside your keyboard. “I will call the police.”

“Why, officer, she asked me to help her out with some stuff around the house? You know, he husband’s never home and she has a broken faucet. I was just being neighbourly,” He feigned innocence as he neared. “Then she just… well, I guess she was lonely and when I reminded her that I had a wife, that she’s married too, she just changed. So angry.”

“You’re insane,” You breathed. “Fine, I’ll call Logan.”

“Do you think he’d leave her to come sate your paranoia? Do you think he’d believe you?” 

“Please, I’m begging you, leave me alone. I have a daughter. I can’t--”

“Shhh,” He was before you in an instant, his hands on your arms. He eased you back to your chair and pushed until you sat. “I just want you to answer a few questions, honey.”

“You’re really scaring me,” You leaned into the chair as if you could dissolve into it. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I like the way your ass looks when you’re bent over my pool table,” He retorted as he stood and his hands went to his hips. “Now, let’s calm down.”

You watched him pace back and forth. He looked at the framed flowers along your wall. A rose from your wedding bouquet hung by the window. You stood and he turned quickly. He was on you before you could reach the door. He wrestled you back to the chair and sat you down. He knelt in front of you, his hands on your thighs as he held you in place.

“No,” He warned as his eyes bore into yours. “So… did you use it?”

Your lips parted. You were breathless. You shook your head and his tongue poked out between his lips. His fingers kneaded your thighs. You still wore the night shirt you’d slept in, they barely concealed the polka-dot panties beneath.

“Did you want to?” He asked.

You frowned and blinked at him.

“Honey, just answer me.” He coaxed.

You looked down at his hands, his fingers rubbing along the hem of your nightie. You bit your lip as he squeezed your legs and you nodded. Your stomach was in knots.

“Use your words,” He urged.

You kept your chin down. “Yes,” You quavered. “Okay?”

“So why didn’t you?” 

“Steve, stop,” You grabbed his hands as they crawled higher. “Go home. To Sharon. Your daughter.”

“I would if Sharon would let me,” He sneered and you glanced up at him. “We just got into some spat about her return to work. You know, she’ll find any little thing to bitch at me about. I give her everything and what do I get?”

“She’s still your wife,” You argued. “And I still have a husband.”

He tilted his head and his face darkened. He stood slowly and let out a long breath.

“Where is it?” He asked.

“What?”

“The toy.” 

You swallowed and shivered at the tone of his voice.

“The bathroom attached to my room. Under the sink in the make-up bag.” You said quietly. “Upstairs. Second door on the left.”

He smiled again and took careful steps towards the door. He turned back as he gripped the door frame.

“Stay here.” He ordered. “I don’t want to have to stop you, honey. And you don’t want that either.”

His knuckles whitened as the door frame groaned. The trim suddenly fell away in his hand and his eyes rounded. 

“Oops,” He said dryly. “Don’t worry, I can fix that.”

He left and you listened to the soft creak of the stairs. You felt as if you couldn’t breathe. You clamped your lips shut and looked around the room. You reached for your phone. Your finger hovered over ‘emergency call’. His words replayed in your head. You didn’t need Kayla coming home to cop cars. 

You set your phone down as you heard him coming. He entered with the faux lipstick and twirled it between his fingers. You made to stand and he tutted.

“Stay,” He said. “I told you.”

You sat back and clung to the arms of the chair. He got to his knees again and you shuddered. He touched your knees and you pushed your legs together tightly. The vibe pressed against your skin and he pushed harder.

“Honey,” He cooed. “Don’t make this difficult. I can tell by the way you’re shaking how bad you want it.”

“I don’t--” You gasped as he pulled your legs apart. He was terrifyingly strong.

He rolled the vibe along your inner leg as he shushed you. His eyes followed his hands as they crawled up your thighs. He pressed the toy against the front of your panties and clicked the button. You inhaled sharply and your nails dug into the arms of the chair.

“Please, Steve, I have to--”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” He said as his other hand slipped under your shirt. “I just want to make you feel good.”

He tickled your stomach and cupped your breast. He moved the vibe against your panties and you let out a wispy moan. The friction sent a buzz through you and you closed your eyes in shame. You threw your head back as he clicked the button again and the toy sped up. He flicked and teased your nipple as your heart raced. You felt as if you were floating, waiting for the steep descent.

Your orgasm shook you. The noise which escaped you was strangled and desperate. Your legs closed around Steve’s hand and you arched your back as you topped the peak. You panted as he slowly drew away, dragging his fingers along your panties as your cum soaked through them.

“Take your panties off,” He stood and admired the wet toy. “Now.”

You hesitated but his blue eyes startled you as he turned his attention on you. They were dark, dilated. You rose and shakily rolled the cotton down your legs. You lifted them and Steve snatched them from you.

“Something to tide me over,” He smiled as he tucked them into his pocket. His jeans could barely restrain his erection. He shoved the vibe into your hand.  “And you, too.”

[scabopolis]

lv au week, day 3: fairy tales

Title: parry on Fandom: Veronica Mars Rating: PG  Pairing: Logan Echolls/Veronica Mars Other Characters: An animal that is 100% based on one of my mom’s felines Additional Tags: Absolutely inspired by Tangled, though I do not give Logan luscious magical hair (SPOILER!) Things I googled for this fic: antique jewelry box, what to feed cats in the 1800s, fencing footwork drills Word Count: ~1,950 Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7

Jump forward. Advance lunge. On guard. 

Logan goes through the motions and repeats them, increasing his speed each time. “Again,” he says to himself. 

Jump forward. Advance lunge. On guard. Jump forward. Advance lunge. On guard.

Again, and again, and again until his chest is tight with exertion and he is barely capable of lifting his makeshift sword up above his hip line. It is only then he ceases movement. 

Logan drops his weapon to the floor and hinges at the waist, taking deep, slow breaths. He is unsure how long he remains in that position before his cat, a rotund tortoiseshell who simply showed up in his keep one day, winds itself around his ankles. 

Lady Richard looks up at him and lets out a cross between a whimper and a meow. Logan reaches down and scratches the cat behind its ears. 

“Ah, I know what you want.” 

Lady Richard meows again, even more pathetically.

Post-workout, Logan’s sabre has returned to its true form and is a wooden spoon once more. He kicks it out of the way and makes for his small kitchen. His father’s man visited him the day prior (“your father wished to come, truly”) so his larder basket is more than full. 

Once Lady Richard appeared, his father was surprisingly amenable to Logan’s keeping her. Apparently his father did not consider a cat scaling the unsteady ivy outside his window a threat. 

Logan unpacks the cat collops from the larder basket and sinks to the stone floor. Lady Richard invites himself into Logan’s lap.  

“Father approved entrails this week.” Logan scratches Lady Richard under the chin, feeding him the meat pieces from his hand. “He must be in a good mood.”

Once Lady Richard is finished with her meal, she bounces from Logan’s lap and moves over to her favorite cushion of the burnt orange sofa in the corner of the room. Logan reupholstered the sofa himself but, seeing as it was a decision made primarily to irritate his father, he deeply regrets the choice of fabric.

Logan sets himself to preparing his own meal, removing bread, cheese, and some salted meat from the larder basket. He takes a jar of the fig jam he made the previous week down from the kitchen shelf. This batch is considerably better than the past few he has attempted, though it is still not quite right. If only he could ask Lettie, the palace cook, for her advice. On Logan’s more optimistic days, he believes he will one day have the chance to. 

He pours himself a large glass of mead, sinks back down to the floor with food and drink in hand, and then waits. For what, he is never certain. But he has been waiting for something to transpire the more than three years he has lived in this tower. The day Logan stops finding something to hope for will be the day he takes a flying leap from the tower. 

Some hours later (it is hard to say how many — his father did not think a clock necessary for his survival) Logan wakes with a start, laying upon the cold stone floor of the kitchen. He notices the bright light spilling in through the tower window, illuminating most of the room. It must be a full moon. 

At first uncertain as to what caused him to stir, he registers the distinct rustling of ivy outside the tower window. He assumes Lady Richard to be the culprit but that is not possible as the cat is tucked behind Logan’s knees, fast asleep. The rustling persists. 

Logan pushes himself to a seated position (Lady Richard meows in displeasure) and moves to crouch behind the large floral chair that once belonged to his mother. He reasons with himself that it is likely just another cat; possibly a squirrel of some sort. But then there is the darker possibility that his father has determined keeping him alive and hidden is no longer worth the trouble. 

The rustling is even louder now, but it is the sound of metal hitting stone that has all his attention. Logan moves from where he crouches into the kitchen in search of a weapon. Father has left him without knives of any sort, so he settles on the heavy cast iron pan, still soiled with the remnants of breakfast. Rather than return to his original hiding spot, Logan moves on bare feet to the book shelf nearest the window. This position unfortunately obscures his view of the tower window. 

He listens to the repetitive movements outside; metal hitting stone again and again. Eventually the sound stops and Logan is startled by how calm he feels. His father has always been mercurial — it was only a matter of time before he decided a dead prince was preferable to a hidden one. 

The assassin grunts as they first swing one leg and then the other over the window ledge; their heavy boots hitting the stone. They don’t seem concerned with keeping quiet, which is strange. Rather than head immediately for the stairs, and thus his room, the assassin sounds as if they are moving towards the main room. 

“What is this place?”

Logan freezes in place at the assassin’s quiet voice. A woman? He was not expecting a woman. She moves further into the room, her back to Logan. He especially did not expect a woman who appears to be a foot shorter than him. The woman continues her exploration of the tower, her head turning this way and that, when her eyes settle on the engraved silver jewelry box set upon the fireplace mantle. He watches as she picks up the jewelry box, inspects it for a moment, and then tucks it into her satchel. She helps herself also to a pair of candlesticks and his pocket compass. 

Not quite an assassin, then.

Lady Richard makes herself known by flopping backwards onto the thief’s boot, feet up in the air in invitation. The thief laughs quietly and leans down to scratch the cat’s stomach. “You’re a well-fed thing,” she says. “Where is your owner?” 

And Logan would much rather take someone by surprise than be surprised, so he seizes that moment to step out of the shadow. 

“Right here,” he says. 

In one quick action, the woman reels around to face Logan, a knife he was unaware she wielded clutched tight in her hand. Logan holds up the frying pan. It distracts her for a moment, but only just.  

“Who are you?” the woman asks. 

“Who are you?” 

“I believe I asked first.” 

“You are the intruder, which I think places the burden of answering questions firmly upon your shoulders.”

“You live here?” 

“Clearly. Shall I repeat my original question: who are you?” 

She hesitates. “My horse threw me off a few miles from here. I was looking for assistance.” 

“Is that so?”

“You do not believe me?” 

“I do not. But I also do not believe you are here to kill me, so that is something.” 

“Why would I kill you?” 

“Why, indeed.”

“I suppose you saw me steal your jewelry box.” 

“I did. The candlesticks, too.” 

“And you are okay with this?” 

“No, and I do expect their return, but you have bigger concerns.” 

“What concerns?” 

“Successfully leaving this place alive, for one.” 

The woman tenses and she takes a step back. Lady Richard follows, batting at the thief’s boot. “You intend to kill me.” 

“No. I do not. But I am afraid you stormed the wrong tower.” 

She narrows her eyes. “Who are you, exactly?” 

This evening, when Logan sat on that cold stone floor to eat his supper, he had no way of knowing what he was waiting for. Seeing this woman now — this woman who boldly brandishes a knife at him and speaks without fear while so clearly being in the wrong — he makes a decision. 

“Perhaps you should look at that jewelry box once more.” 

The woman manages to fish out the silver box while still keeping the knife steady and directed at Logan. The top of the box is engraved with a scene of a pond and the requisite flora surrounding it. There’s no way for this woman to know the etching is a perfect rendering of the large pond on the palace grounds. 

It is the name engraved upon the box which can hardly escape her notice: Her Majesty, The Queen, Lynette II

“You are a thief, as well?” she asks, though she sounds doubtful. 

“I am not.” 

“Then how—?”

“The queen is—,” he clears his throat, “—was quite dear to me.”

“How did you know the queen?” 

Logan remains silent. 

Her eyes return to the box, her thumb tracing over the engraving. She looks back up at him and, perhaps it is the remnants of a long-faded instinct, but Logan draws himself up straight for her inspection. That is when his identity appears to be clear to her. 

“It cannot—,” she begins, haltingly. He nods. “Are you the lost prince?”

Logan sighs and lowers the frying pan. Lady Richard accepts it as an invitation and comes over to lick bacon grease from the cast iron. “The lost prince? Is that what they call me?” 

“Most of the kingdom believes you dead. Your father increases the reward for your return each year.” 

He laughs. “I am sorry, but all my return would garner you is your death.” 

“Why is that?” 

“Because your good king, my father, does not want me to be found as he is the one who entrapped me here.”

She loses her grip on the jewelry box, but manages to recover the object. Her knife, on the other hand, clatters to the ground. She does not pick it up.

“Is this true?”

“What is more, I believe as soon as my step-mother produces an heir, I will truly be expendable.” 

“Why tell me this?”

Logan twirls the frying pan in his hand and sends spatters of cooled bacon grease flying. “As I see it we have two options and limited time to decide: one, you leave me here, and you worry that one of my father’s spies has witnessed your departure and will thus murder you.” 

“Option two?” 

“Option two is far less likely to succeed.” 

He pauses for dramatic effect and she rolls her eyes. “Do go on.”

“Option two, you help me escape, I take my rightful place as ruler, and you will earn far more than any reward my father could offer.”

“What makes you think I can help you?” 

“Something tells me a woman who just happened to have the means to scale a 60 foot tower in her satchel has the means to do much more.” 

This is already more fun than Logan has had in close to a decade. 

“What should I call you?” she asks. “Because I refuse to call you highness.” 

“Logan will do. Shall I call you thief?” 

She picks up her knife, sheathes it, and extends her hand. He grips hers in return and is overcome by the fact it has been years since he has touched another person. 

“Veronica. Mars. And I prefer the term master thief.” Veronica looks down at Lady Richard as she intently licks a spot of grease off her boot. “The cat?” 

“The cat comes. Her name is Lady Richard.” 

“What say you, Lady Richard,” Veronica says, “ready for an adventure?”

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

Requests for this card are closed, thank you to anyone who sent in requests! If you don’t want to see these you can block the tag #false bthb. As always shoot me an ask if you wanna be tagged in future stories, whether it be for bad things happen bingo or any of the other series, one shots or in general!

To Cure the Inevitable

Summary: Roman is so tired of endangering himself and everyone around him everytime he changes. Logan promises to help cure him, an old agreement never straying far in his mind

Warnings: major character death, body horror, gore, injury, needle, injected euthanasia. 

Prompt: Painful Transformation, requested by Nico on AO3

Ships: Logince QPR (Logan x Roman)

WC: 2303

“Logan if none of these work-”

“One of them has to.”

“Shut up and listen for a second.” Logan jerked his head up to meet Roman’s desperate gaze, his features softening as he saw the worry in his friend’s face. “I know how hard you're working and I love you so much for it but...if none of these work- Logan I can’t keep doing this.”

Logan knew. He knew how hard it was for Roman every month, saw it in the scars tracing his body and the guilty conscience he bore every time after. Months of repeating the same thing over and over again without coming close to what they wanted. Logan knew but he was still loath to hear it.

“If these don’t work I want to die.”

-----

“Logan.”

Logan jerked his head up to meet Roman’s desperate gaze, his features softening as he saw the worry in his friend’s face. 

“Roman I- this is it.” Logan held up the syringe full of liquid, the smooth glass reflecting the full moon’s light shining through the window. The room was dim save for that; dim lighting didn’t make for accurate scientific endeavors  but Roman hated the bright lights, especially when he- well, he cared more for his friends comfort than any rules he learned getting his degree. He supposed it was odd, going from working in a small research lab to making one of his own out in the middle of nowhere. An unassuming cabin with just enough homey touchy to assure no one would break in on the assumption it was abandoned. Enough furniture had been moved to it that it was a comfortable weekend stay to any who may wish it, fireplace stacked with wood and no perishables shoved into the cabinets for overnight stays. It was comfortable but he and Roman usually only came here once a month. Two days out of the month this was their home, though they usually stayed in the basement.

The basement that was also well stocked but with very different supplies. First aid kits lay on practically every surface with more advanced surgical supplies within easy reach anywhere you happened to stand in the room. Sterilized countertops were a;ways optimized to have something laid on them for examination and two big industrial sinks were set on either side of the room considering  how messy the work often was down here. A dolly and cart sat nearby the steps to get any supplies Logan needed from upstairs to down in the basement and ample shelving space provided room for it all. The biggest installment however, was a rather large, iron and silver coated cage; Logan didn’t know if those metals really helped anything but when it came to this he wasn;t sure if “overprepared” was ever a word he’d use.

Roman sat cross legged in the middle, hair tousled messily from running his fingers through it all night from stress. His too large hospital gown pooled around and left him looking small and vulnerable, which was a far cry from his normally boisterous and extraverted self. He was only twenty-five but the lines on his face spoke a different story, wrinkles pulled far too many times from stress and pain and regret, bags sagging under heavy eyelids as he struggled to even look Logan in the eye. Par for the course when they were down here together, neither of them ever quite ready to address what they knew was coming whether they ever wanted it too or not.

Logan gripped the vile tightly, the needle covered for now as soft music played in the background. Everything was tuned to Roman as much as Logan could possibly make it. Soft disney instrumentals played to fill the tense air, lights turned dim so the brightness never hurt his eyes, hospital gown made by him and Logan themselves using softer but cheap materials so it was comfortable but didn't cost too much to fix or replace when it was torn to shreds. The clock was put in plain view for Roman to see since he often got time based anxiety when he was down here, which Logan could hardly blame him for. They had tried lining the cage comfortably with pillows and carpet and blankets a couple years back but it hadn’t gone over as well as they had hoped so they had  spent a couple days extra at the cabin cleaning up the unexpected mess before agreeing that unfortunately, a bare cage worked best for their purpose. 

“Logan.” Roman twisted his fingers together and looked up at him finally, face tight and eyes wide as they caught the time and the angle of the  moon. “Can you...not the whole time obviously but...can I maybe hold your hand?”

Logan had always prided himself on keeping his emotions in check even through the most painful situations. Scientific research often had you making tough calls and difficult decisions that needed to be made fast with any guilt pushed to the background as you carried out what needed to be done. But hearing Roamn ask for such a simple thing, voice hesitant and quiet, his heart nearly cracked at the mere thought of denying him though they both knew how dangerous it had the potential to be.

“Roman, of course.” Immediately he was on his knees, vial stored safely in his pocket and reaching out with his now free hands to clutch at Roman’s desperately, squeezing every ounce of reassurance he had into the gesture as he smiled thinly. His chest grew tight at the realization that this really was all he could do, hold onto Roman pale, shaking hands through a cage while they both sat on the floor and waited. Both of them let the simple ambiance of soft violins wash over them as the minutes ticked away, their hearts beating rapidly through their hands.

“I said- I said goodbye today. Just in texts I- normal send off from talking about nothing. They don’t know that I might...I didn’t make it obvious.” Roman hung his head. “We don’t know if this one will be the cure right?”

Logan swallowed thickly, not daring to look up. “No, we don’t”

“If it doesn’t work...I don’t want to leave.”

“I know.” The last one hadn’t worked, and Logan was determined for this to be the most comfortable setting he could muster. He wouldn’t break, not yet, not while Roman still needed him. Over the past month he had hid his expenses from his friend, setting things up he knew Roman would enjoy. He could tell Roman had an idea it was his “just in case” plans and played along accordingly. Logan didn’t have the heart- no, the courage to tell him he had known it was the end a month ago. The last “cure” he had tried had failed to reverse anything like it was supposed to. Years of research carefully poured into a mix of perfect chemistry failing miserably and settling its weight on his heavy shoulders every time he had taken Roman to that restaurant he liked, or the park where they had first met, or the hill they had first danced on. All of the memories  that brought joy and laughter to Roman’s face spoiled in Logan’s eyes every time the thought that he had failed him entered his mind. 

He had successfully kept Roman in the dark however, knowing how hard Roman would take it. They had discussed this before, Roman knew on some level that this was coming, it was Logan’s job to tell him when. But...Roman had said his goodbyes. He had lived as best he could, he trusted Logan to know what was best. Even if Logan felt as if he was simply taking an old dog through the motions one last time, the thought made even worse with the fact that he had stolen enough euthanizer from a vets office to serve his purpose. But Roman was relatively happy, he was still hopeful, he still clung to Logan like a lifeline; so Logan couldn’t tell him there was no cure left. There was nothing at all but a syringe full of death that Logan would use when Roman had turned because it was easier to see the pain of a beast's eyes rather than the pain of the person he loved most.

He fell backwards suddenly as Roman shoved him away, face already twisted as his limbs began twitching. Logan forced himself not to look away- this was his punishment. He had to watch every second of this to burn it into his memory as petinance for what he had done, what he was going to do. He hoped it tortured his mind every second until he died and continued to do so while he burned in hell. He hoped Roman hated him for it, resented him and told him so in his dreams if he ever managed to sleep again. He watched wide-eyed and stiff as Roman curled into himself, a pained whine escaping through his mouth as his back spasmed and split, instantly soaking the gown he wore with thick, dark blood and splattering on the bottom of the cage. Twisting limbs slid on the slippery surface as joints popped and bones cracked under the force of his transformation, becoming longer and bent to accommodate for the hulking form finally shredding the gown as it flopped to the floor. His face was the worst, mouth open in a shrill scream that echoed in the soundproof basement as rows and rows of teeth shattered the pre existing ones and the jaw jutted forward to accommodate them all. Acid spilled from it, making the swelling tongue writhe in pain and temporarily cut off the scream, replacing it with a dull gurgling that had haunted Logan’s worst nightmares for years. His hair fell in clumps as his ears tore from their usual place to reposition themselves, becoming pointed and alert before folding back as his body shifted one final time to adjust itself to the beast it had become.

Roman’s new forn barely fit in the cage, twitching muscle pressed painfully into the bars as the skin worked desperately to knit itself back together, sticking to the bars in its haste and being torn away as he attempted to turn in the small space. Growling low the beast swiveled its massive head to look directly at Logan, as if he knew exactly what was going to happen as Logan slowly stood and wiped the annoying rivulets of water that ran down his face. He wasn’t crying, he needed to hold it together for Roman. Roman needed him right now, more than he ever had in the years after Logan had found out about this, in the years he had studied to be able to help him, in the months leading up to the final try. Roman needed him and Logan would be damned if he wasn’t there for him as he needed him to be.

Taking shaking steps forward he fumbled in his pocket for a second before grabbing the syringe and bringing it out. The beast looked warily at the needle as it was exposed, the glint from the moon flashing briefly in his eyes. Logan jerked his head up to meet Roman’s desperate gaze, his features softening as he saw the worry in his friend’s face. He took a steadying breath as he reached the cage, bringing his hand up slowly, both of their eyes locked onto Logan’s hand as he positioned it correctly on the plunger. With a quick movement the liquid disappeared from the glass, the caged beast jerking away as far as he could but only succeeding in distancing himself an inch or two. The empty syringe dropped to the floor at the same time Logan’s knees hit it with a resounding crack.

Logan jerked his head up to meet Roman’s desperate gaze, his features softening as he saw the worry in his friend’s face. He brought his hand up to lay on the bars of the cage, trying his best to smile in reassurance. Roman's eyes flashed once before they began to dull, muscles finally untensing as he slumped to the floor slowly. Watching as he closed  his eyes Logan reached in carefully to take his deformed hand  in his own, squeezing it gently despite the burrs that dug into his skin. He held it long after blood began to run from his much softer flesh, long after it grew cold in his palm and the blood dried and the fingers relaxed, long after the sun came up and went down again and enough time passed for whatever it was that plagued Roman’s body to leave once more leaving only a small, scarred form behind. A form that was far too cold and stiff to be Roman’s but one that Logan forced himself to accept that it was. His back hurt and his legs were numb while his stomach growled and his dry throat spasmed in unspoken sobs but he refused to move. 

Moving meant he had control of his actions. And that meant he had had the choice of doing what he had done. He could have tried and convinced Roman to bear through the pain just a few months longer while he tried to find something else. But he hadn’t.

Logan jerked his head up to meet Roman’s desperate gaze, his expression set in death to haunt Logan with its misplaced hope and fear and trust. He hoped Roman had finally found peace even as he prayed he himself never would. The lights buzzed faintly as Logan looked at their hands still intertwined together as comfort for him or Roman he couldn’t remember.

This work is also available on AO3!

Logan jerked his head up to meet Roman’s desperate gaze, and let go.

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[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

Flare Up

Ao3,   MasterPost

Relationships: Romantic sleepxiety

Warnings: Talk of anxiety, panic disorders, and panic attacks. 

Word Count: 1,245

Virgil dragged his steps along the pavement, pulling his hair out of its spiked ponytail- if only to bring a sliver more insulation to his freezing cold face. He shoved his hood up onto his head, sinking back into the small comfort it provided him. His earrings bumped the side of his jaw occasionally, a touch of icy metal stinging his skin, but he couldn’t find the energy to remove them. 

The rain snapped and bit at Virgil’s cheeks, his nose, his hands- anywhere it could seem to reach and then some. Maybe that wouldn’t have been so frustrating if Virgil could just breathe, but every time he opened his mouth to make an attempt at it the forceful winds swept away his air and left his lungs burning. Like maybe his chest was filled with snow, but it never melted.

But he liked it. Or, no, he needed it. Or something like that… 

Being outside in the late falls of New England hurt, but it was the only thing that ever felt fresh in times like these. It was clean and clear, and it didn’t stifle Virgil, didn’t make him feel boxed-in like an animal. 

And it was quiet. Quiet except the rain, and the wind.

Virgil’s footsteps echoed through the street, each sound eventually carried away with the weather. The destination wasn’t much further now, but he almost wished it was, just to keep this sharpness that- for once- found its way into his addled mind. 

The shop was just over the hill, an oddly steep one for a downtown area. The sidewalk curved up in an incline, keeping the quant building just out of view as one approached, all except for its sign. Wooden, old, painted all in black with a delicately embellished logo. Virgil walked with slow strides, reading again and again the letters painted there as they grew more legible. 

Flight Coffee Co.

To say Virgil knew the place well would be an understatement. Even if all the buildings around him set their lights dark, and the stars went out, and the moon turned its face away, Virgil would be able to see the words in their exact font. He would still see the shape of the hanging sign, swaying and knocking in the wind, and he’d see the wide windows set into the front of the store. And, he might even see the heavy door opening, revealing a tall, lanky young man stepping outside. A young man with dark skin, a thick tied-up poof of bleached-brown hair, and a pair of shades tucked into the chest pocket of his black leather jacket.

Virgil felt a smile creep out from his teeth. A weak, small smile. But a smile.

The punk stopped a few yards away from the coffeehouse, watching the employee bolt and lock the door for the night. He waited semi-patiently until the man turned, those blackish-brown irises meeting his green and grey ones. The man’s face twisted up in momentary confusion, turning then concern as he tucked his keys into a spare pocket.

“Virge? What are you doing here, baby?”

Virgil stuffed his hands- burned raw and red with the cold- into the pockets of his hoodie.

“Hey, Remy. I- um, I got a little impatient waiting for you to get off work, I guess.”

Remy’s expression melted into soft understanding, as he reached forward and brushed back Virgil’s bangs with a warm hand.

“Oh, honey,” he murmured, “You had one of those days?”

Virgil didn’t answer. He leaned into Remy silently, stretching up to press his face into the taller man’s shoulder. His jacket was well-worn and soft, still carrying the distinct smell of leather goods, but ingrained as well with the scent of coffee and clean dishes. Virgil burrowed even closer when he felt Remy’s arms loop around his waist, shielding him from the weather, comforting him. 

Virgil didn’t always like being touched after a day riddled with paranoia and anxiety, in fact oftentimes that only set him more on edge. Those were the days when he’d hole up in his room, watching short horror films on YouTube and texting frantically with his friends, either Andy or Logan most of the time (as both suffered from similar anxious disorders to him). 

But there were other days, days where he felt so desperately alone and tiny, when he just needed someone to be near him. And that someone was always Remy. 

“You want me to walk you home, handsome?”

Virgil grumbled at the nickname, and also at the prospect of letting his partner go, however briefly. Remy laughed softly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head through his hoodie. 

“...We probably should. It’s dangerous at night,” Virgil conceded. 

“Well,” Remy stepped back far enough to link his arm with Virgil’s, turning them in the direction of home. “We live in New England, so, not really.”

“Killers can live anywhere,” Virgil countered, matching Remy’s steps. “Don’t discriminate, R.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, alright. Good you got me to defend you, huh?”

Virgil raised his eyebrows, smirking incredulously. Remy kept a straight face for about five seconds before bursting into laughter. 

“Yeah- Yeah, okay,” he giggled, “You’re right, you’re right; I’m not nearly as scary as you, you big goth.”

“Damn right,” Virgil grinned, nudging Remy with his shoulders as they walked. 

It was a quiet trip on Virgil’s part, as he was content to just listen to Remy talk about his day. The barista always had a lot to say about his customers- most of it negative, all of it funny. Virgil’s steps were slow, unhurried, as he let the tension fall from his shoulders.

The cold still stung, but it wasn’t nearly as noticeable with the almost supernaturally warm body of Remy plastered against his side. Nothing was especially noticeable under those circumstances, really, aside from the high pitch of Remy’s voice and the secure feeling of his body right there. It left no room in his brain for anything else, a rare kind of relief that Virgil could never get enough of.

This was always just what he needed. Virgil let his eyes fall closed, his eyelids heavy and burning from a long lack of sleep, and leaned his head back against his boyfriend’s shoulder. It was alright to do so; Remy knew the path, and would make sure he didn’t stumble or fall. 

It was a short time to their apartment complex; a tall, white, rectangle of a building sticking up from a disproportionately small parking lot. It was a little dingy, a little run-down, but Virgil would be lying if he said it didn’t feel like home.

He lifted his head, smiling tiredly. 

“Hey.”

Remy stopped short what he was ranting about, giving Virgil his attention.

“I love you,” Virgil muttered, half-against the side of his head. Remy (poorly) hid his momentary surprise with an eyeroll. 

“Duh- I’m a total score, Babe.”

“Remy.”

Remy groaned softly, hiding his face in his free hand. 

“Okay, fine- I love you too, you big sap.”

Virgil grinned. Before he could worry about which of their annoying neighbors would see them, or what the frosty weather was doing to them, or if the flickering fluorescent streetlights would fall on them- he jolted forward.

Remy made a startled sort of squeak when their lips connected, his eyes widening. But then he adjusted, and kissed back, and Virgil really did manage to forget about everything else. 

Taglist: @shrimp-crockpot @glitter-skeleton-uwu @donnieluvsthings @intruxiety @thefivecalls @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @gayformlessblob 

[sidespromptblog]

Ice

Warnings: Hypothermia, Almost Drowning, Logan Angst, Self-Destruction, and Almost Death. 

Summary:  The waters were a crystal clear blue, the kind of clear that he could see everything that laid out before him, the kind of waters that in the summertime would have been the perfect place to swim at and have fun. It wasn’t exactly the kind of place to be at during the dead of winter, and it most certainly wasn’t the kind of place to be swimming right now. But Logan was there anyway...

Word Count: 2700

The chill of the winter air nipped at Logan’s skin raising goosebumps along his bare arms and legs, ordinarily, he would never have been caught dead in the throws of winter wearing nothing more than a pair of swimming trunks. Ordinarily, wearing such a thing would have been a recipe for a disastrous cold that would take him weeks to recover from. But here, here in the imagination, where anything could be anything, Logan faced the cold as he stared down at the calm waters of the pool he had created in what would ordinarily be Roman’s place of creation. Roman would be angry at him for coming here without his knowledge, angry at him for creating something where he shouldn’t have, and well… for doing something so stupid when he always claimed to be smarter than them.

Exhaustion tugged and snapped at his very bones, days upon days of working… and for what? A schedule that the others had tossed out the window when Patton claimed that Thomas absolutely needed to go Christmas caroling in the dead of December with friends when they had asked. A task that had led to Thomas getting a cold the very next day and leaving him bedridden as Joan and Talyn watched over him.

All of his hard work thrown out the window.

The days he had spent, leading to nothing more than a glorified paper shredder destroying what he had worked for.

For friends, for a cold night out, for a cough that wouldn’t go away and rattled in Thomas’ chest, for Patton to exclaim that Thomas shouldn’t be in bed while Joan and Talyn were over trying to help, for the others pushing for Thomas to make his own meals instead of letting the others do it. So much… just thrown out the window, just like they had neglected to listen to him when he had suggested again the action of caroling in the first place.

“Oh hush! It’ll be good for him to get out of the house for once, and he’ll be with friends Lo! That’ll be good for him to get some social interaction with his friends. You know what that is right?”

A shiver wracked Logan’s form as he snapped back to himself, still staring down at the still waters of the pool. He was freezing, and the weight of the missing glasses on his face made him feel oddly vulnerable as he stood there. Another breeze drifted across his skin, another pin prickling of ice across his nerves as he just stood there, he didn’t even bother to rub his arms in an attempt to generate some kind of warmth.

There wasn’t any reason to do so.

With a heavy sigh that allowed him to see his breath for a moment, Logan hesitated, but just for a brief moment of his muscles interlocking and stopping him dead in his tracks before he stepped forward onto the stairs that led into the deep waters of the pool before him. The waters were a crystal clear blue, the kind of clear that he could see everything that laid out before him, the kind of waters that in the summertime would have been the perfect place to swim at and have fun. It wasn’t exactly the kind of place to be at during the dead of winter, and it most certainly wasn’t the kind of place to be swimming right now.

Nevertheless, Logan stepped out onto the watery stairs and within seconds ice shards slammed into Logan’s feet the very moment he touched the water.

It was… freezing. It was so damn cold, the kind of cold that was painful before it ever got close to being numb. It made him stop as he gripped the metal railing of the pool with an iron-like grip. His teeth chattered loudly in his skull, the pool might as well have been frozen it was so cold. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up in attention, at the current of snow that now rushed through his veins.

Any ordinary person would have long ago gone back to the warmth of the inside with a hot chocolate and gotten dressed in the proper heavy coat, scarf, and mittens. But here he was… dipping his other foot into the freezing waters.

It could have taken only a few minutes, or it could have taken hours. But eventually, Logan managed his way to the very center of the pool, where eventually he was forced to float in the waters once it got over his head, and where he was forced to swim through the sharp icy pool waters to get right where he wanted to. It was almost peaceful in an odd kind of way, if peaceful happened to be cold seeping in from every direction all at once ensuring that he couldn’t feel his fingertips and nose. The wind had long since stopped since he had entered the pool, leaving the pool to occasionally ripple with every movement that he made to get to stay afloat.

Logan floated on his back and stared up at the night sky before him, the occasional lightning bug would flutter over the pool lighting up the night sky as if it were a star itself creating itself before eventually going out. He wasn’t exactly sure what magics that Roman used to make the sky so beautiful at night, or maybe it was Remus stretching his imagination to the stars where nobody could have a say on what he could or could not create on those balls of gas, and even other planets that he could create thousands of light-years away. What he did know though… was that it was unlike any proper night sky that he had ever seen with Thomas in the real world. The colors popped, and the light from the stars seemed so much closer than they ever really could be factual.

It was all rather… beautiful, catching a glimpse at the night sky in winter as his drooping eyes begged to stay closed for more than a few seconds.

Beautiful indeed.

His fingertips no longer felt the sharp pinpricks of the of the freezing cold water, in fact, a warm numbness swept through him the longer that he floated there, the water lapping at the edge of his face as he tiredly looked up at the sky. It was almost akin to submerging into warm bathwater after having stayed out for too long, like the urge to fall asleep in a bathtub after an excruciatingly long day that made his muscles and back sore. He was…

Tired.

“Sleeping in a pool is not advisable,” Logan mumbled to himself as a quirked a blind sloppy sided smile, his words slurred together unlike anything he had ever heard before. “For humans though… I am Logic, not a human..” Just a fabrication, just a simplistic stagnate action of Thomas’ mind that would always be there no matter what. He logically would not be able to die, none of the sides could die. At least… not in the human way of death. “A.. a few moments couldn’t hurt. I’m not..” Logan blinked, his eyelids were already trying so hard to stay open as his numb lips mouthed empty words.

Darkness was creeping around the edges of his vision, dragging him down and down, until...

“I’m.. I’m… not-” Human.

It was only when the waves of the pool splashed chaotically against the edges did Logan’s eyes crack open, his brain on the very tipping point of going unconscious yet again. The world even without his glasses was a blur of movement and colors as his head sunk below the tide of the pool, the noises and motions muffled with the movement of the water around him that slowly but steadily allowed him to sink further and further down. He could only tiredly see the motion of something or someone coming for him, and the sound of that something screaming above the surface of the water. Without even thinking too hard about it, Logan allowed his eyes to slowly ease shut again, the chaos of everything around him becoming no more than a slight hum in his submerged ears as the darkness came back and swamped his mind.

Then that particular something, dove under the water wrenching Logan right out of the unconscious state he had been about to go back to.

Within seconds Logan’s head broke through the surface of the freezing water, as a pair of strong steady arms gripped him so tight that there would undoubtedly be bruising the next morning. Their fingers gripped him tight as a trembling ran up and down their body, and before Logan could even blink the chlorine-filled water from his eyes he found himself being crushed against the other’s chest to the point that no part of him was even touching the water anymore. His chest ached, as he found himself coughing and coughing, clutching at whoever had managed to wrangle him out of the depths of the pool. Water streamed down his face and out of his mouth as he buried his face into the soaked shoulder of the other side, his entire body shaking and trembling with each gasp and wheeze.

He couldn’t seem to stop shaking.

“...gan...Lo..gan? Logan!” The hands that had seized him so roughly from the watery depths gingerly cradled him now as he found himself moving towards the steps of the pool before they were both finally out. With his eyes clear and his lung no longer heaving water over the other’s shoulder Logan blinked again as he pulled back, for the first time catching a glimpse of just who had dove into freezing cold waters just for him. Remus’ dark smokey eyes stared daggers down at him, as the creative side stalked away from the pool completely and utterly sopping wet as the makeup around his eyes streamed freely down his cheeks. “What the fuck was that nostril nerd? Do you just make a habit of falling asleep in pools in the middle of December, or is this a court with death?!” Remus snapped, his hands and shoulders were trembling despite how he bit out each word, his jaw was set in a rather serious way that Logan had never ever seen before.

The creative side’s breathing was rough, his chest practically heaving as he stared down at Logan again as if waiting for some kind of answer to his question. Honestly, Logan didn’t understand what the big deal was about it, he wasn’t really human… none of them were, so death didn’t exactly mean the same thing for them. So.. so why was he so angry about this? Just a few months ago he had thrown a ninja star at his forehead, so a little water was almost nothing in compared to the way that Remus liked to have fun.

Remus sniffled, and the water continued to stream down his face.

And just like that… it finally sunk in for Logan.

He wasn’t angry… well, he was certainly angry. But Remus was experiencing a different emotional reaction along with that, one that usually went hand in hand with anger when it came to people he was close to and cared for.

He was… scared, not just scared… but scared for Logan.

“I…” Logan felt stumped for his words, resting his cheek against the shoulder of Remus’ soaked uniform he scrambled for his words. “I had to.” He lamely summarized as the feeling of pins and needles came back to his fingers and toes as a rough shiver shook him. “I don’t know why.. I just had to.” He mumbled, a feeling of shame curling in his stomach like a dragon that had been awoken by a terrible force, he was used to shame.. shame after he had pelted Roman in the eye with a paper ball, shame when he couldn’t understand his own basic emotions, shame when Thomas admitted that he didn’t want to be a scientist, and just shame from failing as Logic… He had felt all of that before, but this.. this kind of shame made him panic in the kind of way that gripped his heart and refused to let it be.

Logan roughly swallowed, he could feel his lungs pulling tightly in his chest and his heart thudding against his ribs.

“Are you… are you going to tell the others?” He finally asked, as his stomach twisted like branches in the wind of a full-on hurricane tearing through a forest leaving nothing behind.

“I don’t know,” Remus’ eyes darted away as he stared ahead, keeping a close eye on just where he was walking. Just from the direction that he was walking Logan could tell that they weren’t headed back to the mindspace where Logan’s room was, the big ominous castle in the dark spooky forest that was growing steadily closer and closer told him that much. For a split second the creative side’s eyes darted back down to him, his eyes locking with Logan’s for a single intense second. “Are you going to do it again?”

That question alone stumped Logan.

Was he going to do it again? What would happen if he needed to.. if he felt the urge to just come here again? Would he do it? Would Remus be around next time to fish him out, or would the others find him next time? At the bottom of the pool looking pale and d-

“Does it matter?”

Remus stopped dead in his tracks at that question, his fingers once against digging into Logan where he held him, making the logical side squirm before he finally relaxed his grip. Remus’ breath remained trapped in his lungs for a long couple of seconds as his teeth chomped at the side of his cheek until he could taste the red, his teeth ground together until he was almost certain that he could hear a crack somewhere in his skull. A thousand words remained on the tip of his tongue, begging for him to spit them all out in one chaotic fashion. For a split second, he contemplated dropping Logan, or maybe just kicking down every door that was in the light sided mindspace until he could find out where this problem was located. Just so that he could smash it to a bloody red mushy pulp with his morning star and never have to see Logan deal with that again, the only issue was… he couldn’t. It wasn’t something tangible that he could fight, it was a thought, a thought that he should have caught before it ever got to Logan.

He was the one who dealt with these kinds of thoughts, so.. so why hadn’t he?

Remus swallowed down the red that he tasted like iron on his tongue. It always matters. He wanted to say, to proclaim, to scream and shout at the top of his lungs until he couldn’t speak anymore. “I am going to warm you up,” He instead said, clutching Logan just the slightest bit closer, “And after you’ve eaten, after you put on some clothes, and after you aren’t dying of hypothermia… we are going to talk. It can be you and me, or it can be you and Dee. But you are going to talk, and we’re going to make sure that it matters… that it will always matter. Not just to me, but to you as well.”

Maybe it was the leftover Roman in him from their split talking, but despite how sappily poetic his words had sounded but…

Remus was satisfied enough with them as he carried on towards his dark castle where he would steadily warm Logan up in a massive bed covered in blankets with a room that was fit for a king given the fireplace in it. Where he’d try his damn hardest to not screw up a simple soup recipe, where he’d watch and make sure that Logan ate every single bite, and where eventually… they would both fall asleep sharing each other's warmth.

What would come the next day was unknown, but Logan was safe right now and that was all that mattered.

[demigodemery]

Inspired by the song Let You Down by NF and a lot of Roman edits with said song.

TW: Unintentionally unsympathetic Patton and Thomas, crying, Suicide, Roman angst.

~~~~~

They were in the middle of making a video when Deceit showed up, pretending to be Logan before revealing himself, he then told them his name, Roman made fun of it and Deceit, or Janus, retaliated by calling him evil. Neither Thomas nor Patton defended him.

"Are you guys seriously going to take his side? Over me?" Roman asked, "Thomas... I thought I was your hero..."

"Y-you are!" Thomas said, not meaning it but wanting to quickly resolve the situation.

Janus confirmed that Thomas was lying, and Roman lashed out more, "wow, I can't believe this, did you forget that he's evil?! You're not, or.. You're not supposed to be, you're supposed to be good, you can't-"

"Roman," Patton said, gently, trying to calm him down so they could get back to helping Thomas, "everything's going to be alright, Kiddo. We love you!"

Roman just scoffed, "Right..." he said while sinking down. He fell to the floor in his room, starting to cry, and singing: "I'm sorry that I let you down, let you down. All these voices in my head get loud," he put his hands over his ears, trying and failing to block out the voices of Thomas and the other sides, telling him he wasn't enough, that he wasn't Thomas' hero anymore, that he was the evil twin, "I wish that I could shut them out! I'm sorry that I let you down, let you down..."

He let his hands drop from his ears, feeling something heavy and metal materialize in this dominant hand, a gun. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he put the gun to his head, "I'm sorry, that I let you down..." he pulled the trigger.

Bonus good ending:

Everyone heard the gun shot and ran to Romans room to find him kneeling on the floor, sobbing. The pistol lay next to him on the floor, Roman was shaking and mumbling things like, I tried to- oh god. It didn't work, I'm ok.

It wasn't hard to piece together what had happened, everyone was shocked that he'd even attempt that.

They filed into the room and comforted the creative side, each silently promising themselves that they'd help Roman.

~~~~~ Written: 6-26-2020 Word count: 400

[impala-dreamer]

An excerpt from my new novel...

29 Moments - On Sale now on Amazon Kindle and Paperback

The heat was turning back on, old radiators kicking and screaming as they came back to life after hours of being dead. The old metal clacked and clinked and Ali stirred. She stretched, muscles groaning as she turned and arched her back. The blanket fell and all the warmth she’d collected suddenly escaped, leaving her chilled and shivering. 

“Damn,” she whispered as the cold bit at her naked back, wrapped around her shoulders, tickled her toes. 

To her left, Ronnie slept on, a gentle snore fading as Ali shifted around on the old mattress. His end of the blanket was tucked tight around his broad shoulders, only the very top of his right arm visible as the sun snuck through the curtains That, and the smooth skin of the nape of his neck. Ali loved this spot more than she should, and as the coldness forced her back under the covers, she scooted close to Ronnie and tucked her frozen nose against his neck. 

She took a deep breath; drinking in the unique scent of him. No one else got to smell this, the lingering hint of his cologne from the day before mingled with the sweat from the night, the natural musk of him. He was delicious, warm, solid, and Ali felt her blood flow faster as she nuzzled into him. 

Ronnie took a deep breath as he ascended that first rung of waking, shoulder blades pulling tight and then relaxing again. 

Ali smiled and kissed the space between them, gently peeling the blanket down as she went. He had the softest skin; darker than hers, but still on the pale side. Freckles covered him like splashes of tan paint, as if God had flicked his wet brush at random; they were splayed across his chest and down his arms, peppering his back like constellations that Ali tried to name. There was Thor on the left side, his hammer dipping down between the blades, Logan the Cat down by his ass, tail curling around his right hip, and a conglomerate that looked a little like a PacMan ghost chasing a car down the highway of his left side. 

She ran her hands down that highway and back up, loving the feel of him beneath her fingertips. When she reached the soft hair at the nape of his neck, she pushed onwards, gently massaging his scalp until his snoring ceased and a sweet groan escaped his sleep-dried lips.  

“Mornin’,” he mumbled, rolling backwards a bit to trap Ali beneath him. 

Dragging her hand back down, Ali tucked it under his arm and clung to him, nails digging gently into his chest. She pressed her lips to his neck, sucking with a sweet, suggestive pressure that made his hips wiggle beneath the blanket.

“Morning,” she echoed, tongue tracing the cut of his collarbone. She would live in the hollow there if she could, drowning in the heavy heat of him, the salty deliciousness of his skin. She bit down suddenly and Ronnie growled, pulling a deep groan from his gut that clamored against his clenched teeth. “Like that?” she asked with a devilish smile that danced across his throat. 

“Yeah.” His whisper was deep and urged her on. 

Another lick, another bite, a deep suckling kiss at the tender flesh behind his ear. Ali stretched her fingers over his heart and let her hand slide slowly down, palm rising and falling over the ridges of him, the hill of his ribs, the dip of his waist, the trench of his hip bone.  

"Someone's feeling frisky," he laughed, pulling in a quick gasp as her fingers dipped between his legs, teasing at the sensitive softness of his inner thigh.

"Shh." She blew into his ear and his eyes closed again. She could feel his muscles tense beneath her arm, stomach tightening as his body came to life. She massaged his thigh and then let her palm slip upwards, rubbing it firmly against his half hard cock.

"Fuck."

Ronnie rolled, trying to lay on his back to reach her lips. He groped the air with blind hands as she caressed his balls, finally catching her as she popped up onto one arm.

His kiss was sloppy, wet and tired, but his tongue was hungry. He pushed into her mouth just as her fingers circled the base of his erection, and Ronnie moaned into her mouth.

"God, I wanna fuck you," he begged, voice raspy and cracked.

Ali kissed him hard, pushing his head back down to sink into his pillow. "Just relax…"

He found it hard to believe such a thing was possible as she teased her way down his body with wet kisses and a pointed tongue. Tented by the blanket, Ali used her lips to wake him up fully, sliding her mouth up and down the length of his shaft, pulling another dirty groan from the back of his throat before puckering her lips at the tip. His head was already swollen and leaking, and she sucked it down, shivering at the tang of him as it hit her taste buds. 

“God, Ali...fuck…” His hips popped up as her head went down, her tongue flat on his pulsing vein, her throat pulsing around his head. She went too far, gagging on him with a nasal noise that made Ronnie’s mind reel. He reached down to hold her head, a light but welcome pressure at the top of her skull, begging silently for a moment longer. 

The blanket fell away as she moved onto her knees, ass high and legs spread; the cold air hitting her wet pussy and making her shiver. The quake traveled up through her body and down into him, a soft vibration of lips that made his eyes roll back deep inside his head. 

Slow and steady until he couldn’t take it anymore. “Wanna fuck that pussy, baby,” he growled, blunt nails scratching at her shoulders as he reached down to drag her upwards. 

Ali shook her head and hummed in negation, pulling back an inch to avoid his grasp. “Nope.” She pumped him fast, warm fist tight around his velvety skin. 

“Please…”

Her mouth a vacuum, she pushed all the way down, bobbing her head to catch his on the back wall of her throat. She choked and her body tensed. 

“Fuck, please!”

Ali set her hands on his hips, delicate fingers lying in the deep cut of his body. Hands in place, she used her mouth only; lips and tongue, hot and wet, faster and faster until Ronnie took over. He pulled up a handful of her golden brown locks, still a wavy mess from the night before, and thrust his hips as he held her mouth in place. He fucked up into her tight lips, losing his rhythm to the pleasure with each pass until he grit his teeth and let go of her, caution on his breath. 

“I’m gonna cum, baby…”

She smiled and took him deep again, ignoring his warning, wanting to feel the moment, taste all of him. Her cunt was aching to be played with, her nipples hard and sensitive as they rubbed against his thighs, but this wasn’t about her. She wanted him awake and happy, wanted to start off the week on a high. The noises he made sent a pulse through her body and she felt herself leaking in the cold, a call that would have to go unanswered for a little while. 

His shoulders popped as he came, sitting halfway up as his stomach clenched and his body released. Ali moaned happily as she drank him down, slowly easing the pressure of her mouth as he softened. She licked him clean, swallowed every drop of wetness, and kissed him playfully on the soft pouch beneath his navel. 

“Thank you,” she said with a happy yawn as she fell back onto her pillow. 

“Me?” he laughed, half drunk on her attentions. “Why you thankin’ me? Shit.” Ronnie scrubbed a hand down his face and scratched at his stubbled jaw. “That was amazing.”

Ali hummed and curled onto her side against him. “It was, wasn’t it? I’m super good at that.” 

His arm fell heavy over her shoulder as he pulled her close. “Fuck, yes you are. I should chuck the alarm clock and use you to wake me up instead.” 

Laughing, she jabbed him in the ribs with a sassy finger. “If you think you’re gonna get this every day, you’re gonna be very disappointed, sir.” 

Ronnie chuckled and bent his chin to kiss the top of her head. “Eh, was worth a try.” 

29 Moments by Rebekah Jordan is now on sale! Just $0.99 for the Kindle book!

Check it out! Pass it along! If you read and like, please leave a review on Amazon. They really, really are important! Thank you!

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