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hysterialevi · 2 years

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Red Moon | Part 9

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Jason contracts the vampiric plague, the lieutenant is forced through a series of experiments at the hands of CENTCOM, and held prisoner at Camp Slayer’s research facility. When he discovers that they plan to use Salim as their next subject however, he decides to go rogue, and turns against the US military before they can use his disease as a key to immortality.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Jason Kolchek/Salim Othman

Author’s note: Happy Pride Month everyone, love y’all for who you are :)

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

CAMP SLAYER, LEVEL B3

1924 HOURS

Holding onto his rifle with an iron grip, Salim waited in painful anticipation as the elevator slowly climbed towards the surface, bringing them one step closer to freedom.

He and Jason had yet to face any true resistance from the military ever since their escape, but it was obvious based on the marine’s restless nature alone that the storm was far from over. Salim didn’t know who or what the other man was expecting -- all he knew was that Jason sensed something he couldn’t see.

It almost reminded him of the behavior he saw from the vampires. Much like them, Jason always seemed to pick up on things that no one else could. And it didn’t just apply to sound; it also applied to instinct.

Normally, Salim would’ve been thankful for Jason’s ability to detect any potential threats, but deep down, it only made him worry more about the man’s condition.

How bad was his infection? Had HERA really affected him so much that he was now acting like the vampires? Was any part of him still human? At this point, Salim didn’t even want to think about it.

“...Jason?” He asked, eyeing his friend. “Are you alright?”

Jason turned towards Salim, his horns casting a shadow across his face. “What? Oh, y-yeah. I’m fine.”

Salim’s expression stiffened. “Are you sure? What about HERA? You... look like you’re getting sicker...”

“I’m fine.” He reiterated. “Don’t worry about me, okay?”

The older man let out a quiet chuckle, attempting to calm the mood. “That’s not as easy as you imagine.”

Jason didn’t return the lighthearted sentiment. Instead, he simply kept his sight locked on the elevator doors, preparing for whatever awaited them on the other side. “Look, let’s just focus on gettin’ outta here. We can talk about it later.”

Salim backed down with a sigh, deciding to leave the lieutenant alone for now. He wasn’t exactly surprised by Jason’s response -- he had never known him to be an open book, after all -- but he couldn’t deny that the man’s reticence put him on edge.

“Alright. Just... let me know if anything changes.”

“...Sure.”

Cutting their conversation short, the two of them jumped in surprise when the elevator came to a screeching halt, stopping just before it could reach the next floor. An electric groan echoed throughout the mechanism as the lights flickered into darkness, and within seconds, the pair of soldiers found themselves trapped in the shaft.

“What the--? What just happened?” Salim blurted out.

“Shit...!” Jason exclaimed, trying to regain his balance. “CENTCOM must’ve cut the power.”

“What? Is there any way we can reactivate it?”

“...Maybe. Dammit, I dunno. I assume the controls are in the security room. If we can get there, it’s possible we could get the elevator up and runnin’ again.”

Salim hesitated. “Sounds like a good plan, except... how do we do that when we’re stuck here?”

“Well... we could--”

Chiming in from the elevator’s intercom, a third, raspy voice suddenly blared through the speaker, causing Jason to wince in pain due to the piercing sound. It filled up every corner of the cramped room and slithered through the silence, speaking to them like a phantom hiding in the shadows.

“Subject One,” a woman said, “this is CENTCOM. Stop where you are immediately. Do not pursue this endeavor any further. Surrender yourself now.”

Contrary to what Jason expected, he didn’t recognize who was on the other side. Unlike his previous interactions with CENTCOM, it wasn’t Carlyle or Moreau contacting him on their behalf. Rather, it sounded like someone different. Someone much older. Someone he had yet to meet.

“Who the hell is this?” Jason asked, his tone low with caution.

“That information is irrelevant. All you need to know is that I represent the head of this organization. And I must insist that you put this foolishness to an end before more lives are lost.”

“I ain’t doing shit until I know who I’m speakin’ to.”

The stranger muttered to herself. “...Dr. Carlyle mentioned you were a stubborn one.” She paused for a moment. “Very well. If my name is that important to you, I’m willing to disclose it. My name is Adrienne Hoyt.”

The woman introduced herself with a level of authority that made Jason feel as if her name were supposed to mean something, and yet, it didn’t sound familiar to him in the slightest.

“And... what do you want, Hoyt? Why are you contacting me instead o’ Carlyle?”

“This situation is bigger than just Carlyle, lieutenant. I realize you’ve been kept in the dark about most of CENTCOM’s operations, but your actions influence others in ways you can’t even begin to comprehend. And that’s why I must insist that you stop.”

Jason scoffed. “You really expect me to back down now? After everything I’ve been through? Yeah, not likely.”

“...Look, I understand your frustration. I’ve been following your progress ever since I first launched this operation, and--”

“--Wait,” he said, doing a double take, “you launched this operation?”

“Me and a few others, yes. Red Moon is our project. We agreed to start the operation after a number of ancient specimens were presented to us just over two weeks ago. Carlyle has been showing me his research ever since the beginning, and I’m aware of the sacrifices he’s had to make. People have died, I know. And more will follow. But the carnage will be ten times worse if I let you leave that facility.”

Jason furrowed his brow. “What’re you talkin’ about? You’re trying to use HERA as a weapon of war. If CENTCOM gets what it wants, this conflict with Iraq will never end.”

Hoyt’s tone flattened with obstinance. “Quite the contrary, in fact.”

“...I don’t follow.”

“Think about it, lieutenant. If Red Moon turns out to be a success, the U.S. military will finally be able to strengthen its forces. Our soldiers will be like you. Stronger than you. Nothing will be able to stop them. Iraq will surrender, along with any other enemies our nation has.”

Salim’s heartbeat spiked with fear. “...Ya Rab, they’re trying to kill us all.”

Jason exchanged glances with the older man before turning back to the intercom, sighing in frustration. “Listen, it ain’t worth it, Hoyt. Trust me. You didn’t see what I saw in those caves. You have no idea what this virus can do. If you let HERA run free, Iraq isn’t the only country that will suffer. You’ll bring the whole world to ruin.”

Hoyt’s voice sharpened with a tinge of aggravation. “I’m afraid your opinion is immaterial. You’re a marine. You were trained to kill, not to question. And right now, your veins are carrying what could potentially be the answer to all our problems; the remedy to our suffering. I cannot let you leave.”

Salim stepped forward and gripped Jason’s shoulder, urging him to put an end to this debate. “Habibi, we need to find a way out. Now.”

“Do not forget where your loyalties lie, lieutenant.” Hoyt persisted. “You may be stuck in that facility, but you are still fighting for the United States. You are still an American soldier.”

Jason glared at the intercom, clenching his hand into a fist. “...Yeah. I am. And that’s why I can’t let y’all get what you want.”

“Subject,” she warned, “listen to me--”

“--No. We’re done talking.”

Before Hoyt could get another word in, Jason threw a punch at the wall and crushed the speaker, leaving a dent that looked more akin to a small crater. The woman’s voice instantly warped into a distorted mess, and eventually, faded away.

Meanwhile, Salim stared at Jason with widened eyes, shaken by everything he just heard.

“...Great.” He mumbled. “Another wolf in the pack to worry about. Who is Hoyt? Do you know of her?”

The marine shook his head. “No. No one’s ever mentioned her before. Not even Moreau. Hell, Moreau probably doesn’t know about her either. CENTCOM has a habit of keepin’ secrets.”

“Well, whoever she is, it didn’t sound like she was at Camp Slayer. Do you think she’s somewhere else in Iraq?”

“Possibly. Or she could be back home in the States. Hard to believe they’d risk puttin’ someone of that caliber in the middle of a war zone.”

Jason waved a dismissive hand. “Look, forget about her. I don’t know who the fuck Hoyt is, but frankly, I don’t really care right now. All I care about is findin’ a way outta this shit-hole. D’you see a hatch anywhere in this elevator?”

Salim began patting the pockets of his uniform, hoping to find a flashlight. “I can’t see much of anything. It’s too dark.”

“What? What d’you mean it’s too dark?”

A confused glint embedded itself into Salim’s stare. “...The lights. They--” the gears suddenly clicked in his head. “Wait. You can still see, can’t you?”

The lieutenant simply gawked at his companion, only to feel his heart jump when he realized what was going on.

“...HERA.” He whispered. “It gives you echolocation.”

“Just like the vampires. As long as there’s sound, you should be able to navigate the dark.”

Jason grumbled to himself. “Jesus Christ, what am I, a fuckin’ dolphin? Okay, okay. Just... keep makin’ noise, alright? I’ll find us a way outta here.”

“Alright. Try to be quick. CENTCOM’s soldiers could be here any minute.”

Scanning their surroundings, Jason searched for any openings in the elevator’s structure as Salim tapped his knuckles against the wall, filling the room with a continuous knock.

Strange waves unlike anything Jason had ever seen spread across his vision like ripples in the water, and constructed the world with a reverberating image.

Unfortunately however, there appeared to be no way out. The surfaces were all flat, and the only signs of escape pointed to the doors that were now sealed shut.

“Do you see anything?” Salim asked. He heard a sigh in response.

“...Nope. No hatch, no vent, no nothing.” Jason pressed his hands against the door. “We’re locked in here.”

“Shit. What do we do? If CENTCOM catches us again--”

“--They won’t.”

“If they do... we’re both dead.”

Jason dragged his fingers along the slim gap between the doors. “CENTCOM needs me alive. If I die, they’ll have no subjects who are intact. They won’t risk killin’ me unless absolutely necessary. You, though... well, I won’t let them get to you.”

A thought crossed Salim’s mind. “...Do they even know how to kill you? Or that it’s possible?”

“I-- I ain’t sure, actually. I don’t even know if it’s possible.”

“What do you mean? You have the same virus as those vampires, no? Therefore, you should have the same weaknesses.”

“That would make sense, and yet, the Army flew me back to Camp Slayer in broad daylight after pickin’ us up from those caves. Didn’t affect me one bit. Maybe it’s ‘cause my infection hadn’t settled in completely, but... I dunno. It’s still weird.”

Salim recalled their time in the temple. “Back in those ruins, I saw a vampire who was different from the rest. Do you remember him? The Ancient One.”

Jason stuck his fingers into the gap, testing the doors’ strength with a tug. “You mean the son-of-a-bitch who strangled Nick? Yeah, hard to forget someone like that.”

“And do you remember when Eric used his UV light on him? It didn’t burn him like everyone else. Maybe you have the same kind of resistance.”

“I sure hope so. I ain’t fixin’ to get my ass set on fire when we reach the surface.”

The older man stuttered in confusion. “What? Fixing? I-I don’t understand, what are you fixing?”

Jason laughed at Salim’s response. “Oh, no, it’s just an American thing. Forget it. What I mean is, I hope we can get out before the sun rises.”

Salim came up with an idea. “...Hey, you know, if we’re going to stop by Moreau’s office on the way out of here, perhaps we could sneak into Carlyle’s as well. He might have information on your sickness that we don’t know about. It could h...”

Interrupting him before he could finish, a loud screech rang throughout the elevator as Jason pried the doors open with his bare hands, practically tearing the two pieces of metal apart. His muscles tensed in effort and a strained groan could be heard coming from his throat, but even then, it looked like he was growing stronger by the second.

It reminded Salim of when one of the vampires got buried underneath a truck. Despite the sheer force of the impact, the creature still managed to shove the vehicle off like it was nothing, and carry on without any sign of injury.

Was Jason inheriting their strength too? How long would it be until he reached the same level? It almost frightened Salim to see his friend -- a man who looked so human compared to the vampires -- share their abilities after just two weeks of being infected. What would he look like in a month?

“I think... I can see the upper floor.” Jason said, his voice grating against his throat. “There should be enough space... for us to squeeze through.”

He gave the doors one last shove, causing a ray of light to come flooding through the gap.

“C’mon.” He beckoned. “I think we can make it. I’ll climb up first. Make sure the coast is clear. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to follow.”

Salim nodded, bracing himself. “Okay. I’m right behind you.”

~~~~~~~~~~

CAMP SLAYER, LEVEL B2

1932 HOURS

Pushing through the empty halls of the facility, Jason steadily prowled through the corridors with his gun in hand, listening attentively for any signs of movement. Meanwhile, Salim guarded the rear and stuck close to the marine’s back, keeping his breathing as quiet as possible.

So far, none of CENTCOM’s forces had tried to confront them. Instead of running into a horde of troops like they expected, the pair of men found nothing more than a deserted lab, devoid of any soldiers or scientists.

There were no footsteps. No voices. Not even the ticking of a clock. All Jason could hear was Salim’s boots gently thudding against the floor, and his own heartbeat battering inside his ribs.

Where the hell was everyone? Why hadn’t Hoyt sent any troops after him yet? Did she not know where he was?

No... that couldn’t be it. CENTCOM had eyes all over the facility. If no one was here to fight them, it had to be on purpose. That, or something had gone horribly wrong.

“...I don’t like this.” Salim whispered. “Why is it so empty? Do you hear anything?”

“No. I don’t like this either. Why wouldn’t CENTCOM swarm us as soon as we stepped out? Somethin’ ain’t right.”

“They’re probably hiding somewhere. Waiting for the right moment.”

“Well, if that’s the case, then they’re takin’ their sweet time.” Jason gestured to a sign on the wall. “C’mon. This way. It says the security room is over there. Maybe we can find the elevator’s controls inside.”

Taking a few steps forward, Jason came to a temporary halt when he suddenly picked up on something, causing him to glance around in suspicion. A faint squelch tickled the edge of his ears like a bell chiming in the distance, and just underneath that, Jason also heard the sounds of something growling.

“What is it?” Salim asked, noticing the shift in the man’s behavior.

“Up ahead. I hear something.”

“Soldiers?”

Jason tightened his grip, preparing to shoot anything that moved. “...No. I don’t think so.”

Sneaking further into the hallway, Jason came face-to-face with yet another corner, urging him to slow down. He carefully placed one foot in front of the other and watched the floor, mindful not to alert whatever it was waiting for him behind the wall.

As he got closer though, the squelching only grew more intense. It filled Jason’s head with a collection of gluttonous slurps, and was accompanied by a peculiar crack, almost as if someone’s bones were being crushed.

To make matters worse, the smell wasn’t exactly pleasant either. The unmistakable stench of rotting flesh burrowed itself into his nostrils, oozing so far down his throat that he nearly gagged. Odors like this were fairly common in the midst of a battlefield, but to find it within the walls of a secured, underground facility put Jason’s mind on red alert.

Finally reaching the end of the path, the lieutenant stopped in his tracks and kept his finger on the trigger, slowly poking a head around the corner.

Occupying the adjacent hall, he located a number of freshly-slaughtered corpses littering the area, all of them riddled with severe gashes and lacerations. Stark splatters of blood decorated the walls surrounding them, and in the center was something far more grotesque.

Sitting in the middle of the walkway, Jason spotted the mutated figure of a man hunched over a brutalized corpse, feasting on its blood. The creature sunk its teeth into the body’s throat and swallowed hungrily, rattling the marine’s ears with sickening grunts.

What concerned Jason the most though, was how these corpses were dressed. They all wore CENTCOM’s uniform. It looked like they had originally been planning to ambush Jason and Salim once they wandered into this sector, but were abruptly interrupted when their team was attacked.

“Jason?” Salim said quietly. “What do you see?”

The other man glanced over his shoulder, trying to hide his disgust. “I... I don’t know. It looks like one of them creatures, but it’s... oddly human.”

“A creature? What’s it doing here? I didn’t know CENTCOM had any living vampires in the facility.”

“Neither did I.”

“Can we sneak around it?”

“Doubt it. It would probably hear us. Besides, even if we could, it’s sittin’ right in front of the goddamn security room. If we wanna get in there, we need to kill it.”

Salim’s jaw clenched in nervousness. “...Alright. If you think that’s best. Let’s do it.” He reached for the knife he took from Tressler. “Here. Try using this. It’s not exactly a stake, but maybe that won’t matter.”

Jason slid the pistol back in its holster, taking the knife. “Thanks.” He twirled the blade in his hand, displaying a small smirk. “Just like old times, huh?”

Salim grinned affectionately. “Just like old times.”

“You ready with your rifle there? Good. Then follow my lead.”

Creeping towards the vampire inch by inch, the lieutenant crouched and approached it from behind, brandishing his knife with a protective arm. In the meantime, Salim aimed his rifle directly at the back of the creature’s head, ready to fire at a moment’s notice. He knew that bullets wouldn’t do anything to someone infected by HERA, but that wasn’t enough to make him put the gun down.

Much to their dismay however, even the faint taps of Jason’s footsteps were enough to alert the vampire. It instantly stopped what it was doing at the sound of his boots and snapped its head in his direction, revealing a ghastly image.

Dribbling from the corners of its mouth, long ropes of blackened saliva stretched from its teeth down to its neck, pooling on the ribbed skin. Fresh blood was smeared all over its wrinkled lips, and a set of razor-sharp fangs stuck out from its upper jaw at uneven lengths.

As for the rest of the vampire’s physique, it was equally as horrifying. The features on its face had been pulled in all sorts of different directions due to the recent mutations, making it look like a taut sheet. Hollow eyes sat in the sockets sitting above its haggard cheekbones, and towering from its forehead, a pair of jagged horns stood just underneath the patchy hairline.

The most unsettling thing though, was how long its limbs were. Despite the humanoid form of the vampire’s body, everything just seemed... out of place. The arms, legs and neck were all elongated, the joints didn’t quite bend at the right angle, and its nails had grown so much that they could’ve been considered claws by now.

But... in spite of the vampire’s horrific facade, Jason couldn’t help but feel like he had seen this creature somewhere else before. It was clearly someone who had transformed recently, so he wondered if he knew this person before they became infected.

“Goddamn,” Jason muttered, “you’re even uglier than me.”

Unleashing a ghoulish shriek, the vampire got on all fours and charged at the lieutenant like a panther, throwing aside the corpse in its path. Jason, on the other hand, dug his boots into the floor and braced for impact, praying to god that his strength would be enough to hold the creature back.

“Jason...!” Salim called out, waiting for him to act.

“It’s okay, I got this!”

Spreading his arms wide open, Jason positioned the knife in a manner that would allow him to stab the creature immediately upon making contact. He had no earthly idea if a random blade would be enough to be considered a stake, or even damage the vampire at all, but at the moment, it was his only choice.

Just as the creature was about to attack him however, it suddenly changed course.

Instead of pouncing on him like he predicted, the beast simply sprinted right past Jason and continued running towards the other end of the hall, completely ignoring him. It was only then that the marine realized the vampire carried no interest in him, but rather, Salim.

“Salim!” He warned. “It’s comin’ for you!”

Squeezing the trigger, the other man managed to plant a number of rounds in the vampire’s torso before leaping out of the way, dodging just in time to avoid a claw to the jugular. As expected, the bullets did nothing to the beast except slow him down somewhat, giving Salim barely enough time to get away.

The momentum of the vampire’s initial charge sent it crashing into the wall following its prey’s escape, leaving a large crack in the surface. The creature hurriedly refocused its attention on Salim after recovering and prepared for another assault, but was quickly pulled away when Jason tackled it from behind.

The lieutenant wrestled with the freakish specimen for a while and buried the knife into its flesh numerous times, hoping to make any kind of dent. Much to his relief, the blade proved capable of piercing through its hardened skin, but wasn’t enough to damage the vampire permanently.

Giving Jason a firm shove, the vampire let out another screech and forced its opponent to the floor, pinning him down by the wrists. It lowered its head so that it could stare at the man directly in the eyes, emitting a feral hiss. Its original intention was to scare Jason away from disrupting its meal, but instead, the action only helped him realize exactly who he was dealing with.

“Briggs...?!” He exclaimed in disbelief. “Is that you? How the fuck--”

Jumping in the middle of their little “reunion,” Salim hardly gave Jason enough time to process what he was seeing before he hooked his rifle around Briggs’ neck and yanked it backwards, viciously choking him in his grasp.

The vampire flailed wildly in response to the attack and clawed at Salim’s arms, trying to hurl him off. For the moment, it was struggling to find an escape in the man’s sturdy grip and failed to wiggle its way out, but even then, Salim couldn’t hold on forever.

“Hurry, Jason! Stab him! I can’t restrain him for much longer!”

“The knife doesn’t work on him!”

“It doesn’t?” Salim’s eyes flicked around the hall. “Is there anything else we can use?”

Jason joined his friend in the search, only to find a solution quite literally staring him in the face.

“Well, y-yeah, but...”

“What is it?”

The younger man raised a tentative hand, gesturing to Briggs’ forehead. “Would... those work?”

Salim followed Jason’s line of sight, admittedly hesitant to go through with his plan. “I... suppose.” A weary sigh escaped his lips. “...Ah, shit. Alright. Try to break them off. I’ll hold him in place as best as I can. But hurry!”

Pulling Briggs closer to his chest, Salim pressed the rifle deeper into the vampire’s neck with a strained shout, mustering every bit of strength in his body to keep the beast still. Meanwhile, Jason wrapped a hand around one of Briggs’ horns and tore it free from its pedestal, earning an agonized roar from the pained creature.

In one swift motion, Jason gripped the horn by its base and plunged the tip into Briggs’ chest, drilling it towards his heart. For a few seconds, the vampire did nothing but scream as the object traveled further between its ribs, but eventually, its movement became less erratic due to the loss of energy, and soon... it was dead. Just like that.

Salim let out a series of heavy pants, allowing his arms to fall limp. “Is... is he dead...?”

Jason observed Briggs with a keen eye, watching closely for even the smallest twitch. “I think so. He better be.” The marine sighed in exhaustion, retrieving the horn as he rose to his feet.

“Holy shit... how’d he change so fast?”

Salim gave him a curious glance. “Who was he, anyway? It sounded like you knew him.”

“His name was Briggs. He used to serve with CENTCOM. He was one of the guys always guardin’ me. I infected him during my first escape, but...” Jason turned towards the slaughtered soldiers, “...I had no idea the effects would be this bad.”

The older man looked over Briggs’ mangled body. “You infected him?”

“With my spit, yeah. It can cause hallucinations. All I wanted was to create a short distraction so I could get to you. I never thought about how far the infection would go. I panicked... like a fuckin’ idiot. And now look at the poor bastard. You can barely recognize him.”

Jason rubbed his temple out of stress, eager to make a quick exit. The same thirst from before was starting to resurface because of all the fresh blood lying around, and the last thing he wanted was to end up in a frenzy.

“Look, let’s just get in the security room. I don’t wanna be around when CENTCOM finally gets their shit together and realizes what happened.”

It didn’t take much for Salim to pick up on the newfound distress in the lieutenant’s tone, but he thought it best not to mention it now.

“Yeah. Okay. You lead the way.”

Jason trudged towards the door, patting his companion on the shoulder. Even though he showed no signs of sustaining any injuries, he still looked mentally drained from seeing how easily he could cause someone to mutate. “...We’ll get outta this, buddy. I know we will.”

Salim played along with the man’s reassurances, not wishing to worry him any further. “We survived the temple, Jason. We can survive this.”

He nodded in agreement. “We have to. For everyone’s sakes.”

#house of ashes #the dark pictures #hoa #jason kolchek #salim othman #jalim #jason kolchek x salim othman #hoa fanfic #vampire!jason

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tabbiewolfreblogs · 1 year

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A few weeks ago, in a fit of self-loathing — a friend called it basically self-harm, and considering how I am, they aren’t entirely wrong — I deleted my entire AO3 archive. Well, not deleted, the fics still exist, but only I can see them.

I’ve complained about this before, and I’ve reblogged the general sentiment many times: I write for myself, but I post for everyone else. And not getting any comments is a bit like doing a stage play with a full audience but absolutely no one applauds. Yes, I know you’re there. But why are you there? What did you like about it? Why are you reading my work? What would you like to see more of?

I reposted my Christmas fics, and two of my recent favorites, because it’s the holiday season and I…I dunno. I felt like I wanted to share them. And today I got a comment from someone who I’m sure meant it with good intentions, asking if I could repost my other works, because they’d just started another (meaning they’d read them multiple times) read-through.

Again: nothing against this person! I am very sure the comment was meant with heart!

But…it was also one of the few comments they’d ever left. The username sounds familiar, so I’m not going to say it’s the only comment they’ve ever left, that would be rude and possibly not true (my memory sucks, but I get so few comments, usually if you leave one I do recall your username, and this one presses that button).

And my first reaction, to be honest, is just…anger. At any point, in the multiple years that series has been up, you could have left a comment. Even just a “Read this again, love it!!” One of the big reasons I took them down is that it genuinely feels like no one likes them, or if they do they’re ashamed to admit it, which is kind of worse. That’s an enormously shitty feeling.

So now I don’t know what to do. A small part of me, the part that is just toned down enough to unlock a fic (literally yesterday or the day before) and is kind of an asshole, wants to spitefully take everything down again. The rest of me realizes that part is a complete dickbag and she needs to shut up, people like my work and can’t I just be happy with view counts?

I don’t know. It’s very weird that I’ve been posting my art online for most of my life — going on 3 decades, well before any kid should have been on the internet — and this is the first thing that’s really caused me to be so self-destructive. I really kind of just want to keep my writing in my little group of friends who actually tell me what they think of it and why they like it.

#self worth #fan fic #self-analyzation #selfishness #can’t win for losing #as the saying goes #personal #rant #ao3 fanfic

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ihaveatheoryonthat · 2 years

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Note: This is unfinished and I likely won’t be returning to it. It ends abruptly and is littered with placeholders/notes. If that’s a dealbreaker for you, you’re better off skipping this.

---

“The Solstice is coming up.”

“That it is.” Said the Warden in front of Akari.

At the clipped response, she resumed kicking her feet, hands clenched around the top of the training grounds’ fence to keep herself balanced.

“Cyllene’s been collaborating with Calaba and Mai to host a festival, ‘cause it’s so important to the Clans.”

Ingo nodded, but it wasn’t an answer. That last battle must not have left its mark on the arena, then. Good. It meant he wouldn’t be distracted for the rest of this. He could be weird about the safety regulations that existed in his own mind, and any suggestion to leave the grounds in an imperfect state was met with legitimate offense.

“The Captain has done a great deal for inter-faction relations; I believe she paved the way for my own niche in your village. Galaxy Team is very fortunate to have her.”

No, no. He wasn’t getting off the hook that easily.

“Will you join this time?” / “You didn’t come to the celebration for the [idk].”

“I had my duties to attend to.” He deferred smoothly.

“Oh come on, you’re one of the only Wardens who lives in Jubilife part time, and we both know Sneasler’s a major pushover when it comes to you. That’s not the excuse you think it is.”

“I would refrain from saying that in front of Lady Sneasler, herself.”

“Do you just… not want to come? There’s nothing wrong with that.”

He paused and laid a hand on the brim of his hat, a sure sign that there was something else there.

Sure enough, “Truthfully, large crowds of people feel correct. They also feel disproportionate. I know enough to realize that I’m not meant to ride alone in such an environment, but nothing beyond that. The feeling of wrongness derails any comfort to be found.”

Akari hummed, unsurprised; she probably should have guessed it was something like that. With her limited amount of information, there were two individuals Ingo could have been remembering, but she didn’t give voice to either possibility. If it had occurred to her, Ingo had already considered it. There was a reason he hadn’t gone into specifics.

“Well, what if I stay with you?” She asked instead, steering them away from the troubled waters.

Though there was no sign of it in his expression, he laughed. “You’re a young, energetic girl, Akari, and there will be a lot to see. There’s no need to check yourself into a sleeper car on my behalf.”

While it was true that, in attaching herself to someone else for the night, her ability to explore would be reduced…

She hopped down from the fence and killed a few seconds straightening her clothes.

“You knew how to navigate the tunnels, and when we went through, you remembered something. You knew how to battle-- like, battle for real-- and even I can tell that it’s been helping. Jubilife’s the busiest place in Hisui, but I wouldn’t call it crowded-- a festival for both clans, though? You have a real chance coming up, and I’m not gonna be the reason you let it pass.”

“While I appreciate the sentiment, that’s neither your responsibility nor your concern.”

“Yes it is!” / “I don’t know why us, but we’re in the same boat, Ingo. The god of Pokemon chucked us somewhere we don’t belong and left to-- I dunno, piss Volo off or something. You don’t remember, and I get that, but you’re also the only person who understands.”

He stayed quiet for a moment, looking very much like he wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure what.

#ihaveatheoryonthat pkmn #submas #writing scraps

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coolfire333 · 2 years

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I know mad max fury road has been out for years but it’s really good imo so I’d encourage you to watch it before reading this because I’m about to spoil a big chunk of it

Ok I love fury road but I’m gonna cut to the chase, my one major issue with it is that Nux sacrificed himself at the end of the film to guarantee the safety of the others. I’m somewhat torn on this because yeah, it’s a really poignant moment, since after failing to martyr himself as a villain (a choice he wants to make out of a selfish desire to be granted a highly esteemed place in the afterlife) he actually makes a genuinely selfless choice like a true hero would.

Also, thematically it’s a nice contrast between all of his previous failures in proving himself as well as the multiple near-death experiences he has throughout the first part of the film, so it’s not like it ruins the movie for me.

But I think it would have been much MORE poignant if he had the opportunity to live, or at least had either been interrupted in his martyrdom, or had otherwise survived the crash. The reason I think this is because such a major part of Nux’s storyline involves his preoccupation with death, in particular he’s obsessed with dying young and nobly in a blaze of glory. He would be very angry and upset that he didn’t get what he wanted, and in failing again, how would he cope with that failure?

I think this makes much more sense because a whole lot of the movie deals with characters not getting what they wanted and having to pick up the pieces afterwards! It’s mostly shown in the scene where Max tries telling Furiosa that hope isn’t the answer to her problems, and when Furiosa has to turn back and return to the citadel after learning that there is no longer a green place, but it’s also seen with a lot of the other main characters.

For example, the wives have to carry on without Angharad, who seemed to be a good leader and source of inspiration for them, and eventually they’re able to find new female role models in Furiosa and the Vuvalini. You could even argue that Max is never getting what he wants for the entire movie, since he’s unwillingly dragged into this conflict and eventually learns to have sympathy for the others. He literally gives his own blood to Furiosa in order for her to live, when at the beginning of the film his donation of blood was a forced act that he likely never imagined doing willingly to save another life.

So what would happen if Nux got denied his greatest wish, to die an honorable death for those he’s loyal to? He would likely be truly distraught at this, and would need to find a new purpose and meaning in life. AND I think this idea is even more important in the context that Nux is probably going to die early from sickness anyway.

I don’t much like the sentiment of “well he’s going to die anyway so he might as well die a hero’s death.” Why? We ALL die anyway. And Nux already proved his newly found heroism while alive in the various ways he helped Max and the wives despite his initial undying loyalty to Joe. Why would him dying a slower, essentially natural death, not going out with a bang as a warrior, but surrounded by his loved ones and recognized as a good man who’s done good deeds be any less heroic?

His whole life has consisted of suicidally devoting himself without question to a cause and to those he looks up to, and in sacrificing himself for Max, Furiosa, and the wives he is essentially still trapped in that same destructive mindset. I can’t help but wonder, what kind of person would he be if he was denied this outcome? How would this change the way in which he approaches the world? Where would he find purpose in life, now knowing that he can’t “die heroically” like he’s always dreamed of?

These are much more interesting ideas imo, and they really resonate with me in ways that his actual death in the movie doesn’t quite reach. I dunno, they just seem like really existential questions in a movie that already does a lot to deeply question the role of humans and what constitutes human nature, and I think that it would have been perfect to see Nux figure out how to reinvent himself without relying on his old ways.

Also, you got me, characters like him really mean a lot to me and I would rather them live and get a chance to change and grow. Gonna straight up admit that this post is also inspired by the fact that I just really like him. So I’m 100% biased. But this idea of a “noble death” is also something that I see a lot with some of my other favorite characters, and well, it just bugs me a whole lot.

I’ve seen the alternative “you must rediscover what it means to live” path executed EXCELLENTLY and ever since I’ve encountered examples of that I have never been able to excuse the “dying heroically” option. Ok yes there are times where it works, and with Nux it at least is very emotionally effective, but still, this is wayyyy too common of a plotline. Quit doing that...spice it up a little and let a character like him live for once. That’s all, that’s my soapbox for the evening

#death #suicide mention #mad max fury road #text post #talking #long post

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teamfortresstwo · 5 months

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Okay so the implication I feel is one of four things

1) He still cares for Bang, the simplest explanation but not bad. I’m always a sucker for sentimental fools being sentimental fools. This is also sadly the shabbiest explanation though.

2) He hates the monster association cause it’s just another way for the popular to gang up on the unpopular, just replacing monsters with heroes as the popular people. (Still it’s 1 on 3 in this particular fight so i can’t imagine that’s the case)

3) He doesn’t like being cared after or having people finish his fights. This seems to be the most surface level explanation but it feels…shallow? I dunno, he seemed fine with picking off injured prey, so it’s not as though he isn’t alright with finishing other people’s fights…

4) The realization that Centichuro is going to kill them for REAL. This is the explanation I find most personally compelling. For one, this change in behavior only comes on after he’s told he has to start killing his prey and that another will ‘finish’ it. This lines up with his childishness-the flashbacks and the fact that he doesn’t actually kill any of his enemies despite saying he’ll have a kill count of 100 after he’s done with the heroes that went after him. To him, ‘killing’ someone is just another word for beating them. In his head, he’s still playing pretend with monsters and heroes and the idea that this would go beyond that, lead to another’s death, it may very well be a complete mood-killer for him, which is why he starts getting so aggressive at it. Anyways, interested to see how his ‘no killing’ thing will mesh with his becoming a monster. (Unless he doesn’t become one? Which I could easily believe but also I do think opm struggles with not letting its characters die when they aren’t one off villains so hopefully that’s not the case? Not that I want garo to die, I find him more compelling than ever now but y’know. It would help with one of opm’s biggest flaws in terms of stakes imo)

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olivereactsaboutgarbage · 1 year

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Nana Episode 35 - Reira’s Loneliness

Alright well I think last episode truly was the episode that sucked out every last drop of remaining enthusiasm I have left for this show. But. BUT. I only have 13 episodes left. I will watch them. And in doing so, I will learn... what happens in this show, I guess.

Also yeah I did just miss four posts in a row. It’s fine.

I can’t take these stupid strawberry glasses seriously as the crux of all this calamity. How did this feel during the manga? 90% of the relevance of strawberry glasses up until this point was that you would see them in the opening of every single episode, so like... were they on chapter covers? Volume covers? I dunno man. I get that using a mundane object as a symbol of something more conceptual is “deep” but like I dunno. Is it?

I mean I guess I normally like mundane objects being tied to themes, maybe I wouldn’t be so hard on this if it wasn’t Nana that was doing it and it’s actually something else about the writing here that bothers me. Shrug. Shrug! Shrug!!!

This is a sad sentiment, and I wish I could say something like “I can’t wait to see how her self-esteem improves over the course of her arc!” or something.

What is Ren wearing? Is that a Cool Person Shirt? The front of the shirt doesn’t have any splotches, so why does the back have splotches? Who’s going to be staring at Ren’s back?

Ren and Takumi are weird friends. But I guess it’s good that Takumi has at least one friend, even if he is an Evil Villain whose actions cause Evil Villain Music to play.

Agh...! Ren’s cheeks...! I think he’s turned evil.

...What? Ren calls Yasu “darling”? They really ARE having an affair! Maybe Ren should just date Yasu full time instead of dating Pinkish Nana. That would be interesting to see.

Homosexuality is definitely the only thing that could make me go back to caring even slightly about this series. But Nanacest won’t happen, because that’s a shattered dream just like what happens to strawberries when sad stuff happens. So Ren might as well date Yasu for all I care.

Oh, Yasu actually wants Reira to have an arc about improving her self-esteem. But Takumi doesn’t want to instigate that arc, because Evil Villain Music wouldn’t be able to play while he did that. So he says Yasu should just put in the work to instigate that arc himself. What a jackass...?

holy shit shut up about gender. i have no idea what this is supposed to mean or why it’s relevant, but the fact that both nanas are women gets brought up constantly. who gives a fuck. ai yazawa should have written a series about two MEN with the same name surrounded by many WOMEN and one of them is a musician and the other one isn’t, instead of this series. it would be called... um... adam. and i guess it would be set in the west instead of in japan??? idk. adam was the most similar-to-nana-sounding masculine name i could think of on short notice.

me talking to this show

These lines come right after one another. The second speaker isn’t Ren but I wish it was. My appreciation for this show would rise to “some” instead of “none” if it was.

Some other stuff happens. I’m very emotionally detached from all of it.

Guitar.

#nana #is what i'm consuming

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gallavictorious · 3 years

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I saw your tags and I think you might need to write that fic of Ian and Mickey recreating their first time when Ian gets a tire iron. 🧐☺️

Okay, so this took me a hot minute, and I did it as a kind of speedwrite so it's rather short and not exactly thought out. I also went off (my own) script a little bit and it got unexpectedly sappy there for a moment... But! Have 1,4k very silly words of Ian and Mickey roleplaying their first proper get together because Mickey gave Ian a tire iron. I hope you enjoy it, dear one – thank you so much for the prompt! I had unexpected fun with it. ❤️

(Oh, and tags in questions are the ones on this post, so all credit to @jenatte for providing the original inspiration.)’

ETA: It’s on AO3 now too.

---

Ow. The fuck?

Reluctantly, Mickey blinked awake. The bright light suggested it was already near noon, but that wasn't what had woken it, that wasn't–

It came again: a hard poke to his back. Not the good kind, either, of Ian pressing his hard-on against Mickey's rear while they were snuggled close, but something cold and sharp. Insistent.

”What the fuck?” Mickey groaned, rolling over on his side and peering up at–

–his husband standing over him with... a fucking tire iron in his hands? Not just any tire iron either, but the one Mickey had gotten him as a gift for their anniversary as a mix of a joke, sentimentality and practicality; it was how they started, sure, and meaningful for it, but also a damn good thing to have, no home was complete without it. He thought that maybe Ian had overlooked the practial aspects, though, in favour of going a little misty-eyed before he started dropping half-assed quips about hard lenghts and Mickey had to roll his eyes and punch his husband in the arm a little bit.

Now Mickey's brow furrowed further as he tried to make sense of the scene. For a brief, terrifying moment, apprehension siezed his gut: was Ian having a manic episode, seeing enemies where there was none? But no; though he feigned a fearsome scowl, there was that glitter in Ian's eyes and a small quirk to his lips that spoke little of mania and everything of being a fucking dork and a tease.

”Give me the gun, Mickey,” he intoned, and Mickey was about to ask again what the hell and what fucking gun and maybe are you feeling okay man because perhaps Mickey didn't have quite as good a read on his husband as he thought he had–

–and then he got it, memory reasserting itself, and he could feel the fucking grin growing on his face quite of its own accord. He'd have felt stupid for not immediately catching on, but give him a fucking break, he'd been sleeping two seconds ago and his days of waking up with a start and ready to fight were slowly and thankfully becoming a thing of the past.

Ian's faux frown broke, as he was unable to contain an answering smile. He seemed inordinately pleased with himself, and with Mickey for getting it. Mickey would tell him he was a fucking idiot, but Ian looked so expectant that Mickey decided to play along instead. No harm in a little weird roleplay to make his husband happy, right?

Besides, it wasn't like Ian standing over him and looking vaguely threatening and very hot didn't do it for Mickey on several levels.

”Okay, fine,” he said, climbing to his feet while doing his very best to appear drowsy and uninterested. It had been instinctive back then, the plan of lulling the irate kid into a false sense of security before pouncing on him and kicking his teeth in for having the fucking gall to march into Mickey's room and demand things.

Mickey made a show of slowly turning towards the nightstand, just as he had all those years ago. He could feel Ian's eyes track his every movement, ready to react to the sneak attack he knew was coming. There'd be no taking him by surprise this time.

His face turned away and unseen, Mickey smiled. Or would it?

He grabbed hold of the bottle of lube on the table and spun around to throw it at Ian's head, took a quick step up and to the side, and as Ian gave a short yelp and involuntary raised his hands to protect his face, Mickey rushed him from the side to push him down on the bed. Ian went with a thud and an oof and Mickey didn't hesitate; he was on his husband in a second, straddling his chest and wrestling the tire iron from him grip.

”What the hell, Mick?” Ian demanded, not bothering to struggle but glaring up at Mickey with wide reproachful eyes. ”This isn't how it went!”

Mickey grinned. ”How it went is I kicked your scrawny ass,” he said smugly. ”Now, how am I gonna do that if you know which way I'm gonna move?”

”I was going to let you win!” Ian protested.

Mickey's eyebrows rose. ”Oh, you were gonna let me, huh?”

”Yeah,” Ian said slowly, eyes narrowing, ”I was going to let you.” And with that he grabbed hold of Mickey's arms and pushed him to the side while using his greater body weight as leverage to flip them around.

”Fucker,” Mickey spat, kicking at Ian's shins. He dropped the tire iron – not like he was actually going to hit Ian with it – to have both his hands free for a renewed assault on his sneaky little shit of a husband, but Ian had already wrapped his his stupidly big hands around Mickey's wrists and was pushing him down into the mattress, grinning triumphantly while Mickey struggled and squirmed beneath him.

”Guess I had a change of heart,” Ian said.

Mickey stilled, biting at his bottom lip as he considered. He was pretty sure he could still take Ian if he really wanted to, mostly on account of him being a ruthless motherfucker with no interest whatsoever in fighting fair. However, that required a level of playing dirty and pulling nasty jabs that went far beyond what he felt comfortable doing to his husband these days.

”Uh-huh, and what's the plan now, genius?” he demanded, opting for snark instead of violence.

Ian didn't answer. The look in his eyes had shifted from triumphant to something thoughtful, and softer.

”Do you think it'd have gone the same way if it'd been me on top of you instead of the other way around back then?” he wondered aloud.

Mickey made a face. It fucking figured that his sap of a husband would turn a promising round of foreplay into a game of sentimental what-if.

”I dunno,” he said, wriggling his hips a little to remind Ian that there were otherstuff they could be doing right now, stuff way more exciting than having a goddamn conversation. ”Does it fucking matter? It didn'thappen like that, and it never would have happened like that either, 'cause back then I didn't give a shit about fucking you up too bad, so I'd bashed your fucking brains out before letting get on top of me.”

He wanted to bite his tongue as soon as he'd said it, but it was too late: Ian's eyes had lit up and his thoughtful look transformed into a smirk. ”Well, I mean,” he drawled, leaning down to put his mouth to Mickey's neck, just for a moment, just a little bit of teeth in the brief touch.

”Fuck off,” Mickey said, but he was laughing. Ian's weight pinning him down was as exciting as it was annoying, as it was grounding.

Ian just hummed. He'd straightened again and was gazing down on Mickey with a look that was so damned fond it made a small blush work its way up Mickey's neck.

”I think we'd have ended up here anyway,” Ian decided. ”Somehow.”

”Oh yeah?”

”Yeah.”

Soft smiles then, as something warm and happy bloomed in Mickey's chest. For a moment, they just looked at each other, eyes resting on the face each of them knew best, loved best.

Ian let go of Mickey's wrist to put his hand on the side of his head, fingers tangling in Mickey's hair as Ian ran a thumb over his husband's cheek. He bent down again, but this time to capture Mickey's lips in a long, lingering kiss.

”I think I was always going to have you,” Ian murmured as they broke apart, forehead pressed against forehead.

A second later he yelped in surprised outrage as Mickey took advantage of his lapse in vigilance to grab hold of his hair and yank his head sharply to the side while pushing up to get Ian off him and halfway down onto the floor. Mickey followed him with a snicker, and off they went again, tousling and laughing and absolutely heedless of any noise they might make.

#gallavich #ficlet #asks #my stuff

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haztory · 3 years

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OK BUT THAT'S ME BEING AN IDIOT HAHAHHAHAHAHAHA drabble/sfw JAHAHHAHAHAHAH DAMN

““You better catch that fucking bouquet, babe. Our relationship is on the line!” + “You wanna go toe to toe with me, pretty boy?” with Bokuto for the loveliest Clara! from my writing event that is now closed!

warnings: adult langauge and that’s it!

a/n: i answered her previous ask for the quotes so i’m just posting the drabble here! thank you for your patience my love!!! i hope you like it <33333

bokuto koutarou x f!reader; (fluff, all the fluff and wedding shenanigans)

Bokuto loves weddings. They’re truly his weak spot. Ask him to attend and he’s there an hour early, regardless of whether you’re his best friend or his cousin twice removed. The man lives for a wedding.

He loves the sentimentality of the ceremony that never fails to make him teary-eyed and oppositely, he loves the liveliness of the reception, half tempted every time to push the DJ aside and take over the mixing of music with a drink in his hand and a sloppy yell. He’s a vivacious mess of mixed moods and energy, but truthfully, he’s the best date anyone could ever ask for.

The best attendee too, considering almost everyone wants him to be a groomsman. He usually can never say no, but this time, it wasn’t even a question; Especially not for Hinata.

But above all, he loves that every wedding he attends grants him ample opportunity to enter into the sanctity of his fantasies and imagine his own.

“Did ya see him up there?!” Atsumu barks with a hard laugh, one hand clutching his whiskey and another his suit-clad chest, “He was cryin’ more than the groom!”

Met with the boastful laughs of his fellow team members, all gathered in a scattered circle by the bar, Bokuto jokingly pushes the blond on his left with a loud scoff and a faux-defense tone.

“I held it in!”

“I heard you sniffling when Sho finally entered the venue,” Sakusa says, pointing a finger at Bokuto with the same hand that held his own alcoholic drink, “Don’t lie.”

The group erupts into even more scattered laughter, that of which Bokuto finally joins in. His suit jacket has long since been abandoned, and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows as he holds his hands up in surrender, “What can I say? I love weddings!”

Throwing an arm around his shoulders, Meian joyfully says from beside him, “At least we’ll know now how you’ll be at your own.” His eyes waggle in accompaniment and Bokuto feels his cheeks start to ache from the intensity of his smile.

“We’ll bring extra tissues!”

Flustered to the core, Bokuto dips his head in abnormal shyness— the likes of which have the entirety of his friend group leaning forward in curiosity, their own interested smiles painted on their faces.

Fascinating as it may be to see the loud and boisterous wing spiker reduced to flushed cheeks at the mention of marriage, it doesn’t take much to figure out why; Even if they didn’t know him as well as they did, it was more than clear as to the reason when Bokuto’s own gaze tries to covertly dart to the side. That of which they all notice and blatantly follow.

Stood beside the table of the bride, there you stood in all of your sheer elegance laughing with a number of the bridesmaids, blissfully unaware of a loving gaze that was drawn much too heavily to your turned figure. Focused on the way your dress shimmers in the dim lighting and the way you speak amongst the other guests, Bokuto feels locked in the trace of your magnanimous presence. Shyness dissipating quickly and replaced with the overwhelming flutter in his stomach.

And, not for the first time this night, he wonders briefly what it would be like if it were you walking down the aisle; If instead of the sheer, shimmery dress that adorned you beautifully, you were wearing a white one.

As he watched with exuberant joy as one of his closest friends married the one he loved, he couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like if this were his wedding. If it were you walking down the aisle to the ethereal orchestra with your closest friends and family in attendance, all watching with eager rapture at your astounding beauty as he surely would be. But none of them, not a single one of them could ever compare to the intensity of his own stupefied gaze.

He’s imagined the scenario too often, felt tears prick the corner of his eyes every time, and he grows more excited each time he’s fantasized. But nothing gives him more butterflies than the thought of interlocking his hand with yours, placing his ring of eternal promise on your third finger, and avidly vow forever with you.

It’s not like he needs a wedding to promise that; He sees his future every time he looks at you—even if you have your back turned to him and are chatting away unsuspectingly with the fellow attendees.

But a wedding would be nice, he thinks.

“That’s if he can get married,” Atsumu mutters into his glass cup and takes a long drink of his whiskey.

Bokuto, interrupted from his loving stare at the back of your head, snaps his own head to the blond with the speed to break necks. Eyebrows furrowed, fantasy ruined, and full offense coating his syllables, he exclaims, “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

Shrugging his shoulder nonchalantly, Atsumu leans one elbow on the surface of the bar counter and swirls his drink around, “Ya keep sayin’ yer gonna do it, but how long’s it been? Seven, eight months? If you haven’t done it yet, yer not ever gonna.”

A quick flash of sternness settles into the eyes of their captain, his arm still wrapped around the shoulders of the slowly deflating wing spiker. “He’ll do it when he’s ready, Atsumu. There’s no need to rush something like that.”

Rolling his eyes, Sakusa chimes in from across the three men. Pointing his stare at Koutarou, who resembles a kicked puppy at this point, he sighs. Not one to expel too much effort in emotional comfort, he decides this one is worthy of some kind of attempt. Albeit a minimal one.

“Don’t listen to this idiot, Koutarou.”

“‘m jus’ sayin’. She won’t wait for long, man,” Atsumu shrugs his shoulders again, eyes flitting to his right. Out of the corner, Koutarou deflates even more— shoulders slumped and the corners of his mouth downturned noticeably. He huffs out a quiet laugh through his nose.

Step one, complete.

“Since when were you such an expert in what women want?” Sakusa snorts.

“I have experience, thank you very much!”

“That’s hard to believe.”

Sticking his tongue out at Sakusa, he pointedly ignores the insult to his knowledge of the feminine desires and turns his attention to the subject matter at hand.

Atsumu knows what women, having dated quite a few in his years. More specifically, he knew what you want, considering one drunk evening you had wondered aloud— quite heartachingly in your alcoholic daze, he might add— if the boisterous wing spiker even wanted to marry you. Bokuto, in your words verbatim—

“He just always gets fidgety when I bring it up and I jus’ dunno if he even likes me anymore cause yesterday, he said that my dinner was just ‘okay’ when he always says that he really loves it. Do you know how that made me feel? How could he even want to marry me when I make just ‘okay’ food? Do you know how much he eats? How can he survive!”

And as the ever so loyal friend that Atsumu considers himself to be, who is never one to ever meddle in the business of others, decided it was only right of him to solve this slight problem himself.

By taunting Bokuto, of course.

If only to make him take matters into his own hands and finally do what everyone has been waiting for. What he knew the poor man has been dying to do forever, considering he never shuts up about you.

And also, to finally have you stop drunk texting him, no matter how endearing he may find them to be.

“So,” Atsumu sings once more, ignoring the look of exasperation on Meian’s face and instead, zoning in on the face of despair before him, “what are ya waiting for?”

In his stupefied stare at the blond beside him, Bokuto finds his gaze once more being drawn back to your turned figure that stands right in his line of sight. Wearing that pretty dress that you face timed him to get his opinion on, smelling of sweet lavender and jasmine— his favorite perfume of yours— and the lip gloss that you begged him not to mess up. He didn’t listen, and truthfully, you hardly minded all that much.

What is he waiting for? He knows what he wants, so why hasn’t he done it yet?

What if you’re growing tired of how long he’s been waiting? What if you’re unhappy that your relationship hasn’t progressed to the next stage? Oh god, what if--

His mouth opens then closes, then opens once again, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “I… I don’t know.”

“Do ya want to marry her?”

Bokuto nods eagerly, as though through the action alone he could dispel of any lingering doubt that ever had the audacity to pervade his thoughts, “Of course! I don’t want to be with anyone else.”

“Ya think she’s gonna say ‘no’?”

Looking at his two other teammates, who each have their own curiosities piqued at the line of questioning, he shakes his head with finality.

“No. At least, I don’t think so.”

“Then ya just need a push!” Placing his drink on the counter, Atsumu slaps his hand on the man’s shoulder, “How about this: If yer girl catches the bouquet, ya rip the band-aid and ya ask her—”

Stepping in once more, Meian chimes, “Don’t push him to do something he’s not ready for—”

“I ain’t pushin’! He’s got the ring already, right?”

“You do?” All eyes fall onto Bokuto, who stares with widened innocent stare at each of them. He quickly shoves his hand into his pocket, pulling out his fist to reveal a velvet box in his hand.

“I’ve been carrying it with me every day for the past six months. I just didn’t know if I should do it.”

Three pairs of eyes stare blankly at the man before them. Sharing a quick look at one another, the message is translated seamlessly between each of them and voiced eloquently by Meian himself. Ever the efficient captain.

“Holy shit.”

“My friend,” Atsumu laughs, squeezing his hand on the broad shoulder of his closest friend. His smile, innocent enough to the passing gaze, holds that twinge of mischief that Bokuto has come to know rather intimately; A taunting smile that has been directed his way one too many times that usually never ends well.

“I dare ya to propose to yer girl if she catches that bouquet. If yer really a man, that is.”

Bokuto’s eye twitches, his features narrowed at the utterance of the dare, and that’s how Atsumu knows he’s got him in the bag. It has his own smile widening even further, as Bokuto’s face scrunches in suspicion, knowing full well that he could never resist a dare.

With the single word alone, long gone is the hesitancy and doubt that plagued the man just a moment before, and instead stands a man tall in his ushering of competition. A man who thrives off the challenge, especially wherever his teammate presented one. It’s almost startling how quickly he sheds his mopey behavior and embraces his natural presence, which overwhelms and overpowers everyone around them.

Step two, done.

“And if she doesn’t?” Bokuto asks, smugness filtering his words as he entertains the notion— silently accepts the provocation laid before him and drastically alters himself in order to successfully combat it.

In order to win.

Spotting the glint of devilry that grows in strength in the narrowing of Bokuto’s eyes, Atsumu smirks and meets it with one of his own. He’s got him, hook, line, and sinker.

“Ya break up.”

Bokuto reels backward physically, shaken from the competitive trance and staring at the man in grotesque shock. The kind that almost borders anger and offense. Huffing a breath through his nose, he takes a step forward, away from the present comfort of Meian and almost in accusation.

“Are you trying to ruin my life, blondie? You trying to go toe to toe with me, pretty boy?”

Atsumu laughs, holding his hands up in defense, “I’m tryna get ya married, big guy!” Shoving his hands into his pockets, hardly phased by the proximity in which the large man has entrenched onto his space, he shrugs once more, “That is… if yer man enough to take it.”

“Deal,” Bokuto says without hesitation, both incredibly and not at all to the surprise of the other two men who have been silently watching from the sidelines. Like a sudden reset, the tension that resided stiffly in the shoulders of Bokuto rescinds, and replaced is the confident, joyous man.

A man who looks as though he’s won easy money and then some.

Smiling widely, Bokuto turns in his place and begins a bold strut away from his friends. In the direction of his beloved, “Excuuuse me, gentlemen. I’m going to go teach my lady how to catch a bouquet.”

Meian and Kiyoomi step to the side, allowing enough space for Bokuto to walk through with the hint of laughter in their small smiles.

Spinning on his heel and pointing his thumb at his chest, Bokuto exclaims proudly, “This time tomorrow, I will be a married man!”

“One wedding at a time, Kou.” Meian laughs at the retreating man, who is beaming from head to toe.

“Better train ‘er good, big guy! Or else I might be the next one to propose to her!” Atsumu calls out as Bokuto gets closer and closer towards your turned figure.

“I’ll kill you!” He calls back, hearing the echoing laughter diminish as he finally steps beside you.

Turning from the conversation with one of the bridesmaids to the new presence, you shine beautifully upon recognizing who it is, and Bokuto feels his resolve grow almost stronger.

“Hi baby,” You coo, instinctually placing your hand into his and leaning up to place a kiss on his cheek when he quickly presents it to you, “Did you have fun with the boys?”

Wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer, he places his own kiss on your cheek, humming against the surface of the skin yet making no move to part from you. “Mhmm. Just missed you.”

You laugh, rubbing your hand on his arm, “You were only gone for a couple minutes, Kou.”

Trailing his lips downward, he nuzzles himself into your neck, inhaling deeply. Lavender and jasmine. His favorite scent.

The one he wants to smell for the rest of his life.

“Ten minutes is too long.”

If possible, he manages to pull you even tighter against him. Two strong arms wrapping around you, pulling your chest into his and squeezing you tightly. Lovingly and entirely too comforting. Home.

You return the embrace eagerly, holding him to you equally as tight, “You’re right. It was starting to get boring without you.”

His hand, warm and large against the small of your back, rubs the surface up and down before he pulls back slightly, if only to look at your face in its entirety and the lip gloss you have unfortunately reapplied.

“You’re gonna do the bouquet toss, right?”

You raise an eyebrow, “I usually do. Why?”

He glances to the side, avoiding your inquiring stare. He raises a hand from your waist, rubbing the back of his neck with an embarrassed smile, “Maybe we should go outside, and I can throw a couple of rocks at you. Just to practice your catching skills.”

“Kou— “

“Can’t have anyone disrespecting you on the floor, can we? We gotta let everyone know you’re a winner! Cause you’re my girl, and whoever disrespects you, disrespects me! You know? So, you better catch that fucking bouquet. I mean, our relationship is on the line, here!”

“Koutarou—” From the tone in which you say his name, he knows he’s not making any sense. You’re confused, incredibly so, and he can’t blame you. Truthfully, he doesn’t even know what he’s saying, only that he has a goal, and he has to make you see it without revealing himself entirely.

“I mean, only if you want to. It just… means a lot to me, and I want you to say yes, because I love you. And if you win, I win in a lot of ways. And I want to win with you, for the rest of our lives.”

Realizing almost entirely too late that he was talking with duplicity that you have most certainly caught on towards, he decides there is a good place to stop talking entirely. Oh god, he’s such an idiot. What was he thinking? He can never hide anything from you!

If you couldn’t tell from the way he was talking in metaphors, you could most definitely see it from the way in which sweat beads at the top of his forehead.

Your eyes flicker from each of his, your warm palms cupping the sides of his face as you watch him with concern.

“Baby,” You breathe out, voice steady and calm as you watch his resolve slowly crack under your watchful stare, “Did you want to talk to me about something?”

He tried desperately to remind himself that he has a mission to accomplish, that there was a dare that Atsumu had challenged him to that he must complete—but it’s you. You’re the trump card, the weakness in his defense, his priority above all else. He could never hide anything from you because you would catch him in a quick minute. And truthfully, he doesn’t want to hide anything from you.

It was easy to hide the ring under the guise of waiting for the perfect time, a mental barrier that he could excuse as a good cause behind his hesitancy, but now that he’s accepted a dare that is forcing him to put his desires to immediate use, he can hardly wait for the bouquet toss to arrive.

He’s got to do it now. The time is right, it will never be more perfect. You look beautiful, you’re held tightly in his arms, and he’s never been more convinced of the fact that he loves you. Why has he even waited this long?

He has to do it—Atsumu be damned.

“Marry me.”

Extra:

“You really think she’s going to catch it?” Meian asks Atsumu, as they both watch from afar the way Bokuto wraps himself around your body, nuzzling unabashedly into you.

Atsumu scoffs, “Hell no. Girl can’t catch fer shit.”

Furrowing his brows, Meian stares at the blond with intense confusion, “Then why did you—”

“Just had to plant the idea in his head. He’ll do it soon, jus’ give it a minute.”

The two watch you both silently, noticing the way in which Bokuto pulls away from you and starts to speak rapidly. Neither of them can hear what he’s saying, but they can see his lips moving. More importantly, can see the way in which you stare in perplexion.

Then finally, his lips stop moving and your hands cup his face. The setter and captain feel their breaths hitch and they both lean forward if only to see if they can read the wing spiker’s lips from where they stand.

They can. And from the way you respond with a laugh and an eager kiss, they know it worked.

Looking to Meian, Atsumu raises his brow with a smile, “Told ya!”

end note: to everyone who sent a request, it is on it’s way! i just don’t know the definition of a drabble and instead make 3k long fics, so that’s fun.

#bokuto x reader #bokuto koutarou x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #bokuto fluff #bokuto drabble #bokuto fic #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu drabble #hq fluff #hq drabble #hq fic #haikyuu fic #my writing #my fic #writing event

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flightfoot · 3 years

Text

I’m expecting that whatever’s going on with Adrien, it’s gonna come up in the season 4 finale. And I do think SOMETHING’S up.

There’s just so much general weirdness, from Gabriel apparently starting looking for magical artifacts about 15 years ago, roughly around the time Adrien was born, to Adrien and Felix looking identical, the emphasis on the “twin rings”, Adrien’s childhood dream coming from his infancy when everyone else’s was from after they were walking and talking and being to basically do and be whatever his parents wanted, etc.

I’m betting that there’s gonna be some sort of major violation of Adrien’s free will in the finale. There’s that last line about “Will Adrien take the risk of finally confronting his father?”

Adrien’s confronted his father before, it just doesn’t usually go very well. Sometimes Gabriel changes his mind on things, but rarely because he was persuaded too - usually there’s some change in circumstances that causes him to change his tune. With Gabriel still having so much authority over Adrien and him not really able to do much about it (the kid’s 14, and you can’t even get emancipated until you’re 16 in France). I doubt Adrien could persuade Gabriel here of something either.

Yet something pivotal has to happen. Just “Adrien confronts Gabriel, Gabriel shuts him down/punishes him” doesn’t seem like enough for the finale. SOMETHING has to break or be revealed. And yet, that also can’t be the end of the show.

So what’s gonna happen when Adrien continues pushing Gabriel and doesn’t back down?

Now I don’t really think Adrien’s a sentimonster - there’s as much pointing against that as for it - but I think it’s onto something, especially with the weirdness of Adrien’s dream in Wishmaker.

Right now I’m toying around with the idea that Emilie really wanted a child, but one that was more pliable than her sister’s recently-born kid, one that wouldn’t cause too much trouble. Treating a kid as a pet or a toy, basically. I’m going with the idea that Adrien is human and hers and Gabriel’s child but, also a designer baby of some sort? And one that she shaped the core personality of to her liking, possibly using the Peacock Miraculous to do so. It’s the Miraculous of Emotion after all, it wouldn’t be too crazy to think it could do that. Would also explain why Adrien would have felt so devoted to his parents and wanting to do what they want even as an infant who probably wasn’t even talking yet - Emilie would’ve imbued that into him.

But also not like, actual mind control. If Gabriel could enforce that, then he would’ve done so during Chat Blanc. Just setting up the core of Adrien’s personality.

The twin rings I suspect have something to do with why Adrien and Felix look identical, though I dunno what they have to do with anything beyond that. I don’t think Gabriel was controlling Adrien in Mega Leech - if the show was trying to convey that, it would’ve been a lot more overt about it - but there was SOME reason that the show made sure to emphasize Gabriel fidgeting with it while looking at Adrien.

Especially since Gabriel actually took that ring from Emilie, implying that it’s not only sentimental, but necessary for something - and that his and Emilie’s rings are likely interchangeable for that purpose. Now on that front, I’m really not sure what that’s about. It’s frustrating. There are missing puzzle pieces that need to be filled in. Hopefully we get some answers soon...

#adrien agreste #gabriel agreste #miraculous ladybug #ml spoilers #ml theory

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cat-induced-fever-dream · 3 years

Text

I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.

Pairing: Wanda x Reader

Genre: Angst if you squint really hard. Fluff to make up for Marvel reminding me that Nat is dead.

Description: The falling in love of Wanda Maximoff and you. (If anyone has a better description please hit me up.)

Notes: Was going to be a one-shot and then it didn’t happen so there’s going to be a second part. It’ll probably happen in like a month though since I have a trip. Comments always appreciated. :)

- - -

You’re not sure when it happened. To be fair, neither is Wanda.

You had just started with SHIELD, and were there for the battle with Ultron, and then when Wanda became an Avenger. You remember the admiration you held for her, for her powers, for her determination to do what was right, her grit. Now, it was more of a well-deserved respect. Her strength when everything else in her life seemed to be gone, her brutal honesty regarding matters important to her, and her loyalty to those she cared about.

Maybe that’s when it started. As an exemplary agent, you could handle most things Fury assigned you, but being an Avenger? That was a whole new battleground. One that Wanda had your six on. From simple things, like showing you around the compound, and looking for you when you inevitably got lost (again). Wanda with her no frills attitude and sharp tongue, lashing out at Fury himself when he assigned you your 6th mission in 4 days. Wanda with her soft smiles that made your stomach flip and whispered jokes when she noticed your anxiousness on a mission. It wasn’t easy, keeping up with super soldiers, spies with years of experience on you, actual gods, but Wanda made it simple.

- - -

Wanda sometimes wondered if she could really be a hero. She wasn’t a good person. She had done terrible things. Then you stumbled in, a fresh agent and an even fresher Avenger, but you looked at her with no distrust. A little lost perhaps, but no malice. That confused SHIELD agent? It reminded her of, well, her. It may have been under different circumstances, but in essence, they were the same. Thrust into a world of avenging, knowing no one, knowing nothing. So she threw you a line, offered her support when you looked like you needed it. Wanda expected a bite, but she didn’t expect a tug back. The way you offered to help her practice her powers (a little naively), and then when you realised your mistake, your offer to teach her the hand to hand combat you had learned from SHIELD. The way you always looked back for her on a mission, even when you knew she could protect herself with said powers. You were on her team, a comfort she didn’t have since Pietro died. Okay well the Avengers were also her team, but you were her person, always in her corner.

- - -

It shouldn’t be this easy. Sometimes it felt like you could read each other’s minds. To be fair, Wanda could read your mind, but you knew she wouldn’t do it without your permission. Still, there was something about your unspoken agreements that came so naturally. Where everyone else was on comms, it was like the pair of you were tuned to the same wavelength, communicating in a code not even Natasha could decrypt.

“You just get me, you know?” Wanda says, as the two of you are sprawled on her bed after a mission. “It’s like our brains are, I dunno, smooshed together or something. Not even Vision feels like this, and we’re literally connected by an Infinity Stone in his head.”

“Smooshed together?” you laugh. “What an insightful description. And I can’t believe you just compared me to that toaster. I’m obviously way better than him.”

“You realise he can shoot lasers right?”

“And I can turn on a laser on the sights of my guns. Sit down, you’re not special.”

This earns you a giggle. “But it’s like you’re in my brain.”

“Oh so I’m always on your mind?”

“Shut up Y/N/N.”

“Maybe your powers are rubbing off on me,” you joke, wiggling your fingers in her face.

“I do not look like that,” cries Wanda indignantly. “And if you have my powers, what am I thinking about right now?”

“Stealing Sam’s cupcakes,” you reply with no hesitation.

“I was actually thinking about how I hope Steve never reassigns mission partners,” she says pointedly. “But now that you mention it, I could really do with a cupcake.”

“I was right then?” you tease, tugging her towards the kitchen with a cheeky grin.

Wanda rolls her eyes at you, but she mirrors your grin and your stomach is swooping again.

“For the record, you’re my favourite mission partner too.”

- - -

Wanda didn’t expect to call the compound home. She stayed because she had nowhere else to go. And with her differences with Stark and the friendly but still guarded manner of the other Avengers initially (though she didn’t blame them), she kept to herself. But you were different. She noticed the way you prioritised her, looked out for her, to the best of your ability.

She’s shaken from nightmare and automatically, her feet lead her towards you. It’s late, she knows, but when she knocks on your door, you open with an easy smile and open arms that envelop her gently. When her sobbing subsides, you break away, wiping the tear tracks with your thumb.

“Dick van Dyke?” you ask.

Nodding wordlessly, Wanda lets you lead her your bed and settles in beside you.

That’s when she notices the stacks of files illuminated by your desk light.

“Sorry,” she sniffles, throat raw from crying, “did I interrupt you?”

“Oh those?” you say, waving dismissively at your desk. “Maria’s just been on my back lately to get those done, but it’ll be fine.”

With a stab of guilt, she makes to move of the bed, but you grab her wrist before she can. “Don’t worry about it, those can wait.”

As the TV murmurs softly in the background, you wrap a comforting hand around her, and she begins to drift off, nightmares warded away by your presence.

And she wakes up the next morning with the duvet pulled over her, and you slumped at your desk.

- - -

It was an easy mission. Most missions are when you and Wanda are paired together. Get in, get the data, get out. But then HYDRA agents were swarming the building, and intel definitely didn’t mention this level of security, and the exits were blocked off.

“I’m definitely gonna punch Tony later for this,” you groan, and Wanda shoots you a smile before returning to the approaching soldiers. Silently you whip around, firing rounds at the agents on the other end of the corridor. This was one of the many “plans” you had with Wanda, the endless missions allowing you to familiarise yourself with how your two fighting styles complimented each other. Being the enhanced out of you two, Wanda would push forward, handling the bulk of attacks with a flick of her wrist. You had her back, shooting at the stragglers who came from behind. Spotting something that resembled a server room, you gave a tug on her sleeve and she nodded, reassuring you that she had it handled.

Not wanting to leave Wanda for longer than necessary, you plug in the drive to do its Stark-tech thing and bolted back outside. To find the bodies slumped en masse on both end of the hallway.

“Guess you did have it handled,” you say, waving at the uniformed soldiers.

“Oh my god that isn’t even a good pun,” the witch replies, before continuing with a smirk. “But yes, I am way more powerful than you.”

“Don’t think that was ever in question,” you say, but then alarms were blaring, and the building plunges into a red glow and then oh my god there’s a gun behind Wanda and before you knew what was happening, a shot had fired from your gun and there was a burning pain in your shoulder.

The brunette whirls around just as you collapse into the wall. “Guess you’re not as an amazing shot as I am though,” you mutter, before blacking out.

- - -

To say Wanda was in a state of panic was an understatement. It was more like a whole damn continent. As much as she reassured you before missions, your easygoing, playful attitude was her anchor in these intense situations. Everywhere felt like home, like you two bickering on the couches. Your constant presence was like bringing a piece of the compound with her. And regardless of her experience as an Avenger, as an ex-agent, you were undoubtedly better with running missions. Not everything was a save the world type threat after all.

Eyes darting around, Wanda noted that you had indeed shot the last agent, before skimming across your bleeding out form.

The training doors opened with a bang and Wanda turned to the noise. Then she found herself pinned to the floor.

“Stay focused on the mission,” you scolded, before helping her back up.

The drive. You’d be pissed if she didn’t get it. Sprinting into the server room, she rips it from the port.

“Okay don’t laugh at me, but this is my hierarchy of the 3 Is.”

“Eyes?” Wanda asks.

“No, like the letter I. At the top is innocents, and they’re my priority. Steve says you can’t save everyone, but I can damn sure try. Next is the idiots. That’s the mission. ‘Cause I’d say you’re pretty damn stupid to go up against the Avengers. And finally we have Iron Man, or the heroes. As much as it’s going to hurt, we can’t let the sentiment get in the way. We all knew what we were signing up for, and I’m pretty sure all of us would rather it be us than someone else.”

“Thank you o wise one,” she mocks.

Wanda smiles a little at the memory, but tears pool at her eyes. Then she hears it, the faint footsteps pulling her back from her daze.

“Damn you and your stupid heart of gold,” she whispers, before flying the two of you back to the ship.

- - -

The steady beeping tugs you from slumber.

“Oh you’re up.”

You strain your neck to see Tony walking up with a bowl in his hands.

“You don’t sound very excited to see me Stark.”

“Not when I have to bring meals up here every day for Maximoff,” he says, pointing at the sleeping girl on the chair. “Hasn’t moved for days. Figured I’d hand deliver as an apology.”

“Aw did she punch you for me?”

“Worse,” he chuckled. “Gave me an earful.”

“I’d say you deserve it after that.”

He rubs his neck sheepishly. “Really, I’m sorry though. That was on me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you smile. “I’ll be fine. And thanks for looking after her.”

Tony nods politely before leaving the meal and you two alone.

“It’s good to have you back kiddo,” he calls, before shutting the door.

Reaching an arm through the railing, you poke Wanda’s elbow.

“Meal delivery for Miss Maximoff?”

The curled up form stirs a little, rubbing her eyes, before freezing in shock.

“You’re back!”

“Apparently so,” you reply with a wry grin.

Wanda leans over the hospital bed, green eyes searching for any injuries.

“I missed you,” she murmurs.

“And you missed one-“

A slap hits you on your injured arm, and you hiss in pain.

“I’m not apologising for that one,” she glares.

Raising your good arm up in surrender, you pout. “Don’t I get a pity pass?”

“Not for worrying me like that.”

“But it wasn’t even my fault!”

She rolls her eyes (she seems to do that a lot at you some reason).

“Wait,” you frown, “we broke our perfect mission streak.”

“Are you kidding me right now?”

Then she’s hugging you, her nose pressed into your neck. Her soft brown hair cascades over your face like a waterfall, tickling your chin. Through your gown, you’re hyper-aware of the cool metal of the rings which adorn her fingers, how nice she smells, how right it feels to be held by her.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she mumbles, her breath warming your neck, and your stomach is doing acrobatics. Even with the meds, you’re aware that this feels familiar, like something.

Pulling away, she studies your face. “Never. Do. That. Again.”

You laugh. “Glad we’re in agreement.”

It must be the meds, it must be.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda marvel #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x you #scarlet witch #marvel #mcu

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averykedavra · 3 years

Note

30. “I can’t talk to cute people, okay? I don’t know how to flirt!” with analogical if ur still doing the prompts?

Logan was used to the other sides coming to him for advice. Patton often asked for recipes, Roman liked to bounce ideas off him, Janus enjoyed irritating him into debates, and Remus often needed knowledge on the particulars of human anatomy.

The only side who never came seeking advice was Virgil--Virgil told him it was because he didn’t need anything, he just liked talking to Logan. Logan wished he fully believed that, but he appreciated the sentiment nonetheless.

That was why Logan was a bit alarmed when Virgil tapped on his door and asked for some help.

“So there’s this guy,” Virgil burst out when Logan had seated him on the bed. “And he’s--he’s really cute, and nice, and smart, and--I really, really like him. What do I do?”

“Um--” Logan bit his lip. “Virgil, as much as I’d like to assist, I think this isn’t really my area of expertise? Perhaps Roman, or--”

“Roman’d be all weird about it,” Virgil complained. “He’d be trying to get me to serenade him from the rooftops.”

“Fair enough.” Logan shifted in his chair. “Patton?”

“Eh, he’s sweet but not the practical type.”

“Janus?”

“No.”

“Remus--”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

“Fine.” Logan swallowed his apprehension at coaching Virgil through feelings--and worse, Virgil’s feelings for someone else. “I suppose I can try to help. Are you interested in telling him?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Virgil said. “I dunno if he likes me back.”

“He’d be foolish not to,” Logan said. “And either way, you’ll never know until you ask, right?”

“Right.” Virgil paused and shuddered. “Still. It’s like--the idea of asking him outright is really--intimidating. No offense. Is there any way to ask, like, without asking?”

“Ask without asking,” Logan repeated, staring at him. “Are you sure you don’t want Roman’s help?”

“Positive.” Virgil looked up at him, and Logan was surprised by the amount of vulnerability in his eyes. He must have been quite nervous to come here. Logan, despite himself, softened.

“Okay,” Logan said slowly. “We’ll take this slowly. How are you hoping to ask-without-asking, as it were? Are you trying to figure out whether he has feelings for you without sharing your own? Because that’s a bit counterproductive--”

“I just want to--” Virgil waved a hand. “I wanna, like, tell him I’m maybe interested but like in a way that I can easily deny if it makes him uncomfortable? Like I could say I was joking or we were just having fun but also if he returns it then maybe he likes me--”

“Flirting,” Logan said. “You’re talking about flirting.”

“What?” Virgil flushed. “No, I’m not! I can’t flirt!”

“You literally defined flirting, at least to my knowledge.” Logan tilted his head. “What do you mean, you ‘can’t’ flirt?”

“I can’t talk to cute people, okay?” Virgil waved his hands frantically. “I don’t know how to flirt!”

“It’s simple,” Logan said. “You telegraph interest in someone, typically through horrible puns and comments about their appearance, and await reciprocation. If it comes, you talk-talk until eventual marriage.”

“Marriage?” Virgil repeated.

“Or an emotionally-charged breakup, one of the two.”

“Reassuring.” Virgil flopped back on Logan’s bed and stared at the ceiling. “Ugh. This is all ugh. He doesn’t even like me back.”

“You don’t know that.” Logan sighed and attempted, once again, to reason with Virgil. “Quite honestly, I still think you should just tell them.”

“I’ll practice flirting.”

“What?”

“Help me practice.” Virgil sat up, eyes determined. “Like--show me how.”

“You think I know?” Logan gestured at himself. “I’m not equipped in matters of the romantic area.”

“Do you like people that way?”

“I--er--” Logan coughed and hoped it hid his blush. “Yes, but that is irrelevant. I do not flirt any more than you do.”

“Huh.” Virgil blinked, and then the determination came back. Logan almost scooted back from the intensity of Virgil’s eye contact. “C’mon. Dude. We can practice together, and you can, like, woo someone in the future.”

“I do not ‘woo.’”

“Well, you will now.” Virgil paused. “So--how do people flirt?”

“As I said, horrendous puns.” Logan shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Um--” Virgil looked like he was thinking. “Um, are you from Tennessee?”

“What?” Logan blinked. “No, we’re all from Florida.”

“‘Cause you’re the only...” Virgil trailed off. “Yeah. That one’s--not good.”

“I don’t get it.”

“You wouldn’t.” Virgil sighed. “Um...are you copper and tellurium?”

“What?” Logan looked down at himself. “No?”

“‘Cause you’re--forget it.” Virgil sighed. “Um, did it hurt--never mind.”

“Did what hurt?”

“My terrible flirting, apparently.” Virgil fell back onto the bed again with a groan. “This is hopeless.”

“Be more direct about it,” Logan said. Again. “Just--say how you feel.”

“I feel like a piece of dirt who can’t communicate to save his life.”

“Something productive.” Logan’s voice softened. “And truthful, Virgil.”

“Oh. Yeah. Um, I guess--” Virgil sat up and stared at his feet, running a hand along his hoodie seams. “I...yeah. I guess it’s pointless to psych myself out over cheap tactics, not to mention you don’t, like, get it--so. Um.”

Virgil looked up. “I like you, L. A lot.”

“Good!” Logan said. “Like that. That’s perfect.”

“What? No. I--” Virgil suddenly looked very red. “Um--I didn’t mean--”

Logan stared at him as he curled into himself. “What did you--”

“Nothing!” Virgil almost yelped. “Nothing. Forget it.” He jumped up. “I’m gonna be--going now? Yeah. Going--places. Places that are very much not here.”

Virgil almost ran out the door. Logan stared after him in utter confusion and not a small bit of guilt. Had he done something wrong? Virgil had seemed comfortable, until--

Until--

Logan shot to his feet. “Wait--”

The door banged open as he threw it to the side and ran out into the hallway. The noise had surely woken everyone else in the area, but Logan found he didn’t care--since he’d finally caught on, and wasn’t about to waste another moment.

Give me a prompt, and I’ll write a short drabble!

#sanders sides #analogical #virgil sanders #logan sanders #romantic analogical #averywrites #asks and answers #anon #prompt fic #kjhgfdfgh finally i reemerge #tonight got messed up a bit schedule-wise but im here!!

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

Text

Tactical Retreat

Prompts: averykedavra: could i request,,,logince? maybe an imagination fic? roman retreating to the imagination and logan finding and comforting him? no pressure, but thank u regardless, and your stories are incredible!

Anon: So I’m I adore your writing and like I’ve read your stuff on ao3 and I just wanted to ask if you ever thought of that conversation between Roman and Remus and stuff that they mentioned in that story about Logan relapsing...? I just, I love the way you write your characters and dive into their head and manners so well- it’s incredible. (I’m shy to say but I also write a bit and I saw you’d left a comment on my story and I kind of died cause you’re incredible and I’m majorly inspired by you-)

Thanks for the prompts, babes! they fit so well that I did them together, I hope that's okay ^_^also: GUYS PLEASE VIEW THIS AS A

C H E C K P O I N T

if you've been scrolling for a while (and you probably have) pause here! drink water! get food! walk around the room for a little bit! stretch! do something please! you are very important to me and I care about you very deeply!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: explicit discussion of self-harm. I’m not kidding. I fucked myself up writing this a little please take care of yourselves. sympathetic remus

Pairings: logince, creativitwins, implied LAMP, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count: 5131

Retreat: an act or process of withdrawing especially from what is difficult, dangerous, or disagreeable.

Retreat: a place of privacy or safety: REFUGE.

* * *

“We are so not done with this conversation,” Remus had said.

That would certainly explain why Remus barges into Roman’s room at absolutely-unreasonable-do-you-have-any-idea-what-time-it-is o’clock.

Roman just looks at them all and raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, please. It’s not all long sleeves and pants all summer for no reason.”

“R-Roman, you—you—?”

“Yeah, Specs,” Roman murmurs when Logan can’t find his words, “me too.”

“Oh, we are not done with this conversation.”

…

“Will you let us help you clean them?”

Unbidden, Logan’s face flares bright red.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, sweetie…”

Roman gently nudges Remus’s arm. “Let me. You two go check on Patton and Virgil.”

“What?”

“Roman—“

“Come on,” Roman coaxes, “it’s not like I don’t have the practice.”

“We are so not done with this conversation.”

That would certainly explain why Remus barges into Roman’s room at absolutely-unreasonable-do-you-have-any-idea-what-time-it-is o’clock.

“Remus,” Roman sighs, sitting up and covering his eyes, “I know it might not seem like it, but I do need my beauty sleep too.”

He frowns when Remus doesn’t say anything.

“I can look at whatever you’ve made tomorrow,” he promises, “I just—I don’t really want to—not that I don’t want to!—but can I…sleep, first, please?”

Remus still doesn’t say anything. Roman peeks out from behind his hand to see Remus…is still humanoid. The door isn’t…off its hinges, it’s just been slammed open. His morningstar isn’t in his hands. His brother is just staring at him.

Shit.

“Re?” Roman sits up slowly, his eyes adjusting to the light. “Re, are you—can you come here please?”

Remus walks into the room. Roman pulls back the covers, making room for his brother, already running through the checklist in his head. No blood, no guts, first aid kit is in the corner, he can get the shower running if need be…

It’s only when Remus actually stops next to his bed that he realizes what’s going on.

Remus is wearing his soft things. Remus has opened Roman’s door. And now he’s getting into the bed and just staring at him.

“…Re?”

“Ro,” Remus whispers, and oh no, “Ro, you…you didn’t have anybody?”

Roman’s heart clenches in his chest and an emptiness oozes into his throat. He should’ve known that Remus was serious when he said they weren’t done with that conversation.

“…Re, I—“

“Don’t bullshit me, Roman,” Remus hisses, the desperation bleeding into Roman’s lungs, “I know you, Ro-bro, and you—you—I’m gonna kick their asses.”

Roman sighs, his head falling back to the pillow. Now that the worry over his brother has dissipated, he really just wants to go back to sleep.

“You don’t have to do that, Re,” he mumbles.

“The hell I do!” Roman winces and he hushes. “You—Ro, you know what my job is. You know I—“

“Yeah, Re, I do know what your job is.” He stifles a yawn. “I…sorry, I just…I’m really tired right now.”

A sharp poke to his belly makes him squeak.

“Remus!”

“I told you, Ro, you can’t bullshit me.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Something, anything, Ro, you—“ Remus chokes— “Ro, you’re my brother. You’re fucking important to me.”

“I know, Re, I…well, I would say I’m sorry, but you told me not to bullshit.”

“So you’re not sorry.”

“Sorry for worrying you, yeah. But not for…” Roman sighs. “I would just be apologizing for how it makes you guys react and not because I’m sorry for what I’ve actually been doing.”

Remus is quiet for a moment. The bed dips under his weight as he slides under the blankets. Then he shifts a little closer until his hair brushes Roman’s nose.

“…when you said you knew what my job is,” he mutters after a moment, “you didn’t just mean the intrusive thoughts, did you?”

Roman shakes his head. “Thomas…I’m the…safe Creativity. I’m the fluffy, dreamy, Disney side.”

Remus moves to look up at him, encouraging him to continue.

“So I…I tend to romanticize things. I get the pretty, artsy, palatable version of things.” The emptiness bubbles up lazily into his throat. “Of everything. You…you get the real version of them.”

Even in the dim light, he can see Remus visibly pale.

“You get all the messy consequences, the realities of…a lot of the things that I wouldn’t.” Roman swallows. “So…”

“Oh, Ro…”

“Do we have to have this conversation now?”

Remus props himself up on his elbow, the blanket sliding a little off his shoulders. “Do you wanna have it in broad daylight, then? Plan it all out, sit down with a drink and a notebook? Have one of your lists to work down?”

“…can you at least close the door, please?”

A weight leaves Roman’s chest as the door closes and the light vanishes, leaving them in near darkness. His eyes close.

Damn it.

The mattress sinks as Remus gets back into the bed. He’s too far away for Roman to feel him. But he can feel his gaze on him.

“What do you want from me?”

“The truth?”

Roman huffs. “Is that all?”

“I dunno, Ro-bro, you’ve gotten pretty good at misleading everyone else.”

“I’m an actor.”

“Yeah, which means you’re really not good at turning it off.”

A mirthless laugh bursts out of one of the bubbles in his throat.

“Haven’t exactly had much of an incentive to do that.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Come on, you think any of them have actually wanted the real me for…ever?”

Remus scrambles up. “Roman, that’s—fuck, you’re one of the core Sides. You’re—you’re so fucking important, Ro, they—they love you.”

Something darker than darkness shears through the emptiness.

“No,” Roman growls, turning his head into the pillow, “no, they don’t.”

Did they ever? Or was that just an easy way to string along their favorite little puppet?

Before the anger can fully take hold of his throat, the emptiness oozes back into place and his jaw slackens, prompting another sigh as Remus freezes above him.

“What’re you talking about, Ro,” comes his voice from somewhere, “they—you—aren’t you…?”

“They say it,” Roman manages, “but I don’t think they mean it. Or if they do, it’s not—it’s not like that.”

“Well, then what the fuck is it?”

“They don’t want to listen to me, not really, they just…well, they need someone else to be there.”

“It’s funny because I’m pretty sure we just had this conversation with Lolo.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?” Remus pokes Roman’s shoulder until he rolls onto his back. He glares. “I don’t care what anyone else says, Ro, you’re fucking important. You’re not replaceable. And you’re sure as hell not unlovable.”

Roman flinches.

Remus tilts his head, eyes widening.

“You don’t believe me.”

Roman shakes his head.

Remus lets out a shaky breath and lies back down, still staring at Roman. “Ro-Bro, what did they do to you?”

“What, you want the list alphabetically or in chronological order?”

“Roman, please.”

Roman’s eyes snap open in shock. Remus stares back at him, pleading. His brother is begging, he realizes in a panic. He wasn’t sure Remus knew how to do that.

“I’m—“

“If you dare say you’re sorry, I’m gonna rip your testicles out through your mouth.”

Roman swallows. “They just…they won’t listen to me,” he repeats lamely, “they don’t want me.”

“What do you mean, they don’t want you?”

Conveniently, Roman’s brain is now entirely empty. He knows stuff has happened to him…doesn’t he? Things…stuff’s been bad now. For a while. He’s been…doing whatever this is for a while.

So why can’t he remember?

“Every time I come up with an idea, it’s—they always want to change it.” But that’s just part of the editing process. He needs the others to help him edit.

“They think I’m too loud.” He is, though.

“I’m—they think I’m—“

Arrogant? Overbearing? Stuck in a fantasy world?

All of the above?

“Nothing,” he whispers finally, “they didn’t do anything to me.”

He buries his face in his hands.

“They didn’t do anything to me. I’m just—I’m just being overdramatic. It’s fine.”

“It’s clearly not fine.”

“Isn’t it?” He flaps a hand at Remus. “You’re the one that gets the real version of all this. I get the romanticized version. No consequences. Just pretty words and sentiments that don’t make sense.”

“You think Thomas is okay with a self-harming Ego?”

“Well, maybe Thomas deserves a better Ego!”

The room freezes.

Roman squeezes his eyes shut. “Thomas deserves an Ego that knows what he’s doing. That believes in himself. That can do all the things it’s supposed to do.”

He lets his hands fall limply away from his face.

“But all he’s got is me.”

I’m not enough.

“I can’t—I can’t do my job without being able to…” He sighs. “I’m the opposite of Logan.”

“…how so?”

“Logan does it to make things go away so he can work. I do it make things come so I can work.”

He feels Remus tense on the bed.

“Romanticized, remember? That’s my job. Fantasy, dreams, romance, not real. I…” He shrugs. “It doesn’t matter.”

A wave of exhaustion threatens to snatch his words from his mouth. God, talking about this is so draining. Can he be done now?

“How,” Remus says after a moment, “can you possibly say it doesn’t matter?”

“Can’t I just go to sleep now, Remus?”

“No,” comes the snarl, “you can’t fucking go to sleep, because you’ve just told me it doesn’t fucking matter if you self-harm and that you think you aren’t good enough without it.”

Roman shrinks into himself. “Don’t yell at me.”

“Give me one good reason why not!”

“Because you’re making me want to do it again.”

Remus’s breath leaves him in a rush.

“Oh, Roman…”

Roman just curls up tighter.

“I’m doing this all wrong,” he hears Remus mutter faintly before something ruffles his hair and the bed dips further, “Ro-Bro, hey, look at me.”

“Are you going to yell at me again?”

“No, Roman, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make things worse. I’m just really upset for you right now. I promise I won’t yell.”

Roman looks up. Remus smiles back at him, still not touching him. If he wanted to, he could reach out and tug Remus closer, but…that’s hard.

“Hey,” Remus says quietly, “you here with me?”

Roman nods.

“I’m sorry, really,” he continues, “we can…if you really want to stop, we can stop.”

“…no.” Roman shakes himself a little. “You’re right. I’d rather…I think I’d rather do it now, like this. So I don’t have to do it later.”

“Okay.” Remus shifts a little. “Can I ask you some questions or do you just want to talk and I’ll listen?”

“I don’t know if I can just talk.”

“That’s okay, Ro. How about this: I’m gonna ask you stuff and when you wanna say something, you just say it.”

“Okay.”

“How long has this been happening?”

Roman shuffles. “Long enough. Um…at least a few years.”

“Do you have the medical supplies you need to take care of it afterward so they don’t get infected?”

“Yeah.”

“If you run out, can you easily get more?”

“Yeah.”

Remus lets out a long, slow, breath. “Okay. Okay, that’s…that’s good.”

“Is that it?”

“Do you want it to be?”

Roman falters, looking at Remus’s face. The room is still dark. It’s still the middle of the night. The world is paused, breathing softly. He…he has time.

“…no.”

“Okay.” Remus shifts to lay on his side. “Can I ask you more stuff?”

“Sure.”

“It’s not just cutting, is it?”

Roman’s face burns. “No.”

“Will you tell me what else it is?”

“I don’t let myself eat. I read things I know are gonna be bad for me. I put myself in situations that I know are gonna be bad for me.”

“Can you give me an example of one?”

“…I submit an idea I know they’ll hate.”

Remus lets out another breath. Something tingles on the tip of Roman’s tongue, pressing up against his lips.

“…why didn’t you come to any of us?”

He swallows it down. “I didn’t think you’d listen.”

“I will,” Remus promises, “I always will.”

“How can you promise that?”

“Because you’re my brother,” he answers like it’s the easiest thing in the world, “and you’re important to me.”

Oh.

“So if you wanna talk,” he continues like he hasn’t just shattered Roman’s worldview, “I’m here to listen.”

The tingle is back. He stares at Remus, stuck. He can talk. He should talk. They just had a conversation with Logan about that. He should know this. This shouldn’t be happening to him.

He squeezes his eyes shut.

“You have to promise me something.”

“What?”

“Don’t touch me until I’m done.”

He can tell he’s startled Remus by the way the covers jerk back.

“…I promise.”

Here goes nothing.

“It’s not that I want this,” he starts, the words aching on his tongue, “that I want to feel bad, or upset, or—or…hurt. I just…sometimes it’s easier to work that way.”

He scuffs a hand over his nose.

“If I’m upset, I can…I know what kind of thing would make me feel better. Or I know how I am feeling and I can make an idea feel it instead. I know—I need—we—I—“

He sighs.

“I hate this.”

“You’re doing great.”

Doubt that. “They don’t want me. They tell me I’m too loud, I don’t make enough sense, I’m too rash, I’m too selfish.” He swallows. “That I spend too much time dreaming.”

His face twitches.

“They think they know what I dream about.”

“…and what do you dream about?”

Roman sinks his head into the pillow, the soft material cool against his cheek. The bed is warm, the room slightly chilled, the air a comforting weight. The emptiness froths in his chest.

“It’s not important.”

“Bullshit,” and only Remus could make that sound affectionate, “they’re your dreams, Ro.”

“Not Thomas’s.”

“So?” Remus reaches out to poke him but freezes halfway. The sight of his hand retreating makes Roman ache. “We just figured out that we’re allowed to not just depend on that, right?”

“Not at the expense of Thomas.” Roman huddles tighter. “And they wouldn’t care about it anyway.”

“Why do you think they don’t care about you?”

“Isn’t that what I just said,” he growls, scrubbing his hands over his face, “that they don’t want to listen to me? That they only ask for my opinion when they think I’ll be easily manipulated enough to agree with them? That when I’m not they reject me and everything I try to do for them?”

He takes a deep breath and draws his hands away. The sight of Remus, just out of reach, just there, hurts. It hurts. The urge to bury his nose in the crook of his brother’s neck hurts.

“No,” comes Remus’s voice quietly.

Roman blinks. His hands freeze, halfway to Remus.

Right. He asked for this.

He wraps his arms tightly around himself and squeezes.

“I can’t play the role all the time,” he murmurs, “so I have to…remind myself.”

“And that’s why you…?”

“Yeah.”

Remus is quiet for a moment. The room hurts. Roman is cold.

“Ro,” his brother says after a minute, “is you asking me to reject you if you look for physical comfort self-harm too?”

“…perhaps.”

“‘Cause you know self-denial is self-harm too.”

“Perhaps.”

He looks up to see Remus’s eyes…glistening?

“I hope you know I’m gonna hug you really hard now.”

“…please?”

Remus all but throws himself at Roman, rucking up the covers something awful as he bowls them over onto the pillows, his arms around his brother. Remus is big and warm and solid and soft and perfect, squeezing Roman so tightly he worries for a minute that he won’t be able to breathe. He buries his nose in Remus’s neck and oh, it’s everything he ever wanted. This is—

This is dangerous.

This is warm and solid and fire burning in his stomach. This is being able to eat and eat and eat until his tongue turns black and falls out of his skull. This is standing in front of a hurricane and the winds whipping around his immovable body.

This is opening that pit in his chest and giving himself to the need to devour.

Remus must feel the way he tenses in his arms and nuzzles into his hair.

“Ro-Bro?”

“Re?”

“Hey, what’s going on? You went weird there for a second.”

“This…this is okay, right?”

Remus squeezes him again. “Yes, Roman, this is okay. You’re allowed to hug me, I’m allowed to hug you.”

“It’s okay that I…want this?”

Remus stills and Roman panics.

He’s messed it up. He’s told Remus that he wants something. He’s told Remus that he wants something. He’s told Remus that he wants something. Remus is going to think he never wants to hug him. Remus is going to tell the others he’s being selfish. He’s let them know he still wants. He’s ruined everything.

Then Remus tightens his grip so much Roman gasps.

“Yes, Roman. This is perfectly fucking okay. You’re allowed to want, Ro. You’re supposed to want.”

“But I—Re—“

“Sorry.”

Roman pants as Remus loosens his grip. Just a little.

“But I—that’s never a good thing. Anytime I want something, we—they—I—I’m supposed to give it up.”

“One of these days,” Remus grumbles, mostly to himself, “we’re gonna sit down with Patton and have a conversation.”

“…like, this kind of conversation?”

Remus grumbles something inaudible.

“But every time I want something it goes wrong.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to want, Roman.” Remus tucks his face back into Roman’s neck. “You’re allowed to make yourself satisfied.”

Roman shakes his head. He’s learned this time. He got it right this time. There’s no sainthood in satisfaction. Selfless is safe. He’s figured out how to hide his appetite and put them into his work and not ask for more. He knows not to take up too much space. And when he doesn’t, well…

He knows how to remind himself.

When he says that to Remus, Remus pulls back to look at him.

“You don’t think you deserve to make yourself happy?”

He tries to busy himself with fiddling with Remus’s shirt. “I’m what Thomas wants. Or I’m supposed to be. Who cares about me?”

“I do.”

Roman huffs sadly. “I don’t—yes, thank you, Remus, I—I care a lot about you too.”

“You can say you love me.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too. Now, what were you going to say?”

Roman sighs, his eyes falling closed. “I want to be happy. I can’t be happy until Thomas is happy. And Thomas isn’t happy with what I want.”

“Oh, Ro…”

“I’m just—why can’t it be okay for me to just be happy?”

“It is, Ro, you can be happy.” Remus gives him another squeeze. “It’s…you can be you, Roman. That’s okay.”

“But it isn’t. It never is. And I can’t—I can’t be happy. Not yet. I have work to do.”

Remus shifts until his chin is tucked over Roman’s shoulder.

“…thought you were the hero, Ro-Bro?”

As the words plunge deep into Roman’s chest, he smiles.

“Name me one hero who was happy.”

When Roman really doesn’t want to be found, he goes deep into the Imagination.

Remus knows, now. Remus came and found him. Remus talked to him. Remus listens. Remus knows.

He was fine with telling Logan. Logan is different. They want Logan. Logan is wonderful and amazing and deserves the world. Or the stars. Or both!

…Janus also knows now.

He’s not sure how he feels about that.

But they’re going to want to talk to him. They’re going to want to know things. And Roman.

Roman can’t. Not today. It’s too much. It hurts too much.

“‘Cause you know self-denial is self-harm too.”

“Go away,” Roman mutters to the ghost of Remus’s voice as he pushes through the tangled brush.

This is different. This is avoiding an overload. This is when he’s already packaged up his appetites so they’re acceptable. This is when he’s already been stripped of what he wants and he has to leave before he gets stripped of who he is.

And it’s so, so stupid.

The others haven’t even done anything today.

Have they ever?

It’s just…sometimes it’s hard, okay? Roman knows he has to do it—no, he doesn’t—yes, he does—but sometimes he just wants everything to stop for two fucking seconds.

There’s a dark patch of woods on Roman’s side of the Imagination. When he brings the others in, they spot it and think that it’s the gateway to Remus’s side.

That’s actually at the bottom of the lake. The gravity flips as you enter this brine pool with a dense methane atmosphere over it. It’s pretty cool, actually.

But not this forest. This forest is Roman.

It’s the last part of Roman that lets himself want.

Deep between the trees, if you can find your way through, there’s a clearing. It’s very small, just large enough for a massive tree with white petals, almost brushing the ground. The petals sway gently in the little bit of breeze that manages to get through the thick walls of the other forest. Underneath is a little bench swing, just large enough for Roman to sit or lie down if he wants to. It smells gently of the blossoms. It’s quiet.

It’s his.

As he slogs through the last part of the foliage, he almost drops to his knees in relief. He made it. He can stop now.

The swing creaks welcomingly as he sits down, the tree reaching to ruffle his hair. He closes his eyes and lets his head tip back. It’s safe here. There’s nothing that can hurt him. It’s his place, his haven. He doesn’t have to pretend here. His eyes flutter open as he watches the petals fall from the branches. They twist and turn until they land on his red sash.

He picks it up. It’s so small. And soft. It’s pretty. It looks so white against the red of his sash. Why isn’t the rest of his shirt that white?

And the sash is so…so…red…

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the sunlight gleam off of the blade of his sword.

A wounded noise escapes Roman’s throat and echoes around and around the still glade. His hands clutch at his sash as he tumbles gracelessly from the swing.

How could he be so selfish?

Logan is hurting. Logan is struggling right now. The others should be focused on Logan. Not him.

Is this what he thinks he needs to stoop to now? To—to—to get attention now? He hasn’t learned his lesson about asking for attention? Hasn’t he learned that asking for anything hurts?

Is that why he wants to do it so badly?

Because it doesn’t matter that Roman self-harms. It doesn’t matter that telling Logan that he cared, that telling the others that he could help felt like selfishly turning Logan’s problem into something about him. It doesn’t matter that Roman’s wildest dream is to have someone care for him the way he desperately wants to be able to care for them.

Roman wants.

Roman’s not supposed to want something Thomas doesn’t want.

So Roman will be selfish here, in this glade, all by himself, where no one can see it, so that he doesn’t hurt anyone else.

Then he hears something.

“Roman? Roman, where are you?”

No.

“Roman! Roman, answer me!”

“No,” he whimpers, scrambling back against the tree.

Logan can’t be here right now. Logan—Logan has enough of his own to worry about, he can’t make Logan worry about him too.

“Roman?” Logan’s voice takes on a note of panic. “Roman!”

He should tell Logan it’s nothing to worry about. He should come out of the woods and smile, say he’s fine. He should ask Logan if he’s okay.

He doesn’t want Logan to see this place.

He doesn’t want Logan to see him like this.

He doesn’t want Logan to ask him if he’s okay.

Because he isn’t, and he’ll want to tell Logan that.

He staggers to his feet and starts to try and make it out of the glade before Logan gets too close. But the flowers are too soft, too warm, too safe. He can’t make himself get up, can’t make himself stop relentlessly taking comfort. He can’t stop wanting.

“Roman?” The leaves crinkle together. “Roman, are you back here?”

No, he should say, don’t come in here, it’s dangerous, I’ll come to you!

Yes, he wants to scream, yes, come find me, come help me, I want you.

The glade holds its breath as Logan bursts through the trees.

“Roman!”

Before he can blink, Logan’s crouching in front of him. He adjusts his glasses and reaches out for Roman’s shoulders, smoothing over the gold trim and examining his face anxiously.

“You’ve got scratches all across you,” he says worriedly, “did you have a hard time getting through? Are you alright? Were you with Remus?”

“No,” Roman mumbles, cheeks burning, “not…not Remus’s fault. Mine.”

“Roman,” he tuts, “you getting injured during a fight isn’t the fault you make it out to be.”

“…not a fight.”

Logan frowns. He glances over his shoulder. “The branches? I managed to get through with barely any scratches, perhaps if we go back through together, we can—“

“Wasn’t the branches, Logan,” Roman interrupts softly.

“Then…” He can almost feel the minute Logan’s eyes land on his hands lying limply at his sides. “…Roman, did you…?”

He nods, shame burning in his gut.

“…this may be a redundant question,” Logan says quietly after a moment, “but…are you alright?”

He can’t help the huff. “Would you like the honest answer or the acceptable one?”

Logan blinks. “Roman, you…you can always be honest with me. I apologize if I have ever given you the impression that you can’t.”

He must be able to see the disbelief on Roman’s face.

“…I do apologize for making you think your honesty was not wanted,” he says, shifting forward to kneel in front of Roman, “and…if it helps, I do believe I owe you.”

“No,” Roman says quickly, shaking his head, “no, Logan you don’t—you don’t owe me anything.”

“You cared for me.”

“That’s what anyone would do,” Roman argues, “what they should do. You shouldn’t owe me for basic decency. If anything, I owed you that.”

“Why would you owe me that?”

He laughs sadly. “Because I’m me? Because I’m loud and obnoxious and never want to listen to you?”

“And what about me? I’m cold and callous and dismissive of you.”

Roman shakes his head. “No, you’re not.”

Logan reaches up to push his hair out of his face. “And you’re not either.”

The wind ruffles through the petals. Logan looks up and smiles.

“It’s beautiful.”

Roman ducks his head. “…thanks.”

“So this is…yours?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s wonderful, Roman.”

“Thanks.”

“You don’t believe me,” Logan says softly, “do you?”

Roman just shrugs.

“Talk to me,” he coaxes, cupping Roman’s face in his hands, “come on, now.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Now, I don’t believe that for a second.”

It hurts. He wants and it hurts and it’s not supposed to hurt and of course it’s supposed to hurt. Everything hurts. Logan scoots a little closer and waits patiently.

“…it used to be easy,” Roman whispers finally, “I used to be able to…to make this work. And now…now I don’t know how to anymore.”

“How what works?”

“I’m not supposed to want,” Roman confesses, “I’m supposed to want for Thomas. And I…I don’t know what that is anymore. Maybe I never did. But I—it used to be easy for me to make myself stay where I was supposed to be. And how to remind myself to be safe in—in—“

“Pain,” Logan finishes.

Roman’s head throbs.

“Oh, my dear,” he murmurs, pulling Roman forward into a burning hug, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Roman slurs, drunk off of Logan’s arms around him, “don’t…don’t stress about it.”

“I’m worried about you, little star,” Logan says against his temple, “you’re hurting.”

“We all hurt.”

“Yes, and recently, someone very smart said that something like this isn’t necessary for us to love you.”

Roman looks up slowly, his eyes brimming with hope. Logan smiles down at him, head tilted in silent question.

“…you think I’m smart?”

“I think you’re quite intelligent, yes.” He catches a tear on the edge of his thumb. “And I think you’re hurting yourself, little star.”

“I…I am, Logan.”

“I know,” Logan whispers, “I know you are.”

“I’m sorry—“

“Shh, shh,” he soothes, “don’t apologize, little star, it’s okay. I’m not angry. I understand.”

Of course he does. He’s Logan.

“It’s not easy, is it? It never is, it’s just…we have to unlearn things, now.” Logan strokes a hand through his hair. “Sometimes it’s going to be a little harder.”

And Roman is here, in his glade, under his tree, protected by the eyes of the world by the thick forest wall, and he wants.

He wants to throw his arms around Logan and hang on for dear life. He wants this pit in his stomach to fill to bursting and disappear forever. He wants everything to stop, right here, so he can live here forever.

What comes out instead is: “…can you hold onto me?”

Logan nods instantly. “How much?”

“…like I might fall off the face of the earth if you let go?”

“Can that happen,” Logan asks even though he’s already moving.

“Not if you hold on.”

A chuckle rumbles through the warm chest as Roman’s cheek comes to rest against the soft fabric. “Then I’d better hold on tightly.”

Taglist:@frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @gattonero17 @iamhereforthegayshit @thefingergunsgirl @awkwardandanxiousfander @creative-lampd-liberties @djpurple3 @winterswrandomness @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes @iminyourfandom @bullet-tothefeels @full-of-roman-angst-trash @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind @demoniccheese83 @pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious @firefinch-ember @fandomssaremysoul @im-an-anxious-wreck @crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch @enby-ralsei @unicornssunflowersandstuff @wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams @averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @private-snippers @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @aularei @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws @cecil-but-gayer @i-am-overly-complicated @annytheseal @alias290 @tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask @theaceofcrows @emilythezeldafan @frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires @cyanide-violence @oonagh2 @xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx

If you want to be added/taken off the taglist, let me know!

#dragonbabbles #fic #sanders sides #roman sanders #roman angst #roman sanders angst #logan sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #self harm #tw self harm #tw: self harm #logince

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lloydskywalkers · 4 years

Note

hey idk if you’re doing requests but if you are can you give us the fluffy kai and lloyd sibling content we deserve?? like ummm maybe kai helping lloyd to do homework or something even tho they don’t go to school lmao 😂 i just need something pure :)

i am so very behind on replies but!! in my defense, i started a response for this, got about 10K words in, then realized i needed to give it an actual structure. this is not the 10K words one, but it is, technically, fluffy Kai and Lloyd sibling content? i hope it’s something along the lines of what you wanted :’D

Lloyd decides he wants his ear pierced at three forty-five in the debatable hours of the morning, which isn’t the oddest thing Lloyd has ever decided he desires at that time. But it isn’t usual, either, so Kai decides he probably does, at least, need to ask what brought this on as he begins superheating the edge of the needle so neither of them end up with tetanus, or something.

He’s a responsible brother, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to tell Lloyd no. That would require Kai pretending his own piercing never existed, which is impossible, since Lloyd was the one to help him out back when it got infected and Kai almost lost his entire upper ear.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Lloyd rolls his eyes. “You were just being a baby about it.”

“Oh yeah?” Kai shoots back. “Look who’s talking. I haven’t even touched your ear yet and you’re already wincing.”

“You’re taking forever,” Lloyd says testily. “Why can’t you just pierce it already?”

“Excuse me for trying to make it look good,” Kai says. “But if you really want an off-center piercing, be my guest.”

“No, no, make it look good,” Lloyd protests, straightening where he’s sitting across the bedroom floor from Kai.

Fortunately, they’re in the monastery tonight, otherwise they’d be crammed into the bathroom, or wherever else in the Bounty they wouldn’t wake everyone up. They’ve stashed away in Lloyd’s room, since he’s the furthest from Zane and therefore the least likely to be caught, if something goes wrong. Not that anything’s going to go wrong, of course, but you can never be sure, with them.

“Where’d you want it, again?” Kai asks, as he squints at the tiny earring stud they scavenged from Nya’s bag. He figures she’d support this as a worthy cause enough not to mind. Hopefully.

“On the right side?” Lloyd drums his fingers on the edge of his knee, a bit anxiously. “I sleep on my left more often, so yeah, the right. Just — just the normal ear piercing, for now.”

“For now, huh,” Kai mutters, carefully measuring out rubbing alcohol over the earring, before deciding to drown it in the bottle, for good measure.

“Well, I might decide I want another,” Lloyd crosses his arms. He winces. “Unless Sensei or the others kill me for this, first.”

“Lloyd, if piercing your ear is the worst thing you ever do as a teen, I’ll give you all the piercings you want myself,” Kai says. “And if anybody gives you trouble about it, just make some snarky comment, like, ah—”

“An earring is better to be stabbed with than a knife?”

“…FSM’s sake,” Kai sighs, staring at the bottle of rubbing alcohol and briefly entertaining how it’d taste. “Sure. Why not.”

Lloyd doesn’t look entirely reassured, even with his fun little jokes. “It is better than being stabbed with a knife, right?” he asks. “Like, I can do knife-stab pain, but I was kinda hoping it wouldn’t hurt that bad, you know…?”

Kai rolls his eyes. “It’ll hardly hurt at all,” he assures him, as he reaches for the little cotton balls and soaking one in alcohol. “I promise. You’re a ninja. With the pain tolerance you have, you’re probably not even gonna feel it.”

“Uh-huh, if you say — hey!” Lloyd flinches back from his hand, eyes wide in betrayal.

“Would you relax, it’s just the alcohol,” Kai frowns, going for his ear with the cotton ball again.

Lloyd makes a face, but lets him dab the alcohol on this time. “It’s cold,” he complains.

“Keep whining about it and we’re going back to the clip-on earring plan.”

“No, no, I want them pierced,” Lloyd says quickly. Kai smothers a laugh at how he attempts to appear relaxed, swiping the cotton ball over his earlobe once more for good measure. Satisfied that Lloyd, at least, won’t suffer any immediate crippling infections, Kai grabs for the needle they’re using, soaking the tip in alcohol.

“You…you know what you’re doing, right?” Lloyd asks, suddenly apprehensive now that the needle’s come into play.

“Of course I do, who do you think I am?” Kai says. “I pierced Nya’s ears when she was younger. I would’ve pierced Jay’s the first week we met, but he chickened out last minute.”

Lloyd presses his lips together, hiding a laugh. “If you’d come up to me with a needle the first week we met, I probably would’ve booked it, too.”

“I wasn’t bad,” Kai huffs, kneeing him in the side.

Lloyd runs a hand through his hair, spiking the edges up as he scowls, pitching his voice deeper. “I’m gonna be the green ninja, and none of you losers better get in the way—”

“I never said that!” Kai exclaims, swatting Lloyd across the head as he cackles. “You watch it, or I might slip up with the needle.”

“Sounds like something a green gi-stealer would say.”

“You’re such a brat,” Kai grumbles, hiding the heat rising in his cheeks by busying himself with the earring packaging. “I never sounded like that. And you’re one to talk, with that squeaky little evil laugh you used to do.”

“Alright, I’m dropping it, I’m dropping it,” Lloyd says hastily, his teasing faltering at the threat of turning the tables.

Kai smirks, shaking his head. “Alright,” he says, flexing his wrist once. “I’m gonna ice your ear so it’s numb, then do the actual piercing. You want a count down?”

“Surprise me,” Lloyd says, his hands fisting anxiously in the edges of his sweatshirt.

“Sure thing,” Kai nods absently. “So,” he starts conversationally, as he presses the ice to the back of Lloyd’s ear. “What did bring this on? And don’t give me the teen rebellion thing — seriously, this time.”

Lloyd hesitates, then sighs. He bites his lip, his eyes staring somewhere beyond the ceiling. “I dunno,” he mutters. “I just remembered, the other day, that I’d thought they were super cool as a kid.”

Kai stifles the urge to remind him that he’s still a kid, and continues to listen instead, nodding at him to go on.

Lloyd makes a face. “I don’t know. The mission today was — it was dumb, and I didn’t like how I felt afterwards, so I guess I wanted to do something stupid.”

“Ah,” Kai exhales quietly. He’d had a feeling it was about the mission, but he couldn’t be sure. It hadn’t even been that bad, on the whole, but the sound of Cole’s head cracking against the floor was enough to escalate it right into terrible territory.

Kai’s still thanking his stars that Cole’s got such a thick head. Concussions aren’t fun, even when they do have the chance to treat them immediately.

“I just…I thought maybe it’d be nice to mess up on purpose, for once,” Lloyd continues, his voice quiet. “When I wasn’t trying not to.”

Kai’s frown deepens at that one, his hand hovering where he’s caught the edge of Lloyd’s ear, his thumb pressed against the end of the needle. His sudden concerns over Lloyd’s potentially earring-destroying, Oni/dragon blood are swept away by the plaintively depressing tone Lloyd’s using. He opens his mouth, then shuts it, hesitating.

He understands the sentiment, of course — probably too well to really put into words. Kai’s not exactly a stranger to messing up. He’s definitely not a stranger to beating yourself up after you mess up, either. He also understands, too well, how it can all build up sometimes — the constant fear of failure, the pressure not to mess up.

Sometimes you’re just struck with the irrational desire to mess up on purpose out of pure spite. Kai gets that. And Lloyd’s at least rational enough to pick something that won’t hurt anyone, and is more likely to get a laugh out of them all, if anything. Kai tries not to roll his eyes fondly.

Plus, Kai would be lying if he said it doesn’t warm his heart that Lloyd’s come to him for it. Which he should, of course, Kai’d better have first dibs on Lloyd’s first piercing, but still. The sentiment, and all.

“Well,” Kai finally says, realizing he’s left Lloyd hanging. “I don’t know about messing up, because this looks pretty rad. But it was definitely your call, so remember to tell Sensei that when he sees it.”

“Yeah, sure.” Lloyd takes a breath, squeezing his eyes shut. “Okay, I’m ready. Stab my ear, Kai.”

“I already did, moron. Did you miss what I just said?”

Lloyd’s eyes pop open, and he blinks. “Huh? For real?”

“Told you,” Kai snorts. “Ninja pain tolerance. Ear piercing’s got nothing on Cole when he scores a hit on you in practice.”

Lloyd’s frozen for a moment, then he scurries over to the mirror, brushing his lengthening hair away so he can get a proper look at it. Kai hovers behind him, suddenly slightly anxious.

“Do you, um, do you like it? You can always take it out, if you don’t. It’ll close over on its own, and you can like, get an actual professional to do it—”

“Shut up, Kai, I love it,” Lloyd beams, tracing his finger over the little silver stud. “I look cool.”

Kai lets out a tiny breath of relief, smirking in satisfaction instead. “As close to cool as you can get, beansprout.”

“Whatever,” Lloyd rolls his eyes, before returning to admiring himself in the mirror. “You’re just jealous I have a super cool piercing, and you don’t.”

“Hey, I gave you that piercing,” Kai scowls. “Just wait until my ear finally heals, I’ll show you cool.”

“Gee, yeah, I can’t wait to see what cheap skull earring you infect yourself with this time.”

“Alright buddy, you’re toeing it dangerously close to the line,” Kai grabs Lloyd in a headlock, digging his knuckles into Lloyd’s thick hair as he yelps, struggling to pull himself free.

“Ow, hey, Kai, watch my ear—”

“Little jerk,” Kai finally releases him with a huff.

“Too bad you’re stuck with me forever,” Lloyd replies, making a face as he brushes his hair back into place.

“Plenty of time to watch you make more mistakes, then,” Kai replies, easily.

Lloyd briefly tenses up, his expression working. Kai slings an arm around his shoulder, briefly squeezing.

“It wasn’t your fault, Lloyd,” he says, gently. “Cole’s gonna tell you the same thing, ten times over.”

“Y-yeah, okay,” Lloyd murmurs, staring at the rug. “I got it.”

Kai eyes him for a brief moment, then shakes his head, carefully flicking the edge of his ear. “This, however? Is definitely your fault. So don’t go selling me out when Sensei bites your head off for it.”

“I’m not a sellout,” Lloyd huffs. “This’ll be nothing. Wait ’til you see what he says about my tattoo, that’ll be the real meltdown.”

Kai barks a laugh out at that, sweeping the cotton balls back into the bag. He then pauses, Lloyd’s word choice hitting him.

“Hey, what do you mean, your tattoo.”

“Oh, would you look at the time—”

“Lloyd, I swear to FSM, if you went and got a tattoo without me—”

#answered #ninjago #lloyd garmadon #kai smith #tumblr pleASE format this right for once #my fic #bees-go-buzz

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driversmutbucket · 3 years

Text

You (yes YOU) are perfect

Been a bit down about the state of my bod of late - I call it the 20lbs of 2020 😩😩

Of all our boys, we all know daddy Clyde loves a thiccccc woman, those curves do some thannnnnngs for him sis.

So here is a wee fic for those moments of self-consciousness. And also smut cause it me.

Clyde x Reader

Warnings: self-conscious reader, NSFW, mild Daddy kink, mild breeding kink, mention of pregnancy.

You were having one of those days. Everything looked awful on you, to the point where you felt like crying. It was just a family gathering, nothing fancy, but everything you tried on made you feel worse than the previous.

“Darlin’ what’s takin’ so long, we gotta go!?” Clyde called down the hallway.

When you didn’t reply his heavy footsteps told you he was coming to investigate.

He stood in the doorway, looking between the pile of clothes on the bed and you, in only your lingerie, looking crestfallen.

“Sweethear’ what’s wrong?” His voice was so gentle, so concerned that tears started leaking, running down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry… honey.” You sniffled hastily wiping away the tears.

“Talk to yer’ Daddy.” He soothed, taking a seat on the bed.

“I just…. I feel…. fat, I feel so fucking fat.” A fresh wave of tears running down your face.

Clyde looked shocked, then angry.

“Did someone say something’ to you darlin’?! Tell me who it was!” He clenched his fists, standing up as if he was about to march out the door and deal to whoever it was.

“No, honey, no no! No one said anything, I’m just being silly.” You said quickly, reaching up and placing your hands on his shoulders reassuringly, “I swear.”

He searched your face, searching for any hint you were lying. Seemingly convinced you weren’t, he sat back down.

“Darlin’ what’s all this ‘bout? Ya know I think you are goddamn beautiful.” He said gently, cupping your face and wiping your tears away with his thumbs.

“I know Clyde, you’re so good to me honey, I just-, I, well, you know, all these girls like Mellie, so slim and beautiful. You could have anyone you wanted, you’re so handsome and-”

He cut you off with a finger on your lips.

“Girls like Mellie?” He snorted, “ain’t got no meat on them, like goddamn bean poles!”

You couldn’t help but smile a little.

“Now I dunno if ya looked in the mirror lately darlin’ but ya way out of my league, I’ve been punchin’ above my weight since the day I laid eyes on ya, everybody says so.”

“They do?”

“Specially Mellie, she told me when I met ya that I better lock ya down before you realise I was a dumb, one armed red neck .” His eyes crinkled as he grinned at you.

You laughed.

“That’s better.” He smiled, pulling you in for a kiss.

“Thank you.” You whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’ apologise darlin’, I get down on myself too sometimes, ya know that.”

You nodded into his chest, feeling safe as his large arms wrapped around you.

—

Clyde paid special attention to you all day.

Whispering in your ear how pretty you looked, his hand never far from your own, or the small of your back.

By the time you got home, you had all but forgotten your meltdown that morning. However it was still clearly at the forefront of Clyde’s mind as he cornered you after your shower, wrapped in only a towel.

“Don’t bother puttin’ ya jammies on darlin’, I need to show ya how perfect your body is to me.” He murmured.

The sentiment was enough to make your eyes prickle with tears of pure affection and overwhelming love.

This man. This man.

He sat on the edge of the bed, much like he had that morning, pulling you in so you stood between his thick thighs.

“Show me that body.” His voice gruff, eyes glinting as he unwrapped your towel.

His adoring gaze traveled slowly down, feasting on every curve, every swell and valley.

His hand came to rest on your hip, “ya know what these are?” He murmured, tracing the curve of each hip, one at a time.

“Mmm?”

“Child-bearin’ hips.”

You hummed softly, raking your hand through his hair as he began to kiss along your shoulder and up your neck.

“An’ one day daddy’s gonna put them to use.” Clyde drawled in your ear, “daddy’s gon’ put a baby in ya belly, would ya like that darlin’?”

You squirmed, his words lighting a raging fire of lust in the pit of your stomach.

“Yeah, yes I would.” You breathed.

He growled, taking one of your ample breasts in his hand and latching onto your nipple.

Gasping as his tongue flicked and mouth sucked, you fumbled with his shirt buttons, desperate to not be the only one naked.

You succeeded in getting the shirt open, before mounting his denim clad thigh in desperation, grinding hard in search of relief.

Pulling off your nipple with a pop, Clyde silently maneuvered you so you were lying on the bed, butt on the edge.

You watched, quivering in anticipation as he hoisted your legs over his shoulders, gazing at your glistening wet pussy as if it were his favorite meal.

“Darlin’.... Jesus.”

He dove in. Mouth hungrily lapping. You cursed under your breath. His tongue assaulting your clit with enthusiasm.

A single thick finger prodded at your entrance, you bucked your hips impatiently.

“Ugh, hnnnnghhoneyplease!” You pleaded, longing for the fullness only he could provide.

Not one to deny you anything he pressed in one, then another in quick succession, expertly finding your most sensitive spot.

You whimpered, writhing in ecstasy as a tidal wave of pleasure crashed over you. Clyde moaned into your cunt as you climaxed, your inner walls clenching his fingers.

He stripped hurriedly as you lay boneless, you watched shamelessly as his cock was freed from the confines of his jeans. It bobbed, large and flush, intensifying the throb of your freshly mauled cunt.

“Stay there.” Clyde ordered as he kicked off his jeans.

He grabbed your legs and pressed them firmly to the left hand side of his chest. He used his left upper arm, free of his prosthetic, to pin them in place.

He cursed as he pushed into your wet heat, the position of your legs making you almost impossibly tight.

“Christ almighty.” He huffed, “pussy stranglin’ me darlin’.”

Clyde eyes rolled back in bliss as he began to piston his hips, skin slapping rhythmically.

“FeelsogoodClydehoneybabygodyoufeelsobig!” You babbled praise, hardly aware of what you were saying as his cock pounded you, reaching so deep it was almost too much.

His fingers sunk into the soft flesh of your hip, attempting to hold you in place. Your hands gripped the bed sheets, breast bouncing with force of his thrusts.

His eyes were transfixed on your tits, you arched your back giving him an even better view as they jiggled violently from his ploughing hips.

“Touch yourself, darlin’.. not gonna’ last.” His voice was ragged and strained as he tried to control his impending release.

It didn’t take more than a few circles of your sensitive bud to have you on the verge of climax.

“S’it darlin’ cum on daddy’s cock, good girl.” Clyde panted.

And you did. Hard. Loud.

Clyde’s rhythm stalled as your cunt squeezed his cock, encouraging him to cum.

He managed a few more half-hearted thrusts before crumpling over your body and emptying inside you.

—-

#clyde logan x reader #clyde logan #logan lucky #if you ain’t gonna love yourself how in the hell are you gonna love somebody else #I am predictable #it’s my brand ok

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