#fog essentials t shirts

[fearofgodessentialshoodie]

The shirt itself offers additional wind and light rain protection without the need for additional apparel. There is a fear of god essential t-shirts for everyone, regardless of whether you favor a simple aesthetic, a striking image, or a vintage brand.

[essentialshoode]

Essentials Elegant logos or patterns, carefully placed on the chest or sleeve, evoke a sense of exclusivity without overshadowing the design's innate charm. Their attractive and cozy look makes them modern styles of t shirts.

[fastboatsmojito]

GUESS - Chef Luca x reader one-shot - 18+

| AN; non-physically descript reader, no pronouns used but fem aligned. Based almost solely on “Guess” by Charli xcx, it’ll make sense later, I promise. This is essentially my first anything ever so I’m still trying to figure out my writing style 🙏🏼 enjoy. <3

| Wc: 4.2k

| CWs: Smut BTC, SLOW smut like so much teasing I’m SORRY, fingering, cunnilingus, eventual pnv, Good amount of Sub Luca oops <33 No use of y/n, lingerie??? No condom mention SORRY, Blindfolds, Luca almost crying - in a good way ! The L word, Mention of hand restraint, Kissing, Pet name usage probably; baby, bunny (for Luca), love, sweet boy (also for Luca), etc. Some religious metaphors sorry

“Can we try something?”

Your nerves apparent through your wavering voice and ambiguity.

He’s guiding your eyes back to his with the slow strokes of his thumb sitting on your cheek. Looking down at you with the same adoring eyes he always does.

“What’d you have in mind, love?”

-

You’ve been distracted all day, work beginning and ending in a distant fog. Usually you had no problem indulging in the fast-paced environment, focusing solely on your work and the insistent voice of whoever was running expo for the day.

Today couldn’t have been more different. The work in front of you being drowned out by mental pictures of the man waiting for you at home.

Your mind was full of him. His words. His hands. It was all his fault.

—-

You had woken up that morning to the boyfriend you were still getting used to sleeping next to everyday. It was new but comfortable. You didn’t feel the need to change practically anything about your nightly routine once he moved in.

Luca isn’t a judgmental guy, It’s one of your most adored attributes of his. Which just so happened to include your ‘pajamas’ a term you used rather loosely, draped in a baggy t-shirt and whatever plain comfy underwear called your name that night.

He loved every second of it, and so did you.

You were rushing to get ready as Luca was quietly helping you. His internal clock denying him the pleasure of staying in bed once you were awake. He was grabbing some socks to lay out while you were brushing your teeth, when the question arose.

You leaned your head out of the bathroom door, toothpaste-filled mouth garbling your words. “Sorry?”

“When’d you get this?” Repeated a curious Luca, gleaming at you while gently holding up a forgotten lacy red bra that had been stored at the back of your drawer.

You’d worn it maybe twice, ever. Once trying it on and the other just for yourself, a confidence boosting self-care ritual that had been pushed out of your schedule by work. You couldn’t decide whether to be embarrassed or amused.

“I don’t-“

“Baby, your words.”

Christ. You spat the toothpaste from your mouth before speaking again.

“I don’t remember exactly, it’s been a while.”

He put it back softly, as if it’d shatter if he was too quick. Then walked towards you, leaning in the bathroom doorway.

“I didn’t know you owned something so-“

You finished brushing your teeth and interrupted him.

“Slutty?” You giggled, moving past him to get changed.

“Delicate.”

Delicate? He was driving you insane at six in the morning and he’s barely done anything.

The image of his strong, tattooed hands holding something he’d described himself as ‘delicate’ replaying on a loop in your mind. He moved to sit on the bed next to you as your shoes went on.

“You never asked.”

He laughed softly and took your hand in his as you stood up.

“If you’re nice, maybe I’ll put it on for you tonight.” You smiled and put your arms around his neck.

“Aren’t I always?” He replied, pulling you in to place a soft kiss on your temple.

You caught a glimpse of the clock behind him at that and gave him a quick goodbye kiss before rushing out the door.

———

Once you finally reentered your apartment it was well past 11. Fortunately, it was a Friday night so you weren’t worried about having to wake up early the next morning.

You walked in and almost immediately headed to the shower, just after greeting your peacefully lounging boyfriend. You set up a few things and grabbed one of Luca’s hoodies to throw on after and hopped in.

You came back out to him in the kitchen, heating up what he’d made earlier and put up for you. He sat quietly with you while you ate and waited until you were done to ask about your day.

“‘Was fine, Just been a little distracted.” You replied, slinking down more into your seat while you watched him take your plate to the sink.

“Distracted? By anything in particular?”

He always looked annoyingly sweet with soap on his hands. You got up and leaned against the counter in front of him.

“Just you.”

He dried his hands and placed them on your shoulders, lightly massaging away the tension you held. He leaned down to place a light kiss right under your ear.

“You mind telling me what you were really thinking about, my love, or shall I guess?”

You could melt into him. He always had this effect on you, drawing the desperation out of you like oil in water.

“Can we try something?”

Your nerves apparent through your wavering voice and ambiguity.

He’s guiding your eyes back to his with the slow strokes of his thumb sitting on your cheek. Looking down at you with the same adoring eyes he always does.

“What’d you have in mind, love?”

“I’ve just been thinking a lot about this morning and.. I have a few different colored sets like that-“

His warm hands were slowly moving to the hem of the hoodie you adorned, distracting you just as the thought of them alone had done all day.

He stopped, smirking at how easily you leaned into his touch. “Go on.”

“and- well I was just thinking that maybe I could try them on and let you guess the color.” You said, eyes focusing on the broad shoulders you rested your hands on instead of his own.

“Guess the color? Won’t I be-“ You giggled and shook your head, interrupting him.

“That’s the fun part- I want to blindfold you. If you’re into it, anyway.” You said, finally looking up to meet his eyes. A blend of surprise and curiosity painted on his face.

He moved his hands back to your face, holding your head so he could look at you.

“Jesus darling, I’d let you do anything if you keep looking at me like that.”

You grinned at him, “‘s that a yes?”

He moved closer to you, leaning his forehead against your own. So close you were almost kissing. Almost.

“Yes.”

You barely stopped yourself from jumping him, closing the gap to kiss him, raising bumps on your skin as his hands moved to your jaw to kiss you deeper.

You pulled away to take one of his hands and guide him to your bedroom. You lightly pushed him onto the bed and went to the closet to grab one of his ties.

You walked back to the bed, “Get comfortable, you might be here a while.” You punctuated with a kiss to his nose.

“Oh yeah? You tying my hands up too?”

You climbed up to straddle his waist, tie-yielding hands sitting on his chest.

“‘m not that mean.” You paused and thought about it for a second. “Only if I have to.”

His hands are on your hips, waiting for some direction. Your hands are occupied right above the hem of his shirt.

“Can I take this off?”

He’s nodding his head and you’re lifting up for just a moment to pull it over his head and toss it just next to the laundry basket. Close enough.

You didn’t realize you were staring and not saying anything until he spoke again.

“Liking the view, gorgeous?”

You laughed softly at him and rolled your eyes.

You dragged your hands up and down his chest and shoulders, leaning down to leave light kisses everywhere they went. Slowly drawing dreamy sighs and deep breaths out of him.

You stopped when his grip on your waist was getting tighter, you didn’t plan on teasing him forever but you couldn’t help it. He’s always so patient for you.

You could look at him like this forever. He opened his eyes when he noticed you stopped touching him.

You cupped his face in one hand while the other rested on his waist and leaned down to whisper in his ear.

“You look so pretty under me like this, sweet boy.”

He groaned and you could tell by the light red brushed over his cheeks and the rather obvious erection under you that he was losing patience quickly.

He said your name like he was asking for something.

“Please, please.”

The hottest man you’d ever seen was under you begging.

You lightly scratched the hair behind his ear and gave him a teasing pout.

“What ‘s it baby, what do you want?”

“You. Please, love, just- just do something or let me touch you.”

Every ounce of admiration and lust in your body prevalent in your eyes and the barely-there movements of your hips against his own.

You grinned down at him and grabbed the tie you left sitting beside him.

“Ready for me to put this on you then?”

He eagerly nodded and you gave him a few kisses before lifting him up a bit and tying it over his eyes. You grabbed one of his hands and gave it a kiss before speaking again.

“Okay baby, I’m gonna explain the rules and change and then we’ll get started. If you want me to stop and take the blindfold off, just let me know. You got it?”

He smiled and nodded his head.

“I need to hear you say it, bunny.”

He stuttered a little at the nickname.

“I- I got it.”

Your hands were lightly tracing over his chest.

“Good. I’m going to put on one of three sets; black, red, or blue. And then I’ll come back over and you can feel the different materials and try to guess which color it is. If you get it wrong, I’ll go change again. When you get it right I’ll take the blindfold off. Sound good?”

“And if I take too long?”

You bit your lip and hummed while you thought for a moment.

“Then I’ll tie your hands up and you’ll have to guess with your tongue.”

His grip on your waist tightened once again.

“‘s that all alright with you?”

“Sounds perfect, love.”

You grinned down at him even though he couldn’t see it. You couldn’t be happier to be with someone so open and communicative.

“I’ll be right back.”

You gave the top of his head a quick kiss before getting up to change, grabbing one of the sets you set aside before your shower.

You decided to go with the blue set. The low lighting making specs of glitter dancing over your figure shimmer. If only Luca could see you now.

You walked back to him, tracing over his arm so you didn’t alarm him before climbing back into his lap.

“Can I touch you now?”

“Go ahead, baby. So sweet.”

You guided his hands to your hips. He took his time, light strokes feeling the soft material that hugged your body like it was made just for you.

He could cry. You smelled so good and it was even stronger now that one of his other senses was out of the way. Not to mention how soft your skin felt. He had to keep reminding himself to focus on trying to guess while getting caught up in the cathedral that was your body.

He moved his hands up over your chest, focusing on rubbing your nipples through the fabric. Then back down again, thumbs right at the hem of your already soaked, blue panties.

You let out a soft sigh at that and let his hands move for just a bit longer before you guided them back to your own, interlocking your fingers.

“Time to guess, Luc’.”

He whined like he was the one being tormented.

“Already? But you sound so pretty.”

You giggled at his praise.

“If you want to keep touching me I need you to guess.”

“Okay okay, I think it’s.. black?”

You smile down at him again, empathy found not in your words but your tone.

“Nope!” You gave him a kiss, letting his tongue slip over yours for just a second before pulling away.

“Changing again. Be right back.”

He hummed and you went to grab the second set, going with the silky black set this time. It was soft but thin, you can’t remember ever having worn it.

The glimpse you caught of yourself in the mirror told you to wear it more often.

You walked up to him, tracing one hand over his toned muscles as you climbed up.

He didn’t bother asking this time, too caught up in the warmth above him. He started at your shoulders, tracing down the silky straps and over your chest. He can’t remember a time he was ever so hard and needy for anyone.

His light, slow, focused movements driving you insane while your noises were doing the same to him.

You got caught up in all of it, the way his hands were moving back to grab your ass, how needy he looked, how you were sure he could feel the wet spot you were leaving right on his lap, all of it. You moved one of your hands up his chest over his neck, thumb lightly grazing over his Adam’s apple.

He was grabbing your hips and leaning up to place kisses on your neck when you stopped him.

“Alright, handsy, time to guess.”

He smirked. He could hear your heartbeat from here, quick pulses from his paused touch. He knew you were losing patience right with him.

“I think this one’s.. blue?”

You groaned. There was only one color left now, thank god. If he didn’t get this one you didn’t know if you’d make it.

“Wrong again, bunny.”

You left him with no kiss this time, trying to keep some semblance of self-control.

You grabbed the last and final set; lacy and red. Your personal favorite and the one that started the fire that’d been burning inside of you all day. The memory of his fingers draped over the soft lace replaying in your mind once again.

You walked back up to him, kissing up his stomach and chest before settling down.

“Okay baby, last set.”

He wasted no time, strong hands moving all over you. He was smirking as he felt the lace, he knew what this was. He didn’t want to stop just yet though, one hand moving up to your waist while the other was moving closer and closer to the wet spot he was teasing out of you.

You were letting out the sweetest sounds he’d ever heard, his fingers dancing just above your clothed clit when you stopped him.

“Luca, baby, I need you to get it right this time,” You leaned down to whisper right in his ear, “guess.”

He was grinning at your eagerness, composure you were keeping earlier now nowhere to be found.

“Red.”

God. You threaded a hand through his hair and brought him up to kiss you, tongues dancing together messily while your hands urgently moved to take the blindfold off of him.

He cupped your face with both of his hands, taking you away from him so he could finally look at you.

“Fuck me, you look beautiful.” His eyes were moving up and down your body and back to your warming face.

You were the one begging now. “Please, Luca, just touch me.”

He kisses you again, pushing a few strands of hair out of your face. “Whatever you want, gorgeous.”

He was moving his kisses down, kissing over your face, right under your ear, your neck, to your collarbones. One hand leaving your head to trail down to your waist, thumb stroking over the fabric on your hip bone.

You were a mess. Slowly grinding over his thigh, after thinking about this practically all day you could cum just like this.

You were leaving open-mouthed kisses over his neck and shoulders when his hand finally moved where you needed it, leaving soft circles on your clothed clit, tracing his fingers up and down over the wet spot.

You were letting out soft moans now, so close to getting what you need.

You moved your hands lower, grasping at his aching dick through his sweats. Fingers tracing at the waistband,

“Can I take these off?”

“Of course.”

You got up for just a second so he could pull them down and off, throwing them to join his earlier discarded shirt.

You sat back over him, gasping as you felt him through his boxers, only thin layers of fabric separating you.

He knew what you wanted and he needed it just as bad, but after only being able to touch you for so long he wanted to taste you more than anything.

He stopped your movements, grabbing your hips and moving you to lay down on the bed so he could be on top of you.

Mouth open, chest quickly rising up and down with your rushed breaths, he couldn’t believe the sight in front of him.

“My god, you’re perfect.”

“Will you please stop staring at me and do something.”

“I’ll take care of you darling, don’t worry.”

He muttered between kisses, hands cupping your breasts, one of your hands moving back to undo the clasps for him, red lace falling away from you to be discarded next.

“Never get tired of seeing you like this.”

He said, mouth moving down to leave little marks that you’d be seeing in the morning all over your chest. Licking down and over your nipples, large, warm hands following right behind each of his movements.

He kissed down your stomach, stopping every now and then wherever he felt he should leave a mark.

He got to the waistband of your lacy red underwear, hands moving back to grab handfuls of your ass while he kissed over your hips and thighs, smirking into your skin when your breathing got heavier as he got closer to where you wanted him.

He kissed once more on your inner thigh before spreading your legs so he was on his knees between them, one of yours on each side of him. His hands moved back to your waistband, thumbs dipping down into the sides.

He pulled you closer to him and left light kisses over your clothed core, groaning at how wet you are.

“This all for me, baby?” He asked, kissing you again, letting his nose catch over your clit.

You whined at his slow pace.

“Guess.”

He let his tongue peek out for a moment to tease a few moans out of you. Then, he pulled your drenched underwear off of you, another piece added to the pile.

He figured you’d both had enough teasing for tonight, quickly laying down and putting your legs over his shoulders to devour you.

He was moaning into you, tongue lapping at you. One of his hands moving up your thigh to draw slow circles on your clit while the other was guiding your hips to grind further into him.

You couldn’t care less about the sounds you were making but you were sure they were there from the muffled praise between your legs.

“Sound so pretty, love. I got you, just keep making those sweet noises for me.”

God was he good with his mouth. One of your hands was holding his while the other was in his hair, lightly pulling when you wanted a moan out of the man ravishing you.

He moved his tongue up to kiss and lick at your clit while his fingers moved to collect the wetness seeping out of you. You moaned out when he suddenly sunk one of his fingers inside of you, curling it upward, slowly moving it in and out as your eyes closed. You let out a deep sigh you’d been holding since this morning as he worked you up to a second one.

“Shit, Luca- so good, so good for me, bunny. Just like that.”

He was moaning into you and grinding his hips into the bed to try and relieve himself. He could definitely cum like this. Just hearing you praise him like that drove him crazy. He’d pray to you if you asked him to.

His thick fingers were speeding up their strokes, tongue lightly sucking your clit into his mouth, making you gasp. The loud sounds of the slick that was dripping onto the bed warming your face.

“Luca, I’m so close baby, don’t stop.”

He let go of your hand to pull you further into him, your warm thighs surrounding his head.

“Cum for me. Please, make a mess all over my fingers.”

You could barely hear him, so focused on how he felt but the vibrations from his pleading into you along with his warm tongue and the fingers repeatedly hitting that spot inside of you was enough to send you over the edge.

“That’s it, darling, I’ve got you. So perfect for me.”

“The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Sweetest pussy in the world.”

He worked you through it, slowing down his fingers and taking them out once you were grabbing his wrist, leaving you with a quick soft kiss to your clit before moving back up to his knees.

You let out a breath and opened your eyes to him on his knees in front of you, staring at his drenched fingers. He was just as much a mess as you were if not more, boxers barely containing his hard length, flushed cheeks, still wet nose and mouth.

You couldn’t believe you got to see him like this. Big, strong man being used like a toy and he loved it, begged for it.

You blinked yourself out of your head as he put the fingers that just drew an all-day lingering orgasm out of you and into his mouth.

Jesus Christ.

“Fuck, Luca, come here.”

He sucked his fingers clean and moved towards you, you pulled him in for a kiss as you palmed him through his boxers. He was moaning into your mouth, pleading again

“Please, I need you.”

You kept kissing him, mouths sloppily moving together as you pulled his boxers down, the final piece to the pile. He was trying to kiss you back and failing, breathing and moaning into your mouth instead.

“You want me, bunny?”

“God. Please, please, need it.”

You moved your face into his neck, leaving soft kisses and nibbles there as you finally guided him to your entrance. Grinding against him for a moment to get him nice and lubricated for you.

You moaned into his neck, pushing his head further into your own as you slowly sank down on him. He was big, but you were so worked up from all the teasing and your first orgasm that it was easier to take him.

One of his hands was rubbing at your waist, waiting you for to get comfortable before he started moving while the other was cupping your face, bringing you back to press your foreheads against each other.

Tears were threatening to spill from his eyes, too needy to notice, but you did. You waited to move, moving a hand to his face.

“Are you okay, baby, do you want to stop?”

He shook his head quickly and blinked them away,

“No, no I’m okay I just- I love you. ”

You stroked his cheeks with your hands and kissed his nose, then his forehead, and his nose again. He was always so sweet like this, you felt like your heart could burst.

“I love you too.” Another kiss. “So much.”

He leaned down to rest his forehead on your shoulder, slowly starting to move his hips. When you moved your hips with his he started to speed up, whispering praises and promises into your skin, saying your name like a prayer only you could hear.

He knew he’d finish quick after that, moving the hand not supporting himself down to rub soft circles on your still-aching clit.

“Come on baby, cum for me one more time. I’m so close, I want to feel you cum around my dick this time. You got it.”

He whimpered as you clenched down around him, whispering repeated praises into his ear.

“So good for me, so good. Want you to cum for me, bunny.”

“Such a sweet boy.”

He pulled out to cum on your stomach, your warm hand and praises urging him.

He leaned over to the nightstand for some tissues to wipe you off before he laid down on top of you, his face on your chest while you played with his hair.

You gave him a moment, sitting in content silence together before tending to anything else.

“You okay, baby?” You asked, a finger softly tracing over the freckles adorning his nose.

“Im perfect, love.” He kissed your side before moving up to smother your face in them.

He gave one last kiss to your head before getting up to grab a warm towel to clean you off and some glasses of water.

After you were cleaned up and hydrated you grabbed one of Lucas shirts and got up to go to the bathroom. Assessing the marks you’d be seeing for a few days in the mirror as Luca was starting your shower.

“Jesus, look at you.” He said, walking up behind you and placing a kiss on your shoulder.

“All you, baby.”

“Baby? What happened to bunny?” He said, softly laughing and making sure the water temp was just right.

You giggled at that.

“You really like that, don’t you?”

He walked back over to you, moving your hair out of the way to kiss at the marks he left on your neck.

“Guess.” He muttered into your skin, picking you up to get in the shower.

[auggieblogs]

"I hate Economics"

Charles Leclerc x reader

Author's note: For my beloved @flippingmyshit 🦕💗(sorry it took me so long). The concept is similar to the Max fic I did earlier and now I'm genuinely considering doing this for all the drivers because it's so damn cute shgsbshs. Also a fair warning, I might have projected way too much. Yet again.

Also checkout my other works💌

The room was awash with the soft glow of desk lamps, casting dancing shadows on the scattered economics textbooks and notes. Your brows were furrowed in frustration as you flipped through yet another page, trying to make sense of the seemingly endless stream of concepts and formulas. The upcoming economics exam had you on the edge, your nerves frayed from weeks of studying. You couldn't help but regret choosing this subject, feeling like it was swallowing you whole.

Tears welled up in your eyes as the weight of your anxiety pressed down on you, and you crumbled, sinking to the floor amidst the sea of books. It was at this very moment that the door swung open, and Charles walked in, fresh from the gym, his t-shirt clinging to his lean physique.

He froze in his tracks, concern etching across his face as he saw you in distress. "Amor, what's wrong?" He rushed to your side, kneeling beside you, his warm hand gently cupping your cheek.

The sight of Charles, his eyes filled with worry, was the final straw. You couldn't contain your emotions any longer. Your voice quivered as you confessed, "I'm not smart enough for this, Charles. I can't do it. I hate economics. I regret ever studying it."

Charles enveloped you in his warm embrace, cradling your head against his chest. He let you cry, your tears soaking into his shirt, as he gently stroked your hair. "Shh, it's okay. You're not alone in this. I'm here to help you."

After a few moments, he released you slightly, holding your face in his hands. His eyes locked onto yours, filled with determination. "You can do this, baby. Stop stressing out. I will help you study, and you're going to ace this exam."

With a tender smile, Charles lifted you to your feet and led you to the bathroom, his arms never leaving your side. He filled the bathtub with warm water, adding a few drops of your favourite lavender essential oil for relaxation. You slipped into the bath, the warm water embracing your body like a comforting cocoon. Charles joined you, his strong arms wrapping around you as you leaned back against his chest. The tension in your body began to melt away as he peppered your face with soft kisses, reminding you that you weren't alone in this.

After the bath, you felt rejuvenated, both physically and emotionally. Charles wrapped you in a fluffy towel and carried you to the bedroom, laying you down gently on the bed. He sat beside you, running his fingers through your damp hair.

"Feeling better?" he asked, his eyes filled with concern.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Thanks to you, Charles."

He leaned down to kiss your forehead, his lips warm and comforting. "That's what I'm here for, mon amour."

You spent the evening studying with Charles by your side. He joined you at your study table, flipping open your textbook and reviewing notes with you. Between explanations, he peppered your face with sweet kisses, making you giggle despite your stress. He even pulled out a set of flashcards, quizzing you on key concepts.

When both of you started to feel hungry, Charles decided to cook pasta, but as you knew all too well, he wasn't the best chef. You both burst into laughter as he managed to burn the pasta, his pouty expression making him even more funny.

"It's okay, Charlie," you chuckled, shaking your head. "Let's just have something else." You settled for sour patch candies and leftover veggie rolls from the previous night, munching on them while you continued to study.

As the hours passed, you felt the exhaustion creeping up on you like a heavy fog. Your eyelids grew heavy, and despite your best efforts to stay awake, your head began to droop. The weight of the textbooks and the stress of the day finally took their toll, and with a gentle thud, your head came to rest on the study table.

Charles, who had been reviewing notes with you, immediately noticed your peaceful slumber. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of you, your face illuminated by the soft glow of the desk lamp. Gently, he reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch as light as a feather.

He knew you had been working tirelessly, and he admired your dedication. With utmost care, he placed a bookmark in your textbooks, making a mental note of where you left off. He didn't want to disturb your well-deserved rest.

Quietly, he turned off the desk lamp and dimmed the room, leaving only a soft nightlight to illuminate the space. Charles took a moment to watch you sleep, his heart swelling with affection. He couldn't resist leaning down and placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

"get me a damned matcha" | Chapter 3: August I

{{ Chapter 2: July I | Chapter 4: September I }} Chapter Directory

reader is petty and tbh, same. also we get more on reader's backstory now! :D

if you're interested in getting tagged for updates, fill out this form here!

✧ pairing ➼ levi ackermann x fem!reader, college x coffee shop x roommates!au ✧ summary ➼ After you find yourself plagued with misfortune due to struggles in your personal and family life, you find yourself needing to move last minute. As a junior in undergrad with little money and little social support, you considered yourself lucky when you found a sublease that was close to campus and was relatively cheap. Unfortunately, it seemed that your roommate did not seem to be so excited regarding your presence. ✧ content/warnings ➼ fluff, slowburn, enemies to lovers (sorta), strangers to lovers, mentions of family deaths, reader being a little shit, descriptions of reader being superficial (ITS PART OF THE BACKSTORY ILL EXPLAIN LATER ITS FINE) ✧ word count ➼ ~4.4k

It was the first day of class. How today goes will essentially decide your trajectory for the semester. Everything had fallen apart so quickly last semester, which meant  that you wanted to place the utmost importance upon maintaining a good streak. 'No more bad days' is what you continued to tell yourself, even when the days were undoubtedly bad.

All of the problems from last year are resolved. You still have two more years to get everything done. Things will be back on track.

You stared at yourself intensely in the bathroom mirror as you repeated those thoughts to yourself, hoping that you would believe it if you thought it enough times. 

There were still a lot of loose threads in your life: your ex-boyfriend was still floating around, your aunt was still breathing down your neck about your grades, and you still had a stupidly hostile roommate. The only good thing about the last issue was that Levi irritated you more than he made you anxious, which couldn't be said for the other two. You could cope with being irritated. It fed into your stubbornness. 

The anxiety from the other two were much harder to deal with—so you didn't. It was a problem for future you. The only thing you wanted to focus on today was getting to class on time and surviving the day. After that, you just had to repeat the events of today every single day until you graduated. 

Solid plan, you thought to yourself, although you knew that you were just trying to drown yourself in blind positivity at this point. 

You finally came out of the bathroom, looking as chaotic as you felt. Your hair was a mess, your toothbrush was sticking out of your mouth, and you were still in your shorts and oversized t-shirt. You went into your room to grab your phone before locking yourself into the bathroom again. 

Your grumpy roommate was already up, but that wasn't necessarily a good thing. Levi was currently in the kitchenette, making morning tea, hoping that the caffeine will help with the mind fog that was quickly kicking in for him. Mornings generally weren't good for him, usually due to his inability to sleep regularly. While most would feel refreshed in the morning after the typical 8-10 hours of rest, he would find himself tired, grumpy, and unable to focus, which made it so that he couldn't even do work if he wanted to. All he could do at that point was suffer.

Since he was already irritated by default, he found himself scowling to himself as you ran around the apartment in a rush to get to class on time. He was already dreading having to wake up to this every week for 5 days in a row with you making a ruckus. If you were going to be late on your very first day of class, he couldn't imagine the following days being any better. He had no idea how he was going to deal with this all year.

He raised an eyebrow at you as soon as you came out of your bedroom. You seemed like a completely different person. Where there was formerly an oversized t-shirt, there was now a tight-fitting blouse that had open shoulders and would reveal the small of your back if you stretched your arms up. You wore jeans that tightly hugged your curves and looked incredibly uncomfortable.

Levi wasn't one to judge how you dressed or presented yourself, but the sudden change in dress took him aback. He had spent the past two months seeing you every single day. You had made yourself comfortable in his home—he was still reluctant to verbalize the fact that you lived with him now—and he had seen you in those shorts and t-shirts every day, even when you left the house. The only time in which he saw you in dress that was consistent to what he was seeing now was the very first day you met, after getting off the bus that came from your ex-boyfriend's apartment. 

He eyed you as you walked past him, trying not to make it obvious that he was looking at you. Levi could vaguely tell that you were carrying yourself differently—you were more formal, more elegant, and more...fake. 

He could tell that every movement you were making was forced, as if you were fighting against your instincts. He couldn't tell exactly what it was that gave him this impression, but something seemed different. He'd directly ask what was going on if you didn't irritate him so much at baseline. He didn't want unnecessary conversation with you. He just wanted you to leave.

He told himself this, but Levi did still find himself curious as to what was going on behind your psyche. Has the person he had been living with the past two months actually been someone else and was masking? Or was it the other way around? Or was he completely misinterpreting something as simple as a change in fashion style? 

Levi scolded himself for even being this nosey as he watched you pack your bags. It wasn't any of his business. He was just forced to see you every day, so of course he'd be curious about such a drastic change.

You swung your backpack over your shoulder and brushed yourself off, grabbing your phone to place into your back pocket. You barely acknowledged Levi's presence as you walked past him, but you were vaguely able to feel his eyes following you.

You glanced back at him.

"Later, grumpy," you said shortly before leaving and closing the door behind you, grinning to yourself as you visualized the scowl that undoubtedly appeared on Levi's face afterwards.

Levi stared at the front door that was now shut. Any lingering curiosity that he had 30 seconds ago was immediately replaced with irritation.

"Tch," he muttered to himself as he gently picked up his mug of tea. "Good riddance, brat."

~~~~~

You were wholly unprepared. 

Throughout your first two years of undergrad, you had your ex drop you off at the main quad every day, so navigating campus or even knowing the bus routes was never an issue for you. You realized once you got to the bus stop that you had zero clue as to when the next bus would arrive or if you would even get onto the right one.

You had both a maps app and the local bus app pulled up on your phone, constantly refreshing every 10-15 seconds to make sure that you're getting on the right bus. 

You eventually got onto the correct bus line, but that's where your luck ended. You had been standing on the opposite side of the street to where you were supposed to be, so you ended up getting onto a bus that went west instead of east. In your defense, the bus itself was facing east, but you had missed both the flashing sign in front of the bus that said it was the west line and the fact that this particular bus route you chose to take was one of the ones that drove in a circle around the block, which explained why it was facing a different direction once it arrived at your stop. 

You noticed that the bus was driving you further away about two stops into the ride and you immediately panicked and pulled on the wire that indicated the bus driver to stop.

You found yourself frantically pulling up the maps and bus apps again once you got off, cursing at yourself for getting lost on the first day of the semester.

You eventually gave up on trying to figure out the bus system and just ended up walking halfway across campus, trying to ignore the irritating fact that it probably would have been faster just to walk anyway. 

Although it was only by ten minutes, you were still late to class. You were able to arrive before any real discussions began, but it was still late enough that everyone would have noticed. It was a fairly small class that was seated at tables instead of a traditional lecture hall.

Luckily, it was only syllabus week, so you didn't have to worry about any assignment announcements—and you had printed out the syllabus ahead of time—but you were really embarrassed already when you walked in and saw everyone's eyes fall on you. On top of being late, you were fairly certain that you physically looked a mess from being forced to run around on campus for the past 20 minutes.

The class itself was an elective, so you weren't overly stressed about the coursework, but Paradis University was a small university at baseline and your major was even smaller. Everyone knew each other, which made this situation worse for you. On top of the blunder that made up today, everyone also knew of your struggles from the previous semester. They might not have known all the details, but nearly everyone knew that something had happened.

You made eye contact with the professor, who was side-eyeing you from walking in and disrupting his monologue. As you walked further into the room, you made eye contact with the graduate student that was TA-ing the class and gave her an awkward smile. 

Pieck nodded at you to acknowledge you before making a head motion to a table in the back, indicating that you should skip formalities and take a seat before making the professor more grumpy. Professor Magath wasn't a harsh professor by any means, but getting on an instructor's bad side from the very beginning of the semester was something that even you knew was a bad idea.

You slumped into the open seat at the table that both Petra and Oluo—another one of the few classmates that you could call a friend—sat at. You dropped your bag on the floor and had to resist the urge to bury your face in your hands.

Petra gave you an empathetic look and passed you a cup of Matcha from the nearby Starbucks that she picked up for you since she knew that you would be stressed.

You shot her a small smile as you grabbed onto the cup. Your friendship with Petra was on and off, but you at least appreciated her attention to detail whenever you were going through it. 

"It'll get easier with the more days that pass by," she whispered.

The smile fell off your face as you averted your gaze, frowning at an empty spot on the table.

Petra meant well. You knew that—but you were not in the headspace to discuss anything regarding "it" right now. You were in public and just had a rough morning.

"I don't want to talk about it, Petra," you said sternly.

At this point, it's been a little over two years since your parents passed overseas, but you were still struggling to adjust. They were there, and then they suddenly weren't. You remembered it all hitting you like a truck—with the first time being when you first got the bad news and the second time after your somewhat rocky relationship with your ex-boyfriend exploded and all of your emotional walls came crashing down. You thought you were over it, but you clearly weren't. It was more likely that you had used your relationship as a distraction from having to cope with your grief, and that once the relationship ended, you didn't have anything else to hold back all of the turmoil that had been building up inside you.

No one blamed your mental health for going down the drain towards the end of last semester, but it still resulted in unfinished classes and strained friendships. 

You sighed quietly as you tried to calm your nerves, sipping on your drink. 

You found yourself grimacing a little upon tasting the liquid that came into contact with your lips. You were perfectly content with the quality of the matcha tea latte's at Starbucks—until you had a certain barista brew it for you that apparently changed your standards out of the blue.

"You finally getting to murdering your roommate?" Oluo asked.

"I wish," you said with a scoff. "Can't afford the rent."

As you began chuckling to yourself for your snarky comment, you heard someone clear their throat from up front. 

Magath was giving you a disapproving look as he briefly paused in his speech. You were being too talkative and too noisy. 

You sipped on your drink again, turning away from your friends and towards the front in an attempt to avoid getting distracted again. However, given the fact that Magath was discussing the syllabus—which you had read the week prior—you still found yourself zoning out purely due to the lack of interesting information being spouted at you. 

The only thing running through your mind was how annoyed you were at the fact that your first day of class was already kind of a shitshow. Still, you repeated those phrases in your head that you had muttered in the morning: 

All of the problems from last year are resolved. Still have two more years to get everything done. Things will be back on track. Solid plan.

You were determined to make things go well.

By the time you zoned back into reality, class was over and everyone was packing to leave. Petra briefly patted you on the shoulder before heading out the door and Oluo briefly muttered something about being late to your meeting with him later during the day before rushing out.

You immediately began packing your own bag to leave, but you were lagging behind, and resulted in being the last one to leave.

You did another awkward smile at Magath and hoped that he didn't get too bad of a first impression from you. 

As you passed Pieck, she made eye contact with you and then spoke, which prompted you to slow down.

"I'm glad things are picking up for you again, _____," she said softly. "But Magath isn't the type to go easy on you—even if your reasoning is valid—and there are only so many strings I can pull." 

You clenched your jaw at her comment. She was right. It was only because of Pieck and the rapport she had built with the department professors that you had even passed your classes last semester. You hadn't shown up for more than a month and barely got assignments in. You knew it was only by chance that she noticed and reached out to you and it was by some weird stroke of luck that she was able to pull the strings that she did to convince Shadis to give you an incomplete last semester that you'd be able to make up in the summer. 

Although you had Magath this semester instead of Shadis, your situation was undoubtedly known to some extent by everyone in the department, given how small it was.

The more you thought about your situation, the more you felt your face heating up, and the more desperate you became to mask and hide any feelings of frustration that were rapidly approaching. You felt like your heart was jumping out of your throat and that your vision was becoming unfocused. Your hands began to feel clammy and you felt your brain begin to jump into the self-shaming thought spirals.

You really were grateful to Pieck for all the help she had provided you last semester, but you were unsure how much you'd be able to vocalize it right now without breaking down on the spot. As a result, you nodded at her, muttered a quiet thank you, and promptly left the room.

You vaguely heard her speak to you as you left.

"Just remember to reach out when you need it."

~~~~~

While it was a significant day for you with classes finally picking up again, it was a fairly normal and ordinary day for Levi. He made his morning tea, read some papers, went to lab for a few hours, and then came into his shift at the cafe in the afternoon. 

His shift was a bit busier during the late afternoon due to the undergrads beginning school and all deciding to come hang out in the cafe after classes were over, so he was more than ready for Onyankopon to come in and take over his spot at the register. 

He was currently in the awkward layover period in which Nicolo, who was working the morning shift, had already left, but before Onyankopon, who was working the closing shift, had yet to come in. The layover period was only for thirty minutes, but it was still thirty minutes too long. 

On top of having to deal with the annoying undergrads and his problematic roommate, his relationship with Hange and Erwin in lab had slightly soured. It was for no other reason that him not being in the mood to chat with either of them because of the conversation from last month. There was no bad blood or resentment, but Hange's comment regarding his disdain for the undergrads left him tilted and chatting with Erwin only ever involved his graduation progress, which was the last thing he wanted to think about at the moment.

He felt himself getting more and more frustrated and rarely found a moment in which he wasn't on edge because at this point, he literally feels like he doesn't have a safe space. Even when he's at home, he has to deal with you, even if he locks himself in his room most of the time. He couldn't catch a break no matter where he went. 

Levi was able to recognize that he was being hostile towards you and that it wasn't entirely fair, but you were also being a brat towards him. He acknowledged that he probably should have tried to compromise when you approached him two weeks ago, but your behavior since then has destroyed any lingering motivation to make your shared situation any better.

You've been nothing but petty ever since that one day in which he brushed off your attempts to get along with him. You began doing explicit "my space versus your space" behaviors, such as neatly cleaning only half the sink or kitchen or even putting a clear divide between what was yours versus what was his. One of his biggest pet peeves that you've picked up as a habit was that when you did the dishes, you only did your own dishes and left his in a neat pile, unwashed—which killed the purpose of them being stacked neatly as the dishes themselves were still filthy. 

It irked him to no end, but he also told himself that it was ultimately a good thing to keep everything separated. It would increase the chances of you moving out after the school year was over, but that was still around 10-12 months into the future, which gave him a headache to think about.

At this point, he began to wonder if maybe he cooked something that was scented a bit too strongly that made Miche mad and that was why he had to deal with you as a result of some bad karma. 

He found himself sighing in relief when Onyankopon finally walked in through the door. However, that sigh immediately turned into a groan of discontent when he saw you follow promptly behind him. Your figure was significantly smaller than his coworker, so he didn't see you until you were already in the door. 

You were completely distracted by your phone, furiously typing as you walked towards his counter. It didn't look like you did it on purpose, but he couldn't help but wonder if you were purposefully trying to irritate him when you took a seat in front of him at the counter—the same seat you had been sitting at ever since your first day stepping into the café back in June. 

Finally, you looked up and flinched upon seeing Levi, which caused him to raise an eyebrow at you in irritation.

"Shit, I forgot you work today," you grumbled.

Levi grunted, rolled his eyes, and then walked away from you to clean his tea station. 

You squinted at him as he walked away, glaring daggers into his back.

"Wonderful customer service skills as always," you grumbled as you scowled at him.

"Welcome!" a pleasant voice greeted you as you looked up and saw Onyankopon smiling at you as he walked up to the register. "I assume you and Levi know each other?"

"Unfortunately," you mumbled.

You had a shit day at school. Your following classes weren't much better compared to your first one of the day. While seeing Levi here didn't improve your mood in the slightest, you did find yourself coming into the cafe nearly every day. It was a convenient spot and had a good environment to study in—minus Levi, of course.

You eyes darted down to your phone as your screen lit up. Oluo had mentioned that he was going to be late for your planned meeting with him to set up the club you had mentioned to Petra, but he didn't mention just how late he was going to be. You were impatiently waiting for him to respond to your text about it.

"Well, what can I help you with?" Onyankopon asked.

"Matcha tea latte with coconut milk and a shot of espresso would be nice," you said with a smile. You knew that it was an unconventional combination, but you liked the taste.

"Coming right up."

"You're much more pleasant compared to Levi," you mused. "Do they pay you more?"

"They do not," Onyankopon said in an overly professional manner as he chuckled.

"Well, they should," you muttered loudly enough for Levi to hear in the back. You shot a smug grin towards him as your roommate glared at you from his station. 

If it was your goal to piss him off every time he saw you, you were succeeding.

Onyankopon took your card and walked off to enter your drink into the order intake system. 

You pulled out your laptop, opting to get some of the initial set-up done if Oluo was going to force you to wait for him. If your club wanted to operate this semester, you had to get the official paperwork in within the next two weeks. 

As you pulled up the university's student life website, you glanced up towards Onyankopon and saw that Levi handed him your drink before Onyankopon was even able to hand him the sticker indicating what you had ordered. 

As much as Levi chastised you for ordering a Matcha on your very first interaction, it seemed you had become predictable enough for him to immediately know what you were going to order every time. You wondered if you should switch it up occasionally to throw him off. The thought of it brought another smile to your face.

You sipped on it and you shut your eyes as another small smile appeared on your face. This blend was your comfort drink and was much better than the Matcha that Petra had brought you in the morning.

You didn't notice, but Levi was subtly eyeing you from the back as he restocked his station. You pissed him off to no end, but he'd be lying if he didn't at least take some satisfaction in the fact that you enjoyed his version of your comfort drink.

The door to the cafe opened again and two other undergrads walked in and sat next to you. 

Oluo walked in and sat down first, with another upperclassman one year above you that immediately followed after. Gunther had said he wasn't overly interested in being an officer, but you needed a senior representative and he was the most available, so you were able to rope him into it.

Levi was immediately reminded of that subtle discomfort you seemed to be giving off this morning when you had first come out of your room. That same tension appeared in your body posture again as you sat up more "properly" as soon as you started interacting with the two of them. It was overly professional and once again, appeared "fake". He just couldn't understand you. 

He vaguely overheard the three of you discussing the trajectory that your club was supposed to be taking. Levi scoffed to himself at the fact that a simple extracurricular was what you found yourself stressed about. You were incredibly privileged if that was the only thing you had to worry about. 

Levi did notice that although you started the conversation, it seemed more like Oluo and Gunther were leading it. Any idea that you proposed that didn't get immediate agreement from the other two was discarded. You immediately backed down on everything. You wanted an academic component since the club was supposed to be an honors society. They said no, you conceded. You wanted a stricter budget to be able to afford a bigger social outing at the end of the year. They said no, you conceded.

Everything that you said made sense, and even Levi agreed in that he would prefer the activities you mentioned over whatever garbage Oluo was proposing, such as a social for stupid things like Valentine's day or Thirsty Thursday. 

It irritated Levi even more that you didn't fight for your ideas in the slightest. You were letting both of them walk all over your club. He subtly squinted at you, watching your movements with them.

It wasn't a people pleaser thing, he could tell that much. It was more like you didn't really know how to navigate asserting your own opinions or desires, which was ironic. The person in front of him was not the person he had been coming home to every night.

Levi wasn't the type to be outwardly social, but he knew how to read people. That's how he was able to tell that this wasn't something as simple as being a people pleaser.

It was a lack of self-respect. He was able to see that even without full context over what was happening. The fact that you were different in front of him irked him even more.

He could not possibly think of a worse person to be forced to be around. 

He had hoped that he would have had a better day after leaving lab and coming in to have a mindless shift at the café, but the only thing he was feeling was his mood rapidly declining the minute you stepped into the door.

#: @levisbrat25 @gothgril69 @sckerman @berrijam @notgoodforlife @meowjaa @averysmolbear @roseofdarknessblog @bejewelledd @hhighkey @ayame236 @sad-darksoul @velouria17 @kamyru @l1zk4 @layenacreates @lamees004

[clonerightsagenda]

Sick

We're most of the way through disability pride month and I'm not sure if I'll ever finish this WIP because I'm stuck over how literal to make some of the elements. So, I am posting it because I am curious if any of the weirdness resonates with other people. Enjoy my magical disability cure codependent haunting thing, and also I am going to post a rambling author's note about it.

The morning after the surgery, your Sick is sitting at the kitchen table. It looks good, for a corpse. It’s wearing the ‘I love dying and being dead’ t-shirt you joked about buying two diagnoses ago, pulled over a laced-shut hospital gown.

“What?” it asks. “You had more of a sense of humor when you were sick.”

The doctors warned you that your neurochemistry might be out of balance. You’re adjusting to the sudden lifting of brain fog after moving through the world in a protective cocoon of pharmaceuticals. They didn’t mention hallucinations.

“Think of me like a phantom limb.” Your Sick sips one of those awful plant-based protein drinks that still lurk in the back of your pantry. “Why did you do it?”

Talking to hallucinations probably makes them worse. You do it anyway. “You were killing me.”

“This world is killing you. But you finished yourself off first.”

You sit down across from it in one effortless motion. “That’s not what happened.”

“Right. I’m the enemy. So it doesn’t matter if I’m rotting at the bottom of a biohazard bin.” It considers you. “What’s it like not to hurt?”

What is it like? You’d woken up and lain there for a while, waiting. “Like holding my breath.”

“You’re in charge of all that now.” It nods, the motion referencing the length of your body. “Need to stay on top of it.”

“Like I need advice from you,” you say, but you blink, and the phantom’s gone.

60,000 pieces of microplastic. 7.2 micrograms per liter of per- and polyfluoroalkyl substances. 1:640 antinuclear antibody titer.

That's what they peel you out of. A second nervous system of petroleum products and misfiring T cells, the stuff that's been running your life via mob rule for a decade. They tell you that you weigh five grams less now.

They tell you, don't be surprised if at first it feels like something is missing.

I thought that was just for rich people, your friend says. She messaged you to remind you to take your meds, and you told her that you would never have to take your meds again. Celebrities and politicians.

Work decided it was cheaper to fix me than replace me, you message back. Score one for being essential.

Perks of your top-secret job.

I promise it's boring. Critical infrastructure usually is.

Did you look?

Some people share post-op pictures. They’re usually underwhelming if you don’t know what to look for - the subtle swelling over an aggravated nerve, hints of boniness in the knuckles. Shadows of bruises that never go away. No. I should’ve, though. I asked for hospital socks when they were prepping me but then obviously after I didn’t have them anymore. Who knows if I’ll get another chance.

You might be finished with surgeries forever and you’re disappointed because you can’t get any more grippy socks.

I'll miss the warm blankets too.

Your Sick crawled inside you when you were nineteen years old. It wouldn’t let you get out of bed.

“Help,” it croaked.

Your roommate (only your roommate then) came the second time it called. She was in her pajamas, her hair a dark tangle. You never asked for her help, even when your hands got so sore you couldn’t open jars without five minutes of struggle. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t feel right,” it said.

Her face softened. “I thought you looked rough yesterday. I don’t have class this morning; do you want me to make something? Call anybody?”

No, you tried to say. I can handle it.

“I think I need to go to the doctor,” your Sick said instead.

You had been putting it off. The doctor meant admitting something was wrong, meant – most importantly – a $30 copay. But healthy people never understand when you try to tell them. At a certain point, your body stops being yours.

Your Sick turned up its nose at greasy slices of campus pizza. It politely but firmly refused invitations for a night out. It sanded the branching tree of your life into a wooden sphere it could cup in the palm of its hand.

“You’re ruining my life,” you told the mirror.

It tilted your head. You read your own confusion. “I’m protecting you.”

“Mask,” your Sick says from behind you. It looks worse today – skin gone gray and patchy, with a shimmer of microplastic shards risen to the surface like body glitter. The shine complements the sequined mask secured over its own face.

You scowl, bag swung over one shoulder. You haven’t gone out since the surgery – you can work from home, you haven’t canceled grocery delivery yet – and now that you’re venturing through your front door, the phantom is back. You had reached for one of the masks on the table by the door before dropping it back into the bowl. “I don’t need it now.”

“So respiratory diseases don’t exist anymore? Dumbass.”

The objection reminds you of your own aggrieved complaints: why don’t people plan events with us in mind, don’t they know how many people there are with immune systems one shove away from collapsing, the world’s not getting any safer.

That was your Sick talking. You don’t have to worry anymore.

“You weren’t doing a good job taking care of me before, and you’re not doing a good job of it now.”

Its eyebrows rise. Black liquid has seeped through the cloth of its mask. “And fuck everyone else like you?”

“Like you,” you say, and slam the door in its face.

Outside, the breeze brushes your cheeks. You don’t have to sit down because you miscalculated the balance of meds and breakfast. You start to scan your surroundings for bathrooms, just in case, and then dismiss the impulse because you’re fine.

You’re better than that.

Three hours in, you realize you’ve been curling your fingers into a fist and then opening them again. You only notice because the joints start to ache. It feels familiar.

Nothing else does.

A notification flashes in the corner of your screen. There’s new activity in one of the forum conversations you’ve been following.

It’s rich people doing what they always do. Wreck the planet? It’s fine, we can get a new one! Wreck your body? It’s fine, we can get a new one of that too. There’s no incentive to improve the situation if you can buy your way out of the problem.

I’d buy my way out too, but there’s no way I could afford it

Then you’d eat your first plastic salad and get sick again. See what I mean?

The new ones are supposed to be more resilient

But it’s not yours

Remember any theological debates go in the quarantine thread

I don’t mean it like that. I just think you’re interfering with your relationship with your body, and that’s a fundamental part of who you are, right? Whether or not a s*ul exists

There’s not a bot monitoring this thread. You don’t have to censor it.

Sorry, habit

Mod is human, asterisks don’t stop me. But they are a screenreader issue, so please edit your post.

You used to frequent disability forums. They had useful resources. Jokes, too, like the t-shirt your Sick wears over its hospital gown. But you can’t understand the people who embrace their disfunction. You took a time-honored approach to your medical misfortune. Cancer. Pregnancy. Demonic possession. Petrochemicals. There is something inside me, and I want it out.

These people helped you, but you don’t need them anymore. So instead of saying anything, you log off the forum for the last time.

You do tell your coworkers, who are excited for you. They pester you with questions over Slack: How long did it take? Did you look? Does it hurt?

Your boss messages you, When can you come back to the office?

You frown at the screen. The work you’ve been doing from home is good – better than what you’ve produced for years now that your head is clear. But your boss has always been old fashioned. Remote work was a concession that there’s no justification for now.

Monday, if you want, you type back.

That gets you an immediate thumbs up reaction, followed by, We’re all so glad you’re ok.

That chafes you in a spot rubbed raw. Everyone assumes once the problem they know about has been addressed, everything else must be resolved too. You must be ok.

Which you are, this time.

Your best friend comes to visit. She brings beers you couldn’t drink with your meds and a greasy pizza that settles in your stomach like a snake planning to strike later. It tastes amazing – you run your tongue over your teeth to capture the last traces of salty richness and tell yourself next time your body will recognize good food.

She’s spent the whole visit on your sofa. You have an air mattress from when she used to sleep on your floor while you were recovering from surgeries. She hasn’t asked you to bring it out, and you’re not sure how to ask if she’s staying. Instead you keep stealing glances at her, the curve of her cheek that’s the first thing you’d see when you looked over the side of your bed in the middle of the night, the hands that have held your hair back from the toilet bowl and now rest on her lap.

She keeps looking at you too. You wonder if she sees a difference.

After the silence and sidelong glances build into an itchy layer on your skin, you lean over, clutch the front of her shirt, and kiss her. She freezes and then kisses you back, gingerly, the way you'd investigate an unexpected bruise. There’s pizza grease on both your lips. Rich and unfamiliar.

You’re the one who pulls away. "I'm sorry," you say. "That's not what I want."

She’s stiff under her softness, like an examination table. "I didn’t think so. I didn't think you did that kind of thing."

You don’t. It’s the silence. Your empty floor. Her hands, resting on her lap. "I just thought…” you try. “That kind of closeness is enough for everyone else."

Your fingers are still clenched in her shirt. She looks at them until you untangle them, one by one. The knuckles don’t ache.

She shakes her head. "It's like you don't want to be better."

“That went well,” your Sick says after the door swings shut.

“It’s your fault.”

It tilts its head on a neck that’s looser than it should be. “I didn’t do anything.”

It’s right. When you were sick you could request a shoulder rub to loosen tight muscles or hike up your shirt, no seduction, no bullshit, to ask if that rash looked bad. You could open your mouth and let the truth of your predicament outweigh prudishness or shame.

You don’t know how to ask people to touch you anymore.

It leans in close. “You need me,” it says. Oil bubbles over its lips and slicks its chin. “I was always your excuse.”

That weekend you watch your phone sit silent on the table, no pings from forum posts or medication reminders. Your Sick drifts over. It’s no longer a rotting corpse leaking garbage. It looks dead in the way you used to whenever you looked in the mirror.

Wherever it is in the real world, it doesn’t look like that anymore. From what you remember from the booklets they gave you, it’s already gone.

“Not going to explain yourself, huh?” asks your hallucination. Your haunting.

You shrug. What would you say to her? I took away the foundation of my life and don’t know what’s underneath. You only started being my friend when I needed help, so what’s left for us? There was always another medication or appointment or symptom but now everything’s fine and I’m still holding my breath.

You’ve gotten used to letting someone else talk for you.

“I was killing you,” it says.

That’s what you said. You look at the lines around its eyes and imagine a billion tiny swords raised against invaders that poured in every time you took a breath to light your joints up with friendly fire. “You were protecting me.”

“I was the worst part of you.”

“You were.” You flex your perfect, painless fingers. “Do I miss it?”

It grins and leans against the back of your chair, wrapping chilly arms around your waist. “I just wanted to make you say it.”

The grip around your belly aches in a way you recognize. Dull pain that makes its home in you. Cozy as curling up in bed with a headache. You look back at your silent phone. “Which one of us did she come here for?”

“Only one way to find out.”

You could reach out, but you don’t move. You have never known how to ask for help.

Your Sick sighs. It loosens its grip and reaches over your shoulder to lace corpse-cool fingers between yours. Then it lifts your combined hands in a swoop like the first dose of anesthesia, when the orderlies wheel you away and everything is out of your control. “Come on,” she says. Her breath is a puff of disinfectant on your cheek. “Let’s do it like we used to.”

After you came out of the anesthesia, the surgeons asked if you wanted to see your old body. You said no. You’d spent long enough inside it – it was something you wanted to leave behind. Besides, even after all the pamphlets and counseling sessions, you worried seeing your vacant face would jar something loose. Convince you like those cranks on the disability forums that you’d severed a connection that was irrevocable.  

If you could do it again, you’d say yes. Step inside the morgue – no, they wouldn’t have moved it to the morgue yet, they’d want you to have a better venue to say goodbye – and catalogue the subtle changes only you could see. The swollen knuckles, flushed cheeks. All the other differences locked inside.

You imagine bending down and lifting the body the way it lifted you once, cradling its head in the crook of your arm. Imagine kissing your Sick and feeling poisonous tendrils creep down your throat to coat your insides with grime.

You imagine saying, welcome home.

(Author's note)

[dk-thrive]

That which takes wing inside us must come to perch, but that which takes flight in fog and storm grows lost.

Sometime in 1993, as I walked along a street in my hometown, Carndonagh, County Donegal, Ireland, a car pulled up alongside me, triggering sudden dread. The window came down, and I was met by the dark, inquisitory eyes of my father.

“Why aren’t you at Mass?” he asked.

I see myself, fierce and lean in a Slayer T-shirt, bristling with the rage of the nihilist. I longed to escape the claustrophobic small town and the towering shadow of the Catholic Church. For once I was impelled to tell the truth. “Look,” I said, “I have no faith. I don’t believe in God anymore and can’t go on with the pretense.”

I was met with an imprisoning silence. But what my father said next astonished me. “OK,” he replied. “Just don’t tell your mother.”

But that young atheist soon recognized his error. Where there is human being, there is human spirit. The feeling of aliveness. The staggering complexity of personhood. The fundamental dignity that each person seeks in a cosmos that cannot know them. And where there is human spirit, there is the pursuit of meaning. If you live in a post-faith world, as many of us do, the question of our intrinsic meaning must be confronted. How are we to define our suffering? What might give our lives significance within an unresponsive universe? To begin this conversation, one must truly encounter the self. [...]

The essential self is calling always for our attention, but its voice is stifled by the slam and tumult of modern life. Its voice cannot be heard amid the babel, and it is silenced entirely before the infinite scroll of the smartphone. I have been meditating for one-third of my life, and this essential self seems to me an aspect of mind that is somehow higher, wheeling soundlessly in a private sky. You must stop and look up in order to find it, although in times of crisis it has been known to swoop down and hoist you off your feet with its talons. [...]

Today, life lived on the hamster wheel of distraction has created an absurdity within the grand absurdity of existence. Many people live with partial minds not even conscious of the problem of meaning. We are no longer alienated from the world, but alienated from ourselves. We should beware a culture that has exchanged meaning for information. When conversation with the essential self grows silent, pathology is invited in. We slouch about at a loss for something we cannot quite explain. A malaise sets in that is despair without the knowledge of despair. Some unseen, unaccountable pain must be assuaged and we grow consumed by anger and cast about for blame. The irrational erupts from within and seeks a target in society. The shadow of the irrational is now everywhere about us. [...]

That which takes wing inside us must come to perch, but that which takes flight in fog and storm grows lost. Deep beneath the vast economic and political failings of our age there lies a spiritual crisis, a tectonic shift beginning to quake and tear at the bedrock of our ethical societies in the West. The modern age has created a religious problem that can no longer be answered by religion, nor can it be addressed by the current faith in techno-science. We live in an age that fears silence and does not contemplate the true cost of this fear.

— Paul Lynch, from "When We Fear Silence, We Abandon the Self. The constant distractions of modern life have become an excuse to avoid the search for meaning." (NY Times, June 12, 2024)

[blxxditout]

Day 10: What does your muse look like? Did anything inspire his looks? From your secret Santa

He has a description in his segment of my google doc, and I've drawn him a handful of times, but I've yet to make a full ref of him. I'll go ahead and lovingly describe him again since his appearance is something that I really like about him. Putting that under the cut though. For inspiration, I'd say that Robert Pattinson was definitely kept in mind. I really liked his face, but I couldn't see it for Sid, nor could I imagine him portraying my character. Face claims are hard, especially when your character looks a specific way that doesn't align with your mental image of the muse. In spite of that and what I've been told though, Simon Henriksson from Cry of Fear wasn't taken into account despite the comparisons that could be made about their characters.

I did want him to vaguely look like a hunter from Left 4 Dead though, since originally he was going to be a zombie.

He is a tall, pale man, as sickly as a corpse but life still persists through him somehow. It couldn't be fathomed with how dull his skin looked besides the norm of a healthy glow. His eyes are sunken are the results of sleepless nights, and days spent rotting away in the dark of his room, though there is something that is unsettling about them. They're nearly unnatural with how light they are, nearing a silver while retaining a hint of blue. They say he has his father's eyes, but they were never this light, a testament of the horrific act that was done unto him by his partner. Even so, it is rare of him to express such through the windows of his soul, as it is often that they are curtained by the black mop atop his head.

His hair is a mess, perpetual bedhead that never bothered to be tamed. It curls slightly, with bangs framing his face to try to draw attention away from his striking eyes. Sid doesn't bother with his hair much, unless it's a hot day or irritating him. What he tends to wear doesn't change often, unless the Entity or someone else has bestowed upon him a new choice of attire, anything would be better than the bland clothes he likes to default to. That being said, his usual choice happens to be: a grey hoodie, black t-shirt, khaki cargo pants, and worn black sneakers. He prefers to dress for comfort rather than to dress formally, there isn't anyone he's trying to impress anymore, or would care to... save for a small few.

General appearances aside, he has a few finer details to his character that is rarely ever brought up. He has a prominent scar over his heart, taking the shape of a half of a heart(ironically) from when he was stabbed by Selene. The hair on his chest has stopped growing around there. His nails are also permanently black since he's reanimated. Even while being brought to the Fog, he still died, and I thought that it'd be neat of him to have. While his abilities are essentially non-existent save for his premonitions of the supernatural(dark sense/spine chill, etc.), he still has Scythe buried in his heart. If a killer stabs him there, they have a chance of hitting it, but they won't ever be able to physically retrieve it(he's not a kinder egg.)

Everything that I've explained here doesn't differentiate much from what I already have listed in his sheet, which is already pretty descriptive enough. Plus I have some other body headcanons: like how his teeth were made sharper upon being revived, or how he has stretchmarks on his stomach and arms. The little changes about his person from when he was alive compared to when he died/got brought back were very subtle, but they're a joy to describe. Regardless, when designing him, I didn't want to do anything grand with his character because he's not meant to be stylized. His whole point is that he was a normal guy, and then his whole life got flipped on his head. As he develops, he's bound to change and have more added onto his character, but as I see him now he is a perfect representation of what I wanted him to be.

[cflight]

ekira and sophie!! :3

send a ship & I will answer.... | accepting

Who is a night owl:

I would say Ekira! they’re not one to sleep (unless, well, they’re forced to, in which I can definitely imagine Sophie dragging them to bed) but Sophie definitely prefers to sleep early so she can get more work done in the morning. Ekira… stays up due to not wanting to experience another nightmare.

Who is a morning person:

Sophie! Ekira also tends to get up to get up pretty early, but it’s sophie who’s up just a little earlier than Ekira. They both end up spending the morning together with breakfast and cleaning though!

Are they cuddlers:

Ekira more so than Sophie— they’re incredibly affectionate and will absolutely make themselves known about it. Sophie, less so— but they don’t mind cuddling up to what’s essentially an additional blanket.

Who is the big spoon:

Sophie! Ekira prefers to be the little spoon most of the time, but they don’t mind being the big spoon if Sophie comes to want it!

Who is the little spoon:

Ekira! They love the closeness it brings.

What is their favourite sleeping position:

Fetal!

Who steals all the blankets:

Ekira!

What they wear to bed:

I imagine Sophie would wear a simple set of pajamas or nightgown— Ekira usually sleeps with a t-shirt and boxers, or nude.

Who likes seeing the other wearing their t-shirt:

Sophie doesn’t necessarily like it, but she certainly wouldn’t admit she loves seeing Ekira in her big baggy dresses or aprons (that they steal so frequently).

Who falls asleep mid-conversation:

Sophie! She works so hard, Ekira just allows her to nap (and ends up sleeping alongside her).

Who wakes up in the middle of the night with nightmares:

Ekira!

Who accidentally punched the other in their sleep:

Ekira!

Who can’t keep their hands to themself:

Ekira, definitely— they’re very pda.

Who said “I love you” first:

Surprisingly, Sophie! It took her quite a bit of confidence to finally say it, but it was her who finally confessed— Ekira was the one who ended up being a bit too shy to admit it.

Who would have the other’s picture as their phone background:

Ekira!

Who leaves notes written in fog on the bathroom mirror:

Ekira!

Who buys the other cheesy gifts:

Ekira!

Who initiated the first kiss:

Sophie!

Who kisses the other awake in the morning:

Ekira!

Who starts tickle fights:

Sophie! Ekira always ends up losing.

Who asks who if they can join the other in the shower:

Ekira!

Who surprises the other in the middle of the day at work with lunch:

Sophie!

Who was nervous and shy on the first date:

Ekira, surprisingly!

Who kills/takes out the spiders:

Sophie! They don’t kill them, but take them outside.

Who loudly proclaims their love when they’re drunk:

Ekira! They’re very affectionate when they’re drunk.

[fearofgodessentialshoodie]

We always provide our customers with products they might use multiple times over the years because the outfits from our brand keep their shine the same after numerous washes. Here are some excellent essentials t-shirts available in our store.

[essentialshoode]

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[chesterfieldblossom]

TOUGH Logan Howlett + Reader (2.3K words)

SUMMARY | A storm is approaching, so you and Logan decide to hide in his cabin, waiting for the end of it. RATING | Teen + WARNINGS | Sexual tension, fluffy Logan, wearing his clothes

A storm is barreling in, a menacing force of nature. You and Logan had set out earlier for a peaceful hike near his cabin, but the sky darkened ominously and rain began to pour, drenching you both as you rushed back. The wind howls and distant thunder rolls, chilling you to the bone.

Logan stands in the doorway, his powerful frame filling the space. The storm rages behind him, but his presence is a comforting anchor.

"Get inside," he calls out over the roar of the tempest, a little hay firmly gripped between his teeth. "You’ll freeze to death out there."

You share a close friendship with Logan, so the concern in his voice feels like a warm embrace despite the storm.

"Thanks." You reply, your voice shaky as you hurry into the cabin, escaping the fierce rain.

"No problem." He grunts, his gaze following you as you slip inside and he shuts the door against the storm. He throws the hay away.

The cabin is small and rustic but exudes a cozy charm, with warmth emanating from the crackling wood stove. The air is thick with the comforting scents of wood smoke and musk.

"You’re soaked through," Logan observes, his eyes scanning you from head to toe.

You glance down, realizing how drenched your shirt and jeans are. You draw a deep breath, feeling the chill.

"It’s okay. I’ll just sit by the fire and dry off." You say, sensing his concerned gaze.

"You’ll catch a cold if you stay in those wet clothes," Logan says firmly, his voice brooking no argument. He steps closer, offering you a large towel, oversized sweatpants, and a t-shirt that dwarfs you. "Change into these." He orders and you obey.

You nod gratefully, accepting the clothes and towel, their warm, earthy scent a reminder of Logan's presence.

"Can I use the bathroom to change?" You ask, clutching the items to your chest.

"Yeah, it’s down the hall," he replies, pointing towards a narrow corridor. The bathroom is small but tidy, with the essentials—shower, toilet, and sink. "Help yourself to anything in there—shampoo, soap, whatever you need." He calls through the door.

You smile, feeling the warmth of his care as you make your way to the bathroom, ready to shed the cold and damp and embrace the comfort of his home.

“Thanks.” You say warmly before stepping into the bathroom. As you close the door, Logan mutters something under his breath. He turns his attention back to the wood stove, adding another log and stirring the flames to life. The air is filled with the scent of his soap and shampoo, mingling with the rich aroma of burning wood.

You decide on a quick shower to warm up. Turning on the water, you revel in the soothing warmth as it streams through your fingers. You shed your drenched clothes and step into the shower, the hot water enveloping you in a comforting embrace. The steam rises, fogging up the small mirror above the sink.

Outside the bathroom, Logan listens to the muffled rush of water, his imagination wandering to what you must look like under the cascade. He can't help but wonder how you appear, the water slicking down your bare skin.

You finish your shower quickly, savoring the fragrance of his shampoo and soap. You close your eyes, enjoying the lingering scent as you wash away the chill. Turning off the shower, you dry off and put on his oversized clothes. The sweatpants hang loosely around your hips, and the shirt swamps your frame, the collar slipping off one shoulder.

Emerging from the bathroom, you’re enveloped once more by the comforting scents of woodsmoke and musk.

“Feelin' better?” Logan’s voice is both curious and warm as his eyes linger on you, particularly the bare skin of your shoulder.

“Much better.” You reply with a chuckle, making your way to the fireplace. You hold your hands out to the flickering flames, warming them.

“Good.” He grunts, watching you with a hint of admiration as you approach the fire.

Logan’s gaze lingers on the way the shirt hangs off you and the way the sweatpants ride low on your hips. His eyes trace the exposed skin of your shoulder, and he can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to touch you, to run his rough fingers over that tender skin.

“So…” you begin softly, breaking the charged silence. “How about we watch a movie?” You suggest, feeling the tension between you.

“Yeah, sure.” he replies, his voice gruff but intrigued.

He grabs the remote from the cluttered coffee table and collapses onto the old, worn couch in front of the fire. He pats the space beside him, inviting you to sit.

You smile and settle next to him, curling up and hugging your legs.

The couch is creaky but surprisingly comfortable. Logan turns on the TV, the screen’s glow mingling with the firelight, casting a warm, flickering light around the room.

He flips through channels, finally landing on a late-night horror film.

You roll your eyes, a playful exasperation in your expression. "Of course, you picked a horror movie."

“What’s the matter?” Logan grunts, catching your eye roll. “You scared?”

“Not at all.” you reply, narrowing your eyes at him and trying not to grin.

“Sure, you’re not.” he retorts, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Logan leans back into the couch, his arm casually draped across the back cushions behind you.

“But if you get scared, don’t go clutching onto me.” He teases. Damn.

“Don’t worry about that. It’s not going to happen.” You scoff, sinking deeper into the couch.

“We’ll see about that.” He murmurs, his gaze fixed on the screen but his attention also on you.

The film unfolds with all the usual clichés—an unsuspecting group of teens exploring a dark, abandoned house while a demonic killer lurks.

As the movie progresses, Logan steals occasional glances in your direction, keenly observing your reactions.

Despite your efforts to stay composed, Logan can see the tension in your body. Your lips are parted, and your fingers clutch the old sofa tightly.

He can hear the quickening beat of your heart, and a smirk tugs at his lips.

“You’re scared.” He says, his voice a low rumble of amusement.

“I’m not.” you insist, your voice breathless as your eyes remain glued to the screen. A slightly frown forms on your forehead.

“Really?” Logan chuckles, shifting closer on the couch and narrowing the gap between you. His eyes twinkle with mischief as he observes your reactions. “Your heart’s racing, and you’re clutching that sofa like it’s your lifeline.”

“Are you watching me or the movie?” You retort, trying to mask your nerves.

“Both.” He smirks, his gaze flitting between the flickering screen and your tense form. He takes in the way your chest rises and falls with each quick breath, the way your lips part, and the way your heartbeat seems to echo in the quiet.

“And your heart’s pounding like a drum.” He chuckles, his eyes lingering on you with a mix of amusement and curiosity.

You glance sideways at him, a flush of embarrassment creeping up your cheeks as you chew on your lip.

“Admit it.” He prods, his tone playful yet insistent. “You’re scared of the movie.”

He inches even closer, his broad chest brushing against your shoulder, sending a jolt through you.

“I—” Your voice falters, unable to form coherent words as you feel the warmth of his chest pressed against you.

Logan’s grin widens, feeling your breath catch in your throat as he closes the distance between you. He leans in, his chin brushing against your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your neck.

“Go on, what were you saying?” He murmurs, his voice a tantalizing whisper.

Jesus Christ, you think, gulping as the proximity makes your heart race even faster.

“That I’m not scared.” You manage to mumble, your voice quivering like a frightened puppy. The warmth of his breath against your ear sends tingles down your spine.

“You’re a terrible liar.” He whispers, his voice low and rough. His body shifts even closer, the heat radiating from him mingling with your own.

“And you smell incredible.” You confess without thinking, your voice barely a whisper. Your eyes meet his, wide and slightly startled.

Logan’s grin grows broader, his hand brushing against your arm, sending an electric thrill through your skin.

“You think so?” He asks, his voice still hushed and throaty.

“I do.” You nod softly, feeling an intense longing.

“Careful.” He purrs, sensing the rising tension. He angles his body towards you, his chest and thighs pressing against your side. His hand, resting on the back of the couch, trails up your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

You find yourself momentarily breathless, overwhelmed by the closeness. The sensation of his body pressed against yours makes you feel dizzy, and you cling to the couch, your pulse racing. Logan’s hand continues its slow journey up your arm, his touch electrifying. You can feel the heat radiating off him, mingling with your own, creating a charged space between you. The flickering light from the TV dances across his face, highlighting the intensity in his eyes.

Your breath comes in short, uneven bursts, every inhale sharp and shaky as the tension mounts. The world outside the cabin seems to blur, leaving only the two of you in this cocoon of warmth and desire.

“Logan,” you whisper, the word barely escaping your lips. Your eyes glued on the screen now.

His gaze softens slightly, and he leans in closer, his lips brushing gently against your ear as he speaks. “What is it?”

The proximity makes your heart race even faster, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. You tilt your head slightly, your lips brushing against his as you respond, “I—”

Your words trail off as you close the final gap between you, your lips finding his in a tentative, lingering kiss. It starts gentle, exploratory, a soft mingling of warmth and affection. But as the seconds stretch, the kiss deepens, fueled by the rising intensity between you.

Logan’s hand moves to cradle your face, his thumb gently caressing your cheek as he kisses you with a slow, deliberate passion. The world outside fades completely, leaving only the sensation of his lips against yours, the taste of him, the feel of his body pressed against yours.

When you finally pull away, breathless and flushed, Logan’s eyes are locked onto yours, his expression a mix of tenderness and longing. The quiet of the cabin wraps around you both, the storm outside a distant echo to the moment you’ve shared.

You smile softly, your heart still racing, feeling both exhilarated and comforted by the kiss. Logan’s gaze softens, and he rests his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your face.

“You okay?” he murmurs, his voice a gentle whisper.

“Yeah,” you reply, your voice just as soft. “I’m more than okay.”

With that, Logan’s smile widens, and he pulls you close again, his arm draped around you as you both settle back into the couch. The TV continues to flicker in the background, but it’s now a mere backdrop to the warmth and connection that fills the space between you.

“You know,” He begins, his voice low and filled with warmth, “this storm outside… it’s kind of perfect.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Perfect for what?”

He smirks, his thumb gently brushing your cheek. “For something a little more… spontaneous.”

Logan's gaze drifts from the flickering flames to your face, his eyes dark with unspoken desire. He leans in slowly, each movement deliberate, his breath warm against your skin. The intensity of his stare makes your heart race, and the world outside seems to fade into a distant, forgotten echo.

With a tender yet urgent touch, Logan brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek. His lips hover near yours, teasingly close. The air between you crackles with electric tension, each heartbeat louder than the storm’s fury.

“Do you feel it?” He whispers, his voice low and husky. “The way everything feels like it’s on the edge?”

You nod, your breath catching in your throat. Logan’s lips finally meet yours in a kiss that is both fierce and tender, a collision of passion and longing. The kiss starts slow, a gentle exploration that deepens as the firelight glows hotter, mirroring the heat between you. His hands cradle your face, pulling you closer, his touch sending shivers through your body.

The kiss intensifies, becoming a fevered dance of lips and tongues, each movement more urgent than the last. The storm outside rages on, but inside, you’re enveloped in a shared warm intensity. Logan’s hands slide to your back, pulling you firmly against him, his embrace a promise of closeness and connection.

As the night deepens and the storm’s fury fades to a distant murmur, Logan wraps you in his arms, holding you close with a tender, protective embrace. His touch is a gentle caress, his hands and lips drifting across your skin in soft, teasing strokes, each contact a whisper of affection that stirs a sweet, lingering heat between you.

You revel in the comfort of his closeness, the warmth of his body melding with yours as you nestle into him. The intensity of the evening’s moments gives way to a soothing tranquility, and the rhythmic rise and fall of his breath becomes a lullaby.

Exhausted from the hike and the emotional whirlwind, you drift into a peaceful slumber on the couch, drowned in the warmth of the fire and the soothing cadence of Logan’s presence. As you succumb to the gentle embrace of sleep, the storm outside becomes a distant, comforting backdrop to the serene, intimate world you’ve found together.