#writing challenge day 18

[noa-de-cajou]

Day 18 : One of them is sick / Cooking / Hugs

Lycarn belongs to @hel-phoenyx , Agathe to @thal-ent and Ai to @corneille-but-not-the-author

_____

My palm presses itself against a forehead. Burning hot. The second one gives me the same result.

“Well, no doubt about it, you two are definitely sick.”

Lycarn groans, Agathe pouts. Both of them are sitting on a bed in the harem, faces beet-red. I felt it as soon as I came in, the acid smell of sweat, characteristic of sickness, then I found my wives entangled on the mattress and unable to get up. Behind me, Ai clears her throat.

“Is it severe?”

I shake my head. They’re not siffling, their lymph nodes aren’t swollen, their throats are only a little irritated.

“Nah, mostly just a strong fever. Meaning…”

I try to look firm. Damn it, why is it so much easier with the kids…

“Today, you two need to rest. Doctor’s orders.”

Lycarn falls directly onto the mattress with a tiny little noise of protest. With her black mage condition, she's used to being sick, I'm used to taking care of her, no biggie.

Agathe, however, seems a little puzzled. She attempts to get up, but her limp wings glue her to the bed. Yeah, honey, if you don't even have the strenght to lift your wings, just how do you intend to stand?

“Agathe, lay down.”

“But… The girls…”

Kalerich, who remained silent up until know, raises a hand.

“I'll take care of them for today. If you’ll let me.”

That's my man. Agathe doesn't look convinced, but it’s not like she has a choice. I push her gently and she falls on her side, right on the mattress. Both her and Lycarn are absolutely cooked.

Speaking of cooked, I should probably whip something up for them. Something light, soup, maybe? Or mashed vegetables. I’d love to make minced meat for Lyc, but, eh, me and meat-

A hand pats my shoulder. Right. I’m getting carried away in my own thoughts again. Ai is looking at me, a worried expression on her beautiful face.

“Ether, will it be okay? I can summon a healer if needed.”

I shake my head, gently caress her cheek.

“It’s fine. Nothing I haven't seen before.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Oh. Right.

It’s true that I've been… well, simply put, my health has been shit since we came back from Wuqi. Migraines, worsened chronic pains, insomnias and hypersomnias, fatigue, the whole package. Which sucks ass when you're the imperial physician and a mom of three. But I've been feeling better these last few days, so… Eh, should be okay.

“I'll be just fine, love.”

“Are you sure? I'll stay if I could, but…”

But I'm the Empress, says the bitter curve of her lips.

“Listen, Ai. If you have some time today, you can always swing by. But don’t feel bad for leaving us, okay?”

She gives a reluctant nod, and I kiss her on the forehead. Hers is cool, that's great. She leaves after a sad look to Agathe and Lyc, it breaks my heart. Ruling a country really sucks sometimes, I've seen enough rulers to know that, and hey, I'm a ruler myself now. Being a doctor suits me much better, though.

Time to get to work and check on my loves. They’re both shivering, I pull out the extra blankets and settle them in nice and comfy, making sure Agathe’s wings can rest comfortably. Next, water. Lots of water. Then food, some remedies to calm their fever and lots of sleeping. That should do the trick.

“I’ll go get a few things, okay? I’ll be right back.”

A hand grabs my sleeve as I get up to go. It's Agathe.

“Don't leave.”

That's… unusual, coming from her. But I know that fevers can easily bring out anyone’s vulnerable side.

“I’ll only be gone a few minutes, Aggie. You won't even notice I'm gone.”

She squeezes harder. There’s a genuinely fearful expression on her face, even with her eyes still closed.

“Stay.”

Okay. Hum. Well. Guess I'm stuck here.

Luckily Kalerich hasn’t left yet.

“Kal? Before you go wake the girls up, can you go and fetch some stuff for me?”

He nods without any hesitation whatsoever. I give him the list of what I need, the foods Agathe and Lycarn like, tell him where the medications are in my office. He nods intently and by the second I'm done, he’s outta the door. What a man.

“Well, there you go, Agathe. I’m staying.”

A small smile of relief spreads across her face. That's better. She softly nuzzles her burning cheek into my hand.

“Thanks, Irène.”

Oh.

Oh, I get it now.

You only wanted her to stay, hm? Even if she was afraid of you. You only needed her to stay.

I understand that all too well. Doesn't mean the name doesn't sting a little. Just a tiny bit.

“Her name’s Ether, Agathe,” Lycarn mumbles in a brief moment of lucidity.

“Right… Sorry, Ether…”

Okay, that does get a chuckle outta me. I can never feel sad for too long with those two.

Kalerich comes back to drop my stuff, gives me a quick kiss on the hair like the sly motherfucker he is, then leaves. He even mashed the veggies and minced the meat. Perfect.

Spoonfeeding your wives is way more ridiculous that you’d expect, but they’re really cute, munching quietly and grimacing at the taste of the medicine. I hope it's gonna work. They might be adorable like this but I prefer them healthy. It feels weird when Lyc doesn't have the energy to growl at me. I’d rather have a wolf than a sick puppy.

“Come on, you two need to get some shut-eye.”

“But my eyes are already shut…”

I snort at Agathe’s remark. Right.

“Sleep. I mean sleep.”

“But there’s so much to do…”

“You can take care of it later, angel.”

“But…”

I start to caress her hair aaaaand there she goes. Asleep, just like that. Lycarn is still fighting off sleep, her feverish gaze fixed on me.

“What’s wrong, Lyc? Do you need more water?”

“... Can I get a hug?”

…

Usually I'd refuse. But I don’t think she's contagious and, well, no one with a heart could say no to those eyes.

So I embrace her and press my cheek against her forehead. A little less hot. Good.

“Thanks…”

“No problem, Lyc. I love you.”

She doesn't even have time to reply, she's already asleep. When I see their faces, I have to wonder, did they overwork themselves too much? Since I've been a little down in the dumps, maybe they had to fill in the gaps and now they’re paying the price.

Ah, I'm dumb. That’s not the point. Whether it’s my fault or not, we take care of each other. That's just what we do.

I hold Lycarn closer.

I’d do this every day if I had to.

[crossingthedreams]

falling stars — javier peña x f!reader

masterlist | day 18 (@angstober) — falling stars

word count: 1.4k

warnings: angst, trauma, car-bomb, break-ups, no use of y/n, not proofread. 

“You see, the whole shooting star concept has nothing to do with an actual star”, your monologue about astronomy began several minutes ago, and Javier was listening patiently, with a small smile on his face, “It’s a misconception. A falling star is actually just dust or rocks falling into the Earth’s atmosphere and burning up”.

“So you could say they’re all… dust in the wind?”, Javi's eyes widened with his joke as he smiled and you laughed. 

“Wow, you really are witty. Congratulations for all this brain power, Javier Peña”, you mocked him, one hand coming up close to his face and making a circular motion. He chuckled, and looked back up to the night sky. 

This was your second date with the DEA agent living in Medellín. You had been reallocated to the United States Consular Office in Medellín after sometime in Austria and, afterwards, East Timor. Being a career diplomat in the lowest rankings, you had less attributions than the Ambassador. But in Medellín, there were no safe positions in politics, diplomacy or law enforcement, regardless of ranking. 

You didn’t feel safe, but you didn’t deal directly with drug lords like the DEA folks did. It was easier for you to go about your day, and focus on communism other than drug trafficking. 

As the only other woman in the Diplomatic Mission in Colombia, you were used to dealing with self-important pathetic jerks. One day, though, you were so pissed off you were stomping through the hallways when you bumped into a tall brown-eyed man with a gorgeous suit, which made you drop your coffee, and when he began to apologize you just yelled at him with some profanity in German. 

Your time in Austria really paid off. 

The man next to him, a cute blond guy, was open-mouthed staring at you. When you realized you were being the jerk now, you apologized and introduced yourself. 

“I’m not used to this place just yet, it’s quite different from the other Consulates I’ve been”, you tried to explain yourself without accidentally cursing high-ranking officers who could make your life hell. Maybe tossing your hair and blinking your eyes would make that man, whoever he was, let you get away with being an ass to him before 10a.m.. 

The shy flirting always worked, as the man had no reaction other than to smile at you. He introduced himself as Javier Peña, from the DEA, and asked what you were doing after work that night. 

The rest was history, and that’s how you ended up strolling through the gardens of the nice Hotel you were staying as the touch-ups your place needed were being finalized. You were pondering inviting Javi up when you saw a shooting star, and, thus, the astronomy monologue. 

Strolling in silence for a little while, the two of you didn’t meet one another’s gaze. It was a typical end-of-date dance, and the ball was in your hands as you both approached the entry of the hotel. 

You stopped and turned to look at him better. He was such a beautiful man, and yet, he was all alone. What must it be like to grow up this beautiful?, you thought. You had to fight the urge to pass your fingers through his hair, which seemed softer than cotton. 

The words “do you want to come up?” were practically coming out of your mouth already when a loud sound came from the streets. 

Javi’s body was shielding yours before you could even realize what was going on. From the corner of your eye, you saw fire. There were screams coming from the outside too, and a part of you had to contain yourself from walking towards the chaos and try to help out somehow. 

Your hands were protecting your head, and Javi was protecting you. The both of you squatted down and waited as the sounds died down a bit.

From the looks of it, and from your experience in these situations, a car had blown up. 

“Are you okay?”, Javi half-yelled, his hands cupping your face and scanning for any bruises. You nodded yes as he lifted you to your feet. His hands moved from your face to your hips, and he guided you inside with care. 

Even amidst this terrible scenario, he made your heart flutter. 

Javi mumbled something about being right back and for you to stay put, and went to the reception to borrow their phone. Probably calling his office or his partner. You turned to watch the streets, and your suspicions confirmed themselves: a car blown up, still in flames, in the middle of the street. 

No one seemed to be hurt badly, at least there was that. You look around the lobby to try and find someone you could help, something you could do, but you were much too stunned still. 

That couldn’t have been for you, could it? 

As your eyes wander the venue, the realization this might very well be some sort of warning for Javi hit you like a wall of bricks. The man who held your hand and laughed earlier today at the hotel’s restaurant was also a DEA agent working to catch some really bad guys. Your job was talking and writing legal documents, whilst his was on the field, with a gun, actually chasing drug lords and their minions. 

What the fuck were you getting yourself into?

You watched Javi walk back towards you, hands on his hips. He was so handsome, and you wanted him in a way that would make even the devil himself blush. But you couldn’t have him, could you? Not like this, with men who put bombs in cars lurking in every corner. 

When Javi was close enough to hear you, you opened your mouth to speak, and he motioned to a quieter corner. Without saying anything, you accompanied him and watched him as he sat and let his head fall to his hands. 

He let out a deep sigh, not meeting your gaze, and pulled a pack of Marlboro from his pocket.

“Our being here is much like those falling stars of yours, y’know”, he looked defeated as he lit his cigarette. “We’re small rocks, dust, falling in this strange environment and burning ourselves up, and everything near, in the process”. 

The smoke he let out made twirls in the air before disappearing, in quite a mesmerizing manner. 

You did want to see him more, but what future was there between the two of you?

You didn’t want to be at his funeral anytime soon, and Javi was driving himself into an early grave. You were sure he knew this, and you had your suspicions he only took you out because he wanted to fuck and thought you’d be casual, and comfortable with his lifestyle. You were fine with being a hookup, but it wasn’t okay to spend a Friday night wondering if he didn’t call, not because there might be some other girl in the picture, but because he was dead. 

You wouldn’t deal with this again. Life had already taken too much from you too soon. 

There was a part of you that didn’t want to let Javi go home alone tonight. Not because of the sex — you weren’t in the mood, and most likely, neither was he — but because he might need a friend. 

“You should maybe hang out with Steve”, you suggested, trying to play the dismissal as care. Because you did care. 

His brown eyes looked up at you, cigarette still burning between his fingers. His eyes gazed down and he let out a small and sad smile.

He stood up and kissed you on the cheek, the smell of smoke and of Javi intoxicated you. “I had fun”, he mentioned, one hand holding your arm. He squeezed once before letting go. “Stay in touch, okay?”.

You didn’t find the strength in you to reply. Instead, you watched him walk away, into the busy street. You thought he’d go straight home, but no. He went to the policeman who was around the burnt car. 

Men like Javi, like your father… They had this need to act at all times. Never prioritizing  themselves or their loved ones, always with the big picture in mind, hurting all the individuals to protect the vast majority. Being a new version of your mother, going through sleepless nights worrying as she did, that would never work for you. 

You turned around, and went to your room. Javier stayed, and helped out the police. Simple as that, and yet, somehow, it was more complicated than ever for you. 

_________________________________________________________

a/n: i’m posting day 18 on day 22 because not only was i terribly sick, i also ran out of ideas, lol. so, if you happen to have any ideas for the prompts of this angstober, i’d love to hear them, on dm or ask. this IS a cry for help, because i want to write more, i just dunno where to start.

[fairyniceyeah]

🌹🤍Day 18: "My body is one big ache"

@sicktember

Summary: Woosung is feverish, queasy and downright miserable. 

CW: emeto, talks of fainting

Sickie: Woosung/Sammy Caretaker: Hajoon/Dylan + Jaehyeong/Jeff + Dojoon/Leo

Woosung woke up shivering and icy cold.

When he opened his burning eyes he found the room bathed in darkness. It must still be pretty early, he supposed. A glance at his phone revealed that it was barely five am.

He still had about two and a half hours until his alarm rang but for some reason he doubted he would be able to go back to sleep. 

His body shivered again, a full jolt going through every nerve. There was no reason for him to be so cold, it was the middle of summer after all. But his body apparently didn’t get the memo. He was so cold.

It didn’t help that he only had the duvet cover on his bed, having abandoned the blanket itself a few nights ago because he had been sweating so much back then. Now he yearned for the exhausting heat that had coated his body in disgusting sweat. 

Not that he wasn’t sweaty now.

He groaned, realizing that if he wanted to fall back asleep he would need to get up and find the blanket. If he remembered correctly he had put it over his desk chair, right?

Glancing around by the light of his phone he saw that the blanket indeed was only on the other side of the room. He would just need to walk two meters at most and still it seemed an awfully long way. He hoped the warmth was worth it. 

Getting his heavy body in a sitting position was hard enough and he swayed dizzily even as he just sat at the side of the bed. For a moment he just rested his aching head in his hands, feeling how his forehead seemed to be the hottest thing in the room.

It made sense - he wasn’t supposed to be cold in August. If he was running a fever that was a good explanation. But he had no idea where the thermometer was. Did they even have one?

Getting the blanket would have to do. Slowly pushing to his feet so the dizziness wouldn’t overwhelm him was awful. Every part of his body seemed to ache. His head seemed to be full of wool and soupy thoughts. Every limb was heavy. 

He stumbled to the desk chair, nearly falling as he grabbed it to steady himself and it turned away. Crashing into the desk itself was the only thing stopping his fall. His hip bore the brunt of the impact and the throbbing pain brought tears to his eyes. 

Woosung took a deep breath and just held onto the blanket. His only goal was to get back into bed without face-planting on the floor. It didn’t matter to him that the blanket was trailing on the floor; it was less heavy that way. 

He collapsed onto the bed and just haphazardly pulled the blanket on top of himself. It was uncomfortable and tangled, some parts of his body covered and some kissing the cool air. Not that it was much warmer under the blanket.

🌹

Woosung wasn’t sure if he had actually fallen asleep at some point. It seemed like he had dangled in feverish limbo between painful wakefulness and restless sleep for hours. Even if he had been asleep it certainly hadn’t been restful. 

His hand shook as he turned off his alarm. The others would likely get up soon as well, their alarms were programmed for the same time frame. Woosung was pretty sure that Jaehyeong, never somebody who could get up at first try, would have pushed snooze for the third time now. Hajoon, diligent as he was, was probably already showering. Dojoon with all his energy would just jump up the moment his alarm sounded, later than anybody else's and still somehow always the first one ready. Woosung normally enjoyed hitting snooze once and then slowly getting ready. 

That day, however, all he wanted to do was get up and find another member who knew where the thermometer and the meds were. He suspected that out of everybody, Jaehyeong would have some. 

He knew the way down the stairs would suck, he knew that everything would be cold and that he’d feel terrible the whole way.

Maybe Dojoon, whose room was beside Woosung’s on the first floor, would be the easier choice. 

Woosung pushed himself up, nearly falling at the headrush that assaulted him as soon as he changed from horizontal to vertical, wrapped his blanket around his shoulders and only stopped for a moment to put on some fuzzy sucks his eomma had gifted him. He all but fell when he lifted his feet to pull his socks over his freezing toes but leaning against his wardrobes saved him.

He stumbled over to Dojoon’s room and knocked on the door, pushing it open before he could receive an answer. His heart sank when he realized that the room was empty. As if to mock him, he then heard the shower turn on in the bathroom he shared with Dojoon. He was too late.

Desperate for relief and not wanting to continue to suffer alone, Woosung decided to brave the stairs. He clutched at the railing with one hand, the other holding the blanket around his shoulders. It had been a stupid decision to put on the socks - he very nearly slipped on the wooden surface with them a few times. 

🌹

By the time he had made it down half the stairs he was sweating like crazy, panting and his vision was turning spotty. Scared he’d faint and fall down the rest of the steps, he carefully lowered himself into a sitting position, resting his head on between his knees, leaning sideways against the wall.

Woosung had no idea how long he had sat there, freezing and shaking, when he heard a voice asking: “Hyung?”

He lifted his head and tried to focus his blurry vision on whoever had spoken. Jaehyeong?

“Sammy?”, Jaehyeong repeated and then suddenly he yelled: “Hajoon-ah! Dojoon-hyung!”

Woosung winced at the volume but the maknae’s cold hand on his forehead was a welcome relief. When he opened his eyes - when had he closed them? - he found Jaehyeong looking at him with worry in his eyes.

“Hey, hyung”, he said, “how are you feeling?”

“Awful”, Woosung rasped honestly. 

“Hm, you seem to be burning up.”

Right, that was why he had decided to come downstairs in the first place.

“Do we have a thermometer?”, he asked quietly. Jaehyeong’s hand on his face felt heavenly. The maknae looked incredibly worried though.

“What happened?”, Hajoon asked, out of a sudden kneeling beside Jaehyeong. When had he arrived? He was only wearing shorts and no t-shirt, water from his shower dripping down his face and back. Woosung shivered just seeing him.

“I found him like this”, Jaehyong explained, a worried and rushed quality to his voice, “he’s burning up.”

“It’s the middle of summer”, Hajoon said with a frown and reached up to feel Woosung’s forehead as well. He winced as his hand made contact. Woosung pulled away and placed his dizzy head on his knees, Hajoon’s hand uncomfortably warm.

“Summer flues do happen”, Jaehyeong said with a shrug, “why don’t you get him to the couch and I’ll see where we put the thermometer and medication.”

Hajoon nodded and Jaehyeong vanished. 

“Can you get up, hyung?”, Hajoon asked, voice overflowing with concern.

“Help me?”, Woosung asked shakily, already not looking forward to the nearly promised headrush.

Out of a sudden a hot flush took over Woosung, who for the first time that day felt warm. It wasn’t as pleasant as he had hoped, in fact it was mostly the opposite. His throat felt tight and saliva gathered in his mouth. He swallowed, hoping feverishly that it would vanish.

Hajoon didn’t seem to notice his struggle, reaching his hand out to Woosung’s shoulder. Before he could make contact, Woosung felt himself retch. It came on so quickly that all he could do was lean over and spread his legs as a rush of vomit splattered between his feet and onto his legs.

“Well, some warning would have been nice”, Hajoon mumbled with a sigh, holding onto Woosung’s shoulder so he wouldn’t fall over. 

“Sorry, I didn’t…”

Woosung coughed a bit, cursing internally as it caused another wave of stomach contents to come up, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. For a moment all he could do was stare down at the dirty steps below him, his brain too tired to comprehend what had happened. He felt even worse now than he had before puking.

“Hyung, that’s disgusting”, Hajoon whined a bit, pulling his hand from his mouth. “Let’s get a towel. Jeff, go get some towels, stat!”

As if he had been summoned, Jaehyeong nearly immediately appeared holding the thermometer. His eyes widened in shock. “Shit, okay, yeah.”

“Can we go sit on the couch?”, Hajoon asked worriedly, turning his attention back to Woosung. The singer sighed, wrapping his arms around his stomach. He was so tired and the couch was so far away. But staying on the stairs, staring at his stomach contents also didn’t seem to be the greatest idea.

So he nodded, steadying his head with his hands as everything swam around him.

“Dizzy?”, Hajoon guessed. Woosung waved his hand in a vaguely agreeing gesture and held his head still until the vertigo had passed again. 

Hajoon helped him scoot to the other side of the step he was sitting on, so there was less risk of stepping into vomit. He held out his hands and Woosung grasped them, trying to pull himself up with Hajoon’s help. But all his strength seemed to have vanished and he barely got himself more upright before he had to stop.

“Are you going to faint if I lift you?”, Hajoon asked gently, crouching down to look Woosung into the eyes. Concern was written all over his face.

“Maybe”, Woosung admitted, wetting his cracked lips with his tongue. 

“Let’s move down until we’re at the bottom of the stairs, okay?”, Hajoon suggested, resting his hand on Woosung’s knee. “Less risk of us both falling down the stairs if you do.”

🌹

It was humiliating. Scooting down the stairs on his ass, one step at a time like a child. Woosung wanted to cry, and he would have if it wasn’t so exhausting. By the time they reached the bottom, he was ready to just curl up in a shivery ball of pathetic human and stay there.

Jaehyeong came back but Woosung didn’t dare lift his eyes up to him. There was a mumbled conversation between the two younger members but Woosung blended them out. His head was pounding in his skull and his stomach, now that it had started, felt very unsteady still.

“I’m gonna lift you up from the back, okay? My grandmother used to fall a lot, that’s what we used to do”, Jaehyeong said with a sigh, patting Woosung’s knee to get his attention. 

“I’m ill, not old”, Woosung protested half-heartedly, a bit offended. 

“Yeah, but we still would rather that none of us fall”, Jaehyeong replied, “try to let us know before you faint.”

“Hm.”

Jaehyeong hooked his arms below Woosung’s armpits, carefully pulling him to his feet. Hajoon stood by, ready to catch them should one of them lose their balance. They nearly made it into a standing position before Woosung started to see black spots dancing in his vision and he felt himself start to sway.

He didn’t even need to say anything as immediately Hajoon was there, lifting Woosung under his knees and below his back, hefting him up to his chest. His vision went black but Woosung was sure he hadn’t really passed out. He dropped his head on Hajoon’s shoulder and let himself be carried to the couch. 

The cool leather was soothing against his burning skin for just a few seconds before it became uncomfortable. He curled into himself, trying to minimize the space where his sensitive skin touched anything. 

“Hi, hyung. Can you look at me for a moment?”, Hajoon asked gently, brushing back Woosung’s hair back. The older opened his eyes - since when were they burning? - and blinked up at the two Hajoon’s he saw until the left morphed into the right one.

“You’re really out of him, huh? Let me take your temperature.”

Hajoon placed the thermometer under Woosung’s tongue and entangled their fingers while they waited. 

“39.1°C”, the drummer read, “sounds about right.”

🌹

“What’s going on here?”, Dojoon’s voice suddenly called from the steps. “Who’s sick?”

“Sammy”, Hajoon replied loudly, causing Woosung to wince at the sound. A shushed apology followed. 

“Oh, hey”, Dojoon greeted as he rushed to the couch, falling to his knees next to Hajoon and instantly starting to caress Woosung’s hair. “How are you feeling?”

“My body is one big ache”, Woosung mumbled and sighed. It was true. His head and stomach were both hurting in equal measures. His skin was still prickling and uncomfortable everywhere and his muscles were incredibly sore. He just wanted to cry, if he was honest.

“Sammy-ah”, Dojoon cooed, “you’re really not feeling well, huh?”

Woosung shook his head. 

He was so tired too, he noticed when his eyes slid shut. He wanted to sleep so badly, wanted to not feel miserable anymore. 

“Hey, stay awake for a second, okay?”, Hajoon asked tenderly, squeezing his hand. “Do you think you could take some meds?”

Woosung shook his head again. He didn’t think he could keep anything down with the way his stomach was aching. He was sure he would be sick again in the near future but he really hoped he could just sleep.

Dojoon sighed and then stood up. For a moment Woosung thought he was going to leave - and why did that make him want to cry? - but then Dojoon lifted Woosung’s upper body into his lap, letting him curl up there. It helped the aching skin tremendously and the small head massage Dojoon started at his temples felt amazing. He was about to drift off again when a voice spoke up again.

“I’m going to put the bucket here by your head, okay?”, Jaehyeong said. Woosung wasn’t sure when he had returned but he appreciated the gesture. “We’ll call the manager and cancel the schedules. You just rest.”

Woosung sleepily nodded and closed his eyes.

Notes: Big thanks to @sickiecloud who beta-read this and gave me the plot idea in the first place!

Masterlist links: Fairy's Full Masterlist Fairy's Sicktember 2024

[topsyturvy-turtely]

turtely's OTP challenge

brand new ficlet!!! now on ao3!

(okay tbh that was a lie... i wrote 90% of this 2-3 years ago... but i never finished it nor published it... so HERE WE GOOOO)

read day 18 here - was too tired to make a post yesterday. prompt: one of them is sick

i wanted to gift this fic to @justanobsessedpan because you requested it about 3 years ago 💀 but ao3 didn't let me (apparently you don't accept gifts?! or do you use a different username?)

summary: Sherlock got COVID and has to isolate himself from his family. So, what happens to a genius locked in? You guessed it right, he promptly saves the entire earth.

M, 2.776 words, Fluff. Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Parentlock, Sherlock is a Good Parent

tag list under the cut!

tag list! (tell me if you wanna be added or removed please 💚) @helloliriels @catlock-holmes @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @so-youre-unattached-like-me @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @baker-street-blog @macgyvershe @myladylyssa @battledress @a-victorian-girl @dreamerofthemeadow @oetkb12 @ohnoesnotagain @mutedsilence @jawnscoffee @raenchaosandcozyadashofmurder @lisbeth-kk @quickslvxrr @compact-and-beautiful @kabubsmagga @booksoversleep

[tobi-the-minnow]

18.) Click - a short, sharp sound as of a switch being operated or of two hard objects coming quickly into contact.

Walking down a old dark road, listening to the sounds of the nocturnal nature something approches from behind..

Click, click, click.

Can you hear it?

C l i c k , c l i c k , c l i c k .

It's louder now

CLICK, CLICK, CLICK.

I stop in my tracks

C L I C K , C L I C K , . . . . . . .

S I L E N C E

Theres nothing now... not even a cricket dare chirp. What has happend?

Im frozen as i look around; squinting through the darkness.

"H-hello??" I softly call out getting nothing back. After a second i start to walk forward again and after a second the noises follow me.

Click, click, click.

"O-oh.... A-Am i in your way??" I say to the darkness and step back out of the way. "G-go on, a-after you.." a second passes before what sounds like wooden shoes hitting the pavement start walking infront of me

Click, click, click.

I sigh alittle and give Betobeto-san space before i start walking again.

[shesmore-shoebill]

t-24 hours i will. maybe finally have some free time and energy again. and then. its over for all you (aka will watch challenge pit / pit theatre / lvoestruck 2 / etc. and Not Shut Up About It)

[aydann-runs]

“Hey Mike,” Dallas says, following him inside when he goes to get another beer. “I found this stuck in the back of a drawer in the Airstream. It seemed like something you’d want to decide what to do with.”

Michael takes the crumpled envelope Dallas is holding out. Alex's name is scrawled across the front, and he recognizes it immediately. It's not like he’s written many letters in his life.

“You read it?” Michael asks aggressively. Before Dallas has a chance to respond, Michael grimaces and holds up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Sorry. I know you didn't read the letter. Stuff from that time in my life makes me defensive, and when it involves Alex…”

“Yeah man, I get it. It's okay,” Dallas says. He claps Michael on the back. “I'm gonna head back outside, but come on out when you're ready.”

Michael nods and sinks down onto Max's couch. Carefully, he lays the envelope on his thigh and smoothes it out the best he can. He remembers writing this letter, agonizing for weeks over whether or not to send it. He remembers getting drunk one night and stumbling to the nearest blue USPS box and pushing the letter through the slot.

He remembers sobering up a bit a few hours later and running back to the mailbox, using his telekinesis to pull the letter back out.

Michael remembers shoving the letter away, out of sight, as soon as he'd gotten back to the trailer. He'd done his very best not to think about it over the next half a dozen years, and then Alex had come home, had become his home, and he'd forgotten about the letter entirely.

Michael swallows hard and runs a hand through his curls. He's tempted to just toss it in the fire pit, to let it burn to ashes. He still remembers what he'd written to Alex, even if it's been close to ten years since he'd sealed the envelope, but it feels wrong, disrespectful to who he'd been, to destroy the letter without rereading it first. So, after a final glance around to ensure his continued privacy, he pulls open the flap to the envelope and slides the single piece of paper out.

Alex,

You left again the other day. Headed somewhere in Texas, I think, from something you let slip. You're always so careful to avoid telling me where you're stationed. Are you afraid that if I know, I'll show up uninvited and ruin your perfect little charade of a life? That if I know how to find you, I actually will? Would that really be so bad? I know how to keep a secret. I could be your secret.

But don't worry, because I don't actually know how to find you. I have to send this letter to your squadron home base, and they'll send it on to you, wherever you actually are.

I know I just said I could be your secret, but that's a lie. And I know that’s how it has to be right now, but I'm so tired of being someone you're ashamed of. Do you know how much it fucking hurts every time you leave? I love you, and I want you to love me back. And maybe you do, and you're doing the best you can right now, but it fucking HURTS. It's not enough. I can't be the person you come to only on your terms.

I'm living this double life, this semi-charmed life. You come around for a few hours or a few days, and the rest of the world fades away. And it's so good! While we're together, I can almost believe that you love me too, that this will be the time that you don't put up your walls and leave. That you don't remind me that I can't talk to anybody about you, about us, as you're heading out the door. As if I could ever forget. That's Rule #1. Keep this a secret.

And then you always leave, and it doesn't matter how good things were while you were here, because when you leave, it destroys me every time. It must not hurt you, the leaving, like it hurts me being left behind, because if it did, you wouldn't be able to keep doing it. There's no way you could feel like I do right now, like your heart was ripped from your chest, and walk away.

I'll get through it this time like I have all the other times, but Alex, you've gotta stop. I love you, but I can't keep letting you do this to me. If you can't stay, then next time, don't come at all.

He hadn't signed the letter, hadn't wanted to give the Air Force anything that could be used to hurt Alex.

Reading those words, scrawled in his own hand, brings back an echo of how he'd felt at the time, and he rubs at his chest, soothing the remembered ache. But that is all it is–a memory. He and Alex have talked through everything that had happened during those years and have done the work to soothe old hurts and build a solid foundation to move forward.

So Michael gives himself a minute or two more to ground himself in the here-and-now before he pushes up from the couch to rejoin Alex and his family outside. He crumples the letter in its envelope and tosses it into the fire as he steps into Alex's space. He leans against the solid weight of his husband and watches the letter burn to ashes.

[enigmatic-mystery-777]

Double, Double Toil And Trouble

A routine excavation turns beyond stressful when SG1 arrives on the planet to try to get your team to safety before an impending Jaffa attack.

Taglist: @jgem87 @cuillere @stargaterevival @daydreampending @geekygumiho @riverageleis @frostysfrenzy

[evenfallwriter]

Role Reversal/Time Travel AU || to burn for your love

to burn for your love - chapter three || Prompt: Day 18 - Time Travel

Chuuya leaves after the flags dies, taking the hand that Murase has offered him and Dazai is left behind to watch as he becomes one with the light, shining brighter than any sun that he has ever caught sight of- till he no longer has to anymore.

The first time Chuuya leaves, he does it alone- the second time, however, he finds himself dragging Dazai along.

RATING; Not Rated

CHAPTER; 3/3

CHAPTER WARNINGS; Talks about the dead, graveyard's, excessive drinking, unhealthy coping mechanisms' (ignoring life, pushing yourself into work, excessive drinking)

FANDOM: 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs

RELATIONSHIPS/PAIRINGS; Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs), Dazai Osamu & Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs), Armed Detective Agency Ensemble & Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs), Armed Detective Agency Ensemble & Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs)

CHARACTERS; Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs), Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs), Armed Detective Agency Ensemble (Bungou Stray Dogs), Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs), Akutagawa Ryuunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs), Oda Sakunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs)

ADDITIONAL TAGS; Armed Detective Agency Member Oda Sakunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs), Armed Detective Agency Member Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs), Armed Detective Agency Member Akutagawa Ryuunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs), Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Nakahara Chuuya Leaves the Port Mafia (Bungou Stray Dogs), Alternate Universe - Dazai Osamu Remains with the Port Mafia (Bungou Stray Dogs), Not Actually Unrequited Love, Suffering Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs), Temporary Character Death, Time Travel Fix -It

ANY FANDOM ANGST BINGO PROMPT || @anyfandomangstbingo

- Reason to Believe - Rod Stewart

ANY FANDOM FLUFF BINGO PROMPT || @anyfandomfluffbingo

- Reunion

[whumpinthepot]

30 days 30 lines challenge - day 18

He turned to face them, trying for a watery smile, “Hey Tee…? You should stay here and try to sleep. I’ll be right back. I just need a minute… Alone.” The last word flatlined and he felt lame for saying it to them. Especially when he saw their expression melt into something that expressed an anticipated sorrow. Like they were expecting grief when he came back, even if he had already proven that he wouldn’t hurt them.

[bilightningwhumper]

@flufftober 2024- Day 18/Alt 7: Getting Revenge

<<Previous . My Flufftober 2024 Masterlist . Next>>

"Hollow Mirror" Masterlist --- TNEI Tumblr Masterlist

Summary:

Excerpt for "Hollow Mirror" (Alice in Wonderland retelling) The trial is finally over

Notes:

Characters: Reid- Red Knave Natalie- Alice Reid's mother and her partners are not mentioned by name but roles are as follows- Red Queen, White Queen, Caterpillar, Mad Hatter Warnings: mention of throwing up (doesn't happen, but the idea is there)

Ao3 link

Word count: 293

Reid PoV

Reid made sure to catch his mother’s eye as the jury read their verdict for her and her partners. Was it bad how much grim pleasure he felt, watching the smug look on her face turn to disbelief, then anger, as the numerous guilty charges were read out? To be happy as the people who raised him received lifetime sentences each, multiple of them? To be a little… upset as none of them looked his way as they were escorted out. But he stood tall and proud, head held high, like he’d been taught to so long ago.

As soon as they were gone, as soon as the door slammed shut behind the group, Reid collapsed back onto the bench, holding his head in his shaking hands.

“If you need to throw up, trash can is next to you.” He felt his lawyer’s firm hand on his shoulder. “You did good, kid. Don’t forget that.”

Reid just nodded, trying to breathe normally.

A warm presence sat next to him, the scent of sunshine and grassy hills surrounding him like a hug. It got stronger as Natalie leaned into him, nuzzling into his shoulder. “H-how long until we h-h-have to do this again?” she whispered, her hands trembling more than his own were as she wrapped them around his arm.

He couldn’t help but let out a choked laugh. “We don’t” he rasped. “Even if they manage to get an appeal someday, no one should require us to testify again. They have everything recorded. And- and the sentences were for life. We never have to see them again.”

Natalie was quiet at first before she let out a soft, breathless, “Gone? Forever?”

Turning his head, Reid smiled, leaning his forehead against hers. “Yeah. Forever.”

TNEI Taglist:

@scoundrelwithboba

[elisacm]

Writing challenge Day 18: Thirty facts about myself

I'm a grammar freak. It triggers me when something's written wrong, be it a missing apostrophe or a mistake in general.

I love poetic writing. No not poems. Writing that feels like poems.

I'm very forgetful, like I forget everything. That's why my whole room is covered with notes.

I always watch/read multiple things at the same time and sometimes get some stuff confused.

I have a bad feeling of what time it is, so it makes me nervous not knowing the time.

I can get annoyed very easily, but I often don't show it.

I can have very bad mood swings. Like one moment I'm annoyed and the other moment I'm the sweetest person you've ever met.

I'm a respectful person. You have a different opinion? Cool, I respect it.

If I show my serious side with you, it means I fully trust you.

When I text you that I'm fine, then I'm definitely not. I'm crying.

I joke about serious stuff sometimes.

I'm always tired, no matter how much I slept.

I get headaches and nosebleeds very often, so be prepared for that.

I can't do sport because of a medical condition, but I will go in walks with you.

I'm not religious,but I love churches and graveyards because of their atmosphere and if I take you there then it means you're either one of my best friends or I have a crush on you.

I have books everywhere in my room. On my desk, my nightstand, my wardrobe, my shelves and so on.

I always wear long pants, no matter the temperature.

I care very much about my little sister.

Don't have money? No worries I'll give you some and you don't have to pay me back.

I hate long driving, because it makes me dizzy.

I tend to roast people I don't like at the most random times.

I love languages and I'll randomly talk another language in a conversation because I can.

I'll send you my writing whenever I can. It's kinda a way to show that I care about you.

I always carry paper and a pen with me to write down things. Yet, I always ask for a piece of paper at school.

I love matching pfp.

If you tell me about a game/movie/series/anime/game/etc. that I don't know, I'll try to found out about it as much as I can so I can talk to you about it.

I'm supportive<3

If you're my friendz you're automatically my child. Accept it.

I'll send you homework if you ask for it, because I'm nice.

My handwriting is terrible tho, like nobody can read it.

[imaginedisish]

Dare (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey guys. Just wanted to say thank you for all the support I got this morning. All of your comments really warmed my heart. Thank you so, so, so much. I ended up getting this done pretty fast. Went with "Dare" by Gorillaz for the title. Made me feel better to write. I like this one. Hope you do, too. Enjoy!

Summary: Logan finds out you've never been eaten out while playing a game of "Truth or Dare," and he's more than willing to change that.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT!!! Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, softdom!Logan, pussydrunk!Logan (he does not let up, he is starving for you), older!Logan, implied aged gap (reader is in her 20s/old enough to teach at the institute), cocky!Logan, he is an absolute service dom in this, friends to lovers, mentions of mental health/self worth, fluff, some hurt to comfort, some angst, afab/fem!reader, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,235 wowza didn't expect that and oh my god this gif

You’re lying on your floor—the door to your room wide open. Everyone is out anyway. It’s Friday night at the mansion—no one will see you like this. Students’ papers are scattered around you. You stare up at the ceiling, feeling choked up. It had been a bad day—a bad week. Maybe even a bad year. You feel like you’re slipping, losing yourself. 

Teaching the older students had become beyond challenging—possibly because you aren’t much older than them in the first place. Most days, it felt like everyone expected greatness from you, given the strength of your powers, which naturally comes with responsibility, and that can be incredibly overwhelming. It had all been—if you were being brutally honest—an absolutely terrible time. 

So, you’re lying on your floor, feeling numb. You stopped grading papers at least an hour ago, and simply decided to stare at the ceiling, your head spinning. You wanted to calm the noise, to take a breather. Luckily, you’re alone—everyone is on a mission or out given that it’s Friday night. 

Or so you thought. 

“What on Earth are you doing?” A familiar voice cuts through the silence like a knife, jarring you, and forcing you to look up. And there he is, in a white t-shirt and denim jeans, arms crossed tightly against his chest, leaning in the doorway. Logan. You want to roll your eyes at how good he looks. You want to slap yourself for thinking it in the first place.

He smirks at you, his brows furrowed playfully. You let your head fall back to the floor. “Grading papers,” you mutter. You can hear his footsteps as he walks into the room, drawing closer to you. 

“Doesn’t look like you’re grading papers to me,” he teases. You can hear the smile in his voice. “Why aren’t you out with Jean or Rogue?” 

He stands next to you, and you look up at him. “Didn’t feel like it,” you mumble, forcing yourself to sit up. You draw your knees into your chest. You decide to turn the question around on him. “Why aren’t you out?”

He sits down next to you, stretching his long legs in front of him, his shoulder bumping against yours as he settles in. He shrugs. “Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on you, right?” He jokes, nudging his elbow into your arm. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. It’s impossible to fight it when he’s next to you. Your eyes meet his, and his smile quickly turns into something else—concern. “You’ve been off lately.”

You swallow harshly. “Did Jean or Rogue say something?” You ask. They’d notice, maybe they told Logan. “Did they ask you to stay with me or something?”

But Logan shakes his head. “No. I could just tell,” he says, worry clear in his voice. “Thought I’d hang back with you. All my idea.” He tilts his head, his jaw working, his brows furrowing again. “Is something going on?” 

You take a deep breath, turning away from him. You’re suddenly overwhelmed by his presence, by his kindness and his care. He stayed home for you. “I’m okay,” you mutter, avoiding the truth. 

“Hey,” Logan whispers, tentatively reaching his hand to your knee, waiting for you to shove him away. His palm is warm against your skin, calming and stabilizing. You turn back to look at him, his brows raised incredulously. “I know that’s not true,” he says. He has always been able to read you like a book. “What’s going on?”

You swallow harshly. “I’ve just been having a tough time lately,” you say, distracted by the way his thumb brushes across your knee. “I…” You trail off, letting your eyes fall closed. “Things are hard.”

“You can talk about it if you want,” he says, his voice deep and steady. “I’m here.” 

You sniffle, struggling to keep yourself in check. “I just…” you pause, looking off to the side. “Everything sucks.” You take another deep breath. “And the students are so hard.” You point to the piles of papers scattered around your floor. “And then there’s me, and all my shit. My powers. The responsibilities we have. I’m young, and I’m still learning. And fuck, Logan, this all just feels so impossible sometimes. It…it…” You trail off, finally running out of words, out of steam.

“It hurts.” He finishes your sentence, taking the words right out of your mouth. You turn back towards him, your eyes instantly meeting his. “It hurts a lot.”

You nod. “Yeah, exactly.” He squeezes your knee comfortingly. “You get it,” you murmur. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” he soothes, his hand lifting off your knee, his arm wrapping around your shoulder instead. “I’ve got you.” You let yourself lean into his touch, resting your head in the crook of his neck. “Let’s take your mind off things, yeah?”

You nod against him, not wanting to move away, not wanting to separate from him. He feels so nice, so solid. “What did you have in mind?” You ask, hoping it doesn’t involve getting up.

“Wanna play a game?” He offers, turning his head to look down at you. You smile widely, almost mockingly. “What?” He chides. “You think I don’t know how to have fun?”

You laugh softly. “I just don’t see you as a game guy, Lo,” you confess. He chuckles, and you can feel his laughter reverberating through his chest. “Can you even think of one to play?”

Logan’s still laughing, shaking his head. “What about truth or dare?” He ever so slightly pulls you in closer, his lips pressed against the side of your head. 

You giggle, feeling light for the first time in a long time. “Are we in seventh grade?” You ask teasingly. You felt like a teenager, honestly—being next to Logan always made you feel like a love-sick schoolgirl. But you know you and him could never be. You were younger than Logan—everyone was—but you, being in your 20s, assume that Logan doesn’t see you the way you see him. 

He just shakes his head and laughs, pulling you back to reality. “Truth or dare?” He asks, ignoring your middle school comment and officially starting the game. 

You don’t want to get up, don’t want to move an inch, so you answer: “Truth,” hoping it isn’t anything too crazy. 

Logan thinks for a second, his head resting on yours. “Why’d you pick truth instead of dare?” He finally asks. 

You roll your eyes. “Boring!” You tease. “I only picked it because I don’t feel like moving.” And then you realize…perhaps your answer is more revealing than you previously considered. Your heart thunders in your chest. 

Logan hums. “And why don’t you want to move, exactly?” He’s onto you. 

“You asked your question, you got an answer,” you protest, trying to shut him down. “No follow-up questions.” It’s your turn now. “Truth or dare?” You ask. 

“Truth,” he says. “Because maybe I don’t feel like moving either.”

You smile, and you can feel him looking down at you. You’re too nervous to meet his gaze. You think for a moment, racking your brain for a question. “Did you really stay home for me, and was it all your own idea?” You finally ask. You regret the question almost immediately, fearful of the honest answer. 

“Yes,” he responds without a beat. “Jean said you were staying in, and said she didn’t know why, so I stayed too.” He pauses, and you can hear his steady breathing amidst the silence. “I was worried, princess.” The pet name burns a hole through your heart. “Needed to know that you were okay.”

You can feel tears building behind your sinuses. “Thank you, Lo,” you whisper. “That means a lot.”

He presses the ghost of a kiss to the crown of your head—almost not quite there. But you can feel it, hesitant and tentative. “It’s nothing, no need to thank me.” You finally find the courage to look up at him and find him smiling down at you. His lips part. “Truth or dare?” He asks again. 

You can feel some sort of tension brewing, building, thick and heavy. You try to ignore it, try to brush it off. Your heart hammers in your chest. “Truth,” you pick again. “But get a little more creative this time.”

He pauses, the gears in his head turning. And then finally: “Why’s your heart beating so fast? It’s loud, too.” 

Your eyes widen, suddenly remembering Logan’s heightened senses. He can hear everything. “Uh…” You trail off, not sure how to get out of this. “I-It’s not…”

He laughs. “You’re a terrible liar. You know that?” His voice is deep and honeyed, smooth. “You gotta answer the question, or I get to ask another.”

“Those are not the rules!” You protest, lifting your head to look at him. He’s got that shit-eating grin on his face, the one that makes your stomach drop. 

He tugs you into his chest again, his lips at the shell of your ear. “Then answer the question,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin, sending a chill down your spine. He’s so close. Too close. Your heart is only beating faster, louder now. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper. But of course, you know. It’s all because of him. “Just anxious, I guess.” It’s a half-truth—you’re certainly nervous, but you can’t bring yourself to tell him why. 

“No need to be nervous, sweetheart,” Logan coos, his thumb brushing circles into your shoulder. “It’s just me.”

Yes, exactly, you want to say. It’s you. But you don’t. You try to steady your breathing, try to calm down. “My turn,” you force yourself to say. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he says darkly. “And make it good.” You can hear the cockiness in his voice—a sudden shift in his tone. 

“We should just call this truth or truth,” you say, mulling over a question in your mind. It’s hard to think with him this close—hard to breathe. You want to rile him up, to find out what makes him tick—to make him itch the way he makes you. And then it hits you: the perfect question. “When was the last time you…” You stop yourself, suddenly too nervous to ask. 

“When was the last time I what, darlin’?” He asks, cocking his head to the side, raising his eyebrows. 

You huff. You’ve fallen into your own trap. There’s no backing out now. “When was the last time…” You pause again, biting your lip. You close your eyes. “…somebody got you off?” 

“Been a while,” he says simply. Your eyes flutter open, and Logan is completely relaxed, his eyes trained on you. He isn’t annoyed. He’s unbothered, unprovoked, as if you had asked him what the weather was going to be like tomorrow. “But it depends on how you mean. So, what do you mean?” He finishes. 

You’re slightly frustrated by how easy it was for him to answer. “I don’t know,” you mutter, shrugging your shoulders. “Whatever the last time was.”

“Few years back, not particularly proud of it,” he huffs. “Girl took care of me in a bar. That was it.” 

You nod. “Must’ve been nice,” you whisper, suddenly feeling a bit disheartened. You catch his drift; you know it didn’t mean anything. You likely didn’t know Logan at that time, having only arrived at the Institute two years ago. You know you shouldn’t feel jealous, shouldn’t care that he was ever with someone else, even for a fleeting moment. You’ve had boyfriends. You’ve been with other people. 

“It was fine. Just a blowjob.” He says it nonchalantly. “Didn’t mean a thing.” You look straight ahead, waiting for him to elaborate. But he doesn’t. “Truth or dare?” He finally asks. 

“Truth.” Your fake, plastered-on smile becomes real when his eyes meet yours. It’s just what happens when you look at him. “And make it interesting.”

The corner of his mouth turns up slyly, and you know he has something up his sleeve. “When was the last time somebody did that to you?” He asks. 

You cock your head to the side. “What do you mean?” But you already know exactly what he’s asking. And you desperately do not want to give him the answer.

“Got you off, like that,” he husks. “With their mouth.”

Fuck. “Uh…” You trail off. You can feel heat spreading across your chest and up your neck, your skin prickling. “Never,” you say honestly. 

“What?” Logan’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife. “Never?”

You’re suddenly embarrassed. Your skin feels tight—so do your shorts and tank top. “Never,” you repeat, looking down at your knees, still pulled in tightly to your chest. Your heart beats rapidly. “Just hasn’t happened yet,” you choke out. “I’ve been with people, but…”

“Hey,” he whispers, suddenly grabbing your chin and angling you up to face him. “It’s okay,” he soothes. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, princess.”

You smile shyly, reveling in his touch. “You didn’t,” you insist honestly. “Just a little embarrassed.”

Logan shakes his head, his eyes softening. “Nothing to be embarrassed about,” he assures. “You deserve to be taken care of.” His hand slides across your jaw and cups the back of your neck. “Deserve to feel good.”

Your eyes flutter closed at his touch. “Lo,” you whisper, struggling to keep your composure. Heat pools between your thighs. “Tr-truth or dare.”

His forehead presses to yours. “I think we’re done with the game, pretty girl,” he rasps, the arm around your shoulder slipping down to your waist. “Unless I get to give you a dare this time.”

“What’s the dare?” You ask, your eyes fluttering back open. His lips are so close. Your noses touch softly.

He works his jaw, licking his lips. “Let me eat you out, pretty girl,” he pants, his chest heaving against yours. “Let me take care of you like you should’ve been already.” He hates the idea that you’ve never been touched properly, the idea that those younger guys didn’t know how to treat you right. But he can fix that. He can make you feel good.

“Fuck,” you curse, his breath fanning across your lips. “A-are you sure?” You ask. “I don’t want you to do it just because you feel bad for me or—” “You think that’s what this is about?” He cuts you off, pulling you closer so that your body faces his, your thighs slotting together like puzzle pieces. “You think I want this just because I feel bad for you?”

“Well…” You search his eyes. “Yes,” you say. 

Logan’s face falls, and he shakes his head. “I want you, pretty girl,” he pants, his knee rubbing against your aching core. “Wanted you this whole time.” His palm presses firmly against your back, his other hand gripping your neck tighter. He wants, no, needs you closer. “You ruined me the second I saw you. Haven’t been with anyone since then.”

“Logan,” you whisper, bringing your hands up to his neck. “I want you too. Always have,” you confess.

He smiles, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to yours. “Then let me do this for you,” he rasps, almost begging, like he needs this more than you do. “Need to make you feel good, beautiful.” “Please,” you breathe. “Want you so bad, Lo.”

He curses under his breath, his lips capturing yours, harder this time. This kiss is starving, all-consuming. His tongue swipes across your lower lip, and you open your mouth, inviting him inside. He lowers you down carefully, sure not to break the kiss, guiding your back to the wood floor below. 

His thighs rest on either side of your hips as he hovers over you, bracing himself with his forearm. His free hand trails up your body, exploring your curves, hiking your shirt above your breasts. He smirks against your lips at the realization that you have no bra on. 

“Look at you,” he mumbles, rolling a nipple under his thumb, palming your breast. “Fucking perfect.” His fingertips drag to the other side, massaging you gently, taking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger and pinching softly. “Can smell you, you know,” he grunts. “Know you’re soaking for me, darlin’.”

His hand slides between the valley of your breasts, trailing down your stomach, until his fingertips bump into the waistband of your panties. He hesitates, looking down at you, waiting for you to change your mind, to tell him to stop. “Please,” you beg. “Need you, Lo.”

Logan smirks, his hand slipping under the hem of your shorts and inside your panties. “Love it when you call me that, sweetheart,” he groans. His fingertips flick your clit gently before finding your folds, feeling your arousal. “Barely even touched you,” he tuts. “And she’s already crying for me.”

He prods your entrance, spreading your slick, teasing you. He bites your lips, sucking so hard he might bruise—might draw blood—and you hope he does. You want proof that he was here, proof that he wants you—needs you this badly. You moan as his fingers find your clit again, drawing a few soft circles before pulling away, his hand slipping out of your shorts. 

You grab his biceps needily, impatiently, your nails digging into his skin. “Don’t stop,” you cry out. “Please, Logan.” 

He swallows your moans with another kiss, his lips trailing down to your jaw, then your neck—that sensitive spot just under your ear. “Don’t worry, pretty girl,” he soothes, biting down on your pulse point, licking the hollow of your throat. “Don’t think I could stop if I tried.” He nips at your collarbone, shoving your tank top further up your chest as his lips drag down the valley of your breasts. 

He kisses his way to your stomach, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down your legs. His palms spread across your inner thighs, yanking them apart. He settles between them, his face just inches from your heat. He presses a chaste kiss to your clit, still all too clothed, hidden behind your panties. 

“Lo,” you whine. He breathes you in, pressing another kiss to your clit. He digs his fingers into the hem of your panties, slowly pulling them down your legs. 

“Wanna take my time with you, sweetheart,” he grunts, finally throwing your panties to the side. He spreads your legs wider, his face settling back between your thighs. You can feel his breath against your cunt, warm and teasing. “Wanna take care of you.” His lips finally find your clit again, and he licks at you. 

His tongue is soft, warm, wet. He laps at you again, harder this time, and you moan his name. “Fuck,” you curse as he licks a long stripe through your folds and back up to your clit, flicking the bud. Your legs twitch, your hips backing away involuntarily at the newfound pleasure. Logan’s hands slide under your ass, yanking you back to his face. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” He mumbles teasingly against you, the vibration of his deep, bassy voice rocking your core. “Not letting you go until I’m done with you, darlin’.”

You curse under your breath as he licks another long, slow stripe through your folds before settling on your clit. His tongue draws gentle circles around the bud, and you can’t hold back the loud moan that falls from your lips. 

“Yeah?” Logan husks between laps. “Feels good, pretty girl?”

“Y-yes,” you stammer, looking down at Logan, his face buried against your cunt. His eyes are trained on yours, watching your every move, taking in the way you’re squirming for him. “D-didn’t know it would feel this good, Lo.”

“Gonna try something, okay?” He says, his eyes searching yours. You nod emphatically, bracing yourself. His lips wrap around your clit, his teeth lightly grazing the bud as he pulls it into his mouth. And then he sucks, hard. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, your back arching off the floor.

He releases the bud, and does it again, sucking harder this time. Tears brim at the corners of your eyes, pleasure coursing through your veins. “Logan!” You cry out, your nails digging into the floor below, searching for purchase. “Fuck!” He laps at you soothingly, drawing tighter, faster circles around your clit. 

“You okay?” He coos between laps, his tongue swirling rapidly. 

You swallow, meeting his gaze again. The sight of him between your legs, working your clit, his hair a disheveled mess—it’s overwhelming. “Yeah,” you heave. “More than okay.”

He smirks against you and wraps his lips around your clit again, sucking on the bud like hard candy. His right hand slides out from under your ass, trailing up your inner thigh. Your heart thunders in your chest as his fingertips find your folds, spreading your slick, your walls clenching down around nothing. 

“Know you need ��em, pretty girl,” Logan croons, two fingers nudging your entrance. “Beg for it.”

But he’s sucking on your clit again, making it impossible to say a word. You whimper, your legs trembling. “P-please,” you stutter, choking on air. “Need…” You trail off, your eyes fluttering closed. You swallow harshly. “Need your fingers, Lo,” you finally manage. 

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, shoving two fingers deep inside you, down to his knuckles. 

“Fuck, thank you,” you whine, moaning his name as his fingers stretch you out. You suddenly feel so full, so warm, so close. He pulls out, only to plunge back in, deeper this time. He’s lapping at you with reckless abandon—a man starved, like you’re the air he needs to breathe. Your walls flutter around him, the liquid heat in your lower belly threatening to burst. 

“Tastes so good,” Logan mumbles against you, his long, thick fingers thrusting in and out. He hits that sweet spot deep inside you with every pump. “Such a sweet little pussy. Tastes better than I imagined.” You’re crumbling underneath him. His words alone might push you over the edge. “Nothing compares to you, you know that?”

Your walls flutter again, his fingers sinking deeper inside you. “You like that?” Logan husks. “Like knowing how much I want you? How much I need you?”

“Yes,” you groan, his fingers fucking into you, faster now. His teeth graze your clit as he pulls the bud back into his mouth and sucks roughly. “N-need you, too. Always.” 

“I know, pretty girl,” he soothes, scissoring inside you, dragging along your walls. He laps at you, his tongue stroking your clit. “Not going anywhere. I’ve got you.”

You curse under your breath. You can feel yourself melting, your walls contracting and releasing. “Lo,” you call. “I’m so close. Wanna…” You trail off, unable to finish. 

“Can feel you squeezing me, sweetheart,” he breathes. “Don’t hold back. Let it happen,” he coaches, rocking into you. “Wanna taste you, wanna feel you come on my fingers.” He laps at you between sentences. “Come for me. Know you can do it.” And then everything is white-hot and blazing.

It’s earth-shattering—better than anything has ever felt before. The tension snaps, heat boiling under your skin. Everything is blurry, hazy, dizzied as you let go, and let go hard. You cry out Logan’s name, your thighs shaking as waves of pleasure drag you under. Your bones are burning, scorching. Everything is on fire—overwhelming and greedily all-consuming. 

Logan’s pumps slow, and he carefully pulls out of you. He laves at you, his tongue pushing through your folds, milking you dry, savoring every last drop. 

“Logan,” you whisper, your hands reaching down to his head, digging your fingers into his scalp. 

He hums against you, unwavering as his tongue laps at your folds, tasting your release. 

You’re still shaking, still coming down from your high. “Logan,” you call again, and he looks up this time, lifting his face from your cunt. Your release glistens on his chin, and he licks his lips clean of you. His eyes are dark, his palms squeezing your thighs possessively. 

“I’m not done yet, sweetheart,” he says, demand clear in his voice. 

Your heart flutters in your chest as he climbs up your body, hovering over you again. His lips find yours. “You taste that?” He mumbles, kissing you again, harder this time. “You taste how sweet you are?”

“Y-yes,” you answer, his hand sliding down your body, slipping between your legs, finding your overstimulated clit. 

He pinches the bud lightly, your back arching off the ground, your breasts pressing to his all-too-clothed chest. “Need more of you,” he husks, his hand dragging back up your body. He sits up and pulls you into his chest, taking all your weight as he hoists you up and stands. You instinctually wrap your legs around his waist. 

He places you in the center of your bed before striding across the room, closing and locking your bedroom door. “They’ll all be home soon,” Logan says, walking back towards you, spreading your legs and settling between your thighs. “Might have to be quiet for me, darlin’.”

“W-what do you—”

And then his face is buried deep inside your cunt, his tongue lapping desperately at your clit. “I told you,” he rasps. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

tags: @wittyjasontodd @wolverinesslut @galacticglitterglue @silversprings-mp3 @zxaera @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @alastorssimp @alsoprettyinpink @prettyseaveins @ilysmdovie12 @evasmlp @derbygracie @rammakela @honeyfewr @ricefordays-blog1 @manipulatour

[fairyniceyeah]

💎🐢Day 18: "I'm fine."

Self-Defense/Allergie/Headache

@juneofdoom

Day 17: "You don't want to do that"

Summary: How they found out about Vernon’s allergy.

CW: emeto, anaphylactic shock

Whumpee: Vernon

Caretaker: HipHop Team

“Sol-ah, you okay?”

The leader's voice made Vernon jerk upright from where he had slumped into his crossed arms onto the table. He winced as the light from the - normally rather dim - overhead lights assaulted his eyes. God, his head hurt.

“I’m fine”, he lied, half-heartedly. 

“Is that why you are white as snow, have not been paying attention and have about as many wrinkles on your forehead as my grandfather?”, Seungcheol asked with a raised eyebrow. Rude.

Fine, Vernon was not feeling fine. He was rather feeling the opposite of it. So he was in no position to keep lying - he didn’t even know why he had tried. He didn’t want to keep working after all.

“Okay, fine. My head hurts”, he mumbled, “I don’t feel that good. Does anybody have pain meds?”

His Hip-Hop team colleagues stared at him with various degrees of concern on their faces. 

Mingyu looked extremely worried, like he’d start to cry soon - which was unfair because it was Vernon’s headache. He wouldn’t mind giving it to somebody else but Mingyu definitely would not fare well with any kind of headache and especially not one that seemed willing to cut a brain in half.

Wonwoo looked rather unemotional and blank. As he always did but Vernon - even with his temples pounding - could see the faint line of worry on his brow. And sitting next to him meant that Vernon had the first row experience of noticing his knees bounce. It was dizzying.

Seungcheol, too, looked very concerned. His features were pulled into the endearing pout that made Carats and members alike wonder how he was the leader not the maknae. His hand was holding a pen, hovering over the lyrics sheets they had been working on when Vernon started feeling off. 

Vernon himself felt awful. He wasn’t prone to headaches - maybe this pain was the revenge for that. His head was hurting badly enough that his eyes watered with the light, every sound was too loud and even his stomach was feeling off. All he wanted to do was go home and sleep. While he didn’t like to admit that he was feeling under the weather - he was sure this headache would kill him if he didn’t take any measures to make him feel better.

In response to his question Wonwoo started rummaging in his bag pack while Mingyu shook his head. 

“I only have Woozi’s migraine meds on hand”, Seungcheol said with a grimace of regret, “they are prescription though, I can’t give you one. Sorry.” 

“I think I used up my own stash a few days ago”, Wonwoo added, cursing under his breath as he found an empty blister pack.

“It’s okay”, Vernon mumbled, though it was not okay. He felt so terrible and if pain relief would not come through meds he wanted sleep. “Can I go home then?”

Somehow his three hyungs managed to look even more concerned than they already did. Seungcheol was already nodding and stood up from his chair to round the table. One of his cool hands came to rest against Vernon’s forehead and the other began playing with his hair while the leader pulled him to lean against his stomach. Vernon sighed in relief, the coolness and the other administrations helping a bit.

“You’re not running a fever”, Seungcheol said in relief, “just not feeling well, huh?”

Vernon nodded, unwilling to speak up and contribute more to the noises of the studio. The fan was annoyingly loud and he swore he could hear Seokmin practicing his high notes even though the vocal studio was five floors down. His brain felt like it was pierced with icicles. 

“I have a leader’s meeting with Hoshi and Woozi in about half an hour so I can’t take you home but how about Wonwoo and Mingyu take you?”, Seungcheol suggested quietly. 

“Okay, yeah”, Vernon agreed readily. He didn’t care who was with him - as long as he got to go home. 

“Let’s get you up”, Wonwoo said and stood up to help Vernon to his feet. Standing up and opening his eyes was awful and Vernon groaned, closing his eyes again. There was some rustling and then something was placed on his face. Glasses? 

Vernon blinked open his eyes to find that Mingyu had placed his own dark sunglasses on his nose which meant the room was dark enough for his eyes to not water. “Thanks”, he mumbled quietly.

“Don’t worry about it”, Mingyu said gently, wrapping an arm around Vernon’s shoulder, “Coups-hyung is calling a car for us. Do you feel up to walking? I can carry you if you want.”

“I can walk. Slowly”, Vernon mumbled. He did not want to be seen carried out of the Pledis building even if that was all that he felt like he could manage. 

“Okay, come on”, Wonwoo suggested and wrapped his arm around Vernon’s back. Sandwiched between Wonwoo and Mingyu, Vernon was led out of the room, where Seungcheol stood with his phone in his hand.

“The car should be there soon”, he said and came up close to run his thumb over Vernon’s cheek, “feel better soon, kiddo. I’ll come home to check on you directly after that meeting once we agreed on some stuff. Love you.”

“Love you too, hyung”, Vernon whispered. 

The drive back to their shared house was awful to say the least. Being winter, it was dark outside and so all light from the cars driving into the opposite direction and even the light of the cars behind them was blinding. All Vernon could do was press his face into Mingyu’s shoulder and pray for the ride to be over soon. With the motion his stomach started to feel unsettled too - normally he didn’t really get carsick but the combination of pain and sitting in an awkward position to the direction they were driving in was making him queasy.

Once the car pulled into a stop in the driveway, Wonwoo lifted Vernon into his arms. Vernon didn’t even think about protesting, just nuzzled his face into his hyung’s neck. Mingyu opened the front door for them and then Vernon was set down on the living room couch.  

“Drink”, Wonwoo whispered and a cool glass was pressed to Vernon’s lips. He drank greedily, hoping that it would help the pain. He did feel a bit better after that and dared to open his eyes. 

The lights were off, only a faint light from the direction of the kitchen coming in. Wonwoo was sitting on the couch table in front of Vernon and smiled at him when the younger rapper opened his eyes. “Mingyu is making you some instant ramen”, he explained, “then you can take some painkillers and sleep after.”

Vernon hummed. Eating did not sound appealing at all. His stomach was still very queasy and even the thought of moving his jaw hurt. He knew the nausea could come from the headache. He had seen Woozi and Joshua - both members migraine patients - so very sick on the bathroom floor from the agony.

“I’m not hungry”, he mumbled, “my stomach feels off. I know that is likely from the headache but… can I just have a cereal bar and be done with it?”

Wonwoo sighed. “I guess so. I’ll see what we have, okay?”

“Thanks.”

Five minutes later - though it had felt like a small eternity for Vernon - both older rappers came to sit in the dark with him. Mingyu was holding another glass of water and a cereal bar wrapper. Wonwoo had seemingly found medication. Not caring about his image at all Vernon made grabby hands towards the cereal bar. He just wanted to eat, take meds and be done with the day.

Mingyu laughed softly and ripped open the wrapper to hand its contents to Vernon. “Here you go. Just eat and then you can sleep.”

It sounded heavenly. Vernon quickly gobbled down the cereal, not caring about taste at all and took the meds from Wonwoo. A few gulps and the water was down. Finally, sleep.

Getting carefully lifted into Wonwoo’s strong arms was welcome. As was the ability to rest his aching head on his shoulder again. The swoop his stomach made at the motion, was not. Suddenly the earlier queasiness became worse, so much worse. He was feeling hot all over and dizziness from the gained height made him feel like he was about to fall - though Vernon knew that Wonwoo would rather die than drop him.

“Hyung”, Vernon whispered, coughing a bit as his throat felt tight with nausea. He gagged weakly, unexpectedly for his hyung who startled. 

“Down”, Vernon requested panicked. But it was too late. Another gag overwhelmed him and then hot sick splashed from his mouth - onto Wonwoo’s shoulder and down his back. He had to give Wonwoo a whole lot of credit - while Mingyu squealed in disgust and surprise, Wonwoo just tensed but accepted his fate immediately. Vernon couldn’t do anything but try to lift his head a bit higher so that not everything dripped onto his hyung, who still held him protectively. There really was no use in setting Vernon down while he was actively vomiting - it would just be a bigger mess.

During a moment of respite, Vernon was put down on the ground and Mingyu pushed a trash can into his direction. Vernon buried his face inside, feeling tears of embarrassment trail down his cheeks. He couldn’t believe he had just thrown up on his hyung carrying him - like a child on their parent. 

He didn’t have time to feel more humiliated because chunky sick seemed to be stuck in his throat. He couldn’t breathe through it and he desperately coughed and retched trying to dislodge whatever was making his throat feel so tight. 

“Sol-ah”, Wonwoo mumbled, crouching down by his side - only wearing a T-shirt now - and patting his back, “is the headache that bad? Is this a migraine?”

Vernon shrugged as he coughed again, a bit of bile splattering into the vile substance below him. Still the tight feeling in his throat didn’t go away, even as he brought up another wave of cereal. If anything it got worse.

“Hyung”, he gasped, “I can’t breathe.”

Wonwoo’s pats on his back became harder but it didn’t help. Mingyu, who had sat a small distance away - not wanting to leave his dongsaeng to suffer and his hyung solely responsible - had gotten up and turned on the lights so they could see and actually help.

Almost simultaneously Wonwoo and Mingyu gasped. 

“Are you allergic to something, Hansol-ah?”, Wonwoo asked frantically. “Mingyu, call an ambulance.”

Allergic? No, Vernon wasn’t allergic to anything. He shook his head.

But as he threw up again and his throat went so tight that the resulting vertigo from lack of air made everything spin, did he see how his nail beds had turned blue from lack of oxygen. Only then did he become aware of the horrible wheezing sound that seemingly emanated from him.

It hurt. His chest felt like a snake was wrapped around his ribs and with every second he was more aware of the itchiness that assaulted his body.

“Hyung”, Vernon wheezed, clutching at Wonwoo in fear, feeling himself fall sideways.

His sight went black.

Part Two: Day 30: "Breathe, damn you."

Day 19: "This can't be happening."

Masterlist link: Fairy's Full Masterlist Fairy's June of Doom 2024

Notes: @sickiecloud found me a tweet where Vernon says they found out about his peanut allergy as a baby. So I am taking creative freedom with this. Sorry;)

[joelsgoldrush]

“give me the first taste” | 10k

logan howlett x f!reader

part 2 of “GUILTY PLEASURE”

"Your hungry flirt borders intrusion / And I'm building memories on things we have not said / Full is not heavy as empty, not nearly, my love / Give me the first taste / Let it begin, heaven cannot wait forever / Darling, just start start the chase, I'll let you win." The First Taste by Fiona Apple

SUMMARY: From the moment you first laid eyes on Logan, you knew he was a tough nut to crack. But if there’s one thing you love, it’s a challenge. As your relationship grows, you’re determined to show him that, in this universe, he can also be loved.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. angst. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. age-gap (reader is 25). once again wade saves the day. domestic!logan. soft dom!logan. logan calls reader “kid”. they watch (500) days of summer. oral sex (f and m receiving). fingering. thigh riding. thumb sucking. throat fucking. multiple orgasms. unprotected p in v. creampie (i would say i’m sorry but i’d be lying)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: jeez. hi guys!!! hope you’re doing alright. this is the 2nd part to “guilty pleasure.” writing for these two has been a total rollercoaster, but god was it worth it. as i always tell you, english isn’t my first language, so if you come across any mistake and you feel like letting me know, there’s no problem. thank you so much for all the support you’ve been giving my posts. i’m happy strangers out there take the time to read my silly stories :)

A girl and a mutant walk into an apartment…

Actually, you’re still trying to come up with the rest of the joke. But one thing’s true: Logan’s about to set foot in your place.

You curse under your breath, putting both your hands to work as you struggle to open the door. “Fucking swollen wood. I hate humidity,” you mutter, glancing back at Logan, who frowns as you keep trying different maneuvers to get the door to function properly.

It’s a shitty situation overall. And having that gorgeous man practically glued to your back isn’t helping in any way. You can tell he wants to give you a hand, but you’re not having it—women in STEM or something of the sort.

“May I—” he starts, though you cut him off before he can finish.

“I’ve got this. Just need to—” you say, ramming your shoulder into the door with enough force to make it finally give away. Almost stumbling over the carpet but managing to catch yourself, you sigh in relief. Meanwhile, Logan stands still, scrutinizing you until you gesture for him to enter. “Welcome to the smallest apartment in New York City. It's nothing fancy, but it’s got everything you need for a comfortable stay on a budget. Make yourself at home!”

Logan narrows his eyes, the tiniest smirk playing on his lips before stepping inside. Each of his movements seems to be premeditated as he tosses his jacket onto the couch, surveying the room. A portrait of when you were a kid, probably six or seven years old, catches his attention. He tilts his head, picking up the picture to examine it more closely, and then flashes you a lopsided grin. “How cute.”

“Well, I’ve changed a lot,” you take the picture from his hands, returning it to the shelf where he had gotten it from. 

“Well,” he echoes, mocking your tone, “your beauty certainly hasn’t.”

His eyes bore into you as you meet his gaze. What amazes you most is that he’s being completely honest. In a heartbeat, you look away, wondering what’s gotten into you. Usually, you’re not this awkward—you’ve learned how to take compliments over the years, knowing how to smile just right, to flutter your eyelashes. To blush and giggle in command. Those were the tools that helped you to survive countless first dates—your dearest aces up your sleeve.

There’s no use denying that they remained just that: first, failed dates. You hope you never have to go back to dating apps after this.

“Are you hungry? ��Cause I’m starving,” you say, trying to walk away from him, although he’s faster, catching your hand in his. 

“Hey,” he urges you to make eye contact with him, his voice perplexingly soft. “Is everything okay?”

You nod so vigorously that you nearly strain your neck. “I’m fine, I swear. I just never get past this point.”

Inching closer, he presses his lips together for a split second, his brows furrowing in confusion. “You lost me there.”

“Guys who come into my apartment don’t tend to call back,” you admit, a flush creeping up your face, cheeks getting hotter. “I happen to believe it’s a curse, though I’ve kissed, like, a hundred toads so far and it still won’t break.”

“So y’think you’re gonna scare me off,” he raises an eyebrow, grinning. His rough fingers become gentle as they tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s sweet. Should be the other way around.”

Wow. You two are a match made in heaven.

As you detach yourself from his embrace and head to the kitchen, you decide to look for something edible in the fridge, finding different trays of food from days ago, none of which look appetizing or suitable for feeding the Tin Woodman standing behind you.

All of a sudden, the unmistakable metallic sound of Logan’s claws unsheathing rings in your ears, forcing you to spin around. The image that unfolds before you is peculiar, to say the least: he’s cornering your cat against the door.

Why is he about to fight a cat?

“Please don’t kill him?” you take a step in his direction and scoop the little ball of white fur into your arms. Logan stares at both of you, eyes squinted and brows knitted. “I’m sure he’s the cutest feline you’ve ever seen. Have mercy on him.”

“I didn’t know you had a cat.”

“Earnest wasn’t aware of your existence either,” you reply, scratching along the animal’s back. He purrs beside your neck, his yellowish eyes never leaving Logan’s. “Earnest, this is Logan. He has claws just like you.”

“Don’t you dare compare me to that,” Logan warns you, retracting his claws with a sigh. You can’t help but wonder if he ever feels tranquil, at peace. “Y’know, you’ve doomed him to bad fortune with that name. Is he at least toilet trained?”

“Are you hating on The Importance of Being Earnest?” you ask, expecting a retort, though apparently the play’s title doesn’t ring a bell for him. “Oscar Wilde?”

“Who do you think you’re talkin’ to, kid?”

Now’s your time to roll your eyes, setting the cat down and letting it run away. He likes to hide in the bathroom—don’t ask why, because not even you know the answer to that. You flick your gaze up back to Logan, placing your hands on your hips. “See, you gave him trust issues.”

“He’ll survive. Don’t they have seven lives?”

This is the perfect conversation to have with someone who just ate you out thirty minutes ago: how many lives do cats have. Jesus.

At some point, Logan flops onto the couch, stretching out. You shudder as you hear him crack his neck, the popping sound getting on your nerves. He pats the empty side of the sofa, spreading his thighs until he’s almost taking up all the space. “Come here.”

Putting aside all your thoughts, you accept the invitation. You sit down, motionless, and his arm grazes the cushion behind your head, pulling you closer to him. You rest your cheek on his chest, letting out a deep sigh, one that you’ve been holding in since you got to the apartment. Is it possible that he knows you craved this? This proximity, this kind of affection. To be held—it’s been your only wish for months. He drums his fingers on your shoulder blades, then starts rubbing your back ever so lightly.

Far from dozing off, you feel alive.

It’s hard not to lose track of time and space when you find yourself immersed in the warmth he offers, and that’s when you realize how deeply you’re falling for this man. “Logan?” the mere thought of asking him what’s been on your mind terrifies you. The last thing you want is to ruin things—or whatever it is that you have. He hums, a low, heavy sound in his throat, indicating you to continue. “I have a question.”

“Ask away.”

You lift your face from his chest and look him in the eye. The city’s still alive outside, with music and chatter sneaking in through the window. Everything seems to be perfect, and you wish you could stay like this—just staring at him as if he were a painting in a museum, and you the critic who can’t stop writing articles about its beauty.

Okay, that was… weirdly specific. 

Logan tries to hide his smile as you peck his lips repeatedly. For a moment, you almost forget what you were going to ask him in the first place. But then he’s ready to listen, and you a wave of nausea washes over you.

“I know that we came here to… engage in adult practices.”

“Fucking, you mean.”

“I didn’t want to be that straightforward, but yeah,” you say, shaking your head as to rearrange your thoughts. “Would you mind if we stayed like this?” to emphasize your point, you kick your shoes off and put your legs on top of his lap. He observes the whole sequence without daring to utter a word. “Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to try that too. I truly do. But… right now, all I want is to cuddle,” he’s still silent, making you even more nervous. “I’m sorry. Is that okay with you?”

His whole body engulfs yours, your cheek coming to rest once again in its original position. You can feel the rhythmic beating of his heart, each breath he takes, the air he exhales dampening your nape. Logan peppers your neck with chaste kisses before pressing his lips to your temple. His voice comes out strained, partially muffled by your hair. “Who do you take me for, huh?” he’s right there, beside your ear, fucking everywhere. There isn’t a single centimeter of your exposed skin that he isn’t touching, marking as his. You don’t give him an answer, in part because you’re unsure of what to say. He takes your silence as a cue to keep talking. “Let me take you to bed.”

“I can walk on my own.”

“I know,” he mutters, standing up with you in his arms, one arm beneath your knees and the other one under your shoulders. Logan’s not used to being this cautious, this patient with someone he’s known for less than two weeks. You see it in his eyes when he lets his guard down—something that has cracked, a shell that’s been broken.

As he places you gently on top of the covers, he lingers for a moment, crouching beside the bed and searching for your lowered gaze. His fingers are warm as he tilts your chin up. “I didn’t come here just to have sex with you. That was a possibility, of course—but it’s not the main reason why I’m here,” he rasps, words accompanied by the light brush of his lips against yours for a quick, brief kiss. “I care about you. A lot. I’m fine with whatever we do as long as I get to be close to you,” he grabs your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He then goes back to his usual bossy self, his demeanor changing. “And I don’t want to hear you apologizing for not wanting to have sex ever again. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now you’re making jokes?”

“I can’t have serious conversations,” you confess, observing the look of pure confusion on his face. “It’s true. I once spoke at a funeral and they cut me off forty seconds into my speech.”

Logan laughs at your sudden confession, his eyes crinkling at the edges. Rising to his feet, he begins to unbutton his flannel, pausing after the first few buttons are undone, waiting for your approval. “Do you want me to stay tonight?” 

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is what I want.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

His words don’t hide any real threat—that you know.

You stifle your laughter, shedding your clothes. Instead of going to the bathroom to change, you toss your work clothes carelessly to the floor, opting for an old pair of pajamas that are the complete opposite of sexy. They surely have seen better days.

Logan’s eyes trail over you, taking his time to analyze the faded lettering on your wrinkled shirt. “Keep calm and eat pizza?” he reads aloud.

“Hey. I bought it when I was seventeen.”

“You could use a new wardrobe.”

“Well, what about you?” you tease, toying with his belt. “You’re gonna sleep like this in my bed?”

“Can’t wait for me to get my shirt off, huh?” he grins, that all-too-familiar smile on his lips.

You play along, folding your arms over your chest. “You think so highly of yourself.”

Without breaking eye contact, Logan unbuckles his jeans, letting them pool around his ankles. He then shrugs off his flannel, leaving him in just his briefs and vest. You scan his body, and the room suddenly feels a hundred degrees hotter, the air between you thickening. Logan notices your reaction, chuckling. “Don’t get too excited. This is all you’re getting today.”

“I think I’ve already heard that before.”

“Kid.”

You raise your hands in surrender, showing him your palms and mouthing ’sorry’. Approaching your bed, you pull back the covers and slip into it. When you see Logan still standing there, you frown. “Where are your manners? Come here. I’m very impatient.”

He grumbles something under his breath, but he doesn’t make you wait long. He proceeds to get under the sheets beside you, occupying that side of the bed that’s always been empty. As you both settle in, facing each other, you can’t help but giggle, your contagious laugh getting to him. “What now?”

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper, tracing the bridge of his nose with your index finger, a featherlight touch that has him closing his eyes. In the soft glow of the night, with the city’s distant sounds filtering in, he looks breathtaking. “I mean it.”

“Do you have an off switch?”

“I’m… not sure. Let’s find out tomorrow.”

“You need to sleep,” he pulls you onto his chest with firm but gentle hands. He intertwines his legs with yours, holding you close.

“Wait. I have a game to play.”

“It’s late.”

“Please?”

He sighs. “Okay.”

“We have to make confessions until we fall asleep.” 

“You just want to talk—that doesn’t even qualify as a game.”

“It does in this universe,” you reply, feeling his chest rumble with a chuckle as you settle more comfortably against him. “I’ll start: remember the first night you came to the bar?” he hums in acknowledgment. “It wasn’t Burger Night. We don’t serve food. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

He kisses the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “I knew. You don’t have a kitchen down there, baby,” he falls silent, taking his time to come up with a confession of his own. “I have a fear of flying.”

“Really? You, of all people?”

“I wasn’t expecting to be judged.”

“Oh, don’t be such a crybaby,” you tease, burying your face further into the crook of his shoulder, inhaling his scent. He shivers slightly where your nose touches his skin. “I like you. It’s kind of scary, and I’m sure saying something like this probably goes against the rules of dating 101, but I do. I feel safe with you, like—like this is where I’m supposed to be.”

Almost as if the pieces of the puzzle finally fit together, you think to yourself, though the words stay unspoken.

You’ve come to learn that Logan’s not a man of many words—he’s more of the “show, don’t tell” kind of guy. So when he makes you lift your face, you’re not surprised by the way he kisses you: hungrily. Passionately, like a starved man at an all-you-can-eat buffet. A soft whimper gets lost somewhere in your throat as his tongue makes its way into your mouth, languidly stroking yours.

“We didn’t brush our teeth,” you whisper against his lips, laughing when he groans in exasperation.

“You love having the final say, don’t you?”

“I’m being serious, Logan. Cavities are a real issue for me.”

“You can always get new teeth.”

“But my morning breath—”

“It’ll stink anyway, and so will mine,” he responds, taking a deep breath and clearing his throat once he settles into his ideal sleep position. “Good night.”

“Night,” you murmur, nuzzling your cheek against his neck. Despite your efforts to ignore it, being cradled like this feels incredible. You can’t believe you went twenty-five years without it.

Just as you’re about to drift off, curiosity strikes. “Can you get tattoos?”

“Bub, I was actually falling asleep.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry,” you mumble, feeling a bit sheepish.

More silence.

“Logan?”

“Hmm?”

“What was the Great Depression like?”

“Fuck me,” he mutters, his voice gruff as he shifts lightly. “It was fine. Now go to sleep.”

And you do, but not for long. An abrupt coldness wakes you up, eyes wide open, feeling disoriented. It’s still pitch black outside, far quieter than when you first fell asleep. The clock on your nightstand reads it’s 3:17 am, though it feels like you’ve only been in bed for five minutes.

Then you see him—he’s twitching in his sleep on the far side of the bed, his painful grunts reaching your ears. Most of what he says is unintelligible, but there’s one word he keeps repeating over and over again without fail: “No.”

You don’t usually have nightmares. What’s the best way to wake someone from one? You’re still thinking when he starts mumbling again, his voice thick with distress, and now he’s throwing his arms in the air as if he were fighting off something—or someone—in his dreams.

Pressing your hands to his cheeks, you attempt to hold his face steady. He clenches his fists, his breath quickening the more he battles whatever’s haunting him. “Logan,” you whisper at first, subtly shaking his shoulders, but his eyebrows stay furrowed, deep in his nightmare. This time, you tighten your grip, fully sitting on top of him. “Logan. Logan! Wake up!”

Without warning, you’re on your back, pinned against the mattress. Logan’s straddling your hips, caging you in with his body, the weight of his adamantium skeleton pressing down. Your hands are trapped beneath his, and you watch as he clenches his jaw, teeth bared in a way that looks painful. His eyes are so dark and wild you barely recognize him, prominent veins throbbing in his neck with each labored breath he takes.

“Logan,” your own voice sounds unnatural, forced, as you do your best to bring him back to reality. “It’s me. You’re alright.”

That seems to get through him. Logan stares at you in disbelief, his eyes softening as they take in your terrified expression. He abruptly pulls away, retreating to the nearest wall. He’s gasping for air, slamming his eyes shut, his legs trembling. The only sound you can hear is his rapid breathing. You get up from the bed, taking a step in his direction, but you don’t manage to go any further since he stops you with a shout.

“Stay right there!” he’s growling, pointing his finger at you. “I’m serious. Don’t come any closer.”

“Logan…”

“Please, no!” his voice increases in pitch, not being able to meet your eyes. “Please. Just stay there.”

You comply, not wanting to upset him any further. Sitting back on your knees, you try to appear calm. A man so strong, capable of things you can’t even understand. A weapon turned against himself now stands before you, pushing you away as if his presence were poisonous. He slumps to the floor, the fabric of his vest soaked with sweat.

Once he’s fully conscious, you cautiously crawl toward him, watching his every move. On a random day, this might have been funny for both of you, but right now, there’s no room for laughter. Logan shakes his head, his shoulders tensing when you reach out to hug him, wrapping your arms around his broad frame. It takes him a couple of minutes, but eventually, his body sags against yours. For a while, neither of you speaks. You just thread your fingers through his hair, hoping the closeness will help soothe him. “Feeling better?” you whisper in the shell of his ear, and he pulls back to look you in the eye. You caress his cheek, his stubble rough against your skin. “Welcome back.”

“I’m sorry,” it’s the first thing he says, covering your hand with his. One by one, he kisses your knuckles, still shaking his head. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“You had a nightmare—it’s not like you could control it.”

“But I could’ve hurt you,” he says, lowering his gaze to your wrists, where his fingerprints have left their mark. “God. I’m so sorry. I have to go.”

“Wait!” you grab his arm, your mouth setting in a hard line, stopping him from leaving. “Don’t run away from me, not now. Don’t push me away, Logan.”

“I could’ve done something much worse.”

“But you didn’t. It was a nightmare, baby. You didn’t know,” you kiss his forehead, hoping to talk some sense into him. “Please, stay. Let’s try to get some more sleep.”

“What if—”

You hold his face close to yours, your noses brushing. “You won’t hurt me.” 

This time, he lets you keep him close, the roles now reversed. You can see him fighting his exhaustion, not wanting to fall asleep. But the more you play with his hair, the harder it is for him to stay awake.

“I’m alright,” he says, seemingly reading your mind. It’s hard to tell whether he’s reassuring you or himself.

“I know,” you knead his shoulder, aiming to ease the tension knotted there. “You better sleep, or I might start rambling again.”

A faint, tired hum escapes him, at long last allowing his eyes to close. “I like hearing you talk,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your collarbone, drifting off soon after that.

You continue to hug him, feeling the weight of his body gradually relax against yours as his breathing evens out. The room is quiet, but your mind is far from it: a tornado of emotions swirls within you—concern, relief, love, and something else you can’t quite decipher. It isn’t until sleep finally claims you too that your brain stops going a hundred kilometers an hour.

The most surreal Sunday night of your whole life.

“So… when will you let me see Lolo again?”

Wade’s question makes you stop mid-pour, flicking your eyes between the drink and him. A few seats away, you hand a glass to Adam. Returning to where Wade’s currently sitting, you dry your hands on your apron. “Why are you even here?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, and he gives half a shrug. “Last time I checked, I wasn’t holding him against his will.”

“He’s been crashing at your place almost every night. You have your own methods, woman,” he raises one finger, then quickly adds another, pointing at your shirt. “Two methods, in fact.”

At that, you laugh mirthlessly, shaking your head with a grin. “I’m surprised anyone would willingly date you.”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he retorts, taking a tentative sip of his beer and leaning back in his chair.

You glance at him while you wipe down the bar, looking for something to occupy your hands. “He’s not my boyfriend—yet.”

Wade mimics a punch in his chest, just where his heart’s supposed to be, though you’re starting to question whether he has one. His lips form a small, exaggerated pout. “That must hurt, doll. You got yourself into a situationship with a goddamn fossil. Good luck getting out of that.”

“It’s not that bad,” you say, rolling your eyes. “We’re cool this way. There’s absolutely no need for a title.”

“Okay, let’s rehearse that one more time because you look like you’re about to cry,” he lifts an eyebrow, drawing nearer. “You want the title, right?”

“I don’t.”

He props his chin on his hand, laughing at you. “Yes, you do. You can’t fool me.”

“I said I don’t.”

“I said I don’t,” he mocks you, kicking his legs and puckering his lips.

You can’t help but throw the towel down on the counter with irritation, giving in. “Okay! Of course, I want the fucking title.”

“There she is!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up in a triumphant gesture. “Glad we’re speaking the truth now,” he tilts his head to the side, noticing your sudden silence. “Hey, drop the long face. I’m sure he’s been thinking about it. In order to understand Logan, I usually compare him to elders over ninety.”

“Why would you do that?” you ask, your tone a mix of mild annoyance and curiosity.

“Just think about it! Senior citizens didn’t date for too long in the past. They’d go straight from strangers to lovers. Take my grandparents, for example: in the span of one year, they met at a party, then got married, and had five kids. Do you really want to have a litter of Logan’s grumpy, hairy puppies?”

“Wade, that’s not even possible.”

“The point is,” he continues, finishing his beer and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Logan’s rusty in this area, alright? I’d bet a thousand dollars he probably dated Cleopatra.”

“How did you pass History in high school?”

“I never graduated, but keep that between us,” he lifts his shoulders, shrugging. He spins the empty bottle, contemplating his next words. “You should tell him how you feel and what you want. That’s what works best for Vanessa and me. It’s easier that way—you can’t expect him to just guess.”

You wrap your arms around yourself. “I just wish he’d realize it on his own.”

“Well, sometimes you need to give the other person a bit of guidance. I’m just laying out the basics of a relationship here. Did your parents hate each other or something?”

The irony of it all. “They got divorced when I was little.” 

“Oh, god,” Wade sighs, rubbing his temples before glancing at you. “Let me get this straight: Mommy and Daddy weren’t exactly the poster children for love. And you also happen to be a bartender. Anything else, honey? Please tell me you’re at least getting laid, because otherwise, I’m going to feel tremendously sorry for you and your mental health.”

Just then, you hear your name being called. Smiling at Wade, you mumble: “Saved by the bell.” Once you’re back from taking some orders, Wade jumps to his feet, coming around the counter to hug you.

“Dude, what’s the matter with you?” you ask, loosely returning the hug. 

“You’re a fucking survivor,” he whispers in your ear, genuinely sounding concerned. “I don’t know how you do it—you seem so put together. I would’ve lost it by now. A life without sex sounds awful.”

“Jesus, Wade! Get off!” you stretch your arm to punch him in the back, earning a groan from him. “Back to your seat, gentleman. I certainly don’t need your pity.”

“I’m a certified sexologist. Your secret’s safe with me,” he declares with a smirk, gesturing to his empty beer. “But first, I’m gonna need more of this tasty apple juice.”

“I hope you’ve got some cash on you,” you say, getting him another beer. “Why do I get the feeling Logan would kill us if he knew we’re talking about this?”

“Isn’t that what makes it even better?”

Swaying on your feet, you scrunch your nose, momentarily lost in thought. “He won’t let me touch him. I don’t know if it’s me that does something wrong. We do have our… moments, but he takes care of himself. And usually in the bathroom.”

Wade goes white in front of you. “How long has this been going on?”

“Over a month.”

“Oh. That’s bad, like, really bad.”

“Thanks! I’ll be sleeping on the highway tonight. You can always join me.”

“Doll, it’s nothing that can’t be fixed, alright?” he waves his hand dismissively, then sets his palms flat on the counter. “I know I’m starting to sound like a broken record, but talking to him is your best bet. This isn’t something you can just brush under the carpet. You’re like a goddamn radio—put it to good use.”

Just as you’re about to reply, you spot Logan entering the bar. You raise a hand in greeting, waving at him. He meets your gaze and smiles briefly, and so your eyes drift to Wade’s, shooting him a warning look. “If you keep this to yourself, I won’t charge you for today,” you mutter through gritted teeth, to which he answers by pretending to zip his mouth closed.

Logan takes a seat next to him, ignoring his presence. Instead, he focuses entirely on you. “Hey, kid.”

“Hey, homey.”

“Hiya, Wade,” Wade greets himself with a mock cheer, patting his own back, which makes you laugh. He turns to Logan and his whole face lights up. “I’m afraid to tell you I can’t sleep when you’re not around.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “Get your shit together.”

“You’re the worst roommate ever! Can’t believe you got yourself a girl and completely forgot about your bro,” Wade murmurs under his breath, just as his phone rings. “Thank God. I’ve got to go. My love nugget’s calling,” he announces, heading for the door. Before leaving, Wade blows the two of you a kiss. “I hate you both, but I also love you. Peace out, my friends!”

Logan and you exchange glances. “He’s a funny guy, isn’t he?”

“You could say that,” he replies, leaning in to kiss you on the lips. Logan intends to deepen the kiss, but you pull away after a couple of seconds. He frowns, clearly confused. “That’s how you greet me?”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a giggle. “My tip jar is practically empty, and I hate to say it, but it’s your fault.”

“Do you want me to say I’m sorry?”

“Oh, no.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m not,” he plants a quick kiss on your cheek, making you smile. “You have classes tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, at 9 am,” you almost grunt, not feeling too enthusiastic about it. “I’m gonna need your help. I can’t sleep through my alarm, okay? The professor said tomorrow’s class is an important one. Midterms are right around the corner, and I can’t take the liberty of failing them.”

“That won’t happen,” he assures you, and you believe him. “I can be of help, don’t worry. You won’t oversleep.”

Oh, Logan. Sweet, lying Logan.

Turns out you ended up oversleeping. Twenty-five years on this earth, and you still haven’t learned not to trust a man, even if his puppy-dog eyes silently beg you to do otherwise. The thing is—you love them. You love men. And you’re especially fond of the one currently sleeping in your bed.

The first rays of sunshine hit your face, waking you up. You attempt to raise a hand to shield your eyes, but moving any limbs feels like a Herculean task. A warm body is pressed against your back, one veiny arm draped over your stomach. Logan remains fast asleep behind you, his steady breathing succeeding in making you feel at ease. You reach back, running your fingers through his messy hair, and he grumbles in his sleep, instinctively pulling you closer.

What a nice, domestic morning. Yep, you’re getting used to this. And nope, you don’t regret it, not even in the slightest bit.

Though there must be a mistake, because you’re preeeeetty sure you had something important to do. 

Oh. You have classes. Had—past tense.

You reach for your nightstand, blindly groping for your phone. The charger is lying on the floor, the plastic of it all damaged. Perhaps Earnest had chewed on it while you were sleeping? You gently pry Logan’s arm off you, sitting up, and your bleary eyes land on something barely peeking out from under the bed.

It’s your fucking phone. The screen is completely shattered, with three distinct holes in the middle of it. Three holes, how strange! You can’t help but wonder who might have left them. Clutching your pillow, you whack Logan in the face with it. “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!”

He groans, trying to take the pillow away from you. “What the fuck is wrong with you, kid?”

“I wish I had a UNO reverse card because I should be the one asking you that!” you jab your finger into his chest, showing him the ruined phone. “You broke my fucking phone!”

“What?” he asks, voice laden with sleep, still disoriented. He holds the phone, carefully scrutinizing it. “I think I don’t know how to hit the snooze button.”

“No shit, Sherlock. I believe you’ve made that very clear,” you huff, tossing the phone aside as you flop back onto the mattress. The clock on your nightstand says 11:05 am, and you cover your face with your hands, taking a deep breath. “Next time, when it goes off, just wake me up and I’ll do it.”

Logan settles beside you, resting his head on his forearm as he watches you. “I’m sorry, bub. I’ll get you a new one.”

“It’s fine,” you murmur, sighing. This is your free ticket to be a menace. “I should’ve known dinosaurs and phones would never get along. My bad, pal.”

You don’t even get to see his reaction because he starts tickling you, the room filling with your laughter. Squealing, you try to wriggle away, but his fingers dig into your ribs, expertly finding your most ticklish spots. Your giggles escalate into breathless laughter, your eyes squeezed shut as you desperately attempt to push him away. He’s relentless, chuckling when his own laughter bubbles up. 

“L-logan, stop!” you gasp between fits of laughter, aiming to grasp his hands.

“We dinosaurs love tickling people. Sorry, sweetheart,” he manhandles you until you’re perched on his lap, fisting the fabric of your (his) shirt. Leaning forward, he captures your mouth in a heated kiss. “I’m sorry about the phone,” he slurs the words against your cheek, his lips trailing down to your neck. You tell him that it’s okay, trying to find a comfortable position on top of him, and that’s when his thigh presses against your core, your eyes widening at the unexpected sensation. Logan’s no fool, noticing the way your breath hitches. “What’s wrong, baby? You woke up needy?”

“No, I just—” you trail off as he does it again, his strong thigh coming in contact with your clothed cunt. You search for leverage by placing your hands on his shoulders, glancing at him. “Logan.”

“I’m all ears,” he rests his back against the headboard, the tent in his boxers impossible to ignore. “You want to get off on my thigh,” he states with certainty. It’s not a question—it’s a full-on statement. He knows what you want, what you crave. “Come on then. Grind against it.”

You do as he says, not caring to think twice. You start moving, rubbing your wet pussy against his muscular thigh. The friction sends jolts of pleasure through you, and soon, you’re whimpering his name, your hands trailing down his abs. Why hadn’t you tried this before? It feels fucking amazing.

From his position, Logan stares at you, his lips slightly parted, eyes clouded with lust. Your arousal drenches your panties, soaking through them, the fabric clinging to his coarse leg hair. He glances down at the mess you’re making, his grin widening as he takes in the sight. “Goddamn, woman. I’m gonna make you clean it off, I swear to God.”

“Need your help,” you whisper, lowering your head, the heat in your cheeks intensifying. The coil tightening inside you is almost unbearable. A kiss is what you lean in for, desperate for more, though Logan appears to have other plans. He fists your hair, pulling at your nape and yanking your head back. The roughness of the movement pulls a moan from your lips, your mouth parched like a desert. 

“Eyes up here, okay? You look at me when I make you come,” his raspy voice makes you feel tingly, each word sending shivers down your spine. His hands fiercely grab the flesh of your hips, guiding you, helping you grind harder against his thigh. You think you’re on the verge of drooling when you catch the way his abdomen flexes, working to push you toward that long-awaited release. “That’s it, there you go,” he rasps, relishing the sounds he’s eliciting from you, each of your gasps feeding his desire.

Time slows as the warmth in your belly finally erupts, your eyes fighting to stay open through the aftershocks of your orgasm. No actual words leave your mouth, just a string of whines and moans, some carrying Logan’s name. He swallows every single sound you make, everything you give him, grunting as your legs tremble and shake atop him.

He lets you collapse onto your back, your breathing gradually evening out. “I think I saw fireworks behind my lids,” you confess, your mouth dry, expecting Logan to flop onto the mattress beside you. But he doesn’t. Through your blurry vision, you contemplate as he positions himself between your parted legs, getting dangerously close to your cunt. “Logan, what are you— Oh, fuck,” you moan mid-sentence when you feel him pulling your panties aside to lick a slow strip through your folds, collecting your arousal. He points his tongue, dipping it into your entrance, and you wince, squirming. “Santa Claus, is that you?”

Logan grins against you, closing his mouth around clit for a moment. He then shifts until he’s eye-to-eye with you, two of his fingers sliding into you in one smooth motion. “Give me another one,” he murmurs, his other hand slipping under your shirt to play with your nipples, pinching them. 

You never imagined two fingers could bring such intense pleasure. You just lie there, taking it like a good girl, as Logan sometimes call you. “Please, I need you,” you cry out, your fingernails scraping against his torso.

“I know, darlin’. I’m right here,” he rasps against your temple, moving his fingers in and out of you with more enthusiasm. But what he doesn’t understand is that you need all of him. Your hands itch to touch him, to feel the weight of his cock. The corners of his mouth turn up as he watches you struggle to find words. “Wish you could see yourself like this. Such a pretty girl, so gorgeous like this,” his fingers keep grazing that bundle of joy deep inside you, and he goes in for a kiss, the sour taste of your slick invading your taste buds. “Tightest pussy I’ve ever had. Need to stretch you real good before fucking you with my cock.”

Bingo! That last sentence does it for you, and you come for the second time in the morning, your cunt clenching and spasming around his fingers. You hide your face in his neck, mouthing at his Adam’s apple. He hasn’t trimmed his beard in days, and it shows because you can now feel a burning sensation on the soft skin of your inner thighs.

“You’re allowed to break all my phones from now on,” you suggest, only to hear Logan’s laughter in your ear. He snakes a hand through your hair, shoving it back away from your face. You feel him kiss your sweaty forehead, and as you press yourself closer to his body, something hard nudges your hipbone.

Absentmindedly, you trace the waistband of his boxers with your index finger, your eyes snapping to his face. Logan freezes on the spot, and it’s almost as if he’s stopped breathing. Without a word, he rises from the bed, his movements sudden and almost mechanical. You watch him, puzzled, as he heads toward the bathroom, the intimacy of just moments ago being abruptly replaced by a dreadful silence.

“Logan, is everything okay? Do you need something?” you ask and he pauses at the bathroom door, his back to you. For a brief second, you think he might actually open up, but when he turns around, his expression is neutral, masking whatever thoughts are running through his mind. At last, he flashes you a quick smile.

“I’m fine,” he says, his tone gentle but distant. “Just gonna take a shower. Then we can have breakfast together, right?”

You nod, his words easing the growing sense of frustration gnawing at you. He disappears into the bathroom, and the sound of running water soon follows. You sink back into the bed, staring up at the ceiling. You take your pillow and bury your face in it, letting out a muffled groan. There’s something he isn't telling you, something hidden deep beneath his usual gruff exterior. Although you try to piece together the fragments of his behavior, they don’t quite fit.

The minutes drag on, and the sound of the shower becomes a distant, constant background noise. You close your eyes, visualizing your happy place, but your thoughts keep spiraling. All you can do is wait—wait for him to come back and act as if nothing had happened.

Logan’s right there, just a few feet away—yet in moments like these, he feels miles apart. It’s one of those days in which, no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to bridge that distance. 

It had all started with you asking Logan “Have you ever watched (500) Days of Summer?”

Of course, he had refused to watch the movie at first, and of course, you had threatened him with phoning Wade to let him know that Logan wanted to have a sleepover. That had done the trick.

You had asked for a day off at the bar, and surprisingly, your boss hadn’t objected. That turn of events led to this moment: sprawled out on the couch with Logan, the two of you watching the final minutes of your favorite film. Logan takes a long drag of his cigar, eyes trained intently on the screen. He’s only wearing sweatpants, which had caused your attention to drift from the plot a few times. The fact that you managed to sit through the entire movie without needing to pause it makes you feel particularly invincible.

Hey.

You again.

Yeah. I, uh, was just wondering if maybe after this, if, um, you— you want to get some coffee or something.

Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sort of supposed to meet someone after this.

Okay.

“That poor fella,” Logan murmurs, taking a slow sip of his beer. You look up at him from where your head rests on his lap, a contented smile playing on your lips. His fingers absently stroke your hair.

“Just wait,” you say, pointing to the screen of your laptop.

Sure.

What’s that?

Why not?

Okay. Well, then I’ll just, uh— I’ll wait for you.

We— we’ll figure it out.

We’ll figure it out.

“They’ll figure it out!” you exclaim, but Logan quickly shushes you, his attention unwavering.

My name’s Tom.

Nice to meet you. I’m Autumn.

When the movie comes to an end, you’re met with Joseph Gordon-Levitt breaking the fourth wall, staring straight at the audience as if he knows he’s about to get himself into a mess with another girl named after a season. You sit up, your eyes eagerly searching for Logan’s. “So? Did you like it? I’ve watched it seven times now. Can’t understand how it gets better each time.”

Logan closes his mouth around his cigar, inhaling deeply before answering. “Yeah, it was pretty good,” he says, his hand finding your cheek, thumb brushing softly against your skin. “Summer’s a bitch, though.”

“I respectfully disagree,” you tell him, grabbing his beer and giving it a try, only to grimace at the taste. Shuddering, you set it back down. “Why don’t you like her character?”

“Well, for starters, she did Tom dirty. Played with him like he was a damn rag doll.”

You raise an eyebrow, hugging a cushion closer to your chest as you lean back into the couch. “He knew from the beginning she didn’t want to be his girlfriend. Summer was clear—Tom just though he was smart enough to change her mind.”

“They acted like boyfriend and girlfriend the whole movie,” he scorns, placing his cigar down into the ashtray with a bit more force than necessary.

Is your first argument going to be over a movie? Exciting.

“Logan, they weren’t even official.”

“But she made it seem like they were,” he insists, the frustration in his voice growing.

“They were in a situationship—the perfect example, really. That’s not the same as being a couple.”

His gaze dips to the floor, brows knitted in a deep frown. “I think you’re relying on the technicality that they never used those titles. I mean, they did everything together. Isn’t that what normal couples do?”

Lord have mercy.

“Logan, who am I to you?” you inquire, crossing your arms over your chest.

He hesitates, narrowing his eyes, the question clearly catching him off guard. “You are—what? I don’t understand. Is this some kind of mind game you’re playing?”

“It’s actually very simple: if someone were to ask you about me, what would you say? Am I a friend? A bartender?” you inch forward, holding your breath, your tone faltering slightly. Meanwhile, Logan’s hands tighten into fists at his sides. “A fling? Your girlfriend? You complain so much about Summer, yet you can’t even name what we have.”

The living room falls into a heavy silence. Logan blinks slowly, his forehead creasing as he processes your words. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because these are the kinds of conversations we need to have. I understand you don’t want to have them, but I do.”

“Fine. Then tell me what it is that you want,” he asks, his mouth snapping shut when he sees you snorting in response.

“I don’t— I don’t know! To know how you feel, if possible?” you stand up from the couch, taking the cushion with you. You grind your jaw, gnawing on your bottom lip. “Why is it that every time I try to touch you, you push me away?”

He scrunches up his face, mirroring your movements and rising from his seat. “Bub, can we please talk about this tomorrow—”

“No! You don’t get to make all the choices, that’s not fair. Deciphering you isn’t easy, Logan. I’m not asking you to tell me everything you’ve been through. I just wish I could know how you feel about me. I can’t stand in front of you and pretend I don’t mind where this is going, because I’m more than sure I’m falling in love with you. “

“You can’t. You shouldn’t,” he says, his expression hardening. He turns his back to you, running his hands over his face in frustration before heading to the kitchen.

“Well, what were you expecting?” you follow him into the kitchen, finding Earnest on top of the fridge, beholding the scene with a curious gaze. “You basically moved in here, gave me a free trial of what life with you might be like, and now you have the audacity to appear surprised when I tell you I’ve caught feelings?” salty tears start rolling down your cheeks, and you spread your arms wide in exasperation. “Oh, but you’re right. How could I’ve been this stupid, to fall for the damned Wolverine!” you laugh bitterly, expecting him to break eye contact, but he doesn’t. “You think you’re so bad, so broken. Guess what: you’re not, because I love you, and I couldn’t care less about your past. You may think you’re unlovable, but you’re not, you hear me?”

For a heartbeat, the world seems to pause. And so he says:

“You are the most exasperating person I know.”

“Wow. Thank you so much!” you retort, your voice dripping with sarcasm. You run a hand through your hair, infuriated. “That makes me feel better!”

“Let me do the talking now,” he says, taking long strides toward you, and the proximity makes you lower your head. “You’re not getting the final say today. Just because I’m not over-sharing my feelings all the time doesn’t mean I don’t have them! In fact, I do. I may not express them openly, but they exist. And I wish you could see inside my head! You’d be delighted at how much time I spend thinking about you,” you cackle at his words, rolling your eyes. His fingers grip your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “There hasn’t been a single moment since the day we met that I have stopped wanting you. Your voice is like a goddamn radio that, no matter what I do, I can’t turn off. It’s like I’m infected by you, and I hate it!” his eyes burn with a mix of anger and affectionpur, his pursed lips softening as he continues. “No good ever comes from caring this much about someone. So excuse me for being scared of ruining the only good thing that’s happened to me in years!”

You hit him with the cushion—not with enough force to make him hurt, but enough to make a point.

“Drop it, kid.”

“I’m—” you hit him again, “not—” and again, “stupid. I know what I’m getting myself into,” as you attempt to raise the cushion once more, Logan takes it from your hands, throwing it on the counter. Your shoulders sag, trying to find the strength to keep going. “And I know for a fact,” you add, glancing at his conflicted eyes, “that the easiest thing for me would be to walk away from you, but I can’t. It’s too fucking late.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do! These are my feelings, okay? Mine, not yours. You don’t have the right to decide who I love and who I don’t.”

Logan’s eyes squint, scanning your face. “You’re… obnoxious.”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”

“And I—I love you,” he confesses, his nostrils flaring with emotion. Opening your mouth to say something, you close it moments later, your gaze locked on his. “You could take what you said, pretend as if I didn’t exist, and I wouldn’t say a thing, y’understand? I would move cities if you asked me, because I love you that fucking much, and I want you to be happy.”

You reach for his hand, briefly intertwining your fingers with his. Looking at him through your eyelashes, you rub your fingers over his stubble. “And what if my happiness comes from being with you?”

Logan lets out a harsh breath, his arm curling around your waist, pressing his chest to yours. “I can’t promise I’ll be the perfect boyfriend. I’ll probably makeplenty of mistakes.”

“Fine with me.”

“And you’ll be mad at me. A lot.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll make sure it’s mutual.”

Both of you laugh then, and you’re taken aback when he brushes his nose against your cheek, silently seeking permission to kiss you. His lips move hungrily against yours, trailing his hands down your spine, pulling you closer. He breaks the kiss and laughs at your eagerness when you chase after his mouth. You end up perched on his lap as he settles into one of your kitchen chairs. Logan stares into your eyes, his gaze drifting lower. “I won’t push you away this time. Not anymore.”

That’s your cue to finally do what you’ve been yearning for weeks. You fall to your knees in front of him, shaky fingers that graze the hairs on his happy trail. The bulge in his sweatpants is close to your face, and your mouth waters at the thought of having him between your lips. “Can I?” you ask, your voice a touch higher. 

He draws a long breath, tilting his head slightly. “You may, baby.”

You pull at his sweatpants and boxers, sliding them down his legs just enough to free his hard cock. As you take a look at it, you find yourself at a loss for words, the sight overwhelming. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the first taste of his precum as you envelop his head between your lips, that musky scent of his hitting you.

A whimper escapes you, and Logan hisses when you run your tongue along the slit, his hands gripping the back of your neck tightly. “Fuck, darlin’. Thought about your mouth so many times, but never imagined it’d feel this good,” he cants his hips up, causing your movements to stutter. “You can take a bit more, can’t you?” his question ends with a guttural grunt, his fingers tightening on your hair. “Gotta show me how much you want this.”

Logan takes all that you give him. You lower your head further, taking in another inch of him. Sex’s supposed to feel good, but this? It feels even greater. And he’s not even inside you yet, you hear a voice murmur in your head. The hand on your nape encourages you to move faster, and you sneak a hand between your bodies, grasping him by the base. You swallow around him, eyes fluttering open when he tugs sharply at your hair..

“Thaaaat’s it, honey. Just like that, want you to choke on it,” he grumbles, running his mouth just the way you like. The tip of his cock nudges the back of your throat and tears fill your eyes. You pull away to catch your breath, still stroking him as you regain composure. Logan’s gaze is intense, and he stares into your soul, his chest heaving. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Dick got your tongue?”

You’ll definitely get back to that joke later.

“Will you—can you—”

“Come on, beautiful. I don’t have all day.”

God, you love it when he’s mean.

“Fuck my throat,” you plead, your voice barely above a whisper.

A smile dangles on the corner of his lips. “We both know you can be nicer.”

The fucker makes your pulse race. “Can you fuck my throat?” you ask again, more insistently. “Please.”

He guides himself into your mouth, smirking as he watches how your eyes roll back in pleasure. “How polite of you to say please. Some good manners you’ve got.”

You whimper around him, your body responding to the rhythm he sets, fully immersed in the intensity of the moment. And for a while, you drift away, losing your sanity with each thrust of his hips, every tug at your hair. It’s almost impossible not to compare him to your past hookups. You try to recall at least a single instance when another man made you feel this way, but no memory surfaces.

Time seems to stretch and warp. You don’t really know when it happens—he pulls you off his cock, cradling your face, examining you. “You fucking love that, don’t you?” he asks with that sweet, syrupy voice, brushing away your tears. There’s no room left for embarrassment, so you nod, closing your mouth around his thumb. Defeated, Logan shakes his head, pressing his finger against your tongue. “I was planning on coming on your mouth, but I think I’ve got a better idea.”

In the blink of an eye, you’re in your bedroom. Not even a metaphor—he picks you up and basically runs to your room, closing the door behind him. You prop yourself on your forearms, trying to process what’s about to happen. Logan, already naked, climbs onto the bed after you, He kisses you slowly, tracing the curves of your body. “You still want this?”

“I do. I’m just… nervous, that’s all,” you admit, flashing him a quick smile. “It’s been two years of celibacy for me. Will it fit?” you ask, glancing down at his cock, and Logan stares at you in confusion. “Also, how many girlfriends have you had? Just curious.”

“I don’t think this is the time for that conversation.”

“You’re right,” you agree, lying back on the mattress, bracing yourself for what’s to come. “Were they pretty?”

“Bub.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up,” he replies with a smirk. “Focus on me, okay?”

Despite your tries to crack jokes at the worst possible moment, things escalate pretty quickly. Logan’s got three fingers inside you, pumping them in and out. He’s already made you come once with his mouth—to get you more relaxed, he had said. Wanting sounds slip past your lips as he doesn’t miss the chance to hit that spot that makes you squeeze your legs together. The tip of his nose drags long lines up and down the skin of your neck, mouthing at your jaw.

“I’m ready,” you mumble after some minutes, reaching for his cock and stroking him. “Let’s break the bed.”

“You’re lucky you’re this cute,” he says, catching your lips in a kiss. “Condom?”

“Negative, Sergeant.”

“You don’t have any?”

You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek. “I don’t want you to use one.”

The way his gaze darkens doesn’t go unnoticed by you. His hand guides your face toward his cock. “Get me wet,” he commands, and you oblige, sucking him into your mouth. You hum around him, unable to contain yourself, and you hear Logan chuckling above you. “Can’t believe this is what it takes for you to shut up. Gotta keep your mouth full all the time.”

Once he’s satisfied with the way you’ve slicked him, he positions himself over you, caging you between his arms. Logan pins you down with his body, his hot breath mingling with yours. When you stare into his eyes, all you see is pure love, and your heart swells with affection. “Will you fuck the bad jokes out of me?”

Logan laughs, rubbing his length along your folds, grazing your clit for a fleeting second. “I sure as hell will,” he assures you, lining himself up with your wet entrance. He looks into your eyes for approval. “Ready?”

“I was born rea— Fuck!” you nearly scream as his head breaches you, your eyes squeezing shut. Turns out his fingers weren’t enough. “Fucking mutant dick.”

“You’ll love it, believe me,” he husks next to your ear. His arms shake where they rest on each side of your head, seemingly as affected as you are. Logan pulls out, and then fucks into you with a little more force.  “How are you still so tight? You’re killin’ me here.”

“I’ve got no idea, but you feel—amazing,” you gasp, latching onto his back, holding him close to you. His thrusts gain strength, and suddenly he’s bottoming inside you. “Oh, god. I can feel you in my stomach.”

“I know, baby, I know. Can feel it too,” he curls one of his hands around your throat, keeping you in place. From his position, he can watch the way your face contorts in pleasure. Lowering his head to envelop one of your nipples between his lips, he sucks hard. “You were desperate enough to get on your knees in the damn kitchen. You’ll be good now too, am I right?”

“Yes. Yes. I can be good,” you pant, eyes wide and pleading. “Anything you want. Just don’t stop.”

“I’m not stoppin’, princess. Don’t worry,” his mouth curves into a wicked grin as he drives into you again, this time even deeper. His hand on your throat tightens slightly, just enough to make you feel the pressure, grounding you in the moment. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs against your chest, his voice laden with need. 

Each thrust has you gasping, your body arching off the bed to meet his. Logan’s grip on your neck loosens as his hand slides down to grasp your hip. He squeezes your tender flesh, pulling you harder against him, as if he can’t get close enough. The bed creaks under the intensity, but you barely notice, too far lost in the rhythm of his movements.

“You’re perfect, all I’ve ever wanted,” he slips his free hand between your bodies to find your clit, and the moment his fingers make contact with it, you can’t help but whine. “So fuckin’ perfect,” you hear him repeat, more to himself than to you, his voice stranded as he tries to hold himself back, letting you chase your own release first.

The pressure inside you builds up, tightening with every skilled flick of his fingers. You’re sure you must look like a mess, sweaty and sticky, though the way he looks at you makes you forget everything else. “Logan, I’m—” you croak, the wind being knocked out of your lungs with each relentless thrust. “I think I’m gonna come.”

He picks up speed, snapping his hips faster. “I’ve got you, let go for me. I’ll take care of you, baby, I swear,” his pace becomes erratic, digging his fingers into the softness of your thighs as the headboard keeps slamming against the wall. Your body obeys him, a shuddering release tearing through you, moaning Logan’s name and gripping him like a vice. “That’s it, fuck, that’s it,” he doesn’t stop, driving you through your orgasm. His eyes snap to your face, contemplating how wrecked you look. “Tell me where—please, sweetheart.”

“Inside.”

“What?”

“I said inside. Come inside me, Logan.”

He’s not strong enough to deny you such a thing. Logan buries himself to the hilt, groaning your name as his cock twitches and paints your walls with his thick seed. Beside your head, his claws unsheate, tearing into the pillow. He ruts against you, his body trembling and writhing against yours, already apologizing for the pillow incident while pressing his forehead to your shoulder. “Sorry, I’m sorry. That hasn’t happened in a while.”

When Logan collapses beside you, he pulls you into his arms, kissing you eagerly. You return the kiss, wincing as you feel a bit of his cum slip out of you, rolling down your thighs. He stares at your glistening cunt without an ounce of remorse, and you close your legs. “That’s private.”

“It wasn’t very private a minute ago.”

“Logan?”

“Tell me, bub.”

“Knock, knock.”

He must truly love you, because he plays along: “Who’s there?”

“Ice cream.”

“Ice cream who?”

“Ice cream for you all night long.”

“Guess I didn’t succeed in fuckin’ the bad jokes out of you,” he teases softly, letting his head fall back on the bed. “But it’s fine. I’ll just have to keep tryin’.”

This is the story of how you end up dating a man who’s two hundred years old. But it’s also the story of how that same man learns to let his guard down and open his heart. So, remember this, kids: the sky’s the limit, especially when it comes to love—and yes, even when it involves dating mutants.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

[bweirdart]

nearly oc-tober time again - time for some prompts for 2024

F.A.Q

do i have to draw?

not at all! you are free to participate with any medium that suits you... writing, artwork, free bases and templates, simple text posts, in-character-as-your-oc roleplay, whatever! (just no stealing or AI)

do i have to make new content?

nope! re-uploading old stuff that fits the prompts is allowed (and encouraged) ... old art that didn't get the appreciation it needed always deserves a chance to be shared again, it's a fun throwback!

do i have to post every day?

nope! only 10 days are mandatory (the ones in red with a star symbol) and everything else (yellow) is 100% optional! if you're busy or tired, please skip as many as you want

can i start early?

you can prep your posts in advance if you need to ... but please wait until the right day in october to share them!

can i re-upload your prompt list to another site?

i would prefer if you dont - i have accounts on most sites, so just reblog/retweet/share from me!

event tag?

#bweirdOCtober

have fun!

image desc/text version ↓under the cut↓ or on bweird.art/october

prompts:

WEEK 1: OC INTRODUCTIONS

⭐ 1: FAV OC

what makes them your fav?

2: NEW OC

how recently did you make them?

3: OLD OC

how long ago did you make them?

⭐ 4: UNDER-APPRECIATED OC

an oc you feel like you don't talk about enough, or you haven't fleshed out as much as you would like

5: RE-DESIGNED OC

an oc who has changed a lot (what changed about them?) or, if you haven't redesigned an oc: is there anything you might want to change about an existing oc?

WEEK 2: BUILDING BACKSTORY

⭐ 6: PAST

where is your oc from? what did they look like as a child?

7: LIKES

what do they like (and why?)

8: DISLIKES

what don't they like (and why?)

⭐ 9: RELATIONSHIPS

doesn't have to be romantic! can any kind of relationship (frienship, family, rivalry etc)

10: PERSONALITY

what are your oc's main personality traits

11: SYMBOLISM/THEMES

what represents your oc? is there a specific colour you associate them with, or a specific animal?

12: FUTURE

what will your oc look like in the future? do they have any plans or goals?

WEEK 3: FUN + GAMES

⭐13: MEMES

do any memes remind you of your oc? are there memes your oc would find funny? maybe you want to redraw your oc as one?

14: WHO/WHAT INSPIRED YOUR OC

are there existing characters that your oc looks like? was your oc based on yourself? is your oc originally from a specific fandom?

15: MUSIC

share a character playlist, write a songfic, post lyrics that remind you of them, etc

⭐16: EYES CLOSED or NON DOMINANT HAND

draw a picture of your oc with your eyes closed or with your non domminant hand, write or type a paragraph about them without your eyes closed, etc ... have fun, and don't worry about it looking "bad" -it's meant to!!

17: DnD ALIGNMENT CHART

put all your ocs into a DnD alignment chart, or any other similar chart if you prefer

i've compiled a few templates on my site, but you can find more easily if you google "oc alignment chart"

⭐18: SWAP

swap something between your ocs - their role in the story, hairstyles, personalities, fashion taste, species ... whatever you want! how would this difference change them?

19: PALETTE CHALLENGES

draw your ocs with as many of these colour palettes as you want (or just skip if you don't draw/don't like doing these!)

hex codes for the colours:

palette 1 - #3C1E81 #6D1EA2 #B059E8 #FE0876 #FE5284 #FE7C96 #E0CFE3 #FFD5C3

palette 2 - #352823 #673F28 #AB541C #BA8233 #897128 #A68B2F #F7BF6A #DAC3A4

palette 3 - #A42E25 #D7412B #E47C29 #F7A233 #FCC02D #FCE4A6 #486548 #FEFDE8

palette 4 - #2F4769 #39597E #53779C #94D1E7 #AADDE7 #D48DB7 #D498B5 #D2BABA

WEEK 4: COMMUNITY

20-26: A WHOLE WEEK OF SOCIAL STUFF

if you don't have the time/energy to do every day this week, ⭐ day 23 is the only one marked as mandatory! you can skip the rest!

some ideas for what you could do: talk about a friend's oc you like, make gift art/writing of them, collabs, trades, reblog/appreciate ocs in the event tag, make interactions between your ocs and other people's

WEEK 5: HALLOWEEN

⭐27: FEARS

is your oc scared of anything? do they have any phobias? are they startled easily? would any of your ocs try to scare ppl on purpose?

28: MONSTER

what would your oc be if they were a monster (eg: werewolf, vampire, eldritch beast.. whatever) or, do you have an oc who is already a monster?

29: PUMPKIN CARVING

your ocs carving pumpkins, a drawing of a pumpkin carved to look like your oc ... or even carve it in real life!

30: GHOST

this can be literally a ghost, or a concept that haunts your oc! up to you!

⭐ 31: COSTUMES

what are your ocs wearing for halloween?