#Shock To The System (Part One)

[youremyonlyhope]

It is so crazy to me that in the year of our Duck Lord 2024, there are still StarKid fans who are only just now learning that Curt Mega was on Glee.

[potionwine]

Oooh, you’ve also seen Nirvana in Fire?!? That was SO good. And as inspiration for PF?? That, explains some things, dang! It works

My friend. My dear. My lovely Cimi—

WHAT in the world—

Have I seen the drama that bloody changed my life; my favourite comfort c-drama; the series that I rewatch yearly the way I rewatch lotr every Christmastime; that exquisite story with the most incredible breadth and variety of characters with impeccable character work and amazing themes and an ending that respects its viewers which however tragic is thoroughly earned and identity porn and politics and pride and grief, god, so much grief—and an Emperor who is shakespearean in his tragedy and—

Okay. Okay, no, you could not have known, tis a failure of my part if I have not spoken enough about it—I probably mostly reply to other people's posts as they liveblog their watching but. BUT. God when I saw your ask it felt like you came up to me to remark "hey wow so you also ship PF?" that's how gobsmacked I was lol!!!

I have dragged everyone in my life into watching this show! I have mutuals on here who can testify to my introducing them to it omg. I just checked and the earliest NIF post I reblogged was in 2016 so I have been watching it every year since 2016 hahaha!!! Although it's pretty complex chinese, and since so much of the show is made up of characters sitting around talking the intricate plot into existence, it's not really a beginner-friendly c-drama either!!!

NOW I DIDN'T KNOW YOU'VE WATCHED IT TOO???!!!

I. have. been. going. UTTERLY MENTAL. at the lack of anyone with whom I could talk about it? OR SO I THOUGHT. So many times I thought of going into our discord to be like "has anyone ever heard of NIF because hhhhhhh the phoenixflare resonance" or like "so is anyone into TGCF perhaps perchance mayhap???"——because heh. hehehehe. heheheh??? My fic is practically a NIF/TGCF mashup, it's a Lin Shu+Xie Lian!Joshua Rosfield & Jingyan+Hua Cheng!Dion Lesage——and I CANNOT TELL YOU HOW MANY TIMES I wanted to ask god please does anyone else see my vision please god does anyone?? but no one would even understand the references, and I couldn't even ask in areas (asian fandom) where there would be a higher chance of people knowing what crack I'm on because asian fandom is all about that...you know...that I loathe—and I have been in pain and I thought right well fine I'm writing the fic anyway it's fine if I have no one to scream about it with because I'm writing it and then I'll find fellow competence porn+politics enjoyers if they find my fic and—and.

God. What an earth-shattering message to receive in my askbox! You are some sort of miracle <3

Do you see it??? Do you see it? A boy who burned to death in an inferno as an innocent betrayed youth in a catastrophic event caused by his own family, his father slain, his entire clan (and all the troops under his banner) wiped out or scattered. A boy reborn after extensive and horrific injuries after an agonisingly long period of recovery: a ghost who crawled his way out of the gates of hell, the last of his broken once-noble house.

That boy's transformation into his new identity of Mei Changsu/Margrace. His off-screen discovery of the truth that led to Meiling/Phoenix Gate and his continued on-screen quest to learn more. His determination to hold the true culprits accountable at immense personal cost and suffering. His dogged persistence despite incredible odds and visibly failing health. Being surrounded by people who love him and want to protect him, and himself constantly undermining their efforts because his goals are more important than his health. (Because in truth he knows perfectly well that he won't survive, but he can make a difference while he is alive.)

Something that amuses me hugely is how Lin Shu and Joshua literally both come back as 宗主? I love it so much! They come back with the same title! Both of them come back as clan leaders of an organisation that obeys their every command! Margrace is the 不死鳥教団の宗主(=leader of the cult of the undying bird) and Mei Changsu is 江左盟的宗主(=leader of the Jiangzuo alliance).

AND. Hooooo yea this PF fic is just JingSu at this point because oh, a handsome, principled, prideful, and stubborn prince who is a decorated warrior famed for his numerous military accomplishments and the man who is essential to the success of Lin Shu's/Joshua's plans? The resurrected boy barging into his prince's life: no matter how insane it is to choose your side, still "I choose you, Your Highness Prince Jing"??? The fact that the undervalued prince has a history with our secretive ghost protagonist? And (arguably) frequently thought about and missed the bright boy he knew once upon a time in happier days—"I know you," says Dion Lesage without a shadow of a doubt, extremely normal of him to instantly recognise a dead boy he met 20 years ago?

Mutual admiration of each other's integrity and capabilities? Reciprocal faith and remembrance? The foundation of deep respect and enduring friendship, their shared goals and shared family??? I froth at the mouth. JingSu are cousins, PF are stepsiblings by their parents' marriage. Each pair is bound by destiny and by choice—other people have made choices that permanently entangled each pair's lives together forevermore (Joshua+Dion and Jingyan+Xiaoshu), and the choice they themselves personally made to choose each other—

DO YOU SEE THE VISION.

How difficult it is to pursue justice when everyone involved is family and how impossible it is for Lin Shu the nigh-extinguished Chiyan fire for Joshua, the guttering flame, to indict Jingyan's father the Emperor of Liang Dion's father the Emperor of Sanbreque of his crimes against Joshua's family without opening old wounds and hurting many loved ones in the process including Dion himself. The people directly responsible for the tragedies are related to the protagonists in one way or another! If Lin Shu Joshua ever wants resolution for his grief unending, he has to strike at his beloved's father, and plot meticulously to avoid all of the dangers of attacking such a powerful enemy.

(Of course, I acknowledge the critical difference in Jingyan's versus Dion's feelings about their respective fathers.)

Now if only Joshua had done the famous blizzard scene with Dion instead of letting him go off to carry out his ill-advised coup—"Xiao Jingyan! You stand where you are! If I don't stop you today, what are you going to do? What do you think you can possibly accomplish if you charge in to challenge imperial power like this? Do you think you can simply force the Emperor [to do what you want/change his mind about Anabella Wei Zheng]? You have honour and valour but why do you just not have brains! How many more people must be hurt, you tell me!"

Anyway Joshy doesn't have the insufferable smugness of Xiaoshu but he does absolutely have Xiaoshu's pride, the sort of pride that is not just personal pride but familial pride too (after all Joshua comes from extremely prestigious lineage)—just look at how he speaks to Ultima in every scene, his lordly manner. Joshua I think has more Consort Jing to him, and Consort Jing is only my favourite character in all of NIF, in a drama where I love every character to bits—steel in softness, ever gentle ever polite yet not to be bullied and not to be underestimated and also extremely perceptive and learned and patient. Extra sweet bonus that Consort Jing is also a healer. Elegant, restrained, and very repressed. Who knows the depths of Joshua's Consort Jing's grief and loss?

But you know, Jingyan, near the end he is completely in charge—the prince who was always a great and respected general on the battlefield is now more than that, he's directly taking responsibility for all of his people as their future ruler—that means thinking on multiple fronts and exerting control over all of the key governing officials, not merely his military officers. He's leading with confidence, and there's that little scene where he apologises to Xiaoshu for taking action on several plans without consulting him, and Xiaoshu says no, this is the way it should be, this is the correct state of affairs: you are the crown prince, and this is rightfully your arena. You lead, you decide, you command.

Jingyan now sees clearly, he's found out and accepted the truths of his father's role in the atrocity at Meiling and everything that happened back then. He rightly perceives the failings of his family and seeks to redress past wrongs and avoid repetition of past mistakes, he weeds his court of the corrupt and the cowardly, he's become the best possible version of himself: stronger than ever, not just a powerful wartime commander-in-chief but an inspiring leader in the imperial court, careful, thoughtful and politically up-to-speed, finally stable in his sense of self instead of being permanently stuck as that angry and lost and hurting child. He has renewed purpose, he possesses hope for the future, he is able to dedicate himself fully to what he truly believes to be right and act in furtherance of righteous causes—

Critically, this is the man he becomes only because Xiaoshu came back into his life to shake it up. Without Xiaoshu he wouldn't even have the opportunity or means or knowledge. The radiant and fiery boy who Jingyan missed all his life came back to save him. From the outsider prince without contacts or support within the imperial court->to the crown prince who has the court subdued within the palm of his hand. From his pitiful existence as a neglected, unfavoured prince, his lowkey constant simmering resentment, his half-dutiful half-forced obedience of paternal orders that chafe at his conscience->into the steadfast and self-assured prince who is capable of fighting for the betterment of his country and the rallying point for virtuous officials who share those aspirations. The drama shows the audience that Jingyan is unquestionably ready to assume rulership, and together with the person he loves most, they achieve their goals, they save each other and their country (by arresting its downward slide due to the rotten state of its governance).

It's just a strong headcanon of mine (albeit one that I can absolutely present extensive arguments for) but to me Joshua Rosfield is the one and only character able to perform that same abovementioned function for Dion Lesage. Catalyst, turning point, spark that ignites the fire—whatever you call it, this is salvation. It is beautifully poetic that both Lin Shu and Joshua are characterised by fire. They are the fires of change that burn away the old life: before their arrival, the two war princes exist in a state of wearying routine, long-suffering and almost hopeless. Both Jingyan and Dion are shackled by their stations and duties, both are unloved sons with virtually no chance of their circumstances improving without drastic action, and both are trapped in precarious situations where they are subject to the whims of their father (if their imperial fathers turn on them, it will result in irrevocable loss of their status).

Dion's position is weak in the Oriflamme imperial court—pretty sure this point isn't up for debate, since no one ever speaks up in support of him despite the obvious injustice of his ill-treatment. His degree of influence in the court is much, much, so much less than any reasonable person might expect someone who is literally Bahamut and crown prince to have. The Council of Elders and other officials stand by haplessly while he is progressively stripped of power in favour of Olivier. Nobody defends him, nobody objects. (Or maybe some did, and were eliminated.) Even Dion himself submits to the abuse despite inherently superior abilities. Career politicians know which direction the winds blow—they don't defy their Empress, meaning they are either her cronies or too fearful of her to make themselves a target by any raising any opposition. Added to that is the implication that Dion was often away for long periods—and as Xiaoshu explicitly tells Jingyan in the drama, the crown prince cannot leave the imperial capital untended because that is the surest way to lose power. Dion may be Sanbreque's mightiest weapon and revered by the populace, but in practice his political sway is almost negligible. He is not able to leverage himself effectively.

Don't get me wrong, for these reasons I extra extra love the canon portrayal of J*** obeying Joshua against her wishes and T****** obeying Dion against his wishes—I absolutely think their obedience is, to them, the truest and highest and final demonstration of their love and understanding of their respective masters. And both Joshua and Dion expected no less from them. [I've not typed the names out just in case the search function ends up capturing the post and putting it in their tags, not because I hate those characters; I just don't want to be uncivil within fandom.]

But the very point here is that, you know, sometimes you aren't supposed to leave someone just because they say so. Sometimes it is the worst possible course of action to obey someone just because they command it. Sometimes it is undesirable at best and disastrous at worst to support someone's every decision out of unchanging (if uncharitable, one might even say unthinking) loyalty. That is a fundamentally unequal relationship, and while beautiful in its own way, is also uniquely doomed. The truth is, Joshua was always going to pull that trigger, and Dion was always going to pull that trigger: the master was always going to sever the relationship. Those pairs were doomed as soon as they began, because one party can only ever say yes, and yes means the end, you see? That is The End, that is the final break. By their very subordinate nature and by their established personalities within the game, "yes" is the one and only answer J*** and T****** can ever or will ever give. Their master will say, "Leave me", meaning it is over, and they will reply, "Yes, I obey". Because this is the only answer that proves their devotion, leaving them totally incapable of changing the script. Both J*** and T****** knew it and played their parts to perfection, and my heart hurts for them.

In NIF terms, I reckon J*** is Gong Yu, and T****** is Lie Zhanying. Zhanying will follow Jingyan to the end, whatever it may be—in fact in one episode he explicitly says so, and his loyalty is never in doubt. He will go to his death if Jingyan orders it. He will always support Jingyan's decisions. He and the rest of Jingyan's men have been following Jingyan even when the prince was out of favour and cold-shouldered and constantly dispatched to safeguard the country's frontiers—inconvenient places where comfort is low and the environment harsh. Jingyan's favoured brothers live in the lap of luxury within their palaces (like Olivier), while Jingyan himself (like Dion) has always been at war. And as with Zhanying, T****** will never be able to change this status quo on behalf of Jingyan (Dion). For all his boundless dedication to his lord, Zhanying will never be able to improve his prince's standing in the court, never be able to secure more political power for his prince (unless his prince decides to revolt/coup), never be able to make his prince's father love or prize his prince.

It is not a problem of character or willpower or desire. It is, simply put, a problem of power. It is a problem of class. The servant rises as their master rises, and falls as their master falls. In other words, the servant's status is determined by their master's status. Zhanying is Jingyan's deputy. When Jingyan's status was elevated, Zhanying naturally also assumed commandership over more troop divisions because those were allocated to the prince by the Liang Emperor. (There is no doubt in my mind that T******'s status as second-in-command is because of Prince Dion. He's too young to have earned that position by gradual promotion through meritorious accomplishment. Unless you're telling me that the knights dragoon don't have a single officer above age 30.) Zhanying is invaluable to Prince Jing in security, in warcraft, and in a variety of generic daily tasks. However, he is part of the rigid imperial system and lower in the hierarchy. He may persuade his lord, but he cannot order him. He may disagree, but he cannot defy. He may privately despise the Emperor/Empress, but he cannot show it and cannot act on it (literally treason). His role is to follow and obey. If he does not perform that role for whatever reason, he fundamentally negates his utility to his lord.

Ergo, endgame Jingyan is only possible because his true equal and soulmate, his real zhiji, came back to challenge the status quo. In fact, came back to challenge him. It is not merely the fact that this person understands him above all, it is also the fact that this person has the ability to act on that understanding. Jingyan is technically also Xiaoshu's prince, master, and eventual Emperor—so where is the difference?

The difference is, Lin Shu is comparable in nobility. Lin Shu is the cousin of princes and the incumbent Emperor's nephew, Lin Shu was raised amongst the imperial household, and played and studied and fought and hung out with them as peers of roughly equal rank. In this respect Joshua actually outstrips Lin Shu: Joshua is a prince by blood, and had Rosaria not fallen (especially if Sylvestre had not risen to the throne), would have been higher status than Dion. It's a massive pet peeve of mine that so many fans in XVI fandom don't seem to realise that Joshua was crown prince? Everybody knows Dion is crown prince, but do they realise Joshua is the original? In the English version prologue, the knights do call him "prince" and "your highness". The Rosarian throne is Joshua's by right of birth. At the time of their meeting as children, Joshua outranked Dion. They were equals as Dominants of their nation, but Dion back then was the child of a Cardinal and not the child of Sanbreque's ruler at that time; i.e. he was not a prince and not in line for the Sanbrequois throne.

The other wonderful similarity is Lin Shu's and Joshua's statuses as outsiders to the system when they reintroduce themselves to Jingyan/Dion. As Jingyan's strategist, Lin Shu has more leeway with regards to making his prince listen to him and take his advice. But importantly, he is now Mei Changsu, and that means he is able to play outside of the system. The imperial system effectively cast him out when it killed him. The strict codes of imperial conduct no longer chain him as they chain those confined within its structure. As a free agent unlike Zhanying, he has the right and privilege of choosing his own master. That includes the right to leave or to change his mind. And although the prince's strategist is supposed to be subordinate too, Xiaoshu would never truly be subordinate in the same fashion no matter how many times he bows his head, because at his core he is still high nobility and it still shines through despite everything. His manners are still perfect. He still navigates life with the easy expectation that people will serve him. He grabs the Duchess' hand and yells at Prince Jing and gloats at Marquis Ning. It's all the little ways that remind the audience, over and over, that this man was raised as a posh lordling. You can remove the boy from the upper class but you can't remove the upper class from the boy. It's the same with Joshua. His manners are still court-perfect. He still moves through life accepting that he will be served. He may bow his head to Dion and call him "your highness" but he also takes the liberty of throwing himself at Dion for a hug. Because to him, the prince is not some lofty and untouchable figure to be addressed with unfailing deference, he's just a friend.

(I know T****** is minor nobility, to be honest Zhanying definitely is too. The deputies of high level royals aren't going to be commoners. But I don't think I have to explain the gulf between ruling class/a close blood relative of the monarch versus lower nobility.)

Joshua too is an outsider that isn't beholden to Sanbreque's Emperor in the way that all of Dion and his knights owe their fealty. Again in this respect Joshua has it better than Xiaoshu—Joshua is his own sovereign master, and that should impact his perspective, his sense of self, and therefore his behaviour with others and how he navigates the world.

Gong Yu... I think anyone who's watched NIF will know exactly why I say that J***'s counterpart is Gong Yu lol. I think the s/h/u/a/t/e/s want her counterpart to be Princess (Duchess) Nihuang and they certainly produce fanwork in that vein, and I respect them for it because fans be doing what they love and hooray for that. But..... she's Gong Yu.

For all these reasons I am utterly obsessed with a Joshua that pushes back at Dion. The person able to challenge the status quo and challenge Dion. An equal who listens to Dion's absurd speech in the palace at Twinside and calls utter bullshit, who says, "A matter for the imperial family? are you joking? that's my mother, that's my younger brother. an imperial matter for you to resolve? say rather, our family, OUR problem to resolve. You don't get to go off half-cooked to arrest or kill my mother without actual political strategies, notwithstanding your military capability to launch a coup. And also, what about your dad? However much I love you, my darling Dion, we have to talk about the way that you insist on poor little meow meowing your awful father because my dear old mum didn't do Phoenix Gate alone and she for sure didn't immaculately conceive Olivier."

Endgame Dion isn't satisfactory in several glaring ways and it annoys me hugely that even unto the end he never grapples with and confronts the truth of his father instead of the idealised version that lives in his head. It's a little bizarre how Dion's arc is often praised by fans, since it feels very incomplete to me. Or, well, fine, perhaps just unsatisfying (since XVI simply isn't his story). His deep-seated need to be loved by his father prevents him from seeing anything clearly, which is so ironic for the only character to possess a third eye in canon? His honour and his might have been squandered in service to a selfish, uncaring, and objectively bad monarch, yet despite how earnestly Dion wants to be a good prince to his people he seems wholly incapable of recognising this fact? His mind repeatedly shies away from his father's shortcomings. In one scene he calls his father out for words befitting a tyrant, yet ultimately he persists in the belief that his father simply needs to be saved from Anabella's evil influence as if Sylvestre Lesage isn't a 50-year-old adult man who schemed his way to the throne and killed a woman's whole family and happily married that woman to beget legitimate offspring with her.

Soooo....... I've just spoiled the whole plot of my fic but it's really just NIF nonsense as usual and that is actually extremely predictable of me. But honestly the spoiling is not a big deal, because as with NIF, fundamentally my story is not meant to be plot-twisty and suspenseful—the real storytelling skill of the NIF drama is that the audience should be able to quickly grasp the overarching plot with no difficulty because the pleasure of this particular type of story is to watch the protagonist achieve their heart's desire, step by delicious step. The objective of this type of story is to properly pay off what it promises. NIF=the wronged protagonist seeks justice. We already know Lin Shu will obtain justice by the end of the tale, what we are here to enjoy is the journey! Same really for IEM I reckon; by the end of chapter 1 Joshua's goals should be really obvious, and since my little fic will have the happy ending tag because I only ever write happy endings, the audience basically knows he'll succeed—it's very much a journey not destination kind of story.

Ooof the post is crazy long and took me 3 nights to compose an answer and I haven't even managed to go into any TGCF elements but that work mainly contributes to characterisation instead of plot. One of the craziest XVI scenes was the Hideaway's sickbay after Twinside, the genuine regret Joshua expressed and how he blamed himself for not reaching out to Dion sooner; now the Empire and her prince lie in ruins etc. Surely he remembers this is the country that destroyed his own? Surely??? What kind of person, robbed of home and throne, can find it in himself to respond with so much empathy and kindness? Sanbreque has now experienced pretty much the same tragedy they inflicted on Rosaria two decades ago, and isn't that just the funniest parody of divine retribution? Instead of viewing this as Sanbreque's just deserts, Joshua Rosfield pities them and wishes he could have helped them avert this disaster.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Wonderfully Xie Lian-coded. Something something someone who has been through the worst and nevertheless chooses goodness and kindness. Someone who intimately understands the ugliest and lowest depths that people sink to, yet refuse to lose themselves in that temptation even when vengeance would seem perfectly justified.

You've known for a long time now that I love a Joshua who is very similar to his mother. This is why lol. It's about that delicious, delicious contrasting foil. It is the difference between Jun Wu & Xie Lian, as it is the difference between Anabella & Joshua. That the indestructible integrity we see from Xie Lian or Joshua didn't come easy, they weren't born perfect, their ethics were tested and forged and earned through suffering the likes of which most people will never know. The person that they have each become is the sum of their choices actively made. In the canon of TGCF and XVI, both of these ex-crown-princes live on in disgrace, in circumstances best described as reduced and humiliating, their respective kingdoms fallen, their wealth and glory spent—but they are better and braver human beings than everyone around them, they are beautiful and noble souls, quiet and unacknowledged, and only Hua Cheng and Dion truly see and fully understand that (and therefore cannot help but love them utterly).

I've a few more thoughts regarding Joshua swirling around as captured in other Xie Lian posts: here, here, here, and here. Not sure if you know TGCF or are into it as well, but just leaving links to those posts here for my own benefit too. I've been gravitating towards phoenixflare comparisons in various hualian meta posts since early 2024 so clearly these concepts have been stewing in my head for some duration, but I haven't fully teased out what it is about these two ships that gives me that niggling sense of connecting similarities.

^ Whereas I clearly know exactly what it is about JingSu that makes me point and holler "THEM!"

[whoblewboobear]

It’s strange, I’m used to hyperfixating hard on things like HARD (beats my 2yr long beetlejuice musical obsession back with a stick) but Starbreaker- not even fantasy high itself took me over to the point of feeling like a teen about. Like I haven’t had this much fun in fandom in years. I haven’t like- interacted with people this much in fandom in years (which is still not enough but if I beat myself up about social interaction again I’ll jump off a cliff)

But there’s never been a concern of like “this obsession won’t fade for a while but it’ll lose popularity” and that’s fine and surprisingly it hasn’t. But it is different. It’s like adapting to it constantly as the thing itself changes even when there are aspects that you’d like to stay the same. Like that ‘I don’t go to this school of thought, but I’ll still take the class bc it’s interesting’ sorta thing.

And then there’s that feeling of WANTING to contribute but the thing has become such a beast that it’s like oooh I’m so out of my depths here.

Also like constantly having to look myself in the eye and be like ‘bitch you don’t have to talk or contribute to EVERYTHING’ and the sooner I accept that and accept that it is what it is, ill miss things, I won’t get enjoyment out of every aspect and every aspect isn’t for me and that that isn’t a bad thing, I’ll stop having moments of feeling weird and out of place. I have my lil corner and that’s okay

[slrmagazine]

Seether And Daughtry Announce 2025 Co-Headline Tour. #seether #daughtry @seether @Daughtry_News

[porcupine-girl]

Things we already know about the UHC shooter, mostly from his social media:

- He has a bachelor’s and Master’s in computer science from an Ivy League school.

- He has read several books on chronic back pain.

- His profile banner includes a photo of an x-ray for back surgery. (Spinal fusion I believe.)

- Based on messages from his family, he dropped off the map a few months ago and they’ve been worried about him.

- His political beliefs are a bit all over the map; without doing a deep-dive my take is a pretty average centrist tech bro who’s read too much evopsych.

I’m a bit worried that, as the left is so fond of doing, people will turn on him immediately for that last part. Let’s not do that! Can we agree not to do that? Because here’s the important thing:

He’s a victim of the system, just like we all are. The system pushed him past his limits, and he lashed out at it. The details of his political leanings don’t actually matter - what matters is that you don’t have to be a radical leftist to lash out at a health insurance company. That’s shows how bad things are broken, that a guy who seems fairly privileged in most respects, with no strong political motive, could be beaten down and broken to the point of doing this. He has two Ivy League computer science degrees and yet had nothing left to lose.

This is a class war that doesn’t differentiate between the working class, middle class, even upper middle class. We’re all dog food for the 1% to chew up and spit out. Even if he turned out to be hardcore right wing, in this one single issue we’re united with him.

Everyone’s been talking about how this guy has seen insane levels of support across the political spectrum - which means nobody should be shocked that he could have come from any spot on that spectrum. I’m hoping the fact that he doesn’t seem super far left or right politically will make it easier to keep that unity, but the left just looooves our purity tests. Let’s maybe not this time.

[cherrwysx-music]

♫ Daughtry - Shock To The System (Part One) ♫

[buckyblogs]

MY BUCKY FIC RECOMMENDATIONS

• ‘come home to me’ - during the rise and ruin of the second world war, a sharp-tongued brooklyn girl falls for james buchanan barnes—only to lose him to the battlefield, a presumed death, and the silence that follows. but almost two years later, when the war is long over and the wounds have scarred over, he comes back through her door, proving that some promises do survive the fire. (14.7k) @danysdaughter

! • ‘promise without ceremony’ - Bucky Barnes gave up on marriage a long time ago. But then, somewhere deep in a storm-soaked safe house, he pulls a bullet from your leg and accidentally proposes in the process. (3.9k) @cheekybarnes

• ‘lessons in lovemaking’ - You and Bucky Barnes go undercover as a married couple, but when a fake kiss gets too real, he unexpectedly finishes in his pants—leaving you both stunned. (smut masterlist) @artficlly

• ‘this is (not) fine’ - personal assistant rules: don’t crush on bucky barnes. definitely don’t misinterpret a flower purchase and spiral into silent heartbreak, and absolutely never ever get stuck alone with him in an elevator. (smut - 9.1k) @artficlly

• ‘take me home’ - the team discovers bucky's relationship with you when bucky searches for you in the hospital after hydra attacks new york (secret marriage - 1.7k) @parkers-gal

• ‘jackass’ - Everyone is horrified that Bucky is flirting with a married woman, but then they realise there's a reason why. (secret marriage - 3k) @aquaticmercy

! • ‘lumberjack!bucky series’ - Roots and Branches is the main story, Hardwood the follow-up, and the rest are one shots that you can read -or not- in the order you desire. (oh my god i love this) @vunblr

• ‘moving in’ - You're moving into your brand new apartment with Bucky. (beefy!bucky smut) @brunchable

• ‘movie night’ - You come home exhausted from another day of work, not expecting Bucky to surprise you with a little heart-warming gesture to show you how much he appreciates you. (fiance) @brunchable

• ‘my neighbour is a p⭐️’ - Things have turned awkward. You and Bucky hasn't spoken with each other for a few days now. But is the much needed space making things better or worse? (part 3/3 - other parts are in their masterlist!) @brunchable

• ‘all the apple cider and no more haunted houses’ - you and bucky barnes have a love-hate relationship—you love him and you believe he hates you—but when your friends insist on going to the scariest haunted house attraction in the area, the experience ends up forcing your real feelings for each other out into light. (smut - 11.1k) @witchywithwhiskey

• ‘the forever third wheels’ - it's the weekend of your town's annual valentine's day carnival and you go with your group of friends, though you can't help but be sad you don't have someone special in your life. your friend, and fellow third wheel, bucky barnes makes it his mission to give you a valentine's day you won't soon forget—and show you how special you are to him. (6.6k) @witchywithwhiskey

• ‘the day after’ - Your new roommate introduces you to her brother, but you met him last night. (implied smut - 2.3k+) @navybrat817

! • ‘like he means it’ - You can’t take another night of hearing Bucky fuck a girl who isn’t you. (oh my god 😭😍 - mentions of sex - 13.6k) @marvelstoriesepic

! • ‘summer surprise’ - You've been looking forward to kicking off the summer with a week on your dads new boat. You decide to have one last night of fun before committing to a week on the sea with your family. But you're thrown into a world of shock when you realize the older man you slept with, only days prior, is not only friends with your dad, but also joining you for the trip. (age-gap! - 21k) @pome-seed

! • ‘we couldn’t stop’ - During a sweep of a forgotten HYDRA lab, you, Steve, and Bucky trigger an old aerosol dispersal system. No one realizes what hit you until it’s too late. Now stuck in quarantine- burning, aching, and caged in with two dominant, unraveling super soldiers- you’re forced to ride out the drug’s effects together. (Bucky & Steve - 7k) @societyfolklore

• ‘fractured light’ - In this emotional slow-burn romance, you, Steve Rogers’ best friend, find yourself homeless and jobless, seeking refuge in the Brooklyn apartment he shares with Bucky Barnes. While Steve welcomes you with open arms, Bucky is wary, his distrust rooted in a painful past tied to a silver ring from the 1940s. (oh my god - sobbing 😭 - 30k+) @onlyforsebastianstan

! • ‘captain, stg, grumpy, and their doll!’ - (poly!relationship, Steve x Reader x Bucky | Stucky x Reader - 1.5k) @mercurial-chuckles

• ‘a favour’ masterlist - The team is close, obviously. They thought they knew everything about each other… until Y/N drunkenly admits to the team that she’s never had sex. And she’s eagerly waiting for that to change. Everyone is happy to step up to the plate, regardless of Bucky’s feelings for Y/N. Can he confess before it’s too late? (4 parts - 7.5k+ total) @buckysbabygorl

! • ‘tied in trust’ - You only asked for something light—just a little teasing, some rope, a blindfold. But Bucky Barnes never did anything halfway. Not when it came to you. (literally my dream scenario with Buck - 7k) @buckyseternaldoll

*! • ‘manchild’ - bucky can't help but wonder why they always come running to you,, or your living fossil of a roommate disapproves of your taste in men and its totally not because he wants a taste of you. (smut - funny & adorable - 16.3k) @houseofhyde

WILL KEEP UPDATING!

* means new, ! means personal favourites

MAKE SURE TO FOLLOW AND CHECK OUT ALL THESE AMAZING AUTHOR’S CONTINUED WORKS!

[cxsmikaiyo]

My dad is an ambulance driver for emergencies. The horror stories he's told me about calls he had to respond to bc of unsafe driving are disturbing.. let me tell you one of them so y'all understand the importance of driving safely:

Two girls were driving on a motorcycle late at night with no helmets and no lights. The car that was driving CORRECTLY obviously didn't see them. Y'all wanna know how the story ends? My dad had to pick up entire chucks of brain matter and skull parts off the street with his hands. One of the brains was still mostly intact and he had to pick it up as it was. He didn't sleep for the next 2 months.

Drive safe.

Why do so many people make tiktoks while they're clearly driving. What the fuck. Stop that shit, you're gonna kill someone.

[starrvsn]

꒰ ⌕ ꒱ recommended lewis pullman fics! ✧ ੭ pls support these writers !

ROLES: bob ‘robert’ floyd (top gun maverick) rhett abbott (outer range) calvin evans (lesson in chemistry) robert reynolds (thunderbolts*)

✷ includes smut! must 18+ to read! 𝜗𝜚 — my personal fav! — indented text is other recommended fics by the same author!

OVER THE INTERCOM ⠆ i recently got back into reading lewis fics again and its made me realize how amazing these writers are so i thought i would make a rec list out of appreciation as someone who’s been reading ab lewis since 2022 :p

˚⋆𐙚｡ list is regularly updated when i find new fics! & if links aren’t working pls lmk! ⋆𖦹.✧˚

── .✦ also! i may be recommending certain fics but please also check out their blogs! so many of these authors have other amazing pieces just waiting to be read!

BOB FLOYD ⤸

✷ the wingman written by @roosterforme / synopsis: Bob never did this sort of thing. Talking to girls and flirting and romance. It's not that he didn't want to, he just didn't really know how. But you were different in all the right ways, and you made him feel confident enough to try.

𝜗𝜚 ✷ do you wanna make somethin’ out of it written by @theharddeck / synopsis: turns out, our favorite WSO has a side hustle, as quinn's favorite cowboy.

⤿ ✷ it’d be a sweet situation a much needed part two! /synopsis: what's better than finding out the WSO you've had a secret crush is the same audio erotica creator that you've been crushing on for months? getting to watch him record new content...and maybe get involved yourself

rodeo written by @sarahsmi13s / synopsis: when your relationship with bob is reveal to the squad, hangman can’t help but wait for bob to stake his claim on you.

𝜗𝜚 ✷ bob from stats written by @attapullman / synopsis: College is a wild time, but absolutely nothing could prepare you for the quiet guy from Stats riding around campus as a cowboy. Or what a good kisser he is.

⤿ 𝜗𝜚 ✷ bob from pi kapp / synopsis: First he's late to chapter, and now Bob is late to your Stats final. You saved him a seat. But should you also save one for his hobby horse?

never knew i needed a college!bob au until now and it’s honestly changed my life.

✷ unraveled written by @withahappyrefrain / synopsis: Bob Floyd likes to think he can keep it cool. Then along comes a sundress.

birds of a feather written by @dearsnow / synopsis: phoenix and her girlfriend set you up with a wso they insist will be right up your alley. (robert “bob” floyd x fem!reader, fluff, reader is meant to be similar to bob, ie quiet, sweet, and nerdy, mentions of being drunk/having sex but nothing explicit)

the quiet ones written by @callsigns-haze / synopsis: You surprise the Dagger Squad by revealing your secret to Bob, who shyly but lovingly melts into your kiss as the others watch in shock, as shy guys are your type.

✷ 𝜗𝜚 kiss cam written by @scarletmika / synopsis: The San Diego Padres are saluting the U.S. Navy during their upcoming game, and the Dagger Squad has been invited to attend. Hangman's only goal for the game? Get you and Bob to finally act on your feelings and confess to each other. — newly added!

call sign: heartbreaker written by @violetrainbow412-blog / synopsis: Jake runs his mouth. You do something about it. — newly added!

fics i read during my bob floyd binge!

✷ rich in life written by @bloatedandalone04 / synopsis: Bob is known to be the shy, quiet and kinder one of out the whole dagger squad, and he didn’t mind the ‘soft’ reputation one bit, because he knew the real him. The version of himself that came out whenever he got his wife alone, which, luckily for him, was every single night.

✷ it's that simple written by @tropes-and-tales

pepper spray lovers written by @moon-fics / synopsis: You're a well-known bartender at the Hard Deck and friends with most of the pilots who enter through the doors. However, you've caught the eye of one specific weapon systems operator.

𝜗𝜚 the plan written by @geminiwritten / synopsis: the squad are all pretty sure that bob has a thing for you, but you're not convinced, so you hatch a plan to tease him within an inch of his life until he snaps

✷ pretend written by @attapullman / synopsis: You aren't sure what's worse: having to share a bed with the boy who was your first boyfriend who you haven't seen in years, or having to pretend he's your boyfriend when you wish he actually was.

this was a reread but come on how can i not add this??

RHETT ABBOTT ⤸

✷ good at makin’ bad decisions written by @attapullman / synopsis: Even a year after you've broken up, after a night of drinking you still end up in Rhett Abbott's bed.

sugar and spice written by @floydsmuse / synopsis: you and rhett start up the tradition of making a gingerbread house together on christmas eve.

✷ odds are stacked written by @sunlightmurdock / synopsis: In which Rhett loses a bet and you lose your virginity.

✷ whisky sour written by @delopsia

𝜗𝜚 ✷ little lambs and big, bad cowboys written by @lewmagoo / synopsis: in which you find yourself entirely at his mercy

𝜗𝜚 ✷ trouble with books written by @hederasgarden / synopsis: You and Rhett discover a surprising new kink together.  

𝜗𝜚 ✷ tongue written by @em1i2a3 / synopsis: During a night out on the town with your friends, you are pushed into talking to a mysterious cowboy at a bar, who turns out to be one of the only blessings that Wabang has ever given you. — newly added!

CALVIN EVANS ⤸

please please me written by @gaygothiccowboy / synopsis: you persuade Calvin to spend a little less time at the lab and a lot more time with you.

ROBERT REYNOLDS ⤸

dance with me written by @callsign-fox

stay with me written by @scarletmika / synopsis: Bob wants to feel useful, to truly be part of the team, but the others don't think he's ready. You take it upon yourself to teach him control, to guide him through. But mistakes will be made, and it might not be possible to keep the darkness from creeping back in once more

the good side written by @cosmictheo / synopsis: bob loves you so much that he slowly begins to transform into a house-husband for you. and he loves it.

⤷ heavenly / synopsis: it's the first time you're wearing your new suit as an official (new) avenger and bob is a little too excited about it.

sneaking around written by @callsign-swan / synopsis: Bob doesn't mean to be sneaking around. But he can't help it. He's got a secret, and he wants to keep it that way. Too bad he's best friends with Yelena Belova.

𝜗𝜚 honey written by @strkly / synopsis: after being off the grid for a while you return to society and meet up with your old friend bucky barnes. unexpectedly you run into someone you never thought you would see again. your high school boyfriend robert reynolds.

𝜗𝜚 ✷ perv!bob written by @undyingdecay

𝜗𝜚 truth will set your free written by @sergeantbuckybarnes synopsis: You are injected with a truth serum during a mission, and when you return to the Watchtower, you must avoid Bob in order not to spill your feelings for him, but this causes Bob to believe he has done something to upset you

control written by @fireinmoonshot / synopsis: Bob always waits for you to come back from missions, but when you don't come back one day, his powers start to get a little out of hand.

if anything written by @eyelessfaces / synopsis: no one wants to talk about how close you came to dying, everyone walking on eggshells until bob finds out what really happened and asks why no one trusted him enough to tell the truth; you both know the reason involves your mutual feelings.

dreamwalker written by @roanofarcc /synopsis: you use your dreamwalking abilities to try to soothe the storm in bob’s head. 

show some loves to the authors ᡣ𐭩 recommendations by jes!

[hyper-fixates]

Time After Time

Logan Howlett/Wolverine x AFAB!reader (no pronouns/gendered language).

Explicit content (18+)

Word count: 15.2k never let me near him again

Tags/warnings: age-gap due to logan’s mutation (reader’s age not specified), mutant!reader, unprotected sex, teasing, friends to lovers, explicit language, dry humping, storm cameos, fluff, domesticity, the claws come out when he’s close (👁️👁️), detailed descriptions & scenes of nightmares/trauma/PTSD/panic attacks, one (1) ass smack, alcohol consumption, vomiting, biting/marking, angst, soft!logan, creampie, groping/touching, use of “baby” once, aftercare, yearning (kindly let me know if anything was missed!).

Summary: 4 times you end up in Logan’s bed, and the 1 time he does something about it.

Notes: this falls somewhere in between “which could mean nothing” and “we can fix each other” 🫡 (written with a mix of X1 & X2 logan!)

Your heart, despite always being alive and beating, sometimes wakes up before you.

You can feel it before your eyes even have a chance to open. It jolts your sleep-ridden body and collapses your lungs without giving your brain a chance to fight against it. Muscles and limbs feel lifeless and detached from your body, shaking from the sleep that your heart knows wasn’t completely dreamless.

You kick the blankets off of yourself and sit up in a panic, trying to regain some control of your sudden erratic breaths while bringing a lethargic hand to your heaving chest in hopes to ground yourself. It never works.

Maybe your ribs are shrinking and squeezing your lungs, making you delirious from the lack of oxygen, but you know that’s not the case. Your heart feels like it’s being squeezed and broken into a million tiny pieces.

No part of your body feels real, yet you keep your hand on your chest as firmly as you can, trying to focus on controlling the pounding of your heart that’s working so hard with each beat that it hurts. 

“Fuck. Fuck,” you choke out, feeling the tears finally breach and roll down your cheeks as your nervous system catches up to what’s happening.

 Panic. It’s all panic.

You can’t do anything but sit there and let the tears hit the freshly-washed fitted sheet on your bed. So you let it happen. Nothing can stop it.

Trauma is such a fickle thing. One moment you’re fine, and then the next, your heart is screaming at you and forcing your body to process something at 4 a.m. on a random Friday when all you wanted was some goddamn sleep.

There is no choice. Your mind doesn’t give you one.

The tremors subside slowly after a few minutes, giving you the feeling back to your arms and legs, albeit minimal.

You slide to sit at the edge of your bed, resting an elbow on your thigh and setting your chin into your palm with a defeated, yet shaky, huff. 

You look to your window and see that the sun hasn’t even started to rise yet. You’ll be up for the rest of the foreseeable morning, but there’s not much to do so early besides wander aimlessly and think…then think some more. 

You’re confident the professor isn’t even awake at this hour, which says enough about your state. You would typically go visit Storm for some comfort, but she’s been gone fuck-knows-where with Hank and Scott until Sunday at the latest. Thanks, Charles.

A questionable, and probably manic, decision comes to mind. One that’s only two doors down, one over from Storm.

Your impulsive feet make up your mind for you. The cold hardwood floor shocking you further into consciousness as if your heart didn’t do a good enough job.

You tiptoe a couple steps down the hall, forcing yourself to turn and face the large wooden door when you reach it. You just stand there staring at it, unknocking, analyzing the wood grains, suddenly very interested in what type of wood it is and what stain was used to—

“Uh. Are you okay?”

You refocus your eyes onto the man now standing in front of you in the doorway, adorning a barely-zipped school hoodie and black sweats.

“Huh?” You blink a few times, disoriented.

Logan quirks a brow, looking you up and down cautiously. “Are you okay?” He asks again, offering a look of concern—or maybe confusion—that you haven’t seen often. A look that’s never needed to be directed towards you.

You come back to yourself. “But—I…didn’t knock,” you respond, looking equally as confused as him as you point to the door. 

He leans against the edge of the door, face softening. “I could smell you before you passed Storm’s room,” he clarifies, a hint of reluctance in his tone. Oh. 

You feel like a child who has just gained awareness, all too conscious of your situation.

“You’re…awake?” Is all you manage despite probably needing to say much more than that to explain just why exactly you’re standing outside Logan’s room at 4 a.m.

“So are you,” he counters with a curious look. “So let me ask again. Are you okay?” He locks his eyes on yours, probably in hopes to understand why the fuck you’re outside his room at 4 a.m.

“I’m not sure how to answer that,” you say, and it’s the truth. 

You should probably be embarrassed. You show up at Logan’s door unannounced, dressed in a flimsy shirt and matching sweats—thanks, Charles—that can’t fully hide the remaining quivers throughout your body.

Logan pulls his lips together at your admission. You can almost see the wheels turning in his head trying to figure you out.

“Can’t sleep?” He questions, but he knows he’s right.

“Yeah.” You don’t know why you’re making it Logan’s problem, though. Sure, he happens to be awake, but maybe this is all too personal to push on the guy who’s seemingly all pride and no solicitude most of the time.

It’s not that he’s not a good, nice guy, but you don’t know how you would define your relationship, or lack of.

You know each other well enough from existing in the same space over the past couple months, being part of the same “team”, but it’s nothing to call a close friendship like you and Storm. He’s a bit of a rare species in the mansion, not really lingering around.

He cocks his head in a half shrug, the soft points in his hair broken by sleep shake gently with the movement.

“I don’t think I can help you,” he says wearily. “I’m no better. Clearly.” He gestures between you, drawing attention to the fact that you’re both awake. The helpless cannot help the helpless.

“Oh—no, I’m not looking for help. I think I’m beyond that at this point,” you laugh but stop yourself short when Logan doesn’t follow. Tough crowd.

“I, uh, don’t actually know what I’m looking for,” you offer.

You knit your brows together in thought, still wondering why the fuck you’re here. Comfort? Entertainment? Some other unknown third thing?

“I’m not really used to Storm being gone for so long,” you admit. “I just feel…all over the place, I guess.”

Logan considers your vulnerability for a beat, eyes flicking to yours. “I can hear you sometimes,” he says, a knowing—almost sympathetic—look on his face. “We have the same problem.”

You go cold, any expression you had on your face sliding away. You wish the floor could swallow you right now. You know things have been getting worse recently, but you didn’t think anyone could hear that fact. Maybe it shouldn’t come as a surprise from someone who could smell you from down the hallway.

He steps back, pulling his door open further. An invitation.

You don’t move right away. Could this be a false awakening? You’re not sure what you expected when you came to his door, but you also didn’t expect him to open it without you knocking, so you have to suspend disbelief for now. You figured he’d offer a few words of advice and dismiss you, or maybe even tell you to fuck off, but he opened his door wider for you. But you didn’t exactly think any of it through in the first place anyway.

You force your feet to carry you into Logan’s room. It’s not much different from yours; scarce belongings, minimal decor, a small work desk, brown curtains that are drawn back, and a bed. 

“Were you, uh…sleeping before I came?” You sit on the unmade bed, nothing noticeably different from it compared to yours.

He shuts the door quietly, moving to the small desk across the room and filing some scattered papers together neatly.

“Trying to,” he says, keeping his gaze on the desk.

Fucking duh. “Sorry if I disturbed you,” you wince to yourself. 

You see him briefly shake his head at your unnecessary apology. “I had to get up anyway.” His voice is still gravelly from sleep.

It feels like you’re invading his space. But he invited you in. How many others have had the opportunity to be in here? Probably too many. There’s nothing to make this special.

“I’m fucking exhausted,” you sigh, flopping back on his bed defeated. Simply overwhelmed with the uncontrollable repercussions of your mutation.

“Try to sleep. If you want,” he offers, moving to the edge of the bed. “It’s easier said than done, but I have to meet with Charles in an hour.” It’s gruff, but he’s sincere.  

Maybe the professor is awake after all.

You roll your head to the side to look at him. Was he really offering for you to stay in his bed?

“Oh, wow…uh, sure.” It comes off as more of a question, but he quirks his brows in acknowledgment, turning back to the desk and collecting a handful of other miscellaneous papers.

“I have to head downstairs and take care of some things. Stay as long as you need,” he says, zipping his sweater the rest of the way up. Thank God in heaven.

A shy “thanks” is all you manage as you situate yourself on the bed.

Is this fucking weird? You could name a handful of others in the mansion right this second that would kill without hesitation to be where you are. They’d probably kill you specifically to get it. It’s not much of a secret that Logan is the subject of almost all students’ desires. He knows it, too. 

“See you later,” he adds, his lips forming the slightest hint of a caring smile as he sees himself out. You throw one back before the door clicks shut.

Should you be offended that he didn’t stay? That he left so quickly? No, no, he can’t. He couldn’t. Charles is expecting him. The timing is just horrid. But now you’re just…alone…in Logan’s room, expected to sleep because of a random act of kindness in his heart.

Lying in his bed instead of yours is an odd sensation. The sheets and mattress are exactly the same, the pillows are just as fluffy, yet it feels unalike. 

You flop your head on his pillow, tugging the blankets up to your chin. Your fingers graze something by your hip as you settle in, making you push the blanket back down. Leaning over, you see three puncture marks in the mattress, fraying the bedsheet material into feather-soft strands around the deep holes.

Your eyes widen, remembering his words before he invited you in: “We have the same problem.”

Part of your heart fractures for the second time today. Your eyes cross over to the other side of you, seeing a matching set of holes just below the pillow. It’s suddenly easy to understand why no one besides him has been seen coming and going from this room in a while. One day, things just seemed to change. 

Maybe his act of kindness was an act of mercy. Trauma will always find you, and it will make sure you feel it until you either destroy it or it destroys you.

Even the Wolverine isn’t an exception. 

━━━━ ● ━━━━

The gold liquid is gone from the glass as quickly as it was poured.

Your throat clenches and protests the swallow as you try to suppress the urge to gag. You gently set the shot glass back on the counter, watching Storm chase with a piece of lime that does nothing to help the puckered face she makes from the tequila. 

“No more, no more. I can’t.” Your arms anchor you to the counter to stop yourself from swaying too much.

Storm nods, still fighting off the sourness with furrowed brows and a scrunched nose. You giggle at her when she quickly screws the cap back on the bottle, sliding it out of reach.

“You’re a bad influence,” she scolds as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

“No—I’m under the influence,” you counter, a playful smile on your lips. “There’s a difference. You still have your own free will.”

Storm rolls her eyes so hard you only see the whites of them. “We have training tomorrow,” she slurs. “Charles will not be happy if we show up half-conscious.” She rounds the counter to you, grabbing your shoulders for stability, and you do the same.

“He’ll be lucky if we show up at all,” you mumble. 

The dim kitchen lighting embraces the two of you, the rest of the mansion blanketed in darkness with everyone fast asleep—like you both should be.

You close your eyes with a roll of your neck, more giggles falling through your lips as you clumsily grab onto Storm and rock and sway together for a moment, the alcohol quickly catching up to your motor skills. It feels like you’re spinning through time and space, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel fucking euphoric. At this rate, neither of you will be able to make it back to your rooms.

“Am I interrupting something?”

You lose a bit of your balance as you try to find the resonant voice, eyes shooting open. Storm unintentionally startles and stumbles away from you, white hair also jumping from the excitement.

You grab onto the counter again, sucking in a deep breath. “Fuck, don’t do that,” you growl through your teeth, a hand on your chest as you try to calm yourself.

“Don’t do what? Come to the shared kitchen to grab a drink?” Logan huffs a laugh, an amused smile creeps to his lips as he takes in your drunk and shaken state from the entryway.

“Doesn’t anyone sleep in this place?” He mumbles to himself.

“And with that, I’m done for the night,” Storm chuckles, fixing her hair. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her eyes lock intensely on yours, index finger firmly poking the middle of your chest to make her point for you to show up to training very clear.

“See you, Logan,” she dismisses, stumbling as she passes him.

Logan shakes his head, still smiling. He steps to the fridge, opening the double doors and plucking a bottle of soda from the bottom shelf. No alcohol is readily available in the communal fridge because, after all, you’re all in a school full of kids, so Storm had to get creative; Scott will be missing a rather large bottle from the now not-so-secret stash in his room.

As the alcohol continues to settle in you, you feel more and more lightheaded as it brings you to a new level of euphoria again. You only know this because watching Logan pop the cap of his drink with mindless ease feels a little more exciting than it would be if you were sober. But you’re not sober, and that’s the problem.

“Not gonna follow Storm?” He asks, taking a generous sip from the bottle as he casually places his free hand on the counter to lean on across from you.

A tight smile forms, mostly to yourself. “I don’t think I can make it down the hall,” you laugh in embarrassment. Maybe that last shot was one too many, and it’s not even fully done working its magic yet.

Logan raises a brow. “Want some help?” There’s no judgement in his tone like you expect. Then again, you don’t know what the fuck to expect from him.

Your already half-closed eyes, blurry and unfocused, meet his hazel ones in interest. Another favour?

It’s been two weeks since he let you sleep off the nightmares in his bed. Two weeks since you learned he’s burdened with them, too. You traced the holes in the mattress over and over before you eventually fell asleep, wondering what—or who—could have hurt him so badly. He plays it off cool; you wouldn’t suspect anything from talking to him. The same could probably be said about you.

“I didn’t know wolverine’s were chivalrous,” you tease.

The yellow hue of the lights dance over the quaffed points in his hair, making them appear sharper than usual. You would never admit it, especially to him, but you adore them. They give him an absurd amount of character that you’d expect a guy like him to not care about. 

You’re not exactly complaining about the fitting grey tank-top he has on either.

“Not overly,” he plays along, taking another mouthful of the fizzy drink. “I like to think I’m special,” he says quieter.

“Maybe you are,” you say as you try and straighten yourself to see if you can stand unassisted.

The world tilts as you stand to your full height, eyes rolling into your head from the wave of dizziness. “Wow, okay,” you say to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut to stop the spinning. How many shots did you have again?

A warm hand presses between your shoulders. “Woah, nice and easy. Nice and easy.” Logan appears by your side to steady you, other hand grabbing your elbow to pull you straight. You wobble in his grip, letting him guide your useless, alcohol-ridden body.

His hand on your back rubs a few small, comforting circles as you work to regain your bearings. He watches your expressions intently, looking for the right moment to get you moving back to your room safe and sound.

Your arm crosses over your body out of instinct to grab the hand he has on your elbow for extra support.

“Are you okay?” He asks. He seems to ask you that a lot.

You lean into him, your shoulder to his chest, and you can feel the blackout creeping up on you like humidity from a thunderstorm—it’s usually too late to do anything once you notice it. 

“I drank a lot,” you laugh deeply, rolling your head onto his shoulder to look up at him.

He looks so much more delicate under the ambient lights—his usual defined features have shifted and melted him into someone that doesn’t look like they should be a feared animal out in the world.

Logan all but cradles you, that same look of concern crossing his features from the night you went to his door. The only difference is that you’ve had a generous amount of tequila—and are currently being kept alert by the hot touch of his hands. That’s new.

“Can you walk?” He holds your squinty eye contact, probably searching for any signs of a coherent thought behind the blissful expression on your face. “Or will I have to carry you?” He muses, a hint of a smile crosses his lips as his hand moves up to gently rub over your shoulders. 

Drunk you likes the sound of anything relating to Logan keeping his hands on you right now. You wonder what sober you would think.

“I’m not gonna tell you no, but it feels like I’m floating in a bubble that won’t stop spinning,” you hum as you let the sensation consume your senses. “I might fly away.” You dip your head back off of his shoulder in amusement as you laugh again. 

“Yeah, you’re fucked up,” he mumbles lovingly. Just like anyone else who’s concerned for your well-being would. 

“Hey, kitty cat—I’m perfectly buzzed,” you emphasize the teasing nickname, narrowing your eyes at him sternly as you bring your gaze back to his in defence.

“‘Kitty cat’? Really?” He snorts. “I think you’re past your bedtime by three drinks,” he remarks back with equal levity.

“Then take me to bed if you’re so concerned,” you sigh dramatically, going limp in his arms to make your point. 

Truthfully, you’re probably past your bedtime by five shots. But he doesn’t need to know that. You just know that you can’t control your limbs like you were able to ten minutes ago.

“Maybe I will.” You don’t see it, but he does his quick little eye roll that you’ve seen pointed towards Scott too many times. 

He slides the hand on your elbow down to the backs of your knees, pulling you up off the floor and into his chest as you fall into the arm that was rubbing your back. 

Oh, so it’s gonna be like that. 

An excited—or maybe shocked—noise escapes your mouth as he adjusts you in his arms. You extend your right arm up and over his shoulder to hug his neck and keep yourself stable.

The trip to your room isn’t one that should take long, but each sway from Logan’s steps goes straight to your stomach in waves of queasiness. It feels like forever before you feel him bend awkwardly to turn your doorknob.

You’re fighting to keep yourself conscious the entire time, not wanting to regret missing the feeling of being in his arms.

The room is only lit by the silver moonlight creeping through the window. It’s hard to distinguish anything through your bleary eyes besides Logan’s look of determination to get you in your bed.

He leans down, shuffling you out of his arms and onto the mattress as swiftly as possible. The care of it all pokes at your heart. 

He silently goes around each corner of the bed adjusting the blankets. It may be dark, but the moonlight highlights the peaks of his shoulders as he moves. Your eyes might be involuntarily half-shut, but that doesn’t stop you from staring.

You’re now probably no better than every other mutant in this school.

“Logan,” you start before you can fully process the foolish thing you’re about to say next.

He rounds the bed back to the side you’re huddled on, looking down on you. “Yeah?” The subtle jingle of his dog tag pierces the quiet that’s lingering in the room.

You part your lips to speak but the words die in your throat. They’re replaced by a flood of saliva that has you sitting up at a speed that shouldn’t be possible for someone as intoxicated as you. You cover your mouth with your hand, feeling your stomach churning and finally rejecting the tequila. 

You suddenly feel very awake.

“Hey, hey.” Logan squats down in front of you with his already permanently-furrowed brows pinched closer together than you’ve ever seen before, a hand coming to your shoulder in concern. “What—”

“Bathroom,” you mumble through your palm, eyes rolling shut at the nausea. 

He doesn’t say another word. He pulls you to your feet by your arms, walking behind you fiercely with his hands gripping your shoulders to guide you to the small bathroom across the room.  

You push the door open, falling to your knees in the darkness over the toilet as the mistakes from the night expel themselves from your body through rounds of coughing and gagging. He lingers in the doorway, keeping an eye on you but still giving you privacy.

“Fuck,” you cough, resting your warm forehead on your hand as you slump against the toilet. That definitely sobered you up fast.

Exhaustion hits you like a truck. “Logan…” you croak from your crumpled position on the tile floor. 

He steps in, bending down again to reach your height. You can barely make out the shadow of him in the fading moonlight.

“Just…help me back to bed,” you groan, reaching for his arm as you use the toilet seat to push yourself the rest of the way up. You stumble against him as you try to make it back through the doorway.

He guides you to the bed the same way he did to the bathroom—steering you from behind.

“I’m gonna get you some water,” he says as you settle back into bed, head hitting the pillow with a quiet thud. “Even though you did this to yourself.”

“Fuck off,” you groan.

You close your eyes, hearing his footsteps fade back toward the bathroom. You hear the tap run for a couple seconds before he’s next to you again, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Drink. All of it,” he says firmly, holding the cup out to you.

You sit back up slowly, no doubt lethargic, an unimpressed look on your face that earns you a raised brow that tells you there’s no room to object.

You finish the cup in four mouthfuls, handing it back to him. “Thanks.”

You fall back onto the pillow, no longer feeling like you’re travelling through space and time.

The clothes you’re in are close enough to pyjamas. There’s no sense in undressing in front of Logan, especially with what you were about to say to him before you were rudely interrupted by the consequences of your own actions.

He returns the cup to the bathroom and you pull the blanket over your waist as you hopefully settle in for the rest of the night. You owe him big time for this. The thought of just how exactly you’ll manage that fills you with anxiety.

You turn on your side, fingers sliding over the mattress with the movement. They graze familiar strands of feather-soft fabric by the pillow.

This is Logan’s room. Are you just that drunk that you couldn’t tell the difference when he brought you in? Or are your rooms just that similar to each other?

You dip a finger in one of the three holes, hearing the bathroom door click shut as Logan makes his way back. 

“Why am I in your bed?” You see him rustling through some drawers of clothing by the small desk, but he stops when you finish your question.

“You can’t take care of yourself tonight,” he says. “You’re too drunk.” He pulls the grey tank-top off, stuffing it in one of the drawers and shutting it.

You sit up at that, head still foggy and tipsy, watching him move to the foot of the bed across from you. You try to focus your eyes on anything but his bare chest and the dark hair that adorns it and trails down past the waistband of his sweats. His hair is somehow even more wild from mindlessly pulling the tank-top over his head.

“Ah. I was gonna ask you to stay anyway,” you reveal, almost whispering the bold confession.

You were planning to ask before the tequila decided to make another appearance, but maybe doing it this way isn’t so bad either. He did all the heavy-lifting.

A modest, tight-lipped smile graces his lips. “I think you still have some tequila to sleep off.”

Whether or not you still have some shots in your system, what you feel and want right now is real. It’s not influenced by anything besides some mild andronitis created by the fact that you share a common struggle.

“Is it…safe? To share a bed?” The most coherent thought you’ve had all night makes him stiffen from your sudden nervous tone. Your body could easily replace the mattress and become a new home for the deep punctures. 

Your eyelids have been fighting against being pulled shut by alcohol-induced drowsiness, yet your eyes are wider than they’ve been all night in this moment.

You’re sat right in the middle of the bed and Logan comes around to the right, sitting on the edge of the mattress to come down to your level.

“You’re just gonna have to trust me.” His eyes are imploring and apologetic all at once. He understands the prospect of even having you here in the first place.

You nod, sliding over to the left to give him more room. 

Logan wouldn’t put you in harms way, you reason with yourself. He wouldn’t risk potentially killing someone, especially a fellow mutant, if he wasn’t absolutely sure of his mental state. But you also don’t really know his demons.

You roll onto your right side, tugging the blanket up to your chin in comfort. “Why haven’t you been given a new mattress?” You ask as he turns to face you in the same position, his half of the blanket resting at his hip.

The bed dips significantly on his side, almost encouraging you to roll over against him.

“Forgot to ask,” he says quietly, running his right hand through his hair to push the shorter strands off his forehead.

From his tone you can decipher that he actually means “can’t be bothered.” It’s a devastating thing to imagine just how many he goes through, anyway. He probably doesn’t see the point in replacing something that will inevitably have the same fate as the others.

There has to be less than an arms length between you two. It’s a surreal situation to be in considering what you thought you knew about him. A recluse. Standoffish. Maybe it’s all a fluke and the alcohol is severely fucking with your perception of what’s actually happening.

“Thanks for everything,” you whisper as if someone else will overhear.

“Get some sleep,” he insists, rolling onto his back. You do the same.

You stare at the blank ceiling for a while, noticing the exact moment Logan falls asleep; his breathing grows slow and his body runs even hotter than before. 

You think about how he could wake at any moment, claws accidentally sliding right through your stomach from a nightmare or two. You imagine all the others that have been in your position—if they felt scared, if they even knew. 

He asked you to trust him, and that should be enough. 

There is a body full of secrets and hurt sleeping undisturbed next to you with the ability to withstand and regenerate from any physical injury, yet there’s something that hasn’t allowed the same to be done for his mind. 

━━━━

The bright amber sun hits your closed eyes through the window, making you roll your head away onto the other side of the cool pillow.

You want more sleep. Your head feels like a bag of bricks and your body feels like it got beat with them.

You stretch a leg out, gently grazing something solid with your foot. Your eyes shoot open, the night coming back to you as you drift into consciousness. Logan. 

You shoot up, bouncing a little from the momentum.

Logan startles next to you, clearly interrupted from a deep sleep. “What the fuck…” he groans, rubbing a hand over his face, not seeming interested in making a move to sit up with you.

“What time is it?” Your eyes bounce around the room looking for a clock.

He grunts, reaching for a watch on the nightstand. “Seven-forty.”

You needed to be in the Danger Room for 7 o’clock.

“Fuck!” You rip the blanket off, almost tripping as you run to the bathroom.

Logan also wants to roll back over and go back to sleep, but he knows he won’t be able to. He doesn’t work like that. So he just lays there, listening to you swear and make a mess of his bathroom as the clattering of fuck-knows-what fills the room. 

The surprise of how well he slept makes him feel uneasy. Although it definitely wasn’t eight hours, it was uninterrupted. He doesn’t want to credit that to you, though. He wants to believe that he’s getting better overall, and maybe he is, so he can’t offer you any flattery in his mind.

Another distant “fuck” escapes the bathroom, pulling him out of his thoughts. You exit a few minutes later, as refreshed and presentable as you could get yourself, and the sight of Logan still in bed makes something in you ache for another moment of feeling him care and tend to you. Maybe that’s your hangover talking.

“Thanks again. I’ll see you around,” you say hurriedly, offering an apologetic smile as you turn the doorknob to leave.

“Good luck with Charles.” It’s a genuine advisory. Fuck. You’ll be so incredibly lucky if he doesn’t give you more than a stern lecture in front of everyone.

You take a deep breath in and slip out of Logan’s room. There’s not a single cut, mark, or scratch on you, just like he promised.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

“I was told it’ll take a day to fix,” Storm explains with a shrug. “You’ll have to find somewhere or someone to room with until tomorrow. Jean already offered to have me stay with her.” A contrite look passes over her face.

You stand outside your rooms, staring in at the remnants of the mess caused by two terrakinetic kids fucking around in the courtyard when they weren’t supposed to be. They somehow managed to throw, or launch, sizeable tree branches right through each of your windows. Of course it wasn’t on purpose, but the Danger Room exists for a reason—to avoid mishaps like this. 

Shards of glass and fragments of wood splatter your floors. The branches are hanging half-way out both of your windows, caught on the window sills and bobbing in the evening summer wind. The kids are extremely fortunate that neither of you were in your rooms when it happened.

“It’s fine. It’s just one night,” you sigh, rubbing your eyes in frustration. You don’t love how quickly your mind picks out who to go to. It’s already nearing 11 p.m., so you have to work fast. 

Storm squeezes your shoulder in comfort. “The living room is always free,” she suggests with a remorseful smile.

But you don’t want the living room. Stiff couches mixed with students clamouring and passing by at the crack of dawn isn’t exactly a recipe for a good nights rest. As if you usually get one, anyway.

“Not a fucking chance,” you laugh. “I’ll be fine,” you say again, dismissing her worries. You wish her goodnight when she steps by you to head towards Jean’s room at the very end of the hall.

You glare at the mess in your room, not daring to step in. The amount of shattered glass everywhere makes the floor look like a body of water from the reflections of the pale moonlight bouncing and refracting off of the jagged shards.

“Fuck,” you spit through your teeth, solely to yourself.

Not even a full week after Logan saw you at your worst, you’re going to go back and ask for the left side of his bed. Shameless.

You don’t have much of a choice; you’re not comfortable having it be anyone else. It’s only because Logan saw you at your worst that you feel he’s the most logical choice. Already having shared a bed with him this week may also have some weight in your decision.  

You take the few self-assured steps to his room, once again standing in front of his door. This time you feel more confident in approaching the Wolverine in his den.

You knock three times, the piercing sound echoing through the hall.

“You start to miss me or what?” A bare chest enters your view. You note the dog tag hanging from his neck again before you find his unyielding gaze full of ambiguity, wondering why you’re here. Again.

You blink at him slowly in hilarity. “Ha, funny. Can I stay with you tonight?” You ask flatly, not thrilled with the situation, but not completely displeased with being here now. “My window—”

“I know what happened,” he interrupts. “Figured you’d go for the couch in the living room.” He looks at you more pointedly with teasing suspicion. 

“I think you know no one would ever willingly choose to sleep out there,” you reason, running a hand over your face in both shame and defeat.

He makes a face that tells you “touché” and you smirk in satisfaction. “If you don’t mind giving up half of your bed again, I would really appreciate it. I promise I’m not trying to make this a habit,” you sigh. Spending the night in Logan’s bed three times in the past month has to be a record for anyone recently. 

“I don’t think it would be a bad habit,” he argues. Oh. “C’mon.” He gives a jerk of his head to allow you in, his tufts of his hair bristling with the quick movement.

“Thanks,” you squeak. He wants you here? 

He shuts the door behind you, following you to the bed that’s clearly already had him in it. The blanket rests in waves on the mattress that remind you of just how human Logan is despite his reputation and image.

“Do you have an early morning?” You ask, slipping under the blanket.

“No. Charles was feeling nice for once,” he raises his tone sarcastically to rag on Charles’ judgement, which has clearly been a much needed one before now.

“Not an early bird?” You roll onto your right side like last time, facing him as he settles on his back with a deep breath. The bed sinks in again where he lays, your body wanting to give in to the laws of gravity and fall into him.

“Fuck no,” he laughs lightly, eyes crinkling around the corners. It’s self-deprecating, but it’s still a genuine laugh. The condescension from it lingers in the air, all directed at himself in a way that tells you he’s thinking about how inconceivably fucked up he is.

The last time he had a decent sleep was when you were drunk in his bed a few days ago.

“People like us don’t usually get the pleasure of a full eight hours,” he notes, sliding his gaze to yours for a fraction of a second.

He props an arm behind his head, the other resting on his chest and idly twisting the dog tag between his fingers. You watch the thin piece of steel slide and flip easily, the chain tinkling with every movement.

People like us.

“You mean mutants,” you state. You see his jaw tense in what little light there is from the half-moon tonight.

You see his brows pull together. “Yeah.” He has a point.

You think about the mutants you know, how they all have some horrific story about their gifts or family, or both. How they either were shamed by society or experimented on like rats. 

The scenarios are endless. If you can think of it, some mutant has probably lived it.

Your heart sinks to the bottom of your stomach. You and Logan are not isolated or special cases, but you’ve already shared a moment of vulnerability with him when you came to his door all those weeks ago seeking solace for the same thing he fights with: the inescapable ability of remembering.

You pull the blanket tighter against you. “I don’t think you’ll hurt me.” 

He turns his head to you, confusion written on his face. “What?” He stops toying with the dog tag.

“Your claws. I trust you.” You didn’t feel like you were in immediate danger that first night, but you want to reassure him anyway. Or maybe you’re reassuring yourself. 

He hasn’t had to say a single word for you to know his nightmares trigger something instinctive and combative that’s been hardwired into his DNA. In this case, it’s his claws needing to find a home in his mattresses, where another body could potentially lay one night. Like yours is right now.

You noticed the lack of holes in this mattress when you first got to the bed. Maybe you mentioning them last time was enough for him to finally request a new one.

Logan knows he shouldn’t make promises he doesn’t know he’ll be able to keep, but he wants to keep you here tonight, so he improvises. He abandons the dog tag between his fingers completely, turning onto his side and reaching to find your hand under the blanket. You meet him halfway, sliding your fingers between his as your palms lay flat on the bed.

A smile tugs at your lips for a moment. He watches your interlinked fingers, observing the size difference, wondering if he really just did that—and why. 

You assume it’s his way of saying “thank you” for your trust when you probably shouldn’t be putting that much into him.

“Does it hurt?” You whisper, pulling your fingers out from his just enough to caress the divets between his knuckles that conceal the claws.

He knows what you’re asking. “Every time.” He softly pushes his fingers back into yours, squeezing a little. 

There’s a deadly stillness in the room despite his window being cracked. You both know you’re one in the same in a way, and that’s a connection that Logan hasn’t let himself experience. Not everyone likes looking in a mirror.

To be truly seen by someone, wholly, without judgement or fear, is what he deserves. 

“What are you?” He asks, rubbing his index finger back and forth along the top of your hand. “Telekinetic? Psychic?” His curious voice grows quiet, hazel eyes fascinated with you and your lack of a physical mutation, at least nothing that he can see.

It never occurred to you that he didn’t know your mutation, or that you’ve never told him. It was never needed, but it seems unfair that you know about his when he wasn’t the one who told you.

“Ha, close.” Your eyes twinkle as you notice how intently he’s listening. “Psychometric,” you correct, watching his forehead crease.

“Sounds like math,” he quips, readjusting his head on the pillow. He’s close enough that you can feel the heat he’s putting off.

You laugh quietly. “No, it’s extrasensory perception. It lets me see the history of any object or person I touch, but only if I accept the energy,” you explain.

You watch his eyes narrow and you know what he’s thinking, so you quickly interject as he begins to pull his hand out from yours. “I need to touch a pulse point to be able to see anything,” you reassure, feeling his fingers slide back against yours. “The heart remembers everything,” you clarify.

The catch? The person’s memories and past stay with you after you see them. It’s become hard to distinguish what memories are yours or someone else’s. They all become intertwined. Good or bad, violent or gentle. You see it all, and then it’s part of you. Forever.

“I haven’t looked. I promise.” 

“Good. You don’t need to see that shit,” he huffs, eyes wandering over your face. He isn’t sure what he’s looking for, but he’s a little startled for the first time in a while.

“I’m sure I’ve seen it all,” you state. It’s probably not far off from the truth. Your gift came when you were all too young, and plenty of time has passed since then for you to rack up this amount of damage from near-strangers and their lives.

“No, you haven’t.” A sure expression passes over him, shaking his head as best as he can against the pillow. 

“Then I’ll count myself lucky,” you say softly. You have no idea what Logan has experienced, but his demeanor makes you want to stay curious. Not everything needs to be known, and you’re definitely not entitled to it.

A faint smile appears on his lips, then it’s gone just as quick. “Get some sleep,” he rasps. He turns onto his back and his hand abandons yours. 

It’s a complete repeat of last time.

Something twinges in your heart, and you don’t like it. What exactly had you expected from Logan? He’s just doing you a courtesy by letting you stay here for the night. Nothing more. And that’s what you should expect: nothing.

The hum of crickets outside eventually lulls you into a dead sleep. It’s heavy and deep, not a single muscle twitching in your body. Logan breathes steadily next to you, a hand on his chest as the occasional snore fills the air.

From above you two might look like you’re transient, only here in this moment for a short time. And, realistically, you are. 

━━━━

Logan was no where to be seen by the time you woke up, and you made quick work to get out of his room. It always feel wrong to be in someone’s space when they aren’t there.

Just like Storm said, the windows in your rooms were fixed the next day. It looks as though nothing even happened.

“Thank fuck,” you mumble to yourself as you step back into your room.

If you ever have to spend another night in Logan’s bed, you might as well wear a shirt that says “yes, we’re fucking!”, even if it isn’t true. You could deny it all you want, but it won’t stop what students would say. Nothing gets past them, even if it’s behind a closed door.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

“Are you fucking Logan?”

You almost swallow your tongue. “Sorry?” Your brows shoot up in surprise, eyes round in disbelief.

“Are you guys sleeping together?” Storm casually asks as she flicks through the T.V. channels, glancing over to you from her spot on the couch.

You’re sat comfortably in an arm chair, suddenly no longer caring what channel she decides on. “Why would you think that?” Technically you were sleeping together, but not like that. It may never happen again, no matter how badly you want it to.

“Things travel fast around here,” she deflects with a cheeky smile. “And, you know, Logan is…Logan.” She shrugs.

You don’t even know what to say to that. Is there a right or wrong answer?

“It wasn’t like that,” you grumble. “He was doing me a favour. As a friend.” It hasn’t even been a full day since he let you stay with him while pieces of your window laid on your floor, and people are already convinced you’re fucking. 

You haven’t even managed a chaste kiss, despite how much as you want to, never mind his dick being balls deep in you.

“Right.” She emphasizes the word, not convinced. Or just pushing your buttons because she can. 

You roll your eyes. “If anything was happening, you’d be the first to know,” you point out. 

She looks back over to you. “I know,” she says with another, more sincere, smile. “You two would be cute, though.” 

You give her some side-eye, not quite sure if you disagree entirely with that statement. Whatever happens, happens. Logan is not something you can control or influence. He does what—and who—he wants, when he wants. 

━━━━

A bolt of lightening strikes you. You gasp, then release a choked cry, eyes flying open as you claw at your chest in terror.

Your throat tightens and you break out in a cold sweat as you sit up. The soft blanket around you feels constricting. Sporadic and short breaths make you heave as your body registers the horrors in your subconscious. 

There was never any lighting. That’s just what the pain feels like.

The muscles in your shoulders and neck tense from your panicked state as your heart struggles to keep a normal rhythm. You yank the blanket off, feeling weak from fear and the onset of tremors. Your whole body gives up on itself as you sob through broken exhales. Your legs have gone cold, lungs shrinking inch by inch with every passing minute. 

You crawl to the edge of your bed, wanting to just get out and leave—the blanket. The bed. The room. Most of all, you want to escape your own mind.

You sink onto the floor when a foot touches the ground, and you realize walking isn’t in the cards right now. You’re shaking too badly to be able to physically move. All your strength is gone, robbed by your memories.

Balmy tears paint your face in determination, making sure no part of you is left untouched by this spell.

You screw your eyes shut, tears still slipping out with ease anyway. Leaning your back against the bed-frame, you curl into yourself and wrap your arms around your knees on the chilled hardwood.

You try to focus on your breathing to at least slow your heart down to a pace that doesn’t hurt.

Wounded cries rip their way out of you, interrupting the breaths you try to steady. A hand touches your arm and you yelp like an injured dog, flailing at the contact as your arms swing out from around your knees in shock.

“Hey, hey, it’s me. It’s me.” Strong hands quickly wrap around each of your wrists to stop your arms from thrashing.

You try to focus your eyes, blurred and stinging from tears, on the person kneeling closely in front of you.

“L-Logan…” you whisper, balling your fists to try and expel the shakes.

He looks like someone who shouldn’t be able to be concerned about another person, yet the look on his face scares you. Brows pinched together in worry, eyes frantic, lips parted from heavy breaths. All because of you.

“It’s just me,” he hushes your cries. His thumbs stroke the undersides of your wrists tenderly, no doubt feeling your racing pulse. 

You feel disoriented. “Wh…how…” 

“I heard you,” he explains, watching you process everything. He drops your wrists when some recognition passes over your face.

“What do you need?” He follows your gaze as it wanders around the room, trying to keep you from spiralling further.

You look at him for a moment. He’s got his white tank-top on, the black sweats, and an intense need to help you written all over him. Fresh tears burn your cheeks as you come back into reality.

“I want it to fucking stop,” you weep, head falling into your hands in shame.

You don’t want him to see you like this, even though it’s a commonality between you two. It’s too intimate. You’d take him seeing you blackout drunk everyday of the year over this.

Then you do remember that it has stopped. Each time in Logan’s bed. There was silence. Peace. For the whole night. For both of you.

“Tell me what you need,” he says firmly, angling his head down to keep your eyes on him, desperately wanting an answer.

“You.” You suck in an agonizing breath to try and collect yourself.

He doesn’t flinch like you expect him to. If anything, his eyes become more pensive, clearly considering something. Then he shakes his head in wariness.

“C’mon. Let’s get you out of here,” he breathes, voice barely above a whisper. The only sound echoing in the room is your wobbly breathes, your body jerking with each one as you enter the aftermath and begin to go slack.

An arm slides behind your back, his hand grabbing ahold of your side while he pulls your legs over his other arm, picking you up off the floor.

He cradles you against him just like he did when you were drunk, carrying you out of your room.

He left your door open when he came in, and you hope no students heard or saw anything. He tilts to grab the doorknob, shutting it without a sound.

You wipe and rub at your eyes as Logan takes a few steps down the hall, quickly getting to where he needs to go when you feel him lean for his doorknob.

You’re sure a few rogue, leftover tears fall onto his shirt before he manages to sit on his bed lightly, you still curled tightly in his arms. 

His hand pushes on your back for you to sit upright on his lap. “Face me,” he encourages, holding onto your sides as you twist around, bending your legs to slide over his thighs and straddle him loosely. 

You look down at him, he looks up at you, feeling the quivers in your body dissipate as you melt further into his lap. A fondness crosses over both of your tired faces. He rests his arms over your thighs, warm hands linking behind your back as you do the same around his neck. 

It’s nothing provocative or seductive. All you can feel is the care and concern rolling off of him in suffocating waves. He wants you to feel safe, and if that means overrunning your senses with his presence, then that’s what he’ll do.

“Got anything to say?” He murmurs, the fallen strands of hair around the edges of his forehead bristle with each move of his head. The rest of his hair fails to fully resemble the cat-like ears he had earlier in the day. 

What does he want to hear? 

You let your head hang a little, your nose almost brushing his. “I have nothing to say,” you assert, fidgeting with the chain of his dog tag at the nape of his neck. 

You don’t necessarily feel embarrassed about him seeing you in such a helpless state, but you don’t want to simply unload your shit on him. So, in turn, you have nothing to say.

“Bullshit.” He almost rolls his eyes. There’s no real threat of him forcing you to say anything behind it. He won’t pry, but he doesn’t believe you.

An offended look overcomes your face, and you almost pull away. You don’t want to feel the humiliation of elaborating on just why exactly you said you needed him in this moment out of everything else. 

“I just…” You roll your lips together in thought, measuring the words you could say but won’t. “Want to sleep. Here,” you sigh. “I don’t wanna go back.” You deflate in his arms, voice wobbly. 

It’s already who-knows what time, and you need to pacify your wired nervous system; Logan simply holding you has already helped with that more than you want to admit.

His mouth quirks up briefly at that. “What happened to not wanting to make that a habit?” His eyes soften as his arms retract from around your sides, letting you slip easily onto his bed from his lap in a moment of calm, or relief.

Habit, if not resisted, soon becomes necessity.

“Special circumstances,” you reason, already pulling the blanket over you while he keeps his place at the edge of the bed, observing you with amusement.

“Seems like you get into those a lot,” he notes, pushing himself off the mattress.

He steps around to the other side—his designated spot—and slips the tank-top off, letting it drop to the floor. You’re not trying to be a freak, but you watch the whole thing.

The flex of his arms and shoulders are out of your mind as fast as they entered as you watch him hook his thumbs in the waistband of his sweats and pull them downright in front of you, not even turning around or to the side to try and conceal himself.

Your eyes widen, then you reel in your thoughts before they get lost at sea. No one who is sane fucking sleeps in sweatpants. Duh.

But didn’t he the last two times? It’s hard for you to remember, but you’d certainly recall if you were face-to-face with the outline of his di—

“It’s rude to stare, y’know.” Logan pulls his lips together, interrupting your thoughts. You try to not eyeball the bulge too hard, but it basically looked at you first. 

The snug briefs do little to hide anything. They hide nothing, actually.

You almost scoff, but the playfulness in his tone tells you he couldn’t give a shit. He probably likes it anyway. From what you know, he definitely does.

“Oh, yeah, like you’ve ever cared about modesty,” you throw back, averting your gaze to the ceiling anyway.

It’s not that he runs around the mansion naked, but he definitely isn’t shy about what he looks like or against showing some skin. You’ve seen and heard enough over the past few months.

You hear a stifled chuckle as he joins you under the blanket without a retort. He knows you’re right. He’s just glad you’re a little lively and alert.

“Will you be okay for the rest of the night?” He brings both hands behind his head on the pillow, propping himself up a little.

“I should be fine,” you say confidently. “The challenge will be getting back to sleep.” You laugh in exasperation. 

It’s always hard to calm down and get back to a place of tranquility after everything has settled with your mind. You’re pumped full of adrenaline and there’s not much that can curb something that persistent flowing through your body.

You haven’t found anything to help with it. Yet. 

“There’s not many people that’ll understand what you go through,” he starts, voice rough with fatigue. “But I do.”

You look to him, sliding an arm under your pillow as you turn on your side. “How do you…help it.” You’re not sure if you phrased that right. It feels crude to reduce something so complex to the likes of a common cold that has an array of over-the-counter solutions. 

“You don’t. It just has to run its course.” He looks to you, wanting to see your reaction. 

It wasn’t meant to be hurtful or insensitive, but he’s not going to lie to you and say that things can only get better and that the worst is over. Especially for mutants, that’s not always true.

Although you don’t know what Logan lives with every day and sleeps with every night, you do know that his capacity for empathy is still intact. Here you are in his bed after all, seeing and indulging in a side of him that many never will. 

You sigh lightly. “We’re quite the pair.” 

A comfortable half-smirk slips over his lips. “I think we’re just fucked up insomniacs,” he suggests with a breathy exhale that’s close enough to a laugh.

You wish you could slide a thumb over the pulse in his wrist and see what’s haunting him, just to understand what happened to the Wolverine, but you’ve learned that doing so usually isn’t worth the price you’ll pay after. If what’s in his head is horrific enough to cause him to go through a couple mattresses a month, then it won’t do you any good either.

“I sleep pretty good with you,” you offer, seeing how he raises a brow in doubt almost instantly.

He sleeps well with you, too. It kind of rattled him when he noticed a pattern of uninterrupted nights and you being by his side. Not a single mattress ruined on those nights.

“Try not to knee me in the stomach tonight,” he deflects with ease. He takes his hands out from behind his head, sliding his left arm under the pillow as he turns over onto his side and closes his eyes. Facing you.

You mentally smack yourself. Multiple times. You didn’t think you drifted that much when you slept. 

“No promises,” you mutter. You catch a small shake of his head before you let yourself join him in unconsciousness as you mirror each others lonely bodies.

━━━━

Your eyes ache—to open, to move, to touch. Enough crying will do that to you.Your eyelids are heavy, but there’s something else weighing down on you. 

A tired groan crawls from your throat as you try to place yourself for a moment. The morning sun is just beginning to shine too brightly for your liking, and you squish your face deeper into the pillow.

You’re still tipsy with sleep, lying flat on your stomach, but there’s something dense and hot resting over your back. 

You prop yourself up on your forearms, giving yourself a minute to wake up. You twist your hips around to sit yourself up, feeling the thing on your back slide down to your waist. 

The blanket pools around your hips, and you feel a hand reflexively squeeze over the meat of your hip in disapproval of your moving. Something in you clenches at the sensation of something invading the area with ease. A spot reserved for intimacy.

Your head quirks to your right, seeing Logan on his stomach with his right arm thrown over your midsection. 

You blink in surprise, staring at his sleeping body. His hair is sticking up every which way, his head half-off the pillow, his side of the blanket not even covering the curve of his ass anymore. It’s endearing to see the Wolverine in such a normal, human state.

But if someone were to walk in, it would look like you two spent the whole night fucking. A lot. That wakes you up a little more.

You peek over at the nightstand behind him and see the time blinking on his watch. It’s already 8 a.m. 

You rest a hand over his shoulder to gently guide his arm off of you, but you stop yourself. Instead, you lightly trace your fingers down his shoulders and upper back a couple times, occasionally scratching softly over the ridges of muscle.

A shiver quickly rolls through his upper body, but your touch doesn’t fully wake him. He knows it’s just you.

It’s the least you can do for him as a thanks for recovering your broken body from the floor of your room and bringing you here when he didn’t necessarily have to.

It almost feels like instinct to offer comforting gestures to him. There’s something inside you that just pulls to him. You want to be the one that can give him comfort and help him put himself back together. 

You want to be the only one.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

There’s a shadow that’s been following you around the mansion. 

As soon as you stepped out of Logan’s room that morning a few days ago, it started. 

This shadow likes to be nosy about what you’re doing. This shadow likes to be in your space. This shadow wants to be in your space. And he is.

No one has seen Logan out around the mansion this much, including you, and that’s how you noticed he’s basically been attached to your hip ever since he decided your back was a comfortable armrest. 

He’s always just there, like a stray cat begging for food or affection. There to entertain you, banter with you, indulge you, in any way he can, including now as you trail back inside the mansion well behind Storm from an evening walkabout in the garden.

“No smoking in the courtyard,” you sing as you pass him carelessly, not even offering a glance to him in interest. 

You like playing this game. Whatever it is. Constantly poking and prodding at each other to see what you can do to get the other to break in some way, no matter how slight. 

Your heart flutters and flips every time; maybe from the thrill of it all, maybe from the arousal you get from the tension. You hope he feels everything, too.

He turns his head to watch you cross into the entryway. “Blow me,” he throws back playfully through a thick puff of smoke, leaning against the brick wall with a cigar pinched between two fingers.

You suppress a chuckle, keeping your unwavering pace. “Yeah, you wish!” You yell over your shoulder. You know he hears you. He wouldn’t let himself miss it.

Logan smirks and shakes his head in amusement, always impressed with your quick rebuttals that occasionally tent his jeans. He takes one last drag out of spite before following your footsteps inside. 

You have become, by definition, friends…in a way. Even if you sorely cross the line into other territory more often than not. Sexual innuendos and friendly flirting can only go on for so long before the underlying intentions and meaning reflects real desires. 

It’s evolved into more than just borrowing his bed a couple times or helping each other out. It’s surpassed the fear of whatever habit you were afraid of forming from doing so. It’s become a dependency to get that adrenaline high from simply riling each other up.

You have an assumption that if you were to end up in Logan’s bed again, somehow, there will be a point of no return that you’ll be faced with. There aren’t many more excuses that can be used for explaining to yourselves why you’re together in bed before you have to recognize the truth.

That platonic line is being stretched too thin, and you’re not sure how much farther it can go.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

“How’ve you been sleeping?”

“Fine. You?”

“Could be better.” Logan hides his smirk, but you can hear it in his voice.

You narrow your eyes skeptically as he fishes around in the fruit bowl sitting in the middle of the kitchen island.

“How so?” You ask. Your legs swing leisurely as you sit upon the chilled countertop on his left, idly waiting for Storm to show up and go with you to training.

A smug, tight-lipped grin flashes across his face, a green apple rolling around in his palms before he puts it back. “You could be there,” he provokes, his eyes bright.

It’s your turn to raise a brow at him, but you can’t stop your smile. “Oh?”

He turns to you, tenderly grabbing the tops of your thighs and parting them slightly to stand between your legs.

This isn’t the first time he’s done this, and he knows it rouses you in all the right ways. But, neither of you will do anything about it. Not even a brief kiss.

“Come on,” he goads, planting his hands down next to your hips, bringing himself in closer as he bears his weight on his arms. “You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.” He sways his head side to side to emphasize his point.

Fuck. That’s good. 

That may be exactly what you did for him, but it’s now a figure of speech for something else entirely. It’s almost impossible to argue against either way, as if you want to. This is what you’ve been patiently waiting for. 

You put your hands over his as you lean back a little to put some distance between you. “How sweet,” you hum.

His eyes flick from yours to your lips one too many times before you continue. “You start to miss me?” You tease as you lean forward again, echoing what he said to you the night your window got smashed in.

“Smart-ass,” he mutters as you laugh quietly. The tips of your noses barely graze each other as he steps in closer again. You’re almost at the same height like this. 

“Save me the left side,” you advise, bringing your hands to his shoulders as you fondle his white t-shirt between your fingers. You’re so close, and he’s already so warm against you just like this.

“Always do.”

━━━━

You want to rip your heart out of your chest from how hard it’s pounding against your ribs. It’s almost throwing you forward with each heavy beat.

Three resounding knocks fill the hallway as you shuffle on your feet, waiting for Logan to open the door.

It feels like you’re doing something bad. Something parents would warn their kids against. Something greatly envied.

Everything inside you feels on fire. Your thoughts, desires, anxiety, all jumbling together into one distorted state of mind and body.

“Ah, welcome back.” His sarcastic tone makes your face go hot. A satisfied smirk crosses his lips as he runs a hand through his shaggy, unstyled hair. 

You shake your head, pursing your lips. “Knock it off.” You gently shove at his bare chest. Misbehaviour already. But are you really surprised?

Logan grabs your wrist, delicately guiding you into his room. “You enjoy it,” he says lowly, quickly shutting the door as soon as you’re in. 

“Maybe,” you hum in response, pulling away from his grasp and seeking out your side of the bed. Logan follows closely behind, giving your ass a light smack in encouragement before he cuts away to his side while you jolt in shock, a stunned look on your face as you whip your head around to him across the bed.

“Oh, really?” You scoff. He’s biting back a smile, not moving until he knows what you’ll do next. He’s never gone that far before.

“I’m sorry, that was rude—how can I make it up to you?” He almost chokes on a laugh, pulling his dog tag back and forth along the chain while he considers you.

This Logan is very different from the one you were met with the first night he let you in his space. This one is attentive and exuberant, yet he hasn’t given you much up until this point right now. You’ve gotten way too comfortable with him without even doing anything to you. 

In this moment, he isn’t the brooding, animalistic Wolverine many see him as. He’s just Logan—for you. 

You watch him carefully, easing yourself onto the bed. “Get in the fucking bed,” you slap his side of the mattress with a thump of your palm. “And do what you promised earlier,” you stare pointedly at him.

He owes you that “you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours” favour he decided to pull out to get you here. 

“Mm, alright, alright,” he surrenders, a look of amusement still on his face as he kneels onto the bed. “I thought of a pretty good idea for it,” he says softly, crawling to sit next to you on top of the blanket as the bed-frame creaks with the added weight.

Your shoulders almost brush against each other. You shift, turning your body fully toward him. “Oh? Wh—woah!”

You squeal when his strong hands latch onto your sides, lifting you just enough to pull you over his legs to plant you on his lap. He leans back against the headboard, pulling on your thighs so you straddle him tightly. 

He looks devilish when you catch his gaze again, and you know what’s coming. What’s been coming. Your hands find their places on his shoulders, warm and taut, as his hands hold your hips. 

The bond between you will culminate tonight. It will be wrapped in a blanket and trapped between two alike souls that lie heart-to-heart in the dead of night. It will be perpetual.

The heat of him between your legs makes you restless. It’s just you, him, and the darkness in the quiet room you’ve become too familiar with.

“Logan…” you trail off bashfully when you feel something firm through his sweats poke against your cunt. It clearly doesn’t take much to excite him.

“Hm?” He takes you in for a split second, hands running from your hips up to your chest leisurely with a sharp inhale, not yet completely bothered by the fact that you have a shirt on. 

You suck in a shaky breath when your hips accidentally shift over his bulge from his hands pushing and pulling over you.

“What’s the idea?” Your voice wavers.

You know what it is. He knows that. You just want to hear him say it and fill the silence.

“Something I’ve wanted for a while,” he murmurs, eyes hyper-focused on you. 

Your fingers dance their way to the sides of his neck, brushing along the supple skin while you feel muscles and tendons flex with every slight movement. You subtly press the pad of your index finger against the pulse point right under his jaw, just to ground yourself and truly feel that Logan is there in front of you. 

His pulse is steady but hard, much like yours, and the prickle of energy festering against the finger almost makes it go numb from not accepting it into your body. 

“Show me, then.” You smile sweetly, leaning in closer while you tilt his head up with the hand under his jaw, your finger slipping from his pulse and caressing over the dense, coarse hair along his cheek.

Your noses bump while your lips part in anticipation. His eyes flutter as he falls into you and frantically claims your mouth in an unbreakable kiss.

The first kiss. Nothing could tear him from you in this moment.

Your hands cradle his cheeks, keeping him from pulling off too far. His hands scratch and paw at your back, trying to find a way to somehow get you closer against him.

It’s all a little messy, your lips mostly just mashing together without any rhyme or reason, but neither of you care. You only care about how electrifying it feels to finally have Logan and feel how perfectly connected you are together after all these nights. You go together like a key and its lock.

“Logan,” you pant when his mouth releases yours for a fraction of a breath. The seconds between kisses dwindle the more you take from each other.

Your thighs tense as he pulls half an inch away just to reconnect more crazed as his lips lock over your bottom one aimlessly. Something deep inside you trembles and aches.

He grunts, accidentally sucking the tip of your tongue briefly before slotting his lips back over yours in an apology. “Hold on,” he mumbles in a rush against your parted lips. He knows what you’re asking—or trying to ask. He snakes an arm up along your spine and wraps the other around your waist.

Then the world is tilting.

He drops you on your back on the bed from his lap, hovering over you as he distracts you with harsh but pleasing kisses and wet bites along your neck, settling his hips heavily between your thighs. You squirm and feel how bolts of arousal are making your cunt pulse involuntarily. 

Logan groans. “Fuck—I can smell it. I smell you.” He slowly grinds his hips into yours almost reflexively. He squeezes his eyes shut, and you tip your chin up to press a chaste kiss to his slick lips. 

“Taste…if you want to,” you propose, lightly scratching up and down his shoulders and arms, only enough to leave faint red lines for a couple seconds.

Logan’s eyes almost roll into the back of his head before he gives it a small shake, a conflicted look overtaking his face. “Of course I fucking want to, but—fuck—next time. I promise.” He swallows whatever you were going to say with a deep kiss that has you nearly shaking when he sucks on your bottom lip. 

“Let’s just take things easy,” he says roughly, bearing his weight on his left arm while he tries to get your sleep shorts and underwear off.

A promise of a next time makes your brain go fuzzy like static.

“I’ll hold you to it, then,” you resolve, lifting your hips as much as you can for him to lean back and pull away to wrestle your clothes the rest of the way down your legs, discarding them just as quickly.

“I hope you will,” he breathes through a small laugh as he shuffles on his knees. He doesn’t want to completely overwhelm you and scare you off, he just wants to enjoy you in a simple way that won’t entirely ruin you for tomorrow.

He doesn’t know what you can or cannot handle, but he’s going to find out.

The fresh air in the room brushes cooly against your wet cunt. It’s a nice contrast to how fiery your whole body feels, but Logan feels even warmer than you somehow. Maybe wolverine’s just run hot.

His sweats have ridden down his hips from his desperate grinding against you, and the dangerous cut of his v-line grows more and more narrow as the waistband teases the reveal of what’s underneath.

You watch him—palming his dick once as your knees sway side-to-side in waiting. His thumbs hook under the stretchy fabric, working what remains of his clothes down his sturdy thighs.

“It’s rude to stare.” He pops a brow, a smug, arrogant grin quirking his lips.

You push yourself to sit up, considerably shorter than him in this position as he stands on his knees, and walk two fingers up his toned stomach to his chest, avoiding the hard cock between you. 

He looks at you with curiosity until your hand grabs his dog tag in a fist, pulling it towards you. “Then stop showing me your dick,” you say as he leans in to your pulling a little to not have the chain break away.

You knew the night Logan dropped his pants in front of you and let you eye-up his bulge would come back to haunt you. But it’s alluring. Big. Curves a little to the left, barely noticeable. A respectable amount of hair decorates the space between his bellybutton and the base of his cock.

He gives in to the tension on the chain, falling back to the mattress with you and trapping you between his arms as his cock rests heavy on your clit.

“How about I find somewhere to put it?” His smile pushes a whole new wave of arousal from you.

“It would be a damn shame if you didn’t,” you say against his mouth, giving your hips a roll just to tease him before hugging his waist tightly with your knees.

“Good.” He gives you a strong kiss with a small grunt, running his hands over your sides under your shirt. The movement pushes it up, up, up, until you have no choice but to stretch your arms out above you and let him slide it off between more thoughtless kisses, leaving you entirely bare.

He lets you breathe for a moment, dipping his head to bite and suck marks along your collarbones messily. You squeeze around his hips harder, trying to get him to give you something other than his scratchy cheeks rubbing against your skin and the chilled steel of the dog tag dragging over your chest.

The tip of his cock falls and catches over your clit when he moves lower, licking and sucking over your chest like a starved animal finding food for the first time in a week. You gasp from the mixed sensations.

“C’mon, kitty cat, you can do all this while inside m-me,” you say breathily, fingers digging into his shoulders to stop yourself from trembling too much. 

Logan bites over a nipple before pulling himself back up to look at you. “Is that a promise?” He says lowly, that stupid smirk gracing his face again.

“Try it and find out,” you demand, enjoying the sting of the deeper bites blooming on your torso.

He purses his lips, shifting his weight back onto his knees to grab ahold of his cock to angle and guide it in.

“Hm, guess no lube is needed,” he muses when he gets a look at your cunt, sparing you a glance through his lashes.

You roll your eyes shut when your whole body lights up red-hot. “Jesus fucking Christ, Logan,” you slap a hand over your eyes as you grimace. You don’t want to be that aware of your naked self right now.

He suppresses whatever expression was about to cross his face when his cock notches itself between your soaked folds, teasing your hole with the blunt tip. His brows pinch together and you forget the embarrassment from his crude remark.

But he leaves his cock like that, on the precipice of sliding the rest of the way in with a snap of his hips. Instead, he carefully uncurls his upper body to crawl his way back up to you while holding his hips deathly still.

“Alright, stay with me,” he whispers against your neck when you moan, pressing a tender kiss to your rabid pulse in reassurance. 

“O-okay,” you sigh, running a hand through his hair and tugging at the roots while the other squeezes around his arm as best as it can. You’re not even really sure what he’s saying.  

He kisses up your cheek and over to your lips again. You try to keep up with his quick mouth, licking and sucking whatever part you can get ahold of, but you’ve become lost in the feeling of him all over you. 

He’s in your mouth, on your chest, against your stomach, nudging your cunt. Everywhere.

He slips his tongue over yours, securing your lips together at the same time he pushes his cock in halfway. Now you understand what he was saying. 

The lightheadedness from being filled, even just a bit, almost makes you lose yourself. The stretch makes your stomach drop, your legs shake, and your mouth fall open with a whine. 

“A-ah—fuck. Fuck, Logan,” you whimper, fisting his hair with both hands to stop yourself from falling apart.

He groans, either at the grip you have on his hair or how good your cunt feels already, and runs a hand up your left thigh in comfort as you squeeze around his hips tighter to draw him in. 

“Just a bit more,” he soothes, trying to resist the urge to slide into you in one fell swoop. It would be so easy to just let his hips fall into yours and fill your cunt.

Another heated kiss, another few inches. He works his cock into you the rest of the way with ease. You guess the lube thing wasn’t really a joke. His hungry, needy kisses may have also helped with that.

You choke on your gasps, not wanting to get too loud, and Logan does the same. He tries to muffle both of your moans with his mouth, attempting to form complete kisses, but it just turns into you panting against each other as he finally bottoms out, hitting his end. 

Your legs relax around his waist as he deftly rocks his hips in small thrusts to get you familiar with his size, his small grunts filling the air each time you swallow him whole.

You let out a deep breath, dropping your hands back to his tense shoulders. He lines your jaw with soft kisses, fisting the blanket in his hands beside your head.

“Fuck. Already feels too good,” he moans, pressing into you harder and unintentionally rubbing himself over your tender clit.

You smile, squirming while he works down your neck again. “Best of luck,” you huff, amused at the fact that he might not last as long as he wants to.

He brings his face back to yours, a completely blissful expression controlling his features, but there’s still some mischief in his hazel eyes. “Oh? Yeah?”

You hold each other’s gaze, both equally dazed and overwhelmed, and he draws his hips back and pushes into your wet cunt with a complete, strong thrust. The sound of his pelvis hitting against the backs of your thighs makes him laugh in pleasure and satisfaction when you instantly roll your eyes and head back.

Your cunt quivers, gripping him tight, and then it’s Logan’s turn to lose composure. He drops his head to your chest, managing a few deep breaths as he slowly pulls out halfway just to push right back into you, over and over. 

It’s a pace that isn’t quite pure, mindless fucking, but it’s also not somewhere near earnest love-making. It’s something that feels specifically curated for you. Something that feels measured and sincere. 

The strength of his thighs hitting against yours pushes you up the mattress a few inches, and you don’t know whether to gasp or moan. He reaches somewhere deep inside you, and you know he can feel that, too.

A helpless groan slips through Logan’s lips. “Where have you fucking been, huh?” He muses through shaky breaths, the determined plunge of his cock hitting something that makes your muscles tense throughout your body. 

Your fingers tangle in the hair at the base of his neck, keeping him close. “Two doors down,” you giggle, understanding that’s not quite what he was asking.

“Fucking smart-ass,” he grumbles, silencing any further rebuttals with a wet kiss. You don’t think you could manage much more of a conversation even if you wanted to.

The silence is quickly filled with obscene sounds that only seem to leave you wetter and Logan throbbing. You can hear your bodies connecting through your gasping for air and his choked moans, and you can feel the mess you’re making all over him. It’s smeared along the inside of your thighs from how deep he’s been hitting. The squelching only seems to make him fuck into you harder.

Something inside you starts to grow tight and wind up in your core, making you repeatedly clench around him while his cock strokes all the right spots inside you as he makes sure he’s fucking himself in to the base. He doesn’t deprive you of anything. 

He drops his head to your neck, wedging his face in to latch onto the spot right where your neck starts to slope into your shoulder. The dense muscle there gives him something to basically chew on, sinking his teeth in as deep as he can without drawing blood.

“H-hah, Logan,” you whine, tilting your head into the side of his and squirming from the pleasant sting.

You feel his arm move beside you, then you hear the sound of tearing fabric as he gives a particularly brutal snap of his hips, followed by a deep groan against your skin.

You can barely form any thoughts, but you can guess what just happened. If he pulled his hand back, three long, slim holes would probably be where his knuckles are right now.

“Fu-uck, Logan, you just got t-this mattress,” you laugh a little, your words choppy from how hard he’s driving into you now.

He draws back from your neck, seeing your half-lidded eyes trying to focus on him. “Can’t always control it,” he reasons, giving you two short, fleeting kisses as you hear his claws retract from the innocent mattress. 

You see the double-edged sword. You can guess that that’s the same explanation he would probably use for the nightmares. It can go either way, and now you’ve seen both sides.

“It’s okay,” you say in a hushed tone. You cradle his face, and he rests his forehead against yours. “Keep going…keep going,” you coax, face scrunching from your nearing orgasm.

You can feel it in your toes, your stomach, your shoulders—you’re tightening up everywhere, and he can undoubtedly feel it in your cunt as you pulse around him. It grips him just right for a couple seconds before relaxing completely and leaving him to chase for more.

“Keep squeezing me like that and you’ll get whatever you want,” he offers, fighting to maintain his steady pace for both your sakes.

You almost whine, knowing whatever your body does is beyond your control at this point.

“Just—inside.” You can’t even string together a full sentence anymore, but the urgency and stress on the last word makes Logan’s ears perk up.

He presses a soft kiss to your clammy forehead in acknowledgment, the muscles in his arms straining and flexing as he grabs ahold of his own orgasm after a particularly inviting flutter of your walls.

You’re both walking the line, teetering on the edge of utter euphoria, and you know nothing will be the same after. You don’t want it to be. You hope it isn’t.

He reaches an arm back, sliding his hand up your thigh again and slotting it behind the bend in your knee. He pushes forward—only slightly—bringing your leg closer to your stomach to stretch you open for him.

His cock brushes over something new. Something that makes you bite your tongue. The angle lets him fit perfectly against you, not hindered by the flesh of your thigh stopping his hips.

You want to cry from how good it all feels. You want to be suspended in this feeling forever. You want Logan to—

“Focus, baby. Focus on me,” he coos, bringing you back to reality. He holds the side of your head with his other hand affectionately. “Come on…come on, I know you’re almost there,” he encourages with a quick kiss that goes straight to your stomach.

The burn in your thigh from the stretch can’t overpower the sparks of your orgasm, and Logan just fanned the flames with a few little words.

You come with a broken sob, convulsing around his cock while he fucks you through it, submitting to his own orgasm only seconds after with deep, shaky breaths as he empties himself inside your cunt.

He doesn’t pull out or pull away. He relaxes on top of you, sweaty and sticky with cum, and he places the barest whisper of a kiss on your chin, your parted lips, your nose, and then your forehead. 

Your ears ring from your orgasm, eyes still slightly out of focus. Your body trembles from your muscles finally releasing the tension they’ve been caught up in. 

You desperately suck in air, trying to calm your pounding heart, and you just lie there and let Logan walk your body through a cool-down. Soft kisses. Soft touches. Soft looks. Between sweat, cum, and whatever else.

He rocks a little on his knees, weak from his release, and carefully pulls out of you with a huff as he caresses your stomach and thighs appreciatively to wind you down. You get a good look at him. Not a scratch. His hair tells a story, though—one where he’s completely possessed by bliss. 

You probably look like you survived an animal attack.

“Are we even?” Logan says through a kiss against your stomach.

A mindless laugh crawls from your throat, caught up in the feeling of his hands rubbing circles over your hips. “I think I still owe you,” you argue, resting your hands over his as they travel smoothly up your side.

You’ll find a way to make everything up to him. Including the sex. The scale is now tipping to his side too much. All the nights spent in his bed, what he’s done for you, what you’ve done for each other, may just be immeasurable, but that won’t stop you from finding a way to get him back for it all. 

“We’ll figure it out,” he mumbles, snaking back up your body and pressing himself against you. Face-to-face. Chest-to-chest. 

You mindfully run your hands over the sides of his head, trying to tame his hair and style it back to how it was earlier in the night. It doesn’t work. He enjoys it anyway.

“Do I have the pleasure of staying here tonight?” You ask rhetorically, enjoying the warmth of him on top of you against the brisk air creeping in from the cracked window.

Logan blinks. “You can stay every night.” 

A loving smile springs over your face. This may be the beginning of the end to your troubles and worries.  

You—maybe foolishly—trust him. You trust that he won’t accidentally bury his claws in your side during the night, but you’ve had impressive luck with that up until this point. The only thing you can do now is continue to push that luck.

Healing isn’t linear, and you can’t expect someone to fix you, but everyone finds their thing at some point. 

You slither your hand down to his neck, index finger grazing over his pulse again. You feel the energy biting against you.

Your lips graze over his, tempting him to give you a slow, deep kiss. “Can I have the left side?” Rhetorical, again.

Logan chuckles against your mouth. “Always.”

[iceunhie]

— KISSES OR KISSES? : honkai star rail

premise. testing out your new lipstick is no fun (normally), so what better way to make use of it by kissing your lover senseless? not to mention, leaving a little something behind.... (aka, lipstick kisses with them.)

ft. blade, dan heng, boothill, dr. ratio, aventurine !

warnings: feminine reader! reader is ultimately genderless but you may interpret this as fem!reader if you want, reader wears lipstick. nicknames hehe, boothill is his own warning, mid writing tbh, unedited

a/n. the lipstick trend does not escape me at all 😞😞 but this consumed me so now i write about it ijbol

MAIN MASTERLIST || PART 2 (sunday, jing yuan, gallagher, sampo, gepard.)

“what are you doing?”

BLADE ceases all functions. like, immediately.

you'd think he'd even stopped breathing once he'd felt the soft sensation of your lips on his, and the pretty sight of the normally aloof stellaron hunter covered in multiple lipstick kisses all over his face to his neck nearly makes the rest of his other comrades keel over from laughter. his silence is indicative of his rather unusual state of shock, the only indication a menacing furrow of his brows (to an outsider, they'd think he's plotting a murder spree, but you know him too well for that) that twitch and simultaneously react the more you kiss him everywhere on the face.

silverwolf will then relay to you that blade walked around for nearly 5 system hours covered in your... marks of ownership, kafka helpfully supplies, and was only made aware when firefly accidentally bumped into him, face exploding in red when she saw the audacious sight of blade covered in your lipstick. “er, blade.... your face is...”

—

blade has never known mortification quite like today, but the intense feeling of something akin to shame is vivid as he stares at himself in the mirror, glaring.

his face is a mess, to put it simply. trailing a hand on the red stains your lips left on to him leaves him with a smudged countenance, furthering the utter chaos that is his kiss-ridden face.

“...ridiculous girl.” avoiding the uncharacteristic way his fingertips feel hot, blade reckons this is probably why firefly stopped dead in her tracks and gaped, stared, and flustered.

clever as you were, and with your equal penchant for mischief, blade, the ever unsuspecting lover he is (he doesn't normally allow anyone to touch him, but you're not just anyone) had easily become the target of your new tricks.

“pfft, nice get-up, old man. got yourself a good day?”

....so that's what silverwolf meant.

DANHENG immediately scolds you, but not in the serious way he normally does whenever stelle wants to eat an origami bird or dives into trashcans or when march accidentally destroys one of the archive books, but in a way that only dan heng ever shows you. he's red, painfully red, and is struggling to face you because he knows that the smug grin you're holding has to do with the sight he'd glimpsed himself to be in moments prior.

unfortunately for him, for all his ways of trying fervently to remove the lipstick stains plastered all over his face, it only took march one look and a melodramatic gasp before the entire express knew, the conductor included.

—

“dan heng and [name], sitting on a tree-”

“k-i-s-s-i-n-g~”

my friends are all senile, dan heng thinks, rolling his eyes while avoiding himeko's friendly (read: eerie) smile. and he's already given up on trying to meet welt's eyes. (read: concerned but not surprised)

the reason? the rouge tinted matte lipstick generously spread all over dan heng's face, slightly smudged and spanning from his cheeks to his lips, nearing his neck.

he'd never tell, but a part of him—one that was reptilian in nature, a primal need of possessiveness—adored the show of affection you showered upon him. it was only right—he was yours, and you were his.

welt is sheepish, coughing lightly that all five heads of the express members turn to him (pom-pom included) “dan heng, is that your tail wagging?”

“....”

“....”

“....”

(a resounding click! can be heard afrerwards. oh, dan heng is so going to steal march's camera.)

the loud whir of BOOTHILL’s cooling system can't even keep up with how fast he's overheating, because one thing led to another and one look you gave made him weak in the knees and now his body is covered in your kisses, scarlet against the metal gray of his limbs. he no longer has a heart, but the rapid feeling of heat emitted by his body speaks more about his current mental state in more ways than one—he can't even form words because his brain chip is practically glitching itself up into overdrive, because your lips were so warm, soft and gentle and—

“...oothill? boothill? your circuits are—”

a startling sound that sounds just like a mini explosion reverberates somewhere in the tangle of wires near boothill's power source.

oh dear.

( p.s: no warp trotters were harmed, rest assured )

“[name]...” AVENTURINE’s voice falters when you press a soft kiss near his forehead, your lover closing his eyes as he lets out a soft sigh of joy — a bit like a peacock preening... but in any case! he certainly sees no argument being swayed by you, his dignity in shambles, yes, but when you were showering him with affection like this (which, in all honesty, aventurine did not think he deserved) leaves in in a flushed and tattered mess of a man, whose strings are wholly puppeteered by you and you alone.

you are everything; and aventurine certainly can't get enough. (he doubts if enough will even be enough someday) he's the lover who'd proudly want to flaunt such salacious marks everywhere, though his craftily built reputation as a stoneheart—blood sweat and commodity code and all—leaves him to hide your marks on him, as much as he'd like them to stay. (you are a weakness that aventurine keeps like an oath, and an existence that he'd do anything to keep.)

that doesn't, however, stop him from getting you to leave a kiss near his collar, discreet enough to signal his status as irrevocably, undeniably yours.

DR. VERITAS RATIO is actually the most calm and most normal (read: boring) of all the men above when barraged by your kiss attack. letting out a tsk that's more chiding and speeachless than actually annoyed, he casually pulls you away from his face, nevermind his rapidly heating cheeks, which is only made more humorous given his lipstick stained face.

“stop that. you're making too much of a mess of me, fool.” <- is visibly leaning to your face to allow said actions. you're not fooling anyone here, doctor. smh.

however, he does get pretty flustered when a certain blond gambler notes the new addition of a ‘tattoo’ right near his lower lip. “wow, doctor. seems you woke up on the good side of the bed today.”

he spends a whole day scolding you hoarse afterwards, whatever that may entail ;).

(as a way of petty revenge, he will make sure to kiss you senseless right after, until he's sure his own lips are swollen and covered in the warm red of your chosen shade.)

a/n: blog is running on queue as of today, so this post will probably come wayyy overdue lol but hope u enjoy nonetheless!

@ ICEUNHIE: do not repost translate or plagiarize my works.

[slrmagazine]

DAUGHTRY DROPS EPIC VIDEO FOR NEW SINGLE “THE DAM”

DAUGHTRY DROPS EPIC VIDEO FOR NEW SINGLE “THE DAM”. #daughtry @Daughtry_News

GRAMMY®-nominated rockers Daughtry continue their reign of music video dominance with a visual for their new single, “The Dam,” out today on all platforms via Big Machine Rock. Cut from their recently released, debut Big Machine EP, Shock to The System (Part One), the cinematic video, directed by Jensen Noen (Demi Lovato, Falling in Reverse, Bring Me the Horizon), finds frontman Chris Daughtry…

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

a/n: another kofi request. This time it’s an Anatolian guard dog smut fic! Enjoy ^^

You stood out in the snow, coffee in hand as you waited by the door of the hybrid work agency. It was nice that there was somewhere that specifically hired out hybrids who were in need of work, because it helped everyone.

Lately, your apartment building had been the victim of multiple robberies, and each time the person that got robbed was closer and closer to you. Last week, your neighbor just two doors down had their entire apartment emptied out, leaving only the old food in the fridge and some lint.

So safe to say you were afraid you were going to be next.

Several of your friends suggested getting a security system, but your neighbor had one and it did nothing. No, you needed to go another route.

“Are you (Name)?”

You jumped, neatly slipping on the slick, icy sidewalk when you heard a voice behind you. Before you could fall, a hand grabbed your arm and steadied you.

When you turned, you spotted a tall man, a pair of fluffy, black dog ears. He wore a dark suit, his gloved hand pulling back from your arm once you regained your balance.

“Y-yes, I am. And you are..?”

“The guard dog you hired, my name is Duke.”

That made sense, he even had a lanyard with his name and role on it. “Ah… okay. My apartment is nearby, I already have one of the rooms ready for you. I have a few errands I have to run first though.”

Duke nodded, staying by your side as you walked. “I will accompany you.”

For the next few weeks, you had never felt safer in your life. Everywhere you went, Duke was always nearby, inspecting the area and making sure no one even thought of interrupting your peace.

Just a few days ago you were approached by a handsome looking man who claimed to have picked up something you dropped, but Duke was quick to step in front of you and twist the guy’s arm back.

“He’s got bad intentions, I can just sense it.”

For a moment you were in shock. Of course you knew Duke was big and strong, but the entire time he’d been guarding you he hadn’t shown his true strength. All he had to do was stand around you looking intimidating.

“D-Duke, he’s not-“

A handkerchief fell from the man’s pocket, and before you could pick it up Duke growled. “Don’t touch it!”

You pulled back your hand as if it had been burned, your cheeks growing hot with embarrassment and a bit of… arousal.

“It’s laced. The second you touch it you’ll start feeling dizzy. This guy has probably hurt a ton of girls using this method.”

You sat in Duke’s car as he handed the guy into the police station, still feeling a bit hot and bothered. Honestly, you were super grateful for and… a bit flustered by his protective nature.

From Duke’s pov, he had plans for you the moment h you met him. From your soft figure to your need for a protector, you were perfect.

Duke wanted a mate, and he bonded with you almost instantly. Getting to stand by and keep you safe all day aroused him to no end, and between shifts he spent most of his time fucking his hand, wanting more than anything to be thrusting into you instead.

That’s why when he smelled your arousal upon entering his car, Duke was quick to get you back to your apartment.

A part of him knew that it was unprofessional to be pushing you up against a wall and sniffing at you like a beast before covering your neck in hickeys, but he couldn’t care less.

You smelled too damn good, and he was sick and tired of everyone else looking at you like you didn’t belong to him already. “My little mate… getting all worked up, need to let off some steam, hmm?”

He set you on the bed before pushing you onto your belly, lifting your hips before lightly spanking your cunt. “Naughty thing. I’ve got to keep you safe, can’t have you all wet out there when every hybrid can smell your arousal from ten miles away.”

Duke was nearly twice your size, looming over you as his cock pressed against your tight hole. He did his best to prep you, pumping two fingers, then three in and out of your sopping wet cunt before he couldn’t take it anymore.

He pushed into you, letting out a growl when you whimpered and squirmed. “Easy, you can take it… be a good girl for me, okay? My sweet girl…”

Taking him wasn’t easy at all, in fact it took a minute for you to relax enough for Duke to even move, but once you eased up he began thrusting into you like a wild animal.

It made you see stars, the way he was fucking you stipid. You felt like you were losing yourself in each thrust, your hips moving desperately to meet his.

“G-gonna cum!”

When he knotted you after your fat cunt clenched around him, you truly understood what love was. While he stuffed you full, he caged your body under his, as if trying to shield you from the cruel and nasty world. You were just a sweet thing and he couldn’t stand the thought of anything taking you away from him.

He was so gentle, like a dog tending to the sheep he guarded. Duke groomed you and stayed inside of you for a long time, his curled tail wagging lazily.

“I’m gonna take care of you, okay? Don’t even have to pay me. You’re my mate now, got it?”

————————

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko @soapybabyboop @anonymouskiwi

[wooyoungiewritings]

Borrowed Time - Seonghwa x Reader (Part 1)

Summary: Your husband of 8 years suggests an open marriage, and while he's out finding a new girlfriend, you feel like it's wrong to even glance in another man's direction. But it all changes when you download Tinder and match with Seonghwa. The man who's about to turn your world upside down. And he even happens to be your husband's boss.

Word count: 11.7K

Genre: Fluff, Rich Seonghwa, some angst, slow burn, a little smut (something almost happens, that's all I'm saying)

warnings: Seonghwa with reader (fem pronouns), crying, betrayal, dry-humping, lmk if I missed anything!

PART 2

This is all for fun and is not meant to represent Seonghwa in any way.

It’s been four months. Four months since you had the conversation with your husband about having an open marriage, because he wanted to try something new. The conversation is still taking up space in your mind like it was yesterday he sat you down on the couch in the house you share.

“Honey, you know I still love you,” He kept repeating after saying the possibly most shocking things you’ve ever heard. “I’m just afraid we’ll get tired of each other if we don’t try this.. We promised to be together forever, but aren’t you wondering what else is waiting for you out in the world?”

“No,” Is all you could say. A million questions run through your mind as he sits in front of you, kneeled down on his knee with your hands in his as you sit on the couch. “I married you because I want to be with you. And only you.” Your voice is shaky, trying to hold back the tears.

He notices the way you react and squeezes your hands in his.

“And I want to be with you, baby. I wanna be with you for the rest of my life, which is why I feel like this is the best we can do for now.” He tried explaining, but it didn’t help. 

“I just don’t understand? Are you not happy with me? Am I not satisfying you enough? Is it me? Am I doing something wrong?” The questions fly out of your mouth before you’re able to hold back. He quickly shakes his head, holding your hands even tighter. 

“No, no not at all. Look, I was just thinking we could do this for a year, maybe? A year where we are still married, but see other people in the meantime. When the year ends, we’ll be back to just us, and because we promised to stay together for the rest of our lives, a year won’t seem as much. This will be the only time we get to see other people for the rest of our lives, baby. It’s not a bad thing, it's only gonna strengthen our marriage in the end.” 

For some twisted reason, you saw his point. If you agreed to this, he would have a year to be with whoever he wanted, to get everything out of his system. So you agreed. You told him you agreed to do this for a year, but there had to be rules.

You had to tell the other person when you started seeing someone. No sleeping with a bunch of people, you have to tell the other person who you’re sleeping with (mostly for safety reasons). And NO one is allowed into the bedroom besides husband and wife.

And so this has been going on for four months now, and your husband is out with his girlfriend. Since this wasn’t against your deal, you couldn’t say much against it, so you just nodded and pretended to be okay. He started seeing her a week after the deal was made, a woman from his office, and the news broke your heart. He was barely home anymore, spending all of his time at her place.

The pain of hearing your husband of 8 years loving someone else was unbearable, and yet you couldn’t even get yourself to see someone else. It felt so wrong. 

It was a friday night and you’re sitting on your couch in your shared home, and your husband just left to have a weekend getaway with his girlfriend. You’re staring at the TV that has been going for hours with some bad reality TV-show, when you finally realize how sick you are of sitting home alone while your husband is out. You grab your phone and without thinking too much, you download Tinder. 

It wasn’t an app you’ve ever tried before, since your husband and you have been dating since you were teens and got married at an early age. But you quickly figured out the app and set up your profile. 

Swiping left and right on guys was more fun than you imagined, getting a few matches here and there. There were all different types of profiles on this app. Guys looking for serious relationships, guys looking for hookups, couples looking for a woman to add to their threesome. Men who opened with “hey sexy” or bios that included “I’m not looking for anything serious unless it’s with Sabrina Carpenter.”

So when his profile popped up, you hesitated.

His picture captures you immediately, and you’re taken back with his beauty. He was… breathtaking. But not in that overly filtered, red flag kind of way. There was warmth in his eyes, even in photos. A calm kind of confidence. One picture had him sitting at a piano, another laughing in the passenger seat of a car, sunlight washing over his face like it knew exactly where to land.

No shirtless mirror pics. No awkward drunk group-pictures. No fish.

“Park Seonghwa.” You read his name out loud. His bio was short. “Looking for something good. And maybe someone to watch bad TV with.”

You stared at his profile for a full two minutes before swiping right, mostly convinced it wouldn’t be a match anyway.

But then-

It’s a match!

Suddenly your heart starts to beat faster and you sit up straight on the couch while looking at your phone.

Did you just match him? Probably the most handsome man you’ve ever seen?

Your stomach did a weird little flip. You waited. Twenty minutes. An hour. Maybe he wasn’t the type to message first. Maybe he matched by accident. Or maybe-...

Park Seonghwa Are you watching something awful right now? Be honest.

You look at your screen for a few seconds before reacting. A smile spreads across your lips as you open his message and type back.

Me Love Mansion: Season 6. There’s a guy crying because no one likes his magic tricks.

You quickly see the dots that indicate he’s typing.

Park Seonghwa That sounds deeply tragic. And also like something I’d binge while pretending I hate it

Me You’re one of those people? “This show is terrible” but suddenly you’ve watched 8 episodes and you know everyone’s star sign.

While you wait for his answer, you enter his profile once again. You can’t help looking at his pictures, mesmerized by how beautiful this man is. You almost get a feeling of recognition while looking at him, like you’ve seen him on a poster or in an ad or something. His profile doesn’t inform about his occupation, but you’re sure he must be showing that face off somewhere. 

A new message pops up.

Park Seonghwa: I have a spreadsheet

You laughed out loud for the first time that night.

You: So what’s your favorite actually-good movie then?

Park Seonghwa: You’re asking a very serious question to someone who owns a full set of replica lightsabers

You: Oh, so you’re very serious about it

Park Seonghwa: Yes. Star Wars. All of it. Even the prequels. Especially the prequels. I said what I said

I’m at my third Star Wars movie of the day. The movies are over two hours each, so you can imagine how eventful my day is so far

You can’t help but smile while you type out your answer. 

Me As a person who doesn’t know much about the franchise, I can’t tell you whether I’m impressed or slightly worried. Maybe I should put on a Star Wars movie and give it a chance?

An answer ticks in a few seconds later.

Park Seonghwa If you do, watch “The Last Jedi”. I just started mine, we can watch it together but separately

You don’t know how a guy you’re only a few messages deep with has you convinced this is the best way to spend your night. You decide to play the movie and message him you’re watching it too. This is the most action you’ve gotten in months, but somehow it's the perfect way to start this journey of an open-relationship. 

Maybe.

The movie begins and Seonghwa introduces some of the characters as they show up on screen. You find yourself laughing at his messages, smiling and waiting for him to text you the next thing. A feeling you haven’t felt in years, despite being married to who you’re convinced is the love of your life. But you can already tell that Seonghwa is a completely different type of guy, and for once, you actually don’t feel alone in the house you share with your husband. 

The movie ends and you’re hundreds of messages deep.

Park Seonghwa Now that we’ve concluded that “The Last Jedi” is part of an amazing franchise but not at all the best movie, I wanna admit that I’ve never looked so much at my phone during a Star Wars movie. I feel like I’m cheating on my favorite series

The text makes you giggle and you’re quick to type your answer.

Me Despite enjoying the movie, I must admit that I didn’t see half of it because I was focused on my phone. But I’ll gladly give Star Wars another chance someday

You see the text bubble appear and then go away a few times, making you curious about what he’s about to say. 

Seonghwa: We could talk about the movie over dinner tomorrow?

You stare at your screen for what feels like forever, feeling like a teenager receiving a text from her crush. This overwhelming feeling Seonghwa leaves you is something completely new, but despite it being a new and slightly scary feeling, you can’t help but feel excited. And so your fingers start typing.

Me I’d love to! After arranging your upcoming date with Seonghwa, you decide to head to bed. You’re meeting him at a restaurant in the city tomorrow, Saturday. He offered to pick you up, but you’ve seen too many horror movies to give your address to a stranger before meeting them, so you came up with an excuse to meet him there. 

You get comfortable in bed before opening his profile once again to look at his pictures.

This man… wow.

But just like before, a feeling of recognition hits you and you study his pictures a bit more. You’re sure you would remember him if you had met him, because who would forget a face like that? But it doesn’t ring a bell.. 

You open a new tab on your phone and search for his name. Perhaps he has been in a show you’ve seen on tv, maybe on a poster somewhere. There’s no way this man isn’t showing off his looks somehow. 

His name pops up on your screen.

A gasp leaves your lips and you stare at him in awe. 

It can’t be him! No no no no no… 

The name, the face, him in a suit. Everything washes over you. You throw your phone away from you and bury your face in your pillow. 

In your mind, you’re getting transported to a specific night, one year ago. Your husband has your arm in his and you’re walking side by side in your finest attire. You’re laughing at something your husband's co-worker said, when you sense a powerful presence enter the circle at the company dinner at your husband’s job.

“Oh, I want to introduce you to someone,” Your husband says as he turns you towards the newest member of the group. “My boss, Park Seonghwa.”

You stare up at him, Seonghwa slightly taller than your husband. His gaze adverts to you as he reaches out his hand. But as you give him your hand, he doesn’t do a normal handshake. He gently takes your hand in his and sends you a warm smile. Something in his eyes makes you lose all concentration, as you’re lost in his beauty. 

And then it all made sense. You’ve thought these exact thoughts before. A year ago at the company dinner and again tonight. 

Everything in your mind is going 100 m/ph and you suddenly feel confused. Does he know you’re married to his employee? Does he remember you? You’re pretty sure he doesn’t, or else he would have said something. And now you’ve arranged a date with him. 

You grab your phone again, considering if you should cancel the dinner, but something in you stops that from happening. The words don't appear in your head when you try to get out of the situation, so you delete the nonsense you’ve written so far, and decide to take things as they come. You place your phone on your night stand and get comfortable under the covers, trying your best to fall asleep.

On a couch across town, Seonghwa is still looking at his phone, looking at the text-bubbles come and go. When it doesn’t result in a text from the woman he has been texting all night, he goes to look at your profile for the 29th time tonight. 

He didn’t expect much from Tinder.

Honestly, it had been a joke. A dare, technically. His assistant downloaded it on his phone one night after too many glasses of wine at a company dinner and said, “You need to date someone who doesn’t know what your net worth is.”

So fine. He swiped. Occasionally. Mostly out of boredom, sometimes out of curiosity. Everyone started blending together. Bios full of yoga poses, forced “entrepreneur” energy, one woman who said she manifested her future husband every morning through herbal tea and moon rituals.

But then he saw you.

He found himself leaning back against the cushions, phone in hand, grinning like an idiot as your replies came in. You weren't trying to be impressive. You were just herself. And that was more magnetic than anything he’d seen in months. He didn’t even realize he’d been texting for two straight hours until his phone buzzed with a calendar notification:

Dinner with Executive Team – 9 AM monday.

He groaned. Whatever. He’d been in back-to-back meetings all week. He could allow himself one night to just… feel normal. Human.

“What’s a woman like you doing here?” he’s asking himself with a smirk, scrolling through your pictures. 

He had planned to go to bed early, have a peaceful night and get up early tomorrow, but he’s been too fascinated by the woman on the other side of the app. The tug on his lips doesn’t go away as he gets up from the couch and decides to head to bed, already accepting that he won’t get up early tomorrow. 

But one thing is for sure.

He’s very satisfied with the way his night went.

***

Saturday arrives, and you find yourself in front of the restaurant you agreed to meet Seonghwa at. You haven’t had any contact since you arranged the date, besides the check-in he made earlier today to ask if you were still down for dinner.

You feel the nerves in your body when you open the door, not having felt this feeling since you started dating your husband. The restaurant is in an area of town you usually didn’t visit - it is more expensive than you are used to. But not spending money on dates with your husband, and only cooking food for one for the past four months has resulted in you having a bit more money than you usually do, so you could go big for one night and spend some money on a good restaurant. 

The restaurant has a dark design with marble and wooden interior. The light is dimmed and you notice couples occupying tables throughout the restaurant. 

This is actually happening. You are going on a date with him.

With Seonghwa. 

It suddenly hit you and once again, you starting to doubt if this was a good idea. You have come to the point where you wanted to date, but dating your husband’s boss seems like the next level. Will your husband be okay with this? Will Seonghwa be okay with this?

Suddenly feeling like your legs are about to give out, you turn around to head outside but you are instead met with a human wall. A set of hands grab your waist to steady you, making sure you won’t fall by the sudden collision. 

“Running away already?” The voice asks, darker than you remember but also soft with a small tease. You look up to see Seonghwa’s soft eyes, slightly covered by some dark pieces of hair. Being a few inches from his face, you can’t help but freeze to study how absolutely amazing he looks up close. 

His almost black eyes, bushy brows, how his upper lip looks slightly bigger than the other, the most perfect nose you’ve ever seen.. Everything is too perfect, you don't know how to react. 

The sudden realization that his hands are on your waist wakes you up, and you stand back up straight to take a step away from him and his undeniably stunning face. 

“Uhm, no I.. I mean, I- no. I didn’t..” Your struggle with words makes him chuckle and he seems to brush off your awkward first meeting quicker than you. 

“How about we find our table?” He asks with a smile, placing his hand on your back to lead you further into the restaurant. 

“Mh-hmm.” Is all you manage to get out, wanting to kick yourself in the head for almost walking out on this man. 

The restaurant is a rooftop spot. Quiet, upscale, city lights spilling in through the glass walls. A jazz trio played somewhere in the background, subtle and elegant. The staff seem to know him, your table is ready immediately, tucked in a quiet corner with a view of the city lights. He orders a bottle of wine without looking at the menu, his tone smooth and confident, and then turn all his attention to you.

“Tell me something,” he says, resting his chin on his hand, “How have you lived your entire life and last night was the first time you watched a Star Wars movie?”

You blink at him. “You start with the hard questions?”

He smile. “I like to skip the small talk.”

You giggle. And from there, the conversation goes rather smoothly. Then easier as the wine warms your chest and his eyes never stop watching you like you were the most interesting person in the world. He asks thoughtful questions. He doesn’t talk about himself unless you ask. And when you do, he’s vague, says he works in business, likes privacy, that his life isn’t all that exciting.

Which is a lie, you are sure.

This man radiates luxury. His watch alone could pay for your college loans, and he never once checked it. And then somewhere between the wine and the main course, it starts to gnaw at you. The weight of the secret you’re keeping. Or at least… the one you thought is yours alone.

You clear your throat, reaching for your glass again even though you didn’t really want another sip.

“I should tell you something.”

He tilts his head. “Are you okay?” he senses the way your behavior changes and tries meeting your eyes.

“Yeah,” your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes, too nervous to break the truth that you know this man in front of you. “Or.. I don’t know, no, yes-no..” Your heart is beating fast. “Look, I’m sorry, but I feel like I have to be honest with you. I don’t want you to waste your time sitting here, and if you don’t feel comfortable after receiving this information I totally understand, so if you’re freaked out we can pretend this never happened and I won’t-..”

“Look,” Seonghwa places his hand over yours, totally calm, meeting your eyes. “Did you kill someone?”

“No!” You try keeping your voice down. Try.

“Do you need me to hide a body?”

“No!?”

“... Are we related?”

You tilt your head “No? I hope not…?”

“Then we’re good. I won’t be freaked out.” He shrugs, leans slightly back in his seat and sends you a smile as he picks up his glass.

You look at him, really look, and then just say it.

“You’re my husband’s boss.”

A beat. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t react. Just blinked once, slowly.

“Is that so?” he asked softly.

“I figured it out when I looked you up after we matched. I wasn’t… trying to snoop, I swear, I just got curious. And then I remembered you from the company dinner last year. Anyway, I wanted to say something in case it made this… weird for you.”

He smiles gently, setting down his glass. “It doesn’t.”

You blink. “Really?”

“I knew who you were the moment I saw your profile.”

Your stomach drops. “Oh.”

“But I still swiped right,” he adds, voice low, calm. “And I still wanted to meet you.”

“…Why?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He just looks at you for a moment, and something in his gaze makes your skin heat. “Because I wanted the honor of inviting you out for dinner.” he says.

Your breath catches. You don’t know what to say to that, so you stay quiet, letting the words sit between you like warm embers.

“And now that we’re being honest,” he continues gently, “That little thing on your finger.” He points to the gold band with a small diamond around your finger, proving to everyone, including yourself, that you’re still in a marriage.

You give a small, helpless laugh. “Oh.. Yeah, it’s not what it looks like. Or maybe it is? I don’t think so, actually, I don’t know what this looks like, but I’m not doing anything I’m not supposed to do-...”

“You don’t have to explain anything,” he says.

“No, I want to,” you reply, surprising yourself. “I need to.”

So you tell him. About the open marriage your husband suggested. About how you agreed, naively thinking it would be equal. About how he’d found someone in a matter of weeks while you’d sat at home, trying to convince yourself you weren’t just waiting. You watch Seonghwa carefully for a reaction. There is none, no judgment, no discomfort. Just a quiet focus that made you feel safer than you’d felt in months.

“But it’s actually a really good idea. I mean, we get the chance to see other people and do whatever we want, so we won’t cheat on each other later on,” you shrug, looking down at the wineglass instead of the piercing eyes in front of you. “It’s preventing us from hurting the other person in the end.” you say, finally. 

He sits quiet, just taking in your words. You can’t read his eyes, he just listens. But you don’t feel judged by the man in front of you. His eyes show too much warmth for you to be intimidated. 

“I don’t understand.” he finally says. 

“You know, if we date other people now, we won’t feel the need to do so in the future.” 

“No, I heard every word you said loud and clear,” he leaned forward in his chair, voice still soft. “I just don’t understand why he would need to.. you know.. date others when he has you.” 

Seonghwa was trying his best to not push. He could easily have said “I mean, if I was your husband, I wouldn’t want to see other people. I wouldn’t ever want another woman.” but he is still in the stage of getting to know you, doesn’t want to scare you away, and despite remembering you from the company dinner last year, he only remembers what impression you left him. A quick introduction and laughs shared in a circle of multiple people, but somehow his eyes kept drifting to you.

Your laugh, your dress, the way your eyes sparkled under the lights. It had stayed with Seonghwa for a year, so when he saw your profile on a dating app, he knew he had to shoot his shot. Unaware of what the circumstances are between you and your husband. 

But he doesn’t ask for more explanation. Instead, he shifts the conversation, just slightly, easing it toward lighter things, books, music, how you both secretly hate networking events.

And somehow, the night never felt heavy again. When dessert comes, some delicate French pastry you can’t pronounce, he insists you try the first bite. When your laugh returns, brighter this time, he smiles like that was the reward he’s been waiting for.

Later, as he walks you to your ride, you feel lighter. Like maybe it was okay to want something new. Someone new.

“I still want to see you again,” he says, standing beside the car door. His hand brushes your wrist, soft and brief. “If you want that too.”

You nod.

“I do.”

He opens the door for you, then leans down just enough to meet your eyes.

“Then let’s take our time.”

In the cab on the way home, you can’t stop smiling. You haven’t even finished closing the door behind you before your phone buzz.

Seonghwa: Text me when you’re home safe, yeah? No pressure, just want to know you’re good.

You smile into the hallway light. God, he’s that kind of man. You kick off your heels, phone still in hand, fingers already typing back.

You: Home. Warm. A little wine-dizzy but safe. Thank you for dinner.

Seonghwa: Thank you for giving me a chance. Sleep well xx

You sit on the edge of your bed for a moment longer than necessary, phone against your chest, still fully dressed. The night felt soft around the edges, like it wasn’t quite real. Like maybe you’d dreamed it. His smile, the way he listens to you like your words matter, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room.

And he knows. That was the wild part. He knows you’re married, to his employee, no less, and he still treats you with more care and curiosity than your own husband had in months. You let yourself fall back into bed, fully clothed, staring up at the ceiling with the ghost of his cologne still caught in your hair.

***

On this incredibly boring Monday, the rain started halfway through your meeting, and by the time you stepped outside, it had gone from a gentle drizzle to a full-on, cinematic downpour. You stand beneath the awning outside your building, arms crossed, watching as the other employees disappeared into warm cars and dry seats.

Your husband was supposed to pick you up. You agreed to that last week, so you texted him before you left, but no response. Not a word. That was twenty-five minutes ago. 

Your fingers tightens around your phone as you glance down the street for the fifth time. Just water streaking down your coat sleeve and your phone screen lighting up.

Not from him.

But from Seonghwa.

Seonghwa I debated texting you for ten minutes. This is me giving in. Hi.

You smile immediately, shoulders relaxing under your scarf as you type back.

You Ten minutes? I’m flattered. 

Three dots. Then:

Seonghwa Are you still at work or did you escape?

You exhale slowly, already smiling before your fingers move to reply.

You Currently trying to escape. But I’m waterlogged and standing under a leaky bus shelter.

A pause.

Seonghwa Do I want to know why you’re waiting for a bus in a rainstorm?

You hesitate. Not because you don’t want to tell him, but because you did. And that felt… a little dangerous. But you type anyway.

You Husband said he’d pick me up after work. Then forgot.

You don’t know the reason why your husband didn’t pick you up today. But it was not the first time this has happened. Last time he was busy hanging out with his girlfriend, having his phone on silent. 

Three dots danced at the bottom of the screen for a long moment before his reply came in:

Seonghwa Tell me where you are

You don’t answer right away. Another bus pass, wrong line again, and your fingers ache from the cold.

You Seonghwa. I’m fine. It’s just a little rain

Seonghwa Sure. And I’m a little meteorologist. Tell me where you are

You bite your lip, watching as a bus rumbled past - not yours. 

You Seventh and Willow. But you don’t have to, it’s okay

Seonghwa I’m already in my car. Don’t argue with me while you’re catching pneumonia

Your lips curve in spite of yourself. You pulled your scarf tighter.

Seonghwa On my way. Five minutes. Don’t wander off or find a mysterious love interest in a bookstore while I’m driving

You spotted his car before you saw him.

It turns the corner slowly, headlights washing across the slick pavement, wipers dragging across the windshield in a steady rhythm. The passenger window rolls down just enough for him to lean towards it.

“Hey, get in,” he says, his tone easy and unaffected by the weather. “You look like you’ve been here a while.” 

You step forward, your boots making soft splashes in the puddles, and slide into the passenger seat. The warmth of the car is immediate, and you exhale, feeling some of the tension leave your shoulders. The car hums quietly as Seonghwa drives through the rain-slicked streets. He’s keeping his eyes on the road, but every now and then, his gaze flickers over to you, the small, concerned crease in his brow visible in the dim glow of the dashboard lights.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice steady but soft. He’s not pushing, just checking in.

You nod, brushing your damp hair back and glancing out the window. The cold air from the rain has soaked through your coat, and your clothes cling to you uncomfortably. The heater in the car is doing its best, but you can still feel the chill.

“I’m fine,” you say, though your voice sounds a little too quiet. “Just... a little wet. Didn’t expect next time you’d see me, to be me looking like this.”

Seonghwa doesn't respond right away, but you catch the small shift in his demeanor, a brief, thoughtful silence. His hands grip the steering wheel lightly as he drives through the darkened streets, navigating without hurry.

“Do you want to stop somewhere?” he asks, keeping his tone casual, though you can sense the care behind it. “Grab something warm?”

You think about it for a second. A warm drink, maybe a cozy corner of some café, those were things you used to enjoy. But the idea of sitting in a café, dripping wet and freezing, doesn’t feel right tonight. It feels… forced. You want warmth, sure, but not from the outside world.

You glance at him, then back at the road ahead.

“Actually,” you start, “could we just... go to your place?” your words surprising yourself. “If it’s not too much, of course.”

Seonghwa blinks, a soft smile curling at the corner of his lips, but he doesn't ask any questions. Instead, he simply nods, his gaze shifting back to the road as the corners of his mouth deepen into a fond, knowing expression.

“You sure?” he asks, voice low. “I mean... you’ve had a long day. You’re drenched.”

You shrug, even though a small part of you is shocked by your own words. "I’m fine. I’m not in the mood for a date-date or whatever. Just... somewhere warm. And I don’t wanna be alone tonight. If you don’t mind.”

The silence between you two feels more comfortable now, the tension from the earlier moments gone. It’s like a weight has lifted, neither of you needs to pretend anymore.

“Alright,” he says, his voice warm, “to my place it is.” The car turns into a quieter street, and Seonghwa taps his fingers lightly against the steering wheel, his smile still lingering.

When you step out of the car and into the rain, Seonghwa’s hand briefly touches the small of your back, guiding you toward the building. The touch is gentle and reassuring.

His apartment is warmer than you expected when you step inside. It’s spacious, sure, but it’s not the cold, intimidating type of wealth you might expect from someone like him. It’s cozy in a way that’s unexpected, like he’s curated it with care, each little thing in its place. You can tell he’s put thought into making this space a refuge, a place of comfort. 

“I can grab you a towel,” Seonghwa offers immediately, his voice soft. He’s already moving toward the bathroom, but when you shake your head, he pauses. “Are you sure? I’d feel better if you changed into something comfortable.”

You glance down at yourself, feeling how soaked your clothes are, and how tired you are of pretending like you don’t need help. You nod. “That would be nice, actually.”

He smiles, but it’s not a proud smile. It’s the kind of smile that makes you feel like he’s quietly relieved, like he wants to take care of you in a way you didn’t realize you needed. “I have a few shirts you can borrow,” he says, a hint of hesitation in his tone. “Nothing fancy, just... dry.”

You watch him for a moment, the way he’s trying to gauge your comfort level without pushing too hard. It’s the first time you’ve seen him unsure of anything, and it’s a little disarming.

“That sounds perfect,” you say, giving him a small, appreciative smile.

He moves quickly, purposefully, heart thudding a little harder than usual. Not from nerves, but from quiet anger. Who forgets to pick up their wife in the middle of a downpour? He doesn’t let the frustration show on his face. He just breathes through it, reminding himself that this moment isn’t about him. It’s about making you comfortable. It’s about undoing a little bit of whatever damage your husband didn’t think twice about causing.

He returns with a shirt and a pair of sweatpants. A soft, worn-in tee, and hands it to you. The fabric is warm to the touch, and it smells faintly of him. He doesn’t linger too long, but there’s something in the way he carefully places it in your hands that makes you feel safe, like he genuinely wants you to be okay, not just physically, but emotionally too.

“Take your time,” he says softly, backing away. He nods toward the hallway. “Bathroom’s down to the left. I’ll make some tea. You’ll feel better.”

It’s a simple offer, like he’s willing to offer you warmth without making you feel indebted to him. When you disappear into the bathroom to change, you can hear him bustling around in the kitchen. You take a deep breath and let yourself relax for the first time in what feels like forever.

When you return, towel-drying your hair with one of the fluffy hand towels he left out for you, you’re practically swallowed in his clothes. The shirt hangs loose over your frame, the waistband of the sweatpants tied tight around your hips. You’ve never felt so ridiculous and so safe all at once.

Seonghwa looks up from the kitchen and immediately gives you that soft, amused smile. “Okay, that’s a look.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Stylish, right? You might not get these back.”

“I was just about to say they suit you,” he replies, not missing a beat.

You laugh, and it’s small, but real, and it makes something warm twist in his chest. He’s pacing, sleeves pushed up as he moves easily around the kitchen. A kettle is on, two mugs already waiting. You catch the scent of honey and ginger in the air, something warm and slightly sweet.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you murmur, padding into the kitchen and wrapping your arms around yourself.

He glances up from stirring the honey. “You’re cold. You’re tired. I want to.” Then, with a softer voice: “Let me take care of you. Just a little.”

That shouldn’t make your stomach flutter the way it does.

You sit at the counter, fingers curling around the mug he places in front of you. You’re so used to handling everything on your own that this small act of care feels like a luxury.

He leans against the counter opposite you, arms crossed casually, like he’s trying to keep a respectful distance. But he can’t help stealing glances at you. Not hungry, not suggestive, just thoughtful. Quietly admiring.

“You’ve had a long day,” he says after a pause, not prying. “Want to talk about it?”

You shake your head, sipping your tea. “Not really.”

“That’s okay,” he says immediately. “We can just sit.”

No questions. No expectations. He wouldn’t make you relive any of it. Not the rain, not the waiting, not the part where someone was supposed to show up and didn’t.

You let a little smile play at the edge of your lips. “You’re... very good at this.”

“At what?”

“Being comforting. It’s like you have a degree in it or something.”

Seonghwa chuckles, eyes crinkling just a little. “I’m just treating you how I think you deserve to be treated.”

He means it.

He means it.

You set your mug down. “You don’t even know me.”

Seonghwa smiles, not missing a beat. “I’m working on it.”

He leans slightly on the counter, arms still crossed, eyes steady on yours. “But I’ve picked up a few things. You’re the kind of person who checks in on others even when you’re the one having a bad day. You’re a little stubborn when it comes to letting people take care of you - you want to do things yourself. And when you’re tired, you get kind of funny. Like, weirdly funny.”

You laugh under your breath, and so does he.

“And tonight?” His smile softens. “You needed someone. I was close by. That’s all it takes.” There’s no hidden meaning in his voice. No pressure. Just the kind of honesty you’re not used to from a man.

You meet his eyes, and there it is. The kind of tension that doesn’t scream or flirt, it just hums. You glance around his kitchen. The wooden cabinets, the tiny potted herb garden on the windowsill, the slightly chipped mug in front of you. “Your place… it’s not what I expected.”

“Let me guess,” he teases, “you thought it’d be floor-to-ceiling glass, steel counters, and an automatic espresso machine?”

“Something like that.”

He grins. “I like homes that feel lived in. I don’t like that cold, overly-modern stuff. I like that I can comfortably show off my collection of magnets without having to worry if it fits in with the rest of the home.” He points to his fridge and you notice the huge collection of magnets. You let out a soft giggle.

You like that answer too much. You shouldn’t, but you do.

“I like it,” you say softly, not just about the apartment. The warm cup rests between your palms, grounding you, and Seonghwa leans back against the counter beside you, sipping his own. Then, without a word, he sets his mug down and starts rummaging through a cabinet.

You squint at him. “What are you doing?”

He glances over his shoulder with a small, almost mischievous smile. “We’re making cookies.”

You blink. “We are?”

“We are now,” he says simply, already pulling out a bag of flour.

You let out a soft laugh and step up beside him. You don’t ask if he needs help. You just join in. And he doesn’t say anything, just gives you a smile so gentle. Ten minutes later, the kitchen is a disaster.

The butter refuses to cooperate, slipping through your fingers and plopping to the floor. You try again, and this time it sticks to your hands so stubbornly that Seonghwa has to come to your rescue, giggling as he wipes it off with a spatula.

“Here,” he says, a soft chuckle escaping him. “Let’s try that again.” 

You giggle, brushing hair out of your face. “I swear, never make cookies.” 

“Oh, I can tell,” he teases, but there’s no judgment in his tone, only encouragement. “It’s okay. It’s the thought that counts.”

Later, flour explodes from the bag as it’s accidentally knocked over. It snows down across the counter, your arms, his shirt. You both freeze, and then burst into laughter. A moment later, the chocolate chips spill, scattering everywhere. 

Eventually, you both give up, the half-mixed dough resting lopsided in the bowl. You sat on the counter, legs swinging slightly as Seonghwa stood beside you. The bowl rests on your lap as he hands you a spoonful of raw dough, and you take it without hesitation.

“I think we killed it.” Seonghwa says proudly, scooping up some cookie dough for himself, using the same spoon.

“This might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” you say around a mouthful. You sit side by side in the wreckage of flour and chocolate chips, warm tea forgotten, sharing bites of something that didn’t quite turn out the way it was supposed to, but still feels like a win.

You’re mid-laugh when he pauses, his eyes softening as they settle on you. Without a word, he steps a little closer, and his hand lifts. Gentle and careful.

“There’s a little…” he murmurs, brushing his fingers just above your eyebrow, where a streak of flour has settled. His thumb grazes your skin as he wipes it away, but he doesn’t pull back right away.

His touch lingers.

You feel it all the way down to your spine. His warmth, the closeness, the way his eyes briefly drop to your lips before meeting your gaze again. The air feels thick, like something unsaid is pressing at the edges of the moment. 

“Got it,” he says quietly. But he doesn’t move. And neither do you.

You’re still perched on the counter, his body angled toward yours, only a breath between you. He leans in slightly, gaze dropping again, first to your lips, then back up to your eyes, like he’s asking without words.

You lean in too.

Your knees bump against his hips, and your breath catches, held in your chest like it’s afraid to break the moment. His hands finds the counter next to you, grounding him, pulling him even closer. So close you can count every faint freckle on his skin. So close his breath hits your cheek.

And your phone rings.

Loud. Sharp. Invasive.

You freeze.

The moment shatters like glass.

Seonghwa pulls back slowly, but his hand stays on the counter near you, and he doesn’t turn away. Your phone rings again, and your eyes flick to the screen.

“Husband.”

You swallow hard, something sinking in your chest. Seonghwa doesn't say anything. He just watches, his expression soft but unreadable, and steps back enough to give you space. Not far, just enough. You hesitate for half a second. Then you slide off the counter, still warm from where your knees had brushed against him, and answer.

“Hello?” Your voice is thinner than you meant it to be.

He turns away, not out of anger, not even disappointment, just… quiet. Respectful. Still the same steady, gentle man, already reaching for the dish towel to start wiping flour from the counter like he’s giving you time. Giving you privacy.

But the warmth between you hasn’t disappeared.

It just simmers now, quiet and unsaid. Still there. Still waiting.

You murmur a few short replies into the phone, keeping your tone neutral. You hang up a moment later, your fingers still loosely wrapped around the device, like you’re not quite sure what to do with it. Seonghwa glances at you, not questioning, not pressing. Just that same soft-eyed look, like he sees everything without needing it explained.

You clear your throat and set the phone down on the far end of the counter. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.” His voice is quiet. He offers you the tiniest smile. “You didn’t miss much. The cookie dough was starting to melt anyway.”

You laugh under your breath, and he smiles a little wider.

“I should… probably get going soon,” you say.

“Yeah.” He nods slowly, “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll give you a ride.”

You change into your old clothes, now warm and dry after Seonghwa took care of it. You finish tying your shoes and glance up at him. His movements are calm, deliberate, like he’s giving you space to process, to gather yourself. His gentleness is almost too much to handle right now, and you wonder if he knows how much he’s doing, just being there. Just being himself.

The drive back to your place is calm, the city lights flickering by as Seonghwa keeps his focus on the road, his hand steady on the wheel. Every now and then, his eyes flicker toward you, like he’s checking, making sure you’re okay. 

When he finally pulls up to your house, you hesitate for a second before opening the door. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, “You really made my day.” and finally, and he offers you that smile of his. It’s small, but it reaches his eyes. 

“Anytime,” he replies softly, as if there’s no question.

You step out of the car, the door closing behind you with a soft click. You stand there for a moment, watching his headlights fade into the distance, a quiet warmth settling in your chest.

***

A week has passed since that night. The one where everything had almost felt like it could change. The small, sweet moments that lingered in the kitchen, the silent tension, and that quiet brush of his fingers against your face. But you hadn’t really spoken much after that.

Seonghwa had been giving you space. He never pressed, never pushed, just sent a message here and there, something light, something simple. Asking how your day was, letting you know he was there if you needed to talk. It was as though he understood the weight on your shoulders, the things you were still trying to process, and he respected that.

You’d found comfort in those texts. They were a gentle reminder that there was still kindness out there, that not all men were careless or indifferent. But you hadn’t been ready to dive into anything more. Not yet.

So you let the days pass, lost in work and the usual noise of life, where everything felt like it was moving forward and standing still all at once.

When you walk into the house that evening, expecting to be alone, the air feels too still. Almost oppressive. You take off your shoes, drop your bag, and then, suddenly, you hear it.

Moans.

Loud and unmistakable.

Your heart skips a beat. The noise comes from the bedroom.

You freeze, panic washes over you in a way you never thought you’d feel. The reality hits harder than a slap, and before your mind can catch up to your body, your feet are already moving, silent, quick, out the door.

Your husband. With her.

The woman he’d been seeing for months. The one you knew about. From his work. The one he swore wouldn’t ever step foot in your bedroom.

But she had. They had.

The rules didn’t matter now.

You can barely remember how you made it out of the house, your heart pounding like it’s trying to escape your ribs. You don’t stop to think. You just grab your coat and rush outside, the cold air stinging your cheeks. You get on the bus, not thinking clearly or caring about anything other than getting away.

Away to the last place that felt safe.

Seonghwa opens the door looking completely confused in a loose hoodie and gray sweatpants, as if he’s been lounging or about to sleep. His hair is slightly tousled, his face soft with surprise, but when he sees you standing there, shaking and crying, everything about him changes.

His eyes widens, his body tensing as if his instincts slammed into overdrive.

“Hey-..hey, what’s going on?” His voice cracks a little, pure concern bleeding through. “Are you-, are you okay? What happened?” He barely waits for an answer before stepping forward, one hand reaching out like he’s afraid to startle you, the other already pulling the door wider. “Come in. Come here. Please.”

You don’t even remember how you’d made it to his place. You didn’t call, didn’t text, didn’t even know where else to go. You are just… there. Your legs moved on their own. He gently takes your wrist, guiding you inside like he thought you might fall apart if he let go. And maybe you would.

“I-I didn’t know where else to go,” you whisper, your voice trembling so much the words barely came out. “I walked in and they were… in the bedroom. Our bedroom. I heard her, and him-”

Your breath hitched. The shame, the heartbreak, the betrayal all crashed into you again like a tidal wave. Seonghwa freeze, his face shifting from confusion to something like disbelief, followed by an ache so deep it flickered across his features before he could hide it.

“You’re shaking,” he breathes, like that was the only thing he could focus on to keep himself from doing something rash. “Gosh-, come here.”

Then he pulls you in. Not tentative. Not gentle like before. But firm. Warm. Protective. His arms wrap around you completely, hands cradling the back of your head, the middle of your back, holding you like he was trying to piece you back together with just his embrace.

You broke.

The sob that escaped you was raw, tearing through your chest as you collapsed against him. His hoodie quickly dampened with your tears, but he didn’t care. He only held you tighter.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers into your hair, over and over again, his voice thick, arms unyielding. “I’m so sorry. I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you.”

A few hours passed. The silence of the apartment is heavy, and the soft hum of the city outside filters in through the windows, but none of it seems to matter. Seonghwa sits on the edge of the couch, his gaze fixed on you as you sleep, curled up with a blanket around you. Seonghwa didn’t move you. He wouldn’t dare. Your face is peaceful now, but he knows, he saw the remnants of the tears still streaked on your cheeks.

He watches you for a long moment, longer than he should have, just to be sure you were breathing easy, that your face wasn’t tight with the pain you’d carried in. He adjust the blanket around your shoulders once more, fingers brushing your arm like a silent promise: I’m here.

Then he slips away into the kitchen.

The lights are dim. He doesn’t turn on the overheads. Only the small one above the sink cast a quiet glow, painting gold over the counter and the delicate steam curling from the mug of tea he never ended up drinking.

He cleans slowly. Methodically. Not because there is much to clean, but because he needs to do something with his hands. He needs to focus on anything but the image of you curled on his couch with your cheeks still damp from crying. Something about seeing you so hurt, so vulnerable in his home, keeps his chest tight and his thoughts moving. He wants to be nearby, just in case you wake up and need him. 

He didn’t know what to do when you broke. His instinct was to hold you, to gather you up and shelter you from everything, but he’d hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to. God, he wanted to, but because he didn’t know if it was what you needed.

You are still married. Still healing. Still so fragile it makes his chest ache.

And yet, he can’t stop thinking about how you came here. To him. Not a friend. Not a hotel. Him.

What did that mean?

What could it mean?

He’s still standing at the sink, drying his hands on a dish towel, when he hears the soft shuffle of your footsteps behind him. You’re quiet, hesitant, still wearing the same clothes from earlier. Sleep clinging to your features, eyes puffy, hair slightly mussed, your voice rough when you speak.

“Seonghwa?”

He turns once.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, barely looking at him. “For just… showing up. For staying. I didn’t mean to take up your whole night.”

Seonghwa sets the tea towel down gently and shakes his head “You didn’t take anything,” he said. “I’m glad you’re here.”

You look at him, startled by how easily he says it, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like there was nowhere else he’d rather have you.

“I feel ridiculous,” you say quietly, fingers curling around the edge of the counter. “Showing up here. Crying like that. Falling asleep like a mess on your couch.”

Seonghwa looks up from the sink where he’s rinsing a cup, then reaches for the towel draped nearby to dry it. He moves slowly, deliberately, as if not to startle you. “You’re not a mess,” he says. “You’re human. And tonight was… a lot. You shouldn’t have had to hear that. Especially not in your own home.”

You nod once, lips press tight, your eyes tracing the pattern of the granite countertop.

“I guess I just didn’t expect it to hurt like that,” you whisper. “I agreed to this open marriage, I knew what it meant. All he had to do was follow the simple rules we made; let the other person know when you’re dating someone and don’t bring them into the bedroom. But hearing them like that… it was like everything I’d been pretending not to feel came crashing in.”

He steps a little closer, still drying the mug but slowing as he listens.

You look up at him then, eyes glassy. “I didn’t mean to bring it all here.”

“You didn’t bring anything but yourself,” he says, voice softer now. “And for what it’s worth… I’m glad you came. I’ve only seen you a few times, but I-” He hesitated, then smiled faintly, “I wouldn’t have wanted you to go anywhere else tonight.”

Your chest tightens. Something in his words, his expression, the way he stands there drying a cup like it was the only way he can keep his hands from holding you.

“I don’t know what it is about you,” he adds, glancing down at the towel in his hand, placing the cup on the counter. “But when I saw you at my door, I didn’t feel interrupted. I felt relieved.” he huffs a quiet breath, laughing under it, ”I didn’t want anyone else to be the one you went to. Is that selfish? Maybe. But—”

He didn’t get to finish.

The towel was halfway folded in his hands when you moved.

Three fast steps.

Your fingers gripped the front of his shirt, pulled him down before he could process what was happening, and you kissed him.

Hard. Needy. Quietly desperate.

You needed to. You needed to feel if this was more than just you feeling crazy. Could you really find safety in someone who isn’t your husband? How could this man you’ve met 3 times the past two weeks, be the most thoughtful and supportive person in your life at the moment?

The towel slips from his hand, landing forgotten on the kitchen floor. He kisses you back like it’s the most natural thing in the world, hands finding your cheeks, pulling you close without hesitation. The warmth of him spreads through you instantly, grounding, solid, safe.

You don’t speak.

Neither does he.

Not until the kiss breaks, just enough for breath.

“I…” you whisper, suddenly unsure.

He smiles, gently, almost in disbelief. “You caught me off guard.” He’s smiling, eyes warm, his thumb brushing your side like he can’t stop touching you now that he’s started. 

“I don’t know why I did that,” you whisper, nervous now, terrified he might say it was too soon. 

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m really glad you did it.” His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with hunger, and you can feel the weight of his desire pressing against you, but there was hesitation, just a flicker of it.

You mumble the words, barely loud enough for either of you to hear. “Is this... too fast?”

A beat passed. Then another. 

“No,” he says softly, his thumb brushing your cheek. “Not if it’s you. Not if you’re the one reaching for me.”

Your breath catches, the lump in your throat returning. Not from grief this time, but from something gentler. Something like hope. 

“You set the pace. I’ll follow.”

And he means it. Every word.

You reach for him again, pulling him in. The kiss is firmer this time, your lips claiming his with more urgency, your hands curling into the fabric of his shirt as if you couldn’t get close enough. He groans into your mouth, his hands tightening around your waist, as if holding you in place is the only thing keeping him from losing control.

Your hands slid by the hem of his shirt, fingertips barely grazing over his warm skin, and you feel him tense beneath your touch. His breath hitches, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Fuck,” he rasp. “I’m barely holding on.”

“Good,” you whisper, and lean up to kiss him again.

His hands are on your waist, his grip tight, but there is still a slight hesitation in him. It’s as if he was torn between wanting to be the good guy, wanting to respect your boundaries, and the overwhelming, suffocating need to give in to everything you’re offering. His lips meet yours again, deeper this time, and the kiss is frantic, hungry, as though he can’t get close enough, can’t touch you enough.

You barely register your back hitting the edge of the kitchen island until his hands curl under your thighs and lift you effortlessly. You gasp, startled by the sudden motion, but his strength… the ease of it, the way he settles you gently onto the counter like you’re precious, it makes you shiver.

You wrap your legs around his hips instantly, locking your heels at the small of his back, and it pushes him in deeper, his length perfectly aligned with the ache between your legs.

The moment your bodies aligned, you both gasped.

You feel him.

Thick and full and undeniably hard, straining against the soft gray fabric of his sweatpants. He’s pressed right against your center, the outline of him so vivid you can practically trace it with your eyes.

You gasp. He curses. 

“I can see you,” you whisper, voice wrecked, eyes flicking down to where his sweatpants clung to him, every thick inch outlined and throbbing. “You’re so hard.”

He lets out a strangled groan. “Don’t say that. Don’t fucking say that-”

You can't help but grind once against his member, and you whimper as his hips rolled forward, slow and deep. His cock drags up the seam of your heat, the head catching perfectly where your clit throbs. It’s too much and not enough. The layers between you only made it worse.

He feels you. Wet, warm, pressed against the inside of your panties, where your thin leggings clings like a second skin, doing nothing to hide how badly you want him. His mouth crashes onto yours, and it was different this time, no hesitation, no restraint. Just teeth and tongue and desperation. Your hands were in his hair now, tugging, dragging him closer. He presses against you, hard enough to make you moan, and God, you feel him, thick, hard, straining against his pants.

But something occupies your mind.

“Wait,” You keep your legs wrapped around him. You don’t let go. Immediately, he stills. His breathing ragging, chest rising and falling against yours. His hands are warm on your thighs where they rest, thumbs rubbing soft, slow circles into your skin like he’s grounding you. His forehead presses gently against yours, both of you still catching your breath. 

“I want to,” you admitted, your voice wrecked. “So bad. But I need… I need to say it first. To him.”

Him. Your Husband.

For the first time in months, you hated that your husband was in your mind right now. 

His gaze lifts to yours instantly, and for a second, you brace yourself for disappointment. But it never comes.

He nods. “I know,” he pulls back and kisses your forehead. “Just because he broke your rules does not mean you should do it too.” He’s way quicker to understand than you’ve ever imagined. He’s too good.

“I’m sorry… I really want to.” You say, finding his eyes. “But I feel like I have to tell him that I’m seeing someone, let alone his boss, before I do something.”

“Hey,” he cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin, the warmest eyes you’ve ever met. “You don’t have to explain, I totally understand.”

You try smiling but it doesn't quite reach your eyes. “It’s not you. I’m just not in the right headspace, and if we did this right now, I think I’d just… think too much. Regret it. Not because of you! But because of everything else.”

“I know,” he says gently, brushing your hair back with a touch that’s nothing short of reverent. “You don’t have to decide anything right now. If you want to do this or not. Whatever you end up deciding, I’ll respect. But if you decide you want to do this, with me sometime, I don’t want you to feel any pressure. I’m not going anywhere, I’ll wait for you.”

And God. That. That is the thing. He isn’t demanding. He isn’t jealous. He isn’t angry or annoyed or trying to guilt you into a decision.

He just understand.

“You’re kind,” you say, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You’re really fucking kind.” 

A silence fills the space between you, your gaze dropping down to where your bodies meet. You look up at him, cheeks flushed. “If I hadn’t said stop… would you have?”

His eyes darkens. He smile, not cocky. But honest.

“Not a chance in hell.” The weight behind those words makes your chest ache. “Can I do anything for you?” 

You glance down at yourself, then let out a soft, embarrassed laugh. “I probably need a shower. I look like someone who lost a fight to her own life.”

He grins at that, easing back just enough to slide his hands to your waist. Before you can say another word, he’s lifting you down from the counter with a firm but gentle grip, like you’re something precious, and threading his fingers through yours.

“Come on,” he murmurs, tugging you softly. “Shower. I’ll get everything ready.”

You trail behind him to the bathroom, your hand still tucked in his. He moves around the space with practiced ease, grabbing towels, adjusting the water, and even laying out the same sweatpants and oversized t-shirt you wore the last time you were here.

When he places them carefully on the counter, he gives you one last glance, warm and soft. “Take your time, your clothes are on the counter. I’ll be in the living room when you’re done.”

You nod, suddenly overwhelmed in a completely different way. “Seonghwa?”

He pauses in the doorway, looking back at you.

“Thank you. For… not making this weird.”

His smile is soft, patient. “It’s not weird. It’s okay.”

A few minutes later, you’re still in his bathroom, the warmth of the steam and the quiet hum of the fan giving you a moment to breathe. To be alone and let the water rinse some of it away. Not the pain of today, but the weight of it, just for a moment.

You change into the familiar sweatpants and soft T-shirt he left folded neatly by the sink. They still smell like him. When you open the door again, the hallway’s dim, and the softest light glows from the living room. 

He’s sitting on the couch, one arm resting over the back, a blanket already draped across the cushions, like he’s been preparing your little corner of the world for you. 

“Perfect timing,” he says, patting the space beside him with a grin that’s equal parts teasing and gentle. “I was about to start a movie without you and pretend I didn’t.”

You laugh, your heart lighter already. And as you cross the room and curl into his side beneath the blanket, it’s not the movie that matters. It’s the feeling that you’re safe here, with him.

And for the first time in a long time, that’s more than enough.

***

The boardroom is quiet when Seonghwa walks in the next day.

He’s always early, by design. It gives him time to breathe, to set the tone, to sit at the head of the glass table with everything already in place. His laptop is open, a black pen lined up perfectly beside his notepad, and his eyes skim the agenda, though he already knows it. But his focus isn’t on the day’s schedule.

Not yet.

It’s still on you.

Not the way you looked when you walked into his apartment yesterday. Exhausted, crying, your whole body weighed down by things you hadn’t said yet, but the way you looked curled up against him hours later, asleep on his couch, tucked into his side beneath a blanket like you’d always belonged there.

You had cried. You had kissed him. You had let him hold you. He’d kissed the crown of your head.

And he didn’t sleep much that night.

Not because you didn’t let him, if anything, you were warm and quiet, breathing slow against him. It was the way you felt in his arms that kept him awake. Like he was holding something fragile and sacred. Like if he moved, even slightly, you might disappear.

In the morning, you stirred first. Groggy and quiet, blinking sleepily against his chest before murmuring something about needing to go home and change before work. He offered to take the day off. Said he could cancel everything. That he didn’t care.

But you shook your head with a tiny smile. Insisted that he go.

You even teased him for hovering. Called him “overly attentive.” He’d rolled his eyes, pretending to be annoyed, but when you leaned in and kissed him goodbye, soft and sleepy, he nearly asked you to stay.

But you left. And he watched the door long after it closed behind you.

Now he’s here. Under sterile lighting. A boardroom full of chatter. And across the table sits the man who used to be your husband in everything but legality.

He walked in laughing - with her - like it’s just another Thursday. The girlfriend is practically attached to him, all smiles and subtle touches, like they don’t work under the same roof. Like they’re not sneaking around as if people haven’t noticed. Seonghwa doesn’t look up immediately. Just lets his fingers tap softly against the side of his coffee cup. 

Measured. Calm. Focused.

“Morning,” your husband says with that too-casual tone, like everything’s perfectly fine.

“Morning,” Seonghwa replies, flat and cool.

He doesn’t do anger like most people. It simmers quietly in him, contained, controlled. He doesn’t lash out. He remembers. He watches. He files things away until the time is right.

Today’s not the day.

But he is watching.

The meeting starts. The others file in, small talk filling the space. Projector humming, documents shuffling. Seonghwa opens the presentation. Keeps his voice even.

“I’d like to keep today’s meeting brief,” he says, voice smooth and low. “We’re focusing on timelines, project deliverables, and accountability.”

His gaze flicks to your husband. The pause is barely a second too long. “Especially accountability.”

There's a flicker in the man’s expression. He shifts in his seat, coughs once like he’s about to make a joke, but one look from Seonghwa shuts him down. The meeting ticks forward. 

Then your husband speaks up.

“I think the delay in deliverables came down to a lack of communication, not really our fault,” he says, flashing a grin at his girlfriend like she’ll have his back.

She does.

But Seonghwa is already leaning forward, calm but sharp. “And who was responsible for communicating that timeline to the vendors?”

Silence.

Your husband clears his throat. “Well… technically, I was. But-”

“Then let’s not redirect blame.” Seonghwa’s voice doesn’t rise. It never needs to. “If you were the lead, you’re accountable. End of story.”

The table goes quiet. The girlfriend shifts awkwardly. And your husband, he looks like he wants to argue but doesn’t dare.

Good.

Seonghwa could say more. So much more. He could talk about how you came to him last night after being ignored for months. How you told him things you never said to anyone. How you almost gave yourself to him. How you let him hold you, warm you, kiss you, keep you safe. How you fell asleep against him like he was the only place you felt okay.

He could say how he’s never going to forgive this man for not seeing you. For making you feel small. For letting you cry alone in your kitchen while he flirted with someone new on the clock.

But Seonghwa keeps it inside.

He lets the meeting run its course. Makes his points. Keeps his composure. Because no one knows what you are to him.

Yet.

And when it’s finally over, he gathers his papers slowly. Closes his laptop with care. And doesn’t look back once.

Because there’s something about seeing that man across from him, pretending like he still owns your heart, when Seonghwa knows what it feels like to have you kiss him good morning, in nothing but his hoodie, after a night of quiet healing.

He’s not done protecting you.

And your husband? He doesn’t even realize he already lost.

TAGLIST: I only have one main taglist, so if you wish to be added/removed, then let me know! xx @lveegsoi  @vixensss  @yizhou-time  @imgenieforyou-boy @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @ateezswonderland @cozypaint @blutiny @aerangi @arigakittyo @femaholicc @queenofdumbfuckery @mingiatz @hwaskookies @vent-stink @desanslogique @taestrwbrry @hannahstacos

[ponett]

Any opinion on the Pokemon Gigaleak or nah?

I think seeing some of the WIP assets from when gen 3 was in development is kinda neat, because Game Freak is normally so secretive about that kind of thing. But beyond that I mostly just find this whole situation tiring.

Fans have a tendency to almost treat scrapped material as "more canon" than whatever actually made it into the finished product, in a way. It's treated as this pure, unfiltered insight into the creators' true vision. In reality, most of the time this stuff gets cut for a reason. Sometimes they very quickly realize it was a bad idea that was never gonna work, and they don't go very far with it. Sometimes it's a pitch from just one guy on the team that was never gonna get accepted. Sometimes they're just spitballing. Experimentation and iteration and knowing when to cut things are integral parts of the artistic process.

And hell, a lot of the time creators will just mess around with an idea purely as a creative exercise, or to get an idea out of their system, or to explore a crazy what-if scenario, or even just as a joke, with no intention of ever actually using those ideas. We recently saw this same thing happened with those leaked Rebecca Sugar sketches, where people were like "OMG Rebecca ships this, this is what they REALLY wanted to do with the show, this is canon, this was happening off-screen!!" And it's like, y'all have no idea how much crazy shit your favorite artists draw with their characters just to amuse themselves. The crew on Clarence had a not-so-secret Tumblr where they redrew scenes from Evangelion with Clarence characters. That doesn't mean they wanted to turn Clarence into Eva. They were just screwing around. This happens all the time, and with way more extreme examples than these. Lord knows how many Disney animators have drawn Mickey Mouse with his dick out over the years. That doesn't mean they ever actually wanted to make an official Mickey Mouse porno.

And, of course, there's the response to those myths that were never supposed to see the light of day. Anyone who's even passingly familiar with mythology from just about any part of the world shouldn't be surprised to hear fables about humans and animals having babies or whatever. But now people are responding to those unused stories and going "OMG Game Freak is a bunch of gooners who want humans and Pokemon to have sex!! This is canon!!!" It's so fucking tiring. So much of the modern internet, particularly Twitter, is driven by people who just want an excuse to whip out their favorite shocked/disgusted reaction image and ham up their reaction to something that isn't actually all that shocking. Everyone just wants to get their funny dunks in and feign moral superiority. It's childish. And it's because of reactions like this that this stuff was never supposed to see the light of day in the first place. But fans feel like they're owed every single shred of info from the development of their favorite franchises, so these leaks happen and people run wild with them.

(It also doesn't help that this is all just sourced back to a 4chan thread, so people were posting fake shit between the real leaks and muddying the waters. And also most of it is in Japanese, so people are just sticking documents through Google Translate and going "whooooaaaa this is canon")

[yanderestarangel]

⊹₊⟡⋆ 𝓯𝓾𝓬𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓪 𝓶𝓸𝓷𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻... 𝓯𝓾𝓬𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓫𝔂 𝓪 𝓶𝓸𝓷𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻

♡⁠┊TW — dp, anal sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, monster fuck, praise, breeedkink, afab reader, dark smut, dead dove, Ghost has two dicks here (because I chose to write it like that)

"Don't look anywhere else, look at me... I'm still your husband." The words were followed by the wet sound of the two cocks of your now radioactively-rayed husband, who looked like a monstrous anomaly — with two extra heads, two extra arms, and... two extra cocks.

You hadn't expected that in thousands of years, but when Simon came out the door completely safe and sound, looking like that was shocking and at least scary to your eyes.

Even so, you were on your hands and knees, feeling one of his cocks enter your ass while the other filled your wet pussy, making you whimper loudly as you felt his very hot and heavy balls hit your clit with the slow thrusts that the military man was giving you.

You could feel every pulsing vein of his shafts in your wet holes, the slickness between your thighs and his groin increasing. His now gray eyes were locked completely on your figure, two of his four arms gripping your waist while the other two held your wrists behind your back, ready to dominate and maneuver you as he pleased.

Hearing your moans of acceptance, his two cocks throbbed like never before, impaling you to the point where you even forgot that your partner was now a shadow of what he once was.

All that mattered in that moment was that you could take every inch of what he was giving you, as if your life depended on it—as if every fluid that came out of his cocks was a poison that made you crave more and more of him.

The slow, flesh-to-flesh pounding that had once been tender was now replaced by Simon's almost animalistic movements above you. A little drool dripped from your mouth as you could only wriggle your toes every time one of his cocks reached the tip of your womb while the other kissed limits you didn’t even know existed.

Grunts escaped his lips, muffled by the mask that was now completely part of his skin, fused to his flesh like a second garment. His fingers dug into your flesh hard enough to leave marks as a hoarse growl came from his throat, echoing like a triad through his three heads.

"Come on, sweetheart... I know you want to cum, don't deny it... cum for me." His words were tinged with the same honey that once soothed your soul. It was still him, even with that new body—and you felt yourself becoming addicted to it, like a drug, leaving you with pleasure so intense it made your system shut down.

You felt him give one final thrust, and at the same time, your pussy was filled with the warm, viscous liquid of his semen. Your other hole was filled as well, causing tears to spill from your eyes as you whimpered from how full you were. But your partner didn’t stop—Simon continued with small thrusts until he felt your inner walls drain him. One of his many hands moved to your pussy lips, slowly opening them to expose your tight slit as it swallowed his cock.

"I won’t let you leave here until I see you beautiful, full, and carrying my children in your belly... Do you understand, my angel?" His words left no room for argument, and no matter how tired you were, saying "no" wasn't an option. After all, you wanted him too, regardless of his appearance. He was still yours.