#and that him having long hair during this period of his life is again a really interesting detail

[lorillee]

"if walking crisis is the fashion statement youre going for, then congrats" HELLOOOOOOOOOO SCREAMMMMMMMMMM SHES LITERALLY TRUEEEEEE she misses that ponytail and shes so true for it. he was sooooooooooooooo cutes..........

[illusioncanthurtme--art]

These are a couple doodles from yesterday, Gideon as a younger teen, before the growth spurt, maybe 14? He's discovered he's a vampire, and has a lot of recovery to do, since he's severely blood deficient.

I'm gonna let myself explode about my vampire gideon ideas, under construction, under the cut: (I don't write fanfiction, I just throw up my ideas on a tumblr post, apparently :'D)

This is what I love about tumblr - it's a place where I can throw the doodles (something that isn't finished *artwork*), and let myself be really delusional about fictional characters. So I'm gonna take a moment to ramble about the ideas I have for Gideon as a vampire.

If you're a fellow Gideon Head, HI THERE... anyway, here's my thought process on a potential vampire-gideon backstory???

I've always liked the idea of gideon being a vampire, and also becoming a much better person when he's older. And that got me thinking, maybe those two things are linked. Maybe the vampire thing is somehow tied into his reformation.

But I tend to lean towards building my ideas off canon (as opposed to making an AU). And if gideon was a vampire, and knew this during the events of the show, it would have come to light at some point. So, either he doesn't know he's a vampire, or he becomes one later. Becoming one later works narratively, but he's already so vampiric, with the white hair, pale skin, sunscreen, evil, etc. So I'm like, let's go with that.

So, gideon has gone his whole life without knowing he's a vampire, and without drinking blood. I'm thinking that being a vampire in this case (my gravity falls fan version of what a vampire would be) wouldn't adhere to typical vampire conventions. You don't NEED to drink blood to survive.

Here's the idea I got yesterday: after the events of weirdmageddon, gideons experience motivated him to become a better person. It was the awakening, basically. But in the subsequent years, he's still a little shit. Maybe he's in juvenile detention, or prison again. But now, he has the self awareness to know that what he's doing is wrong. This is where my ideas get a little fuzzy, so bear with me. Bud has his suspicions, and as a last resort, puts gideon on some sort of mission trip type of cross country trip, when he's in his teens. And along the way, maybe at the end, there's this secret group of vampires that open gideons eyes to what he really is.

Basically??? Without blood, gideon is very evil. He's an evil little shit. This may not be how it is for every vampire. Maybe some grow very sickly without blood, just get hungry, etc. The effects of blood deficiency vary from vampire to vampire. But Gideon becomes very unhinged. And he'd essentially been Blood Hangry for his whole life. That being said, some of it was just his personality that he needed to work through, but drinking some blood helped a LOT. Blood isn't food for him, it's more like his medication.

Once he has that discovery, he spends a long while, I'm thinking maybe even a year, just recovering from the deficiency. He's almost always drinking blood to keep up his levels, and he's very rarely seen in public to keep the vampire thing a secret. That's what these drawings were supposed to be, him in his pseudo bedridden state. This period in his life would be one big blur; mostly spent binge watching soap operas and being all cozy. In contrast to his usual suit + tie, he's dressing for max comfort: sweatpants, sweatshirt, a knit hat over his ridiculously big hair, and always wrapped in a blanket. Not sure if somehow he feels cold when drinking blood?? But for some reason, I feel like he'd always be wearing like 10 layers and laying under a heated blanket or something.

Eventually, he'd only need to drink blood about once a month for maintenance.

Character development wise - even as an adult, Gideon isn't sure if he's truly a good person. Is the blood deficient version of himself the true gideon? Or is this well adjusted man who he truly is? And there's an issue of the chicken and the egg, too. Gideon was born a vampire. Did these genes activate because he was predisposed to being evil? Or did the vampire thing happen by coincidence? Does being a vampire make him evil, or is it the other way around? He doesn't know, and he never will.

The one thing I'm not sure I like about this idea: i'm worried that I'd be writing off his villainous personality as an illness that can be cured with a thing. Obviously, it would be better if he faced that head on, and figured out how to be better. So I'm still grappling with that. But for now, this is an idea I'm entertaining. Of course, I think it would be interesting if there was a plot point where his usual source of ethically sourced human blood was compromised for a time, and he had to grapple with his personality going topsy turvy.

It's actually embarrassing how much I just wrote???? If you've made it this far, wow, I applaud you. I guess this was just my idea of having a good sunday night, writing down my silly thoughts on gideon gosh darn gleeful. Let me know your thoughts too!!!! I'd love to know if you have any ideas, or questions, or ways to strengthen this potential backstory.

[yes-no-maybe-soo]

Some personal Sylus hcs and hills I will die on

(This was originally meant to be a very short "Sylus hills I will die on" post but then it somehow evolved and became a long-ass list of hills and headcanons, a lot of them NSFW 🔞. Idk how that happened but it did so uhh... enjoy? Except if you are a minor, in which case, keep scrolling)

Will never cheat physically or emotionally. Period. The mere thought of being with anyone but you is both appalling and distressing to him (as per Goodcat Code, the only time we ever see him actually jealous). He's a one woman man and he's locked in for life.

King of Consent, always and forever.

He is not 6'2 are you kidding me. With those proportions? No way. He's 6'5 at minimum.

Smells absolutely divine (I mean, one of his canon hobbies is taking baths.)

Writes poetry. Actually good poetry. The man is a romantic and a yearner at heart after all, and has always had a way with words.

Dislikes cigarettes, but will occasionally smoke a cigar or two (cuz mafia boss. It's a requirement lol. And the visual is extremely hot to me for some reason. Yes, this one is indeed extremely self indulgent).

He has the habit of burying his nose in your hair or in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. It brings him more comfort than anything else in the world.

He is a vers pleasure dom. A soft gentleman dom. Your needs, your pleasure, your consent come above all else.

Hurting you in any way is a major no go. Even should you want him to in the bedroom, he won't do it. He'd never put you in any danger by his own hands. Ever. The furthest he'll go is biting (dragon instinct), the pain of which he'll immediately soothe through kissing and licking. Should you beg for it, the occasional light/safe spanking or whipping is also fine as is, again, light and safe choking if that gets you off. That is all, though. Sylus would rather chug a large tub of wasabi every hour every day for the rest of his immortal life than ever cause injury to his beloved.

Consensual non-con is similarly off the table for him. Because your consent is so massively important to him (and also a major turn on), I can't see him getting off to any scenario where he doesn't have it, even during roleplay.

While he is down to bottom, he is not a switch (bottoming ≠ subbing). Because of his past — the way his agency was brutally taken away from him at a very young age and the trauma it caused him — I believe that control is simply too crucial to him to ever truly relinquish. Losing it would probably be triggering for him. At least at present. Maybe if he were to work through his trauma he could learn to eventually hand over the reins for a while. But for now, I just can't see him fully submitting.

Has body worship, praise, size, and breeding kinks.

Girthy. Size training required.

Favorite place to have sex? Either in his/your bed or in the shower. His private office is a close second, with you either splayed over his large desk or straddling his lap in his luxurious armchair, riding him.

Loves eating you out. It's his favorite meal.

His favored position is missionary because it allows him to clearly see your gorgeous features, to observe the way they contort in pleasure, to greedily drink in the incomparably beautiful expression on your face as you come undone by him. It also has the additional advantage of giving him easy access to your lips, which he loves to claim with his own.

During lovemaking, at least one of his hands will inevitably seek yours, lacing his much larger fingers with your own, and stroking your thumb with his own calloused one. He loves the inherent intimacy of it, how your hand fits so perfectly in his, the way you clasp onto him so tightly, conveying to him your love and your trust — both of which are more valuable to him than all the precious gems in the galaxy combined.

Likes it when you are loud in bed. The ecstacy filled sounds that escape your perfect lips are like music to his ears, and he basks further in the knowledge that he is the direct cause of them. Bonus points if you moan or scream out his name, that will arouse him to the point of nearly coming undone.

Big on cock warming. The inside your warm, slick walls is his favorite place to be. He would probably stay there forever if you consented to it, and if he could only find a way to make it practical. He absolutely basks in the sensation of being so closely, so intimately, connected with you.

The Emperor of Aftercare. Sylus will hold you close and trail soft kisses all over your face and neck, whilst murmuring words of love and praise. Then he'll carry you to the bathroom where a soothing, fragrant warm bath is drawn for you. Once he's lowered you into the tub, he'll personally wash your body with gentle, loving hands. When you are both cleaned up and dressed in comfy wear, he'll procure a nourishing meal for you made from your favorite foods to help you regain your strength. Afterwards, he'll keep holding you in his strong arms for the remainder of the night/day, nuzzling you close.

Huge cuddler and snuggler. Will not let you out of his arms for even a second while in bed together. And can you blame him? He's been without you for several lifetimes, has spent countless nights (or mornings) alone in bed, your absence from his arms aching like a phantom limb. Now that he has you back, he never wants to let you go again. Your presence is as necessary to him as the air he breathes.

Whenever he wakes up before you, he will take advantage of the opportunity to admire your sleeping face. He'll ghost a finger over it, gently tracing your features with a small smile on his lips and a tender affectionate look in his eyes, his heart swelling with all that he feels for you. He can't help but sneak in a few kisses on the top of your head, as light as butterflies so as not to disturb you.

Will 100% cry at your wedding, and when holding your newborn children for the first time. He'll have silent tears streaming down his cheeks and a soft yet radiant expression on his face, making his otherwise sharp and rather stern looking features appear gentle. His bride and his babies are simply the most breathtakingly beautiful treasures Sylus' eyes have ever beheld, and his whole entire being is all but overwhelmed by the fiercest yet purest form of love, immeasurable in its quantity and intensity. Part of him honestly remains in disbelief that said treasures are his, that something this incredible is actually happening to someone like him– "a monster" he once believed incapable and undeserving of love or happiness.

Will only have daughters. In my mind he is so Girl Dad coded that he might as well be incapable of producing any sperm containing the Y chromosome.

Sylus will be the best father a girl could ever ask for. His daughters will never lack for anything, least of all love, support, or affirmation. He is the type of dad who will sing for his children, join them in their games, bake cupcakes with them, hold them in his lap as he attentively listens to them blabber on, comfort them after a nightmare, happily dress up for imaginary tea parties, go to — and if necessary participate in — dance recitals, braid their hair, let them give him makeovers etc. He fosters and encourages individuality, independence, and confidence, but also always lets them know that it's ok to cry, to fail, to ask for help, to rely on others. He is validating and reassuring, never faltering in his emotional support. They can come to him about anything without fear of being rejected or judged. He is a shoulder to cry on, and a confidant always ready to listen and to give advice as needed. From the very day of their births and throughout the entirety of their lives, Sylus will ensure that his daughters will never have even a single reason to doubt that they are the most precious treasures in the Universe to him, and that his love for them is unconditional.

[deadlychansaw]

— hope

pairing: Hwang Jun-ho x reader

warnings: vomiting, no use of y/n, bit angst, pregnancy, it happens during ep 2 s2

a/n: omg first time writing something like this, i hope someone enjoy this 🫣

00:30 was the number sparkling in neon red in her bedside watch. She couldn't stop looking at it. She couldn't sleep. How could she? The bed too big and cold for her to be alone, she missed her husband. Where was he?

She thought that after the coma he would retire and live peacefully with her, maybe in some cabin in the woods with two kids and a dog. this thought alone made her want to tear up.

She knew being a police officer was dangerous, so every time he wasn't home she feared that something had happened. This made her want to throw up, and she did.

That was unusual for her, maybe... no. It couldn't be. But when was the last time she had her period again? It was nine days late, this was also unusual. How haven't she noticed it?

00:45. She couldn't wait until morning so she picked up her car and went to a 24h open drugstore

"Do you need any help, miss?"

"I want a pregnancy test"

"Are you alright, dear?"

She hadn't noticed that small tears started to run down her face.

"I will be"

As the old lady gave her the test she smiled sympathetically and said:

"I'm sure you will. You don't need to be afraid"

" My husband is a cop" She felt the need to reply

"Oh, I see. But you will be fine, dear. I felt the same when my husband fought in war."

This time, she didn't reply.

She got home after speeding the car a little more than necessary and running a few red lights and went straight to the bathroom to do the goddamn test.

Palms sweaty, hands shaking and feet stomping in circles. It hasn't even passed the three minutes the test needed to be ready, just a few more seconds and...

oh.

Positive. p-o-s-i-t-i-v-e.

She was pregnant and wasn't even sure her husband would return home. Where are you Jun-ho?

"Babe, why are you sleeping on the couch?"

His voice reached her ears like the light in the end of a dark tunnel.

"I was waiting for you"

"My love, you know you don't need to"

"But I wanted to. Where were you?"

"I was in some kind of a car chase, but they shot in my tires"

That made her eyes open wide. "What? Chasing who? Are you hurt?"

"I'm not hurt. I wish I could tell you everything but i don't wanna put you at risk"

"I accepted the risk the day i accepted to be your wife. Please tell me. I'd rather know what i'm scared of"

"I guess you're right"

So he tells her everything. The games, his brother, his plan with Gi-hun. Everything.

"That is awful. Unbelievably awful. How can some people be so disgusting and evil? Gosh, that makes me sick"

She ran to the bathroom and started to vomit in the toilet, he ran after her and held her hair.

"Are you okay? I know it's s lot to process"

"Oh my God, I'm sorry for this, now you'll never want to kiss me again."

"There's not a world where i wouldn't want to kiss you" He pressed a soft kiss to her temple. "But let's brush those teeth, shall we?"

Jun-ho gets up to put toothpaste in her toothbrush and give it to her.

"I don't know what i did to deserve you, Jun-ho"

"I am the lucky one here, babe. You're still here with me after everything i told you."

"i'm not leaving your side. Never."

He picks her up in bridal style.

"What are you doing?"

"Putting my wife to bed, as i should"

He really was the sweetest thing in her life, she needed to tell him already. All the what-ifs started coming to head again what if he doesn't want a child? what if he doesn't have time to form a family? what if he never come back home anymore?

"Babe, are you crying?"

"Do you really need to search for that island?"

"I do. These games need to stop."

"I don't want anything bad happening to you"

"I promise it won't. I will always come back home to you" He seals the promise by joining their lips in a long, slow and passionate kiss.

"Jun-ho, I need to tell you something but i'm so afraid of how you're gonna react."

"You don't need to be afraid, my love. I'm always here for you no matter what"

"I- I am pregnant" She doesn't wait for him to answer. " I know it's not the right time, and maybe you don't even want to be a dad and-"

She sees that he opened his characteristically big and warm smile, one that lights up her whole world.

"Are you... happy?"

"Are you kidding? Babe i feel like the luckiest guy of all South Korea. I'm so happy. Oh my god, i'm gonna have a daughter "

That made her chuckle.

"We don't know if it's a girl"

"Oh i'm sure of that. We need to celebrate"

"Celebrate? At this time? How?

"Hmm, i can think of a few ways..."

And she had a feeling she haven't felt in a while. relief. Hope.

[satkru]

੭* ‧₊° ichigo kurosaki x male reader

*๑♡՞ . rough sex , enemies to lovers , barely legal adults , little to no respect for one another during sex , raw sex , public sex

p.s . i have literally little to no idea how accurate my writing abt ichigo will be as i've really only watched the series until like ep 8-9(??) i'll probably pick it back up once i find the motivation to but rn im freeballing this 💔

ichigo and y/n had a rivalry known throughout the entirety of the whole school. a rivalry so bad that the administration of the school had to put them on two different floors with two different schedules in order for them to not engage with one another, otherwise it would end in an intense scrabble of sorts.

but that still didnt stop the two from sharing nasty glares at one another from time to time, no one really knew how they started such a rival-ship, but some just say that they stepped on the wrong foot and never recovered from it.

the true reason for such an intense relationship is that they both had an eye for the lovely lady known as Orihime. Her gorgeous orange eyes paired with her flowy ginger hair was a match made in heaven. Both of them could not keep their eyes off of that girl.

but one faithful day, after school had ended and the halls were empty. the two were set up to clean the rooms, with a teacher on the scene of course. Each time they came close to the others proximity, it was like watching two territorial dogs growling at each other, waiting for the other to strike.

but that strike never came as long as the professor was around. Eventually, the period of peace had to come to an end, as the teacher exclaimed they needed to use the restroom. "dont you two dare lay a hand on each other while im gone, or else you two are suspended for the rest of the year", the words burned into the nerves of the two.

"so, do you still like orihime" y/n asked as he swept the remaining dust on the floor, "why is that any of your business" ichigo spat out, a hint of anger laced his tone. "just wondering, you know. she has been looking at me twice now".

ichigo gripped onto the handle of his own broom, trying to contain his anger. "shes been getting quite.. close, to me" y/n said with a chuckle, he knew what he was doing was ticking off his rival, but the sensation of pissing someone off just called to him.

"she asked me to go to her house today, but dont worry, i'll make sure to save some space for you" kurosaki couldnt hold his jealously anymore, although he knew y/n was bluffing, the thought of him with his crush agitated him. and with that, he found himself throwing the broom across the room, almost hitting y/n in the process.

the man grinned, an annoying feature ichigo had always hated whenever he and y/n got into disputes. "uh oh, did i make sweet kurosaki angryy" y/n said with fake innocence in his voice, pouting his lip and laying a finger on his chin to enhance his "sweetness".

"shut your mouth already" kurosaki growled, his hands clenched into fists as he watched y/n continue to piss him off. "you'll never be with such a girl, soon enough, she'll be begging for me and my dick soon, her pussy will remember the shape of me and make enough room to fit me. she'll never think of you again after i go over to her house."

each word out of y/n's mouth pissed ichigo more off than before, his eyes were glued to the floor to not meet eyes, otherwise, the situation would get out of hand. the teasing man began walking towards kurosaki, his face still in an annoyingly smug expression.

"c'mon kurosaki, look at me, remember my face for the rest of your goddamn life. remember that i'll be the one taking care of who you thought was going to be your future wife." ichigo couldnt take the amount of disrespect he was experiencing, causing him to throw an unexpected punch towards y/n, making him fall to the floor with blood dripping from his nose.

although it was sudden, y/n expected such a reaction, this was all apart of his plan of course. ichigo reached down and grabbed y/n by the throat and pulled him up so they could be eye to eye. "you fucking bitch, youre getting me all riled up for what? huh? do you get off of this?" y/n chuckled dryly, "and what if i do?". such a response threw ichigo off guard, causing him to receive a heavy punch to his cheek.

"dont tell me youre gonna kink shame me, kuro" ichigo steadily hoisted himself up with the help of the desks, his breath more heavy than before. "god do you ever stop talking" the ginger haired man whispered under his breath, barely audible but still loud enough to be caught by y/n's hearing. "dont be so mean ichi-" before he could finish his sentence, kurosaki lunged forward and managed to grab a hold of y/n's hair, twisting his hair enough and slamming his face into the desk.

"i can see you've gotten a bit more intelligent when it comes to fighting now, is that black haired girl training you?" kurosaki froze, how the fuck did he know about rukia? ichigo tumbled over his words, trying to make up excuses and babbling on about stories that made no sense. "you know, there is a way to keep me from outing you" y/n said, his voice drenched in hunger and lust. the ginger sneered, "oh fuck it"

and with that, ichigo hurriedly unbuckled his belt and shuffled his boxers down. leaving no room for hesitance, "god, all of your teasing has made me rock fucking solid.." kurosaki said as he watched his own cock puylse and twitch. y/n hummed as he too began to undress his lower half, slipping ichigo's hard on between his ass.

"i cant take anymore of your games" ichigo growled as he then thrusted himself into his once rival, earning a loud moan from him. each thrust was ravenous, filled to the brim with both anger and frustration. "youre so tight.." kurosaki groaned, his hand intangled with y/n's hair strand then sharply pulled back, earning another ear piercing moan.

"yes..! just like that ichigo! fuck me harder!!" y/n screamed as he reached back to spread his ass more, helping ichigo's long and hard cock reach more places y/n didn't even think could be reached. both kurosaki's and y/n's loud and lustful noises could be heard throughout the entirety of the hallway.

"you never were actually after orihime were you.. fuck.. you were after me" ichigo said with a strained voice, his time was ticking and he knew it. y/n's obnoxiously loud noises never quieted down, instead, they grew louder, more hungry for action. "use me ichigo! use me as if im your sweet orihime! fuck my ass as if its her pussy!" y/n yelled on the top of his lungs, his body was becoming heavier and sweat drenched him entirely.

"im cumming..! goddamn your tight ass feels too good!" kurosaki exclaimed as his grip on y/n's hip grew tighter, and his hand incased in the locks of his rival began to waver in strength. "youre going to take my cum.. like the slut you are. do you hear me?" y/n eagerly nodded, feeling the knot in his own stomach begin to untie.

with a few more ass-reddening thrusts, ichigo's load quickly filled y/n's hole, traveling deep through his guts. as ichigo was dumping his cum into y/n's ass, the once smug and arrogant man was at his own witts end. spreading his own cum across the desk in front of him and crying out in pure bliss.

the two men stood in silence, the only thing heard being heavy breathing and the squelching of cum escaping y/n's ass. "dont think.. that im done with you yet y/n.. meet me at my house tonight, 10pm sharp.. got it?" ichigo said between huffs. "got it..!" y/n said with cheerfulness in his tone. he'd finally gotten what he was hoping more, good for him.

[mizading]

Upper Moon Yandere Headcanons 

Characters: Douma, Akaza, Aizetsu, Kokushibo.

Description: If I’m being honest, I suppose this is how some of the upper moons would express their love normally, but a lot of it is unhealthy. For that sake, I’ll classify this as yandere headcanons for the upper moons with a female reader.

Warnings: Verbal abuse, death, forced affection, unstable behavior, paranoia, etc. 

Douma..

Once Douma declares something his, it belongs to him until he says otherwise.

Douma’s love is sincere but expressed in a twisted way.

As a cult leader does, Douma provides a facade of a perfect life with him if you stick by his side.

The lack of love and nurturing from Doumas parents causes an insatiable desire for the foreign feelings within him.

Douma uses you to replace the love he never received as a child.

His affection begins in a controlled manner. Consisting of little things such as random hugs, quick kisses, or asking you to hold him for a little while.

Over time, Douma would get a bit possessive. You were lucky if you managed to go more than five minutes without Douma forcing you into hour-long cuddle sessions.

One of his favorite things to do is cling to your body and nuzzle his head into your chest.

The feeling of your body's warmth is the only thing that calms his nerves.

Denying Douma’s love is like stabbing him in the heart from his perspective.

"You don’t really love me, do you..? You're just like my parents."

Denying Douma only makes your situation worse.

In Douma’s world, if he forces enough of his affection on you, you’ll eventually love him.

There are periods when Douma is severely mentally unstable.

During these periods, Douma made it clear that you could not and would not leave his side.

You're extra careful when he’s unstable. Any wrong move, and Douma’s threatening to end everyone close to you.

It’s hard for Douma to understand human emotion. Due to his lack of feelings, he can’t possibly understand why you would want to ever leave his side after he’s provided you with a perfect life.

Regardless of how you feel, Douma needs you too much to ever let you go.

Over time, Douma may possibly turn you into a demon to trap you with him for eternity.

He can’t risk losing something that he may never find again. Your love. 

Akaza..

Akaza would kill for you in a heartbeat if it came to it.

The word love itself isn’t nearly enough to convey how much he loves you.

He would love to buy you little things, such as hair pins, just to see your face light up a bit.

Every time you leave, Akaza must be accompanying you.

Akaza always keeps at least one hand on you.

He wouldn’t mind if you didn’t have much physical strength; that’s what he’s there for.

Akaza would rather die than ever see you hurt.

He has a tendency to hurt anyone who causes you just the slightest bit of inconvenience.

Nobody should ever dare gaze upon you with any ill intent.

The other upper moons avoid interacting with you; they know how Akaza can get when it comes to you. 

You're sacred in Akaza’s eyes; he’s practically on his knees for you.

Akaza can become delusional about your love for him. If you don’t hold the same feelings for him, he’ll convince himself otherwise.

Akaza will literally spend hours kissing every inch of your body to prove himself to you.

With night comes Akaza’s paranoia.

There's much more danger for you once the sun sets.

He won’t leave your side for a single second.

In bed, you're always in Akaza’s arms; he’ll refuse to sleep any other way.

Once the sun rises once more, his nerves calm just a bit.

He simply can’t bear the thought of a life without you.

Akaza will pursue your love until the end of time. 

Aizetsu..

Aizetsu is pretty sensitive. Please don’t be too harsh on him.

He craves your affection constantly; it’s the one thing he needs to keep going.

Aizetsu can get aggressive when you refuse to show affection.

He won’t hurt you, but he might get verbally abusive.

Once he’s calmed down, he’ll cry at your feet, wrapping his arms around your waist begging for forgiveness.

He always regrets his behavior once he’s rational again.

Aizetsu sees the world as a depressing place, and you are the only light in his dull life.

One of his many nicknames for you is Sun. 

When Aizetsu gets deeply depressed, he tends to get distant.

He’s running back into your arms soon enough. 

His favorite thing to do is hug you from behind and follow you around.

Aizetsu is excessively clingy on a normal day.

If he is not all over you, something is wrong. 

He’ll ask you to hold him when his anxiety gets hard to bear; you're the only one who can get him to calm down.

He struggles immensely with his mental health.

You happen to be the one to handle Aizetsu when he’s at his lowest.

A lot of it is taken out on you, and he hates himself for it.

A few hours of being in your arms is usually enough for him to be able to function again.

Aizetsu will always do anything he can to make it up to you the next day, starting off with flowers in the morning.

If you don’t forgive him immediately, he’s on his knees once again choking on his own sobs. 

He can’t sleep without you next to him, helping him keep his depressive thoughts away.

At night, he’ll often rest his head in your lap and ask for you to play with his hair.

The feeling of your hands touching his scalp takes his mind off of the billions of things running through his head.

Aizetsu depends on you, don't fail him.

Kokushibo..

Kokushibo is always lurking in a corner, watching your every move.

He prefers to watch you in silence rather than interact with you.

Kokushibo is aware of his unhealthy attraction to you.

Small gifts, such as earrings or handwritten notes, would be left by Kokushibo on most mornings.

He manages to find something to give you each time he goes out.

Kokushibo secretly has a soft spot for you; you're the only one who knows this, of course.

Any affection coming from you stays on his mind for at least a day or two.

Don't upset him. Kokushibo is quick to completely disappear for a few days to teach you a lesson.

Leaving without Kokushibo by your side is forbidden. Once night falls, you can’t leave at all.

His rules may be harsh, but they're for your own good.

On nights that he’s feeling extra stressed, he may ask you to play with his hair.

There's not too much physical contact between you and Kokushibo, despite his hidden obsession.

He has to have a lot going on within himself to flat-out ask for your touch.

Kokushibo will die protecting you. He vowed to keep you protected, always.

You’ll be kept secret from everyone except Muzan. He won’t have you around the upper moons, especially Douma.

If you're feeling particularly stressed, Kokushibo will sit you down and tell you stories from all throughout his 480 years of living.

Kokushibo deeply appreciates your simple presence since he’s been alone for so long. Knowing that you're there is enough for him.

He spends hours watching you sleep at night; he doesn’t sleep much at all himself.

It brings him a sense of peace to watch your sleeping face, knowing that you're at ease.

Kokushibo can live in some type of peace knowing that you're safe and his.

[whoskimii]

You asked for nsfw requestss so here i am!!!

Hyperfem reader during her ovulation week gets incredibly hornyyy for her bf suguru Geto.

Daddy kink, 🤤

i love me some pretty hyperferm girl <33

⋆౨ৎ˚ notes > suguru x you. pure filth hehe <33 you call him daddy. you're hornyy af! yes, wearing bows is enough for me to call you a hyperferm girly :) tell me if i missed anything!! ^^ ౨ৎ warning : you may have butterflies in your belly while reading this!! 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

suguru was always impressed when you were ovulating. your stamina wasn't really great but during your ovulation week it would magically multiply.

you were always a needy little thing for him. i mean it's suguru we're talking about. duh. but after your period, you were as horny as ever. it was funny for him to see because you were usually such a sweet girl. so what do you mean you were quite literally begging him to fuck you ?

here you were, bouncing on his cock endlessly, little whimpers escaping your pouty lips. he was playing with the pretty pink bows you put in your hair with one hand, the other teasing your nipple under the lacey nightgown you were wearing.

he looked at the digital clock on the nightstand, letting out a quiet sigh. 3:19. you had been going at it for two hours already, without interruption. he had tried multiple times to get you to take a break, to drink some water or to take a little nappy nap. but no. you'd always whine in protest and bounce on him even faster. "baby..." he mumbled. he watched himself disappear into you. the tip of his cock was red and he was so so sloppy because of your juice. you already came more times than you could count but you were still chasing another orgasm.

"take a little break, alright...?" he murmured. "for us..." but as expected as it was, you whined. "don't want to, sugu'..." you mumbled. he gently tugged on one of your pretty bows as you clenched around him. "fuck..." he was incredibly sensitive.

your delicate, manicured hands left his shoulders to grip the headboard instead. you used it as leverage to fuck yourself silly on his cock even harder, ass slapping against his thighs. "daddy, wanna cum..." you babbled. "i know, pretty thing... but you already came at least four times."

"s'not enough..." you sighed. suguru couldn't help but chuckle. "no ? s'not enough ?" he echoed. "what a greedy girl..."

he closed his eyes and let his head roll back against the headboard. his fingers left your bows to play with your clit. "you're so cute, y'know that ? don't know what i did in my past life to be so blessed but i must've done some pretty good shit..." he grabbed your hips and guided your movements, which made you moan. "daddy..."

"m'right here, little one..." he hummed and nuzzled his nose in your hair, inhaling the scent of your strawberry shampoo. "shit, you're gettin' me all messy."

a little gasp escaped your lips as your boyfriend rolled you onto your back and climbed on top of you. he pushed your knees to your chest and thrusted in and out of you. "baby... fuck, i got the tightest girl in the world, mhm ? you're grippin' my cock so hard. scared it's gonna disappear or somethin' ?" he chuckled lazily and kissed your neck.

as he grazed your sweet spot, your moans got louder. "be quiet, sweetie. y'know how the neighbors get when you get too noisy." however, you seemed too cockdrunk to even understand his words. he clicked his tongue and untied one of your bows before stuffing it in your mouth to silence you. "theeere you go."

when you pulled on his long hair, he knew you were on the verge of cumming. you always did that. "gonna cum, huh ? c'mon." he played with your clit and hit your sweet spot one last time before you clenched around him and came. your eyes rolled back as your back arched. "that's it..." he came right after you. "shiiit..."

when you finally came down from your high, you looked up at him with doe eyes and pulled the bow out of your mouth. "i wanna do it again, daddy..." suguru sighed.

this was about to be a long night.

we're twinning girl <33

⋆˚࿔ kimi 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

[myjayisarockstar]

quality time - pjs

pairing: Idol boyfriend!Jay x gn!reader

warnings: Absolutely none, this is pure fluff

synapsis: Jay finally gets to spend time with you after a long week of promotions and being unable to see you

wc: 609

a/n: first solo member drabble !! this isn't fully proofread so if there are some mistakes I apologize LMFAO enjoy otherwise!!

As busy as his schedule would be Jay would ALWAYS find the time for you. Whether you go to the company to surprise him at practice during a break or between his schedules, simply seeing your face will make his day a thousand times better.

“Hi baby!” your boyfriend says with a bright smile, walking up to you to hug you. As he engulfed you in his warm embrace he muttered into your shoulder “missed you so much, needed this hug.”

You giggle softly, enjoying his presence. Jay and the rest of the members have been busy with back-to-back schedules and rehearsals, so he hasn’t had much time to see you. Between their comeback and upcoming concerts, he has been all over the place with hardly any rest, only stopping to get sleep at the dorms then it’s off to practice again. Today he finally got a few hours to himself and his immediate thought was to spend it with you. 

“I missed you too, you’ve been so busy recently I hope you’re taking care of yourself,” you only lightly scolded him, wanting nothing but for him to be happy and healthy during comeback season since it was a busy and stressful time for him.

Still not pulling away from your hug, he mumbles “Don’t worry about me baby I’m doing just fine. Just wanna be with you today.” Your heart melted, he was always extra affectionate like this when he was away from you for long periods. The two of you stayed in each other's embrace for what felt like forever when Jay finally pulled away, looking at you with loving eyes.

“Are you hungry? Do you want me to cook anything for us while you have me here?” Jay was always one to cook for the two of you. It was one of his love languages. You always loved his cooking too, however, you wanted to spend as much time with him as you could in these few hours since your time together was limited. So instead of him cooking, you two opted for takeout and spent the afternoon catching up and enjoying the comfort of being in the other’s presence. You let him talk about his comeback, the promotions he had been participating in, and anything else on his mind. 

“Enough talk about me, what have you been up to baby? Anything new with work?” Jay turned to ask you after cleaning up after the food you ate. Compared to him, your schedule is tame. Boring even. The most you did was attend your classes and go to work (and your job was nothing compared to his). Occasionally, you would go out with your friends but lately, you all have been so busy your schedules haven’t aligned for quite some time.

“I don’t wanna bore you with my boring life, love. It’s pretty much the same as always,” He pouts, wanting to hear about your days because he loves listening to you talk.

“But I love listening to you talk about your life, nothing you say could bore me.” You let out a sigh, and in turn, start talking about your day once you two get comfortable cuddling on the couch. You run your hands through Jay’s hair subconsciously, loving the way his soft locks feel on your fingers. 

About fifteen minutes go by of you talking about your day and any current life updates until you realize Jay has fallen asleep in your arms. You giggle to yourself, adoring his cute sleeping form. 

“I thought nothing I say would bore you, now look at you,” you whisper to him knowing he won’t even hear you.

[gremlin-bot]

There is No Closure, Just Adapting To Life

Ao3 link: Here Master list: Here

Summary:

Danny should have asked more questions before accepting the request to fix a different dimension's time stream from Clockwork. He didn’t think he would be de-aged and live a different life where he would latch on to a new family and friends. It was nice being a part of a community of heroes.

It really wouldn’t have been that bad if he stayed there. Too bad that he was pulled from that world and back into his old one, both fulfilling his wish to see his original family and killing all the relationships with his new ones.

Now he has to figure out how to live in his original dimension again. And maybe, just maybe find a way to visit the one he forcefully left behind.

Chapter 1: Your trial period is over; your account has been put on hold.

Danny shouldn't be thinking about the past life he lived, shouldn't think about the parents who adopted him only to disappear for months at a time, nor the vigilante family he’d inserted himself into during their time of need. That life wasn't his to begin with! Just a dimension with a timeline that needed fixing in an unconventional way. 

So, why is he crying? 

He just got back to his home, time hadn’t passed here. He can see Sam, Tucker, and Jazz again! (He'll never see Cass, Jason, Dick, Damien, Steph, Kon –) He's more experienced and better at fighting now. He can protect Amity better! (He misses Gotham. The city seemed to make heroes feel like magic) Danny has his original life back… but damn it, he wants to go back! He doesn't want to protect a city alone again! 

Danny curls into himself on his bed. Silent sobs racking his body. He's so different than he was before. His hair was longer and parted in the middle, nothing like his usual, (old), fringe style. His missing scars and the new ones he can't explain. Gods-  (No, wait, it's Ancients) he is missing his spleen! How was he going to explain that, or any of this? Even as his sobs grew more violent, their volume didn't increase. 

A trick he learned in the Wayne manor. 

He didn't want to disturb anyone with his half remembered dreams of a different life.

Danny took a shuddering breath, the feelings he’d been trying to bury since his return hitting him full force. He’d been sucked back to his original dimension without warning a day ago. Clockwork, that bastard, didn't even give him time to say goodbye to the rest of the Bats and Birds. He was in his apartment as Tim Drake one second and plopped in Danny Fenton's bedroom the next. 

His talk with the older ghost didn't make the situation any better. 

He didn't explain anything! Just that his work in that dimension's timeline was done. If Clockwork hadn't time locked the portal Danny would've been in the ancient’s lair instead of dissociating in a room that doesn't feel like his anymore. He hates not being given a choice or having a plan. 

Jason was right; anger was so much easier than actually dealing with your feelings.

His spiraling was stopped when he heard a soft knock on his door. Oh, he’d forgotten that Jazz was home. Living through a lifetime made him forget a lot about his first one. He didn't get time to follow the new spiral of thoughts before his sister opened the door. 

"Danny?" Her voice was soft, laced with worry.

"Yeah," He hates how hoarse his voice sounds.

 He should be better than this; he’s infiltrated the league of assassins for Ancients’ sake. He watched as she approached his bed, buried beneath blankets. He can hear when she actually sees him by her gasp. 

"What happened?" Jazz asked as she sat on the bed facing him.

"I… I fixed a timeline in a different dimension for Clockwork." Danny can't bring himself to look at her. Everything is still fresh. The feeling he can just barely comprehend as grief has yet to settle inside him. He takes a deep breath. He can compartmentalize this and deal with it after Jazz leaves.

"How long were you gone this time, a month or two?" Jazz looks at him with unending patience and care. 

"17 years," He whispers hesitantly.

"Oh… oh, Danny." He couldn’t have prepared himself for the shock and pained confusion on her face. She leaned her over him, pulling him into a tight hug.

Oh, he can't compartmentalize this after all. Danny’s breath hitched as fat tears began rolling down his face, dampening his pillow even more. His life as Tim made him forget what it was like to have unending support from a sibling. He loved the hodge podge of the Waynes, but he was a vigilante first. He wasn’t really family.

Just a coworker.

“You don’t have to talk about it if it’s too much. Just know that I’ll always be here for you little brother,” Jazz’s voice was gentle. Oh, did he miss her during those years. Cass and Barbara helped him cope with missing Jazz whether they knew it or not.  He turned into her, relishing in the fact she was here. He may be missing a whole new family, but he got his old one back.

“I missed you, Jazz. Can you stay here with me for a little while?” He pleaded between silent sobs.

“Of course. I’ll be here as long as you need.”

---------—x—---------

Tim woke up to the sound of typing and the sight of red hair. He must have crashed at Barbara’s last night. He sits up, not fully awake just yet.

“Morning, Babs,” he yawns, eyes blurry. 

The gentle but persistent clicking of keys stops with a hitch of her breath. "Danny, it's me Jazz. Is Babs someone you were close to… before?" 

The voice he hears back isn't Barbara's.

It's one he barely recognizes now, made even harder to place with the barely covered pain. Jazz deserves a better brother than him. 

What kind of brother is he, that he doesn't even remember his own sister at first glance. 

Danny takes a deep shaky breath. No, he can't think like that. He hasn't seen her in 17 years, Of course he isn't going to recognize her. Still she hasn't changed one bit. 

He can't tell if that makes it better or worse.

"Yeah" he croaks, voice rough from sleep and the lump that's formed in his throat. “She has hair like yours.”

“Oh… do you want to talk about it?” she offers awkwardly. She was completely out of her depth but still wanting to help in her own way. (Alfred would have loved to meet her.)

Danny shakes his head, pushing past the aching in his chest as he drags himself out of bed. He doesn't look back at Jazz, he doesn't want to see the pitying look in her eyes. Something ugly, angry, and raw always tends to creep into him when that particular emotion is directed at him, and she doesn't deserve that.

What a cruel joke that the one thing that he gets in spades in both lives is pity.

He needs a strategy if he plans to survive the next couple of days, (the rest of his life), and that starts small. Get ready and investigate what the hell was happening in his life before… his time mission. He lost so much time with his breakdown, how annoying. 

Tim (no, he's Danny now) huffs, opening his closet. Well before he starts anything he needs a damn shower. 

---------—x—---------

By the time Danny was clean and dressed, Jazz had left him with a journal with his name on it and her scrapbook. Ancients, she really is the best big sister. (Cass would contest that). 

He knows that he should dive into them right away, but… he can put it off a little longer. Remembering and relearning will take time, and he has all the time in the world now, whether he likes it or not. Diving deep will be too much. He’s too emotionally raw, and just needs something to latch on to, like: 

Next day survival plan 101, start small. 

He can look at Danny’s phone; he’ll figure out what to do with Tim’s later. Remember, one step at a time; one thing at a time. Finding the device was easy, it was on the nightstand where he always leaves it. Seems like this is one of the habits he kept in both lifes. Opening it up was easier than he originally expected; he really didn't have a sense of cybersecurity beyond Tucker back then.

(…Now?)

The device was familiar in so many different ways; he always did gravitate towards technology (with Tucker pushing him forward right next to him). The screen lit up, showing the basic layout of all phones; he dismissed notifications from dumb games, leaving the social media ones. What he was really looking for was his messages.

He had a couple new messages from Sam and Tucker in their group chat. He should look at the chat, but, in doing so, he'd be facing the people he had been grieving their missing presence for the last 17 years. A missing presence that had him picked up so many new hobbies, just because they reminded him of his two best friends. Danny would have never touched a camera if it wasn't for the ache in his chest everytime he passed a looming gargoyle. The hundreds of pictures will finally be seen by their intended audience, if he could only get himself to open the gods damned chat!

Shaky breath slips from his lips as he steadies his thoughts. Baby steps. Look at the messages and go from there.

— New Messages —

PettyWitch

Tucker I swear if your ass isn't up rn, I'm coming over and replacing all of the meat in your fridge with lettuce.

TFine

give me a sec 2 get down there you can stop calling me 

i'm not going to answer

what about Danny

how come you aren't calling HIM!!!!!

PettyWitch

Bc Danny can actually get up before noon during the weekends unlike other people in this chat! So he can be trusted to get to Nasty Burger on time. 

TFine

HEY!

Their banter goes on. Danny scrolls through it with a painful kind of fondness draping over him. A hole that once gouged his heart was being filled, only to have a different part get ripped out for the same reason. The people he missed will always have some type of mouth on them, especially one that gets them in trouble. Moving past the too fresh grief and focusing on the conversation at hand does bring about a pressing issue, he's supposed to meet up with Sam and Tucker soon.

Shit.

Looks like he's facing more ghosts of his past-turned-present sooner than he thought. It's Tucker and Sam. They stuck with him through his death and his first hero career. If anyone besides Jazz could sympathize with him, it was them. Resolve hardened like the Bat he is (was —there is no way back to them now), he spends the little remaining time flipping through pictures and looping handwriting as he pieces the memory of his old life back together.

[dreaming-medium]

Stray Kids Kinktober Day 7

Stray Kids Kinktober Masterlist

Virginity - Jeongin

Word Count: 9.5k

Summary: Long distance friendships work most of the time. But what about when that friendship was supposed to be more? What about when the distance spans over several time zones instead of cities.

—————————————————————

He’ll always be the one that got away, that’s what you tell yourself. 

But it’s not like he’s gone completely, no, Yang Jeongin is still in your life every single day. He’s just not physically present now. 

The two of you went from spending every single waking moment together to then only seeing him when he’s able to come home during breaks in his idol schedule. 

Which is basically never. 

When he left Busan, he took your entire heart with you.

The night before he left for Seoul, you told yourself over and over again that you were going to confess to him. That you weren’t going to let him leave for stardom without knowing how you felt. 

And if he didn’t feel the same, then the distance would help. 

And if he did… then who knows what would happen. 

But, when the moment came. And Jeongin was hugging you goodbye in his childhood bedroom, you froze. 

“Jeongin, I need to tell you something,” you murmur into his chest during a tight hug. 

His hand runs down the back of your hair, his nose digging into the top of your head to smell your coconut shampoo. 

“What is it?”

Your heart was beating so fast, you thought it might explode. With the way your ear was pressed against his chest, you’re able to hear his heart thudding against his ribs as well. 

He’s probably just nervous about leaving, that’s all. 

Every thought flies from your head. Not a single word of your practiced speeches in the mirror come to mind. 

He’s leaving. He’s leaving. He’s leaving. 

“Y/N?” Jeongin tries to catch your attention by squeezing you tighter. 

“Just…” you trail off, blinking the tears away from your eyes. Your throat constricts and gets tighter and tighter. “Just don’t forget about me when you’re famous, okay?”

Jeongin rocks you both from side to side, a thoughtful hum coming from his throat. 

“I don’t think I could forget about you even if I tried, Y/N,” he whispers into your hair. “I’ll text you every chance I get, FaceTime and calls too. You know I will.”

The desperation in his voice causes the tears to finally fall down your cheeks. The other half of your soul was leaving. 

Who was going to walk to school with you? Split another menu item with you so that you both could have two different things? Watch scary movies with you and launch popcorn everywhere?

“I know, Jeongin.” A hiccup shakes your chest. “You’re going to be famous before you know it. And you’ll have other famous people lining up to be your best friend.”

“Yeah, well, that spot is already taken.”

Jeongin pulls away from you slowly to look down at your tear-ridden face. 

“No amount of distance will change that, okay? I’m serious.”

You bite your lip and look down at the floor with a pathetic nod. 

Two fingers hook under your chin to bring your eyes back up to his. They’re glossy and brimming with his own unshed tears. 

“Cross my heart,” he hushes and draws an ‘X’ over his chest with his free hand. 

“Cross my heart,” you sob and mirror the action. 

“Now, stop crying. You know you’re an ugly crier.”

“When are you leaving, again?”

-------------------------------------

It’s embarrassing to say, but you did have little faith in Jeongin to keep the promise. 

But you’ll be damned. Because he did so to the best of his abilities. 

No, you two were not attached at the hip anymore, sipping soda through the same straw. But you remained as close as ever. 

Conversation never dulled over texts. 

Sure, there would be periods of time where you would only hear from him once or twice a day. But that’s normal, especially with longer distance friends. 

Also, with a schedule like his, it’s a miracle that you get to hear from him at all. 

The first year was the hardest. When your birthday passed and he wasn’t physically in the room with you at midnight for the first time, it felt like a dagger to the heart. 

Yes, he was on FaceTime with you, but it wasn’t the same; and you both knew it. 

Life continued. It didn’t stop in his bedroom like you thought it would. 

The ache faded. You adapted. He adapted. But your friendship remained constant. 

-------------------------------------

“America?” Jeongin asks bewildered on the phone. 

“It’s a full ride, Jeongin! I’d be stupid not to accept it.” 

You’re laying on your bed, painting your nails with the phone in between your shoulder and your ear. 

“I mean, yeah, but like… didn’t you also apply to the University of Seoul?”

“I did, but they’re not offering me a full ride. You know my family’s financial situation, I have to go where the money is.”

“But… but what about plane tickets and such? Wouldn’t the cost just balance out?” he stutters. His tone sounds strained and choked. 

You almost wish you were on FaceTime right now so you could see his expression. He was never good at hiding secrets from you, you can read him like a book. 

“Not really… I’d probably just… live there for four years and come back when I’m done,” you mumble and then blow on your wet nails. “Jeongin, I really wasn’t expecting this type of reaction…”

The sadness of your voice can’t be helped. 

Jeongin had no idea you applied for the photography program at the California Institute of Arts. It was on a whim that you sent your application in. 

He makes a choked noise on the other end of the phone. “I-I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m happy for you, I really am! I’m over the moon excited! California! That’s-“ he clears his throat. “That’s incredible.”

He’s crying. Yang Jeongin is crying right now. 

You sit in silence for a moment and stare blankly at the wall in front of you. With each word that comes through the phone you can feel your heart breaking. 

“I can’t believe it!” He continues with his fake happiness. “California! Woo… just- just like in those movies we used to watch to-together!”

Clenching your jaw to stop your own tears, you pull the phone away from your face and tap the FaceTime button. 

The line rings a few times before you hear Jeongin gasp and stutter even more. 

“I have to go, Y/N. Chan is calling me to do something!”

“I didn’t hear—“

“Bye, Y/N!”

The line beeps three times to signal he hung up. Your phone displays the failed FaceTime call. 

Numbness floats through your chest for a moment before something harshly tugs on your soul. 

He was expecting you to come to Seoul. To come closer to him, wasn’t he? 

You drop your phone onto your bed and continue to sit there, staring into space. 

Yes, you wanted to go to Seoul with him, you desperately wanted to do that. 

But, you need to think in the long run here! Four years longer away from him in exchange for a lifetime free of debt. 

It’s only four years, max.

Tears prickle your eyes and you grit your teeth to try and stop them. 

Shit, Jeongin. Come on. 

-------------------------------------

You went to America. You made the hard choice, but the right one. And you know it, too. 

Jeongin knew it too. Hidden underneath all of the grief of you moving even further from him, he was endlessly proud and happy for you. 

But now, instead of a two hour train ride, you were an eleven hour plane ride away. Your day was sixteen hours behind his. 

Now, if he texted you and asked what you had for dinner, you would tell him about last nights’ meal or what you were thinking for later. 

There were only about two hours a day where you were able to talk at the same time and it was killing him slowly. 

When your classes for the day were ending, he was waking up for the next day. When you were getting ready for bed, he was finishing lunch. 

If he wanted to FaceTime you at the end of his day, it was the middle of your work day. 

You were losing each other. 

He was able to do two different cities in the same country, but two continents was its own animal. 

Jeongin would lay awake in bed at night, knowing you’re up and moving around. It would haunt him while he tossed and turned. 

Because in his mind, you’re also the one that got away. You were the only reason he almost didn’t audition to become a trainee. 

But, your entire life, you talked about attending the University of Seoul for college. So, he bargained with himself and became a trainee because eventually the two of you would be together. Right?

No.

Now, you’re in America. You’ve been in America for two entire years. 

Making new friends, meeting new people, experiencing everything without him. 

The knife twisted in his gut when he started noticing the same name floating around your conversations when you spoke about friends. 

Ryan. 

It was always ‘Ryan said this’, ‘Ryan did that’, ‘Ryan showed me this’. Jeongin wanted to scream and pull his hair out. 

It was only a matter of time until he got the phone call he was dreading. 

-------------------------------------

Jeongin had just sat down in the living room of the shared dorm when his phone rang. His seven other members were flitting in and out of the room. 

They all knew you very well. Jeongin talks about you so much they would swear you were everyone’s childhood best friend. 

The few times you were able to visit him in person before leaving for America, everyone always got along famously.

He answered your FaceTime call immediately. 

“Hey!” you say as soon as you see his face. “Are you busy right now?”

“No, not at all. We don’t have anything until later today. What time is it?” Jeongin looks at the clock. “It’s almost 9 PM by you, what are you getting ready for?”

You placed your phone down on your desk. “Well, ah— that’s actually why I’m calling you, I need your advice.”

Felix and Seungmin both walked into the living room, talking quietly and sat down on the couch opposite him. 

“What’s up? Are you okay?” Jeongin asks. 

Both the other boys perk at his tone and look over. 

“I’m um… going on a date tonight. Ryan had asked me out with him tonight. So I wanted your advice on what to wear, since you’re a fashion God.”

The floor beneath him crumbled. His heart fell through the sofa and into the Earth. Even his fingertips go numb. 

A date? You were going on a date? With Ryan? You were going on a date with Ryan. 

You were going on a date. With Ryan. 

“Jeongin?” You ask again when he doesn’t answer for a few moments. His eyes are completely unfocused and spaced out. 

He snaps out of it and clears his throat. “What um— What did you have in mind? It’s getting chilly out, right? Maybe wear a sweater? What about that cable knit one I got you?”

“Jeongin it’s LA! It’s always 70 degrees here.”

“But the restaurant might be cold.”

“I’ll bring a jacket then.” You laugh at him, unaware at the absolute anguish he was feeling. “I was thinking something like… you know that black skirt? That with this new tube top I got aaaand my knee high boots.”

“No.” He answers quickly, your face falls. “Why don’t you do the top with jeans?”

“It’s a nice place.”

“M-Maybe a dress then.”

“Jeongin.” 

Seungmin And Felix were watching everything unfold in front of their eyes. It was like a car crash, they couldn’t look away. 

Jeongin kept going, “I really liked that long sleeved red one you wore for Christmas last year.”

“Jeongin..”

“And if that doesn’t work I just think the sweater is the best option here.”

You stay silent, letting Jeongin finish his ramblings. 

There’s a solid fifteen seconds of silence between the two of you before you spoke up on the other line. “Are any of the other boys in the room with you?”

Jeongin immediately looks over at Felix and Seungmin. “Yeah, Min and Lix are here.”

You nod a few times, refusing to look at the camera. 

“I gotta go, Jeongin. I’ll text you later, okay?”

“Y/N.”

“Bye. I’ll text you when I get home safe.”

“Y/N, wait!”

Three beeps signal the end of the phone call. 

He sits there for a long moment, just holding his phone in his hand before he drops it onto the coffee table. 

His heart is shattering into a million pieces. 

Jeongin buries his face in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. 

Both of the other boys sit there, unsure of what to do next. They glance at each other and then back to Jeongin, who hasn’t moved. 

“Jeongin…” Felix calls out gently. 

The boy lifts his face up from his hands and looks over at his friends. “What am I supposed to do? A date. She’s going on a date. And I’m on the other side of the world.”

His throat bobs with a gulp and he pulls at his pants anxiously. 

“Jeongin.” Seungmin tries to grab his attention. “I think she was just looking for support.”

He’s right. He’s completely right, but Jeongin is so blinded with jealousy he can’t think straight. 

“I’ve loved her since we were thirteen and she’s going on a date with someone else.”

“You don’t even know if it will last.” Seungmin tries to comfort him. 

“They’re already super close, she talks about him all the time, it’s always ‘Ryan, Ryan, Ryan’. He’s her new best friend, not me. She was supposed to come here, to Seoul, not go to America. And we were going to.. we were going to–” He chokes up and can’t get it out. 

Jeongin abruptly stands up from the couch and snatches his phone off the table. 

“I’m going for a walk.”

And with that, he was gone. 

-------------------------------------

He won’t answer any of your texts or calls. 

It’s been two weeks since your date with Ryan and you still haven’t heard from Jeongin. 

It feels like a giant punch in the gut. 

All you want to do is talk to him but he’s nowhere to be seen. He hasn’t even sent you a text to say he’s busy or when he can finally talk again. 

Just radio silence. 

You thought about texting one of the other members to try and get through to him, but it feels so high school that you decide not to. 

All you want to do is talk to your best friend. 

But he doesn’t want to talk to you, it seems. 

It has to be because of the date. There’s no other explanation behind it. Everything was fine until you told him you were going on a date. 

You’ve been here for two years now! Did he expect you to stay single forever?

Just because he has a dating ban, doesn’t mean you do too. 

The more you think about it, the angrier you get. The smoldering ashes of your rage don’t dim. Not one bit, they just simmer and flicker on. 

It all bubbles and reaches a boiling point one Friday where you’ve had entirely too much to drink. 

Your friends dragged you out to a frat party where you drank yourself stupid. Nothing eventful happened at the party, but when you stumbled into your apartment and you were left alone with your phone, it all hit a head. 

[March 3 11:48 PM] 

Y/N: I’m home safe.

[March 4 4:22 PM]

Y/N: How’d your day go?

[March 5 7:31 AM]

Y/N: Jeongin please talk to me. I have so much to tell you

[2:01 PM]

Y/N: I saw a cute lil baby Fox on my way to class this morning, made me think of you :) 

[March 13 6:12 PM]

Y/N: You’re just going to keep ignoring me, huh?

[March 19 3:58 AM]

Y/N: YanG Jeongin. 

Y/N: you can’t fucking  ignore me forever 

Y/N: or maybe you can. 

Y/N: is that what you want???? Me to be gone????? All these fucking years of friendship down the drain????

Y/N: well fuck you too, I guess 

[4:02 AM]

Y/N: I got hired for your stupid fucjing group’s world tour. For when you come to America

Y/N: I fucking begged my professor to give me the gig for a project. It’s an internship. Was gunna see you next week and everythinfg 

Y/N: surprise, asshoke

Y/N: and now you won’t fucking talk to me. Do you realize how petty you’re being? How childish? Over what? A guy?????? I cant fucking back out now, my professor would kill me. 

[4:09 AM] 

Y/N: the whole tour I was gunna spend with you

Y/N: fuck you, Yang Jeongin. 

Y/N: and your stupid fucking childishness. 

Y/N: why cant you just be fucking happy for me for once. 

Y/N: it took me so long to get over you. Why do you keep doing this to me? 

[4:14 AM]

Y/N: Was I supposed to wait forever?

-------------------------------------

Jeongin stepped out of the shower and looked at his phone. 

Fifteen unread messages from you. It’s 4 AM in America, why are you awake right now?

He was so embarrassed over the way he acted two weeks ago that he couldn’t bring himself to talk to you. 

But my god, he only made it worse. 

Jeongin goes through every single emotion while reading your texts. You were going to be one of their photographers for the Manic tour? 

You were going to travel with them?

His thumbs quickly tap his phone and as he’s about to click the phone call button, he freezes in his tracks. 

‘It took me so long to get over you. Why do you keep doing this to me?’

‘Was I supposed to wait forever?’

His entire face drops, the excited palpitations of his heart turn sour and what feels like a knife is stabbed through his chest. 

Fuck fuck fuck. 

He stares down at his phone for what feels like an hour before he hurries out of the bathroom and right into Chan’s room. 

Chan looks over at his member with a startled expression. 

“Jeongin? Everything alright?”

“No, no everything is not alright.” He thrusts his phone into Chan’s hand. “What do I do? What should I say?”

Chan looks down at the phone with wide eyes, he quickly scans over the text. His face seems to go through all the stages of grief that Jeongin’s did, just a bit more watered down. 

“You have to call and apologize, Jeongin. She’s definitely a bit drunk right now, but you need to call her.”

Jeongin gulps and his hands clench and unclench several times before he takes his phone back from Chan. 

“Can I sit in here while I do it?”

“Yeah, of course.”

He sits down on the edge of Chan’s bed, staring down at his phone like a deer in headlights. 

Chan just stares at him, not knowing what to do. 

“What do I even say, Chan?”

“How about you start with ‘I’m sorry I was a dick and ignored you’?”

Jeongin groaned and curled in a bit, his jaw clenching with anxiety. 

His thumbs move around the screen, but they don’t tap the call icon. 

Chan watches. “It’s in the top right.”

“I know!”

“Well you weren’t doing anything.”

“Agh!”

Before he could second guess himself, he tapped the call icon and held the phone up to his ear. 

It rings … and rings… And rings…

It doesn’t even go to voicemail. Jeongin’s heart drops through Chan’s bed. 

He brings his phone away from his ear and checks that it’s your number he dialed. 

It is. 

He hangs up and immediately tries again. 

It rings … and rings… And rings…

Chan’s eyes follow him closely. His face falls when he figures out what’s going on. 

“Jeongin…” he whispers and wheels his chair closer to him on the edge of the bed. 

Jeongin doesn’t listen. He hangs up and tries again with shaking fingers. 

“I’m sure it’s just a bad connection, right?”

It rings … and rings... And rings…

He hangs up again with a cry. 

When he looks down at your conversation he sees another notification. 

[8:15 PM]

[Y/N has stopped sharing their location with you.] 

You blocked him. You really blocked him. 

“She’s drunk, Jeongin. Give it until the morning, yeah?”

Jeongin stares at his phone for a long moment. “Yeah.”

-------------------------------------

The next morning was filled with embarrassment and shame on your side. 

When you rolled over with a groggy mind and upset stomach, the first thing you did was check your phone. 

You were still in your dress from last night, your makeup was now smeared all over your face and onto your pillowcase.

A few texts from friends, a couple from Ryan, Instagram notifications, Snapchat, nothing from Jeongin. 

Your face pulled into an ugly sneer for a moment before it quickly morphed into horror when you tapped on your conversation. 

“Oh my god.”

You sat up quickly in bed, and almost immediately regretted it with how your stomach lurched and head spun. 

Rereading all the texts, you wanted to slam your hungover ridden head over and over again into the wall. 

You stopped sharing your location with him? Why would you…?

Oh, shit. You blocked him, didn't you?

Your hand runs through your matted hair nervously and you stare down at your phone. 

“You dramatic bitch!” You curse yourself and gnaw at your lip. 

What do you do? What do you do?

Obviously, you tap around to his contact and unblock his number. 

The texts immediately flood in. 

[March 19 4:25 AM]

Jeongin: Y/N, im so sorry

Jeongin: please answer 

Jeongin: Y/N please unblock me

[4:31 AM]

Jeongin: I don’t know what to say other than I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to go about apologizing 

Jeongin: you’re halfway across the world right now, Y/N, please. 

Jeongin: why can’t you just be a two hour train ride to Busan anymore. 

[4:38 AM]

Jeongin: I miss my best friend, please

Jeongin: I’m so endlessly proud of you. I brag about you every single day.

Jeongin: that picture you took of the Seoul skyline is still my background. The one with our hands. 

Jeongin: I like that it makes me think of you each time i open my phone

[4:44 AM]

Jeongin: i knew you couldn’t wait forever, that’s why it hurts so bad, Y/N

Jeongin: why did I choose this path? It hurts so bad, Y/N

Jeongin: i care about you so deeply

Jeongin: you’re the only one for me

Jeongin: when you left for LA, you took every part of me with you. 

[4:57 AM]

Jeongin: im so proud of you, Y/N. I guess I’ll just see you starting next week for the tour. 

Jeongin: i’ll wait for you

Jeongin: cross my heart

“Fuck,” you whisper, your voice cracking. Tears welling up in your eyes. 

Is he serious? 

What are you supposed to do right now?

A text from Ryan comes in as you’re staring at your phone. 

[12:41 PM]

Ryan: did you still want to come over tonight?

-------------------------------------

A week passed. 

Another entire week without talking to Jeongin. 

It was like color was slowly draining from your world. 

You know you should reach out to him, but shame and embarrassment kept blocking your path to your best friend again. 

But now, you had no choice. 

You stood in front of a large office building, your bag slung over your shoulder, heart in your throat. 

Once you stepped inside this building, it would be the first time in over two years that you and Jeongin were inside the same walls. 

If you had pictured this moment just a month ago, you would’ve been kicking open these doors and sprinting through the halls until you finally laid eyes on him again. 

But now, you find that it feels like your feet have melted into the concrete sidewalk. 

Looking down at your watch, you see that you still have another thirty minutes before you have to be in the meeting. And your mouth is painfully dry. 

A bell dings to your right and you see a coffee shop. 

Perfect. 

You quickly turn and walk into the shop, the same bell dinging to announce your arrival. 

The barista welcomes you in, takes your order, and tells you your total. 

As you’re fumbling for your wallet, an arm reaches out from behind you and swipes their card to pay for your coffee. 

“Oh, thank you! You didn’t have to—“ you turn and your breath catches. 

None other than Bang Chan stood behind you with that charmingly bright smile. 

“Hi Y/N,” he beams. 

“Chan!” you squeal and wrap your arms around him. You completely forgot everything for a moment, especially when he envelopes you in his strong arms. “What a nice surprise!”

“Hi, Y/N,” he says into your hair.

A throat clears behind you so you jump apart to apologize to the barista. She just laughs and takes Chan’s order. 

The two of you stand off to the side to wait for your drinks. 

“How was the flight in?” you ask, bouncing on the balls of your feet. 

“I’ll be honest, I slept through the whole thing, so I’m not sure.”

“It’s probably the only sleep you’ve gotten this week, hm?” 

Chan laughs and rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t deny it. 

The barista calls out a name.

Chan shifts from foot to foot. “I know what happened.”

You tense up and look down at your feet. 

“How much does he hate me?” 

If you’re being honest, you really don’t want to hear the answer. 

Chan scoffs, “Hate you? He doesn’t hate you. He’s just hurt, Y/N. The same way you are. You both hurt one another.”

Looking off to the side, you cross your arms. “Yeah, well. He started it.”

“Don’t be childish.” He nudges you playfully with his elbow. “Distance is hard for close relationships. It was a miracle that you two went this long without a fight.”

You nod your head and bite your lip. 

“I miss him so much.” 

“He’s just across the street, you know.” 

You laugh which causes Chan to laugh.

The barista calls out your name and then says Chan’s right after. 

“Come on, Y/N,” he loops his arm through yours and you both walk out of the coffee shop and into the office building. 

You sip your coffee nervously, the taste is barely hitting your tastebuds with how preoccupied your mind is. 

The elevator ride up to the appropriate floor is simultaneously the longest and shortest ride of your life. 

What’s the worst that can happen, Y/N? He punches you in the face? Pushes you down the stairs? Maybe grab your coffee out of your hand and dump it over your head?

As if he ever would. 

The doors open and you both step out of the elevator. 

Loud voices carry down the hall and you giggle. 

“It’s been so long since I’ve heard you guys in person and not over a phone.”

“It’s louder in person.” Chan sighs and leads you down the hall. 

Each step is a death march of sorts. 

The conference room door swings open before Chan could grab the handle. 

Your heart rate spiked and then flatlined. 

Jeongin stood there with wide eyes and parted lips. He stared at you with every single emotion known to man. 

“Hi Jeongin,” you whisper, holding your coffee tighter. 

He says nothing. 

Jeongin steps out of the doorway and wraps you up tightly in his arms. One hand on the back of your head, the other on your waist. 

A surprised noise leaves your lips and your eyes widen. 

The coffee cup is taken from your hand by Chan who slinks into the conference room, the door closing softly behind him. 

Without a second thought, you return the hug. 

When your arms wrap around him too, a sigh of relief leaves Jeongin’s mouth and his shoulders slump inwards even more. 

He didn’t expect you to hold him. He didn’t expect you to even want to see him. 

Your arms tighten around his body and it feels like ice thawing from his heart. 

Jeongin’s throat tightens and he buries his face into your hair, inhaling deeply. 

He hasn’t held you in so long. He’s missed your touch so badly. 

Jeongin, who hates skinship, couldn’t wait to have you touch him. 

Your hand begins to rub circles on his back and he melts into you like a puddle. 

“I’m so sorry, Jeongin,” you whisper. 

The dams of his heart begin to crack and break. Every pent up emotion he’s felt for the previous three weeks bubbles to the surface. He stifles a sob and holds you tighter. 

“No, please, I’m sorry, Y/N.” His chest sputters with a cry. 

You pull back from him and look up at him with red, glassy eyes. “We’re both idiots, aren’t we?” you push out a laugh in between tiny cries.

You’re trying with all your might not to let the tears fall down your cheeks.

Jeongin isn’t doing much better. His eyes are red and you can see the tears brimming in them.

Three weeks, you haven’t talked. It was the longest span of time the two of you went without speaking ever. 

You reach up and cup both of his cheeks. Jeongin’s eyes close and he leans into your touch.

“I missed you so much, Jeongin.”

He winces at your words and his lips pull into an even deeper frown,

Jeongin brings his hand up to cup yours against his face. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.” he repeats.

You step closer to him and press your lips to his cheek. Jeongin gasps under his breath and stiffens underneath you. The skin underneath your lips heats up.

“I forgive you, Jeongin.” You smile and back away from him. He watches you closely with wide eyes. “It’ll take more than that to get rid of me, you know?”

He smiles sheepishly and nods. “I forgive you too, you know.”

The elevator pings behind you and your new boss walks out with another important looking man. 

He smiles kindly at you. “Let us get this meeting started, no?”

-------------------------------------

The first concert went off without a hitch. 

Because of your position, you’re traveling with the entire crew and the members. Sleeping in the same hotels, going to the same restaurants, using the same transportation.

Sometimes you feel like a ninth member.

The boys all stood on stage with their hands interlocked to take their first final bow of the tour. You smile behind the camera and make sure to get all of them in the shot.

Jeongin spots you from the stage and smiles directly at you in the media pit. Your smile pulls even brighter and you focus the camera on him for some solo shots.

He winks once before turning to wave goodbye to some Stays in the floor seats.

Your heart flutters, it’s the happiest you’ve been in weeks. Hell, maybe even months.

All of the members exit the stage soon after and you walk with your security escort backstage.

You’re able to hear them before you see them. They’re as loud as ever, yapping about how well everything went, how happy they were to see so many Stays, how they can’t wait for the next show.

When you turn the corner to the dressing room with a bright smile on your face, they all turn and look at you.

“Congrats, guys!” you cheer and clap for them.

They all beam and say thank you. 

Jeongin crosses the room to stand by you. He still has his beanie on.

“What did you think?” he asks happily.

“I loved it! I think I took close to two thousand pictures. Maybe more. I’ll have to go through them on my laptop later.”

“That can wait!” Minho calls from the back of the dressing room. “We’re celebrating tonight!”

“Celebrating how, Mr. Lee?” you tease and hear his signature giggle.

“With booze and games back at the hotel.” Jisung answers for him. 

“Oooh,” your mood brightens. “I’m always up for that. You’re right, pictures can wait.”

“Great, then it’s settled.” Jisung claps his hands together once. “One hour, we all meet in my room.”

-------------------------------------

They were not joking around with the amount of booze on his hotel counter. You would swear you were at another frat party.

In your cup, you were nursing your third rum and coke of the night. You made the mistake of asking Changbin to make this one. After the first sip you knew this one was going to have to be taken slow. 

Everyone was sitting in various seats in the room, some on the bed, some on chairs or the floor. The TV was playing a movie that no one was paying attention to.

“Okay, Felix, truth or dare.” Hyunjin asks.

“Truth– no, dare– no, truth.”

“Final answer?”

“Truth.”

“Who was the last person you stalked on social media?” Hyunjin asks, taking a sip of his drink.

“Ah,” Felix thinks for a moment with pink cheeks. “Oh! An old friend from Australia.”

“Just a friend?” Minho jokes.

“Yes, yes, just a friend.” Felix laughs, waving him off. “Y/N, truth or dare?”

You perk up from your seat on the couch. Jeongin sat on your left, his entire side flush with yours.

“Um, truth, I don’t feel like getting up.”

“What’s your body count since you went to America?”

Your eyebrows raise and you cock your head to the side.

Jeongin stiffens up noticeably next to you, he practically jokes on the drink that he was taking a sip of. “Felix, you can’t just–”

“Two.” you answer quickly and take a large swig of your drink.

Jeongin’s head whips around to look at you as if you just shot everyone in the room. You stare back at him with a confused face.

“What?” you ask, getting defensive. Embarrassment crawls up your neck. “I know it’s not a lot, but I’ve been focused on class and everything, you know?”

“No, I just– I didn’t think that–” Jeongin stutters and looks everywhere but at you. “I didn’t know and you–”

“Tell you everything? I didn’t think you wanted to hear about it.”

“Was it Ryan?” he blurts without thinking.

Your face pulls into a shocked, angry expression. “Excuse me?”

“Was one of them Ryan?” he presses further. The alcohol gave him loose lips. 

“Why would–”

Chan interrupts the two of you, “Anyway! Your turn Y/N.”

You stare at Jeongin for another couple of moments before looking away at the group of men. You shake your head in disbelief before taking a deep breath. 

“Seungmin, truth or dare?”

-------------------------------------

“You know you didn’t have to walk me back to my hotel room, it’s only one floor up.”

Jeongin insisted on walking you back up to your room when everyone started turning in for bed. The hotel hallway was eerily quiet compared to the noise filled room that the two of you just left.

“You never know what could happen in a hotel hallway.” He reaches up and rubs the back of his neck nervously.

The two of you take the stairs up to your floor and walk in silence until you reach your room.

“Oh, wait. There was a picture I took tonight that I want you to see! Really quick, come on!” You quickly unlock your door and drag him into your room. 

Jeongin stumbles in and looks around. Your room is spotless, just a few clothes strewn about. 

You walk over to your camera sitting on the desk and pick it up, looking through the pictures for the one you wanted to show him.

He watches you closely, your face is only illuminated by the small screen display. Your tongue is sticking out between your lips in concentration. 

Two? You slept with two people since you’ve been in America? Jealousy began churning deep within his gut and coursing through his veins.

He’s been so busy with being a trainee, then debuting, then training and rehearsing and recording that he hasn’t… he hasn’t been able to be with anyone. Nor has he wanted to. Because none of the people he could have were you.

Jeongin was so hopelessly devoted to you.

Your phone dings on your desk and you look over at it, an angry sneer twitches at your lips and you roll your eyes and then look back at your camera.

“What was that?” Jeongin asked, stepping closer towards you.

You look at Jeongin, then at your phone, then to your camera. “Nothing, you don’t need to worry about it.”

Jeongin lifts a brow curiously. You look back up at him and roll your eyes.

“It’s Ryan.”

Oh, Jeongin saw red for a moment. But, he kept it to himself to the best of his abilities.

“How’s that going, by the way?” Jeongin asks. He really does not want to know the answer. But, morbid curiosity got the better of him.

You hesitate, your finger stops moving on the camera to scroll through the album.

“It didn’t work out.” you tell him without looking up.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

You bite your lip and look up at him. “Are you? Are you really, Jeongin?”

Jeongin is taken aback by your small outburst. “Y/N, I–”

“Because you seem to be super invested in him, Jeongin.” you lower the camera, staring Jeongin in the eye. “Every time I bring him up, your eye twitches. You can’t fool me, I know you too well. I know you hate the guy.”

“I don’t hate him.”

“Then what if I did fuck him?”

Jeongin scoffs and looks away angrily, he crosses his arms over his chest. “I wouldn’t care.”

Oh, he cares so much. His skin is fucking crawling.

“Look at me, Jeongin.”

His jaw clenches and he hesitates.

You put your camera back on the table and cross the final few steps until you reach him. You reach out and grab his chin between your thumb and pointer finger, forcing him to look at you.

Jeongin’s eyes widen and he stares at you.

“Look at me and tell me you don’t care.”

His face twists in anguish. He stares deeply into your eyes, flickering back and forth between them. His mouth screws up in a frown, eyebrows pulling together.

He gulps.

“Say it.” you push. “Say you don’t care if Ryan fucked me.”

“I…” he opens his mouth and promptly shuts it. He swallows again. “I can’t.”

“Why?” you hush.

The grip on his chin tightens even more when he tries to look away from you.

Alcohol thrums through both of your bodies to create a pleasant buzz and lift your confidence levels with one another. 

“Why, Jeongin?”

“Because!” he cries out. His arms uncross and he grabs both of your shoulders tightly. “Because maybe I want to be the one fucking you! Is that what you wanted to hear?”

You’re taken aback for a moment. Truly, you didn’t expect him to be so crass.

“Because maybe I would lie awake in bed at night thinking about being your one and only.” Jeongin steps towards you and you back up until your knees hit the edge of the bed. “Because you drive me fucking crazy and I want you all to myself. Because I can’t stop thinking about fucking you into my mattress every single night!”

Your hand drops from his face but he snatches it up in his own larger one. 

“Do you understand how bad I want you?” he whispers harshly. His nose is scrunched up and he’s talking through gritted teeth. “I’ve wanted you so badly for so many years. I can’t even look at anyone else because you exist. I’ve only ever had eyes for you. No one else exists, no one else makes me feel like you do.”

“How do I make you feel?”

Jeongin stares at you for a moment before he brings your hand down to press at the crotch of his pants.

Through his sweats you can feel just how hard he is. Both of you whimper at the touch.

“I want you so bad, it hurts.” Jeongin begs. “I don’t want anyone else. I want you. I want you to be my first. I can’t be your first, let me be your last.”

Your heart is hammering against your ribs. 

Is this really happening?

“Please, Y/N,” Jeongin whimpers. “I’m begging you.”

He’s begging you to take his virginity right now? Right now?

“Now?” you ask, bewildered.

His dick twitches in your hand and he closes his eyes in what looks like pain, but you both know it’s pleasure.

“Please.”

The tension in the room snaps. 

“Jeongin.” you grab his attention.

His eyes snap open and look at you.

“Kiss me.”

He gasps, cock jumping in your palm again before he smashes his lips against yours with a grunt. 

He’s absolutely devouring your mouth with his. It’s wet and sloppy and completely inexperienced. But what he lacks in experience, he makes up for in enthusiasm.

Moans are slipping from his lips left and right as your tongues intertwine together.

Your hand slides from his dick up his body to tangle in his hair. Your other reaches up and you grab one of his from your shoulder to place it on your waist. He paws at your shirt with his long fingers.

You nip gently at his bottom lip and he moans.

“Am I dreaming?” he whispers against your mouth.

You reach around and pinch his side. He yelps and jumps a bit. 

“No, not dreaming.”

He swoops down and locks your lips once more. Your fingers massage his scalp and comb through his hair. 

You part from his lips for a second to yank your shirt off. Jeongin watches you with hungry eyes, he’s trying so hard to maintain eye contact with you, but he keeps glancing down at your chest.

“Yours too.” You point at his shirt.

It looks like he practically ripped the thing off. It flies off the top of his head and onto the floor. His bare arms come around your exposed waist, his lips searching for yours.

He’s frantic in his movements, like if he isn’t kissing you, he might die.

You grab his hands and bring them up to your bra clasp.

“I don’t–”

“Learn.” you hush against his lips and suck on his bottom lip. He moans and his fingers grasp at the clasp clumsily. 

He’s so focused on trying to unclasp your bra that you take the opportunity to kiss his jawline with an open mouth. Your teeth nip at his sharp jawline and he gasps.

Down his neck you trail your hot, wet kisses. 

With each passing moment, you can feel his desperation growing and growing. A frustrated whine comes from his chest when he can’t get it.

You bite his collarbone harshly and his knees buckle slightly, but he keeps himself up.

“Y/N!” he cries out, pulling so hard at your bra you think it might snap in half.

You giggle and have mercy on him. You reach behind yourself and unhook your bra in one movement.

It drops to the floor and this time, Jeongin has no reservations about staring at your naked chest. His lips part and his own chest starts heaving with pants. 

Another laugh comes from you. 

His eyes flicker up to yours for a split second.

“Are you going to touch me or just stare?” you tease him with a sultry smirk.

Both of his hands come up and cup both of your breasts in greedy handfuls. You moan at the sensation and wrap an arm around his neck, bringing your lips back to his.

Jeongin fondles your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples gently. Your back arches into his touch.

“Do it again,” you breathe out. He immediately follows your command, pinching and rubbing at the sensitive buds. Every single one of your noises is swallowed by his wet, swollen lips.

His kisses leave your lips and travel down your neck. They’re too gentle and innocent for your liking. 

“Fuck, bite me, Jeongin.” you beg.

Without any hesitation, his teeth sink into where your neck meets your shoulder. You cry out and roll your hips into his. 

The hands on your tits stutter in their movements before speeding up, the lust consuming his brain. 

He bites again and again just to feel your hips move against his, to hear your moans right next to his ear.

The tent in his gray sweats seems painful at this point. He continues to rut against your body for any sort of relief. 

Threading your fingers through his hair, you pull his mouth off your neck. HIs lips break their suction seal with a pop and he looks into your eyes.

He already looks so fucked out it sends a bolt through you.

“Let me make you feel good,” you whisper against his lips. 

If it’s his first time, you want it to be memorable. 

He doesn’t put up a fight at all. His mind is completely gone, he just nods over and over again. You could tell him ‘jump’ and he’d say ‘how high?’.

Your hands slide down his sculpted chest, mapping out each of the muscles. Jeongin keens under your touch, closing his eyes and sighing in pleasure.

When your hands get to the top of his pants, you quickly slide them down, taking his boxers with them. 

Gray sweats pool around his ankles and his long, hard cock bobs as its set free from its fabric confines. 

Jeongin hisses when the cold hotel air hits him.

You lean up on your tiptoes and capture his lip between your teeth for a moment at the same time you grab his dick gently.

The whine he lets out is sinful.

He’s been dreaming of your touch for so many years, and now that your hand is finally wrapped around him, he can’t believe it. 

You release his lip and it snaps back into place.

Slowly, you slide your hand up and down his cock. So much precum is weeping from the head of his cock. Every movement pulls a noise from Jeongin. 

“Sit on the edge of the bed, Jeongin.”

He gulps and obeys your order, his cock standing proud between his parted legs.

Jeongin watches you closely as you sink down to the ground onto your knees. He fists the sheets on either side of his body with white knuckles.

He has to be dreaming. This has to be one of his wet dreams where he wakes up with ruined pants and sheets. 

Settling between his thighs, you run your hands up his legs. Jeongin watches your movements with a fucked out expression. The way your fingers glide over his skin raises goosebumps. 

One of your hands comes out and grabs his cock with a gentle, yet firm, grip. His eyes snap shut and he can’t stifle the moan that punches from his chest. 

His cock is so slippery from his own precum that your hand glides over the skin easily. 

You pump him up and down for a bit, alternating your grip from firm to gentle, changing the tempo from fast to slow.

His hips won't stay still on the bed, he can’t keep still even if he wanted to. The pleasure from your hand is fucking killing him. It’s all consuming.

You smirk. “Jeongin, look at me.” 

He cracks his hazy eyes open just to see you lean forward and lick a fat stripe up his entire cock.

Jeongin cries out and his head tilts back. His hips jump around and his legs feel like they go numb.

You open mouth kiss down the sides of his shaft.

The pleasure shoots up his spine, he can practically taste the electricity. 

Just when he thinks it can’t get better, you wrap your entire mouth around him and sink down to take as much of his cock as you could without gagging.

His hand flies to your hair and grips tightly. The strands weaving through his lithe fingers.

Up and down, you bob on his shaft, making sure to let the saliva pour from your mouth and down over his balls. 

Jeongin doesn’t even realize how hard he’s pulling your hair until you moan around him. He cries out at the vibrations and pulls even harder. 

Your other hand wraps around whatever you couldn’t fit in your mouth. 

He’s on cloud nine, he can barely breathe. Every intake of breath takes his full concentration, you’re making him feel so fucking good.

No matter how many times he’s touched himself and imagined it was you, it could never compare to the real thing.

His eyes follow your head, watching his cock disappear into your mouth as you stare back at him with those sinfully innocent eyes.

You’re going to be the fucking death of him. 

He’s only able to last for a few moments with your mouth on him before Jeongin is panting out.

“Y/N, you- you gotta, ha– You gotta stop or– or I’ll– fuuuuck– Im c-close and I– hng! But I wanna–! I wanna–! I wanna fu-huck you!”

You swirl your tongue around his head and pop off his cock, sit dribbling down the sides of your mouth.

“You wanna fuck me, Jeongin?” you ask him with a sweet tone. It fucking kills him.

“Yes,” he pants out, “It’s all I want.”

“You’re gonna let me pop your cherry?” you ask, looking up at him through your lashes. After you ask that, you lean over and bite his inner thigh.

Jeongin yelps and tightens the hand in your hair. 

An embarrassed flush covers his neck and ears. “Please, Y/N.” he whimpers. 

Smirking, you stand up from the floor and make quick work of your own sweatpants. Jeongin watches you like a starved man at a buffet. His tongue darts out of his lips and licks them when your panties drop to the ground.

“How do you want me, baby?” you ask him sweetly. 

He tears his eyes away from your naked pussy to look up at you. He gulps.

“How do I…?”

“You want me on top? You want to fuck me from behind? You want to be on top? How do you want me, sweet Jeongin?” Your hand comes out and caresses his cheek. “How do you want our first time?”

His cock jumps at the thought of you in each of those positions.

But one sticks out.

“Need you underneath me,” he whispers, keeping eye contact while his hands come up to rest on your hips.

Your hand cards through his hair. It’s so fluffy.

“Whatever you want, Jeongin.”

Leaning down, you press your lips to his in a sweet kiss. It’s the tamest one you’ve shared tonight.

When you break apart, he chases after your lips, but you crawl onto the bed, laying down and making yourself comfortable on the pillows.

Jeongin follows your movements with innocent, fucked out eyes. He licks his lips again and his eyebrows pull together as he watches you.

You part your legs and run a finger through your sopping wet folds, making a show out of displaying yourself to him. He watches it like a hawk.

Slowly, you bring the finger up and stick it in your mouth, tasting your own juices.

“Come on, Jeongin. You said you were going to be my last.”

He turns and scrambles onto the bed, crawling over you and smashing your lips together desperately. Both of your legs wrap around his waist while he devours your mouth with his own.

His tongue is everywhere in your mouth, licking your own, invading and licking the roof of your mouth, coming out to lick your lips.

When you whimper, you feel his cock jump against your heat. Your hips roll onto his and his hips buck downwards into yours.

Both of you are moaning, panting messes when he pulls away.

“I don’t have a condom.” he says painfully.

“I’m on the pill.”

“Are you sure?”

“Jeongin, please fuck me already. I’ve waited my entire life for this.” you smile up at him with shiny eyes.

His eyes search yours with an equally sentimental look in them.

He nods once and lines himself up with your entrance. His head rubs along your folds a few times, making himself slick.

Your head tilts backwards into the pillows.

“No, please, look at me.” he begs breathlessly.

Immediately, your eyes snap open and you gaze into his.

Two heartbeats pass and he presses into you, his cock invading your soaking walls. The stretch feels so fucking good, you’re so horny for him.

Jeongin is the one that has the harder time keeping his eyes open, his pupils are blown out. His jaw drops in a strained moan, face screwing up almost painfully with how much pleasure is coursing through his veins.

His hips stutter a few times until he bottoms out.

“Holy fuck,” he whines. His hands clenched into fists next to your head. 

“You feel so fucking good, Jeongin,” you praise him, your own voice is fucked out. 

“I’m not going to last,” he cries and buries his face into the crook of your neck.

“Don’t worry about me,’ you coo.

His hips buck again and he whimpers into your skin. 

“Jeongin,” you call to him and he lifts his head. His hair is so ruffled and messy, lips are swollen and wet, cheeks covered in a permanent blush. “Fuck me until you cum.”

His eyes roll back in his head and his hips pull out and slam right back into yours. Both of you cry out, your back arches.

Jeongin continues to fuck into you at a sloppy, harsh pace. His eyebrows furrow in concentration. He looks down at your tits bouncing with each thrust, his head dips down and he takes one of your nipples into his mouth.

“Jeongin!” you cry out and arch into him. He moans around your nipple, biting it gently and rolling it with your teeth.

His thrusts are getting frantic.

He pulls off your tit with a pop and comes up to your face.

“Need you to cum with me,” he murmurs before capturing your lips. “Need it, need it, fuck! I need it, Y/N!”

“Give me your hand.”

He balances his weight on one of his hands and holds out his other one. You guide him down to your folds and press his long, beautiful fingers against your clit.

“Mmmm…” you moan when you guide him to rub in circular motions.

He feels you clench around him and he whimpers into your open mouth. 

“Just like that, Jeongin.” you rasp. “Keep that up and I’ll cum on your cock.”

“Jesus.” 

He rubs faster in some moments, slower in the others. His mind is swimming in the clouds. Everything feels so fucking good. 

Your whines get louder and louder, each one more higher pitched than the last.

“Close, close, close…” you breathe out against his lips. “Hah!”

Thank god. He’s been this close to blowing his load for the last four minutes, but he needed to feel you. He needed it.

“Yes, Jeongin! Yes!”

His thrusts get harder, his rubbing on your clit matches the timing. 

You reach around his back and scratch your nails up his back.

“Come on, Y/N.” he whines. “Cum for me, Y/N. Need to feel you cum around me.”

Your pussy clenches down on him impossibly tight, your head is thrown backwards and your mouth stretches open in a silent scream.

It throws him over the edge, he spills into you with one of the most feral noises he’s ever made in his life. It tears from deep within his chest.

He cums forever, painting your insides white. 

Jeongin buries his face in the crook of your neck as you both come back down to Earth. Your heavy breathing fans out over his back.

One of your hands starts rubbing up and down his naked skin. It’s warm and inviting and he wants to curl into it forever.

He eventually pulls his face away from your neck and looks down at you with stars in his eyes.

“Good?” you ask.

Jeongin laughs and leans down, pressing a kiss to your nose. “It was perfect.”

“Promise?”

“Cross my heart.”

[swan-of-sunrise]

...Is Love, Sweet Love (Part II)

Summary: Eight months later, (Y/N) and her daughter Molly have settled in well at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, with (Y/N) teaching a Classical Literature class and six-year-old Molly taking courses while learning more about her telepathic skills. Charles, having fallen head over heels for the school's new professor, debates whether or not to act upon his feelings.

Pairing: Charles Xavier X F!Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: Yes, I know, it's slightly unhinged to write a Part II to a one-shot that I published over 2 years ago, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head and here's what I came up with! Again, "What The World Needs Now Is Love" by Jackie DeShannon partially inspired this fic, so you should totally give it a listen if you haven't heard it before :)

…Is Love, Sweet Love May 1980 Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, Westchester (Previous Chapter)

Despite living in his family’s mansion for the majority of his life and spending countless hours of his childhood eagerly exploring its sprawling grounds, Charles Xavier hadn’t truly grown to appreciate the tranquility that the estate provided until he’d re-started Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. The sight of young mutants happily playing on the playground and partaking in group sports without feeling the need to hide their differences away brought a smile to Charles’ face, and the cheerful laughter of his students paired with the beautiful spring sunshine inspired him to once again enjoy his lunch outside with a good book…although, it was difficult to deny that he spent far more time listening in on Professor (Y/L/N)’s nearby Classical Literature class than actually reading his novel.

“Can anyone tell me why the characters of King Lear worship the pagan gods and not any form of Christianity?” (Y/N), who was sitting cross-legged on the grass in front of her small class, arched a brow as she surveyed the silent group of teenagers before her. “C’mon, guys, you know this. We went over the background of the play during our last lecture, and I seem to remember some of you even taking notes…” After a moment, a timid hand went up from the red-headed girl in the front and (Y/N) smiled. “Yes, Jean?”

“The play is set in ancient Britain, long before the arrival of Christianity.”

“Very good, Jean!” Jean Grey’s shoulders relaxed and beside her, her friend Jubilee gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “Now, why would Shakespeare choose to set this play in this specific time period? Think about the time period in which Shakespeare lived, and what the social and political climate in England was like.” A dark-haired boy towards the back of their group raised his hand. “Go ahead, Remy.”

Remy LeBeau lowered his hand and began fiddling with his deck of playing cards as he spoke in his distinct French-Creole accent. “Well, Professor, that was when there was a lil’ trouble brewin’ ‘tween the Catholics and Protestants over there, right? He prob’ly didn’t wanna ruffle any feathers by puttin’ a popular religion in his plays, so he had his characters worship the gods from ol’ Roman mythology; anybody who’d be offended would’ve been long dead, so Willy did what any guy’d do to keep his head on his shoulders.”

Charles smiled to himself as the class laughed and (Y/N)’s lips curved upwards into a reluctant grin. “A little unorthodoxly put, Remy, but you’re absolutely correct. In the play, Lear states that-” She was cut off when the familiar sound of the school bell rang out and her students started to pack their things away. “Remember, on Monday we’ll begin performing your assigned scenes so be sure to work on memorizing your lines with your groups over the weekend. Have a good rest of your day!”

While they laughed and talked amongst themselves, the students headed back towards the mansion for their next class and with a fond smile on her face, (Y/N) looked away from them and finished packing her binders and books into her messenger bag. The novel in Charles’ hand was all but forgotten in favor of admiring his colleague and friend, who’s effortless beauty almost always succeeded in making him stutter over his words and caused him to blush in a way that he hadn’t since he was a schoolboy; she was dressed casually in a striped button-down blouse tucked into a faded pair of high-waisted jeans and well-worn Birkenstocks, with her (Y/H/C) hair pulled away from her face by a blue headband and her reading glasses dangling around her neck by a colorful beaded chain. Charles took in all of her striking figure, but it was her content smile and the happy gleam in her (Y/E/C) eyes that made him release a lovelorn sigh and look down at his lap.

Charles was infatuated with Professor (Y/L/N). Well, it perhaps started out as a simple infatuation, back when she’d first arrived on his doorstep pleading for him to help her daughter; her kindness and caring nature in regards to Molly’s safety and well-being was touching, considering how many parents he’d met who were overly eager to pass their mutant children off to a complete stranger just to be rid of them. After hearing their story, he knew that she couldn’t bear to be separated from her five-year-old and so, he asked that she stay and teach at the school to ensure that they would remain together. That was eight months ago and since then, the infatuation had evolved into a full-blown romantic crush; Charles was captivated by (Y/N)’s capacity for compassion, enchanted by her quick wit and natural beauty, in awe of her progressive idealism in regards to mutant rights and more than appreciative of her boundless consideration in regards to his disability.

Yes, Charles was enamored by his school’s newest professor, but he was also plagued by insecurity. The last woman he was romantically involved with was Agent Moira MacTaggert of the CIA, all the way back in 1962 when he was a dashing young man who’d just earned his doctorate and possessed an egotistical streak wider than the English Channel; nowadays, his ego was tempered and his youthful good looks were beginning to give way to wrinkles and streaks of silver. While a ten-year age gap between two consenting adults was hardly an insurmountable obstacle to a happy relationship, a part of him couldn’t help but think that (Y/N) would be happier with someone younger than him. Both Alex and Hank thought that he was overthinking the situation, and perhaps they were right but whenever he started to consider asking her out, that little voice of doubt whispered on in the back of his mind.

“Hi Charles!”

Looking up, Charles’ face reflexively broke out into a grin when he saw (Y/N) approaching the bench he’d parked his wheelchair beside. “Hello, (Y/N)! Holding your classes outside today, I see?”

“It’s such a beautiful day, so you could hardly blame me for taking full advantage of it.” The professor adjusted the strap of her messenger bag and tilted her head as a teasing smile played across her cherry-red lips. “Enjoying your lunch outside today, I see?”

“Touché, Professor,” Charles chuckled, slipping his bookmark into his novel to mark his place and tucking it into his wheelchair’s saddle pack. “Hank seems to believe that my vitamin D levels are too low, so I decided that eating outside was the quickest way to get our resident worrywart off of my back. Not only did I soak up plenty of sun, I had the added pleasure of listening in on your fantastic lesson on Shakespeare’s King Lear; no offense to the Bard, but it’s refreshing to see an Classical Literature professor teach her students about one of his historical plays instead of one of his romances.”

(Y/N) shrugged nonchalantly, but the way she began to fiddle with her pendant revealed the bashfulness she was attempting to mask. “Well, I remember what it was like being fourteen; you’re around the same age as Romeo and Juliet, yes, but you don’t know a damn thing about love and it’s not easy to understand why they do the things they do.”

“As a former fourteen-year-old, I heartily concur. At that age, I could scarcely understand myself let alone an emotion as complex as love, no matter how beautifully Shakespeare described it,” Charles replied, looking out across the manicured grounds as he recited, “‘My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep-’”

“‘-The more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite,’” (Y/N) finished and when their eyes met, Charles’ heart fluttered and he could feel his face beginning to warm; his brows rose in surprise when the professor hastily turned her head to try and hide her besotted smile, a flicker of hope igniting within him at the sight. “I, um, I-I should go and find Molly…”

“She’s at the playground with Alex’s second graders. Speaking of which, I need to speak with Alex about tomorrow’s scheduled book delivery…” Charles awkwardly cleared his throat before giving (Y/N) a tentative smile. “Would you allow me to escort you there?”

(Y/N)’s own smile widened at that. “Of course!”

While Charles wheeled himself along the stone pathway and (Y/N) kept in step with him, they eagerly discussed the school’s ongoing library expansion and all the new books they’d obtained for the students; any progress made at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters filled him with a sense of accomplishment, but expanding his ancestral home’s library was one of his greatest desires and he was thrilled that the children would soon have access to more knowledge than many of the country’s best private schools and universities. (Y/N) was just as excited about the expansion as he was, and he couldn’t help but admire the enthusiasm written across her beautiful features while he listened to her talk about all the lesson plans she’d brainstormed involving their new books.

They reached the playground sooner than Charles would’ve preferred, but his disappointment was set aside by the sight and sound of his school’s youngest students happily entertaining themselves on the elaborate structure; so many of them came from broken homes and were sent away without any second thoughts by families that couldn’t care less about them and while Charles couldn’t change their heartbreaking pasts, he did all in his power to give each and every one of his students a loving home and bright, promising futures. For the first time, I find myself truly understanding the blinding rage that fills Erik in regards to mutant rights, he thought with an inward grimace before glancing over at (Y/N) and smiling as the human woman affectionately watched her mutant daughter play, but that doesn’t mean that I’ve lost my faith in humanity’s innate goodness.

“Hi Mommy!” Molly exclaimed from the top of the structure, a toothy grin stretching across her face as she gave them both an enthusiastic wave. “Hi Professor ‘Zavier!”

“Hi Molly-Bear!” (Y/N) called back while a beaming Charles returned the little girl’s wave with one of his own. He’d always maintained that a good professor shouldn’t have favorites, but no one would blame him if he came out and admitted that Molly (Y/L/N) was – hands down – his favorite student; she was as exuberant and carefree as any human six year old, but her mutant abilities as a psychometric telepath meant that she was more insightful and tended to see the world around her with sage eyes. In truth, Molly reminded him so much of himself when he was a child and knowing first-hand how challenging having telepathic abilities at that age can be, he was grateful that he could help her by teaching her how to control and accept her gifts.

While Charles scanned the playground for Alex, he caught (Y/N) looking over at him and the tender expression on her face nearly took his breath away; she quickly looked away and pretended to adjust the fasteners of her messenger bag, but not before Charles noticed the glimmer of affection in her gorgeous (Y/E/C) eyes. A familiar whistle cut through his racing thoughts and when he glanced over, he spotted Alex leaning against a light pole that bordered the playground; a knowing smirk curved across the younger man’s face, widening as he brought a hand up to his temple and wiggled his fingers to signal for Charles to read his mind.

“I told you so.”

“Alex…”

“(Y/N)’s into you, Charles, and you’re clearly into her. So, what’re you gonna do about it?”

After taking a steadying breath and running an anxious hand through his hair, Charles cleared his suddenly dry throat and hesitantly spoke. “(Y/N)?” The professor looked over at him expectantly and his finger drifted upwards to loosen his shirt’s collar while he clumsily continued. “I, ah…well, I-I was wondering if I…(Y/N), would you and Molly care to join me for dinner sometime? There’s a wonderful Italian restaurant in Salem Center and a little movie theater just down the street from it that I think you’ll enjoy…”

(Y/N) blinked, looking dumbfounded but slightly hopeful as she took a moment to find her voice. “Charles, are you asking me out on a date?”

Charles nodded and offered her the barest of smiles. “Over the past few months, I’ve grown…immensely fond of you; I wake up every morning looking forward to our usual discussions over breakfast, I find myself spending far too much time styling my hair and picking out what to wear in the hopes that you’ll take note and every time you smile at me, my heart skips a beat.” The professor shyly smiled at that and he couldn’t help but lightly chuckle, the weight in his chest already feeling lighter with each confession he uttered. “Yes, just like that.”

“And you…you wouldn’t mind Molly coming along?”

The anxiety that filled (Y/N)’s eyes as she awaited his answer nearly shattered Charles’ heart; based on what little she’d disclosed to him about her past, he knew that she’s struggled with dating as a single mother and he could only imagine how disillusioned with romance she’d become as a result. “Of course not, (Y/N),” He softly replied and in a bold move, he reached forward and took her hand in his. “You two are a team, after all; Molly is your entire world, and I want you to know that I respect that more than anything. It’s also…well, let’s just say that it’s been quite a while since I’ve gone on a date, and I’d…”

“Like to go slow?” (Y/N) gently offered and when Charles wordlessly nodded, she gave him the smallest of smiles before looking over her shoulder and calling out, “Molly? Sweetheart, can you come here for a second, please?” After coming down the slide, Molly skipped over to them and the professor knelt down so that they were eye-level, her hand still holding onto his. “Professor Xavier wanted to know if he could take us out for dinner and a movie. Does that sound all right to you, Molly-Bear?”

The little girl’s head tilted to the side as her (Y/E/C) eyes studied Charles, and he was forced to mask his amused chuckle with a cough when she brought a mitten-clad hand up to her mother’s ear. “Like on a date?” Molly loudly whispered, and (Y/N) pursed her lips to keep from chuckling as she nodded; her daughter lowered her hand to reveal her excited smile and she gave her mother an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “Sounds good to me!” Molly looked back at Charles with a conspiratorial giggle. “Mommy likes you, Professor ‘Zavier.”

Charles arched a playful brow as his eyes flicked between the embarrassed elder (Y/L/N) and the beaming younger (Y/L/N). “She does, does she?”

“Mm-hmm, she likes your eyes and your smile and your hair and your-”

“Okay, young lady, that’s enough out of you,” (Y/N) hastily interrupted, tickling her daughter’s neck with both hands and smiling when she shrieked with laughter and scurried back to the playground. Shaking her head in fond exasperation, she stood and glanced back at Charles, who was trying and failing to muffle his laughter. “Well, I guess that settles it. Does six o’clock this Friday work for you?”

He emphatically nodded. “Yes, of course, it’s perfect!” He felt himself begin to blush at his obvious enthusiasm, and it was (Y/N)’s turn to chuckle as he awkwardly cleared his throat and tried again. “…I-I mean, Friday at six o’clock works for me.”

“Good. I guess that Molly and I will see you then.” The professor turned to walk away but took Charles by surprise when she turned back around and bashfully smiled at him. “I’ve…I’ve grown immensely fond of you too, Charles.”

Before he could say or do anything, she’d bent down and pressed a feather-light kiss onto his cheek, an infatuated gleam in her (Y/E/C) eyes as she flashed him one last smile and left to meet her daughter on the playground. A broad grin slowly spread across Charles’ face and while he watched her walk away, he leaned an elbow onto his wheelchair’s armrest and rested the side of his head against his palm, releasing a love-struck sigh and barely taking note of the familiar figure that moved to stand beside him.

“See what happens when you actually take my advice?”

Charles straightened his posture and glanced over at Alex, who was wearing the smuggest of smiles on his faces as he stared back at him. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re an impertinent ass, Alex Summers?”

Alex’s smirk widened. “Heard it all my life. So, when’s the big date?”

“This Friday at six o’clock. And since you and Hank have taken such a keen interest in my love life, I’ll be requiring your assistance on Friday.” The younger man quickly sobered and with a grin of his own, Charles chuckled and patted his arm. “There’s a good chap. Now, about tomorrow’s book delivery…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Although it was a far cry from the hazy evenings spent at Oxford’s many lively pubs and in the company of the college’s most flirtatious female students, Charles’ date with (Y/N) and Molly was undoubtedly the most enjoyable one he’d ever been on. He’d met the mother and daughter in the mansion’s foyer with two bouquets in his hands – daisies for Molly and vibrant pink roses for (Y/N) – and he happily watched them admire their flowers while simultaneously hiding the fact that he was studying (Y/N)’s figure; the professor was wearing a knee-length yellow dress with long billowing sleeves, a bright pink sash tied around her waist and matching high heels, and her carefully styled hair was pulled back by a pink headband. She was beautiful, far too beautiful to be going out with the likes of him, but his fears of inadequacy were quickly alleviated when she looked over at him and smiled.

Hank and Alex drove the three of them to Salem Center in Charles’ maroon 1959 Jaguar Mark IX, the pair of them opting to stay in town and catch a showing of the newly-released The Empire Strikes Back while they dined at La Mensa. Sensing Molly’s apprehension with being around so many non-mutant strangers, Charles distracted her by playing ‘tic-tac-toe’ and ‘hangman’ with her on her paper place-mat and (Y/N) threw him a grateful look as she asked her daughter about her schoolwork; while they enjoyed their food, (Y/N) entertained them with stories of her students’ antics and after some goading by Molly, she even balanced a spoon on the end of her nose much to her daughter and Charles’ delight. After dinner, they made their way down the street to the small movie theater and while many of its patrons were queued up to watch the latest Star Wars film, the three of them decided on watching the re-release of Disney’s Lady and the Tramp; Molly adored the classic cartoon and while Charles was impartial to the film, he thoroughly enjoyed exchanging enamored glances with (Y/N) over the little girl’s head.

Molly fell asleep on the drive home, cuddling against her mother’s side as she lovingly brushed her fingers through her daughter’s (Y/H/C) hair. In low whispers, (Y/N) assured Charles that Molly had a wonderful time and that she hadn’t seen the little girl so happy since before she’d come into her mutation; although aware that Hank and Alex were clearly eavesdropping from their front seats, Charles quietly asked her if she’d care for a quick nightcap in his study after putting Molly to bed, and he was thrilled when she readily accepted his invitation. When they arrived back at the mansion, (Y/N) carried the still-sleeping Molly inside, but not before giving Charles one last smile as he maneuvered into his outside wheelchair.

“So…” Hank arched a curious brow as he walked beside Charles’ wheelchair and steadied it when they reached the top of the ramp, where Alex was waiting with his motorized indoor wheelchair. “How was it?”

“Charming, but I could’ve done without the rather offensive Asian and Italian stereotypes-”

“Not the movie, Charles, the date,” Alex interrupted and when Charles chuckled in amusement at his friends, he leaned a shoulder against the doorway and crossed his arms over his chest. “C’mon, you finally ask out the woman you’ve been head over heels for and you’re not gonna give your two best friends the four-one-one?”

Shaking his head in faux exasperation, Charles shifted himself into his motorized wheelchair and arranged his legs as he airily answered, “(Y/N), Molly and I ate a truly magnificent meal at La Mensa that we followed up by watching a classic Disney film at the movie theater. What more is there to say?”

Alex heaved a sigh but moved to allow Charles to wheel himself into the mansion. “A little help here, Hank?”

“Oh, he’s having far too much fun messing with us to stop.” The scientist tucked his hands into his jacket pockets while a mischievous smirk played on his lips. “But speaking as the school’s resident genius, I couldn’t help but notice the good professor clearly checking (Y/N) out before we left and blushing when she smiled at him just now.”

A reluctant blush warmed Charles’ cheeks at that. “Don’t you two perverts have morning classes to prepare for?”

“Tomorrow’s Saturday, lover boy,” Alex smugly countered, nudging Hank’s arm with his elbow as they walked beside Charles’ wheelchair down the vacant hall to his study. “Well, Beast, there’s no doubt about it: Charles here’s got it bad for our lovely Professor (Y/L/N).”

When they reached his study’s door, Charles nudged it open and wheeled himself inside, but not before giving both men a look of genuine sincerity. “Thank you, for your assistance tonight and for your encouragement; the pair of you can occasionally be a pain in the ass, but tonight couldn’t have happened without you.”

Hank’s smile softened. “You’re welcome, Charles. We’re just happy that we succeeded in making you do something selfish for once.”

“Yeah, you’ve helped us both out so much over the years and it was high-time we returned the favor,” Alex added as he clapped Charles on the shoulder, his earnest expression morphing into a knowing smirk while he continued. “Enjoy your nightcap with (Y/N), and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, lover boy.”

“Oh, and don’t forget protection!”

“Goodnight, gentlemen.”

Chuckling, Alex and Hank left the study and closed the door behind them; after pausing for a moment to take a calming breath, Charles wheeled himself over to the oak cabinet near his cluttered desk and unlocked it, pulling out a glass decanter of scotch and two glasses and setting them down on the coffee table. He bit his lip as his eyes surveyed the messy state of his study, cursing himself for not tidying up earlier, but a part of him knew that (Y/N) wasn’t the type to mind a little clutter; she liked to joke that the best professors had the messiest studies because they spent all their time teaching instead of worrying about how others perceive them. It was the good manners instilled in him from birth that saw him gathering stacks of loose papers, binders and leather-bound books and unceremoniously shoving them behind his desk before lifting himself out of his wheelchair to sit on the couch; with nothing else to distract himself from the anxious anticipation building up within him, Charles plucked the maple-colored queen off the chessboard and nimbly twirled it around his fingers as he waited for (Y/N).

Minutes later, there was a quiet knock on the door of his study and after scrambling to straighten up his chessboard, Charles called out, “Come in!” The door opened and (Y/N) stepped into the room, her gentle smile widening when she spotted him seated on the couch. “How’s Molly?”

“Out like a light.” (Y/N) crossed the room and sat on the couch beside him, her fingers playing with the flowing yellow material of her dress’ skirt as Charles poured their drinks. “She wanted me to tell you that she had a really fun time tonight, and she wanted me to thank you.”

“She’s been working so hard these past few months to complete her schoolwork and training, so if anyone deserves to have a little fun it’s undoubtedly her,” Charles replied, a surge of fondness for his youngest student and her kindheartedness bringing a smile to her face as he turned to (Y/N) and offered her a glass of the amber-colored liquid. “As do you, Professor.”

Accepting the glass, (Y/N) hummed thoughtfully before holding it up and angling it towards him. “In that case…to having fun.”

“To having fun,” Charles repeated, lightly clinking his glass of scotch against hers and taking a sip, his eyes appreciatively roaming along the professor’s figure while she took a sip of the strong liquor. “Do you like it? It’s top shelf scotch whiskey, all the way from Scotland.”

(Y/N) arched a playful brow as she crossed her leg over her knee and angled herself to face him. “Expensive, imported liquor? Are you trying to impress me, Professor?”

“Well, that all depends…” Following his instincts, Charles set his glass down and rested his elbow on the couch’s back cushion, his lips curving into a playful grin. “Is it working?”

Her (Y/E/C) eyes softened and after setting her own glass down, she rested one of her hands on his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Charles, I was impressed by you before the top shelf scotch, before the fancy Italian restaurant, and before I ever laid eyes on this beautiful mansion.” His brow furrowed in confusion but she merely smiled and rubbed small circles along his knuckles with her thumb. “Eight months ago, the letter that I sent you asking for help with Molly was my Hail Mary; I had nowhere to go and no way to protect my daughter from the people who hated her for who she was, so I decided to write to the one person I knew could help her. And when you sent me a letter back – that incredibly kind and empathetic letter – you gave me hope, hope that I hadn’t felt in so long. So, you see? You managed to impress me before we’d even met, Charles Xavier.”

Charles, touched by her sincerity and feeling a little emotional, reached forward with his free hand and carefully cradled her warm cheek in his palm. “Oh, my darling (Y/N)…you’re not the only one who’s had their hope restored; I gave up any hope for romance not long after I lost my legs, choosing to focus my attention on the school and my fellow mutants. Over these past several months, however, you helped me to see that there was still hope.” His thumb traced along her cheekbone as he smiled and slowly began to lean in. “And now, I would very much like to kiss you, (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

(Y/N)’s smile widened. “I’d like that very much as well, I just…” He could feel her cheek flush beneath his touch, and a look of embarrassment flashed across her face. “God, it’s been so long since I’ve done anything like this. Would it be silly to say that I’ve got butterflies in my stomach?”

“Not at all, darling. Truth be told, I’m a little nervous myself,” Charles murmured, his eyes flicking away from hers to stare at her enticing lips before glancing back up. “The last time I kissed a woman was in 1962, so you’ll have to forgive me if my technique has gotten slightly rusty over the past eighteen years.”

“Well, we won’t know unless we give it a go, will we?” (Y/N) breathed and her (Y/E/C) eyes burned with desire as they both inched closer. “Charles, dear…please kiss me.”

Wanting nothing more than to please the professor, Charles’ eyes fluttered closed as he tentatively brushed his lips against hers. (Y/N) wasted no time in returning the kiss, kissing him softly and sweetly as her hand left his to rest on the back of his head, her fingers tangling in his hair and eliciting a blissful groan from him; with one hand still cupping her cheek, he rested the other on her waist but soon found himself winding his arm around her in an effort to bring her closer. (Y/N)’s lips were soft and oh so addictive, slowly but firmly caressing against his as her fingers carded through his locks, and Charles surrendered himself over to the woman wrapped in his embrace.

Eventually, they were forced to separate for some much-needed air, the both of them out of breath and almost dizzy from their impromptu make-out session; Charles felt a surge of pride as he took in (Y/N)’s kiss-swollen lips, heaving chest and the dazed smile on her face, and he couldn’t resist leaning forward to lightly rub his nose against hers. When he pulled back, he huffed out a breathless chuckle at the incredulous look that she was giving him. “That’s a rusty technique?”

“Mm-hmm. Dreadful, wasn’t it?”

(Y/N) giggled at his joking question and pretended to consider it. “You know, I think I need another example before I can definitively say.” They both laughed but when Charles moved in for another kiss, a sharp twinge in his lower back caused him to recoil with a hiss of pain. “Charles, are you okay?!”

He mutely nodded, his eyes squeezed shut as he straightened his posture and leaned his back against the plush couch cushions. “I’m fine, it’s just a muscle spasm.”

“Is it…?” (Y/N) trailed off and when Charles finally opened his eyes as the pain began to fade, he could see the worry written across her face. “Is it because of your spinal cord injury?”

“That, and I’m afraid that I’m getting on in years; I’m not as young and spritely as I was in 1962.” Instead of stammering out a string of apologies and getting up to leave as Charles feared she would, the corner of (Y/N)’s lips curved upwards into a lopsided grin that left him slightly confused. “(Y/N)?”

The professor shifted closer to him. “Did you know that Molly’s father was fourteen years older than me?” Charles’ brow rose in surprise and he silently shook his head, watching as she reached over and brushed a lock of hair behind his ear. “You could say that I’ve always had a thing for older men…” Before he could think of something witty to say, (Y/N) swung her leg over his to straddle his lap and rested her hands on either side of his face; Charles couldn’t help but grin and, inspired by her delectable boldness, he placed his hands on her waist to hold her securely to him, his grin widening as her breath hitched. “Go ahead and read my mind if you don’t believe me, but it’s true.”

Shaking his head, Charles rested his head on the back of the couch so that he was staring up at her, softly smiling as one of his hands traveled upwards to cradle her cheek. “I believe you, darling. Would it be too sappy to say that I don’t want this night to end?”

“Not at all, dear,” (Y/N) shook her head before closing the distance between them and captured his lips in another passionate kiss; when they finally broke apart, she rested her forehead against his and returned his blissful smile with one of her own. “We can make this work, can’t we? Balance the two of us with running the school and raising Molly?”

“I believe that you and I can do just about anything, so long as we’re together,” Charles replied, his thumb and forefinger moving to guide her chin forward and pouring all his emotions into another kiss; there was no place on Earth he’d rather be than in the arms of the lovely Classical Literature professor who’d captured his heart and judging by the way she kissed him back, it was clear that she was thinking something along the same lines.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I had so much fun dipping my toes back into the Fox X-Men Universe (I still have a massive thing for 80's Charles Xavier and his flowing brown hair lol) and I loved that I finally resolved Charles and (Y/N)'s mutual attraction with this cute Part II! I may or may not have a few ideas for a possible Part III, so let me know if you'd be interested in reading more! Thank you all so much for reading and enjoying!

Story Tag List: @mostlymarvelgirl @holb32 @f1uveryysblog Marvel Tag List: @brooke0297​​​​ @deadlymistletoe Permanent Tag List:​ @momc95​​​​ @crowleysqueenofhell​​​ @groovy-lady​ @yasmin12312

[raven-cincaide]

A Little More Than Twenty Minutes 

Summary: Woken up by your commotion in the bathroom, Megumi assumed you had just gotten your period and was prepared to act like a grown man by starting laundry and getting breakfast up. What he didn’t expect was to find something that would shake his entire world upside down while making him act like a literal man-child. In his defence, he just needed a little more than twenty minutes to make a life-altering decision..

Pairing: Fem! Reader x Megumi Fushiguro (aged up) Prompt: Back to the basics → 6. Rash decisions  Warnings: Cursing, established relationship, Themes concerning female reproduction (period etc). 

You were not as discreet as you thought you were. Like a baby elephant, you stirred Megumi awake with the commotion you caused in the bathroom: a curse, a smash, something clattered against the floor, followed by another curse and a low ‘duns’ of skin against the tiles. As you dropped something again and prayed you hadn’t disturbed his sleep, Megumi’s annoyance shifted towards adoration. 

No, stealth was never really your forte. But he would be lying if he said he hated it. It made his apartment feel alive, chased away the darkness of solitude and transformed the four walls into a home.

Groaning under his breath, Megumi turned onto his side, eyes sliding shut. It was some godforsaken hour- the sun barely rolled over the horizon, and he deemed it too early to roll out of bed. Too early even for him. Just as he was about to doze off again, he heard the click of the bathroom lock, followed by the hinges’ loud groan. Fuck, he had forgotten to oil them yesterday. Again. He heard you push the door open as wide as it would go, the handle hiding the wall behind in obvious frustration, and he breathed out a little deeper. That one was on him. 

He promised himself he would oil it the first thing after getting up. 

Megumi expected to feel the bed dip and have you back securely in his arms for another hour; two, could you persuade him to skip breakfast with his team and just meet them directly on the training grounds? 

Instead, he heard the ruffling of clothes. Instantly, Megumi frowned. You were off duty today; yesterday’s late-night mission filled your quota for the week. You had no plans to be social, let alone get out of bed before noon. 

Then, a lightbulb moment struck him; was it your time of the month again? 

Hearing you grab your keys before quietly slipping out of the front door, Megumi let out an audible groan. He counted to ten in his head, then sat up. His body ached in protest, and his eyes blinked lazily, trying to chase away the reminisce of sleep. Running a hand through his messy hair, he willed his body to move out of bed. If it was your period, the least he could do was throw the sheets in the washer and start on breakfast—small things to make your shitty day a little easier.

Boxers on bedding off, he headed to the bathroom with a loud yawn. Two steps to the right, he shoved the well-used sheets into the washer. Detergent in; then softener. Goddamn it, he always had to spill some on his hands. Pinkie out, he twisted the knob awkwardly, pressed a button, another button, ‘confirm’, and the sound of water filled the bathroom. Smirking in triumph over the minor victory of not making a complete mess everywhere, Megumi turned towards the sink and began washing his hands. His thought was already on the next thing; a much-needed piss, then tackling the ever-daunting question; what to cook for breakfast?

Undoubtedly,–Bacon and eggs were easy, but they’d likely get cold by the time you got back and settled to eat; full Japanese took too long. Maybe pancakes to satisfy your sweet– “What the?” During the first spin cycle, Megumi’s eyes landed on an unfamiliar, long white object shaken out from underneath the washer. Undoubtedly, it was one of the things you had dropped and forgotten all about. 

“Clumsy”, he sighed, leaned down to grab the back of the white and blue plastic stick, and pulled it out and up towards the sink. Then he froze, his sleepy mind catching up and realising what he was actually holding. A plastic stick, white on one end, blue on the other, and a tiny screen in the middle. Minus for not pregnant, plus for pregnant. Two lines, although faint, were still two lines. 

Positive. Pregnant. 

Megumi’s body froze; his mind raced. Undoubtedly, you left for another pregnancy test, not tampon. Shit. The closest 7/Eleven was ten minutes away. But he doubted you’d go there in case one of your classmates was working the graveyard shift. The last thing you needed was for rumours to spread before you both had come to terms with the news. It wasn’t like Yuji could keep his trap shut, and Nobara would be on you both like a hawk. No, knowing you, you’d head down to the more anonymous one by the train station. So about fifteen minutes until you got back, twenty if there was a queue or you took the test in their bathroom. 

Twenty minutes to decide how to act. Within twenty minutes, he would either shower you with affection or take you to the abortion clinic. Twenty fucking minutes to choose between becoming a dad or becoming the same deadbeat his father was. But he wasn’t the kind, nurturing type, and how was Megumi even supposed to know, learn and become all that a kid needed amidst his busy schedule? In between protecting people, becoming a great sorcerer, classes and all that? Did he even have the time and money for that? But this could be yours- and his- only chance, a little voice spoke up in his mind. There was no knowing which mission would finally take his life- or yours for that matter- would either of you be okay with missing your possibly-only chance at a family?

A feeling of dread pooled in his stomach; what if he warmed up to one option, got his hopes up, and then you’d be dead set on the opposite? What if he had misread you, and you had already gone to the clinic alone? What if you had already aborted the child, taking the matter- and the choice- right out of his hands? What if—

Megum’s fist made contact with the bathroom tiles. The pain shooting through his arm did little to calm his racing mind, but at least he wasn’t spiralling completely anymore. Grasping on the edges of reality and the situation in front of him, his tactical mind came to the bitter realization that he didn’t have enough time. No, twenty minutes was far too little for him to make a life-altering decision. And he hated that the answer wasn’t obvious to him, that it wasn’t like in the movies where it was an obvious ‘yes’ keep or ‘no’ abort. Instead, it was much more complicated and required him to consider and reconsider every single aspect of himself, his priorities and ultimately you: what he wanted out of a relationship with you, a not-so-serious couple that would surely break up in a few years for greener pastures, or a wife- a lifetime partner?

Megumi hated himself as he spun on his heel out of the bathroom, forgetting all about needing a piss, the earlier thoughts of laundry or even the screeching bathroom door. Haphazardly, he threw on his uniform, stuffing the test into his pocket like a guilty thief. Mismatched socks, then shoes. He grabbed his keys, forgetting to lock the door, and rushed down the stairs, two at a time. Desperate to leave before you caught him in his messy glory and read right through him. He couldn’t afford that, not when his thoughts were this dishevelled. 

Megumi knew it was cowardly to run away from his problems. He promised up and down that he would come back and deal with it all like an adult, like a man. He just needed a little more than twenty minutes to come to a decision..

Author note:For someone who always acts cold, calculating, aloof and a little angry but also extremely mature and independent,  and who I expected doesn’t give a rats ass about periods by treating them as something ‘natural’ I wanted to try and write something that showed a more.. childish side of Megumi. A side where he gets so wrapped up in his mind to the point he stops thinking altogether. And what better way to show that than with a pregnancy scare? A cheap trick, I know. But still, I hope it was worth the read.

And for those of you who recognize this, yes, it’s a repost from months ago. But I still like this fic and I am sure most of my new followers haven’t seen it. So with that, I hope you enjoyed. 

~ Raven 

Main |Raven | Rules and Requests | Masterlist | Other

All fics are unique works by ©raven-cincaide 2024. Do not copy/repost/translate or spread my work(s) without my explicit permission. If you see any of my work(s) reworked/reposted/copied anywhere, please inform me!

[snowball-doie]

| pairing: Mark x gn!Reader

| info: 18+ MDNI. mostly safe for work except the last point.

| bf!mark who gets jealous when you talk about yuta's braids during the fact check era

| bf!mark who shows you pictures of the times he braided his hair before you two started dating, just because he doesn't want you to talk about yuta anymore, he just wants you to focus on him

| bf!mark who starts to grow out his hair again for you

| bf!mark who makes sure you notice his long hair by asking to borrow your brush even though his is perfectly fine, he takes you shopping to get new hair care products, and he's saying things like, "it looks healthier than the last time i grew it out. you must be my lucky charm."

| bf!mark who starts curling his hair so that you stare at him for long periods of time-- he grins whenever he catches you and you try to look away in order to feign innocence

| bf!mark who's caught off guard when the two of you are cuddling while watching a movie and you start twirling his hair and even lazily braiding the ends

| bf!mark who makes it his life's mission to have you braid his hair for one of his shows, because even if he can't tell the world that he loves you so much it twists his stomach to be away from you, he wants to show off your work to the world

| bf!mark who complains about his long hair being in his face during practices until you oh-so-kindly offer to braid his hair to help him out. how kind of you!

| bf!mark who grins to himself while he's sitting on the floor in front of you as you braid his hair around his scalp before putting it into a small, cute ponytail for him

| bf!mark who goes, "oh, and i have these, too," before handing you cute charms to stick into his hair. "for the fans." but it's not for them, it's for you

| bf!mark who knows he won when he gets off stage and you beg to have some alone time with him

| bf!mark who mutters a million different ways to say he loves you when you're pulling at his long, braided hair while he's thrusting into you

[moonlinos]

Invisible string (pt. I)

♡ Pairing: Lee Minho × fem!reader / Hwang Hyunjin × fem!reader

♡ Synopsis: With your terrible history of boyfriends during high school, you swore off love and vowed to get through university without a relationship. Things are great: you’re in your junior year, in an uncomplicated arrangement with a friend with benefits, and living in a nice sharehouse with two amazing roommates. But things begin to change once you meet Lee Minho, a student in your new class who vows to change your perspective on love.

♡ Genre: A ‘lite version’ of a soulmate AU, fluff, eventual smut, light angst, pining, jealousy, strangers to friends to lovers, friends with benefits

♡ CW: Swearing, sexual themes and discussions, mentions of anxiety/panic attacks, alcohol consumption, mentions of smoking

♡ Word count: 16.4k

♡ A/N: This is a three-part story because I can’t shut up. The second part will be posted sometime next week, and I’ll link it here. I’ve been writing all my life and have written for maaaany fandoms, but being on Tumblr as an active reader of SKZ fics made me want to write for them. So, yeah, guess this is what I’m doing now.

part II →

You are woken up by Hyunjin shifting beside you on the bed. He groans, arm reaching to mess with your already closed curtains. You chuckle.

“You know, the curtains won’t close any more than that.”

“I keep telling you your bed is in a terrible position,” He grumbles as you turn to face him with a smile. “Who thought placing a bed right under a window would be a good idea? Mornings are fucking hell here.”

You shrug. “Well, it’s not my house so I didn’t exactly have a say in that matter.”

“I told you a million times I could help you move it.”

“And I told you a million times Mrs. Choi doesn’t like for us to mess with her furniture,” You explain, turning under the sheets so you could face him before bringing your fingers up to pinch his cheek. Hyunjin scrunches his nose. “Speaking of which, you need to leave. You know her rule: no—”

“No boyfriends spending more than two days at the house,” He interrupted you with an eye roll. “I’m not your boyfriend, though, so that rule shouldn’t apply.” He shrugs.

Hyunjin has been one of your best friends since you first met over two years ago. It was Hyunjin’s first college party and one of the many times your housemates had dragged you along on a night out. His friends had dared him to try and chat you up, arguing it would be hilarious to see him get turned down by an older girl. What they hadn’t expected, however, was for Hyunjin’s clumsy attempt at flirting to be so endearing to you; his pink cheeks and bowl-cut hair made him look like a helpless kid despite his height towering over you. Before you knew it, you had spent the entirety of the party talking to him about everything and anything, only stopping once your housemate Eunha emerged from inside the house to drag you home with her as she desperately tried to dodge a rather insistent guy’s advances. After that day, you and Hyunjin became almost inseparable.

You can’t quite pinpoint when you began hooking up. It was meaningless in the best sense of the word. It was simply something that had happened. All you can remember is that Jisung had recently bleached Hyunjin’s hair after yet another dare from his friend. It had started with cuddles, which turned to kisses, which turned to touches, until you eventually slept together for the first time sometime last year after an excruciatingly stressful exam period. It had never once gotten weird between the two of you; the line was always clear: you were just friends who hooked up due to convenience. Everybody had needs and stress and shit complicating their lives, and fucking your best friend was far more practical and safe than going out to look for a random hook-up whenever you needed it.

You find yourself smiling at Hyunjin once again. His now long black hair fell in his eyes as he stretched his arms over his head.

“Yes, you’re not my boyfriend, but how am I supposed to explain what we are to a little old lady?”

“Doesn’t she always say she’s super modern?” Hyunjin raises his eyebrows at you with a chuckle. “Maybe she’d like a situationship of her own and you’re depriving her of that by keeping this knowledge to yourself.”

You roll your eyes at his words, attempting to push him off your bed. “Why did you sleep here, anyway?”

Hyunjin sits up on the bed, a pout on his full lips. “I had a shitty date. I was sad and lonely. Glad to know you were paying attention to my story.”

“Hyune,” You sigh, ‘When you tell me said story while fucking me, can I really be blamed for not remembering anything?”

Hyunjin flicks your forehead lightly. “Yes, you can. At this point, it’s like our thing to vent about bad dates during sex,” He argues before getting up from your bed, finding his shirt, which had somehow been thrown over your study desk.

“You mean it’s your thing,” Correcting him, you get up as well, turning to fix up your sheets. “I don’t even go on dates and you know that. The only thing I vent to you about is how awful academic life is.”

Once you turned to face him again, Hyunjin was busy messily tying his hair. His brows promptly furrowed as he took in your words. “Remind me why you literally never leave the house again?”

“Just don’t want to get distracted. Getting my degree is more important than getting a boyfriend.” You lie with a shrug.

Your history with relationships was something you kept secret from everyone you met after high school. You feel embarrassed, as if it was all somehow your fault. After five failed relationships where you had been the one to be broken up with or cheated on, you began to accept that maybe the problem really was you. Maybe something about you makes men want to yell at and cheat on you. Perhaps you are just bound to be a distraction until they find someone better.

Which is why you don’t date.

Would anyone go through the hassle of reading a long, tedious book if they already knew about the bad ending?

Hyunjin rolls his eyes at your answer, crossing his arms over his chest. “Your degree isn’t going to keep you company when you’re eighty and alone.”

“Well, my degree isn’t going to wake up one day and suddenly decide to leave me either,” you refute, earning an annoyed groan from your friend as you walk past him to leave your room.

“You literally never have fun, though. All you do is go to class, work, and study. You should at least pick up a new hobby,” Hyunjin insists as he follows you, walking into the kitchen-living room area. “Go out more, stop avoiding college parties like the plague before it’s too late to experience the joys of watching your friend throw up on some random person’s couch.”

You make a face at the offers, grabbing your mug from the cupboard. “Why would I want to see that? Besides, I have hobbies.”

“I meant a social hobby. Sitting in your room watching fucking iceberg videos isn’t sociable,” He explains, and you let out an aggrieved gasp. Your iceberg videos were educational and entertaining, thank you very much. Behind you, your housemate’s bedroom door opens, and you turn to watch as she stumbles out of her room, looking half-awake. “Soojung, don’t you think she should get a new hobby?” Hyunjin addresses the blonde girl, who stares daggers at him.

“If I say yes, will you two stop speaking so loud?”

Hyunjin slams one hand on the kitchen counter, his other pointing a finger at you. “See, she said yes. You’re outnumbered, now you have to stop spending all your free time holed up inside your room.”

Soojung groans, stepping into the kitchen and shoving Hyunjin to the side. “He’s annoying, but he is kind of right,” she mumbles.

Truthfully, you did feel bad about having essentially wasted three years at university by actively avoiding parties and invitations any chance you got. The only parties you did attend, however, only served as an irritating reminder as to why you shouldn’t put yourself in those situations. Parties and bars only meant desperate college boys. Desperate for sex, for attention, for a potential relationship. For someone’s heart to break. You had met Hyunjin at a party, for fuck’s sake. Who knows just how south things between you two could’ve gone if he had become interested in you romantically?

But, as much as you hate to admit it, Hyunjin is right. Your life is essentially an endless loop of studying and working. You only socialize when your roommates are home, when your few friends come over, and when you and Hyunjin hook up. But you aren’t ready to step out of your comfortable bubble of avoidance, so you settle for the best thing you can think of.

As Hyunjin rummages through your fridge like he lived there and Soojung stirs her coffee blankly, you loudly set your mug down on the counter. “An elective course,” you announce.

The both of them turn to face you with the same puzzled expression.

“The fuck?” Hyunjin questions, and you roll your eyes.

“I’ll take an elective,” you explain matter-of-factly, “The university offers a lot of great courses in things I’m actually interested in. It’ll be a way for me to get out of the house without having to watch a friend of mine puke on a couch or whatever atrocity it is that you said.”

Hyunjin slams the fridge door closed, earning a scolding scream from Soojung, and walks over to where you’re standing. He pulls you into a tight embrace, and you can hear the smile in his voice as he says, “You’re such a fucking nerd, what the fuck, but I’m so glad your hermit life is coming to an end.”

The elective course you choose is Japanese. It’s a language you’ve always been interested in learning, and while you know the class is merely introductory, you figure it will be fun to learn some phrases and expressions. You might even find yourself wanting to learn more in the future, and you’ll undoubtedly be glad you took this class during university.

Even if that means having to endure Hyunjin calling you a weeb.

You are able to begin attending classes a week after signing up; the lessons lining up with your work schedule to a T. The professor explained that, since you had joined the course late, you would likely need some guidance with phrases and words the class had already been taught. You didn’t mind, actually feeling excited in the morning despite your boring routine classes since you knew you would be doing something new you enjoyed in the afternoon instead of simply killing time around your house until it was time for you to work.

You walk into your first class ten minutes late, mentally cursing Eunha for being so good at telling stories about her weirdly entertaining life that it made it physically difficult for you to drag yourself away from her. You mouth a brief apology to your professor before scanning the room and scurrying over to the only available seat. 

You sit down in haste so as to not disrupt the class any further, swinging your bag over your chair and accidentally knocking over your seatmate’s water bottle all over his side of the desk. Luckily, the bottle lands on the soft surface of his notebook, barely making any noise. Unluckily, said bottle had been filled with coffee, staining his notes a faded brown color. You silently gasp, instinctively reaching out your hands to fruitlessly try and dry the pages that are now sticking to each other.

“I am so sorry, what the fuck,” you mutter under your breath as you continue to inspect his notebook frantically. “I’ll buy you a new notebook and another cup of coffee as soon as class ends, I promise,” You whisper to him, your eyes boring holes into the stained pages as you watch the bitter liquid slowly dissolve some of the black ink. At this point, you’re rambling out of nervousness, but you can’t seem to stop, adding, “Hell, I’m so angry at myself for what I did I’d bind you a new notebook and brew you some fresh coffee myself.”

You mentally berate yourself for your word vomit. It was just your luck that you would make someone hate your guts on the first day you attended a class.

After what feels like minutes of silence from him, you are prepared for the imminent burst of rage bound to come your way, the guy’s wrath more than likely stirring inside him as he sits beside you and watches as you foolishly shake the piece of paper, hoping it will miraculously return to its untainted state.

However, what you aren’t prepared for is the small burst of laughter that leaves your seatmate’s lips; it’s quiet, but you’re close enough to him to be able to hear it.

You furrow your brows, finally mustering the courage to look up at him for the first time.

“Did you…” You trail off. You feel a strange sensation inside your chest as your eyes meet his. It was something you had never felt before, a small burst of a fluttering that briskly washed over you before disappearing just as quickly. Like a pinwheel was placed inside of you and a strong wind had suddenly started blowing. You shake your head, returning to the matter at hand. You are probably just experiencing some anxiety due to what has happened, you argue mentally. “Did you just laugh at me?”

As you finally take him in properly, the guy before you looks as dazed as you felt just now, courtesy of your minor panic attack; his lips agape and his round eyes blinking while his dark pupils are fixed on you. You two remain that way for a few seconds in an impromptu staring contest that causes the peculiar feeling to bloom inside your chest once again.

When he finally speaks, his voice is soft. “You… offered to bind a notebook for a stranger,” His lips twitch into a grin. “It was a little funny.”

You open your mouth but promptly close it, unable to come up with an answer that wouldn’t make you appear like more of an idiot than you already do. You sigh. “Sorry,” you mumble, your voice low as well. “I say stupid shit when I’m nervous.”

He waves his hand dismissively. “It’s okay. I’m—”

“You two, on the back,” your professor calls out in a louder voice, however still keeping her calm demeanor. You and your seatmate turn to look at her. “I’m going to teach a few new phrases useful for traveling now. How about you two talk after class? This is actually quite perfect. Minho is one of my best students, so he could help you catch up to where we are.” She offers the two of you a small smile, and you feel your cheeks burn.

This class wasn’t mandatory, and you didn’t need it to get your degree. It is still a class, nonetheless. Ever since high school, you’ve always hated people who disrespect their professors by brazenly talking or sleeping during class.

“I’m sorry, professor,” You muttered. Beside you, your seatmate — Minho, as he was just called — scoots closer to you and whispers something you don’t understand under his breath. You look at him, confused. He chuckles, and you feel his breath on your cheek. It makes the odd fluttering return.

“Gomenasai,” He repeats more clearly, his voice louder, “It’s ‘I’m sorry’ in Japanese.” He offers you a smile, and you soak in just how good-looking he is. Ever since you first raised your head to look at him — when the pinwheel inside your chest rapidly spun and unexplainedly made you feel nervous — you knew he was a handsome guy, but his soft smile and calm eyes made him look even more annoyingly pretty.

Before you’re able to do it yourself, your professor speaks again and pulls you out of your trance.

“In this case, Sumimasen would be a bit more appropriate,” she corrects Minho, who clicks his tongue and mutters something under his breath. The woman chuckles at his reaction. “It’s okay. This is also something you can explain to Y/N after class.”

As the class went on, you couldn’t help but notice how Minho didn’t take any notes. Your mind latched onto how you ruined his notebook and how it was your fault that he couldn’t properly study during today’s class, so you couldn’t find the courage to offer him some paper so he could take notes.

After almost an hour of unrelenting guilt swallowing you up slowly, you place your hand on Minho’s shoulder as soon as the professor announces class is over after assigning the students a small written assignment.

“We could talk outside? If you want,” you offer him, feeling the now-familiar nervousness come back, making your mouth speak faster than your brain can even think to rationalize, “There’s a bench I really like outside this building. It’s a good spot. There’s a nice shade, and it’s secluded enough that people don’t bother me when I’m studying. Or googling how to bind a notebook.”

Minho lets out a brief chuckle. “Okay. I would love to talk on your favorite bench.”

You blink at him. “I don’t have a favorite bench.”

“Hm, it sure sounded like it. You listed some good attributes of that bench,” He argues, a grin etched onto his lips.

“I told you I say stupid shit when I’m nervous.”

He raises an eyebrow at your words. “You’re nervous?”

“Of course I am. I never bound a notebook before.”

Minho lets out a hearty laugh this time, his head thrown back and his eyes turning into crescent moons before he shakes his head. He picks his notebook off the table, showing you the crinkly light brown-tinted pages. “It’s dry now. I actually kind of like it, gave the pages a sort of vintage vibe. You don’t have to bind me a new notebook,” He reassures you, placing the small book into his bag. “As much as I would love to see how that would turn out.”

And just like that, your nervousness fades away. You smile at Minho, asking that he follow you over to your favorite bench.

The two of you talked for almost two hours. During that time, Minho helped you catch up with the vocabulary and phrases you had missed in class. When you asked him how he was able to know so much off the top of his head, his lips curled into a crooked grin as he sheepishly told you that he had been taking Japanese lessons since he was in high school. He explained that because he procrastinated signing up for an elective course, the advanced class was full by the time he got to it, so he decided to go for the introductory one instead. You chuckled and questioned why he would choose to spend his time on a course when he already knew everything being taught. He shrugged and explained that it was nice to have at least one class in which he didn’t have to try and that the fact that it made him feel smart also helped.

Not even your shift at work was able to make your conversation stop flowing, as Minho offered to walk with you to the coffee shop upon realizing it was near his apartment.

That was one of the many coincidences and things in common you found to have with each other that day.

It started with ordinary things like the fact that Minho had three cats back home just like you and how he had been collecting plushies since he was a child, while you had started your own collection as soon as you had access to money of your own. Or how your favorite authors were Jane Austen and Charlotte Brontë — Minho swore you would die if you saw the special edition books he had back at home.

Then, it became a bit more amusing as you found out that Minho had worked at a convenience store chain when he first finished high school, and it was the same one you worked at for your first job after starting university. And you both had worked there for exactly a year and two months before quitting. You then told him about how you ended up attending this university after your top three choices turned you down, and his choices were the same as yours. And just like you, he also got rejected by his top three options, which led him to attend the same university as you.

You two couldn’t hide your bewilderment, eyes widening and lips bursting into laughter as these linked facts kept spilling out during your conversation. It was strange, you thought, but in a comforting way. It was almost as if you two had been living weirdly similar lives, all while having no clue about the other’s existence.

The two of you approach the small coffee shop while talking about your degrees. You try your best not to bore Minho with your ‘existential crisis-inducing psychology talks,’ as Hyunjin always put it, and you mostly listen to him as he talks about programming. He tells you that his dream is to develop cozy games that people can jump into without much thought, simply to relax. He says he knows how stressful life is and that people sometimes need something they can mindlessly do to get their minds off of shit. You resonate with it more than you care to admit, as cozy idle games are one of your favorite things to do while locked inside your room.

“So I do these freelancing gigs to make money but I’m actually set to start my first quote-unquote real job in two weeks,” he beams as you two stop in front of the coffee shop. Minho’s eyes lit up the moment he started speaking about his degree, and although you didn’t understand most of the terms he used, it is always endearing to watch someone talk about something they’re so passionate about. “There’s this guy who’s graduating soon who recruited me and a friend for a project he’s working on, so it’s not technically a job and we’ll work in his living room. I’ll still get some money and the chance to actually develop something, though, so it’s better than nothing.”

You smile at him. “If you like programming as much as your words led me to believe, I’m sure it won’t even feel like a job.”

Minho’s ears turned a faint shade of pink, and he scratched his head. “Sorry, I talked your ear off about shit you don’t even understand.”

“I think everybody likes to hear people talk about things they like,” you assure him, “It was a good talk. I still can’t believe we have so many things in common. It was kind of funny how they kept coming up.”

Minho chuckles, bouncing on the heels of his feet. “Guess the universe is giving us signs that we should be friends.”

“It seems like it.”

That day, you work with a persistent smile engraved on your lips. You can’t remember the last time you felt so good about meeting someone new. Despite your awkward first encounter, you found that talking to Minho was as easy as talking to an old childhood friend. It felt refreshing. The last friend you made was Hyunjin — whom you were so grateful to now for pushing you out of your comfort zone — and after that, you had unknowingly closed yourself off.

Minho had managed to open up your mind to the idea of letting someone in almost comically fast. And you loved that.

It’s been a month since you’ve been attending Japanese classes, and your studying sessions with Minho — which always turned into long conversations on what now had really become your favorite bench — were a weekly appointment, much like having him walk with you to work twice a week.

Today, however, Minho stopped you with a hand on your shoulder as you made your way toward your usual spot. When he asked you if you would like to study at his favorite bakery today instead, his eyes rapidly blinking as he looked at you through his bangs which had grown to slightly cover his eyes since you met him, you just couldn’t say no. He stammered as he promised that the place was even closer than the one where you worked, so you wouldn’t be late for your shift.

You smiled at his apparent nervousness, finding it endearing. You knew all too well how stressed you felt when offering something new or initiating plans with a new friend, and Minho seemed to be the same.

“Good thing you made this offer today, on my day off,” you bumped shoulders with him. “It’s almost like you knew.”

You begin walking, and Minho gently pushes you to the side so that he’s the one walking on the edge of the side of the sidewalk. You shoot him a questioning look, and he blinks at you again.

“Sorry, force of habit,” he chuckles, “My mom taught me a guy shouldn’t let a girl walk on the street side. I know it’s old-fashioned and probably made me seem like an ancient guy who wouldn’t let his wife work or something. Sorry.”

You shake your head. “No, it’s kind of sweet. I never had anyone do that with me.”

You feel the pinwheel twirl inside your chest again.

The two of you approach a familiar building together. You furrow your eyebrows as you take in the floral curtains on the windows and the pretty font adorning the store sign of your favorite bakery. You think about how it would be nice if you two came here on another day. Maybe you could use that opportunity to finally introduce Minho to your other friends.

You only realize Minho has stopped walking when he calls out your name. When you turn around, he’s standing in front of the bakery with a smile.

“This is the place.” He points toward the white door with a nod as you return to where he’s standing.

No fucking way.

“This is your favorite bakery?” You ask, although it is a stupid question. Minho nods. You play with the strap of your bag. “Okay, this is starting to sound ridiculous, but I swear I’m not lying. This is my favorite bakery, too.”

Minho’s eyes widen at your words, and his lips curl into a smile again. “Shut the fuck up.”

“I will not,” You chuckle.

Minho opens the door and the two of you walk inside, the familiar smell of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods bringing back great memories you made in this place. You often come here with your two roommates; it’s close enough to both your house and university that you can skip out on taking the bus, the atmosphere is always relaxing and comforting, not to mention the delicious cakes they sell. You smile to yourself as you remember Eunha scuffing down far too many slices of their chocolate cake after a nasty breakup a couple of months ago, tears streaming down her face so violently that the poor little old man who owns the shop appeared to check up on her.

“Their lemon cake is my favorite.”

“The lemon cake is what made me—”

You and Minho speak concurrently, with you unable to even finish your sentence before you both freeze for a couple of seconds in front of the only small table available at the crowded shop.

He’s the first one to move, pulling out his chair a bit awkwardly. “We should…” He trails off before clearing his throat as you sit down before him. “Should really make a written list of things we weirdly have in common.”

“At this point, I think it’d be easier if we made one of what we don’t have in common.”

You two settle for the obvious choice of two pieces of lemon cake with a cup of coffee for him and a glass of cola for you. Minho almost looked offended when you informed him that you hate coffee, wondering out loud why you even worked at a coffee shop before ensuring he could change your mind with just the five amazing facts about coffee he thought about off the top of his head. You shrugged him off with a grin. You couldn’t deny the irony of being a barista and having to make endless cups of a drink you despised daily, but you were sure Minho could never change your mind about coffee.

You two talked about your improvement in Japanese in the last month until the waiter returned with your order. Minho insists you’re a natural and could be on his level in a couple of years if you tried, but you roll your eyes at his compliments. You’ve never been naturally good at anything. That wasn’t about to change now.

“You know,” Minho begins once the waiter steps away from your table, looking around the coffee shop. People slowly started to leave as it got later in the day; the place was now much quieter, and the atmosphere even more cozy. “I used to think I would meet somebody in a place like this.”

“Like, in a romantic sense?”

Minho hums, still looking out to his side. You notice his side profile is really pretty, and you have to hide your smile by sipping your drink.

When he returns his gaze to you, he’s the one smiling. “Yes, in a romantic sense. Like being destined to meet someone.”

“Look at you, a hopeless romantic,” You roll your eyes with a chuckle. You never thought of Minho as someone like that. He seemed rather methodical, always following a routine and too engrossed in his codes to be preoccupied with something like love.

Minho furrowed his brows. “Why the eye roll?”

“I just don’t believe in that stuff,” you shrug with a small smile, “Stuff like destiny, soulmates, love…” You trail off, taking your spoon and poking the slice of cake in front of you. “Love has the awful tendency of being bad.”

Of course, you once believed all those things. Doesn’t everybody? But love has shown you time and time again that those are things reserved only for some people. And, clearly, you are not one of them. So why believe in it?

“It’s the most amazing thing in life,” Minho’s voice almost startled you as you were so deeply entranced in your thoughts.

You don’t lift your head to answer him, instead drawing mindless shapes on the icing on top of your cake.

“What is?”

“Love,” He replies in a soft voice. When you finally look at him, you’re surprised to find Minho’s deep eyes already looking at you, a small smile adorning his lips. “Love is the most amazing thing in life.”

You freeze.

You tear your eyes away from him, gaze focusing on the plate in front of you again.

You were careful with your rules. No parties, no bars, no talking to your male co-workers unless absolutely necessary, and no male friends unless they were in a relationship or proved beyond a reasonable doubt to only be interested in you platonically — which was what Minho was. So, why did him bringing up love make you feel so nervous?

Under the table, you unwittingly bounce your leg. This was stupid. Minho has been your friend for a month now; you see each other twice a week, and you talk for hours, always so comfortable around each other in a way that is still so new to you. He has never flirted with you or treated you in any way that led you to believe that he wanted anything more than to be your friend. You will not let your foolish trauma ruin what was proving to be an amazing friendship. He was simply sharing his thoughts on a topic. That’s all love was: a conversation topic.

You force out a chuckle as you snap yourself out of your senseless panic and look up at Minho once more. “We can just agree to disagree?”

He’s quiet for a few seconds, something you can’t quite pinpoint swimming in his deep eyes as he looks at you. Instead of breaking the silence, he scoops up a piece of cake with his spoon and raises it like a glass. You shake your head with a giggle as you realize what he’s doing, toasting your spoons together at the center of the table before you both eat your spoonfuls of cake.

“You know,” He speaks as soon as he’s done eating, his eyes having never left yours. “Love can never be bad. I don’t think so, at least. It never makes anything worse. It can only ever make things better.”

You hum and shift in your seat, lowering your gaze toward the table. The truth is, you hate talking about love. That — coupled with your shame regarding your past relationships — is the reason why you never indulge in this type of conversation, even with your own mother. But years of swallowing down your thoughts and opinions whenever the subject was brought up only caused a buildup of emotions in your throat. So much so that you only realized you were talking once you were midway through a sentence.

“Love can make so many things worse,” you affirmed, your eyes following the polka-dot pattern on the tablecloth, “Losing someone is bad enough, but put love into that equation, and it just worsens tenfold.”

Minho nods. “By that logic, you can say that having someone by your side is always good, but if it’s someone you love, it makes it better tenfold, right?”

You let out a chuckle as you realize you two could go back and forth about that subject for ages.

But it felt good to finally speak out your feelings on the matter, so you continue, “Love can’t be that great if people can so easily fall out of it and for so many different but equally stupid reasons. You’re suddenly not attractive to them anymore, or you have different opinions, or they love picking fights but hate it when it’s the other way around…” You trail off, swallowing down a lump in your throat as you speak out of experience. But Minho didn’t need to know that. You lift your eyes. “Not to mention falling in love with a new person all while supposedly already being in love with someone.”

“That’s not genuine love,” Minho shakes his head with furrowed eyebrows, as if it was his first time hearing of such things happening. “Real love is unconditional and understanding. Real love makes the person you love beautiful simply because they’re them. Real love doesn’t allow you to hurt the person you love because it feels like you’re hurting yourself as well.” His expression softens, and his eyes lock onto yours. “And real love makes it so that you can only see the one you love. You can’t possibly fall in love with someone else if you’re truly already in love.”

You gnaw on your bottom lip, nodding slowly. You hate the fact that part of you is desperate to believe that what Minho said was true. And you hate it even more that an even bigger part has already dismissed every single word that left his lips.

Desperate to shift the subject from Reasons Why My Exes Left Me — which only leaves you feeling sad and pathetic — back to Love Is Amazing, you decide to try and lighten the mood.

“Okay, but then explain to me how love is so great when you can just have sex with anyone, and it feels the same either way?” You question him with a teasing grin on your face. Minho shakes his head with a smile and eats another bite of his cake. You continue, “Be it a stranger at a party you met ten minutes ago or the love of your life, sex will always be sex. Therefore, you’re wrong, mister Love-Makes-Everything-Better.”

Minho chuckles around his mug, eyes closing as he almost spits out his coffee. His eyes are like crescent moons when he looks at you again, clearly amused by your words. “Well, yeah, of course, sex will always feel good no matter who you’re doing it with. It’s sex, and sex feels good,” He shrugs dismissively. “But sex with love is different. You aren’t just fucking, just fulfilling your own desires selfishly. Love makes sex better because you feel good simply by making the person who’s so important to you feel good. It makes you want to melt into the other person and become one with them because close isn’t close enough when you’re in love.

“Touching them feels like a gift, like heaven. Tasting them feels like heaven. Hearing their voice in their most blissful state feels like heaven. The trust and connection you feel in that moment is heaven, and that’s only possible through love. You can have sex with anyone, but you can only make love to someone you love, and those are two different things. That’s how love makes sex better. Therefore, I’m not wrong.”

As you take in Minho’s words, spoken so casually, like it was common knowledge, they leave you speechless. You watch him as he smiles triumphantly when he realizes you aren’t going to refute him — because you can’t refute him.

You berate yourself mentally as you notice the familiar feeling of arousal wash over you as you repeat his words inside your head. Not because it was Minho who said those things, but simply because that kind of sex sounded so good. Good in a way you had never once experienced before. Like heaven, as he had put it.

Your experience with sex has always been simply about fulfilling desires. You thought that was all there was to it.

Until now.

And even so, with your ex-boyfriends, it was always unbalanced. Ninety percent about their pleasure and only ten percent about yours. The first time you had a guy go down on you was the first time you had sex with Hyunjin, and by that point, you had already had five boyfriends. It felt weird when it happened, and you remember Hyunjin whining about how you didn’t have to ask him every five minutes if he was really okay with doing that. It had always been different with him, the good kind of different. He had never been selfish during sex; if anything, Hyunjin was too much of a giver, sometimes forgetting about his own pleasure in order to focus on yours. You thought that was the best sex you could ever have.

Until now.

Because, even with Hyunjin, there was never a genuine connection. It never felt like a gift to touch him and have him touch you. It was never anything more than sex, more than something you both did because it felt good and it was easy. He slept in your bed, and he cuddled you until morning came, but it had never once felt anything close to what Minho described.

You can’t help but wonder if Minho has ever experienced that. You desperately want to ask him, but you two aren’t close enough for that yet.

You also can’t help but wonder why you spend the rest of the evening raging a war against yourself as your mind is consumed with thoughts of what it would be like to experience that kind of sex with him.

It’s late in the night on the following Saturday, and your phone incessantly vibrating under your pillow rudely demands your attention just as you’re about to fall asleep. You squint your eyes as you type in your password. You sigh as you see Hyunjin’s name on your screen because of course it’s him.

Hyune: I’m outside open the door Hyune: please open the door? quick? Hyune: mrs. choi is gonna kill me if I use the intercom pls I don’t wanna die Hyune: I’m in my pajamas do you know how humiliating this is

Hyune: and I’m highkey pissed off Hyune: I WILL sleep on the bench outside your house if you don’t let me in and then I’ll die and who’s gonna live with the guilt? Hyune: you Hyune: OPENM TEH DOOR

You roll your eyes at his dramatic texts, stepping out of the comfort of your bed and padding across the floor as quietly as possible so as not to wake up your roommates. You open your front door and speed past the hallway and Mrs. Choi’s home, reaching the outside door in record time. It’s something you’ve done more times than you care to admit in order to let Hyunjin into your house. Your tenant was a sweet woman, insistent that she was modern and understanding of ‘young people’, but she despised people coming into your home any later than midnight.

You step outside, finding Hyunjin pacing back and forth like a creep in front of your house. True to his words, he stood in his checkered pajama pants and a black t-shirt. His hair was in a ponytail, the strands messily sticking out everywhere like he had tossed and turned in bed before coming here.

“You look like shit,” you speak up, causing him to jump and let out a gasp. You chuckle as he scowls at you, climbing the few steps to reach the door.

“I had a fight with Mingyu,” he grumbles as you two walk toward your front door. “He told me I spilled paint on his favorite shirt, which is fucking impossible since I don’t even paint anywhere near his shit.” 

“I mean, you are a messy painter.”

Hyunjin shoots you a look as you close your front door behind you. You take off your shoes and walk toward your bedroom in silence. This was routine. Hyunjin knew the rules: no knocking on the outside door, no buzzing the intercom, no shouting from outside, keep your voice down in the hallway, no talking until you reach your bedroom. It was all automatic at this point.

His voice is louder when he speaks again inside your locked bedroom. “First of all, I am not a messy painter. The paint is messy, not me. Second of all, if Mingyu wasn’t a fucking idiot, maybe he wouldn’t leave his favorite shirt on the floor of the living room right by my art corner,” Hyunjin huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, “If that’s how he treats his favorite shirt, I feel bad for his girlfriend.”

You let out a chuckle, which is cut short by him pulling you into his arms. “Hyunjin, that analogy makes no sense.”

“Yes, it does. You treat your favorite shirt like shit, you treat your girlfriend like shit,” he states matter-of-factly before pulling you into a kiss.

This was routine. It was all automatic at this point.

Hyunjin kisses you like he’s angry. Because he is, and that’s one of the reasons why you two do this. You let out your frustrations during sex. You complain, and you let off steam until you both feel okay again. It’s been this way for a year and some months now, and you never once thought anything of it. It was beneficial for you both, so why change or question it?

But that was before your talk with Minho. Before you were awoken to the truth that you’d been having meaningless sex your whole life.

When you’re pulled away from your thoughts, you’re already laid in your bed with Hyunjin hovering over you. His lips and hands wander through your body as he mumbles things you can’t quite understand; you can only make out your name and Mingyu’s mixed with curses. You try to bring yourself back to the moment, bringing your legs to wrap around Hyunjin’s waist and bring him closer to you.

He stops kissing your neck and yanks his shirt over his head, his hair untying in the process and falling on his face like a curtain. You giggle and try to fix it with your fingers. Hyunjin pouts.

“Don’t you think I’m right?”

You frown and hope he can’t see your confused expression in the dim lighting. You truly weren’t paying any attention to what he had been saying, too engrossed in your thoughts and too busy feeling sorry for yourself. Hyunjin’s tendency to tell you about his frustrations during sex always left you a bit puzzled, but it was also oddly sweet. It was like he trusted you so deeply as a friend that he believed he could share anything with you, no matter the time.

So you nod, lightly pulling at his hair. “Of course you’re right.”

He hums and buries his head on your chest, grinding his hips into your clothed core. “Of course I’m right,” he mumbles under his breath.

Everything is a blur after that, your mind insistent on repeating Minho’s words like an annoying echo. When Hyunjin’s tongue fucked you hastily, and he murmured something about you tasting so good, all you could hear was Minho’s voice telling you how tasting the person you love feels like heaven. When Hyunjin pushed his cock into you, his hands gripping your thighs and head buried in your neck, all you could think about was how this sex paled in comparison to what you could’ve been having — what you could have already had — if only you weren’t so damn unlovable. 

You knew that Minho didn’t intend to make you feel bad with his words. They weren’t targeted at you. But that didn’t stop your mind from sabotaging and putting yourself down. It was one of your biggest talents, after all.

Your body was present and responsive the entire time; you moaned because it felt good, and you kissed Hyunjin because you wanted to. But you were mentally somewhere else.

And the worst thing is, you’re a hundred percent sure Hyunjin doesn’t even notice it.

Because this wasn’t love. This was only sex.

And this was all you had ever known.

Time flies by faster than your brain can comprehend; before you know it, another month goes by. You only managed to go to your favorite bakery with Minho one more time before your work hours were changed, your shift now starting a mere thirty minutes after your Japanese class ends. He still walked you to work twice a week, but you would be lying if you said it didn’t upset you to have to let go of your weekly talks.

Minho also became busier due to his own job. With so little time to see each other face to face outside of class, most of your talks took place over text. He talked about his job with so much adoration it made you a little jealous; his partners were now simply friends he worked with, and his joy over finally being able to create a cozy game made it so that he pushed himself over his limit, often sleeping on his friend’s couch after working until four a.m. and getting through the next day on excessive amounts of coffee.

That was how you two came up with the idea of Minho dropping by the café where you work to pick up coffee for him and his friends. He would drop by at least twice every day, his friend’s house — which also served as their office — only one bus stop away.

The first time Minho came by, he had his wallet and phone in one hand, a sharpie and a block of sticky notes in the other. You eyed him curiously as he scribbled on the piece of paper while your co-worker prepared his coffee. When he was done, he stuck the note to the monitor in front of you on the counter. You furrowed your brows as your eyes shifted from the Japanese words on the bright yellow note back to Minho’s smug face. You were certainly grateful he at least had the courtesy of including the romanization of whatever he had written down. Not that it helped you in any way.

“Since our studying sessions after class were rudely taken from us, this is your extra homework. It’s all words we already learned. You just gotta think a little bit, and you’ll figure it out. You’re smart, I know you can do it,” He assured you.

Expect you weren’t that smart and ended up giving up by the time you got home that night. The piece of paper was no longer sticky on the border due to you carrying it around all day, boring holes into it as if that would magically give you the answer. You snapped a picture of it as you got ready for bed and sent it to Minho, begging him to put you out of your misery and simply give you the answer. ‘I want to drink coffee,’ he replied. You slapped your hand over your forehead with so much force you were sure the entire house had heard you. He was right; you did learn that in class. Curse the Japanese language for being so difficult.

After that, it became a routine. You waited expectantly for Minho’s visits daily, but you are extra excited today. It’s a Friday, and your birthday is tomorrow. After much pestering from Eunha, you agreed to have a small gathering at your house. It only made sense to invite Minho; he’s become one of your closest friends in the two months you’ve known him, after all.

As he walks into the coffee shop, sticky notes and sharpie in hand, you chuckle to yourself. You two chat about the development of his game, with Minho kindly using layman’s terms when explaining it to you. He also tells you about how one of his friends got so frustrated with a code that he threw his phone at a wall before immediately regretting it and crying on the floor next to Minho’s desk. Before you can get worried, he assures you that it’s just an ordinary day at the office, and the three of them end up laughing everything off at the end of the day.

After taking his order, you watch as he begins writing down your homework for the day on the small piece of paper in his hand. As you look around the coffee shop, most tables are empty, and the sun is starting to set outside the glass doors.

“You wanna come over this Saturday?” You ask Minho, who looks up at you before adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. That was one thing you learned about Minho since he began coming over: he wears glasses. Not every day, but enough times for you to notice how good he looks with them. But friends find each other attractive all the time, you justify it. “You never came over to my house, and my roommates really want to meet you. Plus, it’s my birthday tomorrow.”

Minho’s eyes widen. “Your birthday? And you save that information to the end?”

“It’s not a big deal. I usually never even celebrate.” You shrug lightly. You’ve never been big on birthdays, as you just don’t see the reason why it’s supposed to feel different from any other day of the year. “But my roommate pestered me to do something this year, so I agreed to have a party.”

Minho shifts on his feet. “I… really hate parties…” He trails off.

“It’s not a party party. I promise!” You hold up your pinky finger. “It’s more of a get-together, just my roommates and my only two other friends. And, you…” You trail off, “If you come.”

Minho blinks his eyes a couple of times before tearing the piece of paper he was writing on from the pad and crumpling it in his hand. He quickly jots down something new and sticks it to your forehead.

“Minho!” You scold him, to which he laughs, his nose scrunching and eyes crinkling. You advert your gaze from him as your persistent thoughts regarding how unfairly pretty Minho is begin to flood your brain once again. You take the note and analyze it:

はい (Hai)

You smile as you understand the word, looking up at him.

“I’d love to come to your birthday party,” He beams. “Thank you for inviting me.”

To say Minho is nervous would be an understatement.

He gets out of his car twice, ready to march back inside his friend’s apartment like a coward and pretend that nothing happened both times. Only when he thinks back to how you smiled at him when he agreed to your invitation does he find the courage to start the car and drive to your house. He’d noticed for a while now how much he likes you. But it was when he agreed with the idea of going to the café you worked at to pick up coffee that it truly dawned on him that he really liked you. Minho hated taking the bus, he hated doing anything other than zoning out on the couch during his breaks, he hated bustling shops, and he hated how his co-workers both managed to have such intricate coffee orders.

Yet he agreed to that idea, even suggesting he drop by two times a day.

He noticed he’d felt a familiar small whirlpool inside his chest whenever he was with you, when he heard you talk about something you liked or saw you smile. He’s also noticed that this tiny whirlpool has been growing bigger and bigger the more he’s been around you.

But that doesn’t scare him. Minho loves love. He loves to be in love, to love someone, and to make that person feel loved. It’s his favorite thing about life. If he was honest, he missed it so much he didn’t know how he was able to live without it.

Just down the block from your house, he parks his car and gathers his phone and his present for you — clearly clumsily wrapped, even with his co-workers’ help. He feels another wave of nervousness wash over him as he approaches the house; he’s an hour late and needs to mentally prepare to socialize with people he’s never met before. Minho chuckles as he realizes a silly party makes him more nervous than the prospect of possibly falling in love.

You open the door almost as soon as he rings the intercom, and he walks down the hallway into your house door; the crooked box he’s been holding makes his hands sweat. The first thing he notices as you open the door is your styled hair with a big white bow on the back, looking much prettier than the ugly bow he and his friends managed to stick on top of his present. He smiles at the sight and scratches his ear in a futile attempt to stop them from turning red.

God, he really liked you, didn’t he?

“Thank you for coming,” you tell him with a smile. Minho notices the quiet music playing inside the house, the simple decorations, and the cake on top of the kitchen counter. He mentally sighs in relief. This truly wasn’t anything like a big party. “You’re wearing your glasses again,” you point out as Minho walks inside and removes his shoes. He subconsciously reaches his left hand to touch his wire-rimmed glasses that sit on his nose bridge. He grimaces and curses at his friend for making him stay later than he was supposed to today.

“I had no time to go home and change,” He apologizes, fingers now toying with the stupid bow on top of the box. “I usually wear contacts, but they make my eyes dry if I stare at the computer for too long, so I just… wear my glasses at work…” Minho trails off, suddenly feeling stupid, his eyes looking anywhere but toward you.

You chuckle, lightly touching his glasses for a second before moving away again. “You always come to the coffee shop wearing them, and I think you look really good,” you assured him. His eyes quickly met yours, only for you to advert your gaze this time. “You should wear them more often.”

Minho only hums, lightly nodding his head. He feels stupid all over again as the image of himself throwing his contact lenses down the drain crosses his mind.

Clearing his throat, he finally hands you your gift. You giggle at the mismatched wrapping paper and poor excuse of a bow, which makes Minho let out a chuckle and murmur an apology. You open the box, and your eyes light up when you spot the stuffed bunny you have been raving about since you two met. It was the only animal missing from your collection, but you couldn’t find the right time to save up money to buy it. Minho didn’t need to ask if you liked it as he watched your smile grow bigger as you looked at the brown bunny.

“Come, I gotta put him in my bed now,” you beamed and took Minho’s hand in yours, leading him to the living room. There, five people sat on the couch and on the floor. Minho furrows his brows as he takes in a head of light brown hair covered by a familiar beanie. “These are my friends. Eunha’s the girl with short hair on the floor, and Soojung’s the one with blonde hair next to her. They’re also my roommates,” You point at them as you speak. “That’s Jisung sitting next to Soojung; he’s also her boyfriend. And then Hyunjin, with the long hair, sitting next to Chan on the couch. Everyone, this is Minho from my Japanese class.”

With that, you pad off to your room with your bunny in tow. As Chan finally turns to look at Minho, his shocked expression mirrors his. They stare at each other for a while before Chan finally breaks the silence.

“What the fuck, that’s my co-worker.”

Minho narrows his eyes. “So this is why you had to leave an hour earlier today?”

As you come out of your room, you chuckle. “Chan is your co-worker?” You ask Minho, “I can’t believe this. He’s been our friend for longer than I’ve known you. He came like a package deal when Jisung began dating Soojung.”

“Damn, dude, you hate me so much you never talked about me to your friend?” Chan gasped, a hand over his heart. “I’m hurt.”

Minho rolls his eyes but is unable to stop a small grin from forming on his lips as the entire living room erupts in laughter. “Of course I talked about you. I talked about you and Seungmin all the time. It’s just I…” Minho shifts on his feet, shrugging. “I never said your names.”

More laughter seeps out of the group of people, including Chan, and Minho finds himself laughing along this time, shaking his head at his own stupidity. 

He sits beside Chan on the couch while Hyunjin heads to the kitchen with you. He quickly asks him how he came to be friends with you in the first place. Chan explains that he’s been in a class with Jisung for almost two years, and the boy had always pestered him about ‘old people’ needing to hang out with people their age. That’s how he ended up meeting Soojung as soon as she became Jisung’s girlfriend. You and Eunha were an inevitable addition, seeing as you were not only roommates but also great friends.

You offer Minho a beer, which he declines. As much as he wanted to, no beer was worth having to take the bus back home. He silently sips his cola as he watches your group of friends chat. You end up sitting beside him on the couch, your friend Hyunjin to your right.

Minho finds that he missed getting together with people like this and didn’t even realize it. His only friends were left behind back at home, and although they were less than an hour away by bus, their busy lives prevented them from meeting in person. Minho’s favorite memories from his teenage years were having his friends over and just doing nothing for hours, talking about stupid shit until their stomachs hurt from laughing. Eating takeout on the couch with Chan and Seungmin after work came close, but they were always too tired and too stressed to entertain the idea of making jokes. Those were times when Minho realized he had really become an adult.

Jisung’s loud voice suddenly booms through the living room and startles an already drunk-looking Eunha, who murmurs something about the younger boy giving her a heart attack one day. 

“I’m bored,” he grumbles, draping his body over Soojung. “Let’s play spin the bottle.”

Soojung rolls her eyes at him, flicking his forehead. “Are you a teenager?”

Jisung pouts, sitting up straight once more. “We’re in university. University students play this fucking game all the time,” he states matter-of-factly. “Don’t make me regret falling for an older woman.”

“Jisung, I’m only three years older than you, I’m not—”

“Don’t make me call you noona.”

Soojung inhales deeply before turning to face the people sitting on the couch, placing one of the empty beer bottles scattered around her feet on top of the coffee table. “Let’s play spin the bottle. But let’s do dares instead of kissing, that’s too boring.”

Jisung beams, cuddling close to her like a needy child. Minho chuckles at the sight.

Eunha scoots closer to the couple so the group is seated in a circle around the coffee table, half of them on the couch and half on the floor. Minho never had the chance to play spin the bottle, which seemed to be such a staple game of one’s teenage years. By the time his friends were off sneaking into clubs and drinking behind their parents’ backs, he was already in a committed relationship and well aware of the fact that he didn’t enjoy parties.

It seems silly, but he’s glad he won’t live past his youth without experiencing such a trivial thing.

Soojung spins the bottle, and the neck stops facing Chan while the bottom faces Jisung.

“Take your shirt off,” Jisung waves a finger at Chan, who looks somewhat disoriented. Minho chuckles under his breath just as you do the same. You two face each other and let out a hearty laugh, your arm coming to rest on his bicep before retrieving back to your lap faster than Minho hoped it would.

Soojung squishes Jisung’s cheeks and places a small kiss on his lips. “You’re such a fucking chaotic bisexual,” she giggles, “Y’know, Chan, Jisung has had the biggest crush on you since you two first met.”

Chan shakes his head with a stifled laugh and proceeds to remove his shirt, neatly placing it on his lap.

Jisung is next to spin the bottle, this time landing on Soojung, who you dare to show her most embarrassing text. After showing the group a string of texts showing raunchy screenshots of a manhwa she’d been reading at that time, all sent to one of her class group chats which included some professors, she lets out a heavy sigh and orders Eunha to spin the bottle before any questions can be asked.

This time, the neck faces you while the bottom faces Eunha herself. With a smile, the short-haired girl dares you to kiss Minho.

He feels his smile drop at the very second the words leave her lips. This was not what he had in mind for tonight.

“What?” You sputter, “Why?”

Eunha shrugs, adjusting herself so she’s seated upright and staring right at you. “Well, he’s the only one here who would be actually fun to see you kiss. Jisung and Soojung are okay with each other hooking up with other people, so that’s no fun,” she explains, using her fingers to list her reasons, “I’m not into girls, so that’s no fun for me. Hyunjin is too obvious. We all already know Chan, so it would also be boring. Minho is like fresh meat. That is fun.”

Minho’s brain begins finding a suitable excuse for why you two can’t kiss, because he’s certain you have no interest in doing it. Not only are you friends, but your reaction didn’t exactly exude excitement at the prospect of kissing him. Just as he’s ready to lie through his teeth, you turn to him and place your hand on his shoulder, a touch so soft he’s barely able to feel it through the fabric of his shirt.

“Is this okay with you?” You ask him, the tone of your voice so sweet Minho feels like it melts his every thought until his brain is nothing but a sugary pool filled with only you. So he nods because god, yes, this is okay with him.

You gingerly place your right hand on his cheek, bringing your faces closer until your lips press together. The whirlpool inside his chest spins fast, like a vortex dragging every sense of his body toward you and only you.

You remain still for a few seconds, Minho’s eyes opening slightly to search for any sign of regret on your face. Before he can even properly look at you, your lips begin to move against his — gently and carefully, like you’re not sure if this is what he wants. Minho deepens the kiss and hesitates three times before committing to placing his left hand on your waist. The giggles around the two of you nothing but a muffled murmur to him. He presses another kiss to your lips, his body shifting until he is all but caging you against the back of the couch. But just as he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip, you push him back with a smile, Minho chasing after your lips.

He blinks a couple of times, eyes zoning into your smudged red lipstick. He subconsciously bites his own bottom lip, wondering if any of the color transferred to him. The surrounding murmurs bring Minho back to the moment this time, awkwardly clearing his throat before lifting himself off of you and sitting upright on the couch. He tunes out every comment regarding the kiss to the best of his abilities, focusing his energy on slowing down his heart rate. When he catches you giggling while looking at him, your arm touching his bicep yet again, he nods, grabbing his cola bottle from the floor and taking a sip.

Minho can’t remember the last time kissing someone got him so worked up. He entered a long-term relationship at such a young age that he’s only now realizing how unaccustomed he is to kissing someone new, to the rush that comes with having your lips pressing against the ones of someone you like. It was exhilarating and a bit terrifying all at the same time. He was awkward, unsure where to put his hands, uncertain if you were enjoying yourself. He was also greedy, wanting the moment to last for much longer than it had.

This had cemented the fact that he does, in fact, really like you.

After kissing you, the whirlpool living in his heart had now fully transformed into a tiny hurricane — with great chances of growing even bigger.

Minho only notices the game has continued upon hearing your voice complaining beside him. He watches as Soojung shrugs.

“It’s the only thing I could think of, sorry.”

“But why?” Hyunjin asks, placing his cup on the coffee table. “It’s a stupid dare.”

The blonde girl scoffs. “No, it’s not. I’ve had to basically live with you two for the past year, and it’s common knowledge how easily you get a boner for her.”

“Not true,” Hyunjin retorts, although it sounds more like a question than an affirmation.

Eunha blurts out, “You once got a boner watching her stir a cake mix.”

Hyunjin opens and closes his mouth before groaning, pulling you into his lap by the waist. You apologize to him quietly, to which Hyunjin shakes his head with a small smile.

Minho feels as if he’s intruding on something private.

You sit on Hyunjin’s knees, almost falling off his lap as you clearly try to keep some distance between the two of you. Hyunjin clicks his tongue and pulls you closer to him until your back is pressed up against his chest. He whispers something in your ear, to which you lightly slap his arm as his lips upturn into a grin.

Minho is definitely intruding on something private.

At some point, you turn so you’re sitting across Hyunjin’s lap, your body now facing Minho. He can’t help but watch with dark eyes as the younger boy’s hands wander through your body; playing with the buttons on your blouse, squeezing your thighs, and caressing your skin a little too close to the hem of your skirt. He furrows his brows as he tries to understand your relationship with Hyunjin, seeing as you’re obviously not put off by his hands on your body.

Minho is so transfixed by the sight and his racing thoughts that he only realizes the game has ended when someone taps his shoulder from behind the couch.  When he looks back, Chan is holding a cigarette and motioning towards the stairs that lead to the house’s terrace.

In the chilly open space above the house, they sit on a bench behind a tall vertical planter. Minho wonders who tends to the garden as he observes the various flowers, as well as some vegetables and herbs scattered around him. The terrace is small; the garden taking up all the space, an old wooden railing that overlooks the quiet street the only other thing in his sight.

He and Chan chat about school and work, as they often do nowadays. After Chan recently broke up with his girlfriend, Minho found that his friend had become much more closed off, so the list of subjects they would talk about became minimal. Chan bites his thumb before taking a long drag of his cigarette. He chuckles when he mentions being scared of graduating next year. Minho bumps his shoulder with him, arguing that being in his situation is worse. He admits that he regrets starting university late and that being in his first year when he should already be in his third is discouraging. Chan dismisses his worries, reminding him of how Minho is often the one to fix broken codes and come up with ideas for their game whenever Seungmin gets stuck.

“A degree is just a piece of paper,” Chan says, throwing his cigarette butt at a nearby trashcan. “You’re already a fantastic programmer, Minho.”

“You’re just saying that because I saved your ass today.”

Chan shrugs. “You’ve saved my ass basically every day since we started working together.” After a beat of silence, he asks, “Why did you start uni so late, anyway? You never told me.”

Minho hums, digging his brain for a way to sum up the entire story. “It’s complicated—”

He’s interrupted by footsteps on the stairs leading to the terrace. A loud giggle echoes through the open space before you and Hyunjin step into their field of vision. The long-haired boy holds you from behind, and you two stagger toward the railing.

“Wish everyone would go home already so I could just fuck you,” Hyunjin whines as he turns your body around so you’re facing him. Minho almost chokes on nothing at those words, and Chan stifles a laugh with his hand. He curses the small space as they’re able to so clearly hear everything you’re saying.

You playfully kick Hyunjin’s shin. “Don’t say it like that, Hyune, what the fuck.”

“It’s true, though,” Hyunjin continues, pressing you against the railing. He towers over you, so the only thing Minho can see from where he’s seated is your white skirt floating in the wind behind the tall boy. “I had a stressful, terrible, awful, dreadful week. All I kept thinking about was coming over and relaxing with you.”

“See, when you put it like that, it doesn’t sound so awful.”

Hyunjin clicks his tongue. “There’s nothing awful about fucking. I know how much you like it, don’t act so coy.”

Minho watches as your hands clench around Hyunjin’s gray shirt, pulling him closer and kissing him softly, much like you had done to him a few moments before.

Minho presses his lips into a thin line. He connects every dot available to him inside his head and suddenly feels pathetic.

Hyunjin being too obvious of a choice for you to kiss, his hands all over your body, his words about fucking you, the way you kissed him like it was a habit.

If you had a boyfriend, why did you agree to kiss him?

The words swarm Minho’s brain. He vaguely recalls you and Hyunjin eventually walking out of the terrace. Chan starts a one-sided conversation about one of his classes, with Minho humming after every couple of sentences to appear like he’d been listening when his head is too busy wondering how to feel about everything.

Minho recalls Eunha walking up the stairs and shouting for the two of them to come downstairs to sing you happy birthday. He recalls Hyunjin’s hands wandering through your body throughout the song, his lips pressing small kisses on your face and lips as you smiled. He recalls feeling confused, stressed, jealous, and pathetic.

Minho is only truly back to the present moment once Chan’s voice bids him a loud goodbye, and the door slamming behind him makes his senses finally return to him. As he looks around, he notices that the only people left in the living room are Jisung, Hyunjin, and you. Beside him on the couch, Hyunjin stretches with a loud groan.

“I’m gonna take a shower. D’you have any of my clothes in your room?”

You sigh from where you’re sitting on the floor, resting against the television stand. “Of course, I do. You’re always living shit behind, you’re like our third roommate at this point.”

Hyunjin chuckles, walking over to give you a small peck on the lips before disappearing into your room. Minho gnaws on his bottom lip with a bitter smile as he realizes Hyunjin will sleep over at your house. The ugly feelings return as he remembers his thoughts about you these past few weeks when he unknowingly cultivated too big of a crush on you. Even on his way here tonight, when he had chuckled to himself at his lack of nervousness in the face of potential love.

Love.

Minho can’t help but wonder why your view of love is so negative when you’re in a relationship. And, at the same time, he doesn’t dare to think about it for too long, fully aware that his foolish affection-filled brain will come up with a myriad of reasons — all where your boyfriend is the sole culprit for your distaste — and Minho knows better than to let those thoughts linger for too long inside his mind. He knows himself all too well, knows only awful shit would come out of assuming things about your relationship; the urge to beat Hyunjin senseless for being a shitty boyfriend and making you think that way about love being the worst of them.

“I’m too drunk to go back to my dorm,” Jisung suddenly speaks, his eyes glazed over as he stares ahead. “Gonna crash here tonight, too.”

Minho takes that as his cue to leave.

You walk him outside, a small smile on your face the entire time. He feels guilty not being able to reciprocate the gesture. As you tell him goodbye, thanking him for coming, you pull him into a hug. You hadn’t hugged much since you met, and Minho foolishly wants to draw you closer to him, to feel your body pressed against his just as it was pressed against Hyunjin most of the night. But he can’t do that.

“Are you okay to walk back by yourself?” You ask him as you pull away.

Minho nods, forcing out a small smile. “My car is parked just down the block.”

“That’s why you didn’t drink!” You exclaim with a giggle, “I forget that most people our age already drive. My anxiety didn’t allow me the chance to even try and get a license, so I just accepted my fate of taking the bus.”

“I could drive you…” Minho trails off. There he goes again, being pathetic. “If I have the time… You can give me a call and I’d be happy to drive you anywhere.”

You smile at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into another embrace. Minho smiles genuinely as he buries his head in your hair.

The drive back home has Minho feeling stupid all over again as he thinks about how you’re probably in bed with Hyunjin by now. The whirlpool is back inside his chest, but it isn’t good or welcome this time. It’s agonizing and painful.

Love had never been painful. Love had never been bad.

But he had never experienced love toward someone who already loved somebody else. Although you brazenly state that you don’t believe in it, you must feel some type of love toward Hyunjin if you’re willing to be his girlfriend.

As he silently drives home, Minho finds himself agreeing with you.

Maybe love can be bad, after all.

Minho feels stupid.

This has become a constant in his life.

He had always thought of himself as a logical person. Programming had taught him that everything is predictable and fixable if you work on it hard enough. A broken code? It may take him six hours of staring at the computer to figure out it was nothing but a missing semicolon, but he will get there in the end. It was annoying and frustrating, but it was always something easily fixed.

He thought love was like that. It had always been like that with him.

Until he fell for you.

Minho was coming to terms with the fact that maybe love and programming were nothing alike. Love isn’t predictable. Loving someone who is already in love with someone else isn’t easily fixed. He can’t backspace and delete your boyfriend from the equation.

It’s been a little over six months since you two first met. Minho has consistently gone to the café you work at every day, and you two still had endless talks over text messages. You talk about everything and anything, from silly things like sharing pictures of both your growing plushie collections or your love of that particular coffee shop’s lemon cake to more serious topics like how Minho learned how to cook when he was twelve so his mom wouldn’t have to do it by herself, and now his roommates take advantage of that, or how sad you are that next year you will have to leave the house you’ve grown to love so much.

But, whether it is in person or through text, you still avoid the topic of love. You don’t ever bring up Hyunjin unless he’s part of a story you were already telling, and Minho feels his heart heavy as he slowly allows himself to imagine what it could be that led you to hate love so much.

He desperately wants to ask you, know your reasons, and make sure you’re happy with your boyfriend. But he doesn’t want to overstep any boundaries and doesn’t know how to go about it without scaring you. So he never does anything, like a coward.

Minho finds himself coming over to your sharehouse on most weekends since summer break ended. Your countless get-togethers at that house have become a hard-to-break habit. Hyunjin, Jisung, and your roommates are always assured to be there, with Chan joining whenever he isn’t overwhelmed with work or school, which was rare.

Minho had always been a hopeless romantic, always doing things for love that people repeatedly warned would result in regret. This time, it was forgoing visiting his parents and friends back home just to spend most of his summer with you. Despite not being able to pursue you in the way he truly wanted to, Minho still wanted to be your friend. You were still a fantastic person he loved to have around; that didn’t change simply because you had a boyfriend. Although he could feel a bit of his heart cracking every time he had to see you, all while knowing he couldn’t do anything about his feelings for you.

He couldn’t change your perspective of love if he weren’t allowed to love you.

In all the time he spent at your house during summer break, he ended up becoming good friends with Jisung, as you tended to stick next to Hyunjin most of the time. Minho didn’t mind it; he is your boyfriend, after all. At least, that’s what he repeats to himself every night he comes over like a mantra as he almost masochistically forces himself to watch how Hyunjin kisses your lips and caresses your skin or how you play with his hair and snuggle with him on the couch. He also endures the countless nights he’s left your house knowing all too well that Hyunjin would be spending the night with you in a way that Minho can only ever dream about.

Tonight, in particular, Hyunjin seemed to be all over you like bees on honey, buzzing around you everywhere you went, his hands never leaving your body as he pulled you closer to him every time you even slightly pulled away. Because god forbid your bodies not be touching in some way for even a split second. Before he knows it, Minho is downing his third bottle of beer of the night.

From where he’s sitting on the couch, Minho rolls his eyes as discreetly as he can while he watches Hyunjin pull you to sit on his lap on the floor as you all get ready to play a game of cards. He gnaws on his lower lip because he knows he’s being petty and borderline childish. You’re Hyunjin’s girlfriend. Of course he’s all over you, of course he wants to be close to you, of course he wants you on his lap. Minho concludes with a bitter chuckle that he is, indeed, pathetic when it comes to you.

He gulps down more of the awful-tasting cheap beer.

The night comes to a close after far too many rounds of Cards Against Humanity, with Jisung winning more than half of them. His ethics and morals fly out the window the moment the cards are handed to him, as he manages to create the most absurdly offensive phrases known to men every single time. Minho found himself groaning and yelling at the younger boy as the alcohol took over his system. He doesn’t know how much of it was simply his annoyance at Hyunjin clinging to you like a koala throughout the entire game disguised as competitiveness.

He doesn’t think he’d like to know either.

Like every night he comes over, Minho is the last person to go home. He has to call an Uber, far too buzzed to want to sit at a bus stop all alone at this time of night. He hadn’t even noticed how he kept downing his drinks until he felt the familiar buzz of inebriation wash over his body a while before the game ended. Although slamming his fist into the coffee table with a whine about how he had only been given lame cards should’ve been a sign.

As he waits outside your house by the fence, he suddenly hears the door shut behind him and your voice calling out to him. He smiles at the faint slur of your speech and the way you drag out the last syllable of his name like you always did when you were a bit drunk.

“I told you to wait for me!” You reprimand, opening the gate to stand next to him. “Look how lonely you look here all by yourself.”

Minho just shrugs with a smile, shaking his head. He did wait. He waited almost half an hour after announcing he should leave as you disappeared into your room with Hyunjin. He was still waiting, in fact, only mindlessly scrolling on his phone for the past ten minutes instead of finding a ride as he hoped you would come outside when you saw he wasn’t in the living room anymore.

You poke his shoulder, bringing his attention away from his phone to your smiling face.

“Tonight was fun, wasn’t it? Especially that last round when Hyunjin won after being tied with Jisung for the whole game,” you grinned, “Seeing Jisung make a whole damn case about how much better his card was really made my night. Think that’s the first time I’ve seen him act like a law student since I met him.”

Minho chuckles, bringing his attention back to his phone. Seeing your smile and how your eyes light up while you talk about something you like brought back the whirlpool inside his chest, which wasn’t a pleasant feeling any longer. It made him glum to think how a once beautiful feeling had turned into nothing but discomfort simply because he was lovelorn.

He hums. “You must be proud to have your boyfriend put an end to Jisung’s annoying winning streak.”

“What do you mean?”

Minho looks up from his phone, eyes wandering through your puzzled face. He furrows his brows for a second. Maybe you’re both drunker than he’d thought.

“I mean, it must’ve been nice to see Hyunjin win after Jisung basically made us all want to quit the game,” he explains, watching as your expression turns from confusion into shock before you let out a loud laugh.

Minho’s eyes widen, worried your laughter might wake up your neighbors. He gently shushes you, his arm grabbing your shoulder, but your smiling face only makes his lips stretch out into a grin. He suppresses a giggle as you catch your breath, shaking your head.

Minho smiles at you so fondly he’s certain he looks like an idiot. “What’s so funny?”

“Hyunjin isn’t my boyfriend,” you explain like it’s obvious. “We’re just friends. I thought you knew that.”

Minho only then realizes he had never once heard you refer to Hyunjin as a boyfriend, nor had any of the people around you. But his assumptions weren’t so ill-judged, either. You two acted like a couple. It wasn’t so absurd to assume that you were one.

He finds himself staring at your amused face for a few seconds before forcing himself to turn his attention back to his phone.

You acted like a couple, but you were just friends. Minho groaned mentally.

“So, you’re like friends with benefits?”

“Yeah… I don’t particularly believe in love anymore, Minho. I thought you knew that from our talk a while ago,” You chuckle, shifting on your feet. “Hyunjin is one of my best friends. We just hook up ‘cause it’s convenient.”

Minho hums, his fingers ghosting over his phone screen. “Sounds like you’re running away from love.”

He blinks a couple of times as he takes in his own words. He would have never said such a thing if it hadn’t been for the liquid courage flowing through his veins.

You shrug, moving to sit on the white bench just outside the house. “Well, yeah, that is what I’m doing. Love hasn’t been kind to me at all. I have no interest in going after it, only to be hurt again. It’s a movie I’ve watched before and I hated the ending every time.”

Minho bites the inside of his cheek, finally clicking the button to find a ride, his thumb pressing on his phone screen more forcefully than he intended. He felt angry. You didn’t deserve to settle for a friend with benefits due to convenience. Had you wanted to be in that situation, it was your every right to do so, but you were in it out of fear of being hurt.

He felt sad. He wished you didn’t equate your past experiences with love to everything it could be. Bad experiences in love were possible for everyone — even for him, who used to believe unwaveringly that love could never be hurtful — but that didn’t mean it was all there was to it. Minho desperately wanted to show you that. The good side of love, the side that made him put it above everything else in his life on so many occasions, the side that made him crave it even now when it hurt more than it felt good.

And, strangely, Minho felt relieved. It was a small percentage of the chart of current emotions he was experiencing, but prevalent nonetheless. He would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he felt happy Hyunjin wasn’t your boyfriend and, most importantly, that you weren’t stuck in an unhappy or toxic relationship, as he had so often feared.

His ride arrives, and he’s overcome with a wave of courage. Minho would much rather live with regret than with a constant ‘what if’.

Shoving his phone inside his pocket, he offers his hand to you, who looks up at him curiously from where you’re sitting on the bench before taking his hand. Minho pulls you to your feet and hugs you. With his hand on your waist, he pulls your body closer to him, finally holding you tightly the way he’s always wanted to do. He presses a kiss to your head, bringing his lips to your ear and whispering, “I’m gonna change your mind.”

He feels your body shake with a chuckle, but he only tightens his hold on you.

“What?”

“About love, I’m gonna change your mind,” He answers matter-of-factly, “You deserve to feel love without being afraid.”

Minho pulls back from the embrace just enough to see your face, and he’s surprised to find you smiling up at him. He smiles back.

“I will change your mind.”

Minho had just dropped you off at your house, ready to drive around aimlessly until he absolutely had to go back to his dorm, when Seungmin texted him.

Kim Seungmin: hey my sister’s engagement dinner is tonight Kim Seungmin: and i might have fucked up something in the code i was working on so now there’s a chance that you fish 100 rare fish at once 🤪 Kim Seungmin: pls pls do me a solid and fix it before chan sees it and kills me? Kim Seungmin: love you hyung 💚

Minho initially groaned at the messages, thinking of the many ways in which he could murder Seungmin and get away with it. But, ultimately, he didn’t want to go back to his dorm anyway, so he gladly turned his car around. If he was lucky, this would take hours and he would have a valid excuse to crash in Chan’s cramped living room.

He punches the code to the front door and his friend greets him with a puzzled expression.

“I forgot to do the, uh, troubleshooting for this week,” Minho blurts out. It’s the first lie he can come up with, and he hopes it’s convincing enough. Chan nods slowly. Seungmin might have saved him from having to endure his roommates on a Saturday night, but he still owes him.

“It’s all good,” Chan says with a sigh, “I’m most likely gonna pull an all-nighter designing these new characters. Anyway, how did you waste your time today?”

Minho has been taking you on what he likes to call Subtle Dates for a month now.

Chan affectionately calls them Waste of Time Dates.

Minho rolls his eyes, sitting down on his own desk. “We went to Han River and walked around till sundown, then watched the Banpo Bridge water show.”

Days like today were rare, so Minho was happy. Most weekends, it seemed as if the whole world was conspiring against anything he planned with you.

“Oh, how romantic of you,” Chan gasps, feigning amazement. “Did you at least kiss her this time?”

“You know I can’t just kiss her like that. I know she’d freak out if I tried to do anything romantic with her,” Minho taps his fingers on his desk, knowing he sounds ridiculous. But he has a plan. He just hopes this plan actually works out soon. “I don’t mind being patient.”

He hears Chan scoff. “So, you took her on another one-sided date and then drove her home so Hyunjin can fuck her?”

Minho’s fingers stop tapping on his desk, his hand coming down to slam on it before he can stop himself. He lets out a heavy sigh, and Chan mumbles an apology. But, the truth is, he knows his friend is right. Just last weekend, Minho dropped you off straight into Hyunjin’s arms, the younger boy waiting for you to come back in front of your house.

And Hyunjin wasn’t the only inconvenience that rendered it almost impossible for the two of you to spend time together. Minho had to cut most of your dates short due to Chan calling him about something urgent that only he could fix at work, or you canceled altogether because your roommate was upset and you didn’t have the heart to leave her alone like that. There were also times when Minho was too tired to even go out at all, like on the day of his birthday, which resulted in you coming over to Chan’s apartment and eating cheap takeout food with him and his two friends.

Minho found himself dealing with countless bumps in the road when it came to finding a way into your heart.

“I didn’t mean to say it like that,” Chan says hesitantly, “You clearly like her a lot.”

Minho repeatedly opens and closes the code he’s supposed to fix. He sighs. “I like her more than a lot, and I don’t even know when that happened.”

“I don’t want to see you get hurt,” His friend explains, his face disappearing behind his own computer screen. “I just can’t see what will change if you go on dates with her when she doesn’t even know they’re dates and if she’s just gonna go home and have sex with someone else. I don’t get it. What difference does it make?”

He can hear Chan scoffing, although he tries to disguise it by clearing his throat. Minho shakes his head.

“It makes all the difference because that’s not love. I wanna show her what love is, and that it isn’t always bad. I promised her that I would.”

Chan sighs, sliding his chair toward the mini-fridge by the couch. “Agree to disagree?” He asks, grabbing a bottle of water and tossing it in Minho’s direction. He grabs it mid-air, just before it hits him in the face, and clicks his tongue.

“Agree to disagree.”

Minho plugs his headphones into the computer, drowning out the noise of Chan’s pen sliding across his iPad with his brown noise playlist. But he can’t drown out the obstinate thought ringing inside his head, screaming at him that Chan is right.

Taking you out on dates — which you don’t even know are dates — doesn’t really make a difference if you’re just going to go back to your convenience with Hyunjin at the end of the day. If you think you’re just friends going out together, and you go back home at night to the comfort of sex without the love you’ve been running away from for so long, what Minho is doing truly is useless. 

It’s just like when he argues with Seungmin through their codes, screaming at the younger boy in all caps about something that’s broken, even though he knows he’s going to be the one who will end up having to fix it.

Minho’s fingers come to a halt on the keyboard.

Closing his work, he opens up Google and finds the first flight he can to Japan. Almost as if he’s on autopilot, and his brain is completely shut off. He books the flight and the cheapest hotel he can find, using almost all the money he’s saved up to move out of his hell of a dorm. It might be the most idiotic thing he has ever done in his life, but he’s so in love it hurts him. And he loves love, and love with you — the thought of that alone has his heart beating at his throat. He doesn’t want to keep on with these futile attempts at trying to make you see that love is good and that, maybe, love can be good with him.

The truth is, he feels scared. Maybe even more scared than you do. He is terrified of knowing the answer, of finding out that maybe he could change your mind about love but that it would simply lead you to someone else’s arms and he would have to endure the pain of unrequited love until it inevitably faded away with time.

Minho would gladly live with that pain if it meant you were happy.

But he needed to know.

He adjusted his glasses — a childhood nervous habit that returned after he started wearing them more often since you complimented him months ago — and retrieved his phone from his backpack.

He typed and deleted more times than he’d like to admit.

Me: Hey, it’s late sorry  Me: Just wanted to know if you’d be up for a trip to Japan? Me: In two weeks Me: For study purposes Me: We’d finally have the chance to use what we learned in class lol Me: Chan was supposed to go with me but he has a family thing so he can’t anymore Me: Everything’s already paid for and he said he doesn’t mind if you go in his place Me: Lmk what you think

Minho’s fingers typed as his brain came up with excuses and lies, sending more messages than he needed to. He couldn’t tell you he booked a whole damn trip with you just to see if maybe, possibly, you have feelings for him too.

He all but throws his phone across his table after turning on Do Not Disturb. He’ll need to muster up the courage before reading your answer, and having his phone buzz for anything that wasn’t your reply would just be torturous. He felt stupid, would feel even more so if you turned down his invitation. He almost doesn’t want you to answer, wants to pretend he never even sent anything.

Because it was stupid.

But love is stupid, and he is in love.

Worst-case scenario, he’s stuck with Chan in Japan for a weekend while he laughs at him.

Best-case scenario, he spends a weekend with you in Japan. No letting you go back to another man at the end of the day, no more hiding that he is taking you out on dates, no more distractions, no more inconveniences of your daily lives.

Minho opens the code he was working on again, quickly typing out:

// NOTE: Minho will fix this.

[moeitsu]

Logan Howlett (Wolverine) Lore part 2 :)

Wow! You guys really appreciated my first post about Logan's backstory/lore and I'm grateful for all of your feedback!! Here's the link to part 1 if you're interested :)

I'm so happy to see all the love he's getting, its actually surreal to be a part of this fandom again and seeing all the new Wolverine content! The fanart and fanfics are literally my life-source rn. You don't even wanna know what my tiktok saved folder looks like....

You guys asked for more so here is part 2! It's not as organized as the first part, apologies. I'm using both the movies and comics here. Some stuff isn't confirmed but generally accepted in the mcu.

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Wolverine first appeared in The Incredible Hulk #180. He was supposed to be a mutated human/animal but the idea was later scrapped.

He was approx. 197 years old when he died in the movie 'Logan'

There's multiple different deaths in the comics but I wont get into that.

Logan is 5'3"- 5'5" (short king)

He has black hair and blue eyes

Before the adamantium, he weighed 196lbs (88kg). After the binding he was 300lbs (136kg)

His body is poisoned by the adamantium metal as it breaks down over time. Requiring him to be in a constant state of regeneration, which begins to slow down as he ages.

Without the metal he probably could have lived a lot longer.

Logan has a fear of water, or rather, drowning. It’s one of the only times can’t regenerate. It would cause his death.

The Weapon X program is also responsible for this fear since he was submerged under water for a long period of time for the binding.

The metal in his body also makes him so heavy it would be very difficult for him to swim.

In the comics Logan temporarily loses his healing factor due to a virus created by Dr. Abraham Cornelius. (Weapon X scientist) This event leaves him vulnerable for the first time in his life, forcing him to confront the reality of his mortality.

His healing ability greatly affects his mental state. Logan can quickly recover from physical damage, but he still feels all the pain. His ability to cope and endure despite the overwhelming suffering is central to his character.

Logan has an acute sense of smell. He can track people and objects across a great distance. It’s so precise that he can identify people’s emotional states such as fear or anger. Even when someone is lying.

Logan was sensitive, shy, and timid as a child.

The first person he ever killed was his biological father.

After killing his father he ran away from home with his friend Rose. (a hired companion to help care for him when he was young). Unfortunately, Logan accidently killed her during a fight.

Logan speaks several languages, due to his extensive life and travels. He speaks English, Japanese, Russian, Spanish, Chinese, Cheyenne and Lakota.

He’s actually an incredibly smart guy, don’t let him fool you.

Despite his love for alcohol, Logan’s healing factor makes it nearly impossible for him to get drunk.

Logan brews his own beer in the Origins comics. (we love a domestic husband)

On Logan’s birthday every year, Sabretooth seeks him out just to beat him up as a twisted "gift." Sabretooth calls this tradition "birthday beatings."

Spider-Man and Wolverine have teamed up a few times in the comics and they are a hilarious pair.

Logan's "berserker rage" is not just a result of his animalistic mutant powers. But stems from his deep psychological trauma. This side of him only emerges when he is pushed into extreme emotional or physical stress.

At one point before he escaped the Weapon X experiment, he was hired to kill Charles Xavier.

Logan's wife Itsu and son Daken were allegedly killed by the Winter Soldier, however it was later revealed that his son actually lived and had been consumed by hatred for his father. Logan was forced to kill his own son before he could cause more harm.

This act is one of, if not the most painful moment in Logan’s life, as it represents his ultimate failure as a father.

Logan blames himself for Jean Grey’s death.

He lived a majority of his life without his memories. Having no idea who he actually is.

Despite his involvement with the X-Men and his many close relationships he often feels like an outsider. Like he doesn’t belong anywhere. He isolates himself because loneliness is a familiar feeling.

Logan prefers the solitude and sanctity of nature. He loves the outdoors and has a lot of respect for the natural world. Often retreating into the wild for his own peace.

In one comic he baby sits Luke Cage and Jessica Jones daughter. Danielle Cage.

He can be quite playful at times with the younger mutants. For example, building a snowman with Jubilee.

Logan dreams of a normal life. He dreams of having a family with a wife and children and leaving the violence behind.

[hazbinwhoree]

Could you do Adam x reader headcanons and how he is around his band?

Love your writing btw, makes me happy everytime I see you post :DDD

Adam x Reader Headcanons

SFW

Adam does his absolute best to be a good boyfriend

His biggest fear is losing you like he lost Lilith and Eve

Can’t stand the idea of being alone again

Possessive, he loves showing you off and letting people know who you belong to

He does this mostly through hickeys and PDA

Touchy as fuck

This man is so touch starved, he’s on you every minute he can be

Holding hands, an arm around your waist, an elbow mockingly resting on top of your head (he’s massive), doesn’t matter

As long as you’re touching in some way

He’s the big spoon but he does like to lay on you and have you hold him from time to time

His bandmates constantly tease him about you

Cause he’s such a simp for you

Sometimes, his drummer will flirt with you to piss him off and it always leads to Adam dragging you off somewhere to have angry sex

Dedicates songs to you on stage during their shows

Completely ignores his groupies after every show, heading straight to you

His band and most people in general actually really like you two together

Adam is much more tolerable when he’s around you

His groupies don’t like you, but the rest of the band is grateful they have more of a chance to get some now

Whenever Sera needs to put Adam in line, she threatens to tell you about his behavior

That always checks him immediately

He said “I love you” first

Heavy attachment issues, you’re almost always together

NSFW

So vulgar during sex

Loves to talk during it (a yapper both in every day life and in sex)

Is good at dirty talk though so you don’t mind

Your favorite, however, is when he talks you through it and praises you

Gives the best head

Like seriously, I’m talking legs shaking, unable to walk afterwards kind of good

He has long fingers and a long tongue which always works in your favor

Refuses to sub, has to have complete control in the bedroom

With hookups, he always focused on his own pleasure, but with you, he’s a giver

Makes sure you cum first 90% of the time

His favorite position is missionary so he can look at you

Eye contact goes crazy

He loves making you maintain eye contact while he fucks you

It’s intimate for him

He’s 50/50 when it comes to pace

Sometimes he likes to be rough and fast

Other times he likes to be slow and intimate, makes love

Always cums inside of you

Like, always

You can’t think of a time he didn’t

Tits over ass, another reason he likes missionary

He also likes when you ride him sitting up

Fucks you standing up a lot, holding you, just to show off your size difference

Sex drive through the roof, you have sex at least once a day

Keeps a folder of naughty pictures of you to jerk off to on the rare occasions he doesn’t have access to you

Will still have sex with you even if you’re on your period

He’s that guy

Fucks with his mask on as often as he fucks with it off

When he wears his mask he loves when you hold onto the horns, and when he doesn’t wear the mask he loves when you tangle your fingers in his hair

Loves when you leave scratch marks on his back

He leaves hickeys, you leave scratch marks