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changbunnies · 2 months ago

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Hopelessly Devoted To You (18+)

♡ Pairing: Greaser!Bang Chan x fem!Reader

♡ Genre: grease inspired 50s au, some angst and fluff, this was supposed to be a long full length fic but it somehow became just porn with plot lol

♡ Word Count: 11.2k

♡ Summary: You were so excited to see him again– the guy you'd spent your entire summer with, entagled in a fleeting but explosively sweet romance. But the Chris you meet again isn't the one you remember, and now if he wants to win you back he's going to have to prove just how devoted to you he really is.

♡ Warnings: chan is referred to as chris, smoking (cigarettes), some misogyny + toxic masculinity + fuck boy behavior, some 50s references and lingo, 1 instance of reader shoving chan in a fit of anger / sadness, jealous and mildly possessive chan, minor appearances from felix, changbin, minho, and hyunjin (who goes by sam)

♡ Smut Warnings: 1 reference to reader losing their virginity to chan, references / flashbacks to other smut scenes before the main scene, light dom/sub dynamics, switch!chan, pet names (doll, sugar, baby), public sex, car sex, exhibitionism, oral (f rec, referenced m rec), fingering (f rec), nipple play, daddy kink, panty stealing (kind of), squirting, 1 mention of reader having pubic hair, maybe a lil breeding kink??, protected piv

♡ Notes: i've had this sitting in my drafts since december and finally got around to finishing it gfdhgfh this is incredibly self indulgent as grease is one of my fave movies ever and chan as danny zuko is constantly rattling around in my brain. the build up is pretty short (by my usual standards) as i moved the plot along a lot quicker than i normally would so idk if it's my best work but hopefully you enjoy it!

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

You remember well the first time you met Chris. Lounging aimlessly at the beach with the sunset on the horizon, his feet in the sand with a silver dog tag necklace hanging low over his bare chest, a cigarette from his previously discarded jeans held between his lips. Fresh from the ocean with beads of water still dripping off his toned body, slicking back his damp hair before fumbling through a different pocket for his lighter.

You watched him bring it up to his face after successfully digging it out, cupping his other hand around it to protect the flame as he lit the cigarette in his mouth. You watched him take a long drag, watched him blow the smoke out from the corners of his mouth, watched him sigh before deciding to towel dry his legs enough to wrangle his jeans back on.

The beach had been quickly growing sparse by the time you spotted him. Groups of friends clearing out to make it to the local diner before all the tables were filled, parents wanting to get their kids to bed before the moon fully rose in the sky, couples on double dates bunching up in one car as they decide to hit the drive-in together.

You yourself were in no rush to leave– you came alone, tired of your parents bickering during what was supposed to be a fun family vacation. You’d stay as long as you could, you’d decided– really soak in the peace the sea brings before returning to your aunt’s beach house, where you were all staying for the summer.

But safe to say, the sight of him enraptured you. He was handsome, devastatingly so– you never expected to see a man with a visage to rival even that of James Dean himself with your own eyes, but there he was before you; and your heart stuttered when he glanced over in your direction.

He had just finished pulling his jeans up and over his haunches when he noticed you, cocking a brow when your eyes met– and you could tell in an instant that he knew you’d been staring at him. His smile made your breath hitch, pretty dimples peeking out on his cheeks as he acknowledged you with a playful wave.

Hesitantly, you lifted your hand and waved back, and he grinned, eyes still locked on yours as he pulled up the zipper of his jeans. He turned back to his belongings on the ground, shook the sand out of his white tee before pulling it on. He grabbed his leather jacket, slung it over his shoulder before turning to look at you once more.

You swallowed, face running hot from his gaze alone– you hoped, as he began walking towards you, that you could play it off as having not put on enough sunscreen before coming here. You were sitting on a towel, legs to your chest with your arms wrapped around them, but you lowered them as he approached you.

He tossed his cigarette to the the side once he was close, letting its flame fizzle out in the sand. He looked you up and down when you stood up, introducing himself with a charismatic smile that made your heart race faster. You stuttered when speaking, and his smile widened, one of his hands going to rest in the pocket of his jeans while the other kept his leather jacket in place over his shoulder.

Chris was the most, to say the least– and when he asked if he’d see you again tomorrow, you promised him he would. You watched him walk over to a beat up, old top down cadillac, throwing his jacket into the car before jumping in– literally jumping in, hand on top of the closed car door as he hopped over it into the driver's seat.

He gave you another glance after starting the ignition, and you smiled meekly as you offered him another wave. Chris grinned, raising his hand to say goodbye before putting it back on the wheel and burning rubber out of the parking lot.

You spent nearly every summer day with him after that. Days at the beach spent splashing each other in the water while you giggled, hopping in his cadillac to go catch whatever new flick was showing, or sharing a milkshake at his favorite diner. He’d hold your hand as you walked through the sand, giggled with you over silly inside jokes while eating burgers and fries, hugged you tight after you gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek at the end of the night.

Chris gave you dimes to pick tunes on the jukebox, and would sing along to your selections with the prettiest voice you’d ever heard. He took you to the county fair, would shoot you goofy grins after kissing you with lips sticky from cotton candy, got on the ferris wheel with you and squeezed your hand when the height made you dizzy, kissing away your nerves when you reached the very top.

He won you a teddy bear from the soda toss, put his leather jacket over your shoulders when the sun set and the air began to chill, wrapped his arm around your shoulder while you were waiting in line to buy some popcorn. He’d lean down to whisper a joke in your ear, and you’d slap his arm with a giggle while he squeezed you closer.

You watched him soup up the engine of his car, and he’d take your hand after a long day of working on it, pull you in to dance with him while the radio blared the hippest tunes. When he was satisfied with the restoration of his cadillac, he started taking you out on long drives, wind whipping through your hair as he drove fast through the back streets of the city.

He’d drive you to secluded hills overlooking the city, where you’d make out until he had to drive you home in time for curfew. He’d park his car far down the street, away from where your family could see him dropping you off– because Lord knows your mother's heart would give out if she saw you spending your vacation with a guy that looked like him.

And through it all, days spent back at the beach where you first met him were always your favorite. You would let Chris lay you down on a towel in the sand and kiss you over and over, until you were both heaving and hot. You lost your virginity to him like that– alone on the beach, towels laid down and moon high in the sky after having snuck out of the window of your guest bedroom to meet him.

He’d whisper sweet words in your ear, make you fall apart with deft fingers and an equally deft tongue. Sometimes, instead of sneaking out to see him, he’d be the one showing up at your guest room's window, grinning at you as you opened it to let him in. He’d fuck you there, in the bed with his hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your moans of pleasure, lest your family discover what it is you’re really up to while "alone" in your room.

Chris would crawl over to you in the passenger seat at the drive-in, sink to his knees and dip his head underneath your long poodle skirt, the flick on screen long forgotten as he pulled your panties to the side to kiss and lick your dripping pussy. Sometimes he’d fuck you there too, parked all the way in back with the windows and hood of the car up to hide what you were doing (as if the rocking didn’t give it away to anyone who happened to look.)

Sometimes, when he parked up the street to drop you off after sharing ice cream at the drive thru malt shop, you’d lean over the gear shift, taking his cock out of his jeans and sucking him off right there, with not nearly enough care for who could possibly see you. He’d give you the sweetest kiss before helping you out of the car, promising he’d see you tomorrow too, and the day after, and the day after that, until eventually your family’s summer vacation had to come to an end.

Chris was a dreamboat that day, as he always was– hair greased back with a few curly strands left over his forehead, loose black tee tucked into his jeans, leather jacket on with its collar ever so slightly popped, his dog tag necklace sparkling when the sun hit it just right. He was leaning against the door of his newly souped up cadillac with a lit cigarette resting between his lips, though he promptly threw it to the ground when he saw you walking over.

“There’s my girl! And ain’t she a doll,” he grinned as he pulled you to his body, kissing you sweetly as you blushed. You weren’t wearing anything he hadn’t seen you in before– just one of your usual white blouses and pretty pink skirts, but he always made sure to tell you that he thought you were the absolute most.

He walked around to the other side of the car, opened the door for you and closed it shut behind you when you got in. He hopped into the driver’s seat after, starting the ignition and turning to you with that beaming smile that made your stomach flip. “What’s the plan today, sugar?” he asked, throwing his arm around you while leaving one hand on the steering wheel.

In the end, you spent the day as you had many times before– driving through the city, hitting up the diner to split a strawberry milkshake, and watching the sunset at the beach; the same beach where you met him, and where the house you were staying in lied just a couple hundred yards away. You were sitting on the rocks, his leather jacket off and resting behind you, his arm curled around your waist.

His jeans were filthy with sand, as was your skirt, but neither of you cared– you just stayed there together, watching the sun sink lower and the waves crash against the shore. Chris kissed you when you looked up at him with watery eyes, agonized over the idea of never seeing him again. He’d given you the best summer of your entire life, and all you wanted was to stay– but you couldn’t. And though he comforted you the best he could, you both knew it was the end.

Chris held your hand to help you off the rocks, gave you a kiss before you turned away to make the walk to your aunt’s beach house. And you both knew it was the end– but not just yet. He came to your window later that night, and you let him in, bringing your hands to his face and eagerly pressing your lips to his.

He walked you back to the bed as you kissed him, laid you back gently and crawled between your legs. He made you cum on his fingers before reaching into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a condom and tearing it open with his teeth. He rolled it easily down his cock, his jeans having fallen down his legs just enough to let him fuck you.

You reached your hands underneath his shirt, hungrily tracing your hands over every inch of his skin. Your nightgown was bunched above your thighs, legs spread wide to accommodate him. He eventually pulled the top of it down too, exposing your chest to him and leaving your stomach as the only covered part of your body.

Sweat dripped from his brow, his normally perfectly slicked hair tousled from your fingers sliding through it– and you didn't care that the pomade in his hair dirtied your fingers; in fact, it made it feel nicer when you brought your hand to one of your breasts, and rolled your nipples between them. Your stomach flipped when he grinned and called you a dirty girl, running a hand through his hair to grease up his fingers too and tweak the other nipple not being played with by your own.

He kissed you to muffle your moans and desperate whines, and it was nowhere near as effective as when it was his hand clamped over your mouth, but it was better. He had to slow down when fucking you fast unintentionally made your bedframe slam against the wall, and you gasped, praying no one woke up from the sound.

Thankfully, no one came knocking on your door– and though you were both desperate, clinging to one another hard and sliding your tongues around each other’s with fervor, he fucked you slow and deep after that. "Chris, daddy, please– 'm gonna cum," you moaned when he brought his slicked up fingers to your clit.

Chris groaned before kissing you again, and you came with a muffled cry, your nails digging desperately into his biceps. He kept rolling his hips into you through it, your body trembling with sensitivity until he eventually came too, all his cum spilling into the condom.

He stayed for a while after that, holding you close and wiping tears from your eyes with his thumbs. He snuck out in the middle of the night, promised you despite it all that it wasn’t the end– you’d see each other again someday, he just knew it; he wanted you to believe it too.

You got a couple of hours of sleep before morning, and gave your family the best smile you could manage as you tossed your luggage in the trunk of your dad's chevy bel air. You slouched in the back seat, trying not to cry and wishing more than anything you were in Chris’ old cadillac instead.

The Chris you reunited with wasn’t yours, and if it was, then fate was cruel for bringing you back to him.

The Chris you knew wouldn’t have looked at you like that– like you’re a desperate and fast girl, or an overly smitten near stranger hoping to get her kicks from him one last time while his friends snickered behind him. The Chris you knew wouldn’t join in on their snickering, tilting his head with an amused expression, tongue poking his cheek as he combs his fingers through his slicked back hair.

The Chris you reunited with wasn't yours, and the realization that you didn't really know him the way you thought you did utterly broke your heart.

You were back in the city– your parents, after having settled whatever marital disputes they were having, decided to settle down here. They loved their time together in the city when all their little tiffs were said and done, and they could tell you loved it here too.

They thought it’d benefit everyone to set up shop somewhere new, where everyone could reset. Plus, your mom wanted to be close to her sister again– and you certainly wouldn’t complain about spending more time at your aunt’s beach house.

You desperately wanted to see Chris again, and you knew it’d only be a matter of time before you did– unlike you, he grew up in the city, lived here his entire life. And while it’d been months since you parted at the end of summer considering your parents had to do a lot of work to shift the family business to a new location while also looking for a decent house up for sale, it would happen eventually– you were certain of it.

And soon enough you did see him, knew in an instant it was him even at a distance– because you’d recognize his restored cadillac anywhere. He was leaning against the car door like usual, cigarette in his mouth and leather jacket on his back, with a circle of friends around him. You never met his friends– he told you they were pigs, said that you wouldn’t like them much.

Besides, you were only going to be in town a few short months– why waste your precious few days hanging around with other people when you could be alone? That’s what he always told you– and as you tentatively began to walk up the street closer to them, you could tell they certainly did talk more vulgarly than you were used to hearing.

“C’mon man, you gotta let me borrow her,” one of his friends begged in reference to his car, “she’s a real pussy wagon. My chick’ll cream if I pick her up in it.” “Get your own wheels, bozo,” Chris shoved him with a laugh, “I ain’t lettin’ you take my girl on any joyrides.”

“What if you come too? Make it a double date, you know– and nobody’s got bigger tits than Annette. I got dibs, but she’ll be real nice eye candy for you,” his friend persuaded and Chris hummed, as if seriously considering it. Would he really go?

“Mm, maybe,” he grinned, tossing his cigarette to the ground and digging it into the gravel with his foot, “You do got a point. Tell her to bring a pretty friend, and I’ll think about it.” You blinked, stopped walking and simply stared at him. Had he moved on already? It’d only been a few months, but maybe you fell for him harder than he fell for you; the thought of it made your heart sink to your stomach.

His friend cheered and hugged him tight, and Chris pushed him away with another laugh, running a hand through his hair to fix it up as he characteristically did whenever it got even the slightest bit out of shape. In that same moment is when he glanced over in your direction, catching sight of you by pure coincidence.

His eyes widened when he saw you, mouth gaping open for a split second before he called your name in a mix of utter shock and joy. That was more like the Chris you knew– and it gave you hope. You ran up to him, and he to you, bringing his hands to your shoulders and touching you up and down your arms– truly, he couldn’t believe you were here, and he had to touch you to be certain it was real.

“What– what are you doing here? I-I thought you went back home with your folks, I thought–” he was smiling, entirely giddy as he looked you up and down. “We moved! I’m here to stay,” you told him excitedly, bouncing on your heels as you stared up at him.

It made you so, so happy; to the point that the contents of his prior conversation entirely lifted from your mind. It pains you thinking back to how naive and lovesick for him you were– you wish you'd have known better.

“I can’t believe it! I–” he started to exclaim, but then realized his friends followed him, crowding around his back while shooting him inquisitive looks, and he quickly took his hands off you.

He cleared his throat, tucked his hands in his pockets in a gesture meant to bring him back to his aloof state of being, and he grinned– not that pretty grin that made your heart flutter, but a wicked one. “I mean– that’s cool, baby.”

You didn’t like it, your brows furrowing at the change in his demeanor. “Christopher–” you started, but one of his friends spoke up before you could talk much more. “Who’s the chick?” he asked as he looked you up and down, and Chris hesitated. “Oh, uh–”

“Oh, I know!” the friend suddenly exclaimed, hit by an epiphany, “the one from the beach you wouldn’t let us meet– the one who puts out. This her? It is, isn’t it?”

Your face burned red, unpleasant heat crawling over your body as the rest of his friends snickered. He told them you put out? Why would he do that? Your expression crumbled, body trembling with embarrassment and grief, but Chris kept his own cool.

“Don’t worry, doll, I didn’t tell them all the horny details,” he smirked, and his friends' snickers erupted into full on laughs as they slapped his back in amusement. Your body burned hot with indignation, eyes welling with tears as your frustration and anguish boiled over. You shoved him as hard as you could, though it hardly even caused him to take a step back.

“I wish I’d never laid eyes on you, you– you creep!” you cried before turning away, ready to run back home to throw the teddy bear he won you in the trash and sob into your pillows. “That’s not all she laid on him,” one of his friends commented under his breath, the rest laughing and hooting as you sprinted away from them, back down the street.

Chris just watched, body tense and face sullen, heart twisting in his chest. He watched you turn the corner, wiping tears from your eyes before you disappeared entirely out of view, his friends still laughing and giving him pats on the back.

But when he turned to them, he put the smirk back on, and they all hopped into his car to hit the drive-in as if he didn't care about what just happened with you, as if the guilt wasn't going to eat away at him every night.

The next time Chris sees you is weeks later, at a new mom-and-pop shop freshly opened on the edge of the city. He’s there with his friends, all of them jumping out his cadillac before he’s even fully parked, rushing inside to grab a good table.

And when he walks in, it’s not his friends that he sees first but you– sitting at a booth with another guy across from you. There's an empty plate with tiny remnants of ketchup still left behind that he just knows you used for your french fries, and a milkshake between you with two straws stuck in it.

Part of him is relieved you aren’t sharing a single straw with the man like you would’ve done with him, but his gut still twists from the sight regardless. And when you giggle at something indiscernible the guy says, Chris feels liquid hot envy boil in his blood, jaw tightening and fists clenching as he cracks his neck.

“Chris, over here!” his best pal, Felix, calls from across the shop, and that’s when you see him too. You can’t help but look when you hear his name called, eyes widening when they land on him. He tenses, eyes lingering on you for a few seconds longer before he inevitably joins his friends at the table they scouted out in the middle of the room.

He can't focus on anything his friends are saying– the only thing he vaguely hears through the fog in his brain is Changbin begging the others for spare nickels so he can afford the dog-sled delight. It all becomes tuned out noise, because all he can think about is how much he missed you, and how much it pisses him off that you're here with someone else.

It's Chris' own fault, he knows that, and that makes the feeling even worse– like bile in his throat that he can't swallow down. It doesn’t take Minho, the most perceptive of his friend group, to notice that he’s staring at you and to comment on it.

“What, you still hung up on that chick?” he questions, and Chris scoffs as he snaps out of his fog, leaning back in his chair and acting as aloof as he can bring himself to. “What? No, of course not,” he says, but his eyes still linger on you, fingers twitching with irritation when he hears you laugh again, and watches you playfully slap the man’s arm like you would do to his.

Eventually, you hold out your palm to your date, and he watches the guy dig through his pockets to give you something. Chris knows immediately what's happening– you’re waiting to be given a dime or two, and you’ll saunter off to the jukebox to pick a new tune once they’re in hand.

He watches you rise from the booth, waits until you’ve made the walk over to rise from his table, muttering to his friends that he needs to hit the can real quick. He takes a few steps in the direction of the bathroom, and then immediately turns, going straight to you instead.

He props an arm on the jukebox after he approaches, leans against it and looks down at you as you cycle through the record choices. “Hey baby,” he tries, but you ignore him, don’t even spare him a glance as you continue to give the jukebox your full attention.

“Listen– I’m sorry,” he tries again, and you just hum in acknowledgement, still not turning your gaze to look at him. He swallows, glances back at his friends who are perfectly oblivious to what he’s doing, and then back to you. “I just– you know how it is, right? The guys, they expect me to act a certain way, and–”

“That’s why I’m so glad I met Sam,” you interrupt, turning around to look at your date and offer him a sweet wave. Chris hates it, but at least you’re talking to him now– he’ll take what he can get. He still ends up scowling however when your date waves back, and you turn back to the jukebox, still without glancing up at Chris himself.

“What, you like that square?” he scoffs as he looks your date up and down. He’s smartly dressed; pristine khaki slacks and a brown sweater vest pulled over his white button up, his hair in a neatly styled, respectable crew cut– but that’s not your type.

At least, he hopes it's not; because that would make Chris the outlier, and that’s not what he wants to be. He’ll also be damned if he ends up losing you to a goody two shoes like that.

“He’s sweet to me. And I don’t have to question what his intentions are, unlike with you,” you reply, and the emphasis put on 'you' makes his heart sink. While he certainly deserves to hear it, it doesn’t make him any less upset– not with you, but with himself. He really let his pride and reputation get in the way, and he knows he fucked up. But he wants you, and surely you know that, right?

You finally settle on a tune; Those Magic Changes– the one he knows is your absolute favorite. The one he even used to serenade you with once whilst dancing, you giggling away with a cute blush on your cheeks whilst he twirled you around. He sang it more exaggeratedly towards the end, purposely putting on a goofy voice to make you laugh harder as he dipped you down.

He kissed you before lifting you back up, and then again when you were completely upright, your hand on his shoulder and his arm around your waist, your other free hands intertwined. The way you looked at him when he pulled back from the kiss made his heart pound, but he played it cool– shot you that grin that always made your legs feel like jelly, kissing your cheeks when it made your blush deepen.

Chris liked feeling the heat of your blush against his lips, liked having your hands on him even when it was in the purest of ways, liked the way you giggled and smiled at him when he playfully winked at you. The memory strikes him hard when you press the play button to start the song, and he takes a step back from the jukebox, fists clenched at his side.

You look at him then– really look at him. Instantly he feels small, your gaze that once held so much love for him now meeting him with the utmost scrutiny. He fucked up, he knows he did– but what does he do now? He can’t even trust himself to say something without fucking it up even worse.

And the pain of it all hits you too– he can see it in your eyes just before you steel your expression, and do your best to act unaffected. "See you around, Christopher," you mutter as you turn away from him and the jukebox.

You walk back to the booth where Sam awaits your return with a smile, while Chris just stands there, your favorite song blaring painfully loud in his ears as he stares at your back. "..begs you please, come back to me, please return to me, don't go away again," the lyrics mock him harshly.

He doesn't know what to do, but he knows he has to do something, anything, to show you he’s sincerely sorry. He needs to show you he still wants you, needs you to give him another chance– more than he’s ever needed anything.

The next time Chris sees you is once again by coincidence, while he’s sitting alone in the parking lot of the sock hop his little sister just begged him to take her to. He was trying to decide what to do with his time– if he left, he’d have to come back in a couple hours to pick her up, but surely it was better than sitting around outside, bored out of his mind while he waited for her.

He could go in, but sock hops aren’t really his thing– the only time he ever danced was with you, and he didn’t plan on changing that. All he’d do inside is stand on the edge of the room and watch his sister dance, and he didn’t much feel like doing that either. Besides, his little sister was a good girl, and she didn’t need, nor want, his constant supervision.

And he’s just about to turn the key in his ignition and burn rubber when he sees you, arm linked with stupid fucking Sam as he opens the door for you with his free hand. And fuck, he doesn't even care that he's about to crash your date– he just needs to talk you. He jumps out of his car in a rush, pulling open the door to the building and heading straight to the line leading to the dance floor.

Chris’ jaw tenses when he sees you– Sam is leaning down to whisper something in your ear while you wait in the line, and you cover your mouth as you giggle. He hates how similar it is to the days he spent with you at the fair, waiting in line for rides and popcorn. The envy bubbling in his gut makes him feel sick, and he has to take a breath to calm himself down before he approaches you.

He steps to where you are in the line when he feels mellowed out enough, you and your date turning around curiously when they hear his voice call your name. Your eyes widen when you see it's him, but you’re quick to correct your expression before your date notices anything off about you. “Can I talk to you?” Chris asks, not at all acknowledging Sam’s presence beside you.

Even when you divert your gaze to glance at your date’s reaction, Chris’ eyes stay firmly on you, awaiting your answer. “Please?” he follows up, and it makes you swallow. It’s the first time he’s ever taken a pleading, desperate tone with you, and he can tell rejecting him isn’t going to come easily to you– it gives him hope that you'll finally hear him out, maybe even take him back.

“I–” you hesitate a moment, and just as Chris’ new, shiny hope begins to dim, you unlink your arm from your date. “I’ll be right back, just stay in the line,” you tell Sam before shooting Chris a look and walking past him. He follows you back outside, and you cross your arms as you stand against the cold brick of the exterior.

“What do you want?” you cut straight to the point. There’s a million things he wants to say, but his built up jealousy causes him to ask the stupid, burning question first and foremost. “Since when do you go to sock hops?” he questions, and it almost makes you laugh– he’s unbelievable, breaking your heart like that and then pulling stunts like this.

“Since nice boys ask me to go with them. Why, you jealous?” you accuse him and he scoffs, trying once again to play off what he feels. “Me? Jealous? Don’t make me laugh,” he says, unable to help the instinctive reaction to being called out. And he instantly regrets it, but it’s too late to take it back.

“Oh, so you won’t mind if I go back inside then?” you ask as you step away from the wall, starting to walk past Chris and back to the doors. He grabs your arm to stop you, and you look up at him expectantly. “Don’t, I–” he grits his teeth, hesitates for a moment, but ultimately decides to be honest, “I am, okay? So don’t.”

He lets your arm go, and his admission thankfully proves enough to make you stay. You settle back against the brick wall, but you don’t look at him after– instead you look down at the ground, staring at your sleek, black and white saddle shoes instead of meeting his gaze.

It’s silent for a moment, with Chris wracking his brain as he tries to figure out the right thing to say to you. “What you did was terrible, you know,” you end up breaking the silence first, your voice soft.

“I know, I– I meant it when I said I was sorry,” Chris says while moving a step closer to you, and still you hesitate to look at him. “I didn’t believe you. Still don’t,” you reply, and honestly, he can’t blame you– he should’ve been more sincere when he approached you.

But he was being a fucking idiot, still trying to play it cool even though it was just the two of you standing there by the jukebox. And who gave a fuck if his friends happened to look over and saw him talking to you? Why should he care? Is it really so wrong for him to be whipped for you?

Even the first time he saw you again, he should've done all the things he really wanted to do. He should've kissed you and hugged you tight, should've told you how happy he was to know you’re here to stay, should’ve flipped his friends the bird and told them to fuck off if they questioned him. But he didn’t– he cracked under the expectations, and you suffered for it.

There’s a lot he wants to say, but he doesn’t know how to say it– he’s never been vulnerable about his feelings before you, but he wants to try. Even if he screws up over and over again, he’ll keep trying– because you deserve it. And he should apologize again, sincerely, but there’s another question burning in his blood that he has to ask.

“Do you really like that guy? You’re not, like– going steady, are you?” Chris questions and you shrug, finally looking up from the ground to meet his eyes. “That depends,” you tell him, peeling your back away from the wall to stand directly in front of him, holding your hands behind your back.

“On what?” he follows up, and you smile– a small one, but it’s enough for him. “On you,” you answer, and the hope flares back up, drowning out the envy and shame in veins and replacing it with pure, unfiltered glee.

“Yeah?” he grins as he tilts his head, and your smile grows the tiniest bit more as you nod. You may still have your doubts about his sincerity, but the fact that you’re willing to give him a chance is all he needs– he’ll use the time you give him to prove it to you, to make sure you’re left with no doubts that you’re the one that he wants, to promise that he'll never break your heart again.

“Come with me then, back inside– you’re gonna be my date,” he says as he holds out his hand to you. Sock hops may not have been his style before, but they can be for you. “What about Sam?” you question, but still take his hand regardless.

“He can stag it the rest of the night for all I care. You’re mine, sugar,” Chris replies, and it sends butterflies sweeping through your stomach as you giggle in delight. “And your friends?” you ask next, knowing it’s very well possible he’ll crack under the expectations of his rep with them again if they see you together.

“Fuck ‘em,” he replies easily; and you’re both sure it’ll be easier said than done for him to not give a shit what they think, but he’ll do his best. He doesn’t want to do anything to make you regret giving him another chance. “Let’s dance, baby,” he grins at you, pulling you along with him as he steps back inside the building with you in tow.

There’s a thought in Chris’ head that he never before thought he’d ever have– the sock hop was perfect. And well, maybe it’s not the sock hop itself necessarily that he enjoyed, but you– yes, it was most certainly you. The time spent with you was everything he’d been missing, everything he could’ve ever hoped for following your departure from the city and his subsequent abysmal fuck up.

He knew he didn’t deserve any of it– and he was certain you were going to share a more serious talk about it all later, but he couldn’t deny the satisfaction he felt walking back into the building and seeing Sam utterly bewildered that his date was now clinging to his own arm instead.

And he won’t shirk his responsibility to do better by you– he’ll own up to his mistakes, he’ll change, be someone deserving of you. It may take a lot of time and effort to unlearn all the dumb shit he’s taken in over the years, but he swears he’ll try– tonight is just the start of a lifetime of proving to you that he’ll do anything to keep you.

All night, you’ve been positively radiant– and truly, Chris has never felt luckier in all his life. He delighted in the way you smiled at him while dancing, enjoyed the way you squealed in excitement and bounced on your heels when the live band decided to play a cover of your favorite tune, couldn’t help the way a goofy grin spread over his face when you pecked him on the cheek following a slow dance.

You’re the only one in the world who’s ever seen it, you know– the only one who gets to see his dimples, or to hear him giggle. The only one he’s ever sung to and danced with, the only one he’s ever wanted to stay up all night talking on the phone with, the only one he’s ever taken out for more than a quick and simple joyride in his car.

He could feel the inquisitive, disbelieving stares too– Chris has lived here his entire life, and everyone knows the kind of guy he is. And maybe he’s simply lucky– he knows he’s nothing but a delinquent, knows his reputation precedes him, knows he doesn’t deserve the affection of a good girl like you.

Regardless of it all, you love him– enough to give him another chance even when he hasn’t yet done enough to earn it. And effortlessly, you unlock the soft part of him– the part of him that desires and yearns and wants. He burns for you, the only girl in the world his heart has ever raced for, the only who knew who he was beyond the rough surface he projected to the rest of the world.

Now you’re outside tentatively standing next to Chris’ car, waiting for him to come back from confirming with his sister that she’ll hitch a ride home from her friends instead of him. It embarrasses him how she grills him with questions about you– and he answers in the vaguest of terms, having to promise that he’ll fill her in on it all in more detail later, but to please just let him go be alone with his girl.

He’s certain that no one else would believe it if he told them, but his intentions to be alone with you are entirely pure. Now that he’s close to having you as his again, he wants to do right by you– take it slow, kiss you soft and tender, touch you light and chaste, respectfully, sweetly. He wants to take you on dates again, wants to save up all his quarters to buy you something special, wants to devote his every moment to showing you how sincerely he loves you.

He wants you to meet his friends properly (after he gives them a stern warning to be gentlemen in front of you), wants you to meet his parents, and he wants to meet yours in turn. He wants to stop playing it cool and aloof and confident when he feels something– doesn’t want to keep pretending that the way you look at him doesn’t drive him wild, not just with lust but with adoration.

And certainly, you know that Chris is softer than he outwardly appears– you’re not blind to the way his cheeks and ears burn when you kiss him sweet and call him that name that makes his heart skip a beat. And unlike you, Chris knew what he was doing– so it was natural for him to always be the one leading your little song and dance, even when on the inside he felt like he was going to positively combust from the way your eyes sparkled at him.

There’s something you’ve been wanting to try– something that you couldn’t before, because your summer together passed by in a blink, and there was so much you didn’t know when your relationship first began. And Chris has taught you a lot in your time together– maybe more than he even realizes.

He may not know it, but he’s made you into a real insatiable minx. And now that you know he’s willing to beg and plead and grovel for you to take him back, oh how it makes your heart race with the possibilities. How far can you take it? How far is he willing to go for you, to prove that he’s devoted to you entirely? Would he really do anything to keep you?

Chris told you, just a few moments ago as the sock hop was coming to an end, that he’ll do anything and everything to make sure you don’t regret giving him another chance with him. He looked you straight in the eyes, vulnerable and entirely sincere, squeezed your hands in his as countless promises left his lips.

Could he be manipulating you? Is he nothing but a dirty liar? It’s certainly possible– but you’d like to believe the Chris you knew last summer is the truest version of himself. You’d like to believe that the Chris you saw tonight isn’t an act to keep stringing you along. So you want to try something– something bold, something the you of last summer would’ve never thought to do.

You don’t think your shyness will ever entirely evaporate given that Chris is such an utter dreamboat, but he does well enough at playing it cool, so who's to say you can’t do it too? You can be playful and enticing, can play it coy and innocent while you flutter your lashes at him, can smile and pout at him in a way that makes desire spread through his veins like explosive, hot fireworks.

When Chris walks back out of the building you have to make a conscious effort to ignore the butterflies in your stomach– you’ve decided you’re a woman on a mission tonight, after all. The parking lot is sparse now, and the last stragglers from the sock hop all shuffle to their cars, his sister and her group of friends being among them.

Though you only met her briefly, you offer her a pleasant wave goodbye, and she smiles at you as she returns it– though you don’t miss the way she shoots her older brother a look after. A look that says “don’t fuck this up for yourself.” It almost makes you giggle– you like having his sister on your side; you get the impression she’ll chew him out if he doesn’t shape up the way he’s promised to.

Chris doesn’t turn to you until after his sister and her friends have peeled out of the parking lot– you’re not sure if it’s because he wanted to make sure she was going to be safe, or if it’s because he felt like she’d gotten enough of an eyeful of him being affection with you, and he’d be embarrassed if she saw anymore. You like either answer.

“Hi baby,” he says, soft and sweet as he smiles, and it makes your heart once again skip a beat. Even after hours of dancing, he still looks utterly perfect– not a single piece of his greased up hair out of place. You hope you’re faring the same– you didn’t really get a chance to look at yourself in the mirror at the end of the night to know for certain, but you want Chris to think you look divine.

“Am I taking you straight home?” he asks; it’s dark out now, but you still have a fair amount of time before you’re expected back home. And while he’d love to spend more time with you, he isn’t going to assume– this is a trial period, after all; he still has to earn that, he’s sure.

Calling you his earlier was more hope on his end than confidence– he wants you to be his, but he knows he has to earn your trust back first. And he’s going to be a gentleman– any boundary you have, he’ll adhere to, no matter what. He refuses to fuck up with you again.

“No,” you answer short and simple, smiling up at him as you do. But before he can ask you what you want to do until curfew, you’re speaking again. “My shoe's untied,” you pout, leaning back against his car while gently lifting your foot from the ground to show him, “can you fix it for me, please?”

“You want me to tie it for you, baby?” he laughs a little as he tilts his head to the side, thinking you’re just oh so cute when you keep up the pout as you nod. He gets down on one knee easily, and you put your foot right on his knee, watching as he ties your laces back together. When he’s finished, you don’t put your foot back on the ground– you press it right to the middle of his chest.

“Baby?” Chris looks up at you curiously– and there’s a twinkle in your eye he’s never seen before. He almost thinks you’re going to kick him back on his behind, but you don’t– you take your skirt into your hands, and start to pull it up. Slowly, it rises above your calf, your knee, your thigh, until he can see your pretty white panties, with its precious little pink bow in the center.

“S-Sugar, what– what are you–” he stammers, struggling to form words in a way he never has before. You’ve never exposed yourself to him like this– just out in the open, with no barrier between you and the rest of the world. You aren’t in your bedroom, you aren’t inside the car with the windows and hood up– you’re out, in the middle of the fucking parking lot where anyone could see.

Fuck, even the times at the beach, when he made love to you in the sand, were much, much more secluded than this– because those excursions were isolated, close to your aunt’s beach house and happening in the dead of night. And this is very much not– it’s barely even 9 o’clock, and you’re at a public venue; anyone could come by, and for any reason.

“I need your help with something else too, daddy,” you say as you pout some more, clearly acting coy, and he swallows as he stares up at you. “Can you do it, daddy? Can you help me?” You take as much of your skirt's fabric into one hand as you can, keeping it lifted above your thigh while you move your other hand between your legs, pulling your panties to the side to show him your pussy.

The action sends all of Chris’ blood careening to his cock– he can’t believe you’re really doing this right now. “Right– right here? N-Now?” he gulps, taking a quick glance around the parking lot. You’re alone now, but still– he never thought you’d do something so bold. Even just fooling around in the back seat of the cadillac with as much privacy as he could give you made you impossibly shy.

“Yes, here, now,” you tell him, keeping your panties hooked to the side with two fingers, while using the other two to spread your folds apart for him the best you can. You’re trying to entice him, and fuck, is it working. He never thought he’d see you this way, and it’s making him feel so utterly electric– he’s a fucking live wire, and he’ll pour his current straight into you.

Anything you want from him, it’s yours– he doesn’t need any convincing, he’s already impossibly ensnared by the rope that is your desire for him. And fuck, he said he wouldn't do this, said he'd be a gentleman, take things slow and build back up to intimacy with you– but if you're practically begging him for it, how can he resist?

Chris takes your foot into his hand, carefully lifts it from his chest and throws your leg over his shoulder before he crawls closer to you. The concrete of the parking lot ground is brutal against his knees, but he doesn’t give a shit– you need him, and that’s all that matters.

He replaces your hand, keeps your panties shoved aside with his own. Now that your hand is free you use it to hold onto the car door and give yourself some extra support as he starts placing kisses to your clit. His lips always feel so perfect– especially when he licks them first, gets them nice and wet for you; the sensation draws out a pleasant sigh, but you both know it isn’t really enough.

Chris likes to tease you, make you wait until you’re squirming and trembling from all his repeated kisses, gets you so worked up you could beg and cry before he finally gives you his tongue. But tonight is about getting what you want, when you want it– so as much as you enjoy his soft little kisses, you’re not going to let him work you up.

He’ll be the one fraying at the edges, the one desperate and pleading, the one who feels like his brain is filled with cotton, looking up at you from down on his knees with glassy eyes full of need. You let go of the car door, bring your hand to his head and thread your fingers through his hair. You pull back just enough to have his head tilting away from your pussy, making his eyes land straight up at you.

“Baby–” he gasps, and again you meet his gaze with that sinfully deceitful pout. “You said you’d do anything for me, daddy,” you say as you shoot him your best doe eyed look, “Did you mean it? Will you do anything for me?” Fuck, you’ve got him throbbing– you can see his erection straining against his jeans, and it nearly makes you grin in delight.

Still, you don’t crack– Chris always does well at only showing you the version of himself he wants you to see, and you will too. You won’t give him your meek looks or timid declarations of desire for more of his touch– he’ll only see a new you; a confident you who knows exactly what she wants. You’ve learned from the best, after all.

“Well?” you demand when he doesn’t immediately answer, and you watch him swallow, swearing you can see the shiver that spreads down his spine and throughout the rest of his body. “Y-Yeah baby, I meant it. I’d do anything for you,” he tells you, hoping you can’t see how red his face and ears are getting in the low light.

“Prove it– prove you want me, prove you’re good for something,” you say, and again he shivers, breath catching in his throat. “Eat it, make me cum.” Fuck, Chris is reeling– he still can’t even believe it’s really you talking to him this way. His brain feels like a faulty circuit board, all his synapses sparking dangerously as they fire off, ready to ignite his blood and engulf him in an uncontrollable flame of desire.

When you let go of his hair, he wastes no time diving right into your pussy, eating you out like a man starved. He brings his free hand to your ass, squeezes and holds you in place while he shakes his head to get more of you on his tongue, his nose bumping your clit and making your legs quiver.

You bite your lip, doing your best to suppress the loud moan he brings out of you by sucking on your clit. His plush lips wrapped around it, the flicks of his tongue, how expertly he sucks– it’s already so overwhelming, in the best way possible. Chris does his best to sink lower, tries to lick at your hole and get his tongue inside, but it’s hard like this– he’s not sure if he can.

“B-Baby, doll, let me lay you down, in the car, let me–” he pulls away from your dripping center to look up at you, and fuck, he looks ruined in the prettiest way imaginable. His eyes are hazy and pleading, glistening with your arousal from the tip of his nose all the way down to his chin, sweat dripping down his brow. “Need to spread you out, I– please? Gotta taste more of you.”

Shit, you can’t deny you want it– especially not when he’s begging like this. You nod, and he smiles at you in appreciation, a smile that makes your knees even weaker than they already are. You take your leg off his shoulder, and he quickly rises to his feet, giving you a messy kiss before he ushers you away from the car door to open it for you.

You crawl into the back seat, and he follows, slamming the door shut behind him. He waits until you get comfortable, not acting until you're lying propped against the opposite door of the car. Chris hooks your panties in his fingers, pulls them down your legs and tosses them aside into the footwell; it'll be a sweet treat for him when he finds them again later.

He'll keep them, he thinks– stuff ‘em in his pocket and take them back to his room, where they'll lie safe and protected under his pillow. It's a dirty thought, one that'd otherwise fill his gut with shame, but right now all he feels is need– need for you to cum on his tongue, need to give you everything you want and more.

He settles on his stomach between your legs, and it’s certainly not easy, but he manages well enough. One of your legs ends up over his shoulder again while the other stays spread out with the help of his hand holding you under the knee. And finally, his tongue dips into your hole, and it’s pure bliss– maybe even more so for him than you. He’s hungry, utterly ravenous; all he can think, breath, and taste is you, you, you.

“Chris– your fingers, need your fingers,” you whine more shamelessly than you would've otherwise liked, but you know he enjoys it. He separates from you long enough to run his fingers between your folds, making sure they’re nice and slick for you before he presses them to your hole.

He slides one finger in first, bringing his mouth back to your clit while you adjust to the feeling. Your legs are already trembling by the time he adds another finger, and when he starts curling his fingers to hit your most sensitive spot while flicking his tongue against your clit you can hardly even breathe– it’s just so, so good.

Your stomach is clenching, thighs and legs shaking hard, your release building up with an intensity you’ve never felt before. “Oh, fuck, Chris–” you cry when he presses the tips of his fingers into your spot harder. You’re certain that if it wasn’t for the fact that you’re still wearing your shoes, your toes would be curling from the pleasure.

Your pussy sounds so sloppy and messy, and Chris himself isn’t making it any better– he’s drooling so much, his saliva drenching you just as much as your own dripping arousal. You’re breathing hard, and even your hands are shaking as they continue to hold up your skirt to watch him devour you.

“Oh my god, ‘m gonna cum, I’m gonna– fuck, gonna cum for you daddy, please don’t stop,” you’re crying loud– and you know you should at least try to be quieter considering how out in the open you are, but you’re too far gone to care. With your head thrown back, you whimper and moan, high pitched and loud, eyes rolling back as your orgasm takes you.

It feels like it’s endless, the waves of pleasure ceaselessly jolting your body as your vision blurs white; and you feel wet; so, so wet. It’s only when you finally come down from the high and lift your head back up from where it thunked against the car door to look at Chris that you realize why you feel so drenched.

It’s not just your thighs that are dampened– it’s your skirt, Chris’ face and shirt, the leather of his seats; all of it is soaked with your cum. Your face starts to burn hot, and you swallow as Chris stares at you, almost bewildered. “Baby– did you just..?” You squirted for him, because of him– he doesn’t even fucking care how much of a nightmare it’s going to be to clean his car, all he can think about is how fucking sexy it is.

You simply nod, because it’s all you can think to do– you really weren’t expecting this to happen. “Oh my god, baby, you have to do it again, please, you have to,” he practically whines, and his enthusiasm over it makes you giggle. You honestly feel more than a little shy about it, but Chris’s apparent elation makes it worth the tinge of embarrassment.

You reach out for him, take the necklace dangling from his neck into your hands and pull, urging him to come closer to you. He crawls up your body, and you kiss him, sliping your tongue into his mouth and tasting yourself all over him. “Fuck, you’re so dirty baby,” he groans when you pull away, “what are we going to do, huh?”

It makes you giggle again, a soft thing full of mischievous delight. He basks in it, giggles with you before he kisses you again. “Need your cock now,” you tell him when he pulls away, and shit, he’d nearly forgotten how fucking hard he is whilst wrapped up in pleasuring you. He can feel it straining against his jeans, desperate for stimulation of its own.

“Yeah? Want my cock baby?” he asks, grinning at you the way he always had before; you tug on his silver chain again in response. “Don’t forget, you’re giving me everything I want. Everything, okay?” you say once his face is mere inches from yours again, making him look you closely in the eyes. Chris swallows as he nods, the smile you offer him once again making his brain feel fuzzy and floaty.

He looks you over once more, really takes it all in before he scrambles over the front seat, reaching for the glove box where he still has some spares from your time together over the summer. Condom in hand, he settles back over you, and you help him with his jeans while he tears the package open. He spreads it quickly down his length, and you take your legs in hand, holding them under your knees to keep yourself open for him.

The sight of you like that is dizzying– legs open, skirt bunched up all the way to your stomach, pussy wet and glistening, with the hair there matting from how wet you are; you’re perfect. So fucking perfect. He moans as he pushes into you, so slick that you take him with ease. You take his face in one of your hands and pull him down to kiss you, a desperate one that makes pleasure lick over every inch of his skin.

Chris rolls his hips into you slowly to start, while you let go of the leg you're still holding to wrap your limbs around him, keeping him pressed close. He grabs onto the car door, uses it to keep himself steady when he starts to pick up the pace of his hips, harsh breaths and low moans leaving him freely. Neither of you are trying to be quiet, the street lights are burning bright, the hood of his car and the windows are down, anyone could hear you or see you– and the excitement of it all makes the pleasure he feels all the more intense.

“Baby, your tits– let me see ‘em, please, can I see ‘em?” he asks between labored breaths– he needs to see them, has missed them more than is probably allowed. You quickly do as he asks, fumbling with the top few buttons of your blouse to expose yourself to him. You tug down your bra so he can see your breasts bare, and again he groans, bringing his free hand to one of them to brush his thumb over your hardened nipple.

“Oh, you’re so pretty– so, so pretty baby,” he says, groaning when the words make you clench harder around him. It doesn’t take long for the car to start rocking with the motion of his thrusts, his rhythm quickly growing sloppier. He’s been so worked up, and believe it or not, he hasn’t actually fucked anyone since you– he feels so high strung and on edge, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out.

He just hopes he can make you cum again before he does, or at least make you cum with him– he needs you to be happy with him. You can feel his cock twitching and throbbing, you can tell that he’s already impossibly close– so, like the little minx you are, you talk dirty to him, wanting to see him utterly unravel at the seams. “You gonna fill me up, daddy? Make this pussy all yours?”

Chris gasps and shudders, goosebumps erupting all over his impossibly hot skin. He knows he can’t actually– all he’s going to really fill up with his cum is the condom, but fuck, the thought of it is making his head swim. “Y-Yeah, gonna fill you up baby, daddy’s gonna make you so full,” he breathes, and God, that really does it for you.

You bring your fingers to your clit, rubbing in quick, practiced circles. Even through the condom he can feel you gushing and soaking his cock, and it sends him over the edge– as do the sounds of your incredibly pretty whimpers and moans of pleasure. His hips still when he cums, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as his eyes roll back, head thrown back in utmost bliss.

It takes Chris a few moments to recollect himself and catch his breath, and he slowly slips out of you when does. He tucks his softening length back in his jeans before he helps you fix your bra, and smoothes your skirt out over your legs while you button your blouse back up. “You feeling okay, baby?” he asks, wiping messy strands of hair out of your face.

You’re both covered in a sheen of sweat, faces flushed and hot, hair utterly a mess– it’s obvious, even with your clothes fixed up, what you’ve been doing. “Mhm, are you?” you ask, and he smiles, giving you a quick peck on the lips. “I’m peachy keen, jelly bean,” he replies and you giggle, kissing him once more.

He looks at himself in his rearview mirror when he pulls away, does his best to fix his messy hair while you lift yourself up from your propped position and stretch out your aching limbs. He then takes another glance around the parking lot, and notes that you’re still the only ones here– thank God. He was too enraptured by you to check earlier, and he’s grateful that no one else has showed up.

“Should probably get you home now, yeah?” Chris asks, looking at the clock on his dashboard and noticing it’s now getting dangerously close to your 10 o’clock curfew. He helps you get into the passenger seat when you nod, and you smile at him when he settles in beside you. He turns the key in the ignition, one hand resting on your thigh while the other stays on the wheel, and he drives you home.

Chris parks up the street, like he did all those times at your aunt’s beach house. He watches you walk over to your house, and he smiles when you turn around to blow him a kiss. At 11 he leaves his car, walks up the street to your home, and approaches the only window with a light still on– the window to your new bedroom. And you smile as you open it for him, letting him crawl his way inside.

He sees the teddy bear he won you at the fair sitting right in the middle of your bed, nestled against your pillows, and he smiles, delighted that you still kept it even after he broke your heart. “I love you, baby,” he tells you in a whisper after a sweet kiss, “never gonna hurt you again, I promise.”

“You better keep that promise, mister. Or I might just have to make you jealous again,” you warn and tease him with a cheeky little smile. He strips out of his jeans and tee shirt as you turn off your lamp, lies down beside you after you settle into your bed, runs his hand up and down your back as you press yourself against him. Head on his chest, with your arm and leg tossed over him, he kisses your head and smiles once more– because as he promised, this is just the start of a lifetime.

network tags: @ksmutsociety @skzstarnet

#ksmutsociety #skzstarnet #skz x reader #bang chan x reader #skz smut #bang chan smut #skz fanfic #bang chan fanfic #skz imagines #skz scenarios #mdni + divider graphic credit: @cafekitsune #don't ask me how many times i rewatched the movie while in the process of writing this. (the answer is 10 DFSGDGFG)

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poseidonsbastardson · 2 years ago

Text

Its funny because they can

#People continue to kill for holy books #in the name of their imaginary sky daddy #did i turn this into a dig at organised religion turning people to violence? Yes I tried to #religion #antireligion #anti religion

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writingforstraykids · 7 months ago

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Okiee,

Hear me out. Need more dad skz series. I loved the Felix one so much 🤗🤗 Maybe Hyun or Minho as single dad series 🥹

🧚‍♀️ Anon

I don't know why but Minho with a toddler sent our thoughts spiraling and @galaxycatdrawz and I came up with enough for a proper series. I hope you enjoy it dear🤭🖤

Always back to you

Pairing: Minho x m!Reader (mention of OT8)

Word Count: 7716

Summary: Balancing his career and personal life as a single dad of a toddler isn't exactly always easy for Min. Luckily he has you, his assistant and the only person his son lets close enough. Minho couldn't be more grateful for your presence in their life.

Warnings/Tags: fluff, single dad!min, angst

PART TWO

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

The summer air is heavy with the scent of blooming jasmine as Minho walks hand in hand with his son Minjun through the bustling streets of their quiet neighborhood. The day is fading into a warm, golden evening, casting long shadows on the sidewalk as they make their way to the local park.

Minho, usually surrounded by stage lights and the constant hum of a lively crowd, cherished these moments of normalcy. His career often pulled him into whirlwinds of tours and interviews, making these quiet, uninterrupted days with Minjun so much more important and special.

As they approach the park, Minjun’s grip tightens with excitement, his little legs speeding towards the familiar rusty swings and the slightly chipped slide he claims as his castle. Minho watches, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, as Minjun throws himself into the simple joy of play. His son's laughter rings clear, blending seamlessly with the distant sounds of other children.

“Daddy, come!” Minjun calls out, tugging at Minho’s jeans, pulling him towards the sandbox.

Minho sits down beside Minjun, rolling up his sleeves and helping him dig and mold the damp sand. They work together, Minho guiding Minjun’s small hands to shape the walls and towers. He listens intently as Minjun explains the details of each tower and the imagined dragons that would guard them.

“Daddy, dragons need names!” Minjun declares, his brow furrowed in the serious concentration of a three-year-old.

“How about Flame and Spark?” Minho suggests, watching as Minjun’s face lights up with approval.

“Yes!” Minjun beams, his hands moving with purpose as he places tiny sticks to represent the fearsome dragons.

As they played, Minho felt the weight of his other world—the stage, the lights, the music—melt away. Here, in the sandbox, none of that existed. There were no cameras, no managers, no fans. Just him and Minjun, building a sand fortress strong enough to withstand any siege, imaginary or otherwise.

After their castle was deemed sufficiently dragon-guarded, Minjun tugs at Minho’s hand, leading him to the ice cream stand nestled at the corner of the park. The line is short, and soon Minjun is proudly holding a cone much too big for him, dripping chocolate down his arm.

“Look, Daddy! It’s melting!” Minjun giggles, licking his arm in an attempt to catch the runaway ice cream.

Minho pulls out some napkins, cleaning up the sticky mess with a practiced hand. He watches Minjun attack the cone with a grin, chocolate smearing over his cheeks and nose.

“Is it good?” Minho asks, giggling, his heart swelling at the sight of such simple happiness.

“So good!” Minjun announces, offering Minho a taste. The ice cream is sweet, and the rich chocolate flavor is a perfect end to their day out.

They find a bench nearby. Minho listens as Minjun rambles on about the adventures of Flame and Spark, his imagination running wild. The park begins to empty as families head home for dinner, the sky painted in strokes of orange and pink. “Dumpling?” Minho asks softly, and his son looks up at him with big, brown eyes. “Daddy needs to work tomorrow again.”

“Daddy, why?” Minjun’s question comes softly, almost lost in the breeze.

Minho’s heart clenches. It is a question he dreads, knowing his answers might never fully satisfy the curiosity of a three-year-old. He pulls Minjun closer, holding him in a gentle embrace. “You know how Daddy dances and sings for many people?” Minho starts, his voice steady despite the ache in his chest. Minjun nods, his eyes wide. “Well, sometimes Daddy has to go places so all those people can see him perform. But I always come back. Do you know why?” Minjun shakes his head, his eyes searching Minho’s. “Because you are my most important audience. And I promise, no matter where I go, I will always come back to you,” Minho says, his words heavy with the truth of his emotions.

Minjun seems to try and comprehend this for a moment, then smiles, seemingly satisfied with the answer. “Promise?” he holds up his pinky.

“Promise,” Minho links his pinky with Minjun’s, sealing the vow. “Let's go home?”

“Home,” he nods satisfied.

Minho would've never had a child this young in this industry if he would've known what would happen. He and his wife got married rather young as well, soon deciding they'd like to have a kid. Mainly because she didn't want to be alone so much with him gone for work often. Everything seemed fine until it turned out they'd be having a boy and not a girl. His wife had wished for a girl dearly and seemed disappointed. Maybe he ignored how much because once their little wonder was there, his wife soon distanced herself from both of them. They were already in the process of getting a divorce when Minho had accidentally listened in to a phone call from her saying she'd probably give up their son for adoption.

Minho knew he couldn't let that happen. He couldn't risk his sweet baby ending up in a family that maybe wouldn't treat him well, so he had long talks with his friends, who promised to support him. Chan made sure to back him when they talked to their boss, making sure that Minjun could stay at the company or on tour. They all knew Minho would be able to focus on his work more, knowing he was within reach when his little boy needed him. The only issue at hand was how much Minjun dreaded being separated from Minho, barely trusting his friends to take care of him for a while.

That was until you came along. Somehow, you found a way to the little boy's heart that made him trust you. You were the only one besides Minho who could calm him down and keep him occupied. Initially, you've simply been Minho's assistant, helping him keep track of his schedule and everything. But being with Minho meant being with Minjun.

Through this, you grew rather close with all of them, becoming a vital part of their group. Minho was thankful to have you around, and you two worked well together. You love taking care of the little one and you would've never expected to get so close to them, especially Minho, seeing him during his rawest moments.

Minho is up early, as usual, feeling the quiet anticipation that always comes with a new day. Today, he'd take Minjun with him to dance practice.

The morning was a rush of activity. Minho prepared a quick breakfast, all the while keeping one eye on Minjun, who seemed happy about accompanying him to work.

"Are you ready, baby?" Minho asked, slipping on Minjun's small backpack filled with snacks, a change of clothes, and, of course, his favorite bunny plushie. Jisung had bought it for Minjun's second birthday and he hasn't left the house without it ever since.

"Yes, Daddy!" Minjun chirps, practically bouncing on his toes. His enthusiasm is infectious, and Minho can't help but laugh as he scoops up his son and heads out the door.

The drive to the studio is filled with Minjun's questions about everything he saw. Each question is punctuated with wide-eyed wonder, making Minho smile. He explains as much as he can, from the tallest buildings brushing the sky to the bustling morning crowds. Upon arriving at the studio, Minho sets Minjun down, taking his hand as they walk inside. The building was already buzzing with activity, music faintly echoing from the practice rooms.

"Guys, look who I brought!" Minho announces as they enter the main dance studio. The music stops abruptly, and the boys turn around, their faces lighting up at the sight of Minjun.

"Minjunnie!" Chan exclaims, his voice full of warmth. He crouches down to Minjun's level, greeting him with a gentle high-five. "Look how much you've grown already again!"

The other members crowd around, each taking turns to say hello. Felix shows Minjun a quick magic trick, pulling a coin from behind his ear, which delighted Minjun to no end. Hyunjin hands him a small package of his favorite gummy bears, and Innie helps open it.

“Y/nnie should be here soon,” Jisung tells them, glancing up from his phone.

Minjun peeks up at the sound of your name, bouncing excitedly. “Y/nnie?” he asks with wide eyes, turning to Minho.

“Yeah, Y/nnie will play with you,” he laughs at his son’s excitement.

“Gosh, he really loves him,” Seungmin laughs.

“As he should, Y/n is taking such good care of him,” Changbin chuckles, and Minho hums agreeingly.

Minho sets up a small, cozy corner for Minjun with some toys and a soft blanket. "You can play here while Daddy practices, okay? I'll check on you all the time."

Minjun nods, already distracted by the toys, but his eyes keep straying to the center of the room where the dance practice will take place.

You join them soon after, greeting them all with a wave. “Hi, buddy,” you greet Minjun cheerfully and sit down on his blanket next to him.

“Hi,” he smiles at you happily, handing you his fire truck. “Play?”

As the practice kicks off, Minho joins the rest of the group in the center. The music pounds through the speakers, a rhythmic base that fills the room with vibrant energy. Minho was in his element, his body moving with precision and grace, a testimony to years of practice and passion.

Minjun watches, wide-eyed, from his corner. The sight of his dad and the others dancing seemed to fascinate him. His little feet tap along to the beat, and it isn't long before he stands up, mimicking the moves in his own adorable way. He stumbles and lands on his butt, giggling at himself as you help him back up again.

“You're okay, dear?” you chuckle, and he nods.

Seeing this from the corner of his eye, Minho felt a surge of pride. During a brief water break, he walks over to you. "Do you want to try dancing with us for a bit?" he asks.

Minjun's enthusiastic "Yes!" was all the answer Minho needed. He leads Minjun to the center of the room, the members clearing some space for them. Minho shows him a simple move, a gentle sway combined with a clap. Minjun follows eagerly, his small body moving in sync with Minho's.

The room is soon filled with cheers and claps from the other members and you, encouraging Minjun, who beams under the attention. Chan turns down the music and suggests, "Let's do a little dance circle. Minjun can start!"

What followed was Minjun at the center, trying his best to keep up, his movements more enthusiastic than rhythmic. Each member joined in, adding their own moves, making it a fun, chaotic dance party that had Minjun laughing uncontrollably. You laugh watching them, seeing how much fun they have with the little boy.

After the dance circle wound down, Minho takes Minjun back to his corner, both panting slightly from the exertion. "You're amazing," Minho praises him softly.

“Takes after his Daddy as it seems,” you chuckle, and Minho smirks.

“My little dancer,” he smiles fondly, poking his son's cheek. Minjun's proud little smile is worth more than any applause Minho had ever received on stage.

You hand him the juice box Minho packed for him and help him with the straw. “Drink something,” you tell him gently, and Minjun does eagerly. You bite back a laugh at him, kicking his feet happily.

As the practice resumes, Minjun's energy eventually fades. He plays with you quietly with his toys, occasionally glancing up to watch his dad. The day passes in a blur of music, laughter, and dance. By the time practice wrapped up, Minjun was dozing off in his little corner, exhausted by the day's adventures. His head resting on your leg, breathing peacefully amidst the chaos. Minho carefully picks him up, his heart full as he feels Minjun's steady breath against his neck. “Thank you,” he smiles at you as you pack up everything for him and hand him the backpack.

“Of course,” you mirror his smile. “Tomorrow, we'll meet at the studio.”

“Yeah,” Minho nods. “When was it again?”

“At ten,” you tell him. “Do you need me to keep an eye on Minjun?”

“That would be great,” he nods gently.

“Okay, I'll be there,” you assure him, grabbing your jacket.

“Thank you,” he nods quickly.

“Mr. Lee - Minho,” you quickly correct yourself, sometimes still falling back into old habits. “You don't have to thank me all the time. It's fine.”

“Still,” Minho shakes his head. “It's a lot easier thanks to you…Do you need a ride home?”

“I'll be fine, thank you,” you assure him kindly. “You should get the little superstar to bed,” you say fondly, making Minho chuckle. You exchange your goodbyes before you both leave.

"Did you have fun today?" Minho whispers as he carries Minjun to the car.

"Mhm... best day," Minjun mumbles sleepily, his words slurring together.

Minho smiles, his eyes soft as he settles Minjun into the car seat. "Me too, buddy. Me too."

Minho's day starts early again, but this time there's a tangible buzz of excitement that courses through him. Today isn't just about dance practice; he's scheduled to record a new track with Chan, and he's bringing Minjun along to the studio once more. As they prepare to leave, Minho checks that he has everything Minjun might need—snacks, toys, and a little book of stories, just in case the session stretches longer than expected.

Minjun, now familiar with their routine, waddles around excitedly, chattering about seeing “uncle Channie” and the "music room."

The drive to the studio is filled with Minjun's usual observations, his voice a constant, cheerful hum in the background. Minho answers each question with patience, his mind simultaneously running through the lyrics and melodies he'll soon be recording.

Upon arrival, the studio feels like a second home. The familiar faces of the staff greet them warmly, and the scent of coffee mingles with the underlying electrical buzz of equipment. Chan is already there, headphones on, nodding along to some beat only he can hear. He lifts his head as Minho and Minjun enter, his face breaking into a wide grin.

"Look who's here! Hey, Minjun, high five!" Chan calls out, and Minjun rushes over, slapping his palm against Chan's outstretched hand. “How's my little Jiho?” he asks fondly and Minho smiles at the nickname Hyunjin had come up with, which stuck.

“Good,” the little boy nods happily.

Minho sets up Minjun's little corner, not far from the recording booth, where you're already waiting, having arrived a few minutes earlier. You have brought a new set of coloring pencils for Minjun, and he dives right into them with delight.

"Ready for a big day, Minjun?" you ask, helping him spread out his coloring sheets.

"Yes! Daddy sings, I draw!" Minjun declares, his focus intense as he selects a green pencil and starts scribbling. You chuckle softly, busying yourself as well by planning Minho's upcoming week.

Minho and Chan discuss the session with the producer, going over the song's structure and the tone they aim to capture.

As they start recording, Minho slips into the booth, the microphone in front of him a familiar friend. Outside the booth, you keep Minjun engaged, but his eyes often drift to his father, watching through the glass as Minho sings.

During playback, Minho steps out to listen, standing beside you and Minjun. He watches for Minjun's reaction, hoping to see a sign of approval. Minjun looks up, his eyes wide, and claps his small hands together.

"Daddy's song!" he exclaims, and Minho laughs, bending down to ruffle his hair.

"That's right, dumpling. Did you like it?" Minho asks.

"Love it, Daddy! You and uncle Channie sing nice!" Minjun responds, and Chan, overhearing, chuckles, giving Minho a pat on the back.

"It's a hit then, we have our toughest critic's approval," Chan jokes, making you all giggle.

The session continues, with Minho going back into the booth several times to refine his parts. Between takes, he checks on Minjun, always making sure he's happy and occupied. You seamlessly take care of Minjun, ensuring he's entertained but also quiet whenever the recording light is on.

As the afternoon goes on, the final parts of the track are recorded. With the professional part of his day winding down, Minho's attention fully returns to Minjun, who by now has created an impressive array of colorful drawings. "What do you say we show these to uncle Channie, huh?" Minho suggests, and Minjun nods enthusiastically, gathering his artwork.

Chan admires each drawing, making a big deal out of Minjun's artistic skills, which makes Minjun beam with pride. "We've got a future artist on our hands, Minho," Chan says, ruffling Minjun's hair.

"Maybe, but no matter what, I just want him to be happy," Minho replies, his voice soft, filled with love.

As the day comes to an end, you help pack up Minjun's things while Minho prepares to leave. He thanks you again, gratitude evident in his eyes. "Really, Y/n, I don't know what I'd do without your help," he admits.

"It's always a pleasure, Minho. Plus, I get to spend the day with this little guy," you say, tickling Minjun gently, pulling a giggle from him.

"Did you have fun today, Minjun?" he asks his son fondly.

"Yes, Daddy! Sing with uncle Channie again?" Minjun asks, his voice sleepy but happy.

"Absolutely, buddy. We'll come back soon," Minho promises, a smile crossing his face as he focuses back on the road.

One month later

Minho sits on the edge of the sofa, his tour outfit half-on, the rest laid out meticulously across the sofa. Minjun, sitting cross-legged with his blanket clutched tightly to his chest, watches his father with large, worried eyes. The tension between wanting to be there for his fans and needing to comfort his son gnaws at Minho, creating a knot of anxiety that settles heavily in his stomach.

“Buddy, you know Daddy has to go sing for all the people who came to see us tonight, right?” Minho’s voice is soft but carries an underlying note of apology. The stage was calling him, but his heart was anchored right there.

Minjun’s lips quiver as he shakes his head vehemently. “No, Daddy! Stay, please. Don’t go!” His voice breaks as he begins to sob, tears streaming down his cheeks. The sight tears through Minho’s heart like a dagger.

Kneeling in front of his son, Minho wipes away the tears with a gentle thumb, his own eyes misting over. “Oh, my little boy, I wish I could stay... But remember how we talked about Daddy’s job? How there are so many people waiting to hear our songs?” He tries to infuse some enthusiasm into his voice, hoping to sway his son’s mood.

But Minjun was unyielding. His small body trembles with sobs, each cry slicing through Minho’s resolve. “I want Daddy... no songs... stay... please…” His words are punctuated by hiccupping sobs, each plea making Minho’s heart sink more firmly to the ground.

“Minjun, I need you to be strong for Daddy now, yeah?” he asks, but his son shakes his head with a weak sound. Minho quickly finishes dressing, he could hear the distant echo of the others warming up. The show was imminent, his cue to leave fast approaching. He merely has an hour left.

“You'll join us for a last talk?” Jeongin asks, and Minho nods, scooping Minjun up and following him outside.

Chan talks them through the process once more, glancing at Minho, who's rocking his crying son in his arms. He can tell Minho is starting to get worried and stressed out by his son's discomfort. Which is bad because they need him tonight. It's the final concert of their tour, and this is important.

Minjun wails pathetically in his arms, and Minho closes his eyes in defeat for a moment, shaking his head. “Sorry, you guys keep talking,” he says, quickly leaving the room, not wanting to disturb them any longer.

Jisung watches them worriedly and glances at Chan. “You think Jiho will be okay before we start?” he asks.

“I doubt it. Min said he's having a rough day,” he shakes his head.

“Shit,” Seungmin breathes out. “We need him tonight, Channie hyung.”

“I know,” Chan nods. “We can't help much, we know how needy his baby boy gets sometimes. We can only make sure we're all ready.”

Minho paces through the room, gently rocking his little boy in his arms as he talks soothingly to him. His son seemed to have realized he wouldn't see him for the next two hours, which must've caused the sudden mood swings. Minho is starting to feel stressed, glancing at the clock up at the wall and realizing he'd have to be on stage in ten minutes. He should be preparing himself mentally right now, getting a moment of peace before their intense evening. But he isn't relaxed or calm at all. The sound of his son wailing in his arms is cutting through him like knives, knowing he'd have to leave him here in a bit. He knows his friends loved their little boy, but not when he was fussing around before a show, which is why he left their room a while ago. “Shh, dumpling, please,” he tries, soothingly rubbing his back. “It's okay, yeah?”

Minjun responds with another sob, his little hand clinging to his shirt. Minho's sure his stage outfit will be stained with drool and tears later, and he feels his throat tighten as his exhaustion and frustration take over for a moment. His body will be exhausted before performing after pacing for almost an hour, carrying his son, who's only growing heavier. “Please,” he whines, knowing his own distress isn't exactly calming his baby boy.

The door opens, and Changbin shoots him an apologizing look. “Min, we should leave.”

“I know, I'll be right there,” he tells him, flashing him a stressed, weak smile.

“Two minutes,” he reminds him and leaves again.

“Please stop crying, Minjun, please,” he begs, feeling tears burn in his eyes.

The two minutes are over way too soon, and Chan opens the door this time. “Min, I'm sorry. We should go,” he tells him.

“I know, okay?!” he snaps at him, his emotions getting the better of him. “I didn't choose this, Chan, but I can't just leave him here either! I can't leave him at the hotel for that long, he's too young!”

Chan lifts his hands in an attempt to show him he's not here to pick a fight. “Min, I know, I know it's shit,” he tells him soothingly. “We can start five minutes later, but you need to get ready,” he says gently, stepping closer. “Let me take him for a moment, yeah? You should change your shirt and let someone fix your hair real quick. Come here, Jiho, hm?” Minho reluctantly lets go of him and flinches heavily as the cries of his son grow louder. He looks at Chan with tears in his eyes, who gently rocks the little one in his arms. “It's okay, Minnie, go on,” he tells him kindly. “He'll be okay.”

Minho fights with himself for a moment before leaving the room. His friends look at him compassionately as he passes them, and Felix follows him into their dressing room. He takes over for their stylist, helping Minho change his shirt and gently smoothing out his hair. “Take a deep breath, yeah?” he says gently, and Minho nods, doing as he's told. “Y/n will be here in a few minutes.”

Minho frowns at him. “No, Yongbokie, it's his day off,” he shakes his head.

“He's the only one your son accepts besides you. Chan called him a bit ago,” Felix tells him and soothingly rubs his shoulders.

Chan joins them with an apologizing look and a screaming Minjun. “He started kicking,” he tells him, and Minho closes his eyes in defeat, taking him again.

“I'm sorry,” Minho says, voice quivering as it all gets a little too much to handle. “I'm so sorry. I didn't want this, not like that.”

“We know,” Chan assures him kindly. “But we also know why you decided to pull through with this.”

Minho fights back tears, shakily rubbing his temple with one hand. He's starting to get a headache, and honestly, he just wants to go back home. “But-I know it's all getting too much,” he says shakily. “He's so clingy I can't go anywhere, and he's crying as soon as I'm gone. I know how annoying it is for you all, even if you try to hide it,” he says.

“That's your own worries speaking, hyung,” Felix assures him. “We love him, and yes, days like today are rough, but we know why you do it, and we promised to support you with it.”

“It's okay, I promise,” Chan adds gently.

You rip the door open, a little out of breath from rushing up the stairs. “I'm here, sorry, there was so much traffic!” you apologize and quickly make your way over. “You guys should go,” you urge them and gently ease Minjun out of Minho's arms. “Hiii, baby,” you say softly, smiling as the little one tiredly buries his face in your neck, hiccuping your name between broken little cries. You soothingly sway from side to side, rubbing his back and talking to him calmly. Your own calm demeanor does wonders for the little boy who grows still in your arms, little hand gripping your sweater as his body's shaking. You look up and notice Chan and Felix have left, but Minho's still here, staring at the two of you in wonder. You can spot the tears in his eyes and flash him an encouraging smile. “Go on, I got him.”

“Are you sure?” he asks nervously. “I know it's your day off.”

“I like taking care of him, it doesn't feel like work,” you assure him before glancing down at the sniffling boy in your arms. “We'll have so much fun, yeah? Your daddy has to work now, but I'm here,” you tell him and gently pat his back. “You want your plushie?” you ask and earn a weak little nod. “Go,” you whisper toward Minho, who gives himself a push. “Oh, look, here it is,” you say, handing Minjun his favorite plushie.

The boy pulls the fluffy bunny to his chest and cuddles into you. As the stage door clicks shut behind Minho, leaving the bustling sounds of the backstage crew prepping for the night's performance, the room he exits from fades to a quieter atmosphere.

The walk to the stage is the longest walk of his life. Each step echoes with Minjun’s sobs, and each beat of his heart synchronizes with the distant thumps of the bass drum from the stage. Behind the curtains, the crowd's roar is deafening, a stark contrast to the quiet, tearful goodbye he had just endured. Minho takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to gather his thoughts. Jisung gently takes his hand, Chan squeezes his shoulder, and Felix straightens his jacket. Minho's eyes flutter back open as the music starts, and he tries to push everything else away. He needs to focus.

You hold Minjun closer, feeling his little heart beating against your own. His sobs begin to subside, his breath evening out as he clutches his bunny tightly. The stuffed toy seems to offer him the comfort he seeks, his tiny fingers threading through its soft fur.

You rock gently, humming a tune that you've noticed often calms him down. The melody is simple yet soothing, and as you continue, Minjun's grip relaxes. His eyes, puffy and red from crying, start to close. It’s moments like these, where the world slows down, that remind you why you cherish your role so much—not just as a caregiver but as a steady presence in this little one's life. You would've never thought you'd enjoy looking after a kid this much.

Around you, the room is scattered with signs of Minho and his friends' hurried exit. Costumes hang on racks, makeup kits are left open, and a few sheets of music flutter slightly from a nearby air vent. It's a world of glamour and chaos mixed with those quiet moments you share with Minjun.

Minho’s life, a blend of public performances and private moments like these, paints a vivid picture of the sacrifices and joys of his career. As you adjust Minjun in your arms, preparing to sit down with him until he falls asleep, you think about the pressure Minho faces. It's not just about being a performer but also being a father and a friend—balancing each role under the watchful eyes of the public and his friends.

Outside, you hear the faint sound of the crowd, a rumbling wave of excitement for the show about to start. It's a sound you've grown accustomed to, down to the lights, music, and energy that Minho will soon be enveloped in. Yet here, in the quiet room with Minjun finally drifting to sleep, the noise seems worlds away.

Your thoughts drift to Minho and the stress practically dripping off his body. You understand his dilemma. Being a parent is challenging enough without the added pressures of a demanding career. Minho's struggle to maintain a semblance of normalcy for Minjun while meeting the expectations of his career is a tightrope walk that few can comprehend fully.

As Minjun's breaths deepen, indicating he's fallen asleep, you carefully adjust him on your chest. You ensure his favorite bunny is tucked beside him and gently pull a small blanket over his little body to keep him warm.

This tranquility is what you hope to provide for Minho as well—a sense of peace amidst the storm of his responsibilities. As the caregiver, your role extends beyond just watching over Minjun. It's about offering both father and son the assurance that they are not alone in this journey, and you can tell Minho needs it more with every passing day.

With Minjun settled, you step out of the room to catch a glimpse of the show on a monitor in the hallway. Minho is on stage now, his presence magnetic, pulling the audience into his performance. The contrast between the father you saw earlier and the performer now captivating the crowd is stark. Yet, it's this duality that defines him.

As you watch, you feel a sense of pride in Minho’s resilience and determination. It reinforces your commitment to support him in any way you can. When the show ends, you know he'll return, exhausted but fulfilled, eager to hear that Minjun was fine, that in his absence, everything was okay.

This is your world as much as it is theirs—a world of late nights and lullabies, of cheers and tears. It's a delicate balance. As the crowd’s applause echoes down the hallway, blending with the soft sounds of Minjun's peaceful sleep, you smile to yourself, ready for when Minho returns, ready to reassure him that everything is indeed fine.

Minho is the first one to return, a relieved smile covering his lips as he sees his son peacefully asleep on your chest. “You're an angel,” he breathes out, collapsing on the sofa next to you and gently fondling his son’s hair. “He didn't stop crying for an hour, I was about not to perform tonight.”

“All he needed was some peace and his favorite plushie,” you chuckle softly. “Also, he was very tired from all the crying, so that probably did the trick.”

Minho laughs weakly and shakes his head. “You handle him so much better than I do.”

“It's basically my job now,” you tell him. “Also, you were stressed and freaking out. He can sense that and it probably didn't help him calm down,” you say softly. “Not that it's your fault, everyone would have been.”

Minho hums gently and studies your face for a moment. He doesn't know if he'll ever be able to express how much it means to him to be able to trust someone with his little boy. “You know what he calls his favorite plushie?”

“He didn't tell me yet,” you shake your head, frowning at him curiously.

“He calls him Y/nnie,” he says with a tired smile, watching your expression change to one of surprise and joy. “You mean a lot to him, so I'm glad you don't mind taking care of him.”

“Oh,” you nod in surprise. “That's sweet.”

“I thought you'd like to know that,” Minho hums before pushing himself up. “I should go and take a shower. I'll come get him after.”

“No rush,” you assure him kindly.

The others are quiet whenever they have to get something in the room and leave quickly. Chan quietly thanks you for getting here on such short notice and saving the day, which you wave off with a gentle smile.

Minho shuffles back inside a little later, wearing a comfy sweater and matching sweatpants. His fluffy hair falls freely around his face. He grabs his bag from a chair and fumbles for his phone to call one of their drivers.

“I can take you back, I'm driving there anyway,” you tell him, and he drops his phone back into the bag with a thankful smile. “You got everything?” you ask, and Minho nods, grabbing his glasses from the table. He puts them on, running his hand through his hair tiredly, and makes his way back over to you.

Minho reaches for Minjun, craving to hold his little boy again, and gently lifts him up. Minjun stirs in his sleep, and Minho quickly nestles him against his chest, soothingly fondling his hair.

“Daddy,” he mumbles drowsily, little hand curling up against his neck.

“I'm here, baby,” he says softly and kisses his head. “Go back to sleep.”

The sight of Minho like this, looking so soft and vulnerable with his sweet boy resting against his chest stirs something in you you can't really explain. A sudden urge to take care of both of them overwhelms you, and your eyes trace Minho's features. You know he's pretty, he's a visual for a reason and still, you're stunned by how beautiful he gets in moments like these.

The door opens, and Minho turns a little, meeting Chan's caring expression with a tired smile. “Everything alright?” he checks in, making sure Minho is okay after this rough night.

“Yeah,” Minho assures him gently. “We're okay.”

“You did well today, Min,” Chan tells him warmly and gently squeezes his shoulder.

“Thanks, hyung,” he says genuinely.

“Thank you again, Y/n, I wouldn't have called if there had been another way,” Chan apologizes again.

“I know,” you assure him. “I didn't mind, if you need me, I'm here,” you tell them and get up.

“You should get some rest. Do you need a driver?” Chan asks, and Minho gently shakes his head.

“Y/nnie said he'd take us,” he tells him, and Chan hums agreeingly.

“Alright then,” Chan nods before grabbing his own things and waving goodbye.

Minho exhales softly and shifts on his feet, feeling the intensity of the concert creeping up on him. His legs hurt, and his arms are tired, but he doesn't want to let go of him yet. If someone asked him to go to sleep right here he could without a second thought. He carefully tilts his head and his neck cracks at the movement. For a second, pain tints his features, and you frown at him.

“You're okay?” you ask gently, already grabbing your stuff and his bag.

“Mhm,” he hums, gently swaying from side to side to keep Minjun asleep. “Just exhausted…and everything hurts.”

“You definitely need some rest,” you respond gently, adjusting his bag on your shoulder. “Let’s get you both home.”

Minho nods gratefully, his gaze lingering on Minjun’s peaceful face as they follow you out of the room. The walk to the car is quiet, with only the occasional whisper of wind and the distant sound of the city at night. Once Minho settles Minjun into the car seat, he collapses into the passenger seat with a sigh of relief.

The drive is smooth and uneventful. You keep the radio off, allowing the silence to settle comfortably around you, broken only by Minjun's gentle breathing in the backseat. Minho’s head leans against the window, eyes closed, but you can tell he isn’t really asleep; he is just resting, processing the day.

“Y/nnie,” Minho finally speaks, his voice quiet in the dark car. “I really can’t thank you enough. Not just for tonight, but for everything. You’ve become… a lot more than just an assistant to us.”

Your heart warms at his words, and you glance at him briefly before focusing back on the road. “I’m glad to be here, Minho. You and Minjun mean a lot to me, too.”

A small smile tugs at Minho’s lips. “I'm lucky to have you,” he murmurs, his voice laced with fatigue. You can't help the warmth spreading through you at his words. If there's one thing you've learned in the years of working for him, then it's that he’s completely honest when he's tired.

As you reach the hotel, you help him gather everything and support him as he carefully lifts Minjun, who mumbles sleepily but doesn’t wake. Minho leans against the wall of the elevator, eyes closed as he fights falling asleep on the spot. He readjusts his grip around Minjun, burying his nose in his hair, and breathes calmly.

You search for Minho's keycard for the room and gently guide him down the hallway, opening the door for him. You stop there, and Minho turns around inside, flashing you a tired smile. “Come in for a moment?” he asks gently.

“It's fine, really,” you assure him.

“Let me at least make you some tea, please?” he asks, and you can tell he's trying to give you something back for today. You can't deny him that.

“Okay,” you nod and step inside, pulling the door closed. You follow Minho inside, and he tells you to drop his bag somewhere next to the bed.

Minho carefully puts Minjun down, tucking him in. He smooths his hair back and plants a gentle kiss on his forehead. “Goodnight, baby,” he whispers.

Minho quickly makes you both some tea and hands you a cup. “You should get some sleep too,” you suggest as you walk towards the small living room area, where Minho has slumped onto the couch.

“Just a few minutes,” Minho says, his eyes already closing. “I’m too tired to move.”

You sit down next to him and gently ease the cup from his hands, not wanting him to burn himself by accident. “Min,” you say gently as he tilts to the side, body growing heavy against you. “You should really get some sleep.”

“Thanks for tonight, Y/nnie,” Minho whispers as you give up the fight and let him rest his head on your shoulder.

“It’s no problem, really,” you reassure him. You pause, considering your next words. “Minho, you’re doing an amazing job with him. I hope you know that.”

Minho smiles weakly. “I’m trying. It’s hard to know if I’m doing enough, you know?”

“You are. More than enough,” you tell him kindly.

“I feel like I owe you an explanation... or maybe it’s more of an apology for tonight,” Minho mumbles sleepily.

“There's no need, I promise,” you tell him, but Minho shakes his head.

“I hate that my work pulls me away from Minjun,” he starts, his voice tinged with frustration. “And nights like tonight make it all feel ten times heavier. I worry about the effect it’s having on him.”

“You’re doing the best you can,” you reassure him. “And it’s clear to everyone, especially Minjun, how much you love him. He knows, Minho, how much you care.”

Minho nods, taking a deep breath. “Thanks, Y/nnie. I... sometimes I just need to hear that. It gets a bit overwhelming trying to balance everything. And tonight, seeing him so upset, I felt like I was failing him.”

“You’re not failing him,” you say firmly. “Every single time he looks at you, he does so with so much love. That’s not failure.”

Minho pulls back his head and looks at you drowsily, a sincere smile breaking through his exhaustion. “I’m really glad you’re here. Not just for Minjun, but for me too.”

“I told you the first day we met I'm here to make your life easier,” you tell him gently. “It doesn't matter if that's by planning your week or taking care of the little one.”

“He really loves you, I hope you know that,” he tells you and swallows at the joy in your eyes. “I… never mind,” he shakes his head and rubs his face tiredly, taking off his glasses. “I should get some sleep before I keep on rambling and keep you up.”

“You should,” you giggle. “I'll let myself out.”

“Goodnight, Y/nnie,” he says softly.

“Goodnight, Minho,” you say and decide it's your time to leave.

Minho drags himself to bed, crawling under the covers and joining his baby. He smiles as Minjun wakes up and crawls on his chest, getting comfortable there.

“Missed you, daddy,” he says softly.

“Missed you too, dumpling,” he says fondly and kisses his head. “Let's sleep now, yeah?” he asks, already drifting off to sleep.

“Y/nnie?” he asks.

“Y/nnie's in his room,” Minho answers and squints at him as his son shuffles off him and searches the bed. “Minjunnie,” he groans softly and turns onto his side.

His son makes a succeeding noise and shoves his little bunny into Minho's face. “Y/nnie!”

“Oh, I should've known that,” he laughs at himself before pulling him into a hug. “Come here now, yeah? Daddy's tired, baby.”

“Story?” he asks and Minho closes his eyes in defeat at the soft, tiny voice of his son.

“There once was a little boy. He was really tired, and his daddy was also very tired. They went to bed. The little boy fell asleep. The end,” he says and Minjun makes a protesting little noise.

“Stupid, daddy,” he laughs.

“Yeah, stupid,” he giggles and plants a few kisses all over his son's adorable little face.

“Story, please?” he giggles, scrunching his little nose at his father's sudden love attack.

Minho smiles, his exhaustion seeping away slightly in the joy of the moment. "Alright, my love, one story, but then it's really time to sleep," he says, adjusting himself so Minjun is comfortably nestled against his side, their heads sharing a pillow.

"Okay, daddy," Minjun agrees eagerly, his eyes wide with the anticipation of a bedtime story.

"Once upon a time," Minho begins, his voice soft and melodious, perfect for a bedtime tale, "in a faraway land, there was a brave little knight named Minjun."

"Like me!" Minjun interrupts with a giggle, his small fingers playing with Minho's hand.

"Yes, just like you," Minho confirms with a grin. "Minjun was the bravest knight in all the lands, and he had a magical friend, a dragon named Sparky."

"Dragon!" Minjun exclaims, delighted. "Does he breathe fire?"

"He does," Minho nods, "but Sparky only breathes fire when he needs to protect the kingdom. Most of the time, he's very gentle and loves to play."

Minjun listens intently, his imagination painting the scenes as his father describes them. "One day," Minho continues, "the kingdom faced great danger. A mysterious fog covered the land, making everyone feel very sleepy and lazy."

“What's fog, daddy?” he asks, his voice sounding a little sleepy by now.

“You know when it's cold, or it rains, and the air is all gray and heavy?” he asks, and Minjun nods.

“Fog is stupid,” he declares, making Minho bite back a laugh.

"So no one wanted to play or work," Minho adds, noticing Minjun's concerned frown. "Minjun and Sparky had to find the cause of the fog and save the kingdom."

"How did they do it?" Minjun asks, his voice filled with worry for the characters.

"Well," Minho says, drawing out the suspense, "they went on a grand adventure. They traveled through the Enchanted Forest, across the Silver Mountains, and finally to Crystal Lake, where the fog was thickest. They found out that the fog came from a sleeping spell by a lonely wizard who just wanted some friends," Minho explains. "Minjun offered to be the wizard's friend if he would lift the spell."

"Did he do it?" Minjun's eyes are hopeful, his small body tense with excitement.

"Yes, he did," Minho smiles. "The wizard was so happy to have a friend that he not only lifted the spell but also promised to use his magic for good. Together, they returned to the kingdom, heroes who had saved the day."

Minjun yawns, snuggling closer to his father, his eyelids heavy. "I like Minjun. He's nice," he mumbles sleepily.

"He is," Minho agrees, his voice a whisper now. "Just like you, my brave little boy."

As Minjun's breaths even out into the steady rhythm of sleep, Minho continues to hold him close. The story's end morphs into a quiet night. He lies there in the darkness, feeling the weight of his son's trust and love, anchoring him more firmly than anything else could.

In the silence of the room, with Minjun's soft snores as the only sound, Minho reflects on the day. The responsibilities of his career, the bright lights of the stage, and the cheers of the crowd—all of it fades into the background when contrasted with the peaceful, sleeping form of his son. Here, in the dim glow of the nightlight, Minho finds his truest joy.

He whispers a promise into the darkness, a vow to always return to this, to Minjun, no matter where his life takes him. "Always back to you," he murmurs, gently kissing Minjun's forehead. With that promise cradling his heart, Minho allows himself to drift off to sleep.

PART TWO

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

@atinyniki @zehina @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @palindrome969 @michelle4eve @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @kazuuuaaa @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @kevcanwait @queer-possum

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theblueflower05 · 1 year ago

Text

So I’m at work feeling particularly yuck(it’s okay I have a vacation coming up) and I don’t want to be in this office anymore-

So I escaped into my brain and conjured up maybe the most delicious maladaptive day dream ever.

Ao’nung x reader x Neteyam-

But the reader is human.

A human who was sent on the second wave to Pandora. And experiment of sorts. She sold her body to science and got a surgery that makes her able to breath Pandoran air(listen, logistics don’t matter)

She turned on the RDA and set out to warn Jake and the other rebel scientists about impending doom.

Blah blah blah.

She ends up in Awa’atlu with the crew.

And she can’t deny the hot rush of overwhelmed butterflies she gets when she catches the Matkayinan Prince staring at her.

Ao’nung is a slut. He loves pleasure; giving receiving it you name it. He’s slept around a lot and he’s very curious about the pretty little sky demon with wide hips and thick thighs. He wants to see what her full breasts look like when they’re not caged by her tawtute clothing-

Neteyam is having none of that shit.

He claims it’s because it’s on him to keep an eye on you like his dad had commanded back when you’d first come to them in the forest. You’re just another responsibility.

It has nothing to do with the fact that he’s been obsessed with you from the moment he met you. That the idea of another Na’vi trying to mate you makes him sick to his stomach.

Circumstances happen. Shit goes down.

Somehow you find yourself being courted by two fully grown, blooded royal male Na’vi.

And it’s like.

A lot.

A lot a lot. They’re overbearing and devoted and you’re just a human girl who’s always had intimacy and commitment issues.

All the attention feels as good as it does scary.

You get gifts of all kinds; jewelry and clothing, food by the pile. Pretty little trinkets that glow and glitter.

Ao’nung takes you to special secret places on the island. Goregous waterfalls and hidden tide pools.

Neteyam takes you on magical ikran rides, you soar above the sherbet clouds.

When you begin pushing them away- not able to choose and deciding that really it’s best that you’re alone anyway.

They form an unlikely alliance.

They both want you. They’ll just have to share.

Now here’s where it gets good.

Imagine these huge hulking beautiful men telling you that it’s okay. You don’t have to choose. You can have them both- as long as they can have you in return.

I could faint just thinking about it.

Starting a physical relationship with them?

Finding out that human pussy apparently tastes nothing like Na’vi women- you’re tooth rottingly sweet and potent and addictive to them and you find yourself with your legs spread and a big head forced between your quivering thighs on the regular.

It’s so much. Na’vi have insatiable appetites and stamina that is literally unbelievable.

As time goes on you learn about the two men.

Ao’nung is deceptively sweet. He’s a caring lover. All service top-y and devoted. He wants you to feel good. He wants you to have whatever you want. He spoils you absolutely rotten. Is pussy whipped from the jump. He is his daddy’s son.

Neteyam? Is mean in bed. He’s demanding and passionate. He loves overstimulation(both receiving and giving) sex with him always leaves you a bawling mess.

Both of them have that first born son chip on their shoulders. They’re more alike then they think they are. Every time you point it out they scoff.

More day dreaming-

Somehow you get kidnapped by Quaritch and Co and omg. The lengths your boys go to to get you back is actually terrifying?

And so hot?

Ugh.

This is my new fave imaginary scenario. I think I’ll escape into it for the foreseeable future byeeeeeee

Also @cinetrix I blame you for this. That new Ao’nung pic you posted has fucked me UP.

I do not have the time to write this but I want to so badly😭

#neteyam smut #ao’nung smut #neteyam x human reader #aonung x reader x neteyam #ao’nung x human reader

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yourlocaltreesimp · 1 year ago

Note

Hi I'm a big fan and I just wanted to let you know I love your yandere headcannons I like the way you write them, I hope you don't mind me requesting for yandere headcannons of koridai, courage and platonic!wind. If you accept I can't wait to see them. (⁠*⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠)⁠/⁠～⁠♡. (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤

Y’all Courage and Koridai simps are on crack. I’m here for it tho. Not doing wind in this part as i’m still planning where he’ll be

Yan!Chain headcannons

Tw: Yandarism and it’s accompanies, Courage and Koridai, I traumatised them, oops, child abuse, SH, baby trapping.

Courage

His version of the guide was different- far more than the rest. You were there. He saw your reflections in the mirrors and out of the corners of his eye, he heard whispers of your voice, you were there since as long as he could remember. He used to think you where an imaginary friend, as he didn’t have many actual friends. It made sense. But you never went away. No matter how much medications he took or lashes he’d taken, you were there.

It was when he learned of who he was and what purpose he held that he learned what you were. And it didn’t take him long to start going off the edge.

His very own guide- someone to hold and keep all to himself. Someone no one else could see. Someone no one could steal. Someone that would finally stay.

When he meets with the chain he’s still got that entitlement.

This reflects in his love languages. Physical touch and Quality time, being as close to you as often as possible. You were his reward, his support, his gift to be put through what he was put through. He deserves you.

He’ll hurt himself for your attention. Im talking full out stab wounds if that’s what it takes for you to kiss it better.

Fiercely loyal. Glares down anyone that flirts with him and would even flat out insult them when you were still just a spirit in his minds eye. Now you’re real however? He can and will compare people to you.

Has a hand on you at all times. He doesn’t care if he’s getting glared daggers, he’s throwing his arm around your waist and savouring the way you flush.

On that note, i’m sorry if you’re easily flustered. Like- truly. This man is a f l i r t. He’ll learn what makes you tick and abuse the living hell out of it. Even if it’s whispering the filthiest things into your ear, he’ll do it if it gets you blushing.

He’d kidnap you. 100 %. Married and with a kid by your side so you have to stay and so everyone knows you’re his. A wife on his arm and an heir to his title, even if they needed a little… assistance to realise that’s what they wanted.

Fav nicknames for you: Dear, Babe, Babes, Sugar, Honey, Loves, starlight

Koridai

It took him a while to realise you were his old guide, purely off of the fact he was so deep into believing he hallucinated you.

But prying him off of you when he comes to is what’s more difficult.

Again with physical touch, but he has a sweet spot for words of affirmation and gift giving. (you’re really racking up sugar daddies)

Golden retriever energy to the nines. Waiting at your hand and foot, back and call in case you might need him. You did so much for him, he might as well pay you back. He’ll cater to whatever you want of him. You want him to jump, he’ll ask how high. You want him to smile he’s beaming. You want jewellery, he’ll mine the gems himself. You want him to change his clothing, he’ll let you pick out a whole new wardrobe. You want a husband, he’ll hire the officiant. You want a man dead, all he needs is a name.

Two faced as Sky and Wars. Absolute sweetheart to your face, plays dumb to be unassuming, slips passed the squabbling of the chain and next thing they know he’s gone and you’re in his universe.

Another kidnapper.

Fun???

Either way you’re leaving with him or he’s leaving with you. He’d gotten himself so hurt while you left him unattended for 5 minutes to get water, and you expect him to live without you? After how he was forced to leave you behind? After he dug you a grave?

He can cry on command, and you’re none the wiser. You’d hold him as he sobbed and sniffled as the others watched. You’d defend him and his place, and off of the lies stories he told you, it’s a wonder you saw his emotions at all.

Nicknames: Whatever makes you the most embarrassed or flustered

#linked universe #legend of zelda #linkeduniverse #yandere linked universe #linked universe x reader #link x reader #link x you #yandere linked universe x reader #x reader #yandere link x reader #lu courage #lu koridai #firreplies #fir’s library

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vanfleeter · 17 days ago

Text

Waylon

Characters: Dad!Jake x Tommy

Warnings: Paranormal. Ghosts. Fluff. Father-son bonding.

A/N: I think this might be my favorite Dad!Jake fic I have written 🥰

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Mid September. Halloween decorations went up on the first day of the month, Tommy eager to begin celebrating the holiday. Spiders covered the windows, cobwebs decorated bushes in the front yard. Skeletons were staked in the yard as well as the giant clown from the Halloween store. Tommy somehow managed to convince Jake to buy the giant, creepy clown. Jake still finds himself tiptoeing around the clown, trying not to activate it.

But soon the clown isn’t what creeps him out now.

“Daddy!” Tommy calls as he runs down the stairs.

“Yeah bud?” Jake calls back. He dumps a few scraps of trash into the trash can and turns around just as Tommy hops up onto one of the bar stools.

“I have a question.”

“Uh oh,” Jake chuckles as he walks over to the kitchen island.

Tommy is seven and currently is loving to ask question after question about anything and everything that pops into the tiny child’s head. Jake has been asked questions ranging from how long can a human breathe under water, which resulted in Jake dragging Tommy out of the pool after he and Josh thought he was drowning. Turns out that he was not. In fact he was trying to see how long he could hold his breath. Then it was his curiosity about animals and how they came to be. He wasn’t entirely sure how Tommy was phrasing it so he never fully answered that, further confusing the kid.

At this point Jake has lost count of how many questions that this kid has asked. You always hear that parents know everything. Not in Jake’s case.

“What’s your question?”

Jake starts to sit down on the stool beside him when Tommy exclaims, “No! Waylon is sitting there!”

“Oh, okay..” Jake says as he steps away from the stool.

Tommy and his imaginary friends keep Jake on his toes. Though he can’t say much because he used to have an imaginary friend when he was Tommy’s age. Even though he had Josh, he used his “imaginary friend” as an excuse to not have to do everything with Josh. Sounds horrible, but it’s true.

“So Waylon,” Jake says. “Waylon is what you chose to call this imaginary friend?”

“He’s not imaginary,” Tommy sighs. “I’ve told you this. He lives in my closet and tells me stories. I told you that he used to live here a long time ago, remember?”

“Right, right. He has friends too, hmm?”

Tommy nods his head. “Cowboys.”

“Ahh, okay. So what is your question?”

“Well.. Waylon told me that the stars explode and die, is that true?”

“Explode and die?” Jake questions.

Tommy nods his head. “Are stars dying?”

“I wouldn’t “dying” per se,” He says. “But they do explode and that’s how you see stars in the sky. You’re seeing the after effects of the explosion by the time the light travels to the earth.”

“Waylon wants to know how light travels to the earth? He never learned about all of the science stuff back in his time. He says he was dead before the light bulb was invented. Is it like a light bulb?”

Questions are being asked that Jake just doesn’t have the answers for.

“I think that might be a question to ask Uncle Sammy.” Jake says. “He’s more into that kind of stuff.”

“But Waylon wasn’t lying though, stars do explode.”

“Very much so, yes.”

He had to have read it in some science magazine that you had subscribed to forever ago when Tommy’s interest in the solar system peaked at one point.

A couple weeks have gone by and Tommy hasn’t mentioned much of Waylon since that day he asked about the stars. Jake fully believed that it was just his imaginary friend and one day, hopefully soon, he would grow out of that phase.

“Babe, can you take Tommy’s clothes upstairs and put them away for me?” You say as you walk over to Jake and hand him the small basket of clothes.

“Sure thing,” He says as he takes it and makes his way upstairs.

While putting away the folded clothes in Tommy’s dresser, Jake hears a little knock on the closet door. A smirk forms on his face. Tommy’s hiding again. So instead of acknowledging it, he continues putting away the clothes in the dressers. Picking up the empty basket, he starts to leave the room when he hears the fainted “hello” coming from the closet.

Jake stops in the threshold and glances over his shoulder. The curtain moved against the wall, followed by a little child’s laughter causing goosebumps to rise on Jake’s arms.

“Daddy?” Jake turns his head and looks in front of him to see Tommy looking up at him with a confused look.

So that was not Tommy. That was.. No.. It can’t be.

“Daddy, are you okay?”

“Uh,” Jake clears his throat. “Y-Yeah, I’m fine. Uh, go find your sister so we can go grocery shopping for your mom.”

It wasn’t until that night that Jake was woken up to the sound of little feet walking around the room. At first he thought that it was Tommy or Lily having woken up. “Papa..” He hears a small voice. Humming in response, he turns over to flick on the light when he sees a little figure standing in the corner of the room by the window.

“Tommy?” Jake slowly sits up in bed and swings his legs over. “What are you doing over there bud? Come over here,” He says, waving his arms motioning for the child-like figure to come towards him. The figure comes over to Jake. “Did you have a bad dream again?”

“I miss my papa.” The figure says.

“I don’t understand, I’m right here.”

Is Tommy sleepwalking?

“You are not my papa.”

“Of course I am.”

A small hand comes up to touch his cheek and the face of a little blonde boy with blue eyes flashes in his mind. He was dressed in brown overalls over top a button down white shirt with a straw hat atop his head. The image disappears and he’s staring at an empty space in front of him.

“Jake?” He hears you call out beside him. “Honey, who are you talking to?”

“I.. I don’t know,” He stammers, running a hand through his hair. “I thought.. I thought Tommy woke up.. I thought I was talking to him..”

“Lay back down,” You say. “Get some more sleep.”

He cannot have seen Waylon. He just couldn't have seen him. He’s imaginary. Jake just does not believe that his house is haunted by a little boy from the 1800s. No, it can’t be real.

He in fact did not get any more sleep the rest of the night, unable to get his mind off the fact that he, himself, conversed with a ghost. He’s never done that before. But of course, there is a first for everything.

“Mama, can you make extra pancakes?” Tommy asks.

“Of course, feeling hungry this morning?”

“No, Waylon just wants some. He says they smell really good.”

You see Jake visibly tense while he flips a pancake over on the sizzling pan. “Are you okay?” You ask him.

“Hmm?” He hums in acknowledgment as he turns to look at you. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Did you sleep at all the rest of the night?” You ask. He merely nods his head, giving you a small smile before turning back to the pan to remove the pancakes and put them on a plate.

The last time Jake has ever had been in “contact” with a “ghost” was when the band spent days out at the cabin and writing music. Then he felt disconnected to the ghost. Had no reason to be afraid. But now he feels connected to this one. He’s not afraid, no, but something more of an emotion. He feels sadness and fear, not as if he’s fearing like he’s in danger, but fear of being alone.

Waylon is alone.

Waylon has no one.

He came to Jake last night, scared and sad. He trusted Jake.

So that night after putting the kids to bed, he bids you a goodnight before slipping out of the room. He retrieves his guitar from his study and quietly goes downstairs to the living room where he relaxes on the couch and strums a soft and comforting melody. He hears the floor creak, as it once did back at the cabin.

Music always draws a soul to it, living or dead.

“Waylon?” He softly asks into the void.

Another creak of the floorboards, this time coming from the staircase.

“I won’t hurt you,” Jake says as he stops strumming. “You came to me before, you can come to me again.” It was quiet again, no more floorboard creaking, so he continues playing again in hopes that Waylon will come to him.

Never in millions did he think he’d be communicating with the dead, but something about Waylon is calling out to him. Maybe it is the paternal instincts he’s developed over the years that makes him feel connected to the little boy, having one himself who is hopefully still sound asleep in his bed.

He doesn’t hear the floorboards creak anymore. Though he feels a presence lingering nearby.

“Do you like music?” Jake asks.

Suddenly the presence vanishes and Jake hears a little voice call to him. “Daddy?” He looks up towards the stairs to see Tommy rubbing his eyes. “Who are you talking to?”

“It seems Waylon needed a friend.” Jake chuckles.

Tommy walks down the stairs and joins Jake on the couch. Jake agains feels the presence once more and Tommy giggles. “He says his papa used to play the guitar too, though he wasn’t as good as you are.”

Jake smiles and plucks a few strings. “Where is he now?”

“Standing right beside your left hand.” Tommy says. “He’s looking at your ring, and says that his papa saved up as much money as he could so he could give his mama a wedding band. He’s seen Mama’s ring, and says they never could have afforded a diamond.”

He feels the same small hand from the other night rest upon his arm.

“He’s asking you to keep playing.”

Jake nods his head and continues plucking at the strings on his guitar.

“Waylon says that when you play, it brings him comfort. He loves to watch you play.”

“Does he now?” Jake chuckles.

Tommy giggles and rests his head on Jake’s shoulder. “Waylon says that song would have been perfect to play to the chickens that they once had on their farm.”

Jake snorts, “Oh really?”

Tommy smiles and nods his head. “Says they had ten of them.” Jake nods his head and continues playing.

A few more minutes pass and Jake hears Tommy yawn. Some more pass and he’s falling asleep, curled up in the corner of the couch. Jake takes that as a sign to stop for the night. “Alright Waylon, I believe it is official bedtime this time.” He says as he sets his guitar off to the side.

He feels a light brush across his cheek and Waylon flashes in his mind. He looked happier.

Standing up and stretching out his body just a little, he turns back to the couch and scoops up Tommy into his arms and carries him back upstairs. “Waylon says he won't stay much longer,” Tommy says when Jake lays back on the bed. “He says it’s time for him to leave.”

“Where is he going?”

“He’s not sure but he sees his papa.”

“He does?”

Tommy nods his head. “He says goodbye and thank you.”

“Well, goodbye to you too, Waylon.” Jake says as sits down on Tommy’s bed.

He sees the curtains rustle ever so slightly. “He’s gone..” Tommy says, with a twinge of sadness in his voice.

Jake looks back at him before pulling him into his arms. “Tommy..”

“I wanted him to stay.. He was fun to have around.”

“I know,” Jake says. “But sometimes it’s just their time bud. They can’t stay around for long.”

“Why do they stay?” Tommy asks.

“I’m not so sure,” Jake says as he moves Tommy back to the bed and tucks him back. “Some say they stay because they have unfinished business, while others say they’re stuck and can’t find their way.”

“Was Waylon stuck? Or did he have unfinished business?”

“I don’t know,” Jake says. “But whatever it was that was keeping him here, I guess we helped him.” He reaches over and wipes his thumb across Tommy’s cheek and gives him a smile. “But now he’s with his papa and that’s all that matters.”

“Daddy, if we ever die and I get lost, will you ever come find me?”

“I will always find you,” Jake reaches over and plants a kiss on Tommy’s forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

After leaving Tommy’s room, he goes back to his own and carefully slides into bed so as to not wake you. Much to his surprise though, you never did fall asleep. You turn over onto your side to face him and kiss his cheek.

“What was that for?”

“For being the best father to our children,” You say. “I don’t think he’ll ever forget this.”

"Neither will I," Jake says as he pulls you in into him. "Goodnight baby.."

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

link to the tag list in my master list!

@losfacedevil @writingcold @ignite-my-fire @edgingthedarkness @takenbythemadness @katiegvf @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @josh-iamyour-mama @piratejtk @thetroublegetssoloud71 @hollyco @earthgrlsreasy @dancingcarbon @cheersdannyx2

#jaketober #jake kiszka #greta van fleet #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fanfic #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka fic #gvf #dad!jake #ghosts

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csanflower · 1 year ago

Text

“you drew stars around my scars”

pairing: experimented on! jungkook x experimented on! reader

powers au!, childhood besties au!, patients au!

genre: angst, fluff, sfw

wc: 5.9k

synopsis: meeting jungkook was like gazing up at the brightest star in the sky as you lay helpless on the cold ground in the dark night. you both found comfort in one another. you healed each other as you suffered through painful experiments together. the pain was bearable, with him by your side. whenever he was around, your smiles were brighter, your shoulders were lighter, and all your worries just seemed to disappear in an instant. good things don’t last though. you learned that the hard way.

jungkook and y/n meet in the hospital both trying to be cured of their ‘disease’ (they have powers :O) and form memories along the way <3

tw: experiments on human (not detailed though), scars, gun

*inspired by ��cardigan’ by taylor swift: “you drew stars around my scars” pls listen to it while u read this 🥹🥹(A/N: GONNA BE FIGHTING HARD FOR TICKETS TO ERAS TOUR THIS WEEK SO I WROTE THIS HOPING TO MANIFEST SOME TICKETS😭🙏🙏)

——

13 june, 2005

You monitored the pale, white room around you. White bed. White cupboard. White walls. You sighed in frustration. Your rainbow obsessed 7 year old brain screamed at you to add some colour to the walls. Note to self: Bring crayons to colour walls next time.

“Please…I will take care of her… don’t do this…”

Hearing the small familiar voice of your mother, your eyes lit up, and you climbed onto your white bed, propping your elbows onto the tiny window frame in the small room, peeking your small head out as you stared curiously into the other room. Your mother talking to a man in a white coat. They were having a serious conversation, and your mother seemed like she was about to cry. Why is mommy crying? Is she hurt? You thought to yourself, immediately jumping off the bed and running to the room next door to find your mother and comfort her.

The moment you entered the room your mother was in, you noticed she instantly wiped her tears away, trying to hide her tears from you.

“Hey sweetie, you like the room?” She plastered a smile on her face as she looked endearingly at you.

“It was alright. It could have more colour though. Next time I should bring my crayons and draw Bibi on it!” You let out a huge smile at the thought of Bibi, showing off your missing front tooth. Bibi was your imaginary friend. Picture a golden retriever, but covered in rainbows. Making friends were not exactly your specialty. For some reason, everyone called you a freak and did not want to talk to you, all because you were able to move things with your mind. And so you found comfort in your imaginary friend Bibi instead. He was the only one who understood you.

“Hey sweetheart, you’ll be staying here for a while, ok? It’s to make you better. Don’t worry, mommy will come back to visit when I can.” You could tell your mother was holding back her tears. It was the same face she made when daddy screamed at her and left us, or when she received a call that grandma died.

“W-why can’t mommy stay with me?” You felt tears brimming at your eyes as a sinking feeling appeared in your heart. You could feel that something bad was happening.

“Y/n, you are a danger to your mother. You need to stay here to get better-“ The doctor in the coat was cut off as I screamed out loud.

“NO! I WANT MY MOMMY! IM NOT GOING TO STAY HERE!” Your tears were overwhelming you as more people stomped into the room, grabbing your mother’s arms as she tried to grab you into her embrace. She had released her tears by now, sobbing uncontrollably. The people who stomped into the room grabbed her arms harshly, dragging her away from me and out of the door.

You felt your arms being pulled back by the doctor as you tried reaching out for your mother. You let out a frustrated scream, as your emotions ran rampage. The room around you started to shake and you unintentionally slammed everyone in the room against the hard wall — including your mother. Everyone except you fell hard to the ground as they hit the wall, all groaning in pain. You looked at your mother apologetically, then looked at your own hands in disgust. What have I done?

Your mother looks at you with one last glance, glossy eyes as she mouths to you ‘It’s ok, i love you’ The security people, as if unphased from the hit, immediately got up, containing their job as they dragged your mother forcefully out of the room. You didn’t dare to stop them. Not after what you did. You knew you were a monster.

“Do you see now, y/n? You’re a danger to everyone. If you want to be fixed, you will do the wise choice of cooperating with us so you can see your mother again.” The doctor got up slowly, looking at you with a cunning smile.

You gulped. You were scared. So, so scared and lonely. But you knew you had to do this. You had to get better. You had to make your mom proud. So you bravely nodded, agreeing to stay at the facility to get help.

—

2006

You never saw your mother again after that incident. You were unsure if she chose not to see you again because she thought you were a monster or if she was not allowed to visit you, but you sure hoped it was the latter.

You grew accustomed to the lifestyle. Everyday, your morning would be filled with ‘recreational activities’ like playing chess, but having to move the pieces with your mind, or doing basic commands with your powers that the doctors made you do. Afternoons were the worst. They would strap you into the terrifying pink chair in the ‘rainbow room’ and conduct experiments on your brain. For a room called ‘rainbow room’, it was certainly not full of rainbows. You would have to sit through hours of excruciating pain as the voices in your head overwhelmed you. There were so many needles, blood. But there was nothing you could do. None of the doctors cared for you. You had no one.

As time passed, you started getting used to the lifestyle. The food wasn’t bad, you had a chef that would make what you wanted, and servants that would get you what want. The only issue was the loneliness. You realised you were the only patient at the facility. Nobody ever talked to you. The guards, doctors and servants were not allowed to form a relationship with you. You had no one to talk to — except Bibi. But you knew Bibi wasn’t real. You weren’t a kid anymore - you had matured quickly from having to face the bitter reality. Bibi was merely your coping mechanism from the horrors of your daily life.

That was until he came along.

On 13 June, 2006, Jeon Jungkook, a 9 year old boy, was admitted into your facility exactly a year after your admittance. You were excited when you heard the news. You would finally have someone to talk to, someone to share your pain and to hang out with — a friend. Sadly, you did not hit it off as well as you expected it to. Jungkook was a shy, frightened boy, slightly shorter than you, eyes red and puffy probably from the amount of times he cried after being separated from his family. You felt for him. You were in the exact same situation as him a year ago, and you understood that he needed some private time to heal himself. He was definitely not in the mood for making friends. So you kept your distance for a while, not wanting to seem too desperate.

Until the night of his first experience in the ‘rainbow room’. You laid on your bed, reading the same book for the thousandth time as you sighed in boredom. Until you heard a sniffle in the hallway.

Curious, you stepped out of your room, not shocked to see Jungkook crouching into a little ball in the hallway outside his room, crying quietly. You could see the deep scars left on his left arm, the same ones you get daily from the experiments. You crouch down beside him softly, hesitantly patting his back as you tried to comfort him wordlessly. At first, he looked tense and uncomfortable at your touch, but he slowly eased into it as he saw the same scars on your arms. You inched closer to him, giving him a warm embrace as you cried together with him.

After that night, the two of you became closer. He realised that you were just like him. That he was not alone in his painful journey. And so started your friendship with Jungkook.

You soon realised Jungkook was more than a shy, frightened boy. He could be playful and kind at times, and he quickly became your close friend — more like only friend.

He painted your bleak childhood colourful with memories and fun moments. The two of you would make inside jokes about the staff there, laughing at how they always wore the same clothes and probably didn’t wash them, and joke over stupid things like whose powers were stronger or who was taller.

Yet despite all the jokes, the two of you placed deep trust in one another, comforting each other when the experiments got too harsh and painful, convincing each other that it would end some day. Mornings and afternoons of playfulness and fun ended in late nights of cuddling and crying together. This lifestyle became a norm for the two of you. But still it was tolerable, because you had each other.

—

2010

“Y/n, look what I found!” Jungkook ran into your room with a big, smug toothy grin on his face, hiding something behind his back.

“Did you finally find out where your room actually is? Because I’m starting to think you don’t know that since you’re always in my room.” You rolled your eyes playfully as you pretended not to be interested in what he actually brought.

His smile faltered for a second, processing your words, before he faked an angry frown, and pounced onto your bed that you were laying on, tickling you as revenge.

“Ok stop,” you giggled, “I was just kidding, tell me what you brought.” He finally stopped tickling you, pulling something from under his shirt behind his back, as he excitedly presented it to you.

You jaw dropped in shock as you immediately snatched it from his hand, staring at it in disbelief.

“That’s right! A full set of rainbow coloured crayons just for you!” Jungkook beamed with pride.

It was only the previous night that you admitted your obsession with rainbows to him, telling him stories about Bibi, and sharing about how you wished you could colour your room walls. You’ve been begging the workers for some sort of colour since you’ve arrived, but they never met your requests, saying that it was too “childish”. You couldn’t help but wonder how Jungkook managed to get it.

“I bet Bibi could have never gotten this for you, it just proved I’m a much better friend than him!”

You laughed at Jungkook’s statement. After telling him about Bibi, he had been so jealous that you had another friend other than him, even though you repeatedly told him numerous times that Bibi was an imaginary friend. However, you didn’t admit that you hadn’t talked to Bibi in a long time since you’d made friends with Jungkook. That would make his pride swell too much.

“How did you get it? The workers never ever let me get anything like this!” You were still in disbelief.

“Well, doctor choi has been wanting to do the new form of experiment on me since a few weeks back, and he said he would reward me with anything I wanted if I did it! So since I’m the bravest and coolest person ever, I did it today!” Jungkook said with a smug smile.

You frowned when you heard what he said. For the past few weeks, Jungkook had opposed greatly to doing the new format of experiments, since it was on a much larger scale than the previous experiments we had done. Our previous experiments usually ended in scars on our arms, but this new experiment was performed on the whole body. Jungkook had protested against it, because he was too afraid of needles. He had always been less receptive to pain than you. But why did he suddenly agree to do it today?

You looked down on Jungkook’s body, noticing new scars that were on his legs. He quickly tried covering them, saying, “It’s no big deal! It wasn’t even painful!”

You knew it had to be painful. The size of the scarring were just much larger than the usual. You pouted in guilt, hugging Jungkook tightly, “You didn’t have to do that! I bet it hurt so bad!”

“It’s fine, I just wanted to do something for you after all you’ve done for me…” He looked at you, face blushing slightly from your close proximity.

That night, the two of you didn’t sleep, colouring the plain walls with the crayons until dawn broke.

“Pfff. What is that supposed to be?” Jungkook muffled his laughter when he turned to see what you were drawing.

Frowning, you exclaimed, “It’s the galaxy! These are all the planets and all my beautiful stars!”

“Those are supposed to be stars?! They’re so ugly!” Jungkook joked with you.

You threw one of the crayons in his face, ignoring his comments. You didn’t care how ugly your drawing was, you loved seeing the sky and stars shining. Especially the stars. Stars were your favourite thing. Before you came here, you and your mother went stargazing every week, staring into the beautiful sky. Even though you probably would never be able to see them again since you weren’t allowed out of the building, you still held on to the hope that maybe one day you could have that chance again.

You stared at your galaxy for a while before turning over to Jungkook’s side to see what he was drawing.

You were shocked to realise that he was a much better artist than you. You inched closer to his side, smiling when you realised what he drew. A portrait of you and him together, on a lush green field, staring up into a sky full of stars. Although you never told him directly about your love for stars, you realised he must have guessed it from all the times you talked about them and tried drawing them. Your felt your heart beat a little bit faster at the thought of Jungkook being so attentive to your likes.

Your eyes trailed down to below the beautiful drawing to see a small writing below.

‘Y/n and Jungkook together forever!’

—

2015

As the years ticked by quickly, Jungkook started growing from a boy into a man. Once he hit puberty, he shot up like a tree and grew muscles. His featured became more defined and he grew out of his baby fat. You noticed that as Jungkook turned into a teenager, he had also turned more rebellious towards the workers, always unwilling to follow through their instructions and ending up getting punished. Yet he still stayed kind and sweet towards you, acting like the same 10 year old boy when he’s around you.

“One more time and we will not tolerate this anymore! You got it?”

Hearing the faint voice of doctor choi, you quietly get up from your bed and run to your door, peeking out softly, looking in the hallway.

Doctor Choi stood outside of Jungkook’s room in anger, scolding him. You could barely see Jungkook from your angle, only seeing half of his body.

“Ya, ya whatever. I won’t do it again.” Jungkook rolled his eyes and then slammed the door in Doctor Choi’s face, resulting in Doctor Choi stomping away in anger.

When you were sure Doctor Choi was out of sight, you quietly tip toed to Jungkook’s room, knocking on his door impatiently.

“What more do you want? I-“ Jungkook opened the door, annoyed.

When he saw you, he paused and his eyes softened.

“What did you do again? I was so worried when I couldn’t find you this morning! You have to start being more careful! These people have power over our entire lives! You can’t just act recklessly like this!” You immediately pushed past him and entered his room, sitting on his bed, as you looked at him angrily.

He carried a childishly guilty look, nervously scratching the back of his neck.

“I didn’t do anything bad! I just kind of sneaked out…”

“What!?? You tried sneaking out again?? Are you crazy? You could get into serious trouble-“

“I didn’t try, I did sneak out. I succeeded.” He said with a smug smirk on his face.

You paused your words in shock.

“Wait what? You sneaked out? Whats outside? Did you see the sky? How did you sneak out?” You bombarded him with questions.

He chickled slightly, sitting beside you in the bed.

“Chill, it’s mostly just greenery. But I found a really nice spot. I’ll take you there tonight.” He smiled gently at you.

You don’t know why you agreed with Jungkook’s ridiculous rebellious plan, but the thought of even a chance of being able to see the night sky again was just too tempting.

So now you and Jungkook were currently hiding in the vents, waiting for the right time to sneak out when nobody was looking. You sat rolled up in a circle beside Jungkook who looked noticeably more uncomfortable than you due to his size. The two of you were inches away from each other and you could feel your face heating up at the close proximity.

“This is really uncomfortable.” You muttered in the awkwardness.

He chuckled stating that it would be worth it.

Sure enough, he was right, as he usually was. When the workers were not looking, he quickly dragged you out of the vent as the two of you ran as quickly and quietly as you could to the spot he was talking about.

“Don’t open your eyes!” Jungkook placed his large hands over your eyes excitedly as he led you quietly to the spot.

You followed him blindly, placing your trust in him.

“OK! Open your eyes now!” You could hear the smile in his voice, excitedly opening your eyes.

When you peeled your eyes open, you stayed silent, in awe at the view you saw. The sky was pitch black, but the bright stars around twinkled in the dark. You felt like crying. You’ve been longing for this view for years. And now that you could see it in real life you didn’t know how to feel.

“I-It’s not the best view but I thought you would like it.” Jungkook said with a shy smile.

“It’s beautiful, Jungkook! I love it so much.” You were on the verge of tears, throwing yourself onto him as you embraced him tightly in gratitude.

You could feel him sigh in relief, hugging you back just as tightly.

“I’m glad you love it.”

The two of you sat on the field in silence, staring at the sky in awe. From your peripheral view, you noticed that Jungkook was looking at you the whole time.

“You should take a picture, it’ll last longer.” You joked with him as you turned to him momentarily.

“I really wish I could.” He replied.

You kept quietly, not expecting that response. The two of you stayed quiet for a while before you broke the silence.

“My mom used to bring me out to star gaze every week… I miss her so much.”

Jungkook looked at you in slight shock, not knowing how to reply. Though the two of you shared everything with each other, parents were not a topic you commonly discussed as it was pretty sensitive.

As silence engulfed the two of you again, you asked Jungkook, “Do you want a family when you grow up?”

“Yes, but only with the woman I love.” He stared intensely at you.

You looked back into his eyes, not knowing how to reply.

“Y/n, you are the one I lo-“

You cut him off quickly, pressing your finger onto his lips.

“Please don’t, I don’t think I can handle that.” You say apologetically, “I don’t deserve to be loved. My scars, they’re too ugly. I- I’m ugly. I don’t deserve love.” Your tears fumbled your words.

Jungkook’s eyebrows fumbled, his strong arms grabbing your arms gently, relentlessly pulling it towards him even as you tried your best to pull it away. He gently looked at your scars, rubbing onto them as he pulled them to his lips and kissed them gently.

“They’re beautiful y/n, everything about you is beautiful.”

Your tears started pouring as Jungkook looked at you with so much love and affection, kissing your ugly scars with so much care as if they were the most beautiful thing in the world.

“No they’re not, I can’t even look at them. It hurts, Jungkook. I hate everything about myself.” You leaned your head on his shoulders as you cried harder.

Jungkook hesitated for a moment, before grabbing something out from his pocket.

You almost laughed amidst your tears when you saw what he took out. A pink crayon. You remember giving that to him because you refused to use that colour in your drawings, stating that you hated that colour. (mostly because it was the colour of the chair in the rainbow room) As years passed and your crayons were used up, you never knew he had kept that crayon until this day, keeping it in his pocket like that.

You kept quiet as you watched him curiously. He grabbed your arms gently, drawing cute little stars around them.

“Look, now your arm is a cute little galaxy. It’s even more beautiful than the sky up there.” He smiled gently at you.

Looking at your arm now, you chuckled slightly as it did slightly resemble the universe above you. Jungkook used his fingers to wipe away the tears below your eyes.

“Since I kissed your scars, don’t you think you should kiss mine too?” He smirked.

You laughed, tears dissipating as you bent down and kissed the scars on his arm as well. You grabbed the pink crayon, drawing stars around his scars as well. You frowned when you realise his little universe didn’t look nearly as nice as yours.

“Wow you’re trying to make my scars uglier with your ugly stars.” He teased you.

This time, instead of throwing the crayon into his faces, you smiled endearingly as you leaned your head onto his chest, savouring as much as you could of this sweet moment.

“Jungkook… sorry for cutting you off just now. In fact, I-I actually love-“

Just as you were about to confess, you were suddenly interrupted.

“Jeon Jungkook! I told you no more sneaking out! This is it! You will be punished! Grab her!”

You felt yourself being pulled away from Jungkook’s side as two strong men grabbed both sides of your arms.

“Let go of me!” You tried pushing yourself off and using your powers but you were too weak after the experiments this week.

“Stop! Let go of her now!”

You’ve never seen Jungkook this mad before. Jungkook used his powers, twisting the heads of the two men holding you, making them crumble on the floor with blood gushing out of their eyes. You looked at Jungkook in shock.

Before you could run away, more men appeared, grabbing you once again, other men grabbing onto Jungkook.

At this point, you were a sobbing mess and the both of you were unable to escape since Jungkook’s powers were too weak from attacking the two men.

Jungkook was fuming, struggling in the grip of the two men, as he repeatedly shouted, “Don’t hurt her! Please! Let her go!”

You could feel yourself getting weaker as the men holding you placed a device onto your arm, draining your energy.

“This is your punishment, Jungkook. You’ll never see her again.”

That was the last thing you heard before you blacked out.

——

2016

You barely saw Jungkook again after that. They moved his room into another wing, and held his experiments elsewhere. You were back to 2005, lonely and depressed.

The only times you heard of Jungkook were through overhearing gossips from the workers.

“He caused a ruckus again, asking to see y/n. “

Your heart ached, longing to see him once again as well, and also concerned that he would be punished for being uncooperative.

You started focusing more on following the doctor’s instructions, with the hope that you could rid of your powers quickly so you could be released together with Jungkook. You were starting to see hope, everyday your powers were slightly diminishing and becoming weaker as you focused diligently during your experiments. Although as your powers grew weaker, you noticed you were becoming weaker as well. You’d lost a bit of weight and strength. But that didn’t falter you. You were too determined on losing your powers and escaping the facility.

Every morning, you would wake up to the fading drawing of you and Jungkook together watching the sky, bringing you back to the memory of that cursed night. Nights ended with you daydreaming on what could have been if you guys weren’t separated. You just wished you could have seen him one more time.

You didn’t know that your wish would have came true so soon.

It was 2am at night. You were lying on your bed, staring at the stars you had drawn on your ceiling with the crayons Jungkook gave years back. When someone entered your room quietly.

“Y/n, I have no time to explain. You have to come with me now.”

You looked up, shocked at the familiar voice. Sure enough, it was Jungkook in the flesh. He had an anxious look on his face, as if he was in a rush.

“W-what? How?” You didn’t know how to react after seeing him for the first time in so long. He looked the same from the last time you met him, except he grew buffer and more handsome. You looked at his arms, realising he still had pink stars that looked like the ones you drew around his scars. You assumed that he had traced over the stars when they started to fade so that they would stay intact. You let out a small smile at that.

He grabbed your wrist tightly, dragging you out of your room in a rush as he kept looking around for workers. You were still in a state of shock, unable to say a word as you followed him. When he was sure no one was in the hallway, he dragged you into the janitors room, closing the door.

He turned to you, glossy eyes looking at you as if you were the only thing that mattered in his life.

“I missed you so much.”

“Me too.”

The two of you stood in silence for a few seconds until Jungkook remembered why he came to find you.

“Look, y/n, we have a chance to escape. No, we need to escape. I found out something about the facility here. They have no plans to actually cure us, they can’t. They plan to have us stay here forever, to contain us and weaken us so we can’t escape. They’re afraid of us, y/n. And they can kill us at any time. They couldn’t kill us previously because the government did not allow it with the public watching. But with time passing, I overheard them saying that the public is forgetting and the government gave them the green light to kill us anytime we prove we’re a threat. We need to go, y/n.”

You knew this time it wasn’t a joke. Jungkook had never put on such a serious face before, and you could only nod at whatever he was saying. It was weird, the way you trusted him so easily. But he was the only person in your life who ever truly understood you and supported you. Maybe that was why you agreed to easily to whatever he said.

“W-when do we leave?” Your mind was still confused at how fast things were escalating. A moment ago you were just about to fall asleep, and now you were about to escape from the only place you’ve been in for the past few years of your life.

“Now.”

You followed him quietly as the two of you entered the vent you’d once been in. Memories of that horrible day came into your mind, but you pushed them away. Despite having an inkling that something about his plan could go wrong, you tried ignoring that thought, hoping it would be a success and that the two of you could actually leave together.

The two of you crawled through the vent, going a different route from the previous time. When he stopped abruptly, you stopped as well, waiting for his instructions. Looking down from the vent through the tiny holes, you realised you were above the main entrance of the building, the same entrance you and your mother had walked through the first time you entered.

You held your breath at the memory of that day. You hadn’t seen this door since that day in 2005 since it was always blocked off by guards and lots of protection. You felt heartbeat increase, maybe there really was hope at an escape.

“Ok on my signal you follow me and jump down, alright?” Jungkook turned around to look at you as he whispered. You nodded determinedly in response.

When Jungkook mouthed the word ‘now’ to you, he kicked off an opening on the vent and jumped down onto the floor as you followed along. As you jumped down, you stumbled slightly, but Jungkook caught you, steadying you with his arms.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” The guards, who had been on break took notice of us and ran after us from a few meters away.

“Run!”

Jungkook grabbed your arm tightly, pulling you along with him as the two of you ran for your lives out of the building.

As you ran, you started panicking as all you could see around you were greenery. But then hope came again when you could see a town with people and buildings in the far distance. There was a chance the two of you could make it.

You ran harder, locking hands with Jungkook as you both ran towards the town.

Bang!

The sound of the gunshot resonated through the forest. You didn’t feel any pain. But that made you feel worse. Because you knew it was Jungkook that had been shot.

“Shit…” Jungkook groaned in pain as he grabbed onto his stomach, blood gushing out.

Despite the pain, he didn’t give up, dragging you to a blind spot in the forest behind a tree where no one could see the two of you.

You placed him gently on the floor as tears flowed down your eyes uncontrollably.

“No…no, please…” You muttered as you tried putting pressure on the wound.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Go. Go without me.” He said with little energy.

“No! No… I’m not leaving you here.” At this point you could barely see anything, everything blurred from your tears.

“You have to go now y/n… please… I love you so much…” He said with tears.

“Sorry, y/n, I didn’t want to show you my new power this way, but I have no choice.” He said weakly.

You were confused for a moment, until he grabbed onto your arm and said, “You will run as fast as you can to the town there and not look back once. And you will never ever return to this place.”

Instantaneously after his command, your legs stood up without your will and ran towards the town.

“W-wait! Jungkook! I love you! Stop this now! Please! I’m begging you!”

Your words were no use, your legs following Jungkook’s command as you couldn’t even look back to give a final glance at him.

When you reached the town, you broke down on the street immediately, wanting to run back to help him, but you physically couldn’t.

2018

Healing was hard. Especially without Jungkook. But eventually you moved on, like you always do. After escaping, you found a small job as a cashier at a convenience store, becoming close friends with the old grandma who owned the store. Your income was not a lot, but it was enough for three meals a day and rent for a small apartment. You went on that way for about 2 years, until realising you were too lonely and needed a new companion. And so you adopted an 8 year old golden retriever who had previously been used for animal testing. The moment you saw the scars on his frail little body, you broke down and sobbed at the adoption drive in front of dozens of people. You knew at that moment that he was yours. You named him Jeon Bibi.

—

13 June, 2020

“Jeon Bibi! The park is this way, where are you bringing me to?” You chuckled at your dog’s cute behaviour as he excitedly dragged you away to the opposite direction of the park you usually walked to.

“Ok, ok you’re the boss, i’ll follow you.” You smile affectionally at him as you trail behind him, curious to find out where he was bringing you to.

When Bibi came to an abrupt stop, you realised that he stopped behind the tall silhouette of a man’s back. You looked up curiously at the man, wondering why Bibi brought you to him. The man whipped around when he felt Bibi sniffing his hands.

You felt your breath hitch as the familiar man turned around, staring deeply into your eyes. For a moment, time stopped. Your eyes turned glossy as years of memories flashed passed your mind in an instant, the walls you’ve built around your heart demolishing in a split second. Your eyes trailed from his slightly longer, curlier black hair down to his large brown doe eyes, and to his pink lips, adorning a new lip piercing. You brought your eyes down to his body, noticing he became even buffer and taller. Then your eyes reached his arms and you felt your heart stop, looking at the scars that you once rubbed, kissed, newly decorated by familiar stars that were now permanently inked onto his skin.

He seemed equally shocked as he stared at you, tears brimming his widened eyes.

You both didn’t move an inch, staring into each other’s eyes. You were the first to break the silence.

“I thought you said my stars were ugly.”

He broke into laughter amidst his tears at the fact that that was your first comment after meeting him. You could feel your heart squeeze at his laughter. God, you missed him so, so much. You found yourself laughing along to his contagious laughter. For a moment, it felt like the two of you were 10 again, laughing without any worries.

“Y/n, everything about you is beautiful, even your ugly stars.” He ceased his laughter, small smile on his face as he looked at you intensely, years of memories hidden behind those eyes.

He paused for a second, hesitating before confessing.

“Y/n, I love yo-“

Before he could finish, you cut him off by taking a step closer to him and smashing your lips against his. He instantly melted into the kiss, grabbing you tightly, scared you would be separated again. You hugged him back tighter, reassuring him that the two of you would stay together forever.

After all, he was your star, your salvation, the one who made you love your scars, the one taught you acceptance and love, the one who made living worth it.

A/N: I LOVE THIS STORY SO MUCH😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭Ifeel so attached to them i cant do this rn i’m so sad. if u don’t understand the last part basically he REMEMBERED THE SHAPE OF HER STARS AND GOT A TATTOO OF THEM EVEN THOUGH HE HATES NEEDLES OK 😭😭😭😭ok but actually this piece was a bit of a rush since i wanted to quickly post it before my great war so it may be a bit incomplete at parts ANYWAYS PRAY FOR MY GREAT TICKETING WAR TMR🙏🙏THANKS LOVELIES FOR READING and do give comments if u can because i love reading feedback <3

#jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jjk x reader #jjk one shot #jungkook one shot #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts fics #jungkook fics #bts angst #jungkook au #bts hospital au #bts powers au #bts friends to lovers #bts childhood friends au

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