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mushroom-for-art · 1 year

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Lmao another one, mysterious white mewtwo belongs to @oogaboogaspookyman he is an evil bastard and he is tormenting my children. Hope you enjoy

Time loop

Lacerations decorated her baby brothers skin, the wounds oozed red black liquid, he'd stopped gurgling and choking around his own blood by now and was quiet, all she could do was hold him holding the back of his head gently and her other arm slowly pulled out of his chest and wrapped around him sobbing.

She was blood stained and covered in bruises and as the illusion faded away her condition worsened, deep aching wounds ran down her back from being cut open with shards of glass, one of her horns had been snapped and dangled painfully, her tail hung limply crushed and bludgeoned along with many other wounds that began to weep and scream. Her brother was worse, half his face had been blasted off in one of the previous runs and his eye had started to rot and leak from the socket, his body was barely held together having been crushed, torn apart, cut open, hacked into, burnt, electrocuted, whatever the twisted mind of the monochrome one could come up with that fate had befell her brother and she couldn't save him.

She felt the cold before she heard the demons laugh, deep and amused, echoed and tormenting, he clapped his hands together in slow praise as he glided easily over as the world around them faded to gray.

"Please, haven't you had your fun?" May looked up at the other two still protectively cradling the cool body of her brother, the other two watched her looking down upon her with his empty black eyes, expression unreadable, "don't make him go through any more, I beg of you." A smile cracked upon his face in amusement watching her growing panic feeling her growing fear.

"You can torture me instead, just me! You must be getting bored with this formula of things, give him his freedom and life back and just make me suffer. I-imagine what you could do, you could have me fight for my life and freedom that you'll never grant, make me fight thinking I'm to reunite with him just to rip me back, break me, tear apart and put my body back together over and over, make me relive my worst memories, just, please. He doesn't deserve this." She begged, to frankly deaf ears, tears streaming down her face as she looked up at the one tormenting them, wishing, praying for him to consider and let him go.

The other brought their hand to their chin in mock thought, though May in her anguish still could not read his body language, they floated to one side then the other as if in consideration. May could only watch trying not to get her hopes up and failing miserably clutching onto her sibling just wanting him safe.

The pale white two stopped in front of her, even in this other space time they continued to distort their form never truly stable. His hand came to hold her face in a way that was almost kind, but she knew better as she felt his grip start to tighten and tighten around her muzzle painfully gripping and drawing lines of blood as he slowly leant in close as he crushed her bones slowly.

"No."

He threw her backwards with a smirk as the world fell around her as she plummeted into the darkness.

———————————————————

Thick leaves blocked out the light and subdued the heat of the sun within the forest, it was quiet save for the breeze. May blinked as she looked around, having the strange feeling she had forgotten something but searching her thoughts provided no answers. She frowned a bit to herself in confusion as she stood from resting under a tree, there was a cool breeze against her as she stood her tail swayed.

She looked around before walking listening out for her brothers psychic energy or just his laughters being that he was a generally a noisy boisterous lad. She smiled hearing his laughter following the sound of it wondering what exactly he was up to.

Deeper she walked and yet never feeling as though she was getting closer, she stopped, listening out furrowing her brows in confusion. The pleasant cool breeze began turning cold and the warmth of the sun began to weaken sending a shiver through her. She turned her head trying to listen.

"Matt? Where are you?" She called out into the darkness of the forest before her as it creeped around her starting to chill her body.

The sound of her brother changed from joyous laughter in play to panicked frantic yelling and screams.

She ran into the darkness ahead of her following the distressed screams going as fast as she could manage before her psychic abilities turned on allowing her to fly forward at speeds desperately chasing the sounds forward as the dark forest ran past her in her peripheral vision.

Everything started to rapidly cool, the sun turning cold on her back, the dark greens turning to icy blues and frosts. Cold icy winds cut through her as she broke from the treeline into a wintery tundra, she fell into the snow from the shock shivering and teeth chattering as she gasped shoving herself up to stand breath clouding in front of her with each frozen gasp.

Her brother screamed and despite the horrific freezing cold she pushed forward towards the sound, body trembling with each step grasping herself and trying to use her tail for insulation. Sharp ice cut her face in each violent gust whipping at her to push her back increasing her struggles. By the time she reached the mouth of a cave she felt half frozen, frost decorating her body as she stumbled inside hearing quiet sobbing and crying.

The ground was still freezing and each step hurt as she pushed on deeper into the cave, finally making out a shape within the darkness huddled away from her and whimpering, "Matt?" She hurried over the best she could despite her cold state moving her hand to gently grab his shoulder.

His skin cracked and splintered cracking away from his body shoulder snapping off and gluing to her palm from heat difference, he was frozen solid. She yelped and whimpered trying to pull her brothers upper arm from her palm as the cold burnt against her. The half limb finally came loose falling from her hand shattering across the cold ground. She stood trembling in both cold and sheer terror, slowly backing away from the splintering corpse of her brother that was still whimpering.

She ran back to leave the cave to find the entrance frozen over trapping her inside, she hit her palms and hands against the ice kicking and cursing until it hurt her hands bleeding from her own skin being ripped off as it stuck against the ice wall. She cursed softly as her hands burnt with cold and pain droplets of blood falling from her trembling fingers as she turned to walk back into the cave desperate to find another exit.

Her brother was looking at her now, his body still expression locked in horror and fear his glassy eyes stared at her frozen open forever huddled forward tail wrapped around himself. Her breathing was rapid and fearful as scratched writing became visible along the icey walls asking where she was why didn't she save him and she could feel the guilt weighing down on her freezing body causing her to slowly slump to her knees where she could feel her flesh freezing to the cold sticking in a way she knew would rip away skin hands on her knees her blood warm against herself as she hung her head as her tears froze against her face painfully.

She looked up again and his corpse was closer mouth open still in his last breath patterns of frost dancing across his face in swirls and shapes, she sobbed softly in horror and fear and deep sadness at his face. She hesitantly brought her hand to his face, but didn't touch, "I'm so sorry, I wasn't fast enough I let you down." His eyes stared forward without seeing. A soft whimper left her throat as she put her forehead to his chest, she couldn't escape, she'd freeze here she knew it and that terrified her but she'd be with her brother at least as she shut her eyes ready to fall asleep and not wake up.

The cold cut into her body freezing her skin and breaking it, she could feel her fresh blood as it fell from her wounds before it froze blistering against her skin. She could feel all of her body screaming in pain burning and freezing each tremble ripping wounds in her fragile frosty form, her lips were bleeding and cracked and it felt like her eyes were frozen shut. But death wasn't coming. Something wasn't allowing her to die yet. Time seemed to drag endlessly and yet pass so rapidly as it cut and froze her. She couldn't feel anything anymore, even thinking was sluggish and yet she felt the pain as it stabbed into her stomach, a twisting hunger a starvation a primal desperate need to eat. She ignored it. Endured it. There was nothing to eat after all, may as well freeze on an empty stomach.

She felt the pain lurching squeezing inside her, everything was hurting and yet everything was numb at the same time. She was afraid that it would never end, that this was it, stuck forever in starvation pain and numbness, was Matt frozen caught in agony and fear forever too? Was he conscious but unable to do anything anymore? Was this death? Or worse? Purgatory? Hell? She wasn't particularly religious but it made her wonder and consider the mistakes and actions of her life. Though her memory was failing her, blurring and chopped, she couldn't recall much of anything really it all blurred as cold crept across her mind.

"Hey, you gonna eat or sit there nodding off huh?" Her brothers' voice, her eyes opened and she was back in the forest, it was warm and he was fine smiling at her waving fruits in the air that he collected with his psychic powers. He grinned at her with teeth saying, "come on, or I won't share with you." A fruit landed into her open palm. It was warm from the sun and her memories melted away.

She bit into the fruit, the moment the texture of the skin and flesh made contact with her teeth she knew something was wrong, it tasted wrong, it was stringy and meaty almost like pork but again too stringy as the taste of copper and meat washed over her tongue making her gag to herself to look at the fruit in horror. Her body went cold, everything turned dark and bleak her hands were bloody again she was back in the cave blood covering her hand holding a hunk of flesh. Blurred behind her hand her brothers' corpse with a hunk of flesh ripped out from his upper stomach tail area. She gagged again ready to throw up, dropping her brothers' flesh in disgust as she retched.

Dark psychic energy clamped her mouth shut to prevent her vomiting up the mouthful she swallowed, the acidicness burned her throat as tears streamed in her eyes as the scene fell away back to the gray void, her monochrome tormentor observing her with his usual twisted smirk.

"Ah ah."

He simply mocked as she choked trying to claw away the psychic energy to no avail, she choked and cried and struggled until she could only swallow. He released his grip on her as she panted in horror trembling before him, her brothers body lay nearby still missing a hunk of flesh.

"My my, getting a taste for it?"

The white mewtwo floated in front of her grinning a sick grin of glee down at her as she sat there trembling. He could feel the horror and fear rolling off of her in waves, the anger the hate the instability of her consciousness as she went through delightful cycle after cycle for him witnessing and committing atrocities for his entertainment.

"You made me do that, you tricked me.." She mumbled bleakly trying to look at him in defiance but her eyes were long since broken and bleak missing the twinkle of life behind them making her defiance fall flat.

He laughed at her dark and ominous in a way that made her terrified all over again. He could only laugh at her pitiful sorry state, really it was all fun for him. Watching the crumbling of her resolve the breaking of her mind as he pulled and ripped away at her very being, puppetting her to do exactly as he wanted simply by knowing how she ticked what actions would make her react, he could make her jump and however high he desired. He had her all figured out like the toy she was, and he still had so many more ways to play with her. He snapped his fingers lazily and watched her tumble down into the bleakness into a new cycle as he created a new world and situation to play with.

#My writing #My ocs #Mewtwo oc Matt #Mewtwosona May #@oogaboogaspookymans oc #@oogaboogaspookymans ???#@oogaboogaspookymans monochrome bastard lmao #Tw cannibalism #Tw injuries #Tw rotting #Tw vomit mention #Tw blood #So context @oogaboogaspookymans horrid little man has them in like a time loop groundhog day sandbox time pocket thing lmao #Don't ask me how #At the start of each loop Matt is alive but usually dies by the end and each wound sustained remains in the limbo gray world #And this bastard is able to then manipulate it and send them back to the beginning of the loop over and over to make them suffer #He can manipulate May's perspective of things ext activate or suppress memories change the environment ect #Basically he can just keep playing with them over and over again because he can to make them suffer #They've probably been through countless loops at this point hence their stage #*state. Idk how he originally trapped them so don't ask XD #I will probably randomly add more short torture stories for fun lmao #I think he probably bullshit threatened if May tried to kill him it'd just destroy his time loop with Matt still dead at the end #So like kill me ur brother stays dead forever but maybe I'll let him go still alive (he probably won't)#He really just be beefing with these two for no reason XD #I kinda imagine despite his general beef with humanity he dislikes matt for his human mannerisms and quirks #And he despises May for like being complacent to humans like ur a mewtwo and yet you let them push you around disgusting torture upon you #Idk that's my personal kinda interpretation/where his angle is when I write him

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stardewcosmic · 2 years

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Why do these Minecraft gamers torment me so.

#hermitcraft #evo smp #Minecraft #comets #like what goes through thier head to do that #who gave them the right to use the blocky sandbox as a wonderous stage????

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toestalucia · 1 year

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forgot to post the estarriola dialogue i liked aaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAA tmrw.........anyway soon to be 10 evoker owner <-person who couldve gotten them way earlier but doesnt read

#stardust speaking !#also person who realized in horror they nvr cleared thro all sandbox stages......woops #anyway estariolas last+recruitment i.....teared up? T_T i was the target audience.......#his 'give me back my emotions' r the kinda stuff that rly hits me......like shinsha in anni too 'give them back to me'#its just. that specific line. and desire. despair. makes me emotional each time #SIMIMARLY akira in 1.5 with the 'dont hurt my friends anymore' and that event with the human kid 'dont hurt him' about #the ghost? curse? of his dead wizard friend...T_T it just.#faust carrying the burden cuz thats better than the kid cursing the moon.............miss that event #same event where they have to climb a staircase n akiras dying n shinos all 'lets start running when we get back sage'#(unable to keep quiet about mhyk)#evokers r so charmy theyre so funny #the crew not trusting lobelias promise that he wont murder anymore. when hes genuine about it #vs their oh okay:) to haase & nier who r lying through their teeth #SO funny #i havent read caims event stuff yet but immmm i rly adore caim....#theresa events whole 'justice is theresas mom kinda?!?!?' is everything to me #man niers past.......maria theresas as well....haase...;_;

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ap0stle · 15 days

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oh its actually only 12 gb lmfao. ok well on my old laptop with our old internet that would have been considered unreasonably large

also apparently i only have 37 hours in the steam version which is nuts bc i know i had over 100 when i played it on xbox

#i was that games number one fan dude #i remember when the trailer first came out i was like bro. i got that game for 25 dollars when it was in EARLY early stages #there wasnt even a story mode it was just sandbox LMAO

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chickencowcow · 10 months

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I think it'd be so incredibly funny if the one time Overwrite NEVER interrupted technology to fuck with shit was during Karaoke. Like yeah listen to Sandbox fuck up some early 2010s music. Honestly I think that Casey and Velvet would be great at karaoke too, once they got into it

#dudehole squad #casey still definitely makes up his own lyrics #and sandbox eagerly joins in doing backup vocals for casey #i feel like Velvet was SO down for Kareoke and then got a little confused on stage when she saw what Sandbox and Casey were doing #but she got the hang of it and joined in too #the three of them completely adlib a song on stage #it gets out on youtube and it Blows up #(Overwrite definitely made it. like a sponsored ad somehow.)

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writingforstraykids · 21 days

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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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evilminji · 8 months

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As I played No Man's Sky... It HIT Me.

My third eye is opened and I have reached a stage of enlightenment that's leaving me GIDDY. Holy fuckin shit.

Danny own SPACE GAMES~☆🎇✨️🌠

"Yeah, obviously?" you say, a little confused.

But stop an THINK about it. He can go INTO games! Doomed is a glitchy, limited, online mmo. Not some single player triple A. There are Space Simulators.

Sandbox games where you explore the galaxy.

Literally NOTHING stopping HIM from becoming a game developer. Hiring tech ghosts. Alien ghosts. Alien TECH ghosts. And producing an underground hit.

Sitting in the virtual, on an alien planet, in his space suit and just... listening to the wind. The pattern of toxic rain against the habitat.

The sense of PEACE he must feel? Just turn on creative mode or pick a peaceful sandbox game and just? Get to work. Terraform a planet. Built a settlement. Farm in a habitat on Mars. Slip into some VR game and just? Hang out on the orbital space station.

I can't even put it into words? How emotional I am kinda getting? Just imagining him step through a screen and onto alien grass. Just a big old peaceful field of alien flora, beneath an alien sky. No responsibilities. Just Space.

Getting to explore the cosmos and still come home. Not having to choose between Amity and the stars. Making some little habitat with knickknacks and a bunk, that he can just go hang out in. Listen to the sounds of an alien world. Sleep in a far off galaxy and be home for breakfast.

God he would GLOW. His joy would overflow.

The only thing I'd honestly worry about is his Obsession and the Fenton Family Fixation Tendency kicking in. Getting addicted to serene, seretonin-producing Fantasy, over stressful, anxiety-producing Reality. It would be understandable. And something to look out for.

Because it wouldn't even be insidious or malicious action. Just the nature of "this one is calming and feels nice" vs "this one is stressful" would do it. Who WOULD want to leave? But... you gotta balance. Because you aren't just ghost. You can't just wrap yourself in Space like a safety blanket. No matter HOW soothing and awesome it is.

But good God is he gonna have SO much practice for his eventual lair. Bet his virtual Bases are IMMACULATE.

@hdgnj @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp prompt #space games!#danny IN space games #no man's sky #and every other space sandboxy game you can imagine

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smusherina · 20 days

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yard work - chapter 14 (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: You'd been in the same class as Regina George since kindergarten. You'd lived on the same street even longer. Once upon a time, when life was sandbox disputes and who got the swing first arguments, you'd even been friends. Now, in junior year of high school, you doubted she even remembered you. The same couldn't be said about you. You definitely remembered her.

chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 6 / chapter 7 / chapter 8 / chapter 9 / chapter 10 / chapter 11 / chapter 12 / chapter 13 / chapter 15

You told Mrs George (or was it Ms George now? Too soon?) that you'd drive yourself to the school. Under no circumstance did you want to sit in close quarters to Regina. Besides, you knew she'd have to be there significantly earlier because she was performing. If the thought of being near Regina made you uncomfortable, that of being in that building made your skin crawl.

Why you were even bothering to go was beyond you. You'd been made into a laughing stock, a subject for people to talk about and twist around for the rest of the break. There was no PR response you could concoct to fix this, because for one, there was no time, and secondly nobody would want to hear it.

Maybe this wouldn't ruin your entire fucking life. Maybe you'd get over it eventually. Maybe it would all turn out fine. But it didn't feel like that. You could understand Regina more now, could see more clearly what she'd been talking about when she went on that rant.

Thinking all your problems would dissolve once you were old enough was stupid. That could only be applied to something vain, like pimples and pit stains and body odour. But issues like Regina's, utter self-hatred weaponized against society and everybody around her, and yours, chronic doormat syndrome with a side of people pleaser, could not just resolve. One could not pray the gay away, could not sweep it all under the rug.

You looked at the chicken sandwich in your hand. Mrs George had made some for lunch earlier and you'd swung by after the grocery trip to get you one. Then, she'd driven back to yours, helped you pack it all away, and made a weekly meal plan with you while you ate. It'd been nice. And the chicken sandwich was divine.

Your tummy was already full, but you didn't want to stop eating. You almost never got to really stuff yourself. The feeling of it was luxurious, though painful.

You put off going for as long as you could. You left at just the last minute, cutting it dangerously close. Didn't bother changing your clothes or anything. A hoodie and jeans, your usual jacket and scarf. By the time you arrived on the scene, the parking lot was pretty much deserted. You hustled to the gym where the thing was set up and easily found Mrs George and Kylie.

"C'mon, it's- it's- it's almost starting!" Kylie hissed at you, patting the seat next to her.

"Okay okay!" You whisper shouted back, mustering a little excitement for the little girl's sake.

Most of the performances were utterly dull. To be fair, the talent show was also an opportunity to get extra credit for some classes. Several people from your Spanish class took the stage. There was poetry and a couple songs, all mediocre at best. A pair performed a salsa number, which was surprising on two accounts. One, they were both dudes and two, they were good.

After Damien's dramatic rendition of Christina Aguilera's Beautiful, it was time for The Plastics to take the stage. Karen, Gretchen, and Cady were slowly revealed by the curtain. Cady stood front and centre, Gretchen to her left and Karen to the right.

Unlike many of the other dance performances of the night, the highlight was certainly not the choreography. The wow factor was hinged on the simple fact that it was them, specifically these girls, in latex, borderline slutty Santa costumes doing a provocative dance. The audience was not thrilled, the adults' reactions ranging from mildly uncomfortable to downright scandalized, while the other high schoolers looked on in either lust or disappointment that the act was missing the thing that had made it interesting in the first place.

Regina George had been the main attraction. Without her, without her effortless stage presence making the dance seem interesting, it was actually pretty embarrassing.

You had to look away when they started doing stunts. Karen went to the floor on all fours crab walk style, while Gretchen positioned herself behind her, and Cady geared up to- you couldn't watch. Suddenly, the music cut out and a heavy thump accompanied by someone's breath wooshing out of their lungs echoed through the gymnasium.

Kylie covered her mouth in a valiant effort not to laugh. You bumped your shoulder into hers. She bumped back. Mrs George had gasped and almost surged out of her seat. A beat of silence. Then, like water rippling, laughter began to bubble out of people.

You still couldn't watch. You could hear heels clicking on stage, groaning, and some frantic whispering. Kylie had tears in her eyes and her whole body was shaking.

"What's happening?" You whispered to her.

"Cady... She... Belly flopped the stage." She managed to get out before bursting into giggles.

"What? Is she, like, okay?"

"She's getting up. The principle's getting on stage." Kylie reported while you kept your eyes firmly on your lap. "He's gonna say something, oh, Gretchen's taking the mic-"

You had to look up when you heard your full name being spoken into the microphone, but regretted it as soon as Gretchen finished the sentence:

"-is a lesbian!" Quiet. Again.

You looked down so fast your neck cracked. Through the tinnitus in your ears, you could vaguely hear the principal admonishing Gretchen, the murmurs in the hall, their heels clicking off stage.

Why was Gretchen of all people announcing your sexuality at the talent show? What did she have to do with any of this? Maybe Regina had put her up to it. It didn't seem planned, though. You thought that Regina and Gretchen weren't talking.

"What's a lesbian?" Kylie asked you, all innocence and wide eyes.

"Kylie, don't ask that, it's not appropriate." Mrs George said.

"Why? Is it a bad word?" She turned to her mother. You took deep breaths and clenched your fists. Unclench. Clench. Everything was going to be fine.

"No, but it's not good to accuse somebody like that." Mrs George tried to explain gently, but you could tell she was out of her depth.

"But what does it mean?"

"Kylie, I said don't-"

"It means a girl that likes girls." You cut in.

"Huh... So like how boys like girls, but a girl likes a girl?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. Okay."

You would've paid so much money for it to be that simple. Why you couldn't be afforded the benefit of the doubt that you weren't a pervert, riddled with disease, and out to get people? Why was it so unbelievable that you didn't want to change the world, you just wanted to get married someday? Why did kissing girls on the mouth make you a predator?

You suspected there were no real answers to those questions. Fear. Repression. The patriarchy. Religion. The wage gap. Whatever.

The show went on. You felt numb. Realistically, what could you even do? Stand up and shout that it wasn't true? That would only serve to put a name to a face. The next talents came and performed their mediocrity to the mildly interested crowd. There was a pretty good sleight-of-hand magician. Somebody had trained their cat to do tricks.

Eventually, it was Regina's turn to take the stage. You couldn't help but perk up when they announced her. Mrs George was out of her seat immediately, kneeling on the pathway to the stage with a video camera poised to film her daughter.

The curtains parted. She stood in the centre of the stage, mic stand in front of her. She smiled a little, eyes on her mom presumably.

Her hair was done in soft waves, framing her face so beautifully. Natural makeup kept light, a compromise between the bare face that you liked and the full beat she was into. She was wearing an old white tee shirt, the logo so faded you could barely make it out. That had been your shirt, you realized as you narrowed your eyes. You'd gotten it from summer camp, one that Regina hadn't been able to come with you to. After you came back she'd confiscated all the stuff you'd gotten there. Tee shirts, crafts projects, a whittled duck, braided cord. You'd always assumed she had thrown it all in the trash. On her wrist was a braided leather cord and a wood bead friendship bracelet. She had on Lee jeans that hugged her hips and thighs exquisitely. Those had been her mom's.

In her hands was the photo album. Everybody could read the front, Reggie & Jorts.

"Notice me... Take my hand..." She crooned into the mic as the soft melody of Briney Spears' Everytime began to play.

"Why are we strangers when our love is strong? Why carry on without me?"

You felt like you couldn't breathe.

"And every time I try to fly I fall without my wings," Her eyes scanned the crowd. You wondered if she was looking for you. "I feel so small, I guess I need you, baby,"

She found you. Your eyes met, hers clear and blue and somehow so sad, even as she glittered up on stage. Even with everybody's eyes on her, she was looking at you.

"And every time I see you in my dreams, I see your face," She sang so prettily, every note like a gentle caress, a soothing balm to your ears. You did so love to hear her sing.

"It's haunting me. I guess I need you, baby," Her eyes closed, like she couldn't focus on two things at once; looking at you and singing. She swayed gently with the rhythm, feeling the soft instrumental in her feet. Sneakers. Simple, white sneakers.

Her eyes opened again with the next lyrics. You tried not to overthink it, tried not to imagine things that weren't there, but maybe there was a glassiness to her eyes that hadn't been there before.

"I make-believe, that you are here. It's the only way that I see clear. What have I done? You seem to move on easy."

You swallowed, eyes closing. You weren't sure what to think. Was this her way of apologizing? Was she trying to make up for what'd been said? Hadn't she just earlier today made your life living hell?

You leaned your elbows onto your knees and cradled your face in your hands. What were you supposed to do now? She was singing to you. This was the ultimate show of sincerity, of vulnerability, but what were you meant to do with it all in your hands? Your chest tightened and your breaths shortened.

The song continued, you knew the lyrics by heart, but only once she sang the next part did you open your eyes again.

"I may have made it rain, please forgive me. My weakness caused you pain, and this song's my sorry,"

You understood. Cowardly as it may have been, Regina was apologizing to you. Though the references were obscure enough that most, if not all, people would not know who she was singing to, it was quite clear this was a song for somebody.

You rubbed at your throat. It felt constricted, like something was tightening around it.

You couldn't shake the feeling that it was too late. As much as you would've liked to weep in gratitude, be swept in the relief that she was taking you back, irreversible things had happened. None of this made sense. If she hadn't pulled the stunt today then who had? Had she told somebody? Had Janis told?

Regardless, you were an outcast. If not, then ridiculed. You were scared. You had become a target. You didn't think anybody at Northshore was capable of the atrocities you saw reported on the news, but nobody who'd become a victim did until it was too late.

As it was, it didn't matter whether or not you forgave Regina. It didn't matter if she forgave you.

"I guess I need you, baby," As the last line of the song carried throughout the gymnasium, and after the split second of stunned silence before people began cheering and clapping, you got up and left.

You'd smoke a cigarette and get out of here once and for all. Then, you'd drive home and call dad. You'd tell him everything, tell him you needed to switch schools and that you were gay and that you'd made a real mess of things.

You'd take what was given, reap what'd been sown, and forget all about this goddamned town.

Forget all about Regina George.

Notes: Took a bit longer with this one. Sorry for the suspense! Here, have some more unresolved stuff! Also, I fucking love that song by Britney Spears. I've known Regina was gonna sing it for J since pretty much the beginning and finally, she did.

Taglist will be posted separately. If you want to be added to the list, please comment on that post! Thank you!

#mean girls #mean girls 2004 #mean girls 2024 #regina george #regina george x reader #regina george x you #regina george x oc #regina george x ofc #lesbian regina george #wlw #fic: yard work

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ferociousmochis · 8 months

Note

HEY GIRL! so so so happy you are back bby <3

Can we get some soft Alex? Maybeee childhood friends trope, but Alex was an ass and now he wants her bad? Also virgin reader if possible xx

Regrets and Roses

Alex Turner X Fem!Reader

Warnings: long ass story bit, fingering, multiple orgasm, penetrative sex (p in v), a little bit of sad stuff, oral (fem receiving), praise, virgin reader

It was never one of those "love at first sight" stories, in fact, love was out of the question, or so you thought.

You and Alex had known each other practically your entire lives. Your moms were best friends, so you'd subsequently grown up together. You were sandbox friends, spending weekends in each other's gardens, while your mothers sipped tea on the patio. They always playfully joked about how you’d surely get married one day.

But, that's not to say that you always got along.

Alex always teased you, especially in high school. The truth is you'd had a desperate crush on him when you were younger, and when he became too cool for you, it broke your heart. You knew you would never be one of the glamorous girls he took to school dances or the models in the magazines he flipped through with his friends. Alex wasn't the most popular guy, but he still had some merit and always a girl or two on his arm.

Of course, you couldn’t possibly imagine telling him how you felt. However, you never were quite able to hide your feelings, always wearing your heart on your sleeve. It was almost sadistic how he knowingly played with your emotions every chance he got. Every family function was torture knowing he would always be there, pestering you to no end.

As time passed you both grew up and the past faded away. You both occasionally crossed paths at first but once Alex’s career took off you veered off in completely different directions, following your passions. You weren't surprised when Alex became the world-renowned superstar he always wanted to be. The lifestyle suited him, at least the hair gel and the groupies did for sure.

You'd opened a little flower shop on the corner by your childhood home. You lived and breathed it. It was everything you'd ever dreamed of as a little girl materialized before you. You worked day and night tending to your greenhouse and working on arrangements.

Alex quickly learned being a rockstar wasn’t all it was choked up to be. I mean sure he adored it, traveling the world and sharing his passion with roaring crowds who fell at his feet but the trail of broken relationships and drunken hookups he left behind him solidified his feelings of loneliness. It became impossible to find a genuine connection; the screaming people out in those crowds, the girls in his bed each night, and every new face he met knew him as Alex Turner this sultry rockstar stage creation he’d made for himself like a beautifully decorated mask. He tried to fill the gaps but that was hardly possible.

Despite his busy schedule, he always made time to reach out to his parents back home. His mother called often, still always worried about him traveling so often so when the phone started to ring he already figured out who would be on the other line. The sun prodded harshly through the loosely drawn curtains, illuminating his bedroom in an orange glow. Rolled over strenuously, the soft white sheets falling from his bare chest. His head was pounding, a reminder of the night's activities, along with the unknown woman stirring beside him. He rubbed his temple harshly before picking up the phone. “Good morning, dear!”, his mother chirped on the other line. He managed a groggy greeting in response, prompting his mother to reprimand him for not getting enough sleep.

She loved to chat. Most times he thought she just loved the sound of her own voice, but he always indulged her, knowing how much she missed having him around. She was going on about her flower beds when she mentioned a name in passing that he hadn’t heard in years. “Y/N L/N?”, he inquired. “Yes of course?” She replied matter-of-factly, before resuming whatever trivial topic she was babbling about. The memories struck him like a brick to the back of the head. You hadn’t crossed his mind in a long time.

He recalled your first day of high school together, the way you blushed every time he looked in your direction. You were always so sweet and tender. How you waited to walk to school with him that morning, and how he left you at your doorstep as he went about with his new friends,

The time he flirted with you just to get answers for that week's math assignment,

The time he brought his latest fling to your family’s dinner party just for laughs.

He winced at the memories and the many more that followed. The guilt weighed on him for how horribly he treated you. Yet you were always there at his beck and call, despite each cruel act. Your only crime was loving him and not meeting his standards. Maturity smacked him in the face as he was forced to face the reality of his actions.

“How’s Y/N?” he blurted. His mother was caught rather off guard by the question, “Well her shop’s doing fantastic, you know she's just so sweet, she helps me prune the hydrangeas every spring-”. “Her shop?”, he questioned. “Her flower shop, dear”, his mother replied confusion lacing her tone. He couldn’t help the smile that crept up his lips. You always loved flowers, meddling about in your front garden with his mother and your own.

Consumed by his thoughts, he could hardly concentrate on his mother’s ramblings. He couldn’t help but type your name into the search bar, he had to see how you were doing. A social media profile popped up, but the photos simply had to be someone else. Yet they had your name scrawled on each one. You weren’t the shy nerdy teenager anymore. Your once geeky appearance turned soft and divinely feminine. You were inexplicably beautiful. He sat in shock for a moment, a dumbfounded expression hanging over his face. Your warm smile sat illuminating his phone screen, his eyes flicked back to the woman in his bed. Truthfully he didn't even know her name, she was a reflection of his lifestyle. Extravagant pleasures felt empty and meaningless without someone special to share them with.

Your cute little shop was tagged just under your name, he couldn’t help himself.

When the order came in you were positively shocked. You quite literally lept for joy, your small shop certainly held its own but this was the largest order anyone had ever put a request in for; 10 large bundles of baby pink roses, each tied with a white ribbon. You set the date for two weeks from now and joyfully began fluttering about your greenhouse

Your nerves pricked with excitement as you jumped out of bed. Today was the day you were expecting the big client and you were ecstatic, to say the least. You'd been in contact with them for a few weeks now and they had insisted on meeting in person to take a look at some of your rose color variations and check up on the progress you’d made. They detailed in their email that they'd been planning a lavish event of sorts and it would be incomplete without your large collections of sweet, colorful roses.

You almost skipped through the door, flipping the closed sign resting on the doorframe to open. The start of your day was pretty standard. Mr Atkinson stopped in like clockwork every Sunday. “Your usual?”, you smiled handing him the prepared bundle of lilies and baby’s breath. “Until the Mrs. gets tired of me”, He chuckled, his cheerful wrinkly smile always warmed your heart. Just as you turned back to the old man you caught a glimpse of him. A vision trick of the past.

The soft, familiar sound of your delicate laugh melted him almost instantly as he set foot in the door. His demeanor remained confident until he saw you look back at him. When your eyes met he saw the color drain from your face, a sight that felt like a punch to the gut. You tried to shake your nerves as you resumed your conversation, saying farewell to the old patron. You turn back to face him, feigning a smile. “I’m here for a large order of arrangements..”, he trailed off, you were more beautiful in person. Your cheeks were rosy and your hair looked so soft, he couldn’t help but be infatuated with you. “Right this way sir”, you nodded plainly.

As you lead him through the little shop, he takes note of everything. The scattered pots and vases, the colorful flowers, and the sweet scent of fresh blooms in the air. It all brought back memories of when he used to tease you relentlessly for loving them so much. His heart aches with guilt and regret. “You seem quite famous around here nowadays,” he asks hesitantly, trying not to stare too much at your beauty. “I’m hardly famous, sir, I believe you’re the celebrity out of the two of us”, You respond politely. The formalities stung. It was as if you’d severed all ties with him, refusing to even use his name. You lead him back into one of the greenhouses with the many bundles of roses strewn about the tables.

“Well even if you’re not famous to everyone else, you’re certainly famous to me” He replies sincerely, “Your flower arrangements are truly amazing.”. “Thank you sir”, you quietly replied. You were almost afraid to say his actual name, it brought back too many painful memories from your childhood.

He watches as you carefully place the last of each individual flower into its respective spot within the arrangement. The sight of your delicate hands working so gracefully fills him with a mixture of longing and regret. He loved sharing his music with the world, he wasn’t sure if he could ever get enough of the rush, but he couldn’t shake the itch of what could've been had he stayed behind and lived a simple, peaceful life with you. “You know.. I never thought I would come here today,” he admits quietly, unable to keep the sadness from creeping into his voice. “But seeing you like this..”, he continued, “I wish things could have been different”.

You almost grew angry, feeling like he had the audacity to say such things after everything he put you through. “Well, sir, you certainly made things this way”, you reply coldly, keeping your composure even. His heart sinks at your response, and he knows your right. He should have reached out sooner before he left Sheffield, but fear and pride held him back. “I know I wasn’t the best person back then, Y/N” he admitted shamefully, “I can’t even begin to apologize for the pain and humiliation I’ve caused you.. I want to be better- seeing you like this makes me want to be better, I’ll make amends in any way I possibly can.”. “I’m not sure if that’s possible now, Alex”, your tone of voice wasn’t angry or aggressive, if anything it was tired and saddened.

His eyes meet yours, and they brim with genuine remorse, “Maybe not fully, but I want to try anyway,” he says earnestly, taking a small step closer to you, “I want to make things right between us”. “I gave you that chance many years ago, and you burnt me”, You sighed, averting your eyes, “You left scars on my heart that will never fade, I’m not sure I can open myself up like that again”. He takes another step towards you, his expression pleading. “Please give me another chance, Y/N”, his voice cracks slightly as he speaks, revealing the depth of his emotions, “Let me show you I’ve changed, that I’m not the same person I was before.”

Years ago you would’ve given everything to hear him say that, but now you hardly know what to say. “I-I don’t know”, you manage to stutter out. He reaches out and gently touches your arm, his fingers lingering against your skin. “Please..”, he whispers, his voice dripping with vulnerability, “give me the chance to prove I’m worthy of your forgiveness”.

You think about it for a few seconds. Maybe he’s different now, you suppose it won’t hurt to find out for yourself. “Okay”, you sigh, “I’m free after I close up here”. He perks up instantly, looking like a kid on Christmas, “My hotel is just up the street, the bar has some half-decent food?”. You accept, biting back the ghost of a smile threatening to creep upon your lips. He nods gratefully, “Thank you, Y/N”.

The workday flies by as a mixture of anxiety and anticipation consumes your thoughts. You walk home, opening your door with a soft sigh. You sat at your vanity, styling your hair for the night, decorating it with a simple ribbon. You painted your cheeks with a light blush and fluffed out your eyelashes with some mascara. You picked out a dainty white sundress littered with small flowers. The material was light and soft against your skin, making you feel almost as if you were floating with each step. When going through your closet you spot a dainty matching set of lace underwear. With a small smile, you took it out deciding you wanted to feel extra pretty tonight, even if no one else got to see them. Nervous doesn’t even begin to describe the way you're feeling, you certainly hadn’t expected the day to unfold the way it has. You slip on some heels and grab your purse before slipping out the door.

You yelp, startled, as you bump into him. He feels awful, grabbing hold of your forearms to steady you. “I’m so sorry!”, he gasped. He was wearing a linen, baby blue button down with the first couple buttons unclasped, a pair of dark trousers, and leather dress shoes. He held a single daisy in his hand, your favorite. He smiled a warm goofy smile, the small flower adding a gentle touch of charm to his already charming demeanor. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist stopping by to escort you over”, he explains, holding out the flower towards you.

You blush at the gesture, accepting the delicate flower. Perhaps he really has changed. You walk down the street side-by-side as he cracks some bad jokes and talks about the people you used to know. A faint smile spreads across your lips as you loosen up to the idea of being around him once more. As you chat about old friends and acquaintances, he can sense the lingering tension starting the fade away from your body language. His own nerves began to ease with yours, and soon you’re both laughing and enjoying each other company from cozy barstools.

“So tell me,” he asks, leaning forward with genuine curiosity, “what brings you the most happiness since those days?”. “Nothing too exciting, but I enjoy the simplicity of being a florist. You know I always loved tending the garden”, You smile, siping a martini. He nods understandingly, appreciating your passion. “That's wonderful”, he replies, taking a sip of his own drink, “it must be incredibly rewarding to create something so delicate and breathtaking”. “You could say that”, you smile. His sincerity appears so genuine, making it easy to forget who he used to be. His eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, it feels as if time stands still. In that moment, he truly sees you.

He swallows hard, trying to find the words to express how deeply moved he is by the person you’ve become in his absence. "You're truly amazing, Y/N," he says softly, reaching across the table to take your hand in his, "I can't believe how far you've come.". The contact makes you nervous like a teenager on their first date, “Thank you, Alex”. “And thank you for giving me the time of day, even when I didn’t deserve it”, his eyes are full of emotion as he gazes into yours, seeking reassurance and validation of the newfound connection you’ve established. You remain speechless at his response. Noticing your silence, he sucks in a deep breath and continues, "I promise to do everything in my power to prove to you how sorry I am for the way I treated you.", His voice is raw with vulnerability and honesty. Alex has always been poetic, always having a way with words. It was one of the things that made you fall for him years ago. You smile back warmly, nodding in response.

You spent the night chatting over drinks and mediocre food. Hours upon hours had passed and as the dusk faded into night, you found yourself alone in the corner of the dark, empty bar. The more intoxicated you both get, the more he grows curious about what you’ve been up to while he's been gone. "Have you been seeing anyone since.. well since I left?", he asked. You thought back to the many hands you’ve rejected throughout the years, "Well no, I've just been trying to focus on the business I suppose..". He seems relieved to hear that you haven’t settled for someone else during his absence, and his expression softens further as he takes your hand in his again. "Well I'm glad to hear that," he says honestly, squeezing your hand gently. "Because if there's one thing I know for certain right now, it's that I never want to lose you again.", his eyes hold a depth of sincerity and longing that speak volumes about the feelings he's harboring.

You nervously shift, “Alex.. I still am not completely sure about this”. He looks at you intently, his expression a mixture of hope and uncertainty. "I understand that it might take some time for you to trust me again," he says gently, "But all I ask is for the opportunity to prove myself to you along the way. To show you that I've really changed". “Okay,” you agree cautiously, a small smile painted on your lips. His face lightens up once more with relief and excitement, and he leans in close, pressing a tender kiss on your lips. "Thank you," he whispers against your mouth, "For giving me another chance.". This gesture causes your cheeks to burn a bright red “Please know that I cherish this moment and every moment we share from now on”, he brushes a strand of hair away from your forehead with tenderness, before placing another gentle kiss on your cheek.

You look into his eyes, filled with intense emotion and the overconfidence of alcohol. Love from the past bursting through the many walls you’d built around your heart. For the first time, you can see your feelings reflected in his eyes. You take a shaky breath before you cup his cheeks, pulling his lips to yours.

At the touch of your lips on his he responds eagerly, wrapping his arms around you and deepening the kiss. The intensity of your connection is palpable, and it feels like time has stopped as you explore each other's mouths with growing passion. When you finally break apart for air, you both gasp for breath, your faces flushed and hearts racing. You glance around at the quiet room before turning back to him, your eyes projecting your desires, “I never got over you, you know”. His eyes widen in surprise at your admission, he hesitates for a moment before asking softly, "Really? But...after everything I did to you?". He can't help but feel a mix of gratitude and confusion as he processes what you’ve just said to him. “It was always you, Alex”, you whisper softly against his lips. As he listens to your words, feeling a wave of emotions wash over him: guilt, happiness, and a profound sense of gratitude. He cups your face in his hands and looks into your eyes, "I don't deserve this," he says honestly, "But I'll do anything to make it up to you." His voice is thick with desire, and he leans in for another soulful kiss, pouring all of his desperate feelings into it.

He breaks the kiss once more, gasping for air, “Come with me,”, he urges, grasping your hand. You follow him closely as he leads you down a winding hallway until you reach his room. Once inside he turns to face you, his eyes burning with lust as he takes in your beauty. He reaches out to run his fingers through your hair, savoring the silky texture beneath his fingertips. "God, you're stunning," he murmurs, "And I can't believe I almost let you go.".

He leans down to capture your lips once more, his kisses deep and hungry. As Your passion intensifies, he leads you over to the bed, setting you up on the soft mattress as his hands mold to your curves. You nervously grasp his wrist, “Alex- I haven’t ever been with anyone..”. You’re shy and embarrassed by the fact, but he responds with understanding and gentleness, “That’s okay”, he reassures, “we don't have to-”. You cut him off as you press your lips to his, catching him by surprise. He moves closer to you, his body pressing against yours as he begins to explore your skin with his hands, learning your curves and contours as you tangle in the darkness. You gasp at the unfamiliar sensation of his hands on your sensitive body.

He watches your reactions, continuing to caress you gently, gradually building up to more intimate touches as he learns what makes you tick. His voice is low and soothing as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear. “Trust me,” he says softly, “I won’t hurt you”. You slowly undress each other in a gentle mess of kisses and longing touches. With each passing moment, you fall deeper into each other's arms. You reach out to him, your fingertips gliding down his toned chest. He gasps at the touch of your hands on his skin, feeling a surge of heat coursing through his veins. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you even closer, returning the favor by tracing light patterns across the small of your back. “You’re incredible, Y/N”, he whispers, “So perfect”. His hands trail down your back to the curve of your ass, the contact making you whimper quietly. He leans down, capturing your lips once more, his kisses deep and hungry. You kiss back with a newfound sense of confidence. He takes note of your eagerness to please despite your lack of experience. He continues to explore your body with tender care, palming your breasts softly. His fingertips drag down your thighs, “let me show you just how sorry I am”.

He sunk between your thighs, your sickly sweet perfume and the lustful scent of your sex mixed together, tormenting his senses. He couldn't help but bite back a groan when he reached your pretty pink panties, the sight of them made his cock throb. He lifted your hips up towards his face, his lips brushing against the lacey fabric. “You wear these just for me?”, he murmured against you. You released a shaky breath, catching your bottom lip between your teeth as you timidly nodded in reply. God, he couldn’t help the way his eyes rolled back at your shy admission. He kisses you through the fabric, his touch remaining gentle. His warm tongue dragged over the growing wet spot. You weakly prop yourself up on your elbows, just to catch his dark, longing gaze peering over between your legs. The sight alone made you shiver, which paired with the feeling of his hot breath on your skin made your brain short-circuit. He abandons your cunt, lapping at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, kissing and licking you all over. His fingers glided up against your panties, the heel of his palm grinding against your sensitive cunt. The friction made you whimper softly into the tension-thick air.

Your sweet sounds prompted him to pull the flimsy fabric down your legs. You’d never felt so exposed, that you couldn’t resist the urge to press your legs together in shame. “Don’t hide from me, pretty girl”, He whispered, running his large palms up your legs to meet at your knees. He slowly pulled them apart, admiring your glistening pussy. “So fucking perfect,” he muttered breathlessly. He didn’t waste much time burying himself between your thighs, littering tender kisses across your skin. Soft pecks turned into hot open-mouthed kisses, searching for the bead of your clit. He can feel it throbbing between his lips, like a faint heartbeat against his tongue. It's a feeling unlike anything you’d ever experienced, like lightning bolts firing out of every nerve in your body.

He rolls his tongue around the small bud, giving it special attention before kissing his way down to the pool of wetness at your entrance. Your pussy is practically crying for him. His tongue prods your tight hole as you squirm against him. You whimpered loudly, pressing back against his face. His elegant nose bumped against your clit with each motion and it was perfect, he was perfect. He wants to take it slow with you, push and pull you through all the great things about sex, but you make it so hard for him to control himself. You whine sharply, your clit now more needy than ever and he’s neglecting it- oh you poor thing. He can’t help but groan against you, you’re so fucking wet and needy for him- him, and only him.

He ends the agonizing torture, moving back to your clit as it begs for his undivided attention. He wants to make you climax so hard you see stars. The mere idea of seeing your face all twisted, eyes screwed shut, and jaw hanging slack- it was too inviting to resist. You're so sensitive it takes very little effort to wind you up quickly. He suckles your clit, until your thighs are shaking between his hands. You cry out, unable to suppress the desperate moans slipping past your lips. “Alex..”, you pant, your eyes half-lidded and spilling with desire. “I know, love”, he murmurs against your skin, the vibrations sending shockwaves throughout your body. He can tell you're getting closer by the second. His hot tongue swirled rough circles against your clit, his knuckles turning white as he holds you against his lips. You feel the tight muscular tension in your abdomen snap suddenly. Your back arches off the mattress and your hands grasp the sheets for stability as you’re body is set aflame. He holds you in place, working you through your first orgasm. You were a writhing, wet mess beneath him, he couldn’t help but swell with pride. “You're doing so good for me, such a good girl”, he praised, planting a kiss on your inner thigh.

He pulled back slightly, admiring his work for a moment. Your pretty pussy was begging for him, but you weren’t ready for that yet. His nimble fingers lightly traced your slit, gathering your slick on his fingertips. His eyes flicked to yours, making sure you were okay before moving forward. Your eyes were droopy with desire, your lips wet and plump, and your hair a sexy mess against his pillow. “Please..”, you choked out, your voice still shaky as you came down from your high. He satisfied your whimpers as he worked his middle finger inside. The stretch stung slightly at first, the cool metal of his ring biting your tender flesh. “God- you’re soaking”, he groaned, adding a second finger with little resistance. His hands were made for you, they filled you so perfectly. His long, dexterous fingers knew just how to make you feel things you hadn’t known were possible. Your chest heaved as he thrusted and scissored deep into you, your gummy walls sucking him right back in each time. He almost wanted to watch you fall apart in his palms, but he would save that for another day. For now, he needed to be inside you more than anything.

Satisfied, he crawls on top of you, your noses brushing against each other as he meets your eye. “I’ll take care of you”, he reassures, his lips brushing against yours. Despite all he did to prep you, you couldn’t be prepared for his size. You felt as if you were coming to pieces as he split you apart on his cock. Tears begin to well up in the corners of your eyes as you try to accommodate him. “Are you alright?”, he asks softly, “If it hurts too much, just tell me, okay?”. He pulls out slightly before pushing back in, repeating the process until he bottoms out. He stalls for a moment, giving your body time to adjust to his size. You grasp his shoulders and nod reassuringly, signaling for him to keep going. He flashes an intoxicating smile and picks up his movements. He showers you with affection and praise. “You’re doing so fucking good, love”, he moans breathlessly, “You feel so good”. You run your nails down his forearms lightly, your mind utterly drowned in this newfound pleasure.

His movements grow more confident and assertive as he gets lost in the sensations of being buried inside you. You squirm beneath him, calling out his name in strained whimpers. He feels your grip on the sheets, seeing the intensity of your expression as you struggle to contain your pretty sounds. He increases his pace, driving himself deeper with each thrust, “Yes.. that's it.. ” he groans, urging you gently, “Don’t hold back- let me hear you.”. The newfound pace makes it impossible to keep quiet. Your eyes roll back as you find yourself moaning and babbling his name like a broken record. You find yourselves completely consumed by each other in a fiery display of desire.

He watches each reaction intently, taking in the effects of his actions on your body and mind. His own arousal intensifies as he witnesses your pleasure. He’s never felt that way with anyone before and he pushes himself harder than ever, determined to bring you to the peak of ecstasy. You feel your muscles tightening, a small knot of energy growing steadily in your belly. He can feel the tension as your body grows rigid. He bites his inner cheek, trying to keep his composure as your cunt tightens around him. With a final surge of energy, he drives himself into you until the crackling heat of his body is toppling over and he can no longer hold back his approaching orgasm. He nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, whispering your name. Your bodies tremble as you hold each other through your climaxes. You lay together in each other's arms, basking in the afterglow of the experience you’d just shared, feeling a connection that transcends words or boundaries.

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you under the covers and pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “Alex?”, you ask quietly. “Yes, Y/N?”, he replies, brushing a thin strand of hair from your eyes. “So,” you began, “What were all those roses really for?”. He chuckled softly, “For you, dear. A bundle for each year I missed-”, he planted a soft kiss on your lips, “-being right here by your side”.

This is so different from the usual so I hope it doesn't totally suck- I'm sorry babes. Thank you for the request tho- I enjoyed the challenge of switching things up!

Not edited, so I'm sorry if there are mistakes!!

Love ya! <3

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