#a very happy belated birthday to you :3 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cheolhub · 1 year

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YOU GET ME SO HIGH — VERNON CHWE ࿐

summary. smoking with your best friend (who you totally don’t have a crush on) is super fun till all you can think about is him… well, doing him, to be more specific.

wc. 6.2k

warnings. recreational marijuana use!!, dubcon (kinda? sex while high), bf2l + idiots to lovers, kinda fluffy!! weed is referred to as ‘green crack’ several times lol, fingering, hehe big d!ck!vernon, mentions of masturbation, unprotected sex, pet names (baby), brief tit worship, naked confessions, vernon is kinda shy, jealous, nervous & rlly likes boobs and reader is v needy lol <3— MINORS DNI 18+

note. havent seen anyone write for vernon in like 3 years so here’s my lowkey cringey, poorly-written, self-indulgent fic that i was supposed to post for his birthday 2 months ago ++ guest appearance from weed dealer!cheol bc yeah :3

if you had told vernon that his best friend was someone he’d met in a biology lab–one that he was accidentally put into his freshmen year– he’d say you were a liar. nonetheless, it’s true– you’re his best friend and you have been for years now. in your fourth and final year of university, you still sit on the balcony of your apartment with him like you have every other day for the past three.

“happy birthday, vernon,” you smile cheekily, passing him a snack-size ziplock baggie. “i got you an eighth since you’re always begging to smoke my shit.”

he laughs and gives you a lazy smile, “Y/N, my birthday was over two months ago… plus, you know you didn’t have to get me anything.”

you scoff, rolling your eyes, “hansol vernon chwe, you are my best friend, of course i had to. and… i was waiting for a few of my checks to hit, that's why it’s a belated birthday gift.” you take his hand, placing the bag into it. “now take it and don’t smoke it all in a day, got it?”

he nods, eyes softening, “thank you,” he says. “must’ve cost your broke ass a fortune, though, so next time– don’t get me anything.”

you giggle at the joke that’s actually, not really a joke. “i really don’t think you have any room to speak– who here has a real job?”

he rolls his eyes, “my job is real, thank you very much.”

you chuckle, shaking your head. “reselling limited edition vinyls for seven times what you bought them for isn’t a job, vernon, that’s called being a dick.” you tell him. “and actually, the prices weren’t too bad. cheol gave me a discount.”

vernon almost visibly clenches at the name of your awfully-sweet dealer. though he can attest, cheol is only ever sweet to you. every time he’s bought from your favorite supplier, he’s been a total asshole and upcharges him for no reason which is one of the basis’ why he’s always smoking your stuff. you always tell him it’s karma for selling records at such a high price, but vernon begs to differ. he knows that cheol just doesn’t like him and he has a gut feeling that it’s because of you.

“oh yeah? how’d you get him to do that?” he asks, but he’s pretty sure he knows the answer. the answer being cheol has a thing for you.

you bite your lip, looking over your apartment balcony. “mmm, he showed up here while i was… you know…playing around…and…”

vernon knows you well enough to finish your sentence for you. “masturbating?”

“vernon, be modest!” you whine, hiding your face in your hands. “you knew, you didn’t have to say it!”

he chuckles, “it’s normal, Y/N, we all do it. no need to be embarrassed over it.”

it’s true. everyone does it. but not everyone masturbates thinking about their best friend. he thinks that might just be him.

“yeah, but you’ve probably never done it thinking you’d be finished before your hot drug dealer shows up at your apartment.” you blush. vernon doesn’t say anything for a while and you’re afraid you’ve made him feel uncomfortable (even though he claims you never have). you bite the insides of your cheeks before uttering, “can you pack a joint or something?”

truthfully, vernon doesn’t mean to be so quiet. he’s just trying to imagine you in that state without letting his dick get hard, though it’s proving to be extremely difficult. you probably looked so pretty in cute short shorts and a shirt that you could see your nipples through. or worse, you were wearing a tank top that was snuggly wrapped around your torso where you could see everything. he wants to be a gentleman, wants to be respectful… but, god, your tits are out of this world.

he hums trying to rid the dirty images in his head, taking your box of goods to grab the grinder and paper cones. “finish your story.” he urges.

you look at him, searching for signs of discomfort, but there is only that stoic look he always wore. with a sigh, you continue, “anyway, i was… you know… and he texted me and said he was here– i was a mess–”

he can imagine.

“–and i think he could tell ‘cuz when i got down to his car i was so disheveled and was about to start crying. i literally looked like i got edged or something,” you mumble, twiddling your thumbs out of embarrassment.

you’re painting a picture for vernon and he has to bite back a groan.

it’s not the first time you and vernon had talked about sexual things. there had been several conversations on the topic. he knew almost everything about you except for… you know… what you tasted like and how tight you are– his vivid imagination couldn’t give him all of those pleasures.

“and, vernon, i kid you not, he literally knew. he was all smug and shit,” you groan. “it was kinda humiliating.”

you remember how much wetter you’d gotten the moment you slipped into his car. he was calling you all types of things– all types of pretty pet names–and you’re genuinely surprised it didn’t escalate further because the sexual tension was heavy.

“and then i told him i wanted a quarter– an eighth for me and an eighth for you– and he told me he’d give me a special strain of sativa for half the normal price.”

vernon’s eyes widened, “half the price?”

“that’s what i said!” you exclaim. “pretty sure it’s because he could see my tits… i wasn’t wearing the best outfit …”

of-fucking-course he could see your tits. vernon holds back a groan, seeing as his suspicions about you in a tank top that night was right. instead, he chuckles airly. “now who needs to be modest.”

“stooop, just grind the weed.” you cry.

vernon does as you ask, muttering, “maybe he laced it.”

“cheol wouldn’t, i’m pretty sure he just likes me.” you humbly reply, shooting daggers at your best friend for even suggesting that. “plus the strain was called ‘green crack’ or something like that… it was from the ‘st. patty’s day special.’”

“saint patrick’s day was like 4 weeks ago.”

“well then he was either trying to get rid of it or my tits must’ve made him feel generous.” you joke, giggling a bit at vernon’s poker face.

vernon is hiding it really well, but he’s filled with so much annoyance. your stupid dealer doesn’t deserve to see you like that. hell, vernon doesn’t even think he deserves to see you like that, but, fuck, he wants to. so badly. seeing you all hot and bothered with your tits on full display would be a dream come true.

“would you fuck him for free weed?” he asks all of a sudden, making you blush furiously. he knows now that he doesn’t want to hear your answer when your mouth parts in shock.

“vernon! what kinda girl do you take me for?” you put your hand over your chest as if it’s something you wouldn’t do. you break your facade when he gives you a knowing look, mouth cracking into a grin. “probably, i dunno. he’s kinda scary but i feel like he knows how to please a woman– i can’t say the same about a lot of other men.”

he internally rolls his eyes. cheol doesn’t know you the way he does. vernon could please you, he knows he can.

he switches the subject back to the packed joint in his hands to keep from spiraling. “wanna spark it?”

you shake your head with a hum, “mmh-mmh, belated birthday boy gets the first few hits.”

he smiles, pulling the joint to his lips taking the lighter, igniting it with the pressure of his thumb. he lets the flame burn carefully through the paper, inhaling a large rush of smoke. he holds it in for a bit before he blows it out– away from your face– creating a white, potent-smelling cloud.

you reminisce while watching him. your balcony is like home to you and vernon. contrary to your neighbor's beliefs, smoking isn’t the only thing you do. you laugh and cry and talk for hours about people you hate and people you love. sometimes, you’ll do homework out here and when vernon is bored at his own place, he’ll come over to yours to keep you company. he provides a comforting presence and never-ending encouragement while reminding you to take breaks.

it’s where you told him about your puppy crush on soonyoung from your statistics class and it’s where he told you about how he awkwardly lost his virginity to a girl during orientation week. it’s where the two of you are always together– it’s kinda like your place.

and watching him after all these years, you’ve never really realized how attractive your best friend was. well, that’s a lie. you’ve always thought vernon was likely one of the prettiest men to ever walk the earth, but if you truly admitted that, then you’d have to admit to the other things. things like how kind and considerate he is and how he’s boyfriend potential and how you totally don’t have any type of feelings for him whatsoever. it’s not a crush, you constantly have to remind yourself, it’s admiration for your best friend. there’s a difference.

but those admirable traits are things you can’t think about because he doesn’t see you that way. there’s no reason why you should see him that way if it’s not reciprocated. it only makes sense and prevents brutal rejection from the most perfect man on earth, aka your best friend.

but your not-crush manifests itself sometimes. like when he smiles at you or when he randomly places his headphones over your head and tells you to “listen to this song” or when he spends the night in your bed because he’s too lazy to drive home. it gets harder and harder to hide every day.

he passes the joint to you with an even lazier grin and you take it, parroting his actions. you let the smoke fill your lungs, hold it there, and exhale, shutting your eyes just as he did.

and vernon thinks you look like a goddess. how could you make a simple action seem so attractive?

you take your hits, passing the joint back and forth till it suddenly hits you. all at once, you feel your body start to ache, your tummy flipping in anticipation, your mind fogging over leaving your entirety to buzz. you shift a bit and you feel your cunt dampen causing you to let out a sharp exhale.

“you good?” vernon asks, his deep voice filling your ears.

then you look at him. like… actually look at him. his face is a bit tired, his eyes red from the weed coursing his system, and his hair a bit disheveled from running his hand through it too much (this is why he wears the beanies)-- nevertheless, he looks fucking fantastic.

your usual munchies are replaced with strong, burning sexual desire. just at the sight of your best friend, your pussy is soaking through your panties and your shorts.

“‘sol,” you murmur out the nickname. “do you feel… different?” you ask, eyes fluttering and lips parting.

you’re truly unaware of how seductive you look and how it’s slowly taking years off his life. vernon has been rock hard in his sweats for a solid 15 minutes now. and, yes, he feels extremely different. turned on to say the very least.

“mmm, a little,” more like a lot. “maybe it’s the strain you got,” he mumbles, implying what he had said earlier was true.

it makes sense that cheol provided you with a strain that feels like you’re smoking a fucking aphrodisiac, but you’re starting to wish you were alone so you could at least do something about it.

for a split second, you think you might be fine, then you’re hit with yet another wave of arousal, your core pulsing at the ideas that are incessantly popping into your head. ideas of him taking you right now, sitting on his face, sinking onto his cock– it’s too much.

“vernon,” you say breathily and he freezes, pulling the joint away from his lips. “i… i think…”

you try to think about how to kick him out kindly so you can have some much-needed alone time, but you can’t– you can only think about having alone time with him. alone time that leads to shoving his hand down your pants.

stop, you tell your hazy brain.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” he asks, scooting closer to you.

his scent floods your senses– a mix of weed and his cologne causing sensory overload in your poor brain and aching core.

he’s internally worried that you’re greening out. though it doesn’t happen as much as it did when you first started smoking, there are rare occasions when you take more than you can handle.

“c-can… you do me a favor?”

“‘course, anything.”

“vernon… it… i…need your help.” you whimper, leaning into him. “please…feels like ‘m gonna die.”

you’re being dramatic.

he furrows his brows in confusion, panic becoming apparent on his features. “what hurts, Y/N? how can i help you?”

you take his hand in yours, slowly guiding him to the ache in your body. you gasp when his warm fingers come in contact with your clothed cunt. “here… it hurts here.” you exhale.

vernon has definitely lost it. his hand is between your thighs and your smaller one has moved to tightly wrap around his wrist. you’re a mess– he can feel it. he can feel the warmth radiating from your core, he can feel how you’ve soaked through your panties and how it’s seeped through the thin pair of shorts. he’s holding his breath and he fears he may pass out before getting a chance to touch you like you deserve.

“y-you’re not in your right mind, Y/N,” he whispers, afraid his voice may betray him. “you smoked too–”

“uh-uh, it’s okay– vernon, it’s okay, i want you… please,” you whimper, grip around his wrist tightening as you buck your hips slightly for more friction.

you want him. you… want him.

“but–”

you’re growing frustrated, “if you won’t… then i-i think you should go ‘cuz i need… i need to be alone.”

vernon takes this as an implication that you need to fuck yourself if he won’t fuck you and he’ll be damned if he’s not the one making you see stars.

so, he asks one more time, “Y/N… are you sure?”

“yes… yes, ‘m sure. ‘m so sure, please, ‘sol,” you beg, using the nickname that makes him fold every time.

he doesn’t hold back, putting out the joint in his hand and leaving it in the ashtray. his now-free hand cups your cheek, pulling you in for a kiss. you moan, eagerly allowing his tongue to slip into your mouth as your hands needily fist at his shirt.

despite having smoked, vernon’s lips are soft. softer than the lips of men you’ve kissed before. and he still tastes good even with the pungent lemony flavor lingering on his tongue– overwhelmingly good. it seems that he’s just as eager and turned on as you are, too, nearly devouring you whole. you can’t help but fall in love with the heated, now-sloppy kiss.

and vernon truly feels like he’s died and gone to heaven. he’s not sure if this is even real or if the weed has him hallucinating… it wouldn’t be the first time, but you biting down on his bottom lip has him coming back to earth and lets him know that you’re real. that you are very much real and very much grinding on his fingers desperately.

“vernon,” you pant, pulling him closer by the shirt in your grip. “please, more— feels good, but i need more.” your hazy eyes look into his and you see how they’ve darkened.

“fuck, Y/N,” he groans and his voice has you clenching around nothing. “we need to go inside…”

you’re both sure that this might ruin your relationship, but you decide it’ll be a problem for tomorrow. right now, all either of you can think about is getting off on each other.

that’s why you’re quick to stand on your feet, holding out your hand for him to take. when he stands, grunting, you pull him into your apartment and leave all of your goods on the balcony without a second thought.

you drag him to your room before attacking him with another kiss and pulling at the ends of his shirt. you’re a bit disoriented, swaying and stumbling over your steps, but when your legs hit the bed and you nearly fall, vernon’s quick to catch you by the waist.

“careful,” he murmurs, gently laying you on the plush mattress. you scoot to the head of the bed, laying on your back as you wait for him.

he takes your expectant face as a sign to remove his clothing and he does so quickly, knowing how impatient you are at this very moment. his shirt comes off and then his sweats, leaving him in boxers where his bulge becomes… apparent.

you have to hold your breath at the dizzying sight of his naked torso and the massive tent in his underwear.

you make grabby hands at him, urging him to come take care of you on the bed. he obliges, getting on your bed, hovering over you while his own head spins. he’s truly unsure if this is actually his real life or if he’s having a dream sent from the gods above.

he decides not to wait any longer, taking control of the situation by placing his lips on your heated neck. his lips trail down, leaving sloppy, wet kisses on your skin, reveling in how you desperately whimper for him though he’s barely doing anything.

his hands reach for the hem of your loose top– one that might actually be his– pushing it up and tugging it over your head and arms, leaving your chest bare before him. he groans before diving to your tits, wrapping his lips around one of your nipples, sucking and tugging at the bud hungrily.

you gasp at the sight. you’ve never seen vernon so eager to do anything in the time you’ve known him and now he’s making out with your tits as if it were his last day on earth.

that’s hot, you think to yourself. so hot– you’re so fucking hot right now.

you can’t see it, but you feel his hand come down to your sleep shorts, digging in past the elastic band of both the satin fabric and your cotton undies. his fingers dip into your lips, running them through your soaked folds.

“you’re so wet.” he hisses.

you whine at the contact, apologizing softly, “‘m sorry– can’t help it.”

his fingers find your hole, circling it before easing two of them inside. “don’t apologize, baby. it’s really hot.” he whispers, the pet name slipping past his lips without completely registering.

you clench and moan at the domestic name. “fuck, ‘sol,” you whimper. “a-again… call me that again…”

his face burns, whispering out, “you like when i call you ‘baby?’”

knowing vernon, it was meant to sound like a genuine question, but being in the state you’re in, it sounds so seductive… so enticing that it has your back arching. you nod your head, an even darker blush falling over your already-red cheeks.

you let out a clipped, “yes.” and he just moans, thrusting his fingers in and out faster, digits stretching your tight, gummy walls out to prepare you for his cock.

he wonders how you could be so tight because, holy fuck, you’re squeezing around his fingers like you’re trying to trap them in there.

you whine softly, “vernon, please give me more…”

he definitely just fucking died.

his cock twitches uncontrollably in his boxers, begging to be set free, but he decides to give you another finger instead. vernon knows he’s… a bit on the bigger side, and judging by how you feel right now, there’s absolutely no way he’ll easily fit inside of you. the last thing he wants to do is hurt you.

so he slowly pulls his hand out of your shorts and helps you out of them. he throws them to the side and has you spread open. he huffs at the sight before taking three of his fingers back to your hole. he pushes them in gently, groaning at the tighter fit. your moans are bouncing off the walls and vernon looks up to see your mouth hung open with your head thrown back against your pillow.

he checks on you, throat dry at the sound, sight, and feeling of you. “i-is… are you doing okay?” and when you just whine, he bites the inside of his cheek anxiously. he remembers your fondness for the pet names from a few minutes prior, so he tries again. “baby… does it feel good?”

and he’s not sure what to expect, but when your body jolts and your hand's fist at the sheets, you get even tighter, clenching around his fingers desperately. you really do have an affinity for being called ‘baby.’

your brain is jumbled, intoxicated from the weed and his fat fingers stretching your cunt open. “‘m okay… f-feels so good.” you tell him breathily with a whine bubbling in the back of your throat at the feeling of his fingers pushing further into you. “fuck, vernon– it’s so good.”

and it’s true, you don’t think you’ve ever experienced pleasure this intense before, but you remember your senses are heightened by 10 because of the drug. that ‘green crack’ is insane.

he moans at the confirmation, curling his fingers up and fucking your messy cunt, the palm of his hand bumping against your clit with every thrust. he feels a rush of your honeyed arousal soaking his fingers and he swears he might cum before he can even get his cock in you.

you gasp loudly when you feel his pace quicken, eyes squeezing shut. an array of mewls and high-pitched whines shamelessly slip past your lips. “oh! fuck, i’m close, i’m so close, vernon.” you warn, wet walls clamping around his curled fingers.

he exhales sharply, voice low when he urges you, “cum for me, baby.”

his voice and harsh thrusts are more than enough to throw you over the edge, stomach knots unraveling. you gush all over his big fingers, pussy pulsing as it’s doing its best to push his digits out, but he continues his ministrations to work you through your blinding orgasm.

feeling you cum may have been the best thing life has offered him.

“fuck, that’s it– are you okay? did that feel good?” he asks breathily, pulling out his fingers, a string of arousal connected to your hole following them out. he bites his lip at the sight, keeping a moan bottled up. he wants to taste you so bad… and the cum on his fingers taunt him.

you nod your head, still panting, “w-was so good, y-you’re really good… don’t usually cum that fast…”

“really?”

you shake your head, “t-told you that guys don’t really know what they’re doing most of the time.”

he shakes his head in disapproval, “well… you deserve the best.”

“... like you?” your heart races and the weed from earlier still lingers like a cloud over your brain. you look at him, the soft light from the moon illuminating his flawless skin. your eyes trail down his torso, eyes landing on the big bulge in his boxers again.

he chokes, masking the sound with a nervous chuckle, “me? i-i’m not…no.” your eyes widen, realizing you’ve completely misread him, feeling panic flood your body. you quickly shut your legs, arms coming to cover your bare chest.

he’s quick to notice that you’re starting to spiral, though, so he re-registers what you said and then what he said and his eyes widen, too. his words come out rushed as he attempts to do damage control. “no! not no, as in i don’t see you in that way, but no because you deserve the best and…”

“but… you are the best, ‘sol…” you tell him softly, hugging yourself tighter. “and before you say anything, the weed is wearing off– think you finger-fucked it out of me,” you joke to lighten the mood, but when you see he’s still frozen, you internally cringe at yourself, continuing. “i’m being serious. i’m in my right mind and i’m telling you that you’re the best because you are. you always have been.”

he shudders nervously, “Y/N… don’t.”

you frown at him, turning your head away to look at your window instead, mentally face-palming yourself. “did i make it awkward again?” you ask nervously. you don’t even wait for his response, continuing your anxious ramble. “can you just forget i said anything? and that i made you do this? i…i don’t wanna lose you– i never want to lose you.” you whisper. “you’re my best friend.”

he shakes his head incessantly as if he’s trying to tell you something with the simple action, but you aren’t even looking at him, so he takes a deep, shaky breath. “no, you didn’t make me do anything. i just mean don’t say things like that if you don’t really like me because i…” he trails off and you turn back to look at him, concerned by his sudden halt. “Y/N, i… like you. so much. i have for forever now, but you were always talking about soonyoung or cheol and then there was that whole thing with that pretentious art kid– minghao, i think– i dunno.”

what!?

you look at him incredulously, eyes wide and lips parted in genuine shock, “why didn’t you tell me…?”

he sighed, hands coming to rest on your thighs. “it seemed like i never really had a chance… you’re my best friend, too… and i didn’t want to lose you either.”

you sit up, exclaiming, “but you’ve liked me this entire time and i didn’t even know?!”

he gives you a small grin and a shrug, “what can i say? i’m discreet.”

you scoff, sitting in silence for a few seconds before opening your mouth again. with your voice meek, you say.“i wish you would’ve told me.” you inhale sharply, continuing to hug yourself tightly. “i like you, too, you know… i just didn’t think you liked me back so i tried to not like you– which is really hard, by the way, because you’re annoyingly pretty.”

“sorry, i’ll try to stop being so pretty.”

you playfully slap his bare chest, “i actually hate you so much.”

he jokingly sulks, placing a hand over where you hit him. “aw, baby, you just said you liked me.”

you shudder, body naturally leaning into him as your mind gravitates back to your not-so-innocent thoughts. “i do… and i’d like you a little more if you kept calling me that.”

his breath hitches as you get closer and closer, “yeah?”

“mhm…”

he whispers against your lips, a cheeky smile on his, “you’re such a baby.”

“you’re so mean,” you hum, letting your lips graze his. “am i not your baby?”

he rests his forehead against yours and looks into your eyes for any sign of playfulness. you seem to be serious so he asks, “is that what you want?” he’s nervous you can hear the way his heart is about to pound out of his chest.

“duh… idiot.”

“okay, cool.” he says nonchalantly even though he’s internally freaking out. “you’re my baby.”

your heart skips a beat and your cunt dampens again at the title, “okay, cool.” you parrot casually as if your heart wasn’t about to lurch out of your chest. “you can… kiss me. if you want…”

vernon utters a soft ‘right’ before finally closing the gap between the two of you. his lips mold to yours and you know for a fact that there is no one else on earth you’d want to kiss. his big hand comes to cup your cheek and you melt under the touch, mouth opening for him to slip his tongue into.

naturally, the kiss heats up and before long, you’re whining into his mouth, hand blindly reaching for his clothed cock. he groans the second you find the aching hard-on, nimble hands stroking him through his boxers.

“Y/N,” he pants breathily in between kisses. “are you… sure you wanna… do this?”

you think it’s sweet that he keeps checking on you, and sure, you’re still a bit fuzzy from the after-effects of the ‘green crack’, but you need him to give you what you want. so you nod, breaking from the kiss to lay back in your original position under him.

“please fuck me, baby,” you beg in the most sultry voice you can conjure up. when he stays frozen, you pout. “hansol, please.”

he curses, quickly getting his boxers off and revealing the prettiest dick you’ve ever seen. precum beads at the slit of his flushed tip and prominent veins run through the length. he’s so big, surely enough to have you see stars. you’re starting to feel grateful that he prepped you because his dick would have completely ruined you without it.

“‘s big.” you simply state, bottom lip finding sanctum in between your teeth as you gawk at it.

“you think so?” he gives you a wobbly smile, stomach-churning at the subtle praise. he moves in between your thighs and spreads you out for him. “is it okay?”

you blush, nodding your head, “mhm, don’t worry,” you tell him. “i’ll let you know if i need you to stop.”

he nods, huffing softly, “do you have any condoms?”

you chuckle breathily. “not for your size… but it’s okay, i’m clean and safe. you don’t need one. you can pull out if it makes you feel better.”

his throat runs dry– fuck, fuck, fuck. he’s fucking you raw?! how the hell is he supposed to last hitting it raw?! you were already tight around three of his fingers and he can’t even imagine how you’d feel wrapped around his cock.

he realizes he hasn’t replied in a few seconds when you say his name softly. he sees you growing restless under him and he apologizes and nods again dumbly.

he runs his tip through your folds, moaning when he finds you’re just as wet as you were earlier. he aligns himself with your leaky hole, slowly pushing himself inside of you with a groan to find that you’re still so fucking tight.

you’ve found that, despite vernon’s laid-back and chill personality, he’s quite loud in bed. he’s nothing like you expected and you’re pleasantly surprised.

when his cock slides in between your tight walls, the both of you are instantly a mess, panting and moaning in pleasure. your walls envelop him so snugly that you fear the thick veins that adorn his length will imprint into them.

“fuck, vernon.” you moan, praying the burn in your pussy melts to pleasure soon so he can fuck you the way you want it. the way you need it. . “your cock.”

he hisses, pushing in past the resistance. “you feel so good, baby, oh my god.” he grunts, head falling back at the way you hug him. “god, i’ve wanted this for so long– wanted you for so long.”

you cry, clenching around his girth because, god, you’ve wanted him, too.

when he finally bottoms out, you both pause to take erratic breaths, positively going feral over each other. he attempts to recollect himself and check up on you again. “are you–”

you don’t even let him finish, nodding your head vigorously. “yes, vernon, just need you to move, please.” you plead. “need you to fuck me– please, need it so fucking bad.”

you’re so needy for him and he knows it’s because of the last bit of weed that looms, but he can’t help but wonder if you’re like this on a normal day. if you’re always begging for a cock to fill you up. not that it would matter– he’d do anything you asked of him. you’re so fucking pretty to him and his brain is constantly yelling at him to cater to every single one of your wishes. the chokehold you have him in is so tight.

tight like your pretty cunt that’s now gracefully swallowing his cock with every thrust of his hips. your room is full of panting, moans, and the lewd squelch of your wet pussy taking him. it sounds better than any song he’s ever heard and, if he’s being completely transparent, he hopes to experience this for the rest of his life.

vernon unexpectedly comes down, craning his neck to latch his mouth around your nipples again, stimulating you there, too. you’re sure the position is a bit straining, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he moans loudly into your chest. his hand plays with the other nipple, switching every minute to give both of them love and attention all while his cock steadily rams in and out of you.

your hands tangle in his hair, smothering his face into your tits while he moans and whines some more into them.

and when he adjusts slightly and his tip hits that spot, the one that makes you crumble in seconds, a sob wracks through your entire body.

“there! shit, baby, right there, please.” you gasp, back arching into him.

vernon asks breathily, removing his face from the comfortable spot on your chest, “there? that’s it?”

and you nod, chest rising and falling at a rapid pace as you feel the pressure build-up at the bottom of your tummy. he continues to hit the spongy spot inside of you, bringing you closer and closer.

his own face is pinched and he can’t stop the soft whines that come out of his mouth. you just feel fucking amazing.

“a-are you close? i’m not gonna last long.” he pants out.

and you weakly sob out a reply of ‘yes,’ hand moving to toy with your swollen clit. the action immediately has the tightrope inside of you coming undone for the second time in the night. you mewl out his name, clamping around him tightly and coating his cock in slick cum.

it’s like a chain reaction that has vernon cursing and pulling his dick out of you. he eagerly fists at his cock, jerking himself off till he releases all over your puffy pussy. he’s moaning softly, prettily calling out your name. his heart pounds rapidly and his entire body twitches at the feeling of release.

his eyes finally open after a few seconds of trying to regulate his breathing. he sees the way your cunt is dressed in white and how you're slowly, but surely, coming down from both of your highs.

“hey,” he whispers.

“hi,” you mumble, eyes fluttering open. your hands reach for him and he can’t help but find you so cute. “c’mere.”

he smiles, leaning down to kiss you again. unlike your past few kisses, it’s soft and innocent. loving. he parts after a minute or so, hand moving to sweep the hair out of your face.

“are you sure you’re alright?” he whispers. “i feel kinda bad…”

“don’t, ‘sol, i wanted it. i’m really happy.” you tell him sincerely. “are you alright?”

he sighs, “i’m really happy, too… i just wish i would’ve taken you out on a date or something before… fucking you.”

you shake your head, “we did it kinda backwards, but, seriously, i’m just happy you’re here… happy that you’re mine.” he blushes, moving to hide his face in your neck while you giggle. “if you wanna, we can go on a date now?”

“where?” he mumbles into your neck.

“7/11– channie’s working so that means free big gulps and rollers… you know, since some of us can’t afford to eat real food because of their ‘job.’”

vernon scoffs, pulling his face out of your neck and giving you a stern look. “dude, it’s a real job–”

you laugh, effectively cutting him off. “okay, scammer– if it’s a real job, why are you always stealing my fucking weed instead of buying your own?”

“because weed is scarce these days and your bitch ass dealer hates me– why should i have to pay $20 for a gram when you only pay $5?” he nearly cries. “and, since we’re on the topic, i don’t like him. he’s too friendly with you.” that’s code for “he obviously wants to fuck you.”

“you’re jealous of cheol!”

he groans, rolling his eyes, a tiny pout appearing on his face, “so what if i am?”

you coo, “aw, baby,” hand coming to cup his blushy cheek. “you don’t have to worry about him,” you relay to him, voice laced with sincerity. “you’re the only one i want.”

he goes a little bug-eyed at your words before clearing his throat and nodding. “good. that’s good.”

you raise an eyebrow, “just good?”

“no… it’s great…” he mumbles cutely. “you’re also the only one i want.”

#vernon smut #hansol smut #vernon x reader #svt smut #seventeen smut

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seren1tyhaze · 3 months

Text

poison in my mind

PAIRING: idol!jisung x afab older stylist reader

WORD COUNT: 5.8k

SUMMARY: he has been your poison for years - Jisung with his innocent looking face, steely gaze, and wicked tongue. you do your best to keep a professional relationship with him during your work as a stylist for NCT Dream but his calls of "Noona" on set continue to test your patience.

AUTHOR NOTE: A VERY belated happy birthday to Andy Park and a big thank you to SM for letting us have that Poison live performance at the end of the year. This has been half written ever since the Poison track video behind vlog went up a million years ago but fueled even more by the dance intro at MMA. His more recent lives may have also served as inspiration. I hope you all enjoy this very self indulgent fic made especially for all my friends who also love Jisung <3

WARNINGS: explicit smut, idolverse, pet names (including Noona kink I'm so sorry)

PLAYLIST: Poison by NCT Dream, Quiet Down by NCT Dream, OK! by NCT U

dreaming 'bout you, dreaming 'bout you

~~ The set is buzzing with nervous energy in the dimly lit space, dark blue light cascading over the stage area dressed with large floral arrangements that almost make it look like the ocean floor. Renjun is talking to the camera filming their behind vlog footage and you look up from the shirt you are steaming when you hear his voice.

“Dream will try for the sexy vibe for the first time,” with a sly smirk.

You can’t help but chuckle as the makeup artist next to you elbows your side and you tut at her, waving the steamer to quiet her. It wasn’t a secret that the Poison track video was going to be beloved by fans because of the concept and the way the members were styled. You had been tasked with pulling some of the key looks for the video, taking an opportunity to incorporate different textures like the metal grommets and fringe on the leather jacket Renjun currently was wearing. You watch proudly as he stretches his arms over his head in the center of the flowers, torso muscles rippling under the sheer mesh shirt.

You hadn’t been on staff for very long, a couple years of working under the main stylist under your belt. They had been hesitant to give you bigger opportunities due to your young age and lack of experience, but your boss saw that you had a great eye. It didn’t hurt that you were always the first one to volunteer for less than desirable tasks and always arrived early to shoots and stayed late.

“Sorry, this one’s a little too small, did you have others?” comes a voice behind you and you turn to see Mark, holding out one of the large metal rings you had laid out for him in his dressing room.

“Oh sorry, yes, of course,” you reply, smiling softly at him before kneeling down to dig in your bag for the small pouch holding the extra accessories. He was always so polite to the staff, greeting everyone and even when he was clearly exhausted, doing as many takes as the director needed.

“This one might work better and it’s adjustable,” you reply, taking his hand and sliding the ring on his pointer finger. You squeeze his hand gently before he inspects the rings, holding it out in front of him.

“Noona,” comes a harsh and low voice suddenly, causing you to move your head to the side of Mark’s leather clad legs to see an annoyed looking Jisung with crossed arms, shirtless and barefoot.

“Jisung, where is your shirt?” Mark replies, half laughing as he turns to face him, scratching at the back of his neck.

Ignoring him, Jisung returns his gaze to you and glares at your crouched position on the floor in front of Mark. A curious Renjun walks up at this moment, peeling a tangerine and flicking narrowed eyes between the three of you. Mark shrugs at him before walking away, answering a message on his phone.

“You tailored the crotch of these pants wrong, it feels weird,” Jisung continues, voice even and tinged with frustration.

Your face flushes at this, dropping the pouch back in your bag and grabbing your pins, suddenly on your feet and in front of Jisung.

“How do you know it’s wrong?” you ask, knitting your brows together as you look up at him.

He looks good and you know he knows it. Something has shifted in Jisung in the past year - especially since they returned from tour. He carries himself differently, with a different level of confidence and wears it well. Today is no different and the fact that he just barged onto set without a shirt on is evidence. His dark blue hair is styled perfectly, long strands dangling in his eyes and contrasting beautifully with his sharp jawline.

“Here, feel,” he tells you simply, pulling your hand to his crotch and you almost let yourself palm him through the tight denim until you snap back to reality and pull your arm back. His eyes hold no emotion, dark and still, long eyelashes blinking at you temptingly. His lips are soft and plump and you want nothing more than to close the distance between the two of you and taste the glossy lip mask.

And there it is, your poison, Park Jisung. When you had graduated early from your program a few years ago, you had been focused on your career and hadn’t spent much time dating. You had some people you went out on dates with every once and a while and had your fair share of waking up in a stranger’s bed after a long night out. But Jisung had caught you by surprise. Something about the way he was so forward and aggressive with you made your brain turn to mush around him. Your heartbeat would quicken, palms sweat, and filthy thoughts would swirl in your mind until you could indulge in them with your hand pressed between your thighs later that night.

A heavy sigh comes from Renjun, accompanied by a shake of his head, as he walks out a nearby door muttering something about not wanting to see Jisung’s dick.

You flush violently, grabbing at Jisung’s bicep harshly and pulling him to his dressing room, leaving the door propped open intentionally as you take the layered black tank off the hanger and hold it out to him.

“Please put the rest of your outfit on, I think they are going to be ready for you soon,” you sigh as soon as you’re alone, reaching for the box that holds the platform boots you were reusing from a shoot with Haechan a couple months prior.

You both move silently as he pulls the shirt over his head, staring at the long leather cords before lifting his head back up to you. You move behind him, reaching over his broad shoulders to pull the leather cords around his neck and then letting the ends dangle in front of his toned chest. You try to avoid brushing your hands against his bare shoulders as he steps into the boots and ignore that his ass brushes against your stomach when he bends down slightly to zip them up.

“I just don’t know about these pants, are they the right length?” he asks, tugging at the material at his thighs. His tone is whining and defiant, lighter than how he was in front of everyone, but still slightly combative. He knows you’re weak for this very tone, as he can usually get you to do whatever he wants if he just adds it into whatever he says.

You sigh and move around him, dropping to your knees at his feet, slapping his hand away from pulling at the fabric. You pull the pants leg out of his left boot, pulling lightly and examining the hemline. You’re about to correct him when you suddenly feel his hand soft on your hair.

“You look so good from this angle,” he murmurs, voice low and sultry, causing you to jerk your head up and look at him from the floor.

Your lower lip is instantly caught in your teeth, sinking into the flesh deeply as you try to control your breathing, unable to stop yourself from blinking up at him. You feel drawn into his dark eyes and his hand in your hair is almost overwhelming.

He lets out a groan, tightening his fingertips on your scalp, exhaling audibly and clenching his other hand into a fist at his side.

“What am I going to do with you,” he tuts, dropping his hand to your chin and gripping it gently.

You rise from your knees, glancing at the open door just as Jaemin bounces by, screaming at something Haechan is doing. Suddenly aware of where you are, you step forward, adjusting the cords aimlessly.

“What happened to my sweet, innocent Jisung?” you whisper, staring at the soft skin of his collarbone and wishing you could press your lips against it forever.

“Don’t act surprised. You created this monster, Noona, dressing me in all these sexy outfits. How could you think I would stay your bright eyed baby Sungie forever?” he asks back, tucking loose strands of your hair behind your ear. His words are biting, even if they do hold some truth.

Memories of him dozing off on your shoulder during long bus rides and hastily helping him into heavy jackets and necklaces during quick changes on tour come flooding in, mixed with the heavy, lustful stares you feel on you when you wear a low cut shirt or on hot summer days in Thailand when you wore thin athletic shorts in the airport.

He had kissed your lips gently a year ago after many bottles of soju and when the rest of the members were preoccupied by endless rounds of karaoke. You had stopped him then, told him that as much as you wanted to, you couldn’t. Ever since that moment, he had made every effort to get you alone when he could, using every excuse under the sun, today’s outburst nothing new. You still remember how soft his lips felt on yours and the fire under your arm as he held you close after you rejected him.

Back on set, you’re packing up your bag again when you’re called over to check something on the computer from Jeno’s scenes. You give your feedback and suddenly your eyes are drawn up to where Jisung is filming, camera close to his face, light illuminating his beautiful features perfectly.

“Dreaming ‘bout you, dreaming ‘bout you,” echoes across the large soundstage and your heart is pounding in your chest as he plays with the cords at his neck, just as you had earlier, chests pressed up against each other in the dressing room. He makes eye contact with you briefly when the take ends and you look away quickly, embarrassed.

While you had been released to go for the day, you take your time packing the rest of your stuff, helping the makeup artists clean their station and even rearranging some chairs that barely needed adjustment. You watch the way he moves confidently, take after take, adjusting the jacket so his shoulders show boldly against the dark material. His fingers brush through the cords, pulling them up to his teeth at times before dropping them, leaving plump lips open before cracking a large smile at the reaction of the staff. In between takes he shakes his dark hair, casting his gaze down to the floor until someone asks him a question. You watch as he smiles and winks at the makeup artist powdering his cheek and you feel nervous energy stir in your stomach. You can’t bear to watch much more, so you slip out when he isn’t looking in your direction.

When you finally are home, feet pushed into fluffy slippers and sipping on steaming green tea you had just prepared, you peel the sheet mask off and rub the remaining serum into your cheeks and forehead. You are flipping through a magazine your coworker had given you on set, paying attention to the tabbed pages they had flagged for inspiration when your phone buzzes on the table next to you. A message from the head stylist fills your screen as you tap into it.

Jisung left his street shoes at set, did you take them home? He said he “needs them” for tomorrow.

You sigh and go to the shoebox by your door to find his Nike sneakers tucked neatly, laces wrapped nicely. You quickly reply to your boss, saying you don’t mind bringing them to the dorm since you know the managers had a late night meeting tonight. Running a brush through your hair, you dot some perfume on your wrists and behind your ear before grabbing your keys.

You fiddle with the edge of your oversized sweater in the elevator as you climb the floors to his dorm, feeling a nervous pit grow in your stomach. Finally outside, you knock quickly before dropping it down to hold the box with both hands.

The door swings open and Jisung is standing tall in front of you, grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, hair damp. A dark zip-up hoodie covers his chest and it’s unzipped just enough that you can tell he isn’t wearing a shirt underneath. You can’t help but let your mind wander back to shirtless Jisung pulling your hand to his crotch earlier and wonder if he was just lounging in his room in the sweatpants. Or worse, just his boxers.

“Hi baby,” he slurs out, lips curving up at the edge into a mischievous smile as he props his arm up on the door, leaning down as if he might kiss you. His sweatshirt hikes up on his waist when he does this, revealing a large swath of skin.

You shove the box at him, pushing him back into the room with it, letting it drop into his hands. You fling your bag on the table near the door and step out of your shoes.

“Don’t hi baby me, Park Jisung. I know you left these there so you could see me tonight. Did it really take you multiple hours to realize you weren’t wearing the shoes you came in?” you reply with a huff, picking up a sealed water bottle on the kitchen counter and taking a long sip.

Sweat is pricking at your hairline and you are starting to regret not texting one of the assistant managers or drivers to come get the shoes instead.

Jisung chuckles and sets the shoebox on a chair, reaching out to take the water bottle from you and gulping down the rest.

“Don’t be mad, baby,” he replies, leaving heavy emphasis on the pet name, stepping closer to you and wrapping strong arms around your waist, thumbs instantly finding the hem of your sweater and travelling across your lower back.

You can’t help how your body reacts to his touch, feeling your chest meet his, nipples hardening under the knit fabric now tugged down and exposing your cleavage. Your breath catches in your throat as you try to speak, looking up at him through your eyelashes for the second time today.

“Come on, I’m catching up on our show,” he says softly, lips grazing across your cheek gently. You had been watching the same show for the past few months, texting each other during episodes here and there, and chatting about it whenever you saw each other. He had complained none of the other members would watch it with him and while you would never let him know this, you had lied and said you were also planning to watch it.

Against your better judgement, you let him guide you to his small room, where his large tv is paused on the latest episode of the space docuseries.

“Oh, I haven’t watched this one yet,” you admit, dropping down to sit at the edge of his bed.

He clicks to restart the episode and unzips the sweatshirt, moving to remove it and reveal his bare chest.

“Jisung,” you say sternly and he chuckles, zipping it back up halfway, and plopping down on the bed next to you. He pulls the hood up over his dark hair for good measure before propping himself up against the pillows he has leaned against the wall. You settle back, leaving some space between the two of you and pulling a hamster plushie into your lap to nervously fiddle with.

While your eyes had started to get heavy back at your apartment, you are now wired, your body coursing with electricity and hypersensitive to every movement from the man next to you. He reaches for his phone occasionally, letting out light chuckles at messages from Chenle and even daring to post a couple Bubble messages. You thank whatever higher power exists that your phone was still tucked in your bag at the door, so he didn’t see yours light up when he sent the message. It was a drunken guilty pleasure you had indulged in and ever since receiving the first message tailored with your name, you couldn’t stop yourself from renewing the subscription.

His legs keep brushing against yours when he readjusts his position on the bed and somehow has gotten so close that his shoulder is now brushing against yours. You try to shift away, but he only closes the distance again when you do so. Your heart is pounding in your chest and you’re having a difficult time focusing on the show.

Suddenly the screen is filled with bright colors as they depict beautiful graphics of what scientists imagine the birth of a star looks like and a gasp falls from your lips as you lean forward, eyes flickering across the screen to take in the beautiful scene.

“You’re so pretty when you nerd out over this stuff,” comes his low voice, suddenly close to your ear, hand resting in the middle of your back.

You lean back in reaction, trapping his arm between you and the pillow, turning slightly to face him.

“Coming from NASA’s number one stan, please,” you reply lightly, shoving the plushie at him playfully. You let a chuckle fall from your lips and shake your head lightly, causing your hair to cascade over your shoulders.

He grabs at it and throws it off the edge of the bed, hands suddenly tight on your hips and pulling you into his lap, possessively gripping your ass as you straddle his legs.

Your lips drop open in surprise, both of you breathing heavy at the sudden movement. You feel your responsible self tapping your shoulder but finally decide to let the years of desire bubble to the surface and propel your lips to close the gap with his.

You move your lips across his gently, resisting the urge to push your tongue out immediately or bite down on his lower lip. He tightens his grip on you in response, pushing his crotch up to meet yours. You swear you can feel him through his pants which only makes you want him more.

He pulls away, taking your cheek in his other hand and looking between your eyes as if searching for some sort of silent answer to a silent question. You can almost see his own voice of reason forcing him to pause, if only for a moment.

“You ready to deal with the consequences of that monster you created, Noona?” he asks in a devastatingly low tone before moving his lips down to mouth at your chest, pushing the knit fabric to the side to bite at your shoulder.

A sigh falls from your lips as you let your head roll back, entire body on fire as he marks the skin at your neck, teeth sharp on your skin. You can’t help as your hands slide over the zipper of his hoodie and unzip it slowly, pushing the fabric down his shoulders to expose his toned chest. Running your hands over his hard muscles, you dig your fingernails gently, eliciting a deep groan from Jisung.

“Babyyy,” he sighs out, sliding his hand up to your throat and applying pressure there, pulling you forward to meet your lips again. The kiss is more urgent this time, tongue pressing deep into your mouth and hand gripping you tighter as he continues.

You let your hands slide down his torso, running over his abs and sliding them to his back to pull yourself closer to him. Before you can pull yourself fully flush against his chest, you are being flipped over, head falling back into the pillowy surface.

“Are you sure about this,” you ask, voice wavering despite every intention you had to form a confident question. Your eyes are flicking between his dark ones, as they had many times before, but suddenly holding so much more meaning in this intimate space.

“Are you not?” he asks back, head cocking lightly to the side, thumbs never stopping the circles they are rubbing into your hip bones.

“That’s not an answer,” you quip back, grabbing onto his hands to force him to focus. Unfortunately for you, it did the exact opposite.

You pull your eyes away from his, looking at your hands now pressed up against each other against the comforter. Your hand looks tiny next to his, his fingers could almost wrap fully around the tops of yours and that makes your mind fuzzy. You pulse your fingers, stretching them along his, feeling the length of them and how hot they are to the touch.

“Noona,” he calls, not as harsh and biting as on set, but still drawing you back to reality quickly.

His voice finally softens as he sees your watery blinking eyes, overstimulation creeping up on you before you’ve done much more than make out. He drops his thumb down the side of your face, caressing the space between your ear lobe and jaw tenderly. You want to look away, you want to push up and capture his lips in yours, you want to pull that stupid hamster plushie over your face and hide your burning cheeks.

“You know, I want it, I like,” he states, as if that is a full sentence other than in the context of the song they were filming with all day. His lips turn up in a small, shy smile at the end, showing a glimpse of that quiet boy you’ve always known and your heart settles a little in your chest. You nod rapidly a few times, sinking your nails into the palm of his hand and letting your eyes flutter shut.

His lips are on yours again quickly and that wicked hand that was just caressing your skin is now tightening around your neck again, which forces you up into an arch on the bed, pressing your lower body against his hardening cock. His tongue feels hot and wet in your mouth and you can’t help the moans that are escaping every time you have to pull back for air.

He sits up, straddling either side of your legs, tugging at your shirt and you manage to sit halfway up on your elbows, almost tearing the delicate fabric of your sweater as you rip it off, fumbling with the clasp of your bra as Jisung’s mouth is suddenly latched onto your neck, dropping heated kisses down your collarbone.

He sees you struggling and simply presses a strong thumb to the clasp, letting the cotton fabric slide off your arms and he tosses it clear across the room. This draws your attention to the door, which you realize now is cracked and you pray to every higher power that Renjun isn’t home.

“Hey, eyes on me,” comes the low voice above you again and you’re drawn back in, tuning out the distractions around you. He seems more amused than annoyed, which you have to appreciate given how long you’ve both waited for this exact moment.

Jisung makes quick work of removing his pants and boxers, reaching for a condom from his nightstand as you push down your own sweats, pausing at the thin band of your underwear. He sees you, dropping the foil packet to the bed and dips his head down, teeth dragging the elastic quickly, causing you to jump and let out a giggle.

“SUNG!” you yell weakly, trying to push his dark blue locks away as he continues to drag the dampened fabric down your legs.

He somehow manages to do it pretty easily, without getting too caught up on your knees or thighs, only struggling once he’s at your ankles and ripping them off with his hand, letting them drop to the floor with your bra.

He simply shrugs at you, a smile tugging at his mouth as he smooths those huge hands over your thighs, kneading the flesh there, eyes transfixed on your naked body. Your whole body is on fire and you silently beg for him to get on with it, even as it looks like he is about to swallow you whole.

A creeping monster your in your brain tells you you should feel more self conscious with him seeing you like this, despite both being equally exposed, realizing how many times you’ve seen him half clothed or even less. His tongue darts out to lick his lips as he reaches up, covering your breast easily with his hand, thumb teasing your nipple absently. Your breath hitches in your throat and you can’t help but hold your breath as pleasure begins to flood through your body.

You beg your own gaze not to lower, not ready to see the size of him fully hard. You’ve unfortunately seen almost all the members’ dicks but usually in quick, embarrassed, accidental glimpses. Well, except for that one time Jaemin was literally helicopter swinging it around in the dressing room when you walked in with a tray of iced americanos. Both him and Jeno couldn’t speak to you for two weeks while Chenle continued to bring it up every chance he could, even mimicking the motion during sound check at their next stop.

You are startled at the sound of him tearing the condom wrapper, rolling it quickly on and leaning back down, face inches from yours as he cups the side of your face again. You instinctively nuzzle lightly into his hand at the contact, letting your eyes flutter shut as you draw your lips to his hand, smelling faintly of the lube from the condom. You kiss in between his thumb and forefinger lightly and before you know it, he’s slipping his thumb in between your spit covered lips, pad of his finger gently pressing against your tongue.

You gasp but drag your eyes lazily to meet his, knowing your own hunger is visible now not only in your gaze but also in the eager sucking of your lips.

He groans, taking the chance to push into you and you swear you see stars. Your eyes widen but pull his thumb further into your mouth, teeth grazing across the tip of his finger erratically as your hips buck up to pull him impossibly close.

Jisung’s eyes are fluttering shut, thumb dropping from your lips, now flushed red with teeth marks and slick with spit, sliding down to clutch your throat once again. Your own hand flies to your chest, groping at yourself, desperate for something to hold onto as he picks up the pace of his thrusts.

He’s quiet, but with deep and passionate groans tumbling from his lips every once and a while. You watch as sweat begins to form at his hairline, perfect face beautiful in the dim light of his room, quiet music floating from his tv’s speakers as the episode is long forgotten and scrolling through the credits screen endlessly. Each noise that bubbles up from his chest equally soothes and paralyzes you, your own personal brand of poison seeping coldly through your veins. Your lips are perpetually hung open, mouth becoming so dry you can barely squeak out your own moans.

You feel your orgasm building suddenly after a particularly strong thrust and you swallow harshly, moving to speak to alert him. He doesn’t need any warning, reaching down to throw your leg over his shoulder and angle his lower body to perfectly hit that same spot over and over.

In seconds the poison is washing over you, lapping first at your feet like waves at the shore, nearly knocking you out as you float high above yourself, almost feeling like you’re having an out of body experience. Your chest is heaving as he slows his movements, as if he’s going to pull out.

A confused look forms on your face, head cocking to the side as you grip his arm, shaking your head wildly. Your hair is sticking to the back of your neck and you feel too hot on his plush bedding, but that isn’t reason to stop.

“Wait…what about…” you ask, confused, knowing he hasn’t come. Your eyes flick to the door again, wondering if he’s heard something while you were swimming a galaxy of bliss post orgasm.

He smiles at you, sliding out slowly and disposing of the condom quickly. He walks back over and takes your hand, bringing you to rise on shaky legs, standing naked beside his bed as he takes both your cheeks in his hands and kisses you deeply on the lips.

“I was thinking it would be better to continue what we started on set,” he purrs against you when he finishes ravaging your swollen lips.

A mischievous look forms in your eyes and you drop your hand to his stiff cock, giving it a few experimental pumps with the mix of lube and pre cum.

“Oh yeah?” is all you can reply, sinking slowly to your knees, still managing to tease him at this moment. You drop your hands to let them rest at your thighs, pressed together in an attempt to cool the burning heat still there.

He hisses out as soon as he can see you below him, bicep flexing as he runs his hand through his hair, shaking his head in feigned annoyance. His lids are heavy and all you can see are the whites of his eyes as they roll up in ecstasy.

You run your hands up your body, fingering the side of your neck and then tangling your fingers in your own hair seductively, never looking away from the man standing above you.

“Show me how good you can be for me, Noona,” he grunts out suddenly, gripping your chin way tighter than he had in the dressing room earlier. You grit your teeth but try to keep your face even as he tilts your head lightly, as if studying your face.

You gulp audibly and take him in your hands, finally faced with what you already knew was going to be stretching your cheeks as you were definitely going to struggle fitting him in your small mouth.

You tongue at his slit teasing it gently before sucking at the tip, letting it rest in your open mouth, eyes flicked up at him menacingly. You can tell from the look in Jisung’s eyes that he is dying to ram his cock down your throat but is trying so hard to let you set the pace.

Without any warning, you're sliding him further and further into your mouth, hands massaging his smooth calves to ground you. He’s getting louder now and one of his hands is playing in your hair, every once and a while gripping it tighter.

It only takes a few gentle thrusts till his voice becomes more strained and he’s tapping you on the head as a poor attempt of warning you he’s close. You resolve to let him spill into your mouth, but as soon as he comes the sudden movement causes most of the mess to land on your cheek and shoulder.

His loud exclamation of his pet name for you still ringing in the air, his hand loosens in your hair and you’re on your feet, hands settling on his broad chest, a hazy look of satisfaction on your face.

He seems mesmerised by you covered in his cum and draws a thumb up to that same spot between your ear and jaw, sliding it down and through the mess he made on your face. It’s as if everything’s moving in slow motion as your bottom lip drops open without a word and he slides his thumb into welcoming lips. You taste him, all of him, as he watches you suckle on the digit and blush form on your cheeks under the shine of your skin.

“Fucking filthy baby,” he whispers out, yanking you towards him as he sits on the edge of his bed and lifts you into his lap.

You can feel him harden under you and feel yourself warm up as his cock brushes against your core. You grind down on his lap which is met by him only gripping your waist tighter and landing a light smack on your ass. You grin at this and lean forward to kiss him, pushing your tongue greedily into his mouth.

“Already wanting more?” he asks with a mild mocking tone when you pull back, breathless and red in the face. He’s fully groping your ass at this point, massaging your cheeks with his fingers and pressing his palms into the thick flesh there.

You nod aggressively as you grind down on his cock again, spreading your thighs a bit more for better leverage. You want nothing more than for him to slide his bare cock into you right here and let you ride him through multiple orgasms, your tits bouncing right at eye level as he groans into your mouth through open mouthed kisses.

He merely laughs, pulling you out of your fantasy and reaches awkwardly for another condom, hand firmly keeping you in place.

“As much as I want what you want right now baby, let’s make sure there’s no-“ he starts out, rolling the condom on with shaky hands.

“SUNG, PLEASE!” you yell, clasping a hand over his mouth in embarrassment.

Even in the midst of it all, all the lustful years leading up to this moment, all the hidden glances and late night drunken thoughts, he is still your poison. Something that worms its way into your mind, into your heart. Normally, you wouldn’t even imagine being this close to someone without protection but somehow, Jisung does something to you that makes you want to be reckless. You want to be reckless with your heart, let it be swallowed whole by him. You want to throw your body on him, let him tear you down and degrade you and use you. You want to give him everything and every bit of love you can offer. You think you can see the two of you growing old together, sitting quietly in a park watching your grandchildren play together in the distance.

But you see, that’s the problem with poison. It gets in your veins, in your lungs, in your heart and slowly sweeps and finally, finally tears you down. You float high above yourself again, seeing stars as Jisung releases into the condom and his head falls against your chest. You are both quiet and unsure of what comes next. The poison of this night will wear off soon and reality will set in, leaving you only the memories of this night to return to in your dreams.

#nct smut #nct fanfic #nct x reader #park jisung #jisung x reader #nct dream x reader #nct dream smut #jisung smut #park jisung x reader

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taintedbenevolence · 6 months

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WRIOTHESLEY, birthday prompt Summary: Giving a little bit of special treatment to your tired boyfriend Wriothesley on his birthday! Happy (belated) Birthday, Wrio <3

"Mmh.. just a little higher," your love murmurs, his face resting comfortably on your lap whilst he comfortably nuzzles himself closer to your body, chest rising and falling slowly, signaling his comfort and relaxed state. He lazily smirks at you as you continuously scratch his scalp soothingly.

You can't help but smile softly at the sight of it. It's endearing, really — your commanding, intimidating, and powerful boyfriend, lord and Duke of the Fortress of Meropide — all snuggled up to you like a big, fluffy puppy asking for attention. And as if it weren't enough to warm your heart, the way his tired, half-lidded icy hues gaze at you lovingly with a glint of contentment is enough to bring a smile to your lips and send your heart into a frenzy.

His hair is so soft, you think, whilst Wriothesley just lies down completely comfortable, almost treating you like his new pillow, to which he knows you certainly wouldn't mind.

"You comfortable, Wrio?" you inquire with a smile that tugs at the corners of your lips, to which he chuckles softly. "Very," he replies, eyes closing as he feels your fingers continuing to pass through the soft tufts of his hair, to which he hums in pleasure.

His gaze is loving, and you wish that this moment could really last forever — just one day without having to worry over responsibilities, the fortress, work papers, nothing — it sounds like heaven, to both you and your beloved.

But you know as well as he does that no moment will go on for an eternity. So with that in mind, you've decided to do your best to make this day for him the very best it can be — to shower him with love and affection, one so sweet that he very much craves behind closed doors — so that once this day is over, he rests fulfilled and accomplished.

"Love you so much..." Wriothesley murmurs, a small smile grazing his lips. "You satisfied yet, sweetheart?" he teases, and you shake your head with the same smile adorning your expression. "You're enjoying this more than I am. Just let me shower you in the affection you deserve, love."

And the man chuckles, just leaning further into your touch, in which he melts in so quickly. "Hey," he chimes in a few minutes later, to which you tilt your head, intrigued. "Lie down with me."

Before you can answer and without word, he sits up, takes you into his arms, and then drags you down to the bed you're on as he promptly lies down beside you, hugging you and letting you nestle into his chest. His head rests above yours, and he weaves his thighs around yours, trapping you in his hold as he nuzzles closer to you.

"Let me hold you like this for a while, yeah?" he speaks lowly, his voice tired and rasped as you feel his heartbeat drum in his chest that slowly rises and falls at a rhythmic pace. "You're so soft I could hold you like this forever."

Snaking an arm around your waist, he pulls you closer, leaving little to no space between the two of you. Before long, you can already feel him press a light kiss on the top of your head, and you can picture in your mind the small smile he's wearing.

To him, he needs no material gift on this day to be happy — being around you is more than enough for him — it's a blessing enough as is to be able to have lived thus far. To be beside you, to be able to love you and hold you close is the best gift he could ever have, and his mind already wanders to the future the two of you will have.

You chuckle softly, slightly turning your head to meet his sleepy eyes, and with a smile, you kiss him shortly, quickly burying your face in his neck as your heart warms at the sight of the faint red dusting his cheeks.

"Happy Birthday, Wrio."

"I like signs of strength and hope. They give me reassurance that tomorrow will be better than today. This isn't to be pessimistic, but it's impossible for the present to be without its doubts and troubles — that's just the truth. But come hell or high water, if nothing else then at least we'll be able to figure it out together, right?" — WRIOTHESLEY

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pileofmush · 1 month

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you don't know what i deserve .·:*¨ ¨*:·..·:*¨ ¨*:·..·:*¨ ¨*:·.

ft. okkotsu yuuta

it’s 1 a.m. on the fifteenth of February and there’s a corpse on your kitchen floor. still fresh: odorless and warm to the touch. you're on your own—just you and the dead body.

info : ̗̀➛ tags: gn!reader, neighbor au, strangers to lovers, yuuta & reader are a little strange, happy ending // cw: death, light angst, vulgar language, canon-typical violence...but pretty mild imo

thoughts : ̗̀➛ helllooo. back on my bullshit. let's call this a very belated birthday present to my beloved <3 // read this on ao3

wc : ̗̀➛ 5.1k

The human body contains a shit ton of blood.

Which is not something you think about often, but now you are forced to confront this fact in real-time. People… have a lot of blood.

And it stains. No matter how many times you wash your hands. There are still flakes of blood wedged underneath your fingernails. Part of you thinks it'll never go away.

...And then there's Sailor Moon.

“I am the pretty guardian who fights for love and justice! I am Sailor Moon! And now, in the name of the moon, I’ll punish you!”

Cue trumpets and flashy poses; the makings of a battle. Your comfort anime blares in the background of a morbid scene, the flickering TV casting a soft glow on a sight that will inevitably haunt your nightmares.

Because it's 1 a.m. on the fifteenth of February and there’s a corpse on your kitchen floor. Still fresh: odorless and warm to the touch. You pace in your tiny living room, unsure of what to do, of how to proceed. The pretty Sailor Guardians won’t save you now. You’re on your own. Just you and the dead body.

How romantic.

The chill from outside has swept into your apartment thanks to that annoying fucking prick who left your window open. Honestly, people these days have no decency. The least he could’ve done was close your shutters after tumbling through your bedroom window like a deranged acrobat. Now you’re, like, moderately cold.

“What a fucking mess,” you sigh.

Blood seeps into the earthy Persian rug that you got for half-price at a flea market a few months ago. It’s dark; puddling, like... like a knocked-over glass of chocolate milk, spilled all over the kitchen table. Or, maybe chocolate syrup would be more apt. It doesn’t matter, though. You can always get a new rug. You know, if you make it out of this situation of yours intact and not in a dingy prison cell for homicide.

Hmm. You might be sorta kinda screwed.

The police, of course, are out of the question. No matter your side of the story, it wouldn’t hold up in trial. No, no, no. A foreigner murdering a Japanese citizen? Even if it was in self-defense, it wouldn’t matter. Forget prison—you’ll probably be hanged.

So, you could run… But you probably wouldn’t get far. Or, you could do what every naive murderer in the movie about karmic retribution does and try your darnedest to get away with it.

“Option two it is!” you quit pacing and announce to the room. Thankfully, the body doesn’t respond.

A weak knock at the door sounds off—a gunshot. Your heart stalls, your head snapping to the entrance of the apartment. Who the hell is at your door? The person at the door knocks a second time, a little bit more insistently, and you start to sweat. “Hello, is everything alright? I—I heard a scream.”

You step up to the peephole and squint. A mild-looking man shuffles his feet outside your door. It’s your next-door neighbor, bathed in the ugly yellow lighting of your apartment complex. He smiles like he knows that you can see him.

This… isn’t ideal. You could choose to not answer him, but that probably wouldn’t work. What if he called the police? You take a breath. “Everything’s fine,” you call out.

The man’s smile freezes in place, somehow more eerie than a frown; his hands burrow deeper into his pockets. “Oh!” he says. “Are… Are you sure?”

You turn away from the peephole, a little unnerved. “Yeah, why?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to intrude, but I heard a lot more than a single scream.”

A slow, dreadful feeling starts to seep into your gut. “Pardon?”

There’s a pause. You swallow.

“These walls are thin.”

Fuck. He knows. Oh God, he knows.

No—that’s impossible. You were the only one to scream. Yasuhiro… He didn’t get the chance to. So this is just a concerned neighbor checking in on you. Nothing more, nothing less. You can prove it, prove that you’re okay.

You open the door a smidge so that you can peek through, then step outside and shut the door behind you. Your neighbor, what’s his name again? Okkotsu, right? Okkotsu’s brows lift at the sight of you, then relax. He’s wearing a plain white tee and a pair of grey sweats that should probably be criminal in Japan. His eyes flicker up and down your frame. You suppress a shiver.

“Just a horror movie,” you broach, offering him a polite smile. “I’m an easy fright.”

Okkotsu pulls a hand out of his pocket to awkwardly rub the back of his neck. His gentle smile has dimmed. “I’m not sure I believe you,” he says in an apologetic tone.

You both notice the tremor that runs through your body. Nosy fucking neighbors and their lack of sense when it comes to minding their own business. You stare mulishly at the floor. His shoes are simple. Black; scuffed. His left foot taps once against the floor. Whatever. You don't have to answer to him. Gathering up your resolve, you start to speak. “Listen, Okkotsu-san,” you say but are cut off quickly.

“Is that blood?”

That makes you freeze, eyes glued to the floor. A cold set of fingers dips under your chin and gently lifts it. Your gaze meets his: two pools of an endless, starless night. It flickers to a spot beside your ear knowingly and you reach for it.

He’s right. Blood sticks to your fingers, not yet dry. Lurking in the crevice behind your ear. You missed a spot.

“Well spotted.” It’s fruitless to lie now. You know it, he knows it. Now it’s a matter of who’ll crack first.

“Are you… Are you injured?”

Physically? No. Psychiatrically? Well, you just murdered a man, so.

“I’m unharmed.”

Okkotsu blinks owlishly. “Is that so?” He murmurs curiously, tilting your head to the side to observe the blood staining your skin.

You readjust your head and mimic him, blinking slowly. “Okkotsu—”

“Yuuta,” he interrupts.

You blink again. For such a mild, polite-seeming boy, he really is quite rude. And confusing. And terrifying. And you kinda sort of want him to die. “Okkotsu-san” you repeat. “I think it’s best if you leave.”

Okkotsu Yuuta’s smile returns, and it’s dangerously innocuous. He breathes your name out like a question. Starless eyes wander to your front door, then go back to studying your own. “Can I come inside?” he asks, quietly.

Everything stills, even your heart. You’re not quite certain you’re alive, when you ask, dubiously, “The apartment?”

Okkotsu just smiles.

You let Okkotsu come inside.

Which is absolutely fucking insane, but you have a feeling that your neighbor’s worse off than you are, and that’s truly saying something.

You hear him lock the door behind you before you start. Silently, you lead him past your living room, past Tsukino Usagi flying down the sidewalk on the way to school—the start of another episode, then—past your browning house plant hanging from the ceiling, into your quaint kitchen.

It’s nothing special. A small green stove with two bunsen burners on top. A sink; limited counter space. A couple of peeling cabinets. Tied in together with a white backsplash, shifting colors with each flicker of the TV. To the side, a small table sits, with two mismatched chairs tucked into it.

Oh, and there’s the dead body, too. Practically dribbling blood, painting your discounted rug muddy red and the surrounding blue tile purple.

Okkotsu lets out a soft sigh. “What a mess.”

You consider him from the corner of your eye. “That’s what I said,” you frown.

He shrugs, still looking at poor, dead, Yasuhiro. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?”

Yeaaaah. It’s true.

A giggle escapes you, the reality of the situation finally hitting you. “Fuck,” you whisper in between the giggles. “I’m fucked.” It’s true. Utterly and thoroughly—no condom used.

“Not yet,” you barely hear him say over the fracturing of your composure. This is impossible. You killed a man tonight, then showed a stranger the corpse. You’re an idiot. You’re a freak. You can’t hide a dead body. You really might as well bend over and get it over with. Fuck.

Hands gripping your knees, you struggle to catch your breath. When did you lose it? Ah, who cares? Dead. You’re dead. The noose is looped around your hollowed throat, tightening by the second. Perhaps there’ll be two corpses on your kitchen floor by the time the sun is up. Perhaps you should’ve just let him kill—

“Breathe with me,” Okkotsu mutters, right in front of you, long hands gingerly clutching your shoulders. Which is strange. You had no idea he got so close. His thumbs swipe up and down, around and around, and you are flummoxed. But Okkotsu is patient, his chest compressing and expanding with each measured breath, and you are compelled to follow him. Slowly, you come down from your panicked high. You let out a shaky breath, eyes sliding back to the imposing guest in your apartment. The other imposing guest in your apartment.

The body in front of you lays eerily still, impervious to your mini breakdown. It’s not purple, or rotting, or excreting out the last remaining fluids left in its underwhelming husk. It’s just—laying there. Laying, not lying, because it is no longer a breathing thing that rests; now an object to be placed. Dehumanized, in every way. Then again, what is dehumanization if not just another word for murder? What is murder, if not just the taking away of a person’s autonomy? Dead bodies can’t rest. It will never lie again.

The dead body lays.

And you wonder for how much longer you’ll keep your own autonomy.

When do the dead start to attract flies? Realistically, you know it can range from a day to a few days for a decomposing body to become…obscene, depending on the environmental conditions. It hasn’t even been a few hours. You doubt flies will start buzzing around any time soon. If you move to crouch down and touch it, it’ll probably still be warm.

The swipe of a thumb over your shoulder brings your awareness back to your neighbor.

“Why are you helping me?” You ask, wiping the tears that have beaded up in the corners of your eyes. Your breathing is steadier now, but you’re still trembling. That damn window is still open.

The hands on your shoulders release, and you look up to gauge his thoughts. He’s frowning. His eyes cloud, then sharpen: lightning against a black sky. “You need to get rid of the body, don’t you?” It’s a rhetorical question, but you nod anyway.

“Then we’ll figure it out. Don’t worry. I bet we’ll be done before dawn.”

He makes to walk away but you stay rooted to your spot, trying to figure out why this strange, strange neighbor of yours who makes friends with stray cats and tends to the apartment garden is willing to become an accomplice of murder for you.

“Okkotsu, are… Are you in love with me or something?”

Your neighbor stops, then snorts, and it sends a shiver down your spine. He turns back to face you. A soft pout lies on his lips as he skillfully evades your question with a request of his own. “Hey, if you’re gonna ask me something like that, why don’t you use my name next time?”

You don’t ask again.

You have far bigger problems than interrogating Okkotsu Yuuta, so you push it aside and stalk toward the body. Okkotsu joins you, and the two of you peer at the deceased man before you. It’s… Still. The blood has stopped its puddling; a thin line stretches the column of its throat. His throat was slit neatly, gracefully, like an act of love. It wasn’t one, but, maybe you gave Yasuhiro what he wanted, in a terrible, twisted way. How magnanimous of you.

Yasuhiro wasn’t an attractive man. Limp brown hair framing a slightly uglier-than-average face. At least he had the decency to close his eyes before his last, dying breath. They were blood-shot and wiry, the last time you saw them open. Bouncing haphazardly in its sockets like they couldn’t discern which corner of the room you stood in.

Okkotsu perks up at the sound of your harrumph. “What?” he questions you, and you slide your eyes over to him. Okkotsu Yuuta is distinctly pale, a trait that you’ve always noticed and have always sort of admired on him. It suits the subdued, yet haunted look he’s got going on. Black lashes feather the whites of his eyes, as well as the endless void of his irises. Yeah, he’s almost doll-like, in that gentle, haunting way of his.

“You’re creepier than the corpse,” you tell him instead and turn away, just barely hiding your smile. The laugh that rings out from him sounds like nails grating on a chalkboard.

Just kidding. It actually sounds kind of sweet.

Okkotsu follows you to the bathroom, where you’ve grabbed pretty much all of your cleaning supplies. You stuff them in a bucket and he hauls it out of your arms, the two of you shuffling back to the kitchen.

“So how should we go about this?” You muse, staring at the body. The movies you’ve seen are the only reference you have for the disposal of dead bodies, but those usually end with the killer getting caught, so you’re not so sure about mimicking their methods.

“I’m not sure,” Okkotsu says, tilting his head in thought. “Severing his limbs without the proper tools would be difficult. I guess we could carry him and bury him somewhere unassuming—unless you have a car that we could use?” A quick glance at you confirms that you don’t. He rubs his chin, nodding to himself. “Right. A garden cart will do, then. We should check to see if he has any identifiers on him, first, though. Oh, and we can’t forget about the teeth. Do you have any pliers?” He turns to you casually, eyes widening at the sight of your awe.

Thin black brows furrow in confusion. “What?” He asks.

You blink. “Have you…ever…?” Your voice dies in your throat.

Thankfully, he gets it. “Oh. No! No, I’ve never murdered a person,” he denies, dipping his head and tugging the neckline of his plain white tee. A curious look crosses his face. “But I could,” he tacks on cautiously.

You hug your arms and give a half-assed shrug. You can almost feel the weight of a kitchen knife in your dominant hand; the quick, fluid motion of ending a life.

“Anyone could,” you acquiesce, dismissing the conversation. Okkotsu hums mournfully in return.

According to his ID, Yasuhiro Souta is a twenty-seven-year-old male who lives in Chiba. What he was doing tumbling through your window in the middle of the night is anyone’s guess. Well, he did tell you, sort of shakily before he made to lunge at you, that you were supposedly his Valentine for the night. How sweet!

Snip. You met him for the first time a little over two months ago. He dropped his wallet on the train, so you picked it up and handed it to him in a silly attempt to be a decent person. It resulted in the man refusing to let go of your hand for a solid five minutes. Yes, yes, what an adorable meet-cute! Snip. When you managed to pry your clammy hands out of his vice-like grip, it was your stop, and, oh, how fortuitous, it was Yasuhiro’s as well! He followed you off the train into a random coffee shop, and it was only when you got the help of the employees that he backed off, the doorbell chiming as the glass door swung behind his back. Snip.

You thought that was the end of it, and proceeded about your day, running errands for a few hours until you retreated home. It shook you up for a little, yes, but it was nothing too crazy. You doubted you’d ever see him again.

Snip.

You slice Yasuhiro’s ID with your scissors until it’s a pile of ashes.

Okkotsu’s on his knees, holding a pair of pliers to the light. Wedged between the metal lies a crooked tooth. He hums to himself, plopping the tooth in a ziplock bag. He wears a pair of green garden gloves he grabbed from his apartment; you’re wearing a matching set. The rubber’s a little too big for you, but you’re making it work.

It's as Okkotsu calmly adjusts the head in his lap, preparing to yank another tooth that you stare at your strange partner, wondering how in the hell you got yourself into this situation. It’s been happening every so often: your acceptance of reality swinging in the opposite direction like the pendulum on a grandfather clock.

You shouldn’t have killed him.

You don’t care for Yasuhiro Souta’s life. You don’t care for the man who intended to assault you. But there’s not a chance in hell that this won’t get traced back to you.

You're fucked.

Why did it have to be like this? Why do bad things happen to good people?

That’s the way the cookie crumbles, darling.

And you crumble—crumbled—are crumbling when you turn to your neighbor. “Okkotsu-san,” you say, picking at your dirty nails.

“Yuuta,” the man insists. What a freak. He's a freak, and he's good, and you don't deserve it.

You take a deep breath, mulling over your doomed fate. It doesn’t have to be his, too. “You should get out of here. While you still can.”

There's an awkward pause. The strange man pulls out another tooth and plops it in the baggy. “There,” he says warmly, then draws to his full height. “Do you have a coffee maker?” You ball your fists around the plastic handle in your hands. Calm, calm, stay calm. “Did you hear what I just said?” You ask.

“Oh, I did,” Okkotsu hums. “I chose to ignore it.”

Your hands begin to shake as you repeat his words. “Ch—Chose to—”

Okkotsu says your name pityingly. “I thought we already had this conversation," he questions with pinched brows. “Why are we—”

“We?!” You interrupt, incensed. We. It's as if the curtains have been drawn open, allowing the rays of the illuminating, scorching sun to trickle through. It blinds you, and you have the urge to pull your eyes out and shove them down his throat. “You thought we? Who are you? You don’t know a damn thing about me!”

“I think I know a few things about you,” Okkotsu smiles sweetly, gesturing to the dead body in your apartment.

“Do you, now?” You laugh and toss your hands up to the ceiling. “Great! I have an idea!" You glare, the metal edge of your scissors catching the light. "If you know what I’m capable of, then you should get the hell out."

A pause. You pant, more worked up than have been all night and it's fucking ridiculous and you hate it. You want to choke—you want him to choke. On your blood-soaked fingers, preferably. He'd probably lick them clean.

Unaware of your depraved thoughts, Okkotsu’s lips pull into a frown. He sighs, running a ghostly hand through his hair.

“I’m not scared of you,” he tells you, quietly.

You hold your breath. “Maybe you should be.”

Your insufferable neighbor takes a step forward, that stupid frown still on his stupid doll face. “What’s your plan?” He prompts. “Do you intend to confess? To go to prison?” You shake your head slowly and he softens. “You don’t deserve that,” he says, like he really means it.

Why did you let this man into your house? Why is he offering you hope? It’s too much. The scissors slide out of all your fingers save for one; your limbs sag with a weariness that’s settled deep in your bones.

“You don’t know what I deserve.”

Okkotsu stops and considers you. Your chest heaves, your heart pounds, and you want out. You want out, and he can get out, and you don’t know… You don’t know why…

“If you want me to judge you, I won’t,” says Okkotsu.

You shake your head at his dismissal, your eyes squeezed shut. “I can’t judge you,” he continues, and there goes his cold, calloused hand again, gingerly tilting your chin upwards. The pair of scissors in your clutches drops fruitlessly to the floor. When you look up, there’s something like pleading in his endless, starless eyes. “Trust me,” he begs.

You shouldn’t. You know it with every fiber of your being that you should not trust Okkotsu Yuuta. The man who blinks like an owl and stares at you like you’re a mouse he can’t wait to swallow whole. Who blushes pink whenever you hold the elevator door for him. Who has cold fingers that cradle you so gingerly—who touches you like he knows you—who doesn’t cringe at the sight of dead bodies but gives a damn about a bit of blood staining the outside of your ear.

You shouldn’t. Trust him. But you—you feel as if he’s reached inside your chest and plucked out your pulsing, blackened heart.

“Do you love me?” You ask Okkotsu Yuuta again, heart throbbing in his hand.

His eyes don’t stray from yours. “Ask me again with my name,” he says quietly.

…You don’t know if you want to.

Releasing a breath, you push past him, snatch the ziplock bag from the floor, and stride towards the stove. “I’ll make coffee,” you say, already fiddling with the grinder.

Okkotsu lets you depart with a sigh.

“So what do you like to do when you’re not helping random people bury bodies?” You ask Okkotsu a couple of hours later. You stumble over a root in the dark, and Okkotsu’s quick to grab you by the waist and steady you. You continue, a bag full of your keys, water, pepper spray, freshly-bleached gloves, a burner phone that Okkotsu already had, for some reason, and two sets of clean clothes swinging against your back. You fidget with the shovel in your hands mindlessly, trying to get it to spin. A garden cart with a tarp draped over it creaks along the grass floor. The two of you have walked for who knows how long, but, according to him, you’re getting close.

The man beside you hums, surprisingly chipper for the nefarious activities afoot. “When I’m not busy, I like to garden and crochet. I also like making food for my friends from time to time,” he says in a simple, humble manner. The last part doesn’t surprise you. He’s brought you helpings of food on the most random occasions, showing up at your doorstep with self-proclaimed “leftovers” and shoving full plates into your arms with a velvety smile. That does beg the question, though…

“Have you considered us friends this whole time?” You squint at him in the dark, only the moonlight carving out the contours of his subtle, delicate features. You’re kind of surprised. You two made decent neighbors but only ever talked in short bursts outside your rooms. Your conversations rarely ever broke past polite mumblings about the weather.

Okkotsu pouts. “You mean, we’re not friends yet?” He asks, before breaking into a twinkling laugh.

“Shut up,” you bite, but you laugh too, lightly shoving at his arm. Okkotsu, bless him, pretends to stumble. It takes you a moment to suppress the heat burning the tips of your ears, but you do get it under control, eventually. “I meant… Before?”

His expression smoothens out before he gives a soft shake of his head. “No, not quite. But, I wanted us to be."

It’s quiet for a moment, nothing but the rustling under your feet and the ever-present, cacophonous sounds of nature. You spot a nest of sleeping birds tucked in between the branches of a tree and smile.

“Well,” you try to keep your cool, eyes sweeping over the forest's shadows, “Better late than never.”

It strikes you halfway to the burial grounds that Yasuhiro didn’t bring his phone with him to your apartment in his depraved, intoxicated state. He crawled up a tree, through your cracked-open bedroom window—conveniently avoiding cameras. So, once you’re done with this, you very may well be free.

It’s a terrifying notion, freedom.

“What about you?” Okkotsu asks you, something like ten minutes later. “What do you like to do for fun? Besides watch Sailor Moon, I mean.”

You bite your lip to keep from grinning. “Well,” you wonder aloud. “This is pretty fun, wouldn’t you say?”

Okkotsu lets out a little breath before he softly admits his agreement.

It rained earlier today, you forgot. The ground crumbles like clay when you swing the shovel into the ground. You and Okkotsu take turns making a grave, taking water breaks in between. There is hope alive in you, you realize, as the two of you work in tandem.

Yasuhiro Souta is lowered into the ground with all the dignity a dead man could possess. He lays atop a tarp and your old Persian rug. A stream rushes somewhere nearby, bubbling like blood, and you pray that the body will make good fertilizer. When your hand shakes, Yuuta grabs it.

You bury your clothes on the way back, a mile out. The sun peaks over the horizon.

When you return to your room with Yuuta in tow, your emotions overwhelm you: you are terrified and gleeful and sorry for all you’ve done.

It is mournfully quiet as you mop the purple tiles blue, bleach burning your nostrils and freshly scrubbed gloves. Yuuta’s left to clean the garden cart in the gardens. He returns shortly, though, offers you a small smile, and helps you scrub every inch of your apartment.

You scrub, and scrub.

And scrub.

“You’re beautiful,” Yuuta says to you when you’re in the middle of wiping your brow. You’re sitting cross-legged on your rugless kitchen floor, where a dead body once lay. Sweat clings to your skin in uncomfortable places and you reek of bleach. “Shut the fuck up and scrub, Yuuta,” you command.

Yuuta’s serene smile is unparalleled to anything you’ve ever seen before.

You could probably fall in love with him, you contemplate as you watch your neighbor make fluffy pancakes in the comforts of his own kitchen. If you haven’t fallen in love with him, already, that is. You doubt you’ll ever have a connection with someone as profound as the bond you share with the soft-spoken man who helped you bury a dead body.

Love, you marvel, in the span of a few hours.

It’s disquieting.

After multiple showers, and after Yuuta’s stuffed you with more pancakes than you can chew, the pair of you are lounging on his tatami mat, a much-needed change in scenery. You have like, three hours before you need to go to work, which, Yuuta agrees, is crucial to maintaining a veneer of normalcy. Which means this impromptu nightmare date will have to come to an end—as all good things do.

“I should probably get to bed,” you say after a lull in conversation.

Yuuta nods, reasonably. “That makes sense, yeah.”

“Got work in the morning and all that,” you continue in a nonchalant tone.

“Make sure your window’s locked.”

Fine. “Walk me out, will you?” You request. Okkotsu Yuuta, ever the gentleman, agrees, even though the front door is only a handful of feet away. He pushes himself off his knees and stands at full height, though his starless eyes are, as always, trained on you. You would probably find Yuuta’s full attention a little unsettling if you had not just slit a man’s throat that night.

You avoid his gaze all the same—stopping at his doorstep with your hands twisting at your sides. Yuuta stops beside you and waits patiently for you to string your words together.

You clear your throat. “Hey, um—”

“Hi,” Yuuta interrupts, and you smile, filled with the courage to go on.

“So, the thing is… Well, I probably wouldn’t have made it anywhere far without you. I acted quite amateur back there, you’d think this was my first dead body I was trying to hide, or something, ha. Um, so yeah, thank you—from the most sincere and vulnerable depths of my heart. I guess I’ll see you around? Okay, bye.”

A hand wraps around your wrist before you can run home with your tail tucked between your legs. Yuuta murmurs your name in a soft, dulcet tone, and you’re not certain you’re prepared to hear whatever he has to say. You turn to face him anyway, because, well, you owe him that much.

“Yes?”

“Don’t you have something to ask me?” He chides.

The pit in your stomach swoops. “Not that I recall,” you lie with a straight face.

“Try again,” Yuuta smiles sweetly, like a haunted little doll.

“It’s been a long day, you know—”

“Cold, I’m afraid.”

“My brain isn’t functioning at its peak—”

“Hmm, getting colder!”

“I don’t think I can.”

A pause. You avert your gaze and allow yourself to get analyzed by Yuuta’s doleful, starless eyes. “Hey,” he calls your name, asks you to look at him.

You look at him.

“Good," he hums.

You roll your eyes, loop an arm around his long neck, and drag him to you.

Okkotsu Yuuta tastes like the earth. From dust to dust, you are at the end and beginning when you capture his lips between yours. He responds quickly, hands digging firmly into your waist as he knocks you into his door frame, and you quickly learn what it means to be savored. You intended the kiss to be a quick, rash, thing, but he slows you down, melds into you languidly like you have all the time in the world. When he sucks on your bottom lip, you both moan, breaking apart for air. Yuuta slips his hands underneath your shirt, and for once, his cold hands burn, lighting the fire for something you’re not certain you’ll be able to finish.

“Go ahead and ask me already, love,” Yuuta murmurs into your ear. And, well, fuck. You melt. “Yuuta,” you whisper as he nips at your neck. “You love me, yes?”

At that, he bites down at the hollow of your neck. You gasp, then sigh when he instantly cools the wound with his tongue. “Obviously,” he replies, quite simply, thumb swiping delicately at your stomach.

“Great,” you gasp, and Yuuta looks at you and beams.

And, there goes your heart again, pulsing in his cold, calloused hands. Cradle it gently, Yuuta, won’t you?

fin. if u made it this far, ily

#mushy writes .𖥔 ݁ ˖#yuuta x reader #yuta x reader #jjk x reader #okkotsu yuuta x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yuuta x you #yuta x you #jjk x gn!reader #jjk #tw: blood #tw: death #m.jjk #m.yuuta #battle scarred;#yuuta my beloved <3

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erenthology · 1 year

Text

Underground boxer Eren

Underground boxer Eren. You’re on tour with his team. They travel in his private plane and stay in different hotels while traveling through the states. Both are around the ages 20-23. This is basically “real” by Katy evans. Happy belated birthday Eren🖤 this is a messy filler-ish post, his real birthday fic coming out soon. I’ve had to cover shifts so I haven’t had the time to proofread and post. (Adhd brain)

Tw(?)Eren has a soft spot for reader. He’s a perv. They act like a couple but reader thinks Eren is just being nice. Eren is delusional. Reader is naive. Smut, Slight dub-con. Aftercare is slightly mentioned. Obsessive, possessive Eren. He’s immature. Very touchy. Let me know if I should add to this! Not proofread so there will be mistakes. Enjoy!

“Oh, there she is” Eren turns his head in amusement mid convo but stops in his tracks when he meets your eyes

Boxer!Eren who falls obsessively in love with the new sports rehab specialist on his team. He said he didn’t want one but Armin, his manger, insisted. thank god

Boxer!Eren who immediately tells Armin to place your seat next to his on the private plane.

“Need my sports therapist today, Armin. Send her to me.” “Eren, she’s a sports REHAB specialist.”

Boxer!Eren who knockouts his opponents to impress you

Boxer!Eren looks for you in the crowd during every fight to catch your reactions

Boxer!Eren who gets mad when you talk to the other staff. You’re supposed to be there for him

Boxer!Eren who deliberately gets hit in the rink when he’s feeling deprived of attention so he’ll get you to touch him

Boxer!Eren who forces you hold his hand when walking down the lobby since guys were fucking staring at you (they’re literally staring at Eren since they’re there for him)

Boxer!Eren almost cums in his pants when you show up one day in a too short a short skirt and tank top! He tries to look you in the face when you tell him good morning but he just can’t when your tits are right in his face

Boxer!Eren who’s feeling very, very possessive and semi freaks out all day, sending death glares to anyone who dares to stare. He even tries to cover your smaller frame with his body.

Boxer!Eren makes sure you feel his hips slightly pushing into your back when he’s reaching for something above your head, eyefucking you through staff meetings, charming you with compliments throughout the day. “You look like an angel, ya know that?” Using his panty melting smile that he knows has an affects on the ladies. Right??

Boxer!Eren who sometimes does things like run his hand through your hair in public so it’ll look like you’re a couple to any passerby’s. “What’re you doing?” “Hm?” He bends forwards as if he couldn’t hear you. “Oh, you just had something in your hair” sneaky fucker

Boxer!Eren ask’s if he can have some of your water? His is literally on the side. And makes sure to brush his fingers against yours when you give him your bottle with a bright smile on your face. He wants to kiss you on the spot.

Boxer!Eren is having the worst day. You’ve been laughing with Armin for 10 minutes straight. 10 minutes. Do you like him or something? He aggressively makes it known that he’s upset and decides not to speak to either of you. Didn’t last a second.

Boxer!Eren who tries to be in your proximity at all times. jumps at every opportunity to carry your luggage, walk you to your room, joining your morning walks. The guys tease him about his changed behavior when he’s around you but he doesn’t give a fuck. He likes to imagine you’re a couple already <3

“Alright [name], let me know when you’re done. I’ll wait for you” he waves, absolutely lovestruck.

“Eren do you have time to look over this real quick?” Jean asks

“Fuck off”

Boxer!Eren who had flowers delivered to your room and only gets a pat on the shoulder and a “thank you, Eren.. you’re such a great boss to your staff” back. Are you that fucking oblivious? He just wants to rip your clothes off and fuck you til you understand you’re his. Instead he forces a smile, “I’ll buy you whatever you want, baby.” And he certainly doesn’t miss the way you instantly start playing with your hair. Oh? Did he just make you nervous?

Boxer!Eren who’s finally had enough and books you into a two bedroom suit with him. “incase he needs to rehabilitate at night.”

Boxer!Eren who fantasizes the whole time about you to sucking him off to help him ease from all the stress. Or better yet bury his head in between your thighs. He just can’t stand being so close to you knowing you’re barely in any clothing, you know? …What do you wear to bed anyway? He needs to know.

Boxer!Eren who then knocks on your hotel door that night and ask’s if he can sleep with you :(

Boxer!Eren who said he just wants to cuddle but slowly pushes his knee between your thighs, rutting his hips into yours while holding you. “Wha-what’re you doing?” “[name] you feel so good,” inhaling your scent. “please just..just let me?” he pants, lips brushing your neck. Delighted with happiness when you nod.

Boxer!Eren who turns you onto your stomach, splays his larger hand on your back, slowly dry humping and tugging on your hair. The sight of you helplessly under him almost makes him cum on the spot

Boxer!Eren put you onto his lap mid-make out. pushing his hand into your panties with gentle touches. “Feels good? He ask’s when you moan into his kisses. “Yeah? you want my fingers in you?” The sight of you disheveled makes him go crazy. Harshly repeating the word “mine” again, and again against your lips.

Boxer!Eren who finally gets you on your knees in front of him, looking like you’re ready to do anything he pleases. Not a thought to play around with..

Boxer!Eren who’s been groping and touching all night. He’s currently sucking on your tits while jerking himself off against your entrance. “never been this hard before, please baby, lemme put it in. need you” he kisses until you give in

Boxer!Eren who whispered sweet nothings but literally folds you in half as he presses into you. He just can’t help himself. The sounds of his balls slapping against your skin and a mixture of your strangled noises fill up the room. He moves inside you, over you, into you. “fuck, fuck yes, like that, baby. You’re so good for me.”

Boxer!Eren who thanks you with a kiss on the forehead and whispers how good you’ve been for him. Then cradles you to sleep in his arms.

Boxer!Eren is delighted when he wakes up with your soft but pressed against his morning wood. Nuzzling his face into your neck. He smiles to himself. Knowing he’ll visit your room every night. You’re his to take care of from now on.

Xoxo

#I’m definitely gonna add to this+redo and edit #but here ya go!#I love Eren incase anyone was questioning it #attack on titan eren #eren yeager #snk eren #just in the clouds for eren #clouds for eren #eren smut #eren #eren jeager x reader #eren aot #eren jaeger smut

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14dayswithyou · 3 months

Note

i asked a question about the post where it was said that canon renren wouldn't care about his children, so I decided to clarify

(I don't remember exactly how I asked)

By not caring about them, does he mean that he would not want to take part in their upbringing, since his father traumatized him very much?

(I hope that in the scene, where renren and angel meet his parents, it will be possible to shoot taylor (or replenish a renren account on the darknet with a new torture...)

(and happy belated birthday, renren!)

and another question: in day 3, it says that Ren only has a motorcycle, didn't Ren have a car? I remember for sure that somewhere there was an old answer where it was said that he had both a motorcycle and a car

ANSWERED: I think people see how "soft" Ren is on this blog and kinda forget the fact that he canonically only cares about Angel and no one else. He's often described as being apathetic, indifferent, and hostile towards everyone around him -- and the only person he truly feels empathy and genuine emotions for is Angel.

Ren would 100% care/be there for his kid and would never subject them to the same abuse he suffered as a child, but he won't prioritise them over Angel either. He'll love them because they're an extension of Angel, but he won't feel the same empathy or attachment the same way he does for his lifelong obsession. Canonically, Ren has no strong opinions on children, and he wouldn't really mind either way if Angel wanted to start a family or not. All he cares about -- and will ever care about -- is them.

If you haven't seen them already, here and here are two posts that show how Ren would react around his children.

I also wanna quickly clarify that Blog Ren differs from Canon Ren because while I don't see certain things happening in the official universe of 14DWY; I don't want to outright shut down people's creativity or ideas either. If someone asks about Ren's opinion on children, I'm not going to be like "he canonically hates them, next question". I want to give some sort of content that others can enjoy and work with. I hope this makes sense!! Any maybe helps to show the difference between the "canon" tag and "blog canon" tag! ^^

But!! As for Ren owning a car: he does!! It's a black Corvette -- but the reason why it's not mentioned in the demo is because it's linked with @unsentmemory's storyline (and the True Ending of 14DWY)! It'll be brought up later as more chapters are released, however!!

Also please keep in mind that we're only up to Day 3 out of 14+ days, so not all content found on this blog will appear in the demo ^^;

#💌 — answered.#💖 — about ren.#💖 — 14 days with queue.#Answerin on mobile so this might not make much sense/won't be proofread until later hghsjg #Sorry!!#to be tagged later

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solarisfortuneia · 1 year

Text

— 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬.

✦ event: freedom is sweet.

✦ for: @zhongrin

✦ info / prompt: “sometimes (read: all the time) i want to just. hug their waist and pepper kisses ( + maybe even nibbles when i'm feeling chaotic >:) ) all over their back!! how do you think they would they react?” (zhongli: modern au. alhaitham: regular au.)

✦ warnings: none, i think. (i did proofread but i may have missed a mistake or two.)

✦ featuring: zhongli, alhaitham.

✦ notes: happy (belated) birthday rin!! my apologies for this being late, i wanted to make it perfect (it's not quite there, but i like it regardless and i hope you will too <3 mwah have a great day!!)

warm rays of sunlight stream in through open windows that zhongli insists on keeping open in the mornings, lighting up the entire kitchen, bouncing off cream colored walls. the plants by the windowsill are certainly grateful for it, considering how they seem to be thriving. they look happier than they’ve ever been.

and in the middle of the cozy scene stands your husband, still in his nightclothes, watering can in hand, amber eyes focused solely on his task.

the scent of both coffee and tea floats gently to your nose, and you look to the side to see your favorite cup already set atop a warmer. soft, slow music plays through his phone on the table, the notes in harmony with the metallic clinks of the windchime. oh, you think, smiling to yourself as you lean on the doorframe, arms crossed. he’s finally figured out how to put that song he likes on repeat.

“look at you,” he murmurs to his— well, technically, they’re yours, but at this point he’s practically claimed them as his own with how much attention he lavishes upon them on the daily— plants, affectionately running a finger along a vibrant green leaf. “you’re looking well this morning, aren’t you, little one?”

an idea sparks to life in your head.

he turns to the right, moving to lightly water another plant, one with pale white flowers blooming happily. “good morning to you, dear,” he coos, gently turning it. “and to you too, madam.” he says to the one with vibrant red blooms.

opportunity presents itself to you at precisely that very moment, where his back faces towards you and there is no possible chance for him to spot you in his peripherals. your feet, clad in socks, barely make a sound as you inch ever-so-carefully towards him. a brief pause, then a quiet inhale, and you pounce, arms locking around his waist as you pepper kisses all over his backside, quick and mischievous.

a surprised ‘oof’ leaves his mouth, and he laughs when he realizes it’s you, setting aside the watering can. you lean up, nibbling at the nape of his neck, giggling alongside him. “good morning, my dearest.” he glances at you from over his shoulder, amusement in his expression. “how long have you been up?”

“long enough to see you talking to the flowers,” you tease playfully. “i know you’re an old, old man, but you’re not that old yet, are you?”

he clears his throat, revolving to meet your gaze. he grasps your face in his warm, calloused hands, before speaking. “studies show that talking to your plants and speaking positively to them can augment their growth by a considerable amount, dearest.” his lips quirk into a tiny, serene smile. “besides, i do quite enjoy doing it.”

you laugh, pressing more kisses to the tip of his nose and to his mouth in rapid succession. you feel his smile widen against your lips, which stays on his face long after you pull away.

“you certainly are affectionate today.” he chuckles. “well, then,” he looks to you for silent permission, ever the gentleman, hoisting you up into his arms when you consent, lips brushing over your eyelids, over your cheek and over your forehead.

“let me return the favor tenfold, my love.”

your shoes clack satisfyingly against the polished floors of the house of daena as you walk down the hallway. you pause to wave hello to the man standing near the lift to the grand sage’s office, then walk inside. if your estimates were correct, then you should be just in time for alhaitham’s lunch break.

you push open the door to his office, forgoing the need to knock. the room is neat, clean and organized; just how he prefers it. you see him standing in front of his bookshelf, eyes scanning up and down, very clearly looking for something, familiar silver hair a little tousled. you walk normally towards him, knowing his headphones muffle the sound of your footsteps, and wrap your arms around his waist.

“boo,” you whisper in his ear, lifting his earpieces a little. “i’m here! did you miss me?”

he sighs contentedly when he feels your touch, book still in one hand, but the other moves to remove his headphones, then grasps your hand firmly. “i did,” he admits, leaning so the back of his head rests against yours. “everything is certainly duller without you around.”

he sighs again, wearily this time, setting the book down to run his fingers over his eyes, massaging the bridge of his nose. “i’d much rather be at home with you than deal with paperwork. it seems as if people can't do anything themselves.”

“i know,” you whisper against the skin of his neck, smiling sympathetically. you hold him tighter, running your lips over his neck and his back, playfully nipping at his earlobe. your lips kiss every inch of him that you can reach, littering featherlight pecks all over.

he shakes his head at your antics, but the red that dusts his cheek (and the tips of his ears) and the barely contained grin on his face portray a different story.

“why did you stop?” he asks when you pull away. his voice sounds disappointed, and you can’t help but laugh. how cute. “i never asked you to.”

“i’m sorry,” you smooch his cheek in apology. your eyes fall to the clock on his desk. “ i'm glad i got to see you today, but i’ve got to go now.”

“where are you going off to?” he pulls you closer by your wrist when you start to move away, then intertwines his fingers with yours once again, brows knitting together. “stay. have lunch with me.”

“i only popped in to say hello,” you kiss the frown on his forehead. “i have to get back to work soon. my break ends much earlier than yours, remember?”

“i know, but you can still stay,” he glances at you. “i’ll send a letter to your boss after lunch. they won’t have a problem.”

“grand sage alhaitham!” you exclaim in mock-surprise, holding a hand to your mouth, eyes widening slightly. “are you really going to use your position to get me to have lunch with you? what would people at the akademiya think of this?”

“acting grand sage,” he reminds you, leaning over to softly touch his lips to your forehead, used to your theatrics. “good thing i don’t care what they think. besides,” he adds, “i’m sure lesser lord kusanali wouldn’t mind, and is she not the boss of us all?”

you laugh. “i suppose that reasoning is sound.”

he extends his arm for you to hold. “then let's get going.”

taglist: @kissedbysilk @ilyuu @xiaosonlybeloved @ineshapanda @soleillunne @supernova25 @vixianne @downwithlean

bold: unable to be tagged! please check your settings or let me know if you've changed urls <3

#—🖋#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x you #alhaitham x reader #genshin impact fluff #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #alhaitham x you #zhongli fluff #alhaitham fluff #— freedom is sweet.

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httpsuniverse · 8 months

Text

fine line [ christian pulisic ]

after finding out the secret you’ve been hiding for years, christian made it his mission to be with his own family and of course, to be with you despite your careers and other obstacles that’s keeping the both of you apart. things are moving too fast and it’s starting to worry you. but don’t worry—“we’ll be a fine line”.

[ 𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗦 ] — christian pulisic x ex!reader; oc!emily, oc!ezekiel, oc!andrew . ⊹ ✶ ㄔ 🫂 °. *

[ 𝗗𝗘𝗧𝗔𝗜𝗟𝗦 & 𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 ] — insta au, im not really good at dates but just imagine the setting is during the summer lmfao, christian & y/n softlaunching (are they really though 🤨) . ⊹ ✶ ㄔ ℹ️ °. *

࣪˖ 💭 .. 𝗘𝗬𝗔’𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘𝗦 ⌕ YEAH so ive only got this for now, i haven’t finished writing the narrative scenario BUT FOR NOW enjoy this <3 ALSOOO belated happy birthday to my man who isn’t my man but is my man ❤️🖤

this work is purely fictional. names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. © httpsuniverse, 2023. do not steal, repost in other platforms, translate and/or claim this work as your own.

— in case you missed it: easy on me • read more of my works here!

cmpulisic

liked by masonmount and 299,372 others

cmpulisic summer for the books ✌🏻 ready to go 🚨♟️

view all 382 comments

user wait what

user since anyone isn’t mentioning anything about the 4th and 8th pic, i will. DID I MISS SOMETHING OR....?

user girl you’re wrong, everyone’s talking about it

user you mean, did WE miss something? yeah, we definitely did

user yall maybe that’s just his nephew or something 😭

user i don’t...i don’t think so...

user WHATTTTT

user whose kid is that christian 😭

user this is your year christian 👏🏻

user captain america ❤️🖤

masonmount congratulations brother 🤝

benchilwell my man 🫡

yourusername

liked by emilyemmons and 579 others

yourusername what a crazy summer it has been 🌻 til next time florida!

view all comments

emilyemmons 💗 enjoy your journey to milan, my loves!!

yourusername come visit us when celeste is a bit older 😚💗

emilyemmons oh we definitely would 🫶 celeste definitely loved having her godmom around 😌

yoursistersig hot mamas!! 🥵 emilyemmons yourusername

yourusername stoppp 🫣

emilyemmons this summer is the most i’ve seen y/n wear bikinis and she’s the HOTTEST

yoursistersig ikr! that’s what i've been telling herrr 😫

yourmomsig zekey holding the flowers 🌷 enjoy milan, my love 🤍 wishing you all the best

yourusername 🥹 see you soon mom!!

emilyemmons those are from ********* 🤭

yourusername emi!!!

yourmomsig well, they’re beautiful! he definitely remembers which flowers you like 😉

deedee_pulisic come back soon with zeke ❤️

yourusername of course! he and avery can be playmates 🥰

user wait a minute...

user girl are you thinking what i’m thinking

user ...yes...

user is THAT christian 😭

user GIRLLL the tattoo, the beard !!!! it IS christian

YOURUSERNAME HAS SET THEIR ACCOUNT TO PRIVATE.

cpulisicupdates

10,817 likes

cpulisicupdates “I’LL DO MY BEST TO PROTECT THEM FROM THE PUBLIC”

are these hints that christian pulisic is finally off the market? watch christian’s newest interview, click the link on my bio to access it! 😄

view all 492 comments

user wait what

user I KNEW THAT KID IS HIS

user we’ll never know unless he confirms it him babe

user girl are you not convinced already lol look closely at the pictures of the kid on the mom’s posts, he clearly looks like christian when he was a kid

user still not convinced

user you do you ig

user “very special people that i’ve recently reunited with” omfg exes to lovers i think

user GIIIIIIIIIIRL 😭 dont do this to me

user dont blame me i finished a lot of movies today

user i dont know which one of you bitches just lied to me and told me i have a chance with this man ... APPARENTLY HE HAS A KID

user this has got to be the funniest shit i’ve read today 😭

user yeah that girl and kid is definitely connected to him, i surrender

user she’s definitely the girl he dated during his dortmund days

user i cant complain though, she’s gorgeous and i dont blame christian for being private with his relationship right now especially if they have a kid together

#christian pulisic fluff #christian pulisic angst #christian pulisic scenario #christian pulisic x reader #christian pulisic imagine #christian pulisic #christian pulisic x you #christian pulisic socmed au #football instagram au #football x reader #football fanfic #football angst #football imagine #football fluff #football x you #football x y/n

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fayes-fics · 11 months

Text

And One For Luck

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict introduces his wife to birthday spankings

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, dom/sub tones, mild exhibitionism, spanking, dirty talk, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex.

Word Count: 2.8k

Authors Note: Unbetaed. This is a very belated birthday gift for my wonderful mutual (and talented fic writer) @queen-of-the-misfit-toys, who requested Benedict + birthday spanking. I'm sorry I'm so slow with writing lately, my dear, but I hope you enjoy this enough to compensate. <3

“Happy birthday!!” all your friends raise a toast around your dinner table, and you drink the dregs of your wine down with gusto. Three glasses in, the word seems warm and fuzzy around the edges.

“Hello, handsome,” you slur slightly as your husband slides into the seat next to you.

“Hello, darling, that might be enough wine,” Benedict suggests gently, taking your glass and putting it back on the table as you pout. “I need you complis mentis for your last gift in a short while,” he whispers, leaning in.

“Do I not get but one hint?” your pout growing larger.

You have certainly enjoyed all the other wonderful little gifts he has given you today, from the physical (lovely jewellery, the dress you wear) to the social (this surprise dinner party).

“Alright. It’s a tradition I heard about from our fine American cousins; I think you’ll enjoy it. And that’s all you get for now, wife,” he winks and slips away again to play party host.

—

You sway a little as you bid the last of your friends goodbye in the hallway. As your valet closes the front door and scurries away with a quick bow, you turn to your husband.

“Thank you for my party, Benedict,” you smile, still a little tipsy; the wine has you feeling louche and a little aroused at the sight of him in his handsome navy velvet jacket and gold cravat. He looks like a present himself, wrapped up in delicious layers you want to peel away to get to the lovely gifts underneath.

“You are welcome,” he smiles, kissing your temple. Then there is a change in his voice; it’s darker, smoother. “Now, are you ready for your final gift of the day?”

“Yes, please,” you murmur back, suddenly a little breathless at the bedroom tone he has employed.

“How daring are you feeling, my love?” he checks as warm fingers trace patterns on the skin of your back, right above where your dress line is.

“Very,” you answer honestly, already feeling a heated ache for him between your legs. It still amazes you that only a few words from him can do this to you.

“Pull up your dress.” It’s an order.

Everything inside you screams yes and please.

“Here?!” you hiss, faking displeasure, playing up as a surge of want gallops through your body.

“Did that sound like a suggestion?” he raises an achingly seductive eyebrow. You scramble to obey, gathering your dress up over your arms. Rather conveniently, you find there are loops hidden under the hemline. “Another gift,” he smirks as you feed your hand through, recalling this is the dress he had specially made for you tonight. No wonder he also asked you to forgo your chemise. He has planned it all. You just love it when he does this.

“Hold on here,” he instructs, taking your hands and guiding them onto the thick balustrade at the base of your staircase. You grip the smooth polished wood and shoot a desirous look at him over your shoulder. He smiles predatory, and a hand lands on your bottom, warm through the thin luxurious but thin layer of your silk underwear.

“Tell me, darling wife, have you heard of birthday spankings?” his voice smokey and dark.

You clench reflexively at the word, butterflies fluttering, your breath catching.

“No husband,” you demure, flexing instinctively against his hand, “please tell me more.”

“Those in the Americas believe it brings luck to the birthday person. You get a light spank on the buttocks for each year you have been alive,” he intones, his breath hot on your cheek as his long fingers swirl patterns into the silk, and he adds, “And an extra one for luck.”

“Are you really going to spank me twenty-seven times?” you gasp, unable to stop rubbing your thighs together with glee.

“No, wife,” he corrects, his lips sliding down to your neck to suck on the cord of your neck. “I'm going to spank you twenty-eight times. Unless you do not want any luck?”

“I want it,” you rush out, and he chuckles warmly at the speed of your response.

Then his hand raises from your bottom, and you miss its warmth, but only briefly, as he slaps it back down, a light tap on the silk. You moan quietly, the sensation not enough but spiking your arousal.

“Count for me, darling,” he requests, right in your ear.

“One,” you stutter.

“Well done,” he rumbles approvingly, and the praise causes all of your body to bloom. You will do anything when he speaks as such.

He does the same to your other buttock, just a very light, gentle tap of his fingers.

“Two,” you count dutifully, twisting to look at him again, but he stops you.

“No, face forward,” he commands with a warm chuckle, pressing your head gently so it hangs between your shoulders where you cling to the wood.

He manhandles your hips so you are shuffled backwards, more bent over, before there is another spank. This one is more intense, back to the original cheek, and you exhale slightly at the feeling, knowing he is just warming you up.

“Three.”

He makes an approving noise at the back of his throat as he pulls back the same hand and spanks right on top of where he just had, taking you by surprise; you had expected him to go to your other cheek.

“Four.”

“I have to keep you on your toes, do I not?” his voice laced with amusement as he intuits your thoughts.

You sigh your approval as he traces his fingertips gently over the sting. You rub your thighs together, seeking friction for the throb growing between your legs.

Rapidly, he glances a blow on your other cheek, a bit more insistent now.

“Five,” you exhale obediently, hanging your head and wanting him to strip off your last layer of silk underwear to touch your bare skin. “More” escapes your lips unbidden.

He huffs a laugh bemused and leans over your back. “More of what, darling wife?” he teases, his breath hot on your cheek.

“I want your hands on my skin,” you rush out, blushing.

He chuckles again and spanks the other cheek, his fingers lingering.

“Six.”

“If you are very well-behaved for me, perhaps I will,” he dangles the promise softly, and you groan almost in frustration.

He reigns four quick successive blows onto either cheek, the cool silk almost soothing against your button as it becomes more heated.

“Seven, eight, nine, ten,” you reply, biting your lip and looking over your shoulder at him. He flicks his head fractionally with a pointed eyebrow, telling you without telling you to look away again. “I want to look at you, husband,” you grouse a little, pushing back into his grip spanning your cheek.

“I’ll stop if you keep looking at me,” he warns in a playful tone.

“Fine,” you grouse and look away,

He laughs at your faux indignation and, as he does so, spanks both checks at the same time.

“Eleven, twelve.”

“Good girl,” he purrs, knowing the effect it has on you, your skin pebbling in goosebumps and a frisson running down your spine at the low, honeyed tone he uses.

Another two blows have you blowing out a puff of air, getting closer to the strength that leaves his mark over your skin for a short while.

“Thirteen, fourteen.”

But you can’t help but smile as his left hand spiders to your hip, to the little row of tiny buttons there holding on your silk underwear. He deftly plucks them open as you breathe shallow, excited, pushing back towards his body. With a push from the hand still resting on your cheek, the material flutters to the ground, and you step out of them as his large hands slide to encircle both cheeks, fingers splayed wide.

“Your skin is blooming under my attention, darling,” sounding proud of his handiwork thus far. “But I won't be satisfied until I can see handprints, so hold on because it's time for the real spanking to behind now, my love.:

You can scarcely believe this is happening; your dress hitched over your back, bottom half now utterly bare, hanging onto the staircase in your hallway, sconces blazing, and the glass window to the street unobscured by its velvet drape. Should anyone walk by at a certain angle, they would surely see you if they happened to glance in; it feels by design.

“Anyone could see us, Benedict,” you point out, nodding to the window off to the side.

“Do not pretend as if that does not make you want this even more, darling wife,” he rumbles, leaning over your back so his lips brush your ear.

He’s right. Your husband has an exhibitionist streak that makes you crave him. He wants the world to know you are his, and if they want to watch as he takes control of you, he will let them. And god, you will let him do it too.

“Let them look at this, your beautiful bottom and…” you gasp as two of his finger trail down between your legs and glance your folds “.. this luscious wet cunt, weeping just for me.”

You whimper as the words fall from his lips, so scandalous but said with such a lyrical cadence; they are elegant like poetry. Your cries get louder as he pushes one long elegant finger into your body, as the other hand spanks hard upon your naked flesh.

“I…I have forgotten my number,” you hurriedly confession over a moan as Benedict slowly rocks that finger into and out of your body, your clit throbbing, desperate for his touch.

“What a pity; we were halfway there….” he sighs, giving you a hint, his fingers going still.

“Fifteen!” you announce triumphantly at your quick calculation, and he makes an approving noise of your depiction and thrusts deeper into your cunt adding a second finger.

“Well done,” he chimes as you moan his name and start to rock back into his movements; the squelching sound of your body as he finger fucks you seems so loud in the echoey hallway.

“I love that sound,” he comments as if he knows where your thoughts have run before reigning another spank onto your cheek, hanging onto the fleshy spot he had hit, his fingers flexing as you cry out. “And that one, too,” he adds smugly; you know, without looking, he is wearing that handsome smirk of his.

“Sixteen,” you count.

“So, so good for me,” he praises, removing his fingers from inside you and painting a wet trail of your arousal across your heated bum cheek. He spanks with that damp hand, the moisture somehow adding a sharp edge to the ache. You squeal faintly as he huffs a laugh, swirling a pattern of juices over your flesh.

You whine at the loss of his fingers inside you, praying he will slide the other hand between your legs to soothe the entirely different sort of ache there. But he does not. He just spanks again with each hand slightly cupped, the noise so loud and the impact so great your whole body jerks.

“Urghhh… seventeen, eighteen,” you sigh, then clear your throat. “Please, may I have your fingers again?” your ask, meek, keeping your head down.

There is another loud spank that makes you exhale heavily.

“Nineteen.”

“What was that darling?” he teases, playing the fool. You know he heard you; there is nary another sound in the house; he just wants you to say it loud, to beg for him.

“I would like your fingers inside me again, please, husband,” you pronounce crisply, pulling your head up and staring at the wall ahead of you, not turning around as he asked.

“Oh, good girl,” the hand that was not inside you reaching to stroke your face affectionately. “You did not so much as turn your head; you deserve a birthday treat indeed,” he hums as you push your cheek into his palm, rubbing like a cat. Until he withdraws the hand, and you inhale sharply as you hear the unbuttoning of his trousers.

Yes, yes, oh god, yes, even better, your mind screams as your cunt clenches, so very keen for him.

You can practically hear the smile as he notices the quiver of excitement in your legs and runs a thumb slowly up the back of your thigh before grabbing his cock and lining up. You are babbling soft pleas under your breath as he teases you, running his tip over your sensitive, swollen nub and chuckling at your frustrated snuffle.

Fingernails gouging into the wooden post you grip, your throat releasing a feral sound as he pushes into you abruptly, plumbing deep, your soaked channel providing no resistance to his deep thrust, pulling him into your hilt with a ripple of excitement. He groans and utters how wondrous you feel, tight around his cock. Just as you want to ask him to move, a hand spanks hard on your left buttock, and you cry out, almost having forgotten.

“Twenty!” you cry out, fingers flexing, legs stiffening, pushed so close to orgasm merely by him fucking into you with one stroke.

“Push back onto me, darling,” he tutors glibly, a hand wrapping around the crest of your hipbone to encourage your movement.

You do as told, bending your arms to pull away and straightening them to push back so he sinks to the hilt. The invasion makes your eyes roll, makes you begin a greedy rhythm, chasing what you want as he clucks affirmative noises. The hand releases your hip, and you know what is coming; he spanks just as you push back onto his cock, your own motion making the blow that much more impactful.

“Twenty-one.”

It's a frenzy of movement as you start to fuck yourself onto him in earnest, and he rewards you every few strokes with a spank on your bottom, your skin glowing hot as your clit throbs for attention. You wish you weren't still in your dress, your stays pinching your ribs and breasts as your lungs inflate with ragged pulls; the material around your bicep pinching skin as you pump your arms for leverage, fucking back onto him.

“May I touch myself?” you pant after you have obediently counted the twenty-fifth blow.

When he gives permission, your hand slides between your folds instantly, snagging that swollen pearl and groaning loudly at the firework it fires inside you. You speed up, he growls, the grip on your bottom harsh after the next spank; he's going so hard now your body jolts with every hit.

“Twenty-six!” your call is urgent, breathless, needy, knowing it just spurs him on, wanting to push you to the edge and pull you over with him.

“Come on, birthday girl,” he implores, “just two more,” you can tell from the tone he won't last much longer either, both of you overwrought from the explosive passion.

You know the last two will be harsh; you are holding your breath as his right hand blows so hard you scream, the elixir of the harsh strike on your glowing skin melding with the pleasure of his cock pushing you open as your fingers scrabble over your clit.

“Twenty-seven!!”

He leans over your back, still mostly dressed himself, and you know you are both sweaty now with the exertion, feeling his sticky forehead rest on the nape of your neck, below where your hair is pinned up but rapidly loosening with the jerking motions you make together. He is gusting breaths and starts to meet your thrusts, the press of his pelvis heavy against yours.

“Here comes your good luck, darling,” he grunts, pulling his head up to teeth the skin at the hairline of your neck.

The last blow is both hands at once on the outer edges of your cheeks where they meet your thighs—the sting on this new, delicate spot almost blinds you.

“Twenty-eight!!” you howl; your body is breaking, the sensation all too much. Your bottom smarting, raw, your cunt convulsing vice-like on his cock as something inside you snaps and your whole body shudders and shakes, blood rushing in your eardrums, mouth slack and screaming. He has to grasp your hips as your body goes limp, and with a final shout, you feel his fingers curl around and dig into your belly as he stills and empties his seed deep inside you, winded, the veins in his neck pulsing as he comes so hard you almost lose your footing.

For a few moments, it's just laboured breathing, him pulling you upright as his cock softens and slips from your body, curling you into a tight embrace from behind you. Dress hem still looped around your wrists, you turn around and twine your arms around his neck, pulling him down for an artless but satisfying kiss.

“Thank you for the best birthday present ever,” you murmur. Benedict smiles almost bashfully now that playtime is over. Delicately he picks you up into his arms and carries you up the staircase to bed.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @Mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton smut #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton

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spadesolace · 8 months

Text

feel special - im nayeon x producer! reader

synopsis: in the midst of thousands of faces trying their best to capture a certain bunny’s heart. you were the only person who captured her attention through your skills in music, to capturing her heart with your very own heart.

spade speaks: nayeon is actually my ult bias (along with yeji) who made me stick around and listen to k-pop. on top of this, feel special being my fave album for various reasons. happy very belated birthday to my fave album and to my fave bunny!

if there was one thing you know about nayeon, is that she prefers the quiet and serene moments of being alone, watching some show on tv, and having kookeu by her side.

nothing beats that.

yes, she loves her members, they’re her second family but living with 8 girls for 3 years then moving to a bigger place with 2 roommates, she still chose to stay in her room. then you arrived.

you were no one in the midst of hundreds of producers wanting to work with the group, to say the least, maybe it was fate that made you two meet. jyp did in fact introduce you two, from working with their twicetagram album to becoming a constant producer in various b-sides.

im nayeon, who’s voice is as sweet as honey, one to bring you comfort, and overall just bring a smile to your face.

before her, solitude was in your studio with your dog who would keep you company as you vibe to music you’ve produced. your place was never quiet, there was always some sort of music playing in the background, and twice became a constant to your playlist. a part of you immediately would distinguish nayeon’s voice in every twice song, maybe it was because she’s your bias.

a little part of you wanted to get to know her, not just as colleagues, but as friends.

it started small, from bringing her drinks so as to not make her throat dry from singing for hours. visiting her after practice just to hear her talk about her day, from overall just being there.

it didn’t take long for you to ask nayeon out on a proper date, similar to the ones you’ve been doing for months. this time, there was an actual label to it, not simply a hang out to talk about each other’s day. it wasn’t much, you just invited her to your place where you cooked dinner, hearing her talk about digesting oil as there are benefits to it, having kookeu and your dog play around as you two played board games to kart rider.

“no, i don’t see any benefits in consuming oil aside from getting sick.” the debate was still on-going as the game went on, you were leading with nayeon barely catching up.

“it’s tasty and consuming oily food would get you sick.”

“eating straight up oil is worse, nabong.” who knew you would fall for this girl who eats oil.

your date was a complete success, having to cuddle with nayeon as you watched carol. bringing her back to the dorm was bittersweet, a part of you didn’t want it to end but clearly, nayeon had different plans. watching her about to leave your car, she looked back at you, a smile evident on her face.

“i’ll plan the next one.” a kiss on the cheek was all it took just for her to have your heart.

one date turned to two, then three, then it became weekly.

there was not a time that you two weren’t together. her free time was spent in your studio as you two made songs together that the world would not get the chance to hear. having the chance to hear you sing behind closed doors, persuading you into posting it on your socials. it didn’t take long for that snippet to go viral.

every love story had to start somewhere and yours was about work. from listening to her sing her parts in sweet talker, helping with their japanese album, do the remix for their concert, and overall just admire the girl.

at the very same studio you two first met; you had finally called nayeon yours.

nayeon’s idea of solitude changed from the day she met you. it was no longer being stuck in her room scrolling on her phone or watching a random series or movie on the tv with kookeu. it was now with you, in the comfort of your home where she could be alone… with you.

when their tour started, slowly your time together faded. nayeon was busy and all you could do was consider the situation, the girls are still at their peak and you were merely there to help them out. she still used her free time with you when she’s back in korea, talking about the tour and how fun it was but she wished you could be there to watch them. you did, yet it was only the first day at seoul. so, when their manager had given you a ticket to their manila concert, you immediately took it, letting their management know that you wanted to surprise the girls.

when your girlfriend was busy doing the concert, you watched with keen eyes on how the group you’ve adored since debut to working with them and now, dating the girl of your dreams, felt too surreal. too surreal.

that’s where your thoughts left you with, would nayeon get tired of you? would she pick her career over you? until when will she settle for you and realize she deserves better?

ironic how you’re watching her perform with the loudest crowd there is to date, and you’re overthinking your relationship with who you consider the girl of your dreams… you fear waking up from this dream and return to reality with nothing but disappointment waiting for you. but this is reality. she’s your girlfriend, nayeon is and will be proud to call you hers as you call her mine.

“y/n? you ok?” their manager looked at you as the show finally ended, watching the crowd leave the venue. everything feels gloomy, tiring, anxious would be the better option to describe your state.

“yeah, just tired.” it may have been unnoticed by the manager that you were lying but clearly one nayeon saw you with the same smile you give her but with eyes calling for help, she knows something is wrong.

nothing goes past nayeon, especially when it comes to you. the thing is that she knows not to ask until you feel ready… but whatever is running in your mind makes her worried. you’re one for open communication, she knows this as your colleague and girlfriend, not once did you not voice out your concern for anything. what’s stopping you now?

maybe it was the fact that your best friend, mina, is telling you how much she needs to keep going. she has to, as she would say. you knew of her state for quite a while now, but there was something after their manila concert that just made her break. you were at the manila concert, the way mina was struggling, oh you can never tell your best friend what you’ve been thinking when she needs you the most.

nayeon watched your interaction with mina, she knows well enough how deep your friendship goes but she can’t merely just watch how you were also distancing yourself from her. not when there is clearly something going on inside your mind that you can’t seem to hide anymore. that’s where it started, the sad songs, how you’re writing ballads rather than your usual upbeat music that most of their songs are about. even when mina is already in hiatus and planning to go home for a bit as to recharge and be under the care of her family. you were lost, gone, mind running with the possibility of nayeon leaving you as if you’re not doing it yourself.

that was a toxic defense mechanism, one that you’ve done multiple times. if it weren’t for jihyo’s stubbornness, you would have continued avoiding nayeon.

in your studio where everything is normally organized was a complete mess, jihyo took notice of your eyebags, the amount of takeout containers. the sleep deprivation and the lack of sunlight was getting to you. phone on do not disturb as you avoid replying to nayeon or just sending cold replies, everything is out of place. slowly, jihyo took care of you, cleaning the studio while you finally slept. that was where she took notice of the little things, how you and mina had been talking, keeping your best friend company who was back in her home country, while she was clueless to how you were overanalyzing your relationship with nayeon and how mina being on break took a mental toll on you.

“you can’t keep running away from her. not when she also needs you right now.” jihyo has always been right, the girls have had quite a hard hit when mina went on hiatus, some of which were scared of what the future holds and nayeon was handling it quite poorly.

“jihyo, she’ll realize that she deserves someone better, and it’s not gonna be me.”

“she needs you, y/n. you’re the best thing that has happened to her and you can’t just decide on what’s better for her when you haven’t told her what you’re going through.”

while jihyo took care of you, slowly making sure you were properly talking to nayeon as she set up a schedule with your personal psychiatrist. slowly you were back on track. therapy was an eye opener, how you’re the one ruining the relationship for not knowing how to communicate your concerns because you deem it to be childish.

if it weren’t for jihyo, things would have been different. you wouldn’t be in front of nayeon’s dorm holding a bouquet and a bag filled with her comfort food. you wouldn’t be crying in front of your girlfriend as you told her every single thought. you wouldn’t be able to call her yours as she gave you reassurance that you’re the best thing that has ever happened to her.

“you’re so dumb thinking that i’ll leave you.”

“i know, it’s just that- you’re literally a superstar with everyone falling for your charms, how can i not think of that?”

they say fear attracts.

in nayeon’s eyes, the idea of losing you was the last thing on her mind. that if you were gone, she’d prefer to stop being an idol and try her best to have you back. losing you is one of her biggest fears along with losing her members. when one of her greatest fears (mina going on hiatus) was close to becoming reality, she needed you. she wanted you to know that she needs you the same way that you need her. if fear would be the reason for your breakup, nayeon has every right to call you dumb; you love her yet you won’t fight for her?

solitude for you has and will always be nayeon, losing that would result in chaos, disruption of your peace. you can live without music but without nayeon in your life, without the girl who you tried to push away and yet she still stayed, it would be stupid of you to let her go.

when things have been settled, and jyp asking for your help in producing two of their b-sides, you couldn’t say no to what the message of the album was. having to perfectly encapsulate your thoughts and emotions along with the group’s own thoughts being let out. aside from the chance to work with your best friend and girlfriend; feel special holds a place in your heart.

even when the world becomes dark and you’re consumed by your thoughts, you’re reminded that nayeon is there for you, that she has the patience to understand what is happening inside your brain.

so when her birthday is a few days away, you wanted to surprise her. something that screams that i’m glad to have you in my life. and no, an engagement ring would be too early in your relationship of around 5 months. what better way than to spend the entire day or at least an hour together as she prepares for their comeback the following day.

in some world, or way, you’re back to how you first started, admiring the girls as you make a name in the industry. nayeon shines on stage and it has been like that for years. even when the pandemic hit and you could only talk virtually until things lightened up. in every song she writes, you were a part of it, and when her solo debut was on the works, one call away and you’ll produce half of it.

to nayeon, you’re every song she’s written, every song she covers, and a vital piece to her everyday life.

to you, nayeon is your solitude, baby blue love, and your everything.

“happy birthday, love.” you wave your candybong with the crowd singing happy birthday to nayeon, and in the midst of the crowd, her eyes are set only to you.

#twice scenarios #twice imagines #twice #twice x reader #twice nayeon #nayeon #twice x you #im nayeon #nayeon imagines #nayeon scenarios #nayeon x reader

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