DREAM

➽ #𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐄: 𝘪'𝘮 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 !! 💥♡

[dreamstation]

➽ #NAV »

hiya! i'm doe and welcome to my (mostly) nct dream shrine :) feel free to stay and talk to me <3

INFO. | CARRD. | MASTERLISTS.

FIC RECS. | WORKS IN PROGRESS.

#RECENTS ::

– 14:42 | p.js >> fluff, noona!reader, 0.5k

– 17:18 | n.jm >> fluff, best friend!jaemin, 0.5k

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[dreamstation]

– katabasis | p.js

There’s an incomparable beauty to it – death wearing the skin of life.

Jisung sees it too.

PAIRING. park jisung x gender neutral!reader

GENRE. urban fantasy, taxidermist!reader, rich buyer!jisung, monster hunter!donghyuck

WORD COUNT. 4.3k

WARNINGS. cryptids and monsters, folklore, mentions of corpses, implied murder

TAGLIST. @moonlightjeno, @haikchoo-main, @adorablele  

NOTES. read the warnings if you get confused. AO3 ver.

He’s here again.

The tall man with the pearl necklace who never actually purchases anything, to your dismay, and instead spends his time looking, only looking, at the same mounts over and over again before rushing away when you get close. You often catch him nodding and whispering to himself. Studying them, perhaps? Looking for imperfections that aren’t there.

You have half a mind to shove the mounted specimen into his hands and dare him to find a single fault. You pride yourself on being the best at what you do. And so you find yourself walking up behind him, silent steps on porcelain floor. “Hello!”

The man startles, broken out of his stupor, turning around with wide eyes and furrowed eyebrows. A timid smile fast replaces the look on his face, and he greets you in a hushed voice, "Hello."

"May I help you with something?"

"Oh, I'm just… looking around," the man says. He shakes out his hair and glances at the mounts, eyes flitting over them one by one. The smell of dried, pressed marigolds wafts through the air – a sweet floral scent with a bitter edge.

"Are you looking for anything specific?"

"I – I wanted to start collecting,” he says after a while, glancing at you before his gaze wanders away once more. “I'm afraid I haven't really thought past that…"

"Well, that's alright. Easily remedied," you nod, offering a smile you hope seems understanding. "Do you know what it is you’d like to start collecting?”

The man stands and stares at you with a blank look. Moments pass without the sound of the man’s voice and so you suggest, “Birds? Insects?”

You laugh at the face the man makes at your last suggestion. “A clear no for the insects, then.”

“Uh, well – I’d like a mount for my living room,” the man tries for a smile – bashful, sweet –, taking his hands out of his pocket. He clasps his hands together and tilts his head up to the ceiling, looking lost in thought before he catches himself and continues, “Something classy? Majestic? Something to make it less … empty.”

“I certainly have plenty that fit these conditions,” you smile, finding something oddly endearing in the way the man behaves himself.

You beckon for him to follow and begin walking toward the collection of your larger mounts, leaving the man to trail after. Though much unlike your usual clients, there have been few like him who have come to your shop without knowing what it is they want – typically the ones who walk out empty-handed. It’s not something that bothers you, but you’re determined to end this one differently.

The man stays silent as you begin to provide advice on the variety of mounts that would best suit his needs and expectations.

“And these… are sourced ethically?”

You blink, baring teeth in a wide smile. “Of course! I have different sources for all the specimens I work on.” You turn around, gesturing to all the different mounts and figures displayed around you. “Hunters, of course. Veterinarians, Animal Control, and the local Pet Store often donate as well – strays, pets that have passed away, and animals who cannot be re-released."

The man nods, mouth shaped in an ‘O’ as he listens to your usual spiel to clients who come concerned, asking the very same. ‘Ethical Taxidermy’ is a label you find as humorous as it is ill-defined, slapped on difficult work to make more appealing. It’s not something you’re innocent nor repentant of when it comes to the business you truly want to run.

"Better off here, wouldn’t you agree?” you tilt your head. “Better off taken care of, preserved to look as they had when alive, rather than thrown in the garbage or cremated.”

“Given a second life,” the man murmurs, looking straight back at you, unafraid to meet your eye.

A smile graces your lips, pleased. “That’s right.”

Silence ensues – strange, but not entirely uncomfortable. When the man averts his gaze, turning his attention back to the array of mounts he’s seen time and time before, you take the opportunity presented to you. You rake your eyes over raven hair and olive skin, a Greek nose, and full lips, rosy and dampened by a quick flash of tongue. Eye the patterned scarf, silk and expensive, draped over long limbs dressed in a brown sweater and a pink button-down, and the white pearls adorning his ears and hanging from his neck. It’s something out of a magazine – the way the man dresses.

“It’s an incredible collection you have,” the man remarks. He looks back at you with a curious gaze. “What has been your most extraordinary project to date?”

It’s not a difficult question to answer.

“An ongoing one at the moment,” you say, thinking fondly of the mount that waits for you behind closed doors. “A long, repetitive, arduous procedure that I continue to better my abilities with.”

The room stays quiet. You do not say more and the man strangely does not ask. You look back into dark brown eyes and smile, strangely aware of the beat of your heart.

Moments pass after moment until the silence is broken. “Which would you recommend?” he asks. “Out of all the mounts?”

“Generally, I would recommend starting small if you don’t know where to begin. Work your way up to bigger mounts. But if you have no personal preference and merely want something big – something that takes up a considerable amount of space in your living room without crowding it – I suppose it all depends on how large your living room is then.”

“Quite big,” the man says, nodding to himself. “Very big.”

“Then a bull moose, perhaps,” you say. You lead the man to where the mount stands; the proud being it is, and rightfully so. You’ve strived to keep it all in this portrayal – the confidence in its gait, the strength in its physicality, the pride in its abilities. “A majestic piece. Powerful. An incredible way to lessen the emptiness of a large room.”

You wait – wait until you’re rewarded with the words you want to hear.

“I’ll take it.”

You smile. “Perfect.” You’ve done this hundreds of times before – but this feels different. This man will be back, hasn’t even left yet, and you already find yourself looking forward to it all the same.

“I’ll need you to fill this out,” you tell him, when you’ve relocated to the counter and you’re handing him the formalities. “Your name, date of birth, the address you’d like me to deliver it to, and your signature, please.”

It’s a process as swift as it is quiet.

The bell rings when the man leaves your studio and you glance at the paper in your hands.

Park Jisung.

Jisung returns not even two weeks later and purchases another mount – a towering menace of a beauty that you had slaved on after Kun had brought it in nearly a year ago. One of the oldest mounts still left in your store, you’re almost sad to see it go. Almost.

You had seen him before he came in – watched him bumble in his patterned scarf, pearl necklace strung neatly on his neck, pausing right before he pulled the door open. The bell had rung and you smiled from your desk, bright and wide.

“Here for another?”

Jisung had nodded, a sheepish smile on his lips, and it was all too easy for you to lead him to your biggest mounts.

Jisung naturally gravitates to your bigger mounts, looking for more to make his space less empty he says. Make it comfortable, make it occupied.

It’s all Jisung will consider seriously, all he’ll consider with the intention of actually taking it off your hands. Naturally, you disagree; reasons with him that smaller specimens can have a mighty presence too, when displayed correctly.

(Jisung takes home a box that visit, a golden hamster inside that you find Jisung bears a resemblance to. You find out later on that Jisung keeps it in his bedroom and is elated.)

It becomes a routine. You see the passing months in pieces, but standing front and center of your mind is this: Jisung returning with his bottomless pockets of money and simply buying another creature, another mount – whatever he likes like it’s nothing to him. Thousands spent, tens of thousands spent, all on finished works, but he comes back, intervals never longer than a dozen days.

“These can’t all be for your living room,” you remark one day, watching as Jisung signs away thousands of dollars yet again.

“It’s not,” Jisung says easily, not even bothering to look up. “I’ve emptied out a room for them.”

You stare until Jisung meets your eyes and you laugh, suddenly breathless. You tell Jisung to show you a picture the next time he comes back, but Jisung merely shakes his head.

“You should see it in person,” Jisung says. “It’s better in person.”

Your heart thuds, and you smile, “I’ll wait for your invitation.”

Change comes in a quiet voice, thinly veiled curiosity asked in a voice that’s grown so familiar you don't register it at first.

It's a simple question – but it changes everything, that much is clear.

“How do I commission a specific creature?”

“Usually, you’d have to pick a hunter first,” you say. “Commission the kill and then instruct them to bring the corpse to me.”

“Oh.”

You glance at him, wandering back and forth, unable to stand still, from mount to mount like he hasn’t seen these a dozen times by now. “Which would you like?” you ask, tilting your head. You place your pen down and lean back into your chair. “I have friends who can hunt it for you.”

Jisung looks back at you. There's a moment of prolonged silence and you observe the way Jisung lowers his gaze to the ground and blinks – the way his eyes glaze over like he’s gone somewhere else entirely. He walks back to the counter slowly, meets your eyes slowly. It takes a while for Jisung to communicate what he wants. “I want something so special I believe only you would be able to provide.”

“Flattering,” you say, eyebrow raised and a smile pulling at your lips. “I won’t do it for free despite that.”

Jisung doesn’t hesitate with his answer. “I’ll pay whatever amount you’d like.”

“What is it then?”

Jisung blinks – opens his mouth, then shuts it. “Cryptids,” he says. “I’d like to commission a cryptid mount.”

It’s hard to ignore the spark that crackles inside your stomach after Jisung utters his request. The ceiling lights feel a little stronger, white and bright and casting shadows on Jisung’s face. Angular lines on the essence of youth.

“And if I told you I don’t do them?”

Jisung’s face stays carefully blank. “Then I would ask you to forget I ever asked.”

You laugh. Shaking your head, you comb a hand through your hair as you stand from your seat. “Cryptid mounting isn’t illegal here, Jisung. Looked down upon, sure. But it’s never really done by the people who matter, is it?”

It's endearing to you – the way Jisung ducks his head, skirting the statement he could've easily known through some research, skirting the question he already knows the answer to. You don’t wait for an answer Jisung won't provide. You turn around; Jisung follows.

The cryptid room is bigger though less filled, with a higher ceiling to accommodate for the towering heights the creatures have. You look back at Jisung who looks around, eyes brimming with the sort of wonder you would argue one could only see in a child.

“Not your first time seeing one?”

“No,” Jisung shakes his head. “No, my parents kept one on display in our living room as I grew up.”

“I see,” you say. “What was it, exactly?”

“A Baku.”

“Dream-eaters,” you note. Common then, rarer now, after all the hunting history and folklore have put it through. You’ve never mounted a Baku before. “Did it work?”

Jisung makes a face, pressing his hands to his cheeks, eyes still trained on the exhibit, jumping from creature to creature. His voice comes out distracted. “Hm? Not really.”

“Is that what established the curiosity?”

“I suppose so.”

The answer comes in a voice bordering absentminded, so you leave it at that, letting him pace the room and explore the options he's been presented.

“I’ll take this one,” Jisung points to a Wendigo you’d mounted months before you ever approached Jisung, abandoned by its original buyer after seeing the sheer size of it. “Along with the commission.”

You smile, thinking of the present that came alongside it.

"A what?"

"A Katshituashku," you drawl into your phone, dragging every syllable out. Donghyuck is seated, in what you would guess is the little gas station at the corner of Main and Seventh, toying with the straw in his drink. You see Jaemin in the background and consider sending him a wave before he disappears from the frame entirely.

"No, shut up, I heard you the first time," Donghyuck says, a scowl pulling at his lips. He looks up from his drink, “A Katshituashku?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, that’s –” Donghyuck pauses. The interest on his face is evident; taking down a Katshituashku would make for great publicity, near invincible as it is, only wounded through the soles of its feet. You already know the answer before Donghyuck says it. “Where?”

“How would I know? That’s your job.”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes and sets his drink aside. “Sorry I assumed the buyer knew where what he wanted was?”

You sigh, “He mentioned Maine?”

“How much?”

“For free.”

Donghyuck reaches out and grabs his phone from whatever it’s leaning on, shoving his face closer to the camera. He narrows his eyes, “I’m hanging up.”

“Have you ever known me to be a cheapskate?” you huff. “Do it quickly and you can name whatever price you want, yes?”

Donghyuck lights up, well aware that you would give him whatever amount he asks for – if kept reasonable. He grins and salutes you through his screen, “Whatever you say goes, boss man.”

You text Jisung as soon as it arrives.

The body was delivered today. You can come see it, if you’re free.

Jisung shows up in record time.

You don't know why you ask, but the words come easy, like it's been sitting on your tongue for years, waiting to be said at that exact moment. "Would you like to watch?"

Jisung stills, looking at you with wide eyes. "I'm sorry?"

"Would you like to watch me work on your commission?" you cock your head to the side. "You can come whenever you’d like to. If you have nothing else to do, that is."

“I’d love to!” he beams, clasping his hands together akin to a prayer. “To stay and watch, please.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Don’t you have a job? Matters to attend to?”

“Not one that expects me too much.”

"A strange job. Or the ideal one. If you're earning enough to be buying as many mounts as you are." You purse your lips. “Stay where I can see you. Peripheral or central vision. I don’t like people wandering around my workshop without my knowledge.”

Shifting from one foot to the other, Jisung tugs at the ends of his clothes, nodding at every word that comes out of your mouth.

“Most importantly – do not distract me,” you warn him, wagging your finger at the taller man. “Else it is your commission quality on the line.”

The smile on Jisung's face is brighter and warmer than any bonfire you’ve ever set.

Jisung proves capable of following your simple rule the first few weeks, only asking his burning questions once you’ve put down your tools and seated yourself beside him for a break.

“Isn’t it limiting?”

“What is?”

“Not opening during business hours. Being open six hours a day, only three days a week limits your market reach.”

You shrug. It’s always worked for you. More time to dedicate to the crafting process, more to maximize productivity. “I reach the people I want to reach. Friends, friends of friends.” People who can afford it. People who can and have no problem ignoring the illegal aspects that could come with the practice, you leave unsaid.

“You’re one of the only ones who come to visit my lonely little store, anyway. Most customers don’t personally come to the shop,” you continue. “They call, they email, they make the order and put in a deposit. Then I ship the mount when I’m finished.”

Jisung keeps quiet. Stays in his place, in the corner of your eye, and absentmindedly traces the wood grain of the table. His eyes never seem to leave you. Not until you look back.

“I’m not in it for the money,” you say, after a long stretch of silence. God knows you have enough.

“I know,” Jisung says, a small smile on his face. “Otherwise you’d be charging me for this commission a whole lot more.”

Jisung leaves and you finally get to work on what you’ve been looking forward to all week.

A present from Donghyuck. A burden lifted from Donghyuck.

You open another door to Mark’s smiling face and take in the cool air that greets your face. You sigh – deep, anticipatory. Content.

Mark is smiling at you, and so you smile back, wide and full, eager to keep Mark at his best.

“I almost thought you were on display.” 

You look up from what you’re doing and stare at Jisung, sitting straight and proper from where he observes. “What did you say?”

“I almost thought it was you on display,” Jisung leans forward onto the table in front of him, “So focused. Unmoving. Beautiful.”

“You should be,” Jisung murmurs, nodding to himself, and you watch the way his eyes rake over your face, the way he stares and so unabashedly meets your eyes with an indecipherable intensity. Something close to wonder. Something close to desire.

“Jisung-ah,” you say and imagine yourself standing from your seat. Walking over to Jisung and bending him over the table he’s leaning on. Jisung would let you. You know that much.

“Yes?”

“Be quiet.”

When Jisung leaves, You stay in your workshop and stare at the closed door leading to the cold room. Stare until your breath deepens and your heart rate rises.

I almost thought it was you on display.

You find that you don’t dislike the thought of it at all.

You could be. In another world. Created by the very few hands you trust. You would be a beautiful mount – Jisung’s mount – situated in his living room, his study, his bedroom. Wherever Jisung would want to place you.

Like Mark.

The first and only time Jisung breaks your rule is at your own instruction.

It comes with a cost.

“Jisung-ah?”

No answer.

You sigh, pressing your lips into a frustrated frown. “Jisung, I need those tools now.”

How long does it take to retrieve a honing steel and a simple sanding stick? Still, you receive no answer. You shudder, feeling the brush of cool air on your skin. Did Jisung open a window?

“Jisung-ah, what in the world are you doing –”

Then, you look back and see the door to the wrong room open, feeling your heart drop from your chest. The drag of your chair echoes loudly through the room, scraping against porcelain tiles. You reach for the shaving knife on the next table and wrap your fingers around it with a vicelike grip, taking tentative steps toward the opened room.

Mark has always been the most dominating presence in a room. It extends to death, still the center of attention, situated in your cold room. Jisung is transfixed.

Something ugly blooms inside your chest, a bitter flower full of thorns.

“So this is why Mark hyung’s body hasn’t been found,” Jisung says when you step into the room. “Everyone assumes he’s just been eaten by something. Flesh stripped to the bone.”

Jisung takes a step closer, and you watch as he tilts his head and begins circling the mount with a blank look on his face.

You grip the tool at hand a little tighter, and imagine what Jisung would look like – head bashed in, flesh and bone drenched in red, a face once so handsome unrecognizable to the human eye. A shame, really.

Or perhaps you’ve earned a new addition to your growing collection.

“He looks so,” Jisung pauses, lips pressing together in a tight line. “Preserved.”

“You captured his smile so well—” Jisung laughs softly and you do not know what to make of it. It’s not what you’ve expected, not what you’ve daydreamed or dreaded during those few sleepless nights.

You don’t know what you expected.

“This is embalming, isn’t it?” Jisung asks. The smile on his face is still the same – as good and as pure as you’ve ever seen on his lips. “How long does it take you? How often? Do you do it by yourself?”

“Get out.”

Jisung reaches for you, a kind, excited look in his eye that must betray what you imagine he must truly be feeling. “Y/N, it’s –”

“Get the fuck out of my store before I change my mind, Jisung,” you snap.

Jisung pulls his hands back and looks at you, taking a step back. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he looks at you – a graveyard in his mouth, filled with all the words you won’t let him say.

It’s a terrible decision that hits you full force in the stomach once Jisung disappears from sight.

Jisung doesn’t come back the next day. Or the next week. Or the week after that.

The shop feels emptier, colder. Mark’s family do not come barging in, looking for their son’s dead body, still whole and preserved, like you had intended to keep.

You continue working on the commission during the day and scream your frustration into your room during the night.

Jisung returns twenty-three days later, an hour before closing times.

You see him before he comes in, in his brown sweater and pearl earrings, pulling at the door with the certainty that he’d grown into all those months ago.

It’s too easy, inviting him back into your workshop. Too easy, falling back into old habits.

“How did you get his body?”

You evade the question and throw one of your own. “You knew him?”

“Our families are friends.”

“And were you?”

“I looked up to him,” Jisung shrugs. “I wanted to be a hunter like him – and his whole family before him, I suppose – when I was younger.”

“But?”

“My parents forbade it.”

You hum as you prepare the mold, carving muscles and veins into place one after the other. You’re making good time – further along than you had expected to be at this point. “Well, it’s a good thing they did. You’d likely fall on your weapon before even spotting the cryptid.”

“I wouldn’t fall on my weapon at all!” Jisung makes an offended sound, plump lips pursed into a pout before you send him a look that reminds him of his volume. He slouches, curling into himself before murmuring, “I’d just need training. I could’ve been a hunter if I’d gotten some.”

"Maybe." You could see it. Bloodstains on hunter's clothes, dried mud on leather boots, lethality at hand. You glance at Jisung, pressing your lips together. “You could’ve.”

“We might’ve met earlier if I had become one,” Jisung muses.

"You could still be one," you say. "Then I'd have you hunt for me."

“Was Mark your first?”

A face flashes before your eyes – striking features complemented by delicateness; sharp eyes and full lips with a captivating draw. The first. The failure. The reason why you started.

So significant then, now a muddled memory you struggle to hold on to by a loose thread. A corpse in the ground that you’ll forever regret.

You try to smile. Was Mark your first? Of course not. First victory? First triumph? Perhaps, you could say that. It’s not perfection yet, but it’s the closest you’ve gotten by far. But to get to even this level of mediocrity, you needed practice, you needed failure – as all great artists do. “What do you think?”

“No.”

“There you go.”

Moments after moments pass. You don’t need to look up from your work to know that Jisung is staring. He always is. You don’t ever want him to look away.

“Could I see him again?”

You close your eyes, pausing your work and hovering your file over the foam. “Jisung –”

“Please,” comes the plea, “Just for a moment.”

Jisung has a way of slipping through defenses, a way of pushing through the rifts with glittering eyes and quiet pleas.

Or perhaps you simply let him.

Walking inside the cold room with an audience to something you’d never meant to have on display just yet is disconcerting.

Not as it had weeks before. But unsettling nevertheless. 

It's not ready. Not perfect. Not worth presenting to someone you want to show nothing less than magnificence to.

But Jisung seems to think otherwise.

"Have I mentioned how much I love your work?" Jisung turns back to face you and smiles widely. There’s something in his eyes that washes a wave of warmth all over your body. It's admiration. Devotion.

Slowly, sweetly, you smile back and tilt your head. “No, I don’t think you have.”

Black loafers click against porcelain tiles as Jisung walks towards you, closer and closer, until you see nothing but kind eyes and full lips. The air smells like marigolds and you draw in a deep breath.

“Y/N,” Jisung says.

Mark’s watching as you reach up, cold fingertips on warm skin, cupping Jisung’s cheek. Jisung sighs, deep, content, and presses closer, closing his eyes.

“Y/N,” he says again.

Inhale. Exhale. A breath of warm air against your lips.

Jisung will make the journey with you.

The journey to perfection.

[dreamstation]

i am back if only it is to say that ive become possessed by f1 and specifically strollonso and i cannot cope so that will probably be my writing comeback

[luke-thompsons]

JENNIE + Elements

[dreamstation]

not you having this cute ass blog theme then i open your fic and its all angst blood death 😭😭

GIRL 😭 i have like three or four fluff in there okay im trying my best 😭😭

[cerisesparadise]

[01:43]⋆ ₊ ﾟ ☽ * ₊ ⋆

The room is bathed in hues of soft purples and blues, the LED lights casting a dreamy glow over the walls. The faint clicking of keyboard keys and the low hum of Heeseung’s whisper-shouts to his teammates fill the space, blending into a comforting symphony of white noise.

You stir slightly under the warm covers, eyes fluttering open as they adjust to the dim, soothing light. The sight of Heeseung, focused with his headset on, his jaw set in concentration as he leans toward his monitor, brings a small, sleepy smile to your lips.

His voice is low but animated, a quiet “Yah, Jungwon, watch your flank!” slipping through as you shift slightly in his bed. You don’t mind the noise—it’s almost familiar at this point, a part of the routine. This is how he unwinds after a long day, and knowing he’s here, just a few feet away, makes your chest feel warm.

The match ends, and Heeseung leans back in his chair with a satisfied huff, stretching his arms. Before he can load into another game, you wordlessly shuffle out of the bed, your feet barely making a sound against the floor as you walk over to him.

He blinks in surprise when you plop down onto his lap, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck and burying your face into his shoulder. “Game over?” you mumble, your voice still heavy with sleep.

He chuckles softly, his hands automatically settling on your waist. “For now,” he whispers, a gentle grin spreading across his face. “Did I wake you up?”

You shake your head lazily, your cheek pressing against his hoodie. “No… Just wanted to be closer to you.”

His heart swells, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head. “You’re gonna fall asleep here, huh?”

“Mmhm,” you hum, already drifting again.

Heeseung laughs quietly, leaning his chin against your head. “Guess I’ll carry you back to bed later. For now… stay here, sleepyhead.”

And he lets you, keeping his voice even softer for the rest of the night, his game suddenly feeling a little less important with you in his arms.

[dreamstation]

DAREDEVIL!JENO - ❝ I’m not trying to be a hero. ❞

[dreamstation]

[14:42] The silence you’ve been enjoying is cut off as a loud noise rips through the room. You close your eyes at the intrusion and purse your lips, leaning further into the couch. A weight settles down rashly beside you and you open your eyes to see Jisung’s panting and frantic figure seated next to you, eyes fixated on the hallway entrance with an alarmed look.

He whirls around and throws his arms around you, his head burying itself into the crook of your neck. His grip around you tightens as the footsteps come closer, hot breath fanning against the cool skin on your neck, sending a rush of warmth down your body.

“Noona, noona,” he whispers, his lips grazing your neck with each word. “Help, please –”

You furrow your eyebrows as you reach up hesitantly to pat him on the head, fingers weaving through damp hair. Sighing, you tug him up, and he catches on quickly, swinging a leg over your thighs and settling down on your lap. Ignoring his clammy skin and still slightly wet shirt, you wrap your arms around his waist and rub his back reassuringly.

“What’s wrong, Jisung-ah?”

“Y/N!” Jaemin practically hollers just as his lean, sweaty frame appears from the hallway. “Did you see –”

Jaemin halts as he sees Jisung in your arms, letting out an incoherent noise of indignation. His eyebrows furrow as he stares at the boy on your lap, incredulity written all over his face. “Oh, so she gets to hug you and I don’t!?”

Not bothering to turn around and face him, Jisung keeps his head tucked into the crook of your neck, nodding his head and mumbling out a faint, “Mhm, that’s right.”

A chuckle escapes you and you ruffle his hair in endearment, a soft smile settling on your face. The older boy narrows his eyes at the two of you and huffs, pursing his lips before it widens into a smile you know means trouble. “I guess I’ll just hug both of you.”

Quick to respond, you hold up your hand behind Jisung, interrupting Jaemin’s moving figure. You eye Jaemin’s shirt, soaked with enough sweat to stick onto his skin, and wrinkle your nose.

“Ew. No. Back away, Na. This is your only warning.” You tell him, curling your lip in distaste. 

“But –”

“No, you’re all wet and gross, go away.”

Jisung pulls his head back at your statement but you’re quick to push it back to where it was, petting his hair in a way to comfort. “No, no – Not you. You stay. You’re the exception.”

“But –” Jaemin starts, his lips falling into a pout.

“No buts, go.”

Whining, Jaemin walks away, off to find another victim to smother with his sweaty hugs, but you pay him no attention, focused on the younger boy in your arms. You stroke his hair gently, pressing a light kiss to the side of his head.

“Saved you,” you mumble, a smile playing on your face.

His ears flush red and you feel his lips on your neck curving into a smile. Breathlessly, he whispers, “Thanks, noona.”

[disclove]

[7:48pm] "it's like, if you really like a drink, would you only drink it once?" she asks rhetorically to the crowd. "no, right?"

"so what makes you think that you can just stop loving someone you once loved? just 'cause you say you don't like them anymore, you don't feel anything anymore. if you're being honest with yourself, your heart still beats for them, right?"

she sucks in a sharp breath once seeing a familiar face she didn't expect to see in the crowd.

mark lee.

she looks away, blinking away her tears, but she can feel his eyes glued onto her every move.

"like how there are two types of readers: book borrowers and bookstore regulars. after reading, the borrowers will think about it, then return it and pick out a new book to read. but the other type of person rereads it over and over again."

she lets out a bitter chuckle. "i mean, maybe you could argue that the ending will always stay the same no matter how many times you read the story. maybe i just have anxious attachment," she jokes.

the crowd boos. "me too queen!" someone yells and she laughs.

"anyways, that was a long segue... needed a really long distraction for my crew to set up the new stage. y'all are gonna love this song," she yells into the mic, and the drums intro starts fading in.

"the muse for this song is actually in the crowd," she announces, bravely locking eyes with the man of the hour, and mark stares back at her.

"this is my new unreleased song! it's called loving you on repeat!"

[dreamstation]

– all those times are now memories (bye, my first…) | n.jm

There was no one like Na Jaemin. As beautiful as a flurry of glittering snowflakes drifting and swirling down from the sky with grace and tenderness, always an overwhelming kindness and compassion flooding out of his actions like water bursting out of a broken dam.

Just as much as you loved him  – everything about him  – you thought he felt the same.

PAIRING. na jaemin x reader

GENRE. fluff, angst, college!au

WORD COUNT. 4.3k

WARNINGS. profanity

TAGLIST. @moonlightjeno, @haikchoo-main, @adorablele​

NOTES. this is a repost ! took the time to reread this again after such a long time and good god (derogatory)… still reposting though because this was my first born (read: first attempt at a longer fic) and it still holds a special, little place in my heart 

JAEMIN HAS never been one to wait. Coming home, there was rarely a day where you didn’t find yourself smothered and doused with kisses, his lips always so eager and starving. He’d be so impatient, wouldn’t even give you the time to set your things down. Your shoes would still be on, but you’d kiss him back just as hungrily, as if you had waited years to finally lock lips with him. As if decades had gone by without a mere glimpse of his sweet, absolutely marvelous smile.

Keep reading

[dreamstation]

– TIMESTAMPS.

☂ – angst | ☀ – fluff | ☾ – suggestive | ❀ – personal favorite

N A K A M O T O  Y U T A

5:47 — stealing (kisses) | ☀ |

L E E  D O N G H Y U C K

23:33 — up to you | ☾ |

6:32 — the beginning | ☀ |

17:27 — promise | ☂ |

14:39 — unrequited | ☂ |

20:41 — a fantasy | ☂ |

N A J A E M I N

17:18 — polaroids and you | ☀ |

[neocatharsis]

250113 CHENLE Weverse Update

[dreamstation]

- summer daze | l.dh

Painted in the most vivid, brilliant colors, Lee Donghyuck was a walking masterpiece. With your love for everything bright, everything colorful, you were bound to fall, one way or another. You’re sure he feels the same. After all, in all the nights you spend together, he holds you like no one else ever has. You felt safe in his arms, cozy in his warmth. His embrace has always felt like home. You’re so sure.

But Lee Donghyuck has never been one to be tied down.

PAIRING. lee donghyuck x reader

GENRE. fluff, angst, road trip!au, friends with benefits!au

WORD COUNT. 7.5k

WARNINGS. suggestive/sexual themes, implied sexual content, profanity

TAGLIST. @moonlightjeno, @haikchoo-main, @adorablele  

NOTES. this is a repost ! dedicated to my dearest kara.

Keep reading

[neocatharsis]

250108 JISUNG Weibo Update

[dreamstation]

[17:18] "Jaemin,“ you say, words turning into a whine. "Stop it.”

You pout when your words do nothing but draw a teasing laugh out of him. The polaroid in his hands has him smiling like a fool, showing off that beautiful smile you adore. Nevertheless, you groan, hiding your face behind your hands in regret. Jaemin brings the photo next to your hidden face, smile still intact, eyes darting back and forth as if comparing you to the photo. You grab at it, but Jaemin quickly pulls his hand back, shaking his head. “Nope, nope, absolutely not.”

Waving the photo around, he says gleefully, “I’m keeping this. Just so that you’ll never get the chance to burn it.”

Falling back onto the bed, you huff, eyeing him with narrowed eyes. He chuckles again, brushing his newly dyed hair back before carefully setting his camera to the side. Your eyes flock back to his face, wandering up from his upturned lips to his joyful eyes. His gaze doesn’t falter as your eyes meet.

“Please, stop smiling at me like that.” You murmur, covering your eyes with your arm. Putting your arm down slightly, you peek at his moving figure, kneeling on the bed and crawling his way toward you. He plops down on your side, an arm and leg thrown over your body, head propped up on your chest, still smiling proudly. You purse your lips in annoyance, and you take note of how his eyes drift down to them. “I’m not sure what will happen if you keep doing that.”

“Oh? And what exactly,” he asks, his voice low and soft, his tone unhurried, “might happen?”

You pause, taking in the proximity between the two of you. His figure draped over yours, he tilts his head in curiosity, eyebrows raised. A wry smile settles on his face, and you chuckle fondly, bringing a hand up to ruffle his hair. Your hand settles down to cup his cheek, thumb rubbing it comfortingly. His lips fall into a slight pout when you don’t answer, and you squeeze his cheek gently, lips curving into a smile.

“Just – something…” You mumble, shrugging, turning your gaze up to the ceiling. 

He shimmies his body a bit higher, in height with yours, and raises his hand, still holding the Polaroid you took just moments ago. You take in all its details; his one hand wrapped around your shoulder, pulling you close, his other hand outstretched to take the photo. With the exhilaration rushing in your head from all the enjoyment, you turned the moment he pressed the button, pressing a kiss on his cheek. The photo captured his reaction perfectly. Eyes slightly blown wide, lips parted in surprise. 

Jaemin turns his head towards you, but your eyes don’t leave the photo still raised by his hand. He pulls his hand down, and you turn to face him, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“We kinda look like a couple, don’t you think?” Jaemin whispers, his face painted with a soft smile.

You mirror his expression shyly, smile turning bashful. You look away. “Yeah… kinda.”

[dreamstation]

[23:33] The sweet taste of caramel has you smiling against Haechan’s soft lips, savoring every small moan and whimper he lets out. His hands roam your sides, soon wandering under your shirt in his attempt to pull you closer. Arms around his neck, you can’t help but entangle your fingers in his soft and fluffy locks. You gently pull at his hair, a pleased feeling spreading in your chest when he breathes out a soft gasp, hands freezing in surprise and his grip on your waist tightening.

The movie plays on in the background, long forgotten, drowned out by the sinful sound of his lips on yours, the heat between you two slowly rising. His delightful, melodic moans grow louder as you straddle his hips, his hips meeting yours halfway when you grind down on him. He tugs at your hoodie, a brief warning before he pulls it up, bunching it up at your chest, waiting for you to pull away before taking them off. Goosebumps rise all over your body and you’re not sure if it’s because of the unexpected coldness from the sudden exposure or because you and Haechan have never gone further than where you two assumed the other drew the line. 

His lips leave yours and you shiver, a whine caught in your throat as you realize his lips trailing kisses on your jaw, leading all the way to your neck. He bites down, surely leaving a mark that’ll last for a while and you whimper in surprise, your face buried in the crook of his neck. 

“We can stop this here, baby,” he murmurs, breathing heavily.

You shake your head, ghosting your lips under his ear before pulling back to see his face. “No, no. I- I want to.”

He’s hesitant, so worried, wanting to make sure you have no regrets. He looks at you, his big, doe eyes staring into yours, asking you all the questions he does not voice out. 

“I want you,” you whisper breathlessly.

Hands snaking around your thighs, he stands up, your legs around his waist, arms around his neck, as he makes his way to the bedroom. When he lays you down on the bed, he kisses you ever so softly, like he’s treading on thin ice but you kiss him back with so much passion that he thinks falling into the water, drowning in your feverish kisses and warm embrace would be even better. His hands roam your figure gently, like he’s afraid of breaking you, whispering praises and showering you with compliments. 

His lips dive back into yours, shamelessly taking your breath away, but you think if this is what it means to be drunk in someone’s love, then you’re not sure you ever want to be sober again.

[dreamstation]

STATUS UPDATE. hi guys im alive and kicking (about to throw myself out the window) 😄 lowkey been getting the itch to start posting stuff here a little more regularly again so lets see how the sitch gets 🤧