.ᐟwarnings/tags: dealer/stoner!nicho, i call him weno in this, soft dom!nicho, shy!reader, loverboy!nicho, drug use, shotgunning, romantic, making out, dry humping, praising, fingering, oral (f. receiving), p in v, mating press, crying, unprotected sex, confessing, aftercare
♡ you started buying weed for your friends and ended up falling for the dealer—turns out, he fell even harder.
.ᐟwc: 9.7k (no proofread)
You’d seen him around long before you ever spoke to him. He wasn’t the kind of guy you could ignore. Not because he was loud, Weno was anything but loud, but because he had this presence. Calm, quiet, and detached, like nothing ever really touched him. He was always there but just out of reach. The kind of person who didn’t care if people were watching, but somehow still ended up being the one everyone looked at. You had a couple classes near the same buildings. He always showed up late, always dressed like he’d just rolled out of bed—big hoodie, baggy jeans, backpack hanging off one shoulder. Never rushed. Never looked stressed. Just there. He’d walk past where you and your friends were sitting on the grass and barely glance your way. But even that one second felt heavier than it should. You didn’t know much about him, but you noticed him. You always had. Weno wasn’t exactly a mystery, everyone on campus knew what he did, they just didn’t talk about it. Not out loud, anyway. The stories passed around in whispers. That he sells, and it’s good shit too. That he never chased customers, people came to him. That if he liked you, he might give you more than you paid for. That if he really liked you, you’d know.
You didn’t know if any of that was true. But what you did know was that your friends wanted weed and were too scared to go get it themselves. So they asked you. Apparently, being the quiet one made you the designated “safe” option. It wasn’t like you and Weno were strangers, anyway. You’d talked a few times now. Nothing long, quick chats during pickups, the occasional hi at a party when you passed by each other. He’d never made you feel weird or unsafe. Just… flustered. A little warm in the chest, a little unsure what to say next. He had a way of watching you that felt deliberate, even when he said nothing at all. Your friend had shoved some cash into your hand at the last minute, babbling about how “he’s chill, he’s not scary, just please go for me, I can’t” — and you’d sighed, texting him before you could overthink it. He told you to meet him behind the dorms. 6:30. You almost didn’t go. You weren’t sure why he made you nervous, he hadn’t done anything to deserve that label. But something about him felt sharp beneath all the calm. Like he could see through you if he wanted to. When you rounded the corner that evening, he was already leaning against the side of his car, phone in hand, headphones around his neck. The sun was low, painting the edges of his face gold. You caught yourself staring before you could stop. He looked up as you approached. “Didn’t expect you,” he said, not moving. You blinked, “Why?” He shrugged, “Thought one of your loud friends would be the one to show. You’re not really the type to do this.” It wasn’t teasing exactly, but the way he said it made your face warm. You cleared your throat. “They made me come.” “Mm,” he hummed. “Figured.”
He pushed off the car, pulling a ziplock from his hoodie pocket. You reached for it automatically, but he didn’t hand it over right away. “You ever tried it?” You shook your head. “No. It’s not really… my thing.” He tilted his head slightly. Not judging, just observing. “Didn’t think it was.” he chuckled softly, then he handed it to you, fingers brushing yours for half a second too long. You looked down at your hand, not at the bag, but at where your skin still tingled. “You’re good,” he said quietly, “Let me know next time.” You nodded, muttered a soft thanks, already starting to turn away, but then he said your name. You froze and glanced back. He was still standing by his car, one hand in his pocket, the other lazily spinning his keys around his finger. The way he looked at you made your stomach flip, like he wasn’t just looking at you, but through you. “You always do stuff for your friends?” His tone was casual, but the question caught you off guard. “What do you mean?” He shrugged a little. “They want something, and you’re the one who shows up.” A pause. “That happen a lot?”You weren’t sure how to answer. It did happen a lot. They asked, you went. Not because you wanted to, but because it felt easier than saying no. You glanced down at the ziplock in your hand. “I guess,” you mumbled. “I don’t know.” He hummed low, like that told him everything he needed to know. You looked back up, ready to say something else—anything, maybe even defend yourself, but he beat you to it. “You’re a good girl.” The words were soft and genuine, but they landed heavy. Your breath caught. His gaze didn’t waver—steady, calm, like he hadn’t just said something that made your skin go warm all over. You didn’t know what to do with that. You didn’t even know what it meant coming from him. You just knew it made something flutter in your stomach. “Thanks,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. You turned and walked off a little too quickly, heart pounding, ears hot, his voice still echoing behind your ribs. You’re a good girl. You didn’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the night. It wasn’t long before your friends asked again. Same excuse, same tone, a whiny “please, he already knows you” and cash pushed into your hand like you owed them something. You hesitated more this time. Not because of them, but because of him. You hadn’t stopped thinking about last time. It replayed in your head again and again. You stared at his contact in your phone for some minutes before typing out the message.
You
hey my friends wanna grab again
He replied two minutes later.
Weno
same place 7:30
When you showed up this time, he was inside his car, driver’s door open, music playing low through the speakers. He looked up as you approached and smiled, lazy and half-lidded. “Hey,” he said, voice low. “Hey.”You tried not to sound nervous. You weren’t even sure why you were nervous. This wasn’t new. You’d done this before. But this time, it felt different. You felt different. He stepped out, shutting the car door behind him as he pulled the same ziplock from the pocket of his jeans. You took it wordlessly, but his fingers brushed yours again, on purpose this time. You could feel it in the way he didn’t rush, didn’t pull away immediately. “Still not trying it?” he asked, tilting his head. You shook your head. “Not yet.” He raised a brow. “Why not?” “I just… haven’t.” You tucked the bag quickly into your jacket pocket like it might deflect the attention. “You scared?” The way he asked it wasn’t mocking, just curious, like he wanted to understand you, not challenge you. You hesitated. “No,” you said finally. “Just don’t wanna.” He nodded slowly, watching you again with that unreadable expression. “Still doing things for your friends, though.” You pressed your lips together. “I guess.” “They ever do stuff for you?” You blinked. “What?” He shrugged. “Just wondering.” You didn’t answer. Mostly because you didn’t have one. He could probably tell, because he didn’t push. He just looked at you for a long second, eyes dropping to your mouth before flicking back up to meet your gaze as he rolled a blunt for him. “You should stop letting people use you.” The bluntness of it caught you off guard. You shifted on your feet, unsure whether to say thank you or tell him it wasn’t like that, even though maybe it was. “You don’t even like them that much, do you?” Your breath hitched. “They’re my friends.” “Mm,” he hummed. “If you say so.”
After that, it happened a few more times. The same routine: a text, a time, a quiet walk behind the dorms where he’d be waiting. Sometimes he was standing. Sometimes in the driver’s seat with the door open. Sometimes already smoking, low music humming from the speakers. And each time, it got a little easier to look him in the eye. But also harder not to look too long. Weno never talked much. He didn’t fill silence just to hear himself speak. He asked things, small things, personal in ways that didn’t feel invasive, just seen. He was trying to piece you together quietly, without making a show of it. You’d come with your friends’ money in your pocket and leave with more than you paid for. Not every time, but enough that you noticed. When you offered to give him more, he just shook his head, said “You’re good,” and he meant it, it wasn’t just about the cash anymore. You didn’t tell your friends about how often you started going. Sometimes it wasn’t even about picking up anymore. You’d hand over the cash, but he’d wave it off. “Not this time.” You started to wonder if he even gave you real amounts. If this was still a deal or just an excuse. What you did know was that somewhere along the way, something started to shift.
It was in the way your pulse picked up when his name lit up your screen. In how you started getting ready earlier than you needed to. In how you made sure your outfit and make up was cute before leaving, like that would help keep your face from giving you away when he looked at you like he always did. It was on the low. No one really knew how often you were seeing him now—certainly not your friends. To them, it was still just you doing the awkward task they were too scared for. They didn’t know that half the time you went to Weno now, it wasn’t even because of them. Sometimes they didn’t ask at all—you just found yourself texting him anyway. And he always said yes. You weren’t sure when it stopped being about weed. You weren’t sure it ever really was. Sometimes you’d sit with him for a while. In the passenger seat of his car, parked in the same quiet lot behind the dorms. He’d roll one and lean back with the window cracked, slow smoke curling out into the night while music filled the silence. He never pushed anything on you. Never asked why you stayed. But you stayed. You weren’t good at talking about yourself, and he didn’t make you. He just gave you space to exist, and maybe that was what started doing it. Maybe that’s why you kept feeling warmer every time you saw him. More sure that he saw you. And you started to open up to him. You two would hang out and talk about anything and anyone very frequently.
You were curled up in the passenger seat, legs tucked under you, jacket zipped halfway. The night was cool, and the air smelled like weed and cologne, smoke curling from the blunt between his fingers. His playlist low in the background that made it feel like time moved slower in his car. You hadn’t said much in the last ten minutes. Just sat there, letting the silence hang. But it wasn’t awkward. Weno never made things awkward. You gave him a small smile, eyes drifting out the window. The streetlights cast a warm glow across the dashboard. He tapped the ash into the tray and leaned back, one arm stretched across the back of your seat like he didn’t even think about it. “I don’t get it,” you said quietly after a moment. “You do this with all your clients?” “Do what?” he asked, eyes narrowing slightly, playful but unreadable. “This.” You motioned vaguely between you. “Sit in the car, talk like this, not charge them.” He chuckled once, deep and soft in his chest. “No.” You blinked. “No?” He turned his head, looked right at you, and shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “They’re not you.” Your stomach fluttered. You tried to play it off, but your smile gave you away. He tilted his head slightly, watching you through the soft haze in the car. “You know you’re my favorite, right?” Your head snapped toward him. “What?” He smirked, exhaled a slow breath, eyes never leaving yours. “Client,” he added after a beat, but the pause was on purpose. His smirk deepened like he knew what he was doing to you. Your face went warm immediately. “Shut up,” you muttered, covering your smile with your hand. “I’m serious.” His tone was calm. “You don’t talk much, you don’t ask dumb questions, you never waste my time.” “Oh,” you said quietly. But your smile stayed. “So I’m convenient.” He leaned a little closer, voice dropping low. “Nah. You’re cute.” Your heart jumped. You didn’t know where to look. You didn’t know what to say. So you laughed—awkward and soft, trying to bury your face in your hands like that might cool your cheeks. You left a little later than usual that night.
Three days later, when your screen lit up with a text from him, you answered in less than a minute.
Weno
u free tonight?
wanna chill for a bit?
♡
You
yeah :)
same spot?
♡
Weno
pull up at 10
no rush
You tried not to read into it too much. But you still picked out a different hoodie this time, your favorite one, did a little extra on your make up, styled your hair in way you knew framed your face best. It wasn’t a date. It wasn’t anything. But your hands still felt warm as you walked out to meet him. His car was already there when you arrived. You climbed into the passenger seat, familiar now with the way the door stuck a little when you pulled it. Same playlist was on, and the heat was turned up just enough to make the inside feel cozy. He glanced over as you settled in, eyes flicking down to your mouth before meeting your gaze again. “Hey,” he said, voice smooth, quiet. “Hey,” you murmured back, smiling a little.
The next hour passed easily, like it always did when you were with him. You talked about nothing and everything, classes, music, random campus drama you weren’t even involved in, movies you both halfway remembered, the last weird dream you had. He laughed more than usual tonight, low and slow, eyes squinting a little when something you said caught him off guard. His hand rested on the steering wheel as he listened, thumb tapping the leather in a lazy rhythm. He made you feel comfortable, like whatever you had to say mattered even if it didn’t. Like he was listening just because it was you talking. At some point, he lit up. You were mid-sentence when he leaned forward to spark the lighter, the soft flick of it barely cutting into the music. He offered it to you once out of habit, holding the blunt out between two fingers, and this time you didn’t shake your head immediately. You hesitated. Then, before you could overthink it, you took it. Your fingers brushed his. His expression didn’t change, but something in his gaze lingered longer than before. “You sure?” he asked, voice soft, a little more serious now. You slowly nodded. “Yeah. Just—don’t laugh at me if I cough.” He smiled, “I won’t.” He leaned back into his seat. “Promise.” You inhaled, a small hit, like you’d seen him do a hundred times now. It burned, made your throat tickle, your eyes water just a little, but you didn’t cough. He watched carefully, still smiling. “Good girl,” he murmured.
Your chest tightened at the words, heat blooming under your skin before you could stop it. You handed it back to him quickly, trying to focus on the burn in your lungs, the soft thrum of bass in the background, anything except how warm you suddenly felt. Time got slower after that. An hour passed in a haze, soft laughter, lazy conversation, both of you sinking deeper into your seats, the windows fogging slightly. He smoked again, and passed it back and forth to you. Your body felt lighter. Music melted into the background, his voice a little rough now. You both stared out at the empty parking lot for a while, just existing. It was quiet in the way that felt close, not awkward. Every time your knee brushed his, he didn’t move. Every time you shifted, his eyes flicked toward your mouth, then back to the road like he didn’t want to get caught looking. And maybe it was the high, or the way the space between you had been shrinking since the start, but something changed. You turned to say something and caught him already looking at you, staring. His arm was still draped behind your seat, but now his fingers were brushing your shoulder, light and casual. You blinked at him. “What?” you whispered, voice lower than before. He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you for a long second, eyes warm, thoughtful. “C’mere.” You didn’t even think. You just leaned forward, heart thudding quietly behind your ribs as his hand slid slowly to the back of your neck. He tilted his head slightly. His lips brushed yours soft at first, testing. Then again, firmer. You leaned into it. Your heart stuttered, hands unsure of where to go. One found the edge of his hoodie. The other pressed lightly to his chest. His mouth moved against yours like he’d been thinking about this for a while. He wasn’t in any rush now that it was finally happening. You kissed him back slow, high and a little breathless, your skin buzzing all over. He pulled back eventually, just enough to look at you, eyes dark and steady.
“You’re high,” he said, almost teasing. “So are you,” you whispered. He smiled, gaze dropping to your lips again. “Yeah. But I still meant it.” You smiled, small and dazed, and tucked your legs under you again, curling back into your seat. The car was quiet for a few more minutes. Nothing changed. But everything had. And when you finally said you should go, he didn’t stop you. Just nodded, reached over, and opened the door for you like he always did. Before you stepped out, he caught your wrist gently. You turned back. His eyes searched yours for a moment. “Text me when you get in.” You nodded, “Okay.”
You
made it home :)
♡
Weno
good
was starting to think u got lost
♡
You
nope
just still thinking
♡
Weno
about?
♡
You
you
♡
Weno
yeah?
what part
♡
You
the obvious part
♡
Weno
mm
i liked that part too
didn’t rlly want u to go
♡
You
u didn’t?
♡
Weno
nah
wanted to kiss u again
♡
You
i wanted to too
but i got nervous :(
♡
Weno
it’s ok bby
will i see u again soon?
♡
You
yeah
if u want to
♡
Weno
i do
♡
You
can’t wait
goodnight weno :)
♡
Weno
me neither
gn <3
You didn’t stop thinking about that night. Or his texts. Or when he said he wanted to kiss you again. The way your heart stuttered when he called you bby like it wasn’t a big deal. Like it was already normal between you. It wasn’t, not really. But it was starting to be. You’d kept texting after that. Not every second of the day, but enough. Little check-ins, good mornings, music recs, late night questions that felt heavier than they sounded. He was never overly forward, not the type to blow up your phone or say things just to get a reaction, but everything he did say stuck with you. You were head over heels. Smiling at your phone and then burying your face in your pillow like an idiot every time. So when one of your friends mentioned the party coming up—some frat guy’s birthday, everyone was going, “you have to come, it’s gonna be huge”—you didn’t think much of it at first. Until she added, casually, “Pretty sure Weno’s gonna be there too, so you can’t get us some stuff as well?” That made your heart skip. You played it off, said “yeah, cool” and shrugged, but your brain had already started spiraling. What if you saw him? What if you didn’t? What if he ignored you in front of everyone? What if he didn’t? You told yourself you weren’t going for him. But you still stood in front of your closet longer than usual. You picked a dress—short, tight, something you hadn’t worn before. Simple, but it hugged you in all the right places. You did your makeup with more care than usual, spritzed perfume on your neck, your wrists, let your hair fall soft and full around your shoulders. You didn’t tell anyone why you looked a little extra tonight. But you kind of hoped he’d be there. And you really hoped he’d notice.
The house was already packed by the time you got there—music thumping through the walls, bodies crammed together in every corner, red cups in almost every hand. Lights low, flashing sometimes, music echoing through a speaker in the living room. It smelled like sweat, beer, weed, and cheap cologne. Typical. Your friends disappeared as soon as you walked in, squealing at someone they recognized near the kitchen. You stayed back for a second, just long enough to scan the crowd. Not because you were looking for anyone. Not on purpose, anyway. And then you saw Weno. Leaning against the far wall near the stairs, hoodie half-zipped over a white tank, cargo pants hanging low on his hips, the hem of his boxers peeking a little. He wasn’t dancing. Wasn’t talking loud or laughing or drinking like the rest of them. Just standing there, calm and unreadable, eyes lazily moving through the room like he’d been here a hundred times before. He was talking to someone, dapping them up quick, pulling something from his pocket and handing it off like it was nothing. No one looked twice. Just a quiet exchange, over in seconds. He didn’t try to be subtle, he didn’t have to. People came to him. You stayed near the edge of the crowd, drink in hand, pretending to be more focused on your friends than you were. But your eyes kept drifting back. He looked good. Effortlessly good. And he hadn’t seen you yet. You tried not to look over too often. Tried to focus on your friends and their chaotic conversations, the loud music, the colorful lights. You laughed at jokes that didn’t really register. Nodded along. Sipped water from your cup and told yourself it wasn’t that serious. He wasn’t even talking to you. He was doing his own thing. Still, your gaze kept drifting. Just to see if he was still there. Still. Every time you checked, he was. Some minutes passed like that—just you pretending to be more chill than you felt while your friends chattered and moved toward the crowd. You stayed behind, needing a second to breathe. You slipped into the kitchen, mostly empty now, except for the quiet hum of the fridge and the faint bass vibrating through the floor. You reached for the fridge handle, intent on just grabbing some cold water and hiding out for a bit, but when you turned, he was already there. Standing just inside the doorway. Watching. Your breath caught.
He didn’t say anything at first. His eyes scanned you slowly—top to bottom, unhurried. You felt it like a heatwave, settling low in your stomach. His gaze was darker than usual. Focused, sharp. You dropped your eyes immediately, trying not to fidget. Tugged lightly on the hem of your dress like it might help somehow, like maybe it covered more than it did. You felt your cheeks flush without him even having to speak. You weren’t even sure why you were so nervous. You’d seen him like this before, but something about tonight made it worse. Made you bite your lip without thinking. Made your cheeks burn just from the way he looked at you. “Didn’t know you’d be here,” he said, voice calm and even. A little rough from the smoke, but still warm. You glanced up, heart racing. “Yeah,” you said, “Wasn’t really planning to, but… my friends dragged me.” He smiled a little. “I’m glad you came.” Your breath hitched. You weren’t expecting that. “You look good tonight.” It landed heavy in your chest. No teasing. No smirk. Just him saying it like it was a fact. Your whole body flushed. “Oh,” you said, voice small. “Um. Thanks.” He nodded once, eyes still on you, and then glanced back toward the hallway. “I’m heading up to the balcony for a bit. If you wanna get some air.” He didn’t wait for an answer. Just gave you one last look—soft, lingering—and pushed off the doorframe to leave. “Come find me,” he said, and then he was gone. Leaving you standing in the kitchen, heart racing, lip caught between your teeth, wondering how the hell he always made you feel like this without even trying.
You lingered in the kitchen for a while after he left, pretending to scroll through your phone, half-listening to the party still pulsing through the walls. Your friends had fully disappeared into the crowd by now, probably dancing or taking shots or screaming over music. You told yourself you were just cooling off. Just getting a break from the noise. But you couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d looked at you. The way he said it—You look good tonight. Like it wasn’t up for debate. Like he meant it, and he knew you’d heard him loud and clear. Eventually, you texted some excuse about needing air, said you’d be right back if anyone even cared that you left. You slipped out of the kitchen and made your way upstairs, heartbeat loud in your ears, feeling a little ridiculous and a lot nervous. The hallway was quiet, just some closed doors and the muffled hum of bass below. You found the door to the balcony slightly cracked open, soft breeze pushing in from the night. You pushed it open gently. There he was. He sat on a low, beat-up couch tucked against the wall. One leg stretched out, the other bent, arm thrown over the backrest like he owned the space. Head tilted back just slightly, hoodie slipping off his shoulder, lips parted around the blunt as he took a slow drag. The ember glowed red in the dark, lighting up the sharp cut of his jaw, the curve of his mouth. He looked unfairly good. Like the air belonged to him. Like nothing touched him. He turned his head lazily when he heard the door, eyes finding yours through the smoke. Didn’t smile. Didn’t say anything for a second. Just looked at you, then took another slow hit, exhaling with a quiet sigh before speaking.
“Knew you’d come.” You swallowed hard, heart kicking up again like you hadn’t already spent the last fifteen minutes trying to calm it down. His voice was low, almost lazy, but there was something behind it—something that made your chest tighten a little. You stepped out and quietly shut the door behind you. You sat down beside him, slow and careful, the cushion dipping under your weight. His knee brushed yours just slightly, warm through the fabric. You glanced over, then down again, chewing the inside of your cheek. “I just—I’d rather be up here with you than down there in all that chaos.” That got him to finally look at you. Head tilted slightly, eyes narrowed just a little like he was trying to read deeper than what you were saying out loud. He didn’t answer right away. Just flicked the ash from the blunt, leaned back again, eyes still on you. You breathed in through your nose, steadying yourself. Then softer, barely louder than the wind, you added, “I missed you.” He turned his head fully now, letting the blunt rest between his fingers. The pause that followed wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Warm. His eyes softened just a bit. “Yeah?” he said, voice a little quieter than before. “I missed you too.” It landed in your chest like a weight—like the kind of thing you weren’t sure you were allowed to want, but did anyway. He leaned in a little, not close enough to crowd you, but just enough for his knee to press softly into yours. His eyes didn’t leave your face.
“You been thinking about me?” he asked, voice still calm, but something about it made your stomach twist. You blinked. Heat rushed to your cheeks again, and you had to look away. “…Maybe.” He smiled at that, small and crooked and unfairly attractive. “Same.” And then he took another hit like he hadn’t just wrecked you with a single word. He let the silence hang for a few seconds after that, the blunt burning slow between his fingers, and then he said it quietly, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Come closer.” Your eyes flicked to his, heart stuttering a little. He didn’t look away, didn’t shift or make room, just waited. You hesitated for a second and then moved, scooting over until your leg was pressed fully against his. He reached out casually, like it was second nature, and slid his arm around your shoulders. A soft tug, and suddenly you were leaning into him, your head falling against his chest like it belonged there. You could feel everything. His warmth, the slow rise and fall of his chest, the steady thump of his heart under your cheek. His hoodie smelled like smoke and laundry and him. He brought the blunt to his lips again, took a hit, then lowered it and turned his head slightly toward you.“Want some?” he murmured. You shook your head, just once. “Not right now.” He hummed, didn’t push. Just let his hand stay where it was on your shoulder, thumb brushing idly against your arm. You didn’t say anything after that. Neither did he. You both just sat there, pressed together on the old balcony couch, the party a muffled storm below you, the stars wide and scattered above. You listened to the wind. The soft scratch of fabric when he shifted. The occasional drag and exhale as he smoked. You closed your eyes for a second and just let yourself feel all of it.
He shifted a little, moving his hand lower on your arm, caressing the skin, his breath warm against your hair. You felt his heartbeat quicken just a bit beneath your cheek. The silence between you was thick. to be noticed. You glanced up at him, your eyes catching his in the dim light. There was something softer there now. Something unspoken, but heavy. Without breaking eye contact, his hand moved to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, fingers lingering near your temple. Your breath hitched. He leaned down just a little, voice low and casual, “You’re beautiful.” You swallowed, barely able to meet his gaze as your face flushed again. Then, just like that, he closed the tiny gap between you. His lips found yours slow and gentle, before deepening the kiss, like he’d been wanting to do this all night. You melted into him, your hand slowly reaching up to rest on his chest as the world around you faded. It’s not gentle anymore, it’s urgent, needy. His hand tightens in your hair, pulling you closer as his tongue slides against yours, deep and demanding. You whimper softly, the sound lost in the press of his mouth, your body melting into his. He pulls back just enough to whisper in your ear, voice husky, “Wanna get out of here? I’ve got my car nearby.” Your heart pounds so hard you’re sure he can hear it. You just nod, swallowing the lump in your throat, breath catching again as he wraps his arm tighter around you.
He doesn’t rush you, just laces his fingers through yours, warm and firm, and gives your hand a gentle tug. You follow without thinking, legs shaky as you leave the balcony behind and slip back into the quiet hallway. The party feels distant now, like the world narrowed down to just him, the weight of his hand in yours, the aftertaste of his kiss still lingering on your lips. The walk to his car is quiet, but not awkward. When he unlocks the door and slides into the driver’s seat, you hesitate for half a second before slipping in beside him. The doors shut with a soft thud, sealing you both inside the low, warm hum of the vehicle. He leans back, legs stretched out, calm like always, but there’s a heat behind his eyes when he looks at you. A spark still flickering from earlier. “I’m gonna roll real quick,” he murmurs, pulling out his tray and grinder from the center console like it’s second nature. You nod, watching him work—his fingers nimble, methodical, the lighter’s flame briefly illuminating his face when he brings the blunt to his lips. The car fills with the earthy scent of smoke, and his head tilts back slightly as he exhales, half-lidded. He looks so fucking fine like this, bathed in shadows and smoke, hoodie loose around his collarbones, the faint red glow of the blunt lighting up his lips. Then he turns his head toward you again and you don’t even get the chance to fully catch your breath before he leans in again, free hand finding your cheek as he kisses you.
The smoke still lingers on his breath, and you melt into it, moaning softly into his mouth as his tongue slides against yours. His fingers are on your thigh, squeezing gently as he pulls you closer. The kiss turns messier, full of need, soft gasps and low groans echoing through the car. Your hand grips his hoodie low, holding on like you might fall apart if you let go. He pulls back only enough to whisper, breath ghosting over your lips, “Could do this all night.” Then his mouth is on yours again. More heat, more tongue, more breathless little noises spilling from your lips as your body starts to tremble in his hands. Without breaking the kiss, his hands move, one sliding up your thigh, the other settling on your waist. “C’mere,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice low but soft. You barely register what he means until his hands are guiding you, pulling you gently, firmly, right onto his lap. One leg at a time, knees sinking into the seat on either side of him, hands braced on his shoulders, your dress hiking up as you settle onto him, straddling him, face to face. He leans back just enough to look at you, eyes hooded, red from the weed, blunt still between his fingers. One of his hands slides up your side, fingers grazing your waist and ribs over the thin fabric of your dress. He takes his time with it, like he’s learning your shape. Your breath stutters as his hand travels higher, stopping just under your arm. He brings the blunt to his lips again, takes a long, slow hit, his chest rising beneath you, and then leans in close. His free hand curves around the back of your neck, guiding your face closer to his. You part your lips on instinct, and he exhales the smoke right into your mouth, warm and slow, curling over your tongue. Your eyes flutter shut as you breathe it in, heart thudding, and then he kisses you. Kisses you like he’s taking the air right back from your lungs.
Your breath catches when you feel his hands slide down, beneath the hem of your dress. He pushes it up slowly, bunching the fabric around your waist until the cool air hits your thighs. You shift slightly, nervous, thighs tightening around his hips as he exposes more of you. He doesn’t say anything, just stares for a second, eyes flicking down to where your panties are now visible, his palms firm on the back of your thighs. “Fuck,” he mutters, almost to himself. Then he leans forward, mouth finding your neck, and everything gets messier after that. He kisses down the side of your throat, open, warm, wet, his lips dragging along the skin, tongue flicking against your pulse point, teeth grazing just enough to make your hips twitch against him. You whimper quietly, trying to stay still, but he’s already pulling you closer with both hands, guiding your body into his like he knows exactly what you need. You tilt your head for him without thinking, shy sounds escaping your mouth as he works his way up to your jaw, then down again, kissing a little rougher now. “Weno…” you whisper, voice breaking around his name. “Shh,” he murmurs, his voice low against your skin. “You’re okay.” Your arms wrap around his shoulders instinctively, face burning as you shift in his lap, unintentionally grinding down just slightly. His reaction is immediate, a quiet groan right into your neck, his hands tightening on your hips. “Just like that,” he breathes.
Your hips grind down harder without thinking, breath coming out in shaky gasps as the friction starts to feel almost too good. His hands slip under the back of your dress, squeezing the soft flesh of your ass, guiding your movement like he needs it just as bad. You’re whimpering into the heated space between you, clinging to his hoodie, your body trembling slightly with every slow drag of your hips over his. Your panties are soaked. His pants are straining. The windows are fogging up, and the whole car smells like weed, sweat, and heat. He tilts his head, catching your mouth again in another deep, tongue-heavy kiss, like he can’t stop tasting you. His hand slides up your waist, grazing under the curve of your chest over the thin fabric of your dress, and you shudder, moaning softly into his mouth. Then he pulls back, just a little, resting his forehead against yours as both of you try to breathe. “Fuck,” he whispers, chest rising and falling beneath you. “You look so fucking pretty like this.” You blink at him, dazed, lips swollen and barely parted, still trying to catch your breath. He looks at you for a long second, hands still on your waist, grounding you. “I don’t wanna do this in the car,” he says, voice rough. “You deserve better than that.” Your breath hitches, heat flaring even higher at how serious he sounds. “Wanna go to my place?” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along your side. You nod slowly, shy but needy, your fingers curling in the collar of his shirt, a little scared to let go. “Yeah,” you whisper, barely audible. “Okay.” He kisses you once more, soft and sweet, before pulling back just enough to reach for the keys.
The door shut with a quiet click, sealing you into the warmth of his place. It was dark, mostly, just the glow of a streetlamp slipping through the blinds, casting faint lines across the floor. Neither of you spoke. You turned slightly, lips parting like you might say something, but he was already reaching for you. His hands found your waist in the dark, pulling you in with no hesitation, and his mouth was on yours before you could even breathe. Kissing you hungrily, deep and needy. Everything he hadn’t said tonight was pouring out of him all at once, into the way he held you, the way his lips moved over yours. His grip was firm, hands splayed over your hips, your back arching into him as you kissed him back just as desperately. He walked you backwards without breaking the kiss, slow, steady steps through the short hallway, lips never leaving yours. You barely registered the corners of the space or how you ended up where you did until the back of your knees hit something soft. And then he was lowering you onto the bed. The mattress dipped beneath you, and your breath caught as he hovered above you, eyes dark and steady on yours. Then, without a word, he zipped down his hoodie and took it off. Now just in a white tank, it clung to his frame in all the right places, the cut of his collarbone visible, shoulders broad and sharp under the light. He looked down at you for a second longer, breathing hard, gaze lingering on your face like he couldn’t believe you were really there. Then he leaned down, kissing you again, less rushed, but just as intense. His hands slid up your sides, fingertips ghosting over the fabric of your dress, moving deliberately, memorizing the shape of you. You whimpered softly into his mouth, fingers curling in the hem of his shirt. He pulled back for a second, eyes flicking between yours, voice low and wrecked. “You good?” he asked, forehead brushing yours. You nodded, cheeks burning, lips swollen already. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I’m good.”
He didn’t wait long after your answer. His mouth moved to your neck, warm and open, lips brushing your skin before he started kissing, slow, deliberate, dragging his tongue gently along the curve of your throat. You gasped, breath hitching as he sucked softly at a spot just below your jaw. Then again, a little lower. Your hips twitched beneath him when you felt his teeth graze you. “Weno—” you whispered, but it came out as more of a breath than a word. “You’re so pretty” he murmured, voice barely there, like he was talking to himself. “Always are.” His hand moved down slowly, slipping over your waist and along the outside of your thigh before sliding back up under the hem of your dress. His touch was patient, teasing, he didn’t rush. Just let his fingertips brush along the top of your thigh, higher and higher until they were tracing the edge of your panties. He pushed the fabric of your underwear to the side, slowly, and let his fingers slide between your folds, touching your bare heat. You gasped, head tilting back into the pillow, lips parting in a silent moan. “Shit,” he whispered, breath warm against your collarbone. “So soaked f’me, baby.” Your cheeks burned, thighs tensing slightly around his hand. He kissed the hollow of your throat, then lower, just above your chest, tongue wet and warm as his fingers began to move—slow circles at first, barely-there pressure that made you squirm beneath him. His free hand gripped your waist, holding you steady like he could feel how close you already were, how much you wanted him. “You’re so sensitive,” he muttered, voice deep and low, teeth grazing your skin as he kissed up to your ear.
You whimpered his name, hips grinding into his hand without meaning to. His fingers never stopped moving, dragging slick circles against your clit as he kept his mouth on your neck. Every kiss felt more urgent, but not rushed. It wasn’t just lust. It was something else. Something heavier. And then he leaned up, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice barely above a whisper. “I think about you all the time,” he murmured, breath warm, fingers still teasing between your thighs. “Even when I’m not supposed to. Even when I try not to.” Your heart flipped, aching at how raw it sounded coming from him. “I don’t even think you know what you do to me,” he continued, a soft kiss behind your ear. “How long I’ve wanted you like this. Letting me touch you.” The words hit harder than anything else had—deeper than the kisses, deeper than his touch. Your chest tightened, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers slid into his hair, pulling him down until your lips met again. Your moans melted into his mouth, the rhythm of his fingers picking up as your hips rolled up into his hand. His other hand gripped your thigh, spreading you wider for him.
And then, without warning, he shifted his hand lower, deeper. Your lips parted in a quiet gasp as he slid one finger inside you, slow and careful. Your walls clenched around the intrusion, already aching from how worked up you were, how long he’d been teasing. He didn’t wait long before easing in a second finger, stretching you just a little more. His movements were smooth, curling them up inside you just right, drawing out whiny, breathless little sounds from your throat you couldn’t hold back. You buried your face in his shoulder, hands gripping his bicep, your hips rocking involuntarily into every slow thrust of his fingers. He moved deep and steady, his palm pressing into you, thumb dragging lazy circles over your clit in rhythm. He kept moving inside you, slow and deep, curling just right. You were so close, the tension winding tighter and tighter in your stomach, breath catching with every stroke. But just as your legs began to shake, just as your hips bucked up into his hand with a quiet, desperate moan—he pulled out. You whined at the loss, hips stuttering forward instinctively, chasing the friction. “Weno…” “I know,” he murmured, breathless himself, voice thick with need. “I know, baby.” He leaned back just enough to pull his shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere to the side. The soft light coming through the cracked door hit his chest just right—shoulders broad, abs toned, skin flushed and warm. His chain shifted against his skin when he moved.
Then he was reaching for you again, hands gentle. “Can I?” he asked, fingers brushing the hem of your dress. You nodded, cheeks hot, eyes wide and dazed. “Y-Yeah” He pulled it up slowly, lifting it over your head. His eyes dropped to your body as it was revealed to him—bare chest, soft skin, rising and falling with every shaky breath. He leaned his mouth to your nipple, giving it a soft suck while sliding your panties down your legs, dragging his hands along your thighs as he did. Then he moved lower. He settled between your legs like he belonged there, hands spreading your thighs gently, thumbs brushing along the inside. You whimpered, body already arching at the sight of him down there, the feel of his breath ghosting over your skin. “So fuckin’ perfect,” he muttered, more to himself than anything, eyes locked on your soaked center. And then he leaned in. His tongue was warm, slow, one long, deliberate lick up your folds that made your back arch off the bed. Then again, this time with more pressure, more intent. His mouth locked over your clit, sucking softly before he flattened his tongue and circled it. You gasped, hands flying to his hair, fingers tangling as your thighs tried to close around his head. He just groaned into you, gripping your hips and pulling you closer, keeping you wide open for him. The sounds—wet, messy, sinful—filled the room along with your breathy moans, soft whimpers, the quiet creak of the mattress beneath you.
He didn’t stop. His tongue moved with purpose, lapping, circling, flicking. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t do anything but moan, soft and desperate, your hips twitching with every stroke of his tongue. And then you felt his hand again. Sliding up the inside of your thigh, fingers trailing through your slick folds before one dipped inside you, curling instantly. Your mouth fell open in a silent cry. He added a second immediately, stretching you and pumping into you while his mouth never left your clit. “Weno—fuck,” you whimpered, body jolting as he curled his fingers just right. Your walls clenched around him, needy and tight. His groan vibrated through you when he felt it. His tongue pressed harder, fingers pumping deep and slow—each drag of his knuckles making your toes curl. Your moans got higher, breathier, as your body trembled under his touch. “You close, baby?” he muttered against your clit, fingers never slowing. “Wanna feel you cum on my fuckin’ fingers.” You nodded, frantic, too far gone to speak. Your back arched, thighs shaking as he held you open, ruined you with his mouth, pushed his fingers deep inside you until the heat building in your stomach finally snapped. You came hard, legs trembling, hips stuttering, a loud moan spilling from your lips as everything clenched and pulsed around him. Fingers still working you gently through it while his tongue slowed, easing the intensity but never leaving you empty. Weno pressed one last kiss to your thigh, lips lingering as he pulled his fingers from you slowly, savoring the way your body jolted at the loss. He sat back on his heels, chest rising and falling a little faster now, eyes heavy as they dragged up your body.
You watched, dazed, flushed, and breathless as he reached for the waistband of his cargos, unbuttoning and sliding them down. They hit the floor with a quiet thud, leaving him in just his boxers—black, stretched tight over the obvious bulge straining against the fabric. He palmed it slowly, eyes still fixed on you, thumb pressing down over the thick outline like it ached. You squirmed beneath him, breath catching again when he leaned forward, caging you in with his arms. He kissed you slow and deep, tongue sliding over yours, moaning into your mouth. Then he reached between you and pushed his boxers down just enough to free himself, hissing softly when his length sprang free and brushed against your thigh. “You still good?” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours, his thumb caressing your cheek. You nodded, voice caught in your throat. “Yeah… I want you.” That was all he needed. He reached down, guiding himself to your entrance, dragging the tip through your slick folds, teasing you both with the heat of it. His hand found your waist again, grounding you as he pushed in slowly—inch by inch, thick and hot and stretching you just right. You gasped, nails digging into his biceps, body arching as he filled you completely.“Fuck,” he breathed out against your mouth, kissing you again as he bottomed out. “So tight. So good.” He didn’t move right away. Just stayed there, buried deep, letting you adjust while he pressed soft kisses to your jaw, your cheek, your lips. His hands smoothed over your sides, grounding you. And then he started to move.
He started slow and deep, rolling thrusts that dragged every inch of him along your walls. Your body clung to him, welcoming each stroke like it had been waiting, aching, for this exact moment. His hands moved down your sides, palms warm and firm, before sliding under your thighs to hitch your legs higher around his waist. The new angle made you gasp, your head falling back into the pillow as he sank even deeper. “That’s it,” he whispered, voice all breath and gravel, “So fucking perfect like this.” You whimpered, lips parting with every slow rock of his hips, every soft press of his chest to yours. One of his hands slipped under your back, pulling you closer, the other traveling to cup your breast, squeezing gently, thumb circling your nipple. “Love your body,” he murmured against your skin, lips brushing your collarbone. “Every inch. All mine now, yeah?” You could only nod, breath shaky, heart pounding. He moved again—long, deep thrusts that made your thighs tremble around him, that had you clinging tighter to his shoulders, trying to ground yourself in his touch. “So fuckin’ good,” he groaned, kissing your neck, “Fuck—look at how you take me.” He slid his hand down to your ass, gripping it tightly, pulling you up into each thrust, letting you feel just how hard he was holding back. You cried out softly, tears blurring your vision as the heat coiled tighter and tighter inside you. You felt stretched, full…loved. Every part of him was on you, in you, his lips, his hands, his voice. He slowed for just a second, chest heaving as he looked down at you.
His hand cradled your jaw, thumb brushing your lip as he whispered, “No one’s ever made me feel like this.” You blinked, another tear slipping free. He caught it with a kiss. He pushed in deep again, groaning low as your body clenched around him. Your eyes fluttered shut as your lips parted in a sob, overwhelmed. The pleasure, the emotion—it was too much, and not enough. You gasped out his name, voice broken, tears spilling freely now. “You’re doin’ so good,” he breathed, kissing the corner of your mouth. “So good for me. You feel so fuckin’ good—can’t get enough of you, baby.” He cupped your breast again, his other hand squeezing your ass as he rocked deeper, firmer, filling you completely with every thrust. The mattress creaked beneath you, skin slapping, breathy moans and whimpers. He lift your legs higher, folding them up toward your chest as his hands slid beneath your knees, guiding you open. His body shifted with yours, hovering close, his chest pressing to yours as he settled into the new position. You were utterly vulnerable, and so full. “Fuck,” he breathed as he pushed back in—deeper, impossibly deep, the new angle hitting something inside you that made your mouth fall open in a silent gasp. Your thighs trembled against his sides, your arms wrapping tight around his shoulders as he rocked into you again, slow and hard. His face was right above yours, eyes dark, mouth parted, breath hot on your cheek. His forehead pressed to yours. You pulled him down, fingers tangling in his hair, and kissed him hard, messy, open-mouthed, desperate. You sobbed into the kiss, the pleasure blurring everything, making your whole body feel like it was about to break apart in the best way.
He moaned against your mouth, thrusts picking up just slightly, deeper and deeper, hips pressing you into the mattress. One of his hands cradled your cheek as the other gripped under your thigh, holding you open for him while his body kept driving into yours, filling you perfectly. “You feel like heaven,” he whispered, kissing along your jaw between gasps. “So good for me, baby… fuck.” Your body clenched tight around him, your moans turning into cries as your nails dug into his back. “Weno— I’m close, I—please,” you gasped, barely able to form the words through the sobs that kept catching in your throat. “I got you,” he panted, hips grinding down, pace relentless now. “Cum for me, baby. Wanna feel you.” It only took another stroke. One more hit just right, and you shattered. Your second orgasm came, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your back arched, tears slipping down your cheeks as you sobbed his name, legs shaking violently around him. You clung to him like he was the only thing tethering you to earth. “Shit—baby—fuck—” he groaned, eyes squeezing shut as your body pulsed around him. “So good. So fucking good.” He barely lasted another few thrusts before he was pulling out quickly, stroking himself through the last moments, his body jerking forward with a final moan as he spilled across your stomach, thick and warm. He collapsed onto his forearms above you, forehead to yours again, breath ragged, lips ghosting yours.
He was still above you, body trembling slightly as he caught his breath, his lips brushing yours in soft, lingering kisses that felt more like confessions than touches. You were trying to breathe too, heart racing, chest rising and falling as your mind spun. Every nerve in your body was still alive, aching with how full he made you feel—physically, emotionally, all of it. And yet, even in the quiet after, something heavy sat in your chest. You swallowed hard, fingers fidgeting at his sides, your eyes darting everywhere but his face. You could feel it pressing against your tongue—those words—so big and so terrifying, but so real. Too real to keep inside. “Weno…?” you whispered, voice barely audible. He blinked down at you, soft and hazy from the afterglow. “Yeah, baby?” Your lip trembled as you looked up at him, wide-eyed and afraid. “I… I think I’m in love with you.” The second the words left your mouth, your stomach dropped. You felt exposed, like you’d stripped yourself bare in a whole new way. Your eyes filled with panic—what if he didn’t feel the same? What if this ruined everything? “I—I’m sorry,” you added quickly, voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to ruin it, I just—fuck, I don’t know, I just feel so much and I couldn’t keep it in and—” He cut you off with a kiss. Not a soft one, not a careful one, but deep, sure. His hand cupped your face as he leaned into you, kissing you like he needed to feel every word you’d just said on his tongue.
When he finally pulled back, his thumb brushed beneath your eye, catching the little tear that had escaped down your cheek. “You didn’t ruin anything,” he whispered. “You could never ruin anything.” Your heart fluttered painfully. “I’ve been in love with you,” he said, voice a little hoarse. “Since before I even knew what to call it. You don’t scare me, baby. You’re the only thing that’s ever made sense.” He kissed you again, tender. His hands wrapped around you, pulling you close until your body was pressed to his, skin to skin, and you could barely breathe from how tight he held you. You buried your face in his neck, arms tucked between your chests, your heart pounding against his. The silence that followed was heavy with warmth—safe, soft. Eventually, he shifted just enough to reach for the blunt on his nightstand, lighting it with a quiet flick of his lighter. The glow lit up his face in soft orange as he took a long drag, exhaling with a sigh, head tilted back slightly. You curled into him, cheek pressed to his chest, ear catching the steady thrum of his heartbeat. His arm came around you instinctively, holding you tighter, and his hand drifted lazily into your hair, fingers combing through the strands. You didn’t speak. You didn’t have to. He held you like he was never letting go.
synopsis: you get wasted and your friend calls your situationship you like to call your man
contains: drunk reader, reader lowkey freaked out, crack?, nicknames/pet names, reader calls nicholas "nicho" (idk if it's spelled like that or nico im not sure it matters tho 😭)
the phone had been vibrating for a full minute before he snatched it off the table.
"what" he says flatly.
a girl's voice—too loud, too breathless. "hi—hi, okay listen, this is her friend. she's... she's not okay"
his jaw tightens "what does that mean"
"she won't stop saying your name. like—won't stop. we tried water, we tried sitting her down—but she won't stop asking for nicholas. nicho. whatever you go by."
he drags a hand down his face, then glances at the men in front of him, the drug deal was only half-finished. there was still time dates he had to set up.
"is she hurt?" ,,nope, just drunk"
his eyes close once more, then open them having to mentally prepare himself. "put her on."
there was fumbling, laughter, then your voice—slurred. "nichoo" you sang. "i knew you'd answer"
"why are you drinking like this? "i told you to pace yourself" "i did pace myself" you say proudly "just very fastly"
"you know what else i can pace?" you ask with a smug smirk he can't see but can hear it all too well. "don't tell me. just give the damn phone back. im coming to get you"
one of the guys scoffs "you're leaving? you didn't even tell me about another time to meet"
nicholas grabs his jacket "then i guess we won't ever meet"
and the guy mumbles something quietly.
"hmmm?" "this is bullshit" the guy curses, nicholas shot him a look "and so is bleeding out, pick a struggle junkie"
---
the party was spilling onto the lawn when he pulled up. music thumped through the open door, bodies everywhere. and there you were sitting on the curb, legs stretched out, swaying slightly as you talked to yourself.
the second you saw his car, you gasp like you'd been waiting your whole life. "babbyy" you yell, scrambling to your feet and nearly face planting.
he slams the door harder than necessary and stalked over. "jesus—slow down."
you throw yourself at him, arms wrapping around his neck, weight fully uncoordinated. "you came" you whisper loudly "i told them you would, i said 'hes gonna come get me because im his favorite girl' and you actually came"
his hands caught you automatically "you're a mess" "im not— not yet, but you can make me one" you smile innocently.
he exhales through his nose "i rushed a deal for this shit. you know that?" you blink. "like... a business deal?"
"just get in the car" he directs, more irritated by the fact you reek of alcohol. when he tries guiding you to the car you plant your feet into the ground—unyielding. "oh—you're fucking with me" he laughs in disbelief.
you beam, getting distracted "can you fuck with me—no—no, i mean fuck me"
"get in the car" he tries pulling you by your wrist now. "answer my question first" you whine. "I'll think about it if you move your ass to the car"
you grin softly, striding over to the car with his help of course. you'd be on the ground with scrapes on your knees if it weren't for him.
during the drive you kept leaning over the console—playing with his hair, tracing his arm, then tracing random shapes on his thigh.
"you're hot when you're annoyed" the statement coming out of nowhere, and if you didn't know any better you'd say you saw his face almost twitch to a smile. "sit back"
"i am back"
you lean close to him taking a whiff "mmm, you smell like good cologne" he nods "thats because i only have good cologne."
"a 'thank you' would have been nice" you hit his arm playfully, a second later feeling bad, and rubbing the spot. "sorry" you mumble.
you reach for his free hand that's resting on his leg. he let you hold it—interlocking your fingers actually.
---
at his place you cling to his side. arms wrapped around his waist. "to your room" you point, he walks there and since you're clinging to him, you go there too.
you unwrap your arms from his waist and hook your finger to his waistband instead, tugging on it. "take these off" you pout.
"no ma'am, you're drunk" he states matter-of-factly, taking your hands off his pants. you whine at the loss. "pleaseee. we don't even have to have sex. i can just suck your dick"
nicholas feels his face heat up, your choice of words coaxing a nervous chuckle from him. "tomorrow, promise you can do that tomorrow."
"baby please, i need you so bad" you whine again, too drunk to care how desperate you sound. he shakes his head, making you groan in defeat.
"i just want you to remember everything, sweetheart. "you probably won't even remember what you're saying right now." he explains while picking out some clothes for you to change into.
"oh hush.." you roll your eyes flopping on the bed. "just say you freaking hate me"
"then I'd be lying, i know how much you hate liars" he teases, tossing an oversized shirt on the bed with socks. "no pants?"
"they won't fit"
"i can make it fit, you know i know how to" you try winking—but blinking instead and failing horribly, making nicholas snicker
you try kicking off your heels, and fail once again. "i need help" you lift your leg, and he pads over taking both your heels off, replacing the shoes with socks "do you wanna shower?" he asks. "not right now... in the morning though."
next he pulls your dress over your head, making sure to be careful. he didn't let his eyes linger on your body that was clad in bra and panties. he grabs his black shirt and pulls it over your head.
you adjust it to your comfortability, then crawl to the top of his bed where the pillows are.
"I'm tired" you yawn, slipping under the blankets. "that's really nice"
he changes into sweats, and tosses his shirt off to the ground. you open the blankets for him with a child-like smile on your face.
when you're warm against him, head resting on his chest, while his arm rests idly around you. he thought you were finally asleep—until you look up. "nicho?" you whisper.
he hummed, eyes half-closed. "yeah"
"can i have a kiss?"
he hesitates for just a second then leans down pressing a chaste peck—barely there. "now go to sleep"
you smiled immediately, leaning back up again and kissing him back. again. and again—slower this time, lips lingering. you slide your hand up his chest, testing how far he'd let you go.
he moves your hands off of him almost instantly, laying your head on the pillow. "sleep" he said more sternly this time. "nicho" you huff, "you're being mean"
"uh-huh and you're drunk, goodnight sweetheart" he places a kiss to your head.
synopsis | sfw and nsfw headcanons for sweet, sweet boyfriend!jo, who has been hiding some interesting drawings from you.
details | boyfriend!jo x female!reader, non idol au, established relationship, fluff, jo is a sweetheart of course, below the cut is SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI, sub!jo, oral (f receiving), masturbation, penetration (p in v), unprotected sex (WRAP IT!), cum eating, cursing, not proofread, requested
wc | 1.1k
from the author | ive never written headcanons before and im 90% sure i did not do them Right. i wrote a normal fic in a horrifically complicated way. enjoy anyway i had fun :D also let me know if the cut placement is annoying and ill edit it to put everything under the cut !!
boyfriend!jo who, after mustering up every ounce of courage within him, planned an elaborate, romantic, and very public first date for the two of you. the restaurant was notoriously fancy, so he rented a tux and asked that you, too, wear something nice. although he thought you'd look beautiful in anything.
boyfriend!jo who visibly sighed a breath of relief when you suggested abandoning the dinner reservation and ordering a pizza to his apartment. the two of you sat in his floor dressed to the nines, stringing beads on plastic thread and bordering on madness when the fully constructed bracelets slid from between your greasy fingers before you could tie it off.
boyfriend!jo who carries the shopping basket while the two of you are grocery shopping because you once complained that the metal handles dig into your fingers.
boyfriend!jo who slowly piles blankets on top of you while you watch movies together, hoping that you'll be too comfortable by the time the credits roll to leave. alternatively, you'll just be stuck on the couch with him.
boyfriend!jo who feeds you popcorn while your arms are trapped beneath nine blankets.
boyfriend!jo who hangs onto your every word when you speak to the point that you reconsider what you're even talking about. what am i even saying, you wonder. he cant possibly be this interested in your friend's secondhand workplace drama. but he's listening, actively, attentively. because its you.
boyfriend!jo who secretly loves being little spoon, curling his long legs into yours and sinking into your hold.
boyfriend!jo who attempts to bake you a cake for your anniversary and ends up with more ingredients outside the mixing bowl than in.
boyfriend!jo who stole your heart, yes, but also steals glances at you more often than not, sometimes snapping a candid photo to use as a reference when he draws you in his notebook later.
boyfriend!jo who nearly cried when you gifted him the expensive set of pencils he'd been wanting forever but couldn't justify buying for himself. after giving you a swift kiss, he crammed his sketchbook and pencils into a bag and pulled you to the nearest cafe. he spent the next hour having you pose in sunlight, experimenting with shadows and basking in every moment with you.
boyfriend!jo who used his new pencils to add rich, blended color to a different, secret sketchbook, one you were never supposed to see.
boyfriend!jo who left his private sketchbook on the table, spine cracked and pages face down. he should have known you'd be curious about his work. you're always astonished by his varying styles, vivid interpretations of shared experiences. this time, however, you flipped the book over to reveal something you've never seen, at least not from that angle.
boyfriend!jo who has dedicated several pages of the sketchbook to lewd illustrations. ultra detailed, vibrant depictions of you, your pussy stretched and leaking, your lips swollen and coated in white. all hand drawn and from memory. you flip through the pages, thighs clenching, ideas brewing.
boyfriend!jo who comes home and sees the sketchbook face up, whose heart drops into his stomach as he anxiously peers into the kitchen in search of you, and who eventualy finds you on the bed, waiting for him with your clothes in a pile and your knees falling open.
boyfriend!jo who freezes in the doorway, watching your fingers pump in and out of your desperate hole. he feels his dick strain in his pants as your free hand gropes and twists at your nipple.
boyfriend!jo who manages to choke out a generous, "c-can i help you?"
boyfriend!jo who, after you reply with, "no, thank you, baby," seethes with lust, watching you bring yourself to completion in front of him. your orgasm racks over your body, your mewls and gasps sending all the blood to his cock.
boyfriend!jo who is so obedient, fetching his special sketchbook and sitting on the bed in front of you, just like you asked. as he settles, shifting uncomfortably from the way his dick is pressing against his jeans, you say, "i saw your drawings, jojo. you're very good, wouldn't you say?"
boyfriend!jo who cant stop staring at the crease of your thigh as you speak, your legs folded to one side. he knows what he wants from you but he just cant take it. he needs you to give it to him. "y-yes," he gulps, "especially when its you."
boyfriend!jo who has never been so needy, his mind actually spinning when you suggest, or rather insist, that he use you as a live model. "pose me however you want," you had said with a smile despite the venom of your intentions seeping between your words, "and if its good, i'll let you touch me."
boyfriend!jo who outlines your body on the page, truthfully and precisely. every curve, every shadow captured on paper to the best of his ability. with his tongue tucked between his teeth, he shades with a slanted wrist, washes the whole image in a gentle pigment, highlights the glistening slopes of your breasts and the pulsing slit of your pussy. and when he turns the book around to show you, you feel your face grow hot. his interpretation of you is perfectly honest and raw, beautifully executed.
boyfriend!jo who sighs into your pussy when you finally let him touch you, taste you.
boyfriend!jo who whines as you thread your fingers into his hair, grinding desperately against the bed as the taste of you covers every inch of his tongue. he was so good in every way.
boyfriend!jo who gets the most satisfaction just laying helplessly beneath you and letting you use him for your own pleasure. he loves watching your body roll and twist above him, caressing your thighs and, if he's feeling brave, ghosting his fingers over your nipples.
boyfriend!jo who knows hes not allowed to cum inside of you, so he fists the sheets and rolls his own hips to bring you closer to the edge. you know he's close when his frantic whimpers regress into concentrated breathing, teetering on stifled groans but just controlled enough that you know he wants to make you proud.
boyfriend!jo who lets you ride out your high before pulling out and spilling hot cum all up his stomach.
boyfriend!jo who shivers when you lower your tongue to his skin and lap the majority of it up, just before pulling the freshly drawn page out of his sketchbook and using it to wipe up the rest.
boyfriend!jo who takes the paper from your hand and drags it over the scattered droplets on his chest.
boyfriend!jo who, after a sudden rush of confidence, slides his sensitive tip through your pussy and sighs, "let me draw you while im inside?"
tags: fluff, cuddling, acts of service, more fluff, maki can't keep his hands to himself (non-explicit), sprinkle some more fluff, gn!reader, did i mention fluff?
A/N: been a while since i last wrote for anyone, but these boys reignited that part of me again! pls enjoy i wrote this at 3 am ☆
koga yudai:
kei, to me, is a very loud person when it comes to showing his love to his lover. very vocal about how much he loves you, how he cares for you, and your well-being. right as he's about to leave for work, he shouts out his "I love you"'s till he gets an answer back that satisfies him.
but he would do this thing where he always studies your face very closely. looking for any sign that something upset you at work or when you're just out and about, and you don't want him to know about it.
kei would cup your face, stare at you for a good 5 seconds, then shower you with kisses. either till he's satisfied or till you have to physically push him away, giggling at the sensation. 𖹭
murata fuma:
fuma already shows his love quietly and subtly. packing you the lunch he prepared the day before, tidying up your shared room, never letting you lift anything that he deems too heavy on you, even washing the dishes that you promised you'd do. he's not even angry that he's washing them.
but the one thing you truly appreciate him for is his constant presence. he's your rock, always supporting you every step you take forward. he helps you by giving you much needed advice and congratulates you on your successes.
when you talk to him about your doubts, mentioning that you don't feel like you're giving him as much support as he's giving you, fuma stops you and says "your existence fuels me to wake up and do my best, everyday." 𖹭
wang yixiang:
nicholas is epitome acts of service love language. he never fails to make you feel like the most special person in the world. always giving you his everything, even letting you borrow (steal) his clothes.
when he comes back home from practice, he sees you on the couch, half-asleep, waiting for him so you can both go to bed together. nicho softly places his bag and keys down, going over to you to lie down on your lap.
feeling weight on your lap, you look down and meet his beautiful smile stretching across his face, his cheeks puffing up, tinged pink either from the cold or the adrenaline of practice. you softly run your fingers through his hair, completely forgetting he hates that. but he lets you, only you can do that to him. nicho would choke anyone else who gets close to his head, but, for you, he'd bow his head down quietly. 𖹭
byun euijoo:
poor juju is still a bit awkward when it comes to showing you how much he loves you. this man is down bad for you, and he's constantly trying to grab your attention.
because he only has his eyes on you, he notices things that not even your parents have noticed yet. that time you cut your hair an inch off without telling anyone right before a family dinner, he was the first to compliment you. he noticed his initials on your nails that you got as a surprise.
he almost fainted when he saw that b.ej on your ring fingernail. he took your hand in his, giving it a small kiss, promising he'd always do better for you. his ears were on fire, red as tomatoes; he may be clumsy, but he was truthful in his words and actions. 𖹭
nakakita yuma:
yuma definitely loves teasing you, regardless of what mood you're in. a little touch here, a kiss there, he just loves having his hands on you.
when he knocks on your door to your shared room and it takes a little longer for you to respond, he quietly opens the door. you're on the bed, wrapped up in blankets, your laptop in front of you playing some sad 1960s movie. the ending wasn't happy, and you were clearly not having a good time watching it.
he slowly shuts the laptop off and climbs in bed with you, pulling you in his arms as he quietly calms down your sniffles. his hand wipes the tears down your chin, bringing your face up to him as he kisses your tearful eyes closed. he just can't bear looking at his beloved so sad. 𖹭
asakura jo:
oh, our shy jojo boy, he loves you so much that even the thought of you makes his face flush. he looks at you from afar, still not believing that you're actually his lover, hoping he doesn't wake up from this dream anytime soon.
jojo shows love through acts of service like nicho, may be a little less obvious than nicho. on the day of your 100th day anniversary, he builds up the courage to link your pinky fingers together as you strolled down the beach.
this catches you by surprise since you've been initiating the skinship, so when you look at him and see how flushed his neck is, you can't help but chuckle at how lovely your precious jojo can be. 𖹭
shigeta harua:
rua loooves to dress you up with him. always showing off your couple rings, couple bracelets, hats, shoes, you name it. he loves sharing his interests with you and including you in everything he collects and plans on adding to his collection.
he's very attentive to your needs, paying attention to which show you're currently watching and which ones you've decided to drop. for your birthday, he buys you collectibles and merch of your fav show. he's clumsy with words and actions, so he can only show how much he loves by paying attention to you.
he loves listening to you yap and talk his ear off. he's never bored around you, intently listening to every detail you say, especially about how your day went. when you mention that you forgot to buy your coworker a present for their birthday next week, you wake up and find a basket filled with items that suit your coworkers' taste. rua made sure to match the colors to your outfit. 𖹭
takayama riki:
happy pill taki is content being around you whenever, wherever you are, no matter what it is you're doing. when you visit him during practice, like he had requested one day, he was overjoyed. obviously, he couldn't focus as much since his eyes constantly drift off to look at you, who are already smiling at him.
he couldn't contain himself and immediately jumped over to you to give you the biggest bear hug. obviously, that earned him the biggest earful from his teammates, but he didn't care at all. his eyes, mind, and soul were all about you.
on another day, he heard you call out his name, asking him to come to the living room. he got a bit nervous as he turned the corner till he saw the bottles of nail polish on the table. your right hand was held high as you asked him to help you with your left. taki's focused face as he tried his best to avoid getting any polish on your cuticles still makes you giggle. 𖹭
riki wilhelm mauss:
this man LOVES hugging you, period. his hands are constantly on you in some way, holding your hand, wrapped around your wrist, resting on your waist, or an arm around your shoulder. regardless of where you are, maki's gonna find a way to touch you and bring you closer to him.
when you're stressed because of work, his way of relieving it is by cuddling it away. he pulls you into his arms, his legs wrapped around your own, and holds you close for some minutes. and then, he flips you both, now he's crushing you with his weight, eliciting the biggest laugh he'd heard from you since he's known you.
he's glad his plan had worked, seeing how happy you looked under him as he's wrapped around you like a koala hugging a tree branch. he stares at your face for a couple of seconds and gives you a knowing smile. you have 3 seconds to react by pushing him off, but he beat you to it, maki's fingers already tickling your sides, making you squeal with joy. 𖹭
「 nonidol!&team , fem!reader , cute headcanons , fluff , smut , kissing , i actually wrote this a month ago , shhh .. 」
warnings : smut + fluff , making out , p in v [dont be silly , wrap your willy !!] , oral (f!rec) , coming inside , && i pondered yumas for 30 minutes before even writing it .. <\3
「 wc ~ 840 words | ~150 per member | enjoy !! 」
smut under the cut !! minors dni !!
yudai - neck kisses. : k def feels like a neck kisser, intimate and quite sultry—maybe sweet, even—depending on the context. when his lover seems a little tired, he gently presses his lips to your neck, warm and slow while you let his warmth envelop you as he wraps his arms around your hips, a soft whisper of sweet nothings against the shell of your ear.
though, in bed, it’s a different story. as he thrusts into you, tip hitting the spot with each push, his mouth latches on your neck—hungry like he’s a feeding leech. he tongues and licks at the skin by your pulse point, nearly driving you insane as his cock rams into you with fervor. he curls his freehand around the other side of your neck, his hand on your hip tightening as his groans, taking one last, hard thrust as he shoots his release inside of you.
fuma - lip kisses. : fuu likes the best whenever he gets to press soft kisses to your lips, whether it be a slower day, fast-paced day, or just whenever you need. he presses his lips softly against yours, his eyes holding this cute little glow, like he’s the proudest man in the world to have a woman as beautiful as you are.
whenever you guys are ‘spending time alone’ in your shared bedroom, fuma’s got to shut you up, considering the apartment walls are thin. he softly locks his lips with yours, swallowing your moans and whines as the bed rocks back and forth with each tantalizingly slow slam back into your leaking cunt. each thrust elicits a stifled mewl from your lips as fuma keeps going, not backing down until your climax ends up soaking his bedsheets all over.
nicholas - tongue kisses. : anytime a kiss is initiated between the two of you, nicho’s tongue always somehow ends up in your mouth, delving and exploring your mouth and sucking your own tongue.—he likes it that way whenever youre in the mood, since you get to kiss him senseless after a longer day, and he gets to be as close as possible, even in a kiss.
… we can tell where this is going in the smut paragraph… haha..
when both you or nicho ache for pleasure, nicho’s got you pinned down somewhere. either the couch or bed or sitting yourself sprawled out at the edge of one. nicho’s tongue makes its way through your pussy, licking swipes of figure eights while occasionally sucking your clit or thrusting his tongue into you as he guides your head to his scalp whilst you tug and yank at it a couple times in pleasure.
euijoo - forehead kisses. : euijoo’s little pecks of soft kisses to your forehead are grounding, and heartwarmingly gentle, his pretty, wide doe-like eyes gazing at yours as he lightly kisses your forehead again. euijoo’s forehead kisses could be brief and barely there, or they could be more bolder with carried fervor.
yet in the nights and setting evenings, where the sun glows a faint gold, euijoo’s forehead kisses feel more intimate, if you’ve got your back turned, maybe working on something against a counter, table, or shelf, best believe if euijoo had a long, “hard” day, he’d press himself against you, the faint outline of his cock nesting on your ass between the fabrics. euijoo lands a slow, tired kiss on your forehead, and then alongside the nape of your neck, his lips dragging and hot against your skin.
yuma - collarbone kisses. : yuma’s pretty little lips find their way to your collarbone whenever you guys cuddle, climbing into your lap and kissing or nipping at your collarbone while cheekily making eye contact with you to make sure you see him showing his love for them.
as he pounds deeper into you, hitting that one spot where your walls squeeze him just right, yuma buries his face into your neck or upper chest, whimpering and whining into you, occasionally sucking at your collarbone or biting down, bringing pain with bits of hot pleasure as his tip runs through your walls desperately, hoping to chase both your highs.
jo - hand kisses. : though a little vanilla, jo’s thumb feathers on the back of your hand before he tentatively presses his soft lips against your wrist and the back of your hand. he pecks your hand with an intensity of gentle, his lips ghosting over your knuckles whenever he listens to your voice as you talk. he finds your hands pretty, and your voice like smooth honey.
in another situation, jo’s legs try to clamp around you as you sink down on his pretty, leaking cock, riding his lap as you please. he doesn’t tell you to stop nor change pace, allowing you to get off on his dick while tears prick his eyes from the intensity each roll of your hips give, as his fingers curl around your wrist, his kisses becoming more frantic and messy as faint sobs and muffled whines escape his lips, like humming against your skin.
