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nebularsung · 3 days ago

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weird asks that say a lot

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans?

2. chocolate bars or lollipops?

3. bubblegum or cotton candy?

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you?

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups?

6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear?

7. earbuds or headphones?

8. movies or tv shows?

9. favorite smell in the summer?

10. game you were best at in p.e.?

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day?

12. name of your favorite playlist?

13. lanyard or key ring?

14. favorite non-chocolate candy?

15. favorite book you read as a school assignment?

16. most comfortable position to sit in?

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes?

18. ideal weather?

19. sleeping position?

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)?

21. obsession from childhood?

22. role model?

23. strange habits?

24. favorite crystal?

25. first song you remember hearing?

26. favorite activity to do in warm weather?

27. favorite activity to do in cold weather?

28. five songs to describe you?

29. best way to bond with you?

30. places that you find sacred?

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names?

32. top five favorite vines?

33. most used phrase in your phone?

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head?

35. average time you fall asleep?

36. what is the first meme you remember ever seeing?

37. suitcase or duffel bag?

38. lemonade or tea?

39. lemon cake or lemon meringue pie?

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school?

41. last person you texted?

42. jacket pockets or pants pockets?

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket?

44. favorite scent for soap?

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero?

46. most comfortable outfit to sleep in?

47. favorite type of cheese?

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be?

49. what saying or quote do you live by?

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have?

51. current stresses?

52. favorite font?

53. what is the current state of your hands?

54. what did you learn from your first job?

55. favorite fairy tale?

56. favorite tradition?

57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome?

58. four talents you��re proud of having?

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be?

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be?

61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.?

62. seven characters you relate to?

63. five songs that would play in your club?

64. favorite website from your childhood?

65. any permanent scars?

66. favorite flower(s)?

67. good luck charms?

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried?

69. a fun fact that you don’t know how you learned?

70. left or right handed?

71. least favorite pattern?

72. worst subject?

73. favorite weird flavor combo?

74. at what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an advil or ibuprofen?

75. when did you lose your first tooth?

76. what’s your favorite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)?

77. best plant to grow on a windowsill?

78. coffee from a gas station or sushi from a grocery store?

79. which looks better, your school id photo or your driver’s license photo?

80. earth tones or jewel tones?

81. fireflies or lightning bugs?

82. pc or console?

83. writing or drawing?

84. podcasts or talk radio?

84. barbie or polly pocket?

85. fairy tales or mythology?

86. cookies or cupcakes?

87. your greatest fear?

88. your greatest wish?

89. who would you put before everyone else?

90. luckiest mistake?

91. boxes or bags?

92. lamps, overhead lights, sunlight or fairy lights?

93. nicknames?

94. favorite season?

95. favorite app on your phone?

96. desktop background?

97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized?

98. favorite historical era?

#this this this #pls ask meeee #skye is playing! 🕹

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nebularsung · 3 days ago

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wise words from @spacejip

#dick fomo #and i just realized NONE OF THEM LIKE WHEN IM HAPPY #like bro i sucked a face today???#im giddy #i was horny #(i am horny #pretty mooties! 🫂#vicky.png ♡

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nebularsung · 3 days ago

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coward , maeda riku .

⎯⎯ best friend!riku && fem!reader

summary riku is a coward . he keeps his feelings to himself , thinking he would mess your friendship and hurt you . but a certain situation forces him to finally tell you what he feels .

genre fluff && suggestive word count 2.2k

content riku and you are horny asf , suggestive by the end

you didn’t even want to go to this party.

it had been a long week. exhausting.

not because of school, or life, or anything else you could put your finger on—but because of him.

because of riku.

he’d been distant for days now, offering only half-hearted smiles and quick goodbyes, brushing off your questions with practiced ease. you hadn’t seen him like this in a long time—not since that first year when he didn’t quite know how to be your friend yet.

and maybe that’s exactly why you came tonight.

because something inside you needed to feel light again. to be looked at like you were wanted. to laugh without wondering if he still saw you the same way he used to.

so you put on your favorite outfit—the one that hugged in all the right places—and let yourself feel good. beautiful, even. you wanted to be seen.

you wanted to forget the ache your best friend left behind.

and for a while, it worked.

you were perched on the armrest of a worn couch, fingers curled around a cold plastic cup, legs crossed casually as you leaned toward a guy you barely knew. he was easy to talk to—too easy. the kind of guy who flirted like it was second nature, all loose grins and glinting eyes. his blonde hair was tousled, a little messier than it probably should’ve been, and a voice that curled beneath the bass-heavy music just enough to draw you in.

“so you’re telling me,” he said with a teasing smile, voice low near your ear, “you can’t dance unless you’re tipsy?”

you laughed, warmth blooming in your chest—part alcohol, part attention.

“i didn’t say i can’t. i said i shouldn’t.”

he tilted his head, eyes tracing over you. “well, now you have to prove it,” he grinned, drumming his fingers against his cup. “if you embarrass yourself, i’ll pretend i didn’t see it. and if you don’t…” he leaned in, voice smooth, cocky, “i get your number.”

you rolled your eyes, but your smile stayed.

he held out his hand.

you took it—playfully, not fully—but it made him bolder.

“what kind of deal is that?” you asked, brow lifted.

“the kind you’ll thank me for later,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows in a way that made you snort into your drink.

it was dumb. and easy. and light. exactly what you thought you needed.

until something shifted.

you didn’t register it right away, not until the guy stumbled back a step, his drink splashing over his fingers.

a hand—someone’s hand—had shoved him. not hard. just enough to ruin the moment.

“back off.”

your stomach twisted.

riku.

he was standing between you and the guy now, body rigid, tension rolling off him like thunder. his jaw was clenched, eyes dark, locked on the stranger with a sharpness you hadn’t seen in him before. he looked seconds away from tearing into him.

“dude—what the hell?” the guy barked, annoyed and half-drunk. “we were just talking.”

“yeah?” riku’s voice cut through the music like ice. “looked like more than that.”

you felt your pulse spike.

“riku,” you hissed, grabbing his sleeve, trying to pull him back. “what are you doing?”

he didn’t answer. didn’t look at you. his shoulders were tense, breath shallow, like he was trying to stop something from spilling out.

he’d been watching you from across the room, he’d seen the way you smiled—saw your head tilt, saw your hand slip into someone else’s.

and it gutted him.

because you looked happy. gone. because he was too late.

he’d been nursing the same drink for almost an hour, unmoving, expression unreadable.

he never liked parties—too loud, too chaotic. too many people trying to touch things that didn’t belong to them.

too many eyes on you.

and yet, he came anyway. because you were going. because he needed to be there, even if he never said it out loud.

especially knowing how loose you got when you drank. how soft. how trusting.

he came to look after you.

and then he saw him. the blonde ‘mr. giggles’.

saw you laugh. saw the way you leaned in. saw you glow like you used to glow for him.

and something inside him snapped.

now you were outside, storming down the porch steps, dragging him by the wrist, adrenaline buzzing between your fingertips.

the air was thick, summer-sweet and heavy with heat. the porch light flickered behind you. a few people there, but thankfully, minding their own business.

you spun to face him. “what the hell was that?”

“i was protecting you.”

“from what?” your voice cracked with disbelief. “from someone actually giving me attention for once in weeks?”

that hit him hard. you saw it. the way he flinched—barely, but enough.

you took a step back. your chest was rising and falling too fast. “you don’t get to do that, riku. you don’t get to act like you own me. i’m not yours.”

he looked like he was going to argue. like a hundred different words were fighting to reach his mouth.

but instead, he just… stopped.

and then—

“i want you to be.”

the words barely made it out, raw and trembling, but they landed. heavy. irrevocable.

your breath caught in your throat.

his voice dropped to something fragile. “i didn’t mean to ruin your night. i just—i saw him touching you and i couldn’t breathe. i hated it. i hate it.”

he finally looked at you.

and the look on his face—god, it was all there. the desperation. the guilt. the aching, ugly truth he’d been trying to smother for months.

“i’ve been trying so hard to be just your friend, i swaer,” he whispered, running a shaky hand through his hair. “but i’m not. i can’t be. not when i’m in love with you.”

the words lingered in the air between you—trembling.

“i’m in love with you,” he said again, quieter this time, almost like a confession to himself. “and i didn’t know how to say it without ruining everything. so i ruined it anyway.”

your heart was hammering.

before he could step away—before he could even think of regretting any word or action—you closed the distance, fisting the collar of his jacket and pulling him into you.

your lips crashed into his—fierce and hungry, months of silence burning out in one breathless second. his hands found your waist, gripping tight like he’d been waiting for this moment for so long.

your mouths moved together, desperate, tangled, all heat and teeth and truth.

his hand cradled the back of your neck, his thumb grazing your jaw, and when your tongue brushed his, he groaned into your mouth—wrecked, undone.

you pulled back, breath ragged. your foreheads touched, lips still brushing.

“you’re such an idiot,” you whispered, breathless.

his laugh was soft, dazed. “yeah,” he murmured. “but you kissed me anyway.”

you smiled. “yeah. and i might do it again.”

this time, when you leaned in, he met you halfway.

he kissed you like he’d been starving. like he wanted to memorize every breath, every sound, every curve of your lips.

“lemme get you home,” he breathed when you finally pulled apart, his voice low and wrecked.

you nodded, dizzy with want. “please.”

his hand had stayed at your back, warm and grounding, like he couldn’t let go—not now, not after that.

you weren’t speaking, but there was no silence. just a thick, pulsing energy between you, impossible to ignore. every brush of his fingers against your waist, every look he gave you like he was holding something back—again—ignited something in your chest. in your stomach. in your thighs.

the second the doors shut, the air shifted.

riku gripped the wheel like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

his knuckles pale. his jaw clenched.

you watched his throat bob as he swallowed hard, his eyes flicking to the road like they had to—like if he looked at you again, he might not make it home without pulling over.

you sat beside him, thighs pressed together, hands fidgeting in your lap as your skin buzzed with awareness. your mouth still tingled from the kiss. your body ached with how much more you wanted—needed.

and yet the car was silent. full of restraint. full of almost.

he looked over once at a red light.

his eyes were dark, heavy-lidded, and his bottom lip was swollen from where you’d bitten it.

“you good?” he asked, voice hoarse, like it hurt to speak.

you nodded. your voice barely came out. “yeah.”

but the way your legs pressed tighter together said otherwise.

he made a low sound in the back of his throat. something close to a groan—but restrained. frustrated.

he didn’t say another word until he parked outside your building. the engine hummed beneath you.

“do you…” he hesitated, eyes on the windshield, not brave enough to meet yours. “want me to walk you up?”

your chest tightened. you turned to him slowly.

“do you want to?”

he finally looked at you. “…yeah.”

the hallway up to your apartment felt endless.

the elevator ride, worse.

he stood beside you like his hands didn’t ache to touch you again. like his body wasn’t humming from restraint. like he didn’t notice how you kept brushing against him accidentally-on-purpose, or how your perfume clung to his skin like a ghost.

and then—just as the doors slid shut—he gave in.

his hand gripped your waist. gently, but with intention.

you gasped softly as he pressed you back into the cool elevator wall, his lips crashing into yours. not sloppy. not rushed. but heavy. like he wanted you to feel everything he hadn’t said.

your hands found his hair this time, tugging, pulling him closer. his mouth opened against yours, tongue brushing, tasting, claiming. he kissed like he was starving.

you didn’t notice the doors opening until he broke the kiss with a shaky breath.

“keys,” he whispered against your lips.

you blinked, heart pounding. “right.”

your fingers trembled as you unlocked the door, fumbling, too aware of his lips grazing your neck, of the way his hand had never left your hip.

the door opened. you stepped inside. kicked off your shoes.

the lights stayed low. you barely remembered turning them on.

riku shut the door behind him and stood there—breathing heavily. watching you. like you were something he couldn’t believe he got to see like this. open. waiting.

“i didn’t plan to tell you tonight,” he said, voice rough.

you stepped closer, your fingers trailing up his chest, to the side of his neck, thumb brushing beneath his jaw.

“i thought maybe if i waited long enough, it would go away.”

you smiled softly. “but it didn’t.”

he shook his head slowly. “not even close.”

you placed your palm over his chest—felt the wild rhythm of his heart beneath it.

“you were an idiot for waiting,” you said, eyes locked on his.

his mouth twitched. “i know.”

his gaze dropped to your lips. “can i make it up to you?”

your answer was your kiss. this one was slower. more sure. more intentional.

his hands slid up your sides, palms mapping your body like he needed to learn you all over again. when your fingers cupped his jaw and pulled him closer, he let out the softest sound. not quite a whimper—just wrecked.

you didn’t realize you were walking him back down the hallway until you stumbled against a wall.

his jacket hit the floor.

your lips never parted.

your back met the doorframe of your room.

riku kissed you like he’d been holding it in for months. like your mouth had become his sanctuary. his prayer. his fingers slid up beneath your shirt, tracing the bare skin of your waist like you were something fragile. like he was asking.

and you let him.

and when you tugged his shirt up, your palms finally met the warmth of his skin—his ribs, his spine, the lean muscle beneath your touch. he groaned into your mouth, low and needy, his hips pressing into yours.

“you drive me insane,” he breathed, kissing down your jaw. “do you know that?”

you smiled, breathless. “good. maybe now we’re even.”

his laugh against your skin was breathless. broken. wrecked.

and then—without effort—he lifted you into his arms, holding you like you were weightless, like this was the only place you were ever meant to be.

riku laid you down on your bed with a reverence that made your chest ache. his eyes drank you in, like he was afraid he might wake up and realize this wasn’t real.

he hovered above you, one hand braced beside your head, the other stroking your cheek.

his voice was low. shaking.

“if we start…” he paused. “i’m not stopping at just kissing.”

your breath caught. your hand slid to his jaw, thumb grazing his bottom lip.

“great,” you whispered. “i wasn’t planning on letting you.”

© chocoryo it was fun to write this one ! omg i love riku and jealous riku just makes me dizzy ! sorry if that wasn't what you had imagined , anon :( but angst is not my field 😭😭 had to change some things

#srb <3

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nebularsung · 4 days ago

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you're the only one , oh sion

⎯⎯ boyfriend!sion && fem!reader

summary it's been two weeks since you started giving sion the silence treatment and he can't bear your distance , but especially , knowing he hurt you .

genre hurt/comfort word count 1.2k

content mentions of toxic past relationship , reader is insecure

it had been two weeks.

fourteen days of stilted silence and aching distance.

fourteen mornings of waking up beside him, body curled away like your skin could sense the shift, even while you slept.

fourteen nights of swallowing words you were too afraid would come out ugly, shaking with the tremble of your chest.

you hadn’t looked him in the eye since that night. you hadn’t let him touch you.

and when sion entered a room, the air shifted—thickened.

you left. always. even if mid-task, mid-sentence, mid-anything. you just… left.

if you had no excuse, you made one. and if you had to stay, you did so behind the fortress of silence.

quiet became your defense.

the kind of quiet that wasn’t peaceful.

the kind that filled a home with static.

it was cruel—how you could still feel someone’s presence in the walls, in the floorboards, in the places they used to hold you.

sion didn’t understand.

he racked his brain every night, lying awake beside you, eyes fixed on the ceiling while your back stayed turned.

was it the gaming nights?

you always asked so sweetly—just ten more minutes, can you stay a little longer?—but his headphones were always on.

was it the girl at the bar?

he didn’t even look at her like that. he was just polite. wasn't he?

he didn’t know. and the not knowing drove him mad.

but tonight, it was enough.

the quiet had begun to feel like a coffin.

and he needed air.

dinner had been eaten separately again—your plate resting cold on the nightstand, his at the kitchen island.

you didn’t say a word when you crossed paths.

he did the dishes in silence, even yours, the way he always used to when things were okay.

you hadn’t asked him to, but he still scrubbed them gently, like routine could fix what words hadn’t.

he wiped down the last plate and quietly tidied the house before heading upstairs, where the air always smelled a little like you.

he pushed the door open quietly. the room was soft with lamplight, casting golden shadows across the blankets.

you were propped against the headboard, your knees drawn up beneath the sheets, lost in the pages of a book.

your eyes scanned the text, mouth set in that way it always was when you were trying not to think about anything else.

you didn’t acknowledge him. not even a glance.

he didn’t expect one.

he slipped into the bathroom to brush his teeth, the sound of running water muffled against the thrum of his own thoughts. his reflection stared back at him, eyes tired, lips pulled tight.

when he returned, the lights were off except for your bedside lamp, casting its soft glow across your side of the bed.

he climbed in slowly. the mattress gave a little under his weight, the way it always did. the way it used to when he’d slide close to you, wrap an arm around your waist, bury his face in your neck.

now there was a canyon between you.

he swallowed hard, voice low. “love…”

no answer. just the rustle of a page turning.

“can we talk?” still nothing.

he reached for your hand, tentative, fingers brushing over your knuckles like he didn’t know if he was still allowed.

your skin was warm—but you pulled away.

a soft sigh escaped his lips.

“please,�� he said again. “just tell me what’s going on. whatever it is—we can talk about it. can’t we?”

but you didn’t speak.

your silence was sharp. not cold, not cruel.

just… worn out.

he tried again, desperation softening his voice.

“was it the game nights? i know i kept saying just one more round, but the boys were begging. i should’ve said no. i should’ve—”

you snapped the book shut. “why did your ex text you?”

his heart stuttered in his chest.

your voice was laced with something between fire and ache. not loud—but loud enough.

you finally looked at him, and the look in your eyes made his stomach drop.

“why,” you repeated, “did she text you, sion?”

he blinked. once. twice.

you sat straighter, shoulders trembling with a weight that had been building, brick by brick.

you remembered every conversation about her.

the girl before you. the one he said broke him open, made him believe in love, then taught him how much it hurt to lose it.

you remembered how careful he was when he spoke of her. too careful. like her name still lingered on the edge of his mouth.

and maybe you were stupid. maybe it was your own damage talking.

because your ex had ruined your compass. gaslit you into thinking love was always conditional. taught you how to apologize for needing comfort.

you had cried on cold bathroom tiles with no reply to your texts.

you had been called jealous, needy, pathetic.

you had watched him flirt with strangers, only to be told you imagined it.

you had begged for reassurance and been told to grow up.

so you learned.

you learned to doubt. to second-guess the good. to guard the softest parts of you.

and now, here was sion.

your safe place. your home.

talking to the one person who still made your chest ache with comparison.

“are you the father?” the words tumbled out, harsh and raw.

his expression crumpled into something almost pained. “what? no. no, baby, of course not. what—where is this coming from?”

“then why is she texting you?” your voice cracked. “why are you replying?”

he stared at you, stunned—then something shifted in his gaze.

he saw it.

he remembered everything you’d told him in the early days.

the pain you had confessed in whispers. the trembling voice that said, i don’t trust easy anymore.

he reached for you again.

this time, you didn’t move.

his hands cradled your face, thumbs catching the tears that slipped free.

“because she was scared,” he said gently. “she’s pregnant. alone. she needed help. she thought i’d listen.”

“and did you?”

“i told her no. i told her i couldn’t help. i told her i have you. that—that i choose you.”

you stared at him, breath shaky, lips quivering.

“but you said she was the one you loved.”

“i thought she was,” he breathed. “until you.”

he kissed you—soft, aching, honest.

“you’re not some replacement. you’re not second to anyone. you’re the first thing that feels real.”

your sob came out quiet, buried against his chest.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered, voice trembling. “i just got scared. i didn’t know how to say it without sounding… crazy.”

“hey,” he said softly, rocking you gently in his arms. “you’re not crazy. you’re hurting. and you’re allowed to feel everything you feel.”

you clung to him like he was the last solid thing in your world. “i just… i thought you’d leave too.”

he tilted your chin up, his forehead resting against yours.

“never.” his voice broke on the word. “i am not going anywhere. you hear me?”

you nodded, tears slipping silently between your lashes.

he kissed your cheeks. your eyelids. your temple.

“you are the love of my life. the woman i want to build everything with. you’re my heart, my future, my home.”

you looked at him, a fragile smile tugging at your lips. “even when i shut you out and cry in secret?”

“especially then,” he whispered.

and when he pulled you into his arms, under the soft weight of the blankets, you melted into him like you were finding your way back home.

because maybe, just maybe, love didn’t always leave.

maybe sometimes, it stayed.

and this time… maybe it was real.

skye is typing... thanks for your suggestion (😉) anonnn!! hope you like it!! it's been a while since i've written for sion and i'm ngl i'm starting to think he's one of my favs to write for 👅

#srb <3

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nebularsung · 4 days ago

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#NOT KYUN WITH BOWS IM GONNA SOB #😭😭

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nebularsung · 4 days ago

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i'm howling, i'm drooling, i'm babbling, i'm crying, i'm beating, i'm screaming, i'm dreaming, i'm drowning, i'm fooling, i'm dying, i'm falling, i'm moaning, i'm coming

[PREVIEW] #MARK at KCON LA 2025 MCountdown Stage Main Show

#my holy fuck #this man is #MY MAN 🤩#i love my markie #have i ever said how much i love my markie?#i'm waiting #bare and hot and ready #markie da skye <3

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nebularsung · 5 days ago

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cherriesss!! i'm reaching a milestone here hehehe and to thank you i'd like to prepare a special event! do you guys have something you wanna read or event ideas?

since it's for you i'd like to hear what you want

#pls pls tell me #i'm afraid to do smt y'all won't like #but i'll do regardless #you can send an ask dm or comment on this post #in skye's clouds... ☁️#nct fanfic #nct imagines #nct smut

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nebularsung · 7 days ago

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⭑ a messy family photo day with jisung couldn’t have been more perfect

you had such high hopes for the day.

the night before, you laid out your daughter’s cream dress—soft as meringue and barely wrinkled from its time in the drawer. you even ironed your own outfit while humming to yourself, feeling like you finally had it together. and somehow, you managed to convince jisung to wear that pale blue button-up—the one that made him look like he walked straight out of a daddy-core pinterest board, complete with soft hair and that crooked little smile.

everything was supposed to be perfect.

the sun was out. the sky looked like someone had taken a paintbrush to it—soft blues and lazy clouds drifting past. birds were chirping. the park was in full bloom, with little kids chasing bubbles and petals scattered like confetti on the grass. you even remembered snacks. you were so ready.

but apparently, the universe had other plans.

the chaos began with the shoe. your daughter—four years old and full opinions—took one look at the pristine ballet flats you set out and declared war.

“i want my sparkly ones!” she wailed, holding the glittery pink sneakers like they were holy artifacts.

“sweetheart, those don’t match,” you said gently, already bracing for the storm.

jisung knelt beside her like a hostage negotiator, smile soft and coaxing. “but baby, don’t you wanna match mama and daddy?”

she paused. considered. then shouted with all the conviction in the world, “no! i want to match me!”

you blinked. jisung glanced up at you and whispered out the side of his mouth, “i mean… she’s not wrong.”

so the glitter shoes stayed. and the battle was lost.

next came the mud.

you had taken exactly ten steps into the park when she spotted it—a glorious, glistening, earth-toned trap waiting just off the path. you barely had time to gasp before she bolted, white tights flying, arms out like a superhero.

“no, no, no—!”

too late. blue landed in the center of the puddle like it owed her money, splashing muck up her legs and giggling like a gremlin. her tights were instantly stained a tragic shade of brown, but she looked so proud, beaming like she’d just discovered a new planet.

jisung just crouched there beside the puddle, hands on his knees, staring at her like he was doing the mental math on how many loads of laundry this would take. then he sighed, shook his head, and muttered, “at least she’s happy…”

you couldn’t even argue. she was happy. joyfully, unapologetically so.

the photographer—an overenthusiastic college student with a camera bigger than her torso—tried her best to keep things organized. bless her soul. but between the glitter shoes, the mud, and your daughter’s newfound obsession with yelling “i’m a kitty!!” and crawling under your skirt, things… unraveled.

she tugged on jisung’s cheeks mid-shot. tried to climb him like a jungle gym. at one point, she lay dramatically across his lap, sighing like an exhausted actress. “i’m too pretty for pictures,” she groaned, flopping against him.

jisung raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed. “where do you even learn this stuff?”

you sipped your coffee and deadpanned, “probably from you.”

he gasped like you’d slapped him—then burst out laughing. she joined in, and soon, all three of you were giggling like maniacs on a blanket that was definitely too close to the mud.

the photographer, to her credit, caught it. click. the three of you tangled in laughter, hair flying, clothes slightly rumpled, none of you looking at the camera—but somehow, it was the shot. full of motion and mess and so much love it practically buzzed.

by the time it ended, blue was barefoot, her dress stained with grass and snack crumbs. a single leaf had taken up residence in her hair like it paid rent, and she refused to let you take it out. “he’s my friend,” she said, patting it gently.

jisung carried her back to the car, her tiny arms looped lazily around his neck, humming something soft against his shoulder. her eyes fluttered shut before you even left the parking lot.

later that night, after she was bathed and snuggled up with her favorite bunny, you and jisung curled up on the couch, blanket tucked around your legs, phone screen glowing between you.

the photographer had sent over a few early previews.

you scrolled quietly at first, hearts warm and tired in that soft way that only comes at the end of a long, wild day. then jisung let out a sudden breath—half-laugh, half-sigh—when one of the pictures popped up.

your daughter, in the middle of yanking on his cheeks, both of them laughing like fools, his eyes scrunched and her curls bouncing with joy.

“she looks just like you,” you said softly, nudging his shoulder with your own.

“what? no way,” he said—but his voice had gone soft. almost a whisper.

you angled the phone toward him. “look at that smile. that’s your smile. that’s one hundred percent your squishy, scrunchy jisung face.”

he stared at it, eyes lingering, before exhaling a laugh. “...okay, yeah. i kinda see it.”

then you scrolled to the next one—your daughter mid-run, arms flung out, face split with joy, like she was about to take flight.

“that one’s you,” he said, bumping his knee gently against yours. “that’s how you look when you laugh for real. when you’re really, really happy.”

your throat tightened a little. “we really made her, huh?”

he leaned his head back against the couch, arm coming up to rest behind you. “yeah,” he said, his smile awestruck. “we did. and she’s… the best kind of mess.”

you leaned into his side, head resting against his shoulder as the slideshow kept playing. soft light danced across your faces, the photos still glowing in your lap.

the day hadn’t gone perfectly. but sitting there, warm and tangled and full of love, you realized something important:

maybe chaos was the whole point.

and if your little glitter-shoed, leaf-headed, mud-stained hurricane of a girl was the result of all that chaos?

you wouldn’t change a single thing.

not one single thing.

ps. cherries please, if you wanna be tagged in my posts, check the taglist form on my pinned post for me to update (and organise my life) the list!

#jisung.jpg ★#nct fanfic #nct imagines #nct dream imagines #nct dream fanfic #park jisung imagines #jisung fanfic #jisung imagines

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nebularsung · 7 days ago

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3+ piercings 👅👅

#i feel so big girl #even tho my fucking ear is burning like hell #but it's pretty so i'm happy!#in skye's clouds... ☁️

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nebularsung · 8 days ago

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god bless you for writing your recent dad!dream scenarios 🥹🫶🏻✨ they’re so good and make me feel all mushy with baby fever

aww thank you my beautiful cherry!! tbh i got forever baby fever 😞 i need to write it

#my fav genre of dream 🫶🏻🫶🏻#cherries 🍒 in the skye!

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nebularsung · 8 days ago

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⭑ sometimes chenle handle your daughter well

it was his first full day off in weeks.

no calls, no rehearsals, no meetings. just chenle, the house, and the promise he made when he kissed you goodbye that morning—“go have the best mommy’s day ever. we’ll be just fine.”

and at first, everything felt easy.

he’d gotten up early, earlier than usual. the sky was still soft and pale outside the window, and the air inside the house smelled faintly of the lavender detergent you always used. he padded sleepily into the kitchen, hair a mess, yawning behind his hand. and then, just because it made him smile, he tied your pink apron around his waist—twice, since the strings weren’t really meant for him—and whispered, “chef chenle is in.”

he even tried cracking an egg one-handed. disastrously. shell bits flew, yolk dripped onto the counter, but he grinned through it. she’ll laugh, he thought. she always laughs at my disasters.

the sound of tiny feet against hardwood made him look up.

meimei came toddling in—hair everywhere, sleep still clinging to her in the way she blinked slow, one sock missing, dragging her beloved bunny by the ear.

“where’s mommy?” she asked, voice still rough from sleep.

“mommy’s having a special day today,” chenlesaid, crouching down to meet her sleepy eyes, brushing her wild bangs back with gentle fingers. “but you’ve got me. and i’ve got pancakes.”

“do they have sprinkles?” she asked suspiciously.

“they can... if you say the magic word.”

she paused. then, seriously: “waffles.”

he blinked. “that’s... not quite the word i was thinking of, but okay.”

later, when he finally set the pancakes in front of her, she gave them a look. poked one with the edge of her fork. then peered up at him, deadpan.

“these taste like the color beige.”

he spluttered. “you don’t even know what beige tastes like.”

“i do now.”

chenle laughed so hard he had to put the syrup bottle down or risk spraying it across the counter.

“alright,” he said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “waffles it is.”

what followed was not cooking so much as a full-blown food war.

flour floated in the air like fairy dust. chenle had syrup on his jaw, a rogue sprinkle stuck stubbornly to his collarbone, and butter on the tip of his nose. she wore his old baseball cap backward and declared herself the “mixing queen.” he was demoted to “assistant stirrer.”

but the waffles came out golden, warm, and perfect—by some miracle. and when he placed them in front of her, she clapped like it was the best magic trick she’d ever seen.

“you’re really good at this,” she said, mouth full.

“at what?”

“being a mommy.”

he blinked. then chuckled. “...that might be the best compliment someone ever gave me.”

after breakfast came fort-building.

the living room turned into a construction site—cushions stacked haphazardly, blankets hanging like sails. chenle tried to make it structurally sound, but every time he turned his back, she changed the theme.

“now it’s an ice cream truck!”

“now it’s a castle!”

“now it’s a rocket to the moon!”

he just nodded and kept tying sheets tighter, crawling inside the maze when she called him.

“you be the dragon, daddy!”

he roared. she shrieked. bunny went flying, landed near the couch, and was promptly knighted with a ruler as “sir hop-a-lot.”

around noon, bath time began with soft lullabies and warm water and ended in complete mayhem. bubbles overflowed. the duck army revolted. chenle, now drenched, wore her pink shower cap like a crown.

“i’m a mermaid!” meimei shouted, standing proudly in the tub.

“and i’m your very wet, very tired assistant,” he mumbled, laughing as he used a towel to shield himself from the next tidal wave.

they got dressed again in pajamas—matching ones, pink with little moons. lunch was grilled cheese and baby carrots on a picnic blanket in the living room. she insisted on wearing her princess dress over her pj top. he didn’t argue.

they read books until his voice went hoarse. played the same board game until she started bending the rules in her favor. and when she danced to the same song on loop for the fifth time, spinning until she tumbled to the floor, she whispered with dramatic flair:

“daddy... i need... a nap.”

“me too,” he sighed, already reaching for the closest blanket.

they curled up together on the bed, soft afternoon light pouring through the curtains, golden and gentle. her body was warm and squirmy as she settled into the crook of his arm, her bunny hugged tightly to her chest.

she blinked up at him, fighting sleep.

“will you still be here when i wake up?”

he smiled softly, brushing her cheek with the back of his fingers. “always.”

her lashes fluttered once, then stilled. breath slowed. little hand curling into the fabric of his shirt like she never wanted to let go.

you came home a few hours later.

the house looked like it had been touched by a storm of love—chaotic and glowing in its own lived-in warmth. flour dusted the counter. a crayon trail meandered down the hallway. a towel clung to a light fixture. how it got there, you didn’t want to know.

but the bedroom—

the bedroom was soft. untouched. quiet.

sunlight filtered lazily through the curtains, and there they were—your whole heart, tangled in the middle of the bed, a nest of limbs and blankets and soft breath.

chenle lay on his side, mouth slightly open in sleep, one arm protectively resting across your daughter’s back. her tiny hand was curled tightly in his shirt, bunny tucked beneath her chin.

your chest ached in the gentlest, most overwhelming way.

“you did good,” you whispered into the hush, barely louder than the breeze through the window.

chenle stirred. eyelids fluttered open, and a sleepy smile slowly pulled at his lips. “you’re home,” he breathed.

you nodded, stepping closer on careful feet, kissing his forehead. “how was your day?”

he stretched a little, blinked again, and immediately curled back around her. “chaotic. beautiful. exhausting. perfect.”

“you know, meimei called me just to say your pancakes were awful.”

he groaned. “she’s savage.”

you giggled, climbing into bed beside them. your fingers found his under the blanket, and he laced them with yours without hesitation.

“you’re the best dad,” you said softly.

he turned his head, eyes shining despite his sleep. kissed your knuckles. “i just wanted her to feel loved.”

“she does,” you whispered. “she will. always.”

and you lay there, the three of you—warm and tangled and still.

the day had been wild and messy, nothing close to perfect.

but this—this moment, this home, this love—it was everything.

ps. cherries please, if you wanna be tagged in my posts, check the taglist form on my pinned post for me to update (and organise my life) the list!

#chenle.jpg ★#nct fanfic #nct imagines #nct dream imagines #nct dream fanfic #nct smut #chenle imagines #chenle fanfic

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