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heartseungs-archive · 9 months ago

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dance to this | l.hc

word count: 3.8k | genre: dancer! haechan x dancer! reader, university au, slight enemies to lovers | warnings: none

Donghyuck is an ace. He knows this from the way Taeyong chooses him to be the centre of too many of their performances, and the way too many of his clips have gone viral online.

Donghyuck is annoying. He knows this from the way Doyoung groans in exasperation at every one of his stupid pranks, or when Mark finally loses his patience and shouts across the room at the top of his voice.

But above all of that, Donghyuck is very, very competitive. He doesn’t make it obvious, but the need to win is always simmering beneath the surface, especially for the things that matter. He knows this because you are always there, in his peripheral vision, reminding Donghyuck that he needs to be better than you.

You’re an ace too, even if Donghyuck doesn’t want to admit it. The entirety of the Yonsei male student population is likely in love with you and has posters hung up in their room. You’re also annoying, or at least Donghyuck thinks so. He’s sure the rest of the team would disagree, but you’ve got them wrapped around your finger.

“I’m not partnering with someone who can’t even moonwalk properly,” he bites, and you glare back at him.

“Says the one who tore his jeans at rehearsal last year trying to do a split.”

“That was just because the jeans were too tight. I assure you I am fully capable of doing a split.”

“Oh yeah? Let’s see it then. See, you’re hesitating-”

“Guys! For the love of God, can the two of you cut it out? It’s like I’m dealing with two toddlers.” Taeyong stands in front of you and Donghyuck, looking frazzled as always. Next to him is Karina, who simply rolls her eyes. Taeyong is no stranger to you and Donghyuck bickering at all hours of the day, but he’s especially tired with the upcoming recital. For that sole reason, the both of you fall silent like sullen children, looking at him.

“Sorry,” you mutter, and Taeyong smiles gently at you.

“It’s fine. We just really need this performance to go well, okay? And the both of you doing a duet will garner the most attention.”

Donghyuck sends a pointed look to Karina, who nods in assent. He sighs dramatically, enough for you to cast a sharp glance over. The dance studio is empty save for the four of them, everyone else not yet here. “Okay.”

“Me too. I’m in if Donghyuck cooperates,” you reply, and Taeyong breaks out in the most brilliant smile you’ve ever seen, lighting up his entire face.

“What do you mean if I cooperate? You’re literally the most argumentative person I’ve ever met-”

Taeyong's smile quickly disappears.

However, Karina puts a hand on the small of his back, guiding him out of the room, and the door slamming shut cuts Donghyuck’s spiel short. Just before you can send another jab Donghyuck’s way, however, Mark and Jaehyun come in, while Ningning and Giselle follow quickly after.

It’s time for practice, and you suppose there’s another thing Donghyuck can add to the list. That the both of you are professional enough to keep the childish comments outside of your actual work, and you suppose it’s the only reason Karina hasn’t bought duct tape to forcibly mute the both of you yet.

You’re sitting on the floor, out of breath and with a light sheen of sweat on your face when Donghyuck’s performance starts. Well, it’s a team performance, really, but your eyes are always on him. Compared to the majority of his audience, though, your gaze is always assessing, not admiring. His dynamics, control, sharpness, everything. You sear his image into your brain, just to compare it to your own movements in the mirror later.

Still, there’s a fluidity to Donghyuck that you’ve never been able to replicate perfectly, as much as you try. It’s something so distinct to him, the way he moves across the floor like he’s walking on water. It takes your breath away, but you’ll never tell him that. Just like how he’ll never admit that you’re much better than him at capturing details in dances, and the way you do it makes standing out effortless.

The way your sharp eyes follow Donghyuck as he moves seamlessly across the room makes him weirdly determined to make this the best performance yet. Your presence is a source of pressure, but Donghyuck performs well under pressure anyways.

The sky is quickly turning a midnight blue when Taeyong calls an end to the practice, and everyone’s made a temporary home on the wooden floor of the dance studio. It’s a familiar and comforting sight, seeing some of them on their phones, others lying on the couch, or going through their routines in the corner.

This is what makes up Donghyuck’s world. The four walls of the dance studio. Of course, he supposes his degree in Business is one integral part of his life, but it’s so much less exciting for him. Donghyuck derives an enormous amount of exhilaration from every minute, every second that he’s on the stage, spotlight shining.

He’s one of the last to leave, waving to Taeyong and Karina who give him a cursory greeting in return. They work so much harder than the rest of the team to perfect the formations, and Donghyuck’s sure that they’re both bound to get together at some point. He’s never seen two people more similar.

Other than you and him, maybe.

That’s the exact thought running through his head as he strolls past the exit of the building and turns a corner to the familiar alleyway. You’re leaning under a streetlight, phone in hand and earbuds plugged in. Your features are delicate, and the blue glare of the phone reflects off your face.

Besides being annoyingly talented and competitive, Donghyuck is also in love with you.

There was a time when he genuinely disliked you. Three years ago, when he couldn’t understand why someone new was being accepted into the dance team and was sharing the position of centre with him. If he looked back now, the Donghyuck back then would seem so very immature, nothing more than a boy afraid of being replaced.

It took him a while to realise that he didn’t mind. Enjoyed it, actually. The fact that someone else understood the burden of being under the spotlight, the responsibility of heightening the team’s energy and bringing out the very soul of the performance. You were also immensely capable and pushed Donghyuck to do better. Be better.

Somewhere along the line, dislike changed into grudging admiration, to a tentative friendship, and then into butterflies that fluttered wildly in Donghyuck’s stomach every time you looked at him.

And then one night, all it took was a few too many bottles of soju and the empty dance studio for him to take that very final leap. The both of you had stumbled out of the arts faculty building afterwards, tipsy and giggling. It’s still one of Donghyuck’s favourite memories that he has of you, clinging onto him and refusing to go into your dorm building.

There are very few feelings that surpass the pride that Donghyuck feels when he finishes a routine perfectly. However, one of them is the feeling of your lips on his. The other is the way you look when you wake in the morning, eyes half-lidded and hair messy.

And of course, like some cliche trope, the both of you had not yet told the rest of the team of these… not-so-recent developments. And the longer you went, the easier it was to just pretend there was no real need to tell them. After all, it’s not like you and Donghyuck didn’t argue anymore, if not made obvious by the events of the afternoon. It was just that the bickering was now purely for entertainment, and the both of you acted much sappier to make up for it when no one was watching.

There was a fear that the knowledge would just bewilder most of them, considering the fact that they thought the both of you disliked each other vehemently. Karina also did mention that workplace relationships were strictly not allowed, even though she technically had no right if 1. none of you were on her payroll and 2. she had the biggest crush on Taeyong.

“Hey there,” Donghyuck says, smiling, as he grabs an earbud and places it in his other ear so that he can still hear anything you say clearly.

“Hello. Tired?” You ask as you interlace your fingers with his, but not before casting a quick glance around your surroundings. He shakes his head, and the both of you remain in a comfortable silence until you’re seated comfortably in his car with the heater on at full blast. It’s the middle of winter, and as much as you enjoy the snow, the chill also gets bone-deep. You grab the blanket from its familiar spot in the back of the car, tugging it over your legs.

Donghyuck’s apartment is far enough from campus to not be crowded, but it’s not so isolated that it’s inconvenient. You find yourself spending a lot more time at his apartment these days, so much that you almost have an entire shelf in the closet that stores your clothes.

“You should move in,” he had said one day, after the both of you finished a movie. You definitely wouldn’t mind. After all, living with Donghyuck would be comfortable. He did have a tendency to scatter his clothes all over the room, but he was mostly tidy. He also didn’t mind doing the dishes, and the only real problem you would have would be him singing at the top of his voice at all hours of the day. Even that was more enjoyable than annoying.

“How can I move in if you have the guys over almost every week to game? We’d get found out in no time,” you replied from where you were standing at the fridge, and Donghyuck muttered something like we can just tell them, then, but you were unsure if you had heard him right.

“Did you say something?” You asked, looking at him expectantly. However, Donghyuck didn’t say anything, instead smiling at you, and you tried to hide the disappointment that welled up in you.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Donghyuck’s question jolts you out of your recollections, and you shake your head. His hand is interlocked with yours and rests gently on your lap, even though you’ve told him before that he should try to keep both hands on the wheel. However, the roads are deserted this time of night, so you suppose you’ll let him have his way.

The moment you enter his house, you’re quick to collapse on his couch and close your eyes, but you’re immediately dragged off. “Ouch,” you mutter when you land unceremoniously on the carpet, but Donghyuck just grins. “You need to shower, and so do I. Unless you want to sleep on the couch tonight.”

“The both of us know you would be the one sleeping on the couch anyways,” you retort, and Donghyuck just rolls his eyes before he passes you a towel and extra clothes. His sweatpants, and a band tee that's a little too small on him.

You have five sets of your own clothing folded neatly on the second shelf of his closet on the right. Even then, you take his.

An hour later, you’re scrolling on your phone when Donghyuck comes out of the bathroom, towel round his neck. He’s quick to make his way over to the couch, and you move your phone out of the way before he can accidentally knock it over.

“You big baby,” you scold half-heartedly as he sprawls over you, legs tangled with yours. He hums contentedly from where his face is nestled into your shoulder, and you try not to smile.

“Donghyuck.”

“Hm?” He places a soft kiss on your neck, and your fingers fiddle with his hair. It’s getting longer, you realise, since the last time you cut it for him. It had taken a few too many video tutorials, but you were getting better at it. Not that a bad haircut would ruin Donghyuck’s looks anyways. However, when your first attempt had not been so ideal, he had taken it upon himself to be your personal make-up artist. Your relationship with Donghyuck has always been like that. Push-for-pull. Neither of you is the kind of person to back down, but you suppose that’s what makes being with him so exciting.

“Can you make me ramen?” You can feel it when Donghyuck huffs, and he raises his head to look at you. “Is that all I’m good for? I feel like I’m a personal chef instead of your boyfriend.”

You nod, making your expression as serious and earnest as possible. Still, he gives in and gets up, making his way over to the kitchen. You’re quick to follow him, however, grabbing everything he needs. It’s a routine at this point. You’re in charge of ingredients, Donghyuck overseeing cooking.

You grab a vinyl from the tall shelf next to the television, placing it gently into the gramophone. This is one of Donghyuck’s favourite records, and you find yourself humming to it as well as the music filters gently out. You remember his expression of awe when he had opened your present on his birthday.

“Y/N, you didn’t.”

“I did. You can’t possibly have that many records and no gramophone to play them.”

“But this is so expensive.”

“It was just a bunch of extra shifts at the cafe,” had been your nonchalant reply, and Donghyuck’s eyes were soft when he looked up at you, almost glistening. The both of you were seated on the floor, the cake half-eaten on Donghyuck's table that both functioned as a study area and a place to eat.

“Thank you, Y/N. But,” Donghyuck leans over, until he’s barely centimetres from you. His lips are next to your ear, and you can hear your breath hitch.

“I’ll get you an even better present next year. You know me. I can’t lose.” His grin is full of mirth now, and you scoff.

“Even for this?”

“Even for this.”

“It’s still in such good condition,” you mumble to yourself as your fingers brush over the lacquered wood.

“Of course it is. You gave it to me.” You didn’t realize Donghyuck had heard you, but his comment causes your heartbeat to speed up just slightly. The pot is simmering gently on the stove, and Donghyuck turns to look at you. Here, away from the glaring fluorescent lights of the studio, is your favourite version of Donghyuck. Not the dance team’s ace, the mini campus celebrity, but your Donghyuck.

Of course, you love the other versions of him too. But this, the Donghyuck standing under his kitchen lights with grey sweatpants and messy hair, is a sight that belongs to you and you only. And god forbid that he's not the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen in your life.

You make your way over to him, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. Donghyuck isn’t that much taller than you, but in close proximity, he still cranes his neck down to meet your gaze directly. His arms wrap around your waist instinctively, and you can feel the warmth that radiates from his palms through the thin shirt you’re wearing.

“What’s with the sudden affection?” He asks, and you lean into his chest, eyes closed. “Nothing. I just like you. A lot.” The way his chest rumbles slightly tells you that he’s trying to hide a chuckle, but you know Donghyuck enjoys the sweet words, even if he teases you about it.

“Dance with me.” It’s an odd request, considering the both of you are tired out from practice, but you nod, and Donghyuck smiles.

“Wait, but the music. Shouldn’t we change it?”

“No, it’s fine. We can just dance to this.”

Donghyuck pulls you away from the stove and nearer to the couch, where there’s open space. It’s less dancing, and more of a poorly-imitated ballroom waltz. The both of you had only taken one waltz lesson during the team's annual retreat, when Taeyong had thought it a good idea to ‘diversify genres’. However, after Jaehyun had narrowly avoided crashing into a glass display and Chenle caused the team to receive a noise complaint, you suppose Taeyong had scrapped any further ideas of forcing everyone to take mandatory lessons.

It was memorable to you for an entirely different reason, however. It was the first time you began to see Donghyuck in a different light, being forced to partner with him for all three days. The both of you had quickly resolved to outdo everyone else, kickstarting a temporary truce which spiralled to well…this.

Donghyuck’s arms gently circle around your waist as the both of you take light footsteps from one end of the living room to the other. You’ve always found it easy to sync with him, and you’re guessing it just boils down to natural chemistry. That, and the fact that you’re so familiar with the way Donghyuck moves from watching him dance day in and day out.

There was a fascination with university that everyone else had, that you often failed to grasp. It had just seemed like a natural progression, rather than a hard-earned escape to a utopian place where you were an adult free to do what you wanted. The past three years had been some of the best in your life, mainly owing to the fact that you had a major you enjoyed and a dance team that simultaneously functioned as your closest group of friends.

You realise that Donghyuck has been present for its entirety. He had been there when you were accepted to the dance team, and then made centre alongside him a year later. He had been there when you did your first showcase and solo act, running down from the stage breathless afterwards. When you got your first injury, he was the one who told Taeyong for you, and convinced him that you could still fill the role with enough rest. Donghyuck was the one who found you crying in the studio when you got a failing grade on one of your exams, and who sat with you silently until your eyes were no longer red.

There’s only one year until you graduate, but Donghyuck’s presence in your life is as constant as the air you need to breathe.

It was easy to say farewell to your friends from high school, with an easy promise to maintain contact. But it’s so very different with Donghyuck, who fills up every crevice of your life effortlessly with his little habits.

You had wondered if you had fallen too fast for Donghyuck. After all, the change from rivals to friends to romantic feelings had been alarming, because you could rarely think straight when it came to him. Yet, looking at him now, you’re convinced that you want to spend as much time with Donghyuck as possible, before the worries of adulthood start creeping in.

Call it young ambition, but something about Donghyuck just makes you want to take chances. To let loose and live a little easier. Maybe it’s because he’s able to make you happy with the simplest things, and he’s so easy to love. Which is why you suppose you can finally make a decision, even though your heart has probably been silently waiting to say yes.

“If I move in, I want counter space. And also half of the closet space. And you have to promise to not scatter your clothes around our room,” you say, so abruptly that Donghyuck stops moving entirely, and you have to pause to prevent yourself from tripping over his feet. He bends down, until he’s eye level with you. His eyes are hopeful, questioning, as if he’s not entirely believing of what you’re implying.

“You’re not kidding, right?” It’s so easy for a smile to make its way onto your face, as you shake your head and Donghyuck’s grip on your waist gets a little bit tighter.

“You’ll get all the counter space you want. I’ll even let you bring your stupid potted plants.” Your nose scrunches at his remark, and Donghyuck has to stop himself from cooing at your expression.

“For the record, I think my potted plants are adorable. And once I bring them here, they’ll be yours too. So don’t speak of our potted plants that way.”

Ours. Donghyuck thinks he likes the sound of that.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

A week later, you’re standing outside the dance studio with Donghyuck, when you grab his hand. He looks down sharply at you, mouthing a ‘what?’, and then angling his chin urgently back in the direction of the studio. However, you just flash a grin at him. “Open the door, Donghyuck. We’re already late.” He narrows his eyes, but the playful grin tugging on his mouth shows that he already understands what you’re aiming at.

When the both of you walk in, there’s a mixed range of reactions. There’s Jisung and Shotaro, whose mouths are wide open. Doyoung and Mark’s eyebrows are raised, but they don’t show any other expression. Ningning, Renjun and Chenle are in a corner, knowing smiles on their faces. Taeyong and Karina just look like they’ve always known, and are honestly more miffed at the lack of punctuality from the both of you.

“I think Karina’s going to kill us for breaking her no relationships rule,” Donghyuck mutters worriedly in your ear.

“If you forget, I’m her favourite child. I think she’s more likely to murder you for getting with me,” you respond sweetly, and Donghyuck simply stares, speechless, as you let go and walk over to where Giselle and Winter are warming up. He scoffs, shaking his head, and walks over to Jaemin and Jeno, who are already ready to tease him for being a lovesick fool.

The four walls of the dance studio make up so much of Donghyuck’s life, but so do you.

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vampiretendencies · 2 years ago

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jj mocking your moans is such a him thing to just annoy u 🫣🫣🫣

suggestive!

any inconvenience, he’s doing it.

he has the repeated image of you falling apart for him engraved in his mind. and the sheer embarrassment, roped with annoyance on your reddened cheeks whenever he mentions it is alike to that of when he’s making your flesh crawl with oblivion— so strikingly red, resembling a cherry everytime you came undone.

the shame and awkwardness he brings back to life within you when he uttered to mimick your angelic calls for him during sex turned to a shell of discomfort.

you knew he had that power over you, to make you feel small with one little notion. oh and did he love it.

using it to slightly guilt trip you in a way, to not go out for girls night. albeit, he craved you more than whatever mindless night sarah, kie, and cleo had planned with you. his urges were ravenous, nearly compromising with himself to not eat you alive.

and the outfit that you choose to wear was not helping, the material thin, see-through if you glance during the right lighting, and it snitched your waist just heavenly.

clasping your necklace in the full length mirror, he evens the chain over your chest, vein-prominent hands staying there. twirling the thin silver around his index finger, with a peck to the open skin behind your ear.

“you really shouldn’t go to this baby, could just stay … with me. maybe take it slower since we have all night—“

you cut it short as you know where he’s going with this, it’s jj. “no j, i can’t i already promised them. too late to back out.”

a tiny pout forms on his sullen lips, a small ‘tut’ falling past them. face of ‘well, that’s not going to work in your favor.’

“don’t you miss me, pretty girl? need you so bad.”

“seriously jj m’not staying—“

“you weren’t saying that yesterday. actually, all i remember you saying yesterday is ‘right there j’ and ‘please go faster’, isn’t that right ?”

is that really how you sound?

he mocked your moans in a slightly higher pitched voice, trying to replicate yours. a sly, sensuous smirk on his face, he traced your collar bone boring forward at you in the mirror. cheeks unbelievably hot, staring down at the floor, hoping to hide but there’s nowhere to go— no where to run.

his turns on his heel, now in front of you. encouraging your head to look up at him with the curl of one finger beneath your trembling chin.

he knows he’s won.

“here’s what’s gonna’ happen. you’ll cancel and go tomorrow, right after m’done hearing those pretty moans again alright baby?”

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x you #outer banks #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank smut #jj maybank angst #jj maybank fic #jj maybank oneshot #jj maybank concepts #jj maybank imagines

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emeraldlusts · 2 months ago

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Welcomed - A Kylian Mbappé oneshot

Warning : smut, minors DNI, 18+ only Note : may contain spelling and translating mistakes

Kylian was spread out onto the bed, his phone in hand when you walked out of the bathroom, a white towel wrapped just above your chest.

“Hey baby,” you greeted as you walked over to him, leaning down to peck his lips as he looked up from his phone, his eyebrows immediately lifting up as he took in your appearance.

“Hey,” he replied, one hand immediately reaching out to wrap around your wrist in an attempt to stop you in your tracks as you were about to walk straight to your dressing room. “Hey, wait,” he added as he sat up and wrapped an arm around your waist, trying to pull you into him.

“I don’t have time, Kylian, I’m already late,” you pouted, placing both hands on his shoulders as you were now standing in between his parted legs.

“‘tis unfair,” he replicated your pout, impersonating a five year old before cupping your face and pulling you down for a real kiss, his lips soft and demanding as he pressed them against yours.

It didn’t happen all that often, but tonight, you were actually going out for a girls night. It felt like ages since you had last done that. Having moved away from your hometown to join Kylian in Madrid, you had left most of your childhood friends behind and didn’t go out as often anymore. Tonight was the first night you were actually going out with two of the girls you had recently made friends with in this new city. You realized as you started getting ready just how much you had missed it, and you could feel the excitement starting to take over your entire body, your heartbeat speeding up a little at the thought of a full night of dancing, laughing, and drinking.

You slipped on the outfit you had decided to wear and checked yourself in the floor length mirror. You had picked a black bodysuit with a zipper at the front that allowed you to choose just how much cleavage you wanted to reveal, and paired it with a long skirt just sheer enough to show glimpses of your legs when the lighting was just right.

Satisfied with your reflection, you reapplied a layer of lipstick before walking back into your bedroom, where your boyfriend hadn’t moved, his thumb still sliding up his screen as he scrolled through a random app.

He looked up and frowned as his eyes traveled from your head to your toes, then back up a few times.

“Where are you girls going again ?” he asked as he locked his phone and placed all his attention on you. You gave him the name of the club as you sat down to put on your heels, hoping you’d be able to stand the whole night in them. He cleared his throat, which made you look up and you instantly noticed his expression. Something was off.

“What ?” you asked.

“Nothing, just-” he hesitated, carefully choosing his next words. “Your outfit ?” was all he could find in that instant.

You immediately stood up, looking down at yourself before turning around in the room, trying to find the nearest mirror even though you knew there wasn’t any in this bedroom.

“What ? It doesn’t look good ? Is it not appropriate ?” you started to panic, mentally scanning your wardrobe to try and find a replacement, knowing you’d have to be quick as you were already late.

“Oh no, it looks good… A little too good, actually,” he confessed, making you narrow your eyes at him. “As for appropriate, I’m probably biased but I would say not,” he admitted.

“What does ‘a little too good’ mean ??” you retorted, annoyance creeping up in your tone.

He stood up, and took two long strides before standing in front of you and placing his hands on your hips, his firm touch immediately calming you down.

“You look fantastic, baby,” he reassured, which had you frowning in confusion.

“Then what ?” you breathed out, trying to make some sense of this exchange.

“I just… I don’t know how I feel about you going clubbing in this outfit,” he replied. Your eyes shot up and you were about to give him hell about this remark but he didn’t give you the time to. “I’d never ask you to change, you know that ; and I know you wouldn’t do it anyway. I guess I’m just saying, please be careful, okay ? Because from what I have in front of my eyes right now, you’ll probably have to shove dudes away the whole night.”

That was a good save, and you felt a slight blush creep up your cheeks at his words ; which he of course, didn’t fail to notice.

“Come on, you know the club, it’s only VIPs and celebrities, I should be safe,” you replied, placing a hand on his chest that he immediately took into his own before bringing it up to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on your palm.

“Yep, I know the club, and I know those guys : they’re not used to hearing the word ‘no’.” his lips pressed into a thin line as he uttered those words.”I know you can take care of yourself, (Y/N), but please be careful.”

“When am I not ?” you replied with a smile, attempting to soothe his worries.

“I know, but I think you don’t realize just how fucking sexy you look right now, and-” he brought his hand up to the front zipper of your body and swiftly pulled it down to your navel, your breasts immediately springing free before his eyes. “Hell, it’s not a fake one,” he muttered under his breath.

“Kylian, I’ll be fine,” you quickly replied before pulling the zipper back up, constricting your breasts inside the bodysuit as you did so. “Besides, I won’t be alone, the girls will be there.”

“Yeah, the girls you’ve known for three months,” he sharply replied. He couldn’t really think straight anymore, not since he’d seen just how easy it would be for any guy to just randomly walk up to you and gain access to your breasts with a snap of their fingers.

He then saw a shadow of hurt cloud your eyes and registered what he had just said. He knew he was being unfair. You had left your home, your family and friends, everything you’d ever known to follow him here, while he was fulfilling his dreams. And now he was throwing it all in your face by reminding you that you didn’t have any longtime friends here.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I’m just worried I guess and I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I know,” you replied.

You knew this man like the back of your hand by now, and you knew damn well he wouldn’t ever do or say anything to intentionally hurt you. You also knew how protective he could get over you, and most times, it actually was a huge turn on. But right now, you just wanted to enjoy your girls night out.

“I promise to be careful. All three of us girls are in relationships so I think it’s very clear we’re only going out to dance with each other and we won’t let any man in our circle.”

Kylian exhaled, both relieved by your words and the fact you had decided not to pick a fight when you clearly would have had the right to.

“Thank you,” he murmured before leaning down to capture your lips.

“M’lipstick,” you whined against his mouth but he didn’t stop.

“‘tis mine now,” he smiled before pulling away.

You shook your head and smiled back at him before quickly going back to the bathroom to try and fix the damage that had just been done to your makeup.

“Can I push it ?” you heard Kylian ask from the doorway and you looked up at him through the mirror, waiting for the rest of his sentence to decide whether or not he was actually pushing it. “Would you let Esteban drive you there and back ?”

Esteban was Kylian’s driver, and as nice as he was, you had always refused to ask for his services, even though most times it probably wouldn’t have bothered him. You rolled your eyes and turned around to face your boyfriend.

“Kylian, that's ridiculous, it’s not part of his job to drive me around, and I have no idea at what time I’ll be coming back home, I won’t have him waiting around on a club’s parking lot for hours,” you tried to reason with him, but he had his arms crossed against his chest which you knew meant your chances were thin. “I’ll take a taxi.”

“He won’t mind,” he simply answered and he was already fishing for his phone from his jeans’ front pocket to make the call. You knew you wouldn’t win that one so you went for another strategy instead, hoping you could at least get something out of this.

“On one condition though,” you quickly blurted out, “I’ll leave my phone in my purse, so please don’t expect texts or calls from me. I promise to call you in case of an emergency, but that’s it.”

Kylian narrowed his eyes at you then let a small sigh escape his lips before pressing ‘call’ on his phone, sealing the deal.

You finished the last touch ups, took one last look at yourself in the mirror before heading back to the bedroom to pick up your purse and finally leave the house. You approached Kylian who was still carefully watching you before pecking his lips with the tip of yours, careful not to ruin your lipstick again.

“Bye babe,” you whispered with a smile, feeling confident in the way you looked as you saw the familiar flame burning in his eyes.

“Don’t let your drinks out of your sight for even a second,” Kylian replied as you turned around to leave.

“Okay, dad,” you teased with a smirk, making fun of his protectiveness before opening the door.

“I’ll make you regret that,” you heard him retort right as you started walking down the stairs and toward the front door.

The car ride was just a little under thirty minutes and that gave you the time to text your friends then catch up on some of your unread messages before taking a scroll on Instagram.

You were just about to get there when your phone buzzed with a new message from Kylian. You rolled your eyes and debated whether or not to open it but decided that your ‘no message, no call’ rule would only start the second you entered the club.

That’s what your outfit does to a man

And attached to the message was a picture of him, on the bed, in his black boxers, cupping his erection through the cotton fabric. Your mouth went dry as you took in this view : his taut abs, the v-line disappearing into his underwear, towards the part of him you most wanted to see. The second text came a few seconds later.

Have fun tonight, love, but keep a little energy for when you get back xx

You almost considered asking Esteban to drive you right back ; that’s what this man could do to you with a single picture barely showing anything and a few words that sounded like a promise. You took a few minutes to compose yourself before typing your reply.

I promise xx

To say the night lived up to your expectations was an understatement, it was probably the most fun you had had in weeks. You had just enough to drink to be able to feel the warmth inside and your mind disconnect as you danced for hours, not once stopping except to whisper words in your friends’ ears every now and again.

Your whole body was still buzzing from the excitement of the club when you climbed into the backseat of the car, apologizing to Esteban for the time it was.

You immediately pulled out your phone, and was pleased to see that Kylian had respected his part of the deal and hadn’t tried to contact you. Except now you were a little worried that he had actually gone to sleep and wouldn’t follow through with his earlier promise.

On my way back xx

His answer came only a few seconds later, which warmed your heart, knowing it meant he was actually waiting for you.

Finally !

Your excitement kept on growing as the car made its way through the streets of Madrid, and you could barely keep it together anymore when you pushed your keys into the lock and opened the front door. The house was dark and Kylian was nowhere to be seen, so you quickly made your way up to your shared bedroom, your breath hitching as you pushed the door open.

He was still on the bed, only this time he was only wearing the boxers you had seen in the picture he’d sent you. He was effortlessly hot, his body was a magnet you couldn’t resist and he knew that well enough. He had dimmed the light and the atmosphere felt heavy with a tension that made your pulse quicken. You placed your purse on the nearest chair as he stood up and walked over to you, every movement making his muscle bulge under his skin, making your mouth salivate at the sight.

“Had fun ?” he asked as he placed one hand on your waist, one hand at the back of your neck and then crashed his lips on yours, not giving you the opportunity to reply. He instantly claimed your mouth, his tongue pushing past your lips and restlessly caressing yours, making your gasp at the assault.

Kylian had spent most of the night imagining you dancing in a club full of boys, in an outfit that made you look as sexy as you’d ever been, probably driving any man who saw you as crazy as it had him. You came back even more alluring than you had left, your skin glowing from dancing the whole night, your eyes a little wider due to alcohol, and your hair falling messily down your shoulders and back..

A vixen.

He was going to make sure you remembered you were his. And he knew exactly how.

“Can you stand a little longer in those heels ?” he asked against your mouth as he pushed his body into yours, letting you feel his hard on before proceeding to walk you backwards, his arms securing you against him.

“I think so,” you managed to breathe out, your heart thumping in your chest. “Why ?”

“You’re keeping them,” he simply informed you, now pushing you into your shared dressing room. He then stopped and settled you both in the middle of the room, his lips still on yours as the hand that was on your waist travelled down to your ass and gave your left cheek a firm squeeze.

You gasped and felt him smile into the kiss. The warmth of his bare chest against you made your skin burn under his touch. You needed him, badly.

“No incident ?” he asked as he pulled away for a second to gaze into your eyes. You shook your head ‘no’, the intensity of his eyes in that moment had you completely mesmerized. You knew he had a plan and whatever it was, you were in for it. “Good,” he hummed before his lips curled into a devastating smirk.

He placed both his hands on your hips, his eyes falling on your cleavage before he looked back up at you.

“Turn around, mon coeur,” he gently instructed, knowing that hearing him speak French never failed to turn you on.

You did as he told you and your eyes widened as you suddenly understood where this was all going. You were now facing the both of you, reflected in the floor length mirror that stood on one of the walls of the dressing room. Kylian had mentioned the idea a couple weeks ago, and you knew he was not one to forget to follow through on his ideas, especially in the bedroom. Especially when it had that kind of effect on you.

Kylian was intently watching your reaction, the look on your face as you put two and two together and understood what the rest of the night would hold. He noticed the way your cheeks turned a darker shade of red, the way your lips parted as you took a full look at yourself, and then the way your eyes settled on him, as if waiting for his instructions.

“Remember ?” he murmured against your ear, one arm wrapping around your body, pushing his front flat against your back, making sure you could feel him hard and hot against your backside.

“Yes,” you breathed out, one hand instantly reaching up to wrap around his arm.

“I want you- I need you to see what I see, (Y/N). Because I don’t think you understand just how sexy you are,” he continued, his other hand caressing your sides over your top, making you shiver under his touch. “I’ve been burning on the inside from the second I saw you in that outfit. And having to spend hours knowing other men were admiring you in it drove me insane,” his voice was deeper now, coming from his chest, almost menacing.

His hand caressed over your stomach, then your breast, lingering a little. You couldn’t look away, your eyes following the trail of his fingers on your body, anticipating his next move. He continued his way up until he had one hand wrapped around your throat. He didn’t apply any pressure, but it was enough to make you look at him and fall into complete submission in an instant. He held your gaze, his lips grazing your earlobe.

“I’m gonna play with you until I’m satisfied with the number of times you’ve said my name ; until I’m sure that of all the boys that have checked you out tonight, I’m the only face you remember-”

“Kylian,” you started to protest, meaning to tell him that he didn’t have to compete with anyone, ever.

“Hush,” he instructed, his fingers tightening just slightly around your throat. “I know, baby, it’s only a game,” he said, his voice a little softer now. “Just one I intend to win,” he added in a whisper, his lips curling in a devastating smile. “Keep your eyes open, babygirl, that’s all I ask.”

You were mesmerized by the way his arms wrapped around your body, holding you against him, molding your two bodies as if they were only one. He let go of your throat, and ever so slowly trailed his hand down your body, until it reached your waist. He swiftly hooked his thumbs under the elastic of your skirt and his eyes flickered to your face as he slowly kneeled behind you, pulling the fabric down in one swift movement, letting it pool at your feet.

Your mouth fell open. The sight of him kneeling behind you, his face inches away from your ass as you stood now only in your bodysuit and heels was more than you could handle. You felt like you’d never been this aroused before, this wet… And you were wondering if he could smell you from where he was kneeling. So close.

His hands cupped your ass and he locked his eyes on yours as he leaned in, and sank his teeth into your flesh. You gasped, fighting to keep your balance and Kylian chuckled behind you as he stood back up and did the same move on your neck, biting you gently as he wrapped his arms around you again.

His right hand traveled down your front, and he boldly cupped your sex as he pushed himself against your ass, trapping you against him.

“I can feel how wet you are, even through that bodysuit,” he growled, and you wriggled against him, trying to create friction. Between his hand and your core, but also between your ass and his hard on. “Did it happen just now, or did it start in the club ?” he asked as he applied a little more pressure, the pad of his fingers pressing against your entrance through the fabric.

“It started with your picture,” you corrected him, your left hand flying up to reach the back of his head behind you. His smile returned as he looked at you through the mirror.

“Yeah ? What did it do to you ?” he prompted just as his fingers managed to find your already swollen clit and started tracing slow, strong circles through the thick material.

“Almost asked Esteban to drive me right back,” you admitted as pleasure started coursing through your body.

“But you didn’t ?” It was as much a question as a reproach ; a mistake in his book, one that you now needed to justify.

“I couldn’t let you win that easily,” you managed to let out, your eyes fixated on his fingers moving between your legs as you felt your legs start to tremble.

“No ? What about now ?” he asked as his hand left your core, making you whimper. He reached for the zipper of your top for the second time of the night, and he pulled it down in one swift movement as he purred his last question right into your ear. “Do you think I’ll win now ?”

Both of his hands covered your boobs in an instant and he squeezed them just enough to make you roll your head back against his shoulder, the feeling of his palm against your erect nipples enough to make your insides clench.

“Eyes back on us, mon ange,” he softly reminded you, “and answer me;” that last part was uttered in a more demanding tone.

You swallowed hard as you forced your head back up and took in your appearance. Your bodysuit was now dangling at your waist and Kylians large palms were covering half of your torso as he kept toying with your breasts.

“You’ve already won,” you moaned right as he rolled both your nipples in between his thumbs and forefingers, making you arch your back and press your ass into his erection again.

The smile that appeared on his face then was devastating. He always played to win, on the pitch of course, but also in any other area of his life ; his competitiveness was a really big part of his personality. But winning you over, from the very first day he met you : that had been some of his favorite victories.

And seeing you right now, your hands desperately wrapped around his arms, trying to steady yourself as your eyes were still fixated on his hands covering your boobs… He never wanted this image to leave his mind. The blush that crept up your chest and all the way up to your cheeks the only remaining trace of your shyness. His most cherished victory was being able to break down all your walls until you let yourself succumb to the pleasure he wanted to give you.

“Kylian, please,” you moaned, barely audible.

He observed your face as he slowly trailed one of his hands down your stomach, and under the fabric now dangling at your waist to find your core. He managed to trail one finger down your soaked slits but he wasn’t satisfied with the lack of latitude his movements had.

He made quick work of the remaining of your outfit, leaving you completely naked, except for your heels. His hands were back on you before you had the time to take a full breath in, his fingers immediately finding your clit and one nipple.

And he started playing your body like a virtuose, both his hands replicating the same moves, one on your clit, the other on your left nipple as your eyes kept traveling from one to the other. Your breathing quickened and your moans started filling the room, your body responding to his touch, both begging for more and trying to pull away at the same time in fear that it would be too much.

“Oh god, Kylian,” you groaned as he found a new pattern. He set a punishing rhythm, his forefinger tracing your folds, then entering you once before retracting and traveling up to circle your clit, and then back down to your entrance. Again and again. You couldn’t take it, and he could tell from the look on your face, from the way you gripped his arm so tightly, from the way your walls closed around his finger each time he entered you, your body begging him to stay there.

“Just want to make something very clear,” he murmured, his lips finding your neck as he struggled to keep his own composure, his dick painfully hard against your ass. “This pussy,” he gave it a sharp slap, making you gasp, “It’s mine. Your body’s mine Y/N,” he squeezed your breast as he said it. “And I want you to know that each time you’ll decide to put on a show for someone else, I’ll make sure to reclaim it properly, do you understand ?”

You nodded, fighting against yourself to keep your eyes open as Kylian started rubbing your clit at a dangerously fast pace. He brought his other hand down to your core and swiftly pushed two fingers past your lips, curling them instantly as he continued his assault on your swollen bundle of nerves.

“I own this pussy and I can make it do what I want. In a second I’ll make you come undone, but I could just as well decide to tease you for hours and not let you come at all ; or to make you come over and over until you pass out from pleasure ; or to bury my dick in you and wreck you until you’re bruised inside.” The knot in the pit of your stomach was getting tighter and tighter and his words murmured against your skin were making it impossible for you to hold anything back. You were moaning and whining in his arms, unable to stop the trainwreck of pleasure coming your way. “Point is, I decide,” he concluded, “and you let me because you know no one else could ever make you feel that good, right?”

You knew he was expecting an answer, but you were too far gone to be able to give him one. Your eyes were tightly shut now, your jaw slack as you felt your chest heave one last time, taking a big breath in, preparing yourself for what was to come.

“Open your eyes and watch me make you come,” he ordered, his teeth sinking into the skin of your neck as you obeyed, unable to do anything but surrender to him.

You attached your gaze to both his hands between your thighs as he gave one last flicker to your clit and pushed you over the edge. Your whole body stiffened and you cried out his name as you started convulsing against him. The wave shattered you, made your toes curl and your legs gave out under the weight of the pleasure. You would have fallen to your knees hadn’t he secured you in his strong arms, making you lean back against him as he worked you through your orgasm.

“Oh fuck,” you eventually let out, your breath only then starting to find a steady rhythm again.

“That good, huh?” he murmured with a smirk as he turned you around in his arms to envelop you in a warm hug. You smiled against his chest, your eyes almost rolling at how smug he sounded. Truth was, he had every right to be satisfied with himself right now : he had just made you come with his fingers, standing up in just your heels in front of a mirror.

You pressed your body further against him, his warmth comforting as you could feel his naked skin against your own. Well, naked, except for one part.

“Not what I expected when I received that picture, tho…” you teased, feeling emboldened by the teeth shattering orgasm he had just given you.

“No?” he asked, his brows furrowing, “had something else in mind, angel ?”

“Yes.” you simply replied before detaching yourself from him. You barely had the time to register the look of confusion on his face before you sank to your knees.

Your back was now to the mirror as you focused entirely on him. You couldn’t see your reflection anymore. But Kylian could. And he had to take a very deep breath as he suddenly understood that he was about to watch you suck him off with a 360° view.

“Baby,” he let out, one hand cradling your face as you hooked your fingers under the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down his legs, letting his erection spring up just in front of your eyes.

You licked your lips at the sight. He was rock hard, his head swollen and almost purple-ish as precum had already started licking from the tip. The only thing on your mind was to try and reciprocate the insane pleasure he’d just given you, and even though it usually didn’t come naturally to you, you decided to be a bit more vocal than usual.

“That’s all I could think about in the club,” you purred out, looking up at him through your lashes as you licked a line from the base of his cock right up to the tip. “Coming back home and getting on my knees for you.”

Kylian’s eyes couldn’t leave you, he watched in awe as you wrapped one hand around his base then lowered your lips to his tip, your tongue flicking out to lick at the little bed of precum that had formed there.

“Did you imagine it too?” you asked and then lowered your mouth on him before he had the chance to answer. You felt him stretch your lips and you slowly started bobbing your head up and down, taking him a little bit deeper each time as your jaw relaxed with every movement.

“You were gone for hours (Y/N), fuck, I had the time to imagine a lot of things,” he confirmed under his breath as he looked up for a second, admiring your naked back, your naked ass in the mirror, and the way the back of your head moved, allowing him deeper and deeper into your mouth each time.

You let him out of your mouth with a pop before gathering some saliva in your mouth and letting it drip down his length. You took a deep breath then looked back up at him before slowly inching him back into your mouth. Except this time you went all in, until he hit the back of your throat. You took a moment to relax around him, breathing through your nose as you held him there for as long as you could. Your lips were firmly pressed against his pelvis, he was as deep as he could get, and you knew this would unravel him. You pulled out once more, saliva pooling at the corner of your lips as you decided to play your last card.

“I imagined you reclaiming my mouth as well,” you admitted, referring to his earlier words, and as you waited for him to register what you had just said, you placed your lips around his tip, then crossed your arms behind your back, offering yourself to him.

Kylian’s eyes flickered to the mirror again, seeing your hands rest at the small of your back made all the blood leave his head and go straight to his shaft. He could feel himself pulsing against your lips and a low growl escaped him as he lowered one hand to the back of your head, and tangled it into your hair.

“Fuck, baby, you look so sexy right now,” he moaned appreciatively. “Are you sure about this?” He was asking because he wasn’t certain he’d be able to refrain himself from going all the way. He had been hard for what felt like hours and you were now offering him the green card to do whatever he wanted with your mouth. That was deliciously dangerous.

Instead of answering him, you gave a firm flick of your tongue over his tip.

That did it. His eyes grew a shade darker as he tightened his grip on your hair, and then pushed himself inside your wet, warm, waiting mouth. He couldn’t go slow or gentle, he was way past that. He set a relentless rhythm, pushing his hips forward and bringing your mouth down on him at the same time, hitting the back of your throat every time.

“God that feels so good,” he moaned just as tears started to well up at the corner of your eyes. You didn’t want him to stop until he was absolutely done with you, so you made an extra effort to breathe through your nose and relax your jaw, your eyes still fixed on his.

He slowed down a little, but only to invade your throat a second later and stop there for a moment. He couldn’t believe the sight in front of him. You, on your knees for him, offering yourself completely, trusting him so deeply. You swallowed around him and a breathless ‘fuck’ escaped his lips. He was dangerously close and he wanted this moment to last a little longer, so he pulled out completely, and then held your head still as he only offered you his tip.

You sucked and licked and whined, wordlessly begging for more. Your wide eyes and pouty lips were his undoing. He thrust his hips forward and started quickly fucking your mouth before stilling in your throat again, your nose buried in his pubic hair.

“Do that thing again,” he pleaded.

You knew he was on the edge of coming, so you made sure to keep your eyes right on his face as you swallowed around his cock, making your throat close around him like a vice. His lips parted as pure ecstasy ran through his entire body, and you did it a second time right as he exploded into your mouth.

“Fuck, (Y/N),” he moaned loudly as his hips jerked forward and he emptied himself inside your mouth in four spurs of hot white cum. You hollowed your cheeks and sucked and licked, intoxicated by the expression of pure pleasure that was taking over his face.

He stayed inside your mouth for a little while longer before slowly pulling out, his hand coming around to cup your jaw as you kept your eyes on him and swallowed his orgasm. Even in his spent state, he knew that he’d be getting hard over this memory for months to come.

“That was amazing, baby,” he hummed as he helped you up to your feet and wrapped his arms around you.

He lifted you up effortlessly and walked you back to your bedroom before gently settling you down onto the bed. He then kneeled down before you and started to undo your heels, his fingers gently working over the soles of your feet as you let out an appreciative moan.

“I’ll be going out more often if that’s how I’m welcomed back every time,” you teased with a lazy smile.

He shook his head, letting out a chuckle as he pressed a single kiss to your ankle before making his way onto the bed next to you, pulling you against him with a hand on your waist.

“And I’ll be a jealous prick more often if that’s where I’m welcomed every time,” he replied, his finger flicking over your lips as he gave you a mischievous look.

#kylian mbappe #kylian mbappé #kylian mbappe one shot #kylian mbappe smut #kylian smut #kylian x reader #kylian one shot #mbappe #mbappe smut #kylian mbappe x reader #kylian #mbappé

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mochii0park · 1 month ago

Text

Don't speak; pjm - Memories; 02

Title: Don't speak

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre: angst I fluff

Pairing: doctor!reader x businessman!jimin

Word count: 15.7k

Author's note: Initially it was supposed to be written in 2 parts but I decided to make it a 3 part story because I feel like the built up would make more sense. I hope you like it ^^

Taglist: @haru-jimiin, @maruuchann, @graydolan12, @fancypeacepersona, @jiminismine4ever, @talgiminmin, @ukndtwme, @purplebeebs, @wobblewobble822, @jjkluver7, @polnaraffsrack, @santhimariyanbu, @bangtan4lifetypeshit, @lanyia @granataepfelchen @sassy-snassy @thelilbutifulthings @mochi-mochhh @strawberryujamm @ownthesunshine @mar-lo-pap @nbjch05 @chimmy-licious @kajsksnsjsnns @beotkkotlover @ennvfv

Chapter list: ONE - TWO - THREE

You unlock the door and push it open, stepping aside so Jimin can enter first. He hesitates, eyes immediately looking around, searching for familiarity. With a small exhale, he steps inside drinking in the differences, confusion present in his irises, his eyes ever the mirror to his soul.

You take your time watching him carefully. His movements are slow, not just because of his healing ribs, but because he’s taking in every detail of the apartment. His gaze moves like someone expecting everything to be the same, like a man returning home after a long absence. You instinctively reach for his arm as he shifts forward, steadying him without a word.

He glances at you, his lips curving just slightly. “Y/N, I can walk.”

“I know.” You don’t let go immediately.

He exhales, but he doesn’t pull away either. His brows knit together as he stares at the window. His gaze settles on the curtains. Thick, heavy material now, drawn shut, swallowing the room in a muted shade of dusk. He tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly as if something doesn’t quite sit right.

“What happened to the see-through ones?”

You stand still, the emotions turning inside of you. It’s such a simple question, but it knocks the air from your lungs. He remembers that those curtains were his choice, ones he picked specifically because you loved sunsets. Because he knew how much you liked the way the colors bled into the sky at the end of the day.

He turns to look at you then, waiting for an answer, but all you can do is stare at him. Of all the things time could have erased, all the memories that could have faded into nothing he remembers that. Your fingers tighten slightly around the fabric of his sleeve. You wet your lips, trying to compose your features into something neutral but you can’t stop the way your throat constricts, the way sorrow swells inside your chest like an ache you can’t soothe.

“We changed them a while ago,” you say quietly, voice steadier than you feel. The lie pierces through your heart but you felt like the truth would be open too many questions you weren’t sure how to answer.

“But you love sunsets.”

You did, but he decided to change that. He hated the light, the sunsets. Or perhaps he hated the curtains that reminded him of you. Of the warm love which had been replaced by bitterness that awoke emotions of resentment, grief. All the reminders of you irked him. The way he harshly yanked at them still rests in the back of your mind, a memory embedded with your own grief. The first piece you put together and the last you saw being destroyed as you left this apartment.

Jimin studies them for a moment longer before his lips press together. “Do you like them?”

“The curtains?”

He nods.

You hesitate. “In a weird way I do.”

His head tilts slightly at that, like something about your answer doesn’t sit right with him but instead of pushing, he lets his fingers drop from the fabric and turns away.

“This place feels different,” he murmurs.

You step away from him as you lean against the wall. “Different how?”

“Some things are the same. Some aren’t. It’s like stepping into a memory that doesn’t fit right.”

You nod slightly, even if you wanted to you couldn’t replicate the apartment from five years ago. “Maybe that’s what happens when years go missing.”

Jimin’s lips twitch, but the smile doesn’t fully form. Instead, his gaze shifts to the bookshelves. His fingers trail along the spines, pausing on familiar titles. “We kept all my books?”

You hum in conformation, following his hand movements as he debates which one to pull out. Jimin decides on one of his old collage micro economy textbook, flipping through the pages. “I thought you might’ve gotten rid of them.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “I’m not that cruel.”

His lips curve. “Debatable.”

You narrow your eyes. “I literally carried you to the elevator then towards the front door so you wouldn’t strain your ribs, and you’re calling me cruel?”

Jimin laughs, warm and light. “I said debatable.”

You shake your head, muttering under your breath as you move toward the kitchen. You don’t need to see his face to know he’s still smiling but just as easily as the teasing settles in, the weight of the past creeps back in. Jimin places the textbook back on the shelf.

“When we got this apartment,” he says, “I made sure it had everything you loved. So that when you were gone for long shifts, I’d be surrounded by things that reminded me of you.”

Your hands begin to tremble, so you tighten your grip around the edge of the counter to mask it. Namjoon prepared you for the emotional rollercoaster that this task might carry, and you truly thought you were prepared for any obstacle that might be thrown at you but the second Jimin began to reminisce, causing him to unconsciously peel all the emotions you securely cocooned, you felt like you bit off more than you can chew.

“Did you get better at chopping onions?”

You blink, lost in manging your emotions that you hardly register his question. “What?”

His grin returns. “Because last time I saw you in this kitchen, you were butchering them.”

The shift in the atmosphere was another proof of how perceptive he could be, sensing your change and proceeding to lighten the mood. Your mouth falls open in mock offense. “I was not!”

“You were! I had to take the knife from you before you lost a finger.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “You’re misremembering.”

Jimin raises a brow. “Am I?”

“Maybe.”

He takes a small step, fingers brushing over the shelf once more, then the couch, then the photo frames. Jimin speaks again, his tone subdued. ‘I think I expected everything to be exactly the same.’”

Your lips part, but you don’t know what to say and Jimin glances at you, his gaze gentle but steady. “Nothing stays the same forever, huh?”

You swallow. “No. It doesn’t.”

Another silence. “So… what’s for dinner?”

You bite your lips as Jimin throws his head back laughing at your embarrassed expression. “I might have forgotten about that?”

He swats his hands, gesturing that it’s fine. “We can cook, right? Unless you want to order. I can, you know cook for us. It’s one of the many impressive skills you’ve forgotten about me.”

You scoff. “If I let you cook, you’ll hurt yourself and somehow make it my fault.”

Jimin gasps. “Y/N, how dare you?”

You roll your eyes but turn toward the fridge as his laughter follows you. The clinking of the knife against the cutting board echoes softly in the kitchen as you start chopping the onions. Jimin leans against the counter, watching you with an expression that’s far too amused for your liking.

“So, you lied to me.”

You pause, glaring at him. “Lied about what?”

He gestures lazily toward the uneven slices of onion scattered across the board. “You still don’t know how to chop onions, yobo.” His voice is warm, teasing, laced with the kind of intimacy that makes your chest tighten. “And here I thought five years would have been enough for you to improve.”

You try to ignore the way your heart skipped at the nickname as you roll your eyes, nudging a piece of onion aside with the blade. “I didn’t lie. I just never promised I got better.”

Jimin laughs, stepping closer. “It’s quite a shame, really.” His voice drops, playful but feigning deep disappointment. “A cardiothoracic surgeon who can handle a human heart but can’t handle an onion? That’s embarrassing.”

You repeat his words in a mocking manner, sending him a sharp look. “I don’t see how they’re even remotely related.”

Jimin hums, closing the distance between you. “Both require precision. Technique. Control.” He dips his head slightly, his breath warm against your ear. “But I see you still lack all three when it comes to this.”

Before you can retort, he glides his hands around your wrists, his touch featherlight, but firm enough to still your movements. Your fingers twitch, your breath catching as his palms mold against yours.

“Here.” His voice is softer now, guiding. “Relax your grip.”

You hesitate, but your body betrays you and your fingers instinctively loosen under the warmth of his hands. He adjusts your grip on the knife, his chest just barely brushing against your back.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his chin almost resting against the curve of your shoulder. “Now, let the blade do the work. No unnecessary force.”

You swallow, nodding. He guides your wrist smoothly, showing you how to make precise, even slices. “Better,” he praises. And then, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, he tilts his head and presses a soft kiss to your temple.

You freeze.

His lips linger for just a second, a whisper of warmth against your skin, before he pulls back with a smirk. “You’re still lacking a lot, though,” he teases, his voice dripping with amusement. “But at least you’re slightly better than last time.”

You try to steady yourself, though the sudden tightness in your chest refuses to ease. This isn’t new. This isn’t foreign. Jimin has always been like this. Always lingering close, always touching without thinking, always kissing your temple as if he has the right to. For him, it’s just another evening. Another moment with his wife. For you, it’s a relic of something lost.

You clear your throat. “If you’re so good at this, why am I the one cooking?”

“Because you wanted to prove you could do it.”

“I never said that.”

He hums. “No, but I know you.” His fingers drift along your wrist before finally letting go, the warmth of his touch lingering long after he steps back. “You’re too stubborn to let me take over.”

Refusing to meet his gaze as you focus on the onions again. “Then maybe you should leave me to it.”

Jimin chuckles, but he doesn’t move away completely. Instead, he once again leans against the counter beside you, his presence unwavering.

“Alright, alright. I’ll just watch,” he says, though the mischief in his voice suggests otherwise. “But don’t blame me when you start crying.”

You frown. “Why would I—”

Then it hits. The sting. The unmistakable burn creeping into your eyes.

Jimin bursts out laughing. “Oh no. Oh no. The mighty surgeon is about to be taken down by onions.”

You glare at him through watery eyes. “Shut up, Jimin.”

He gasps dramatically. “Yobo. Such harsh words.”

You groan, wiping at your eyes. “This is your fault. You distracted me.”

“I barely did anything.”

You shoot him a sharp look. “Exactly.”

Jimin laughs again, reaching for your wrist and pulling you toward him slightly. “Come here,” he murmurs, thumb brushing under your eye. His touch is so unthinkingly gentle, so painfully familiar, that your breath stutters. For a moment, his amusement fades. His eyes trace your face, the laughter softening into something quieter.

You don’t move and neither doesn’t he. Just as quickly as the shift happened, he pulls back with a teasing smirk. “You’re such a mess, Y/N.”

You blink, the moment slipping through your fingers before you can grasp it. “You’re the mess.”

Jimin raises his eyebrows. “I am a very refined man.”

Focusing back on the cutting board you mutter. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Jimin watches you for a second longer, then reaches out removing a lash that rested on your cheek. In his ever-silly habit he looks at the lash before he blows at it. Something like a good luck omen, he used to say.

Dinner pass by quickly. Jimin again teases you over how you cut the onions (despite his expert guidance), complains dramatically about the lack of meat in the dish, and makes a show of sighing in exaggerated bliss after each bite, telling you he always knew you’d make a good housewife one day.

You again roll your eyes, swatting at him with a dish towel, and he just laughs in that way that makes your stomach clench. By the time you clear the plates and remind him about his medication, Jimin was in such a joking mode you were sure you’d kill him.

“Come on,” you murmur. “Let’s take care of your wounds before bed.”

Jimin groans while standing up, forgetting for a minute that he indeed had surgery but that didn't flatten the teasing mood he was in. “Ah, nurse Y/N is back on duty.”

As you walk toward the bedroom, Jimin hums thoughtfully behind you. “Didn’t realize surgeons did minor injuries too. Should I be worried you’re overqualified for this?”

You push the door open without looking back. “Don’t worry. If I get bored, I’ll find something to operate on.”

He chuckles, following you inside. The room is dimly lit, the bedside lamp casting a soft glow against the walls. You kneel on the edge of the bed, the first-aid kit open beside you, its contents neatly arranged.

With a casual ease, Jimin pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it aside. He moves like it’s nothing, because to him, it is nothing. His bare skin, the familiar curve of his back, the old scar near his ribs that you once traced absentmindedly in bed these are things he doesn’t think twice about. You’re his wife. There’s no hesitation in the way he reveals himself to you.

He sits in front of you, legs slightly spread, his arms resting lazily on his thighs. He watches as you peel away the old gauze from the wound just below his ribs, the dried edges sticking to his skin. A sharp intake of breath leaves him as you work, but he doesn’t complain.

The stitch has pulled open slightly not deep enough to be serious, but enough to need redressing. You’re about to reach for the antiseptic when you notice the bruising around it. A deep, ugly shade of purple spreads across his side, blooming outward like ink in water. It wasn’t just a minor fall. This was a hard, blunt impact, something that rattled through his body. Your fingers press lightly against the skin around the bruising. Jimin hisses softly, his stomach tensing under your touch.

“This wasn’t just from the stitches pulling,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

Jimin exhales through his nose. “Guess I took more of a hit than I thought.”

Your jaw tightens, but you say nothing, focusing instead on cleaning the wound. Your hands move with practiced ease, pressing fresh gauze into place, taping it down securely. You glance up, adjusting the bandage on his forehead next, making sure it sits properly.

As you do, your eyes trace the tattoos along his arms and collarbone.

The script curling over his ribs, half-covered by bruising. The delicate crescent moon near his wrist. The constellation mapped over his forearm, faint scars peeking through the ink. The phrase Nevermind etched onto his ribs, stark against the bruises, as if the words are mocking his current state. You don’t realize you’re staring until Jimin muses. “Didn’t take you for the staring type.”

You ignore him as you finish securing the last bandage. “I was checking for more injuries.”

Jimin hums, unconvinced. “Sure you were.”

You start to pull away, but your fingers graze against something unexpected. A shift in his posture, a glimpse of ink just beneath his ribcage. You still, nudging the fabric of his pants slightly downward to see it fully.

A lily.

The sight of the lily tattoo carves into you like a blade. Your birth flower. A symbol of hope. Something Jimin once considered you to be. Your breath falters. He never had this before. If he had, you would have noticed you would have known.

The weight of that realization slams into you all at once. Jimin got this after the divorce. Somewhere in the life he can’t remember, he marked his body with a piece of you..

Jimin, oblivious to the storm raging inside you, notices you stopped. His grip around your waist tightens and his warmth seeps through your clothes, anchoring you when you feel like you might collapse under the weight of it all.

He's watching you carefully. “What is it?”

You force yourself to swallow, to breathe, to keep your expression neutral but you fail spectacularly. Jimin’s gaze flickers downward, following yours. He frowns, as if trying to figure out what’s holding your attention. He looks at the tattoo, his own tattoo, as if he’s seeing it for the first time.

A deep crease forms between his brows. “Did I… always have this?”

His voice is soft, uncertain. Your throat is too tight to speak. Jimin studies it like it’s foreign, something detached from him. His fingers twitch slightly against your back before smoothing over your waist again, his hold instinctive. “It’s a lily,” he murmurs.

You nod, barely.

His gaze moves back to yours, searching. “That means something to you.”

Your heart slams against your ribs. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t remember why he has it. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep the emotion from rising too fast, too visibly. But Jimin isn’t stupid. Even without the memories, he knows you.

His voice dips. “Did I get this… for you?”

You can’t answer. You should but you can’t.

The truth sits heavy on your tongue, an unbearable weight pressing against your ribs. Jimin watches you, his confusion growing, his hands unmoving around your waist as if anchoring himself through you.

Seconds stretch between you. You feel his breathing slow, controlled measured, like he’s trying to make sense of all of this. The way your fingers hesitate. The way your gaze lingers on the ink like it holds something devastating.

Then, finally, softly and tentatively he speaks up.

“I got this for you, didn’t I?” It’s not really a question.

His voice carries no certainty, only quiet realization. You nod. Just once. Hi fingers flexing slightly before slipping away from your waist. He leans back a little, studying the tattoo again, trailing his fingers over the inked petals as if the touch alone might unlock something. But his expression remains blank. Empty.

“I don’t remember,” he murmurs, his brows drawing together.

You knew he wouldn’t. But hearing it out loud still feels like a sharp crack down your chest. He’s quiet for a moment, turning his hand to get a better look at the other tattoos marking his skin the ones he does remember, the ones tied to memories he still owns.

“Did I get it because you liked lilies?” he asks. “Or was it something else?”

Something else.

You force a breath past your lips, trying to keep your voice steady. “You always said lilies were a sign of hope.”

Jimin blinks. “I did?”

“You said they survive through seasons, no matter what.” A pause, “That’s what you thought I was.”

“I don’t remember that either,” he says quietly.

It’s too much. The weight of it, the ache in your ribs, the way his fingers keep brushing over the ink like he’s trying to will the memory back into existence. So, you do the only thing you know how to do, you ease the moment.

“Well,” you say, clearing your throat, reaching for the antiseptic again, “it would’ve been nice if you got it somewhere that didn’t make dressing your wounds a nightmare.”

Jimin's caught off guard but manages to show a ghost of a smile. “Seriously?”

You shrug, pressing a clean bandage over his ribs, careful with your touch. “I’m just saying. Of all the places.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

You know he won’t push, won’t ask the questions that might make your hands shake again. But something about the way he looks at you tells you this isn’t over. Eventually, he’ll remember. Or maybe, he’ll ask again but for now, you tape down the bandage, press your hands against your lap.

Jimin moves to the side, his gaze landing on the closet behind you. The door is slightly open, revealing his neatly arranged clothes the same ones he left behind. Everything of his is still here, untouched, exactly as it always was but something is missing.

“Where are your clothes?”

“Clothes? “ You freeze for half a second before glancing around, only now realizing that you never moved them back from the guest room.

“Your clothes. Your books. Your skincare stuff that usually clutters up the counter.” He frowns. “Did you move them?”

“I’ve been… rearranging stuff.” It’s a weak excuse, and Jimin sees right through it.

“You always do that. Used to drive me crazy.” A flicker of amusement dances across his face before his gaze softens in memory. “Remember when you moved in?” , he says, “You were so organized. Didn’t even let me touch a single box. I think I gave up after the first hour.”

The memory filters in like warm light through old curtains. The first night in your shared apartment-boxes stacked high, exhaustion weighing on you both, a failed attempt at getting the bed set up.

“You were so insistent that everything had to be in its place,” he continues, grinning. “And then we ended up sleeping on the mattress in the living room because you couldn’t finish unpacking.”

A small laugh escapes before you can stop it. You remember. Jimin catches the sound. “See? Not all my memories are gone.”

You force a small smile back, but it feels thin, fragile. As you move through the room, still shaken from the moment before, his voice breaks the silence. “Turn off the lights before you go to bed.”

You reach for the switch, but as you take a step toward the door, Jimin’s voice stops you. “Did you forget something?”

“What do you mean?”

Whenever someone would describe you the first adjective they'd use was precise-aware, however the more you time you spent with Jimin the more you felt like you're everything but that. You would stumble over words, repeat questions in hopes that the outcome would be different.

Jimin points to you then to the doors as if the answer was obvious. “Well… you’re leaving.”

You begin to feel small, unsure how to respond so you go with the option you thought was solid. “Yeah. To sleep in the guest room.”

Boy were you wrong.

“Come on,” he murmurs, eyes already half-lidded. “You’re going to lecture me about getting proper rest, right? So just sleep here What? You need an official invitation?” he sighs dramatically, patting the empty space beside him, “Y/N, just get in bed already.”

You shift awkwardly on your feet. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Jimin lifts his head slightly, his eyes telling you how much you're bullshiting. “Why not?”

You scramble for an excuse. “Your injuries. I don’t want to accidentally hit you while you’re sleeping.”

Jimin snorts, already having an arsenal of situations where you obviously didn't care about his comfort. “Y/N, don’t be ridiculous.” He props himself up on one elbow, looking entirely unconvinced. “Even on your worst nights when you tossed and turned like a possessed human tornado, you never hurt me.”

“Still, I don’t want to risk it. Your ribs are healing, and I—”

“Even when I broke my hand, you still slept beside me,” Jimin interrupts, tilting his head. “And when I got that horrible flu and was burning up? You didn’t leave my side for three nights straight.” He shakes his head, feigning offense. “Now suddenly, you’re acting like I’m made of glass?”

You try to deflect, the situation feeling like a boxing match where one waits for the knock-out . “I guess I just became more considerate over the years.”

Jimin narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

You try again. “Besides, I’ve been sleeping in the guest room. The bed is already set up for me, and I don’t want to—”

“If you don’t get in bed right now,” Jimin warns, “I’m going to pick you up and toss you in myself.”

Your eyes widen in alarm. “Jimin—your ribs—”

“Then hurry up,” he sing-songs, smirking as he shifts slightly, patting the mattress once more.

You linger in the doorway for a moment before exhaling. Maybe it is better to just join him. You sigh, realizing there’s no way out of this. “Fine.”

Moving slowly, you sit on the edge of the bed before cautiously laying down. Every muscle in your body is tense, keeping a careful distance from him.

Jimin stares at you, unimpressed. “Seriously?”

You blink. “What?”

He reaches over and tugs you toward him, his arm slipping comfortably around your waist. Your body stiffens. “Jimin—”

“Shh.” His breath brushes against your temple, warm and familiar. “Relax.”

You don’t. Not immediately. Softly, Jimin speaks up. “Did we have an argument before my accident?”

Your fingers curl into the blanket. “Why do you think that?”

He hums. “You moved your stuff, you’re tense around me, and you were obviously sleeping in the guest room.”

Your throat tightens, but you force a small sigh. “I told you. I’ve just been rearranging things.”

Jimin hums again, but this time, his hand finds yours in the dark, fingers intertwining. His lips press gently to the back of your hand, the warmth lingering even after he pulls away.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Good night.”

You turn onto your side, curling in on yourself as the weight of everything crashes down all at once. Jimin’s breathing is steady beside you, deep and even completely unaware. The sedatives you gave him are working, keeping him locked in a dreamless sleep while you lie awake, drowning in the silence.

Your fingers press against your lips, desperate to muffle the sound as the first sob escapes. It’s quiet, nearly swallowed by the stillness of the room, but it shakes through you nonetheless.

Your shoulders tremble as you bury your face into the pillow, breath stuttering against the fabric. You don’t mean to fall apart not here, not now, not beside him. But the ache in your chest is relentless, clawing its way to the surface no matter how tightly you try to hold it down.

He doesn’t remember losing you and yet, he still holds pieces of you. In his body, in his skin, in the lily inked beneath his ribs a mark of something he can’t recall but must have meant everything once.

Your breath breaks again, a silent, gasping sob that you try to swallow.

Jimin stirs slightly beside you, shifting in his sleep, but he doesn’t wake. He doesn’t notice the way you clutch at your own arms, the way you tremble beneath the weight of a grief that doesn’t belong in the present but lives here anyway.

You press your face deeper into the pillow, squeezing your eyes shut.

Tomorrow, you’ll pull yourself together. You’ll find the right words, the careful lies, the quiet deflections that keep the truth buried but tonight, you let yourself break in silence.

And Jimin oblivious, untouched sleeps on.

_________

The next day is lighter or at least compared to yesterday.

The scent of fresh coffee is warm and inviting, mixing with the morning air seeping through the window cracks. Jimin follows it, adjusting to the unfamiliarity of movement, his feet pressing against the hardwood floor with quiet steps, careful but curious.

When he reaches the doorway, he stops. You’re sitting at the dining table, one hand curled around a mug, the other scrolling through your phone.

The steam from the coffee rises in lazy swirls, dissipating into the soft morning glow. He stays there, watching you, feeling at home in a way that doesn’t feel earned.

You sense him before you see him, but you don’t look up immediately, taking another slow sip of your drink.

."Did Scarlett Johansson do anything new?"

You exhale a soft sound of amusement. Not startled. Not surprised. Just… expecting. “She’s still acting.” Your voice is even as turn your screen toward him. “A few indie films, some bigger projects. Emma Watson took a break but focused on activism.”

Jimin hums, stepping further inside. “Good for them.”

He moves to pour himself coffee, his fingers wrapping around the familiar handle of the mug. His hand moves automatically toward the sugar jar, fingers resting against the lid. Without thinking, he looks at you. “You still take two spoons, right?”

“Not anymore,”

Jimin’s frown deepens slightly, and his grip on the sugar jar loosens. That doesn’t make sense. His eyes dart to you, searching for something in your expression, but you remain impassive. Before he could question the answer, you turn back toward the sink, rinsing out your mug as if the conversation never happened.

When he reaches opens a drawer, he swore was where you place the utensils only for it to be filled with spatulas does he realize how much the apartment changed. The bones of the space are familiar the layout, but then there are the differences.

The arrangement of the kitchen utensils is different. The couch isn’t the same one he remembers it’s darker, newer, missing the faint tear in the cushion he swore he’d fix. The picture frames on the bookshelf are different, some missing entirely.

He pushes off the counter continuing yesterday’s exploration of the living room He hesitates in front of the framed photographs. Some of them are the same your wedding photo, a candid from your honeymoon, a snapshot of a festival you once attended together.

However, there are gaps. Spaces where photos used to be, now replaced with generic prints of landscapes or nothing at all. He lifts a hand, touching the frame of a photo he doesn’t recognize, you with a few people he doesn’t immediately recall.

It's a photo from your first day of fellowship, standing beside Hannah and Yoongi. The three of you are smiling, arms slung around each other, a moment captured in the midst of new beginnings.

It’s a frozen piece of time Jimin was never a part of, one of many gaps he has yet to fill. He doesn’t know their faces, doesn’t recognize the context, but something about the image unsettles him, a subtle reminder of the years that exist beyond his reach.

You debated whether to include it, but you thought it would feel natural for you to have a memory of the beginning fellowship and friends you hang out with.

He calls out for you, and once he grabs your attention he points at the photo. "I don’t know them."

"You never really got the chance to," you say walking towards him. "That’s Hannah, my best friend and Yoongi, co-worker. We started our fellowship together."

Jimin absorbs the information. "You should introduce me to them when we go to the hospital. I still need to see who’s new on the staff."

"They work at another hospital."

Jimin, as extroverted as he might seem, he liked to have an inner circle of friends who he rarely expanded. Therefore, you never thought he’d ask to meet them. Sure, inquire who your new friends were, but to meet them? Not really.

Perhaps you should’ve lied or never included the photography, but it eased your heart to have portions of your life after the divorce displayed for him to see. After the memories come back maybe he’ll resent you less if he knows not everything was a lie.

"Oh? Then how’d you meet them?"

"A conference," you smile as you remember the time your hospital provided a hall which was filled with future fellows who were finding seats.

They explained it as sort of a meeting conference where you could network with people. Unbeknownst to you, Yoongi or Hannah your paths intertwined way before you started working together.

Hannah ever the clumsy one slipped as she tried to maneuverer herself onto the seat next to, the sudden commotion making Yoongi spill his coffee all over you. "One of those long, drawn-out events where everyone fights to stay awake."

Jimin chuckles. "Sounds about right. Let me guess, you were the type to take actual notes?"

"And you would’ve been the one doodling on the pamphlet."

He laughs. "Hey, don’t underestimate the art of conference doodling. It kept me awake."

As if a thought had just sprung to his mind, his eyes widen as he claps his hands together. "What about Kaya? You guys still tight?"

"No," you say, snorting at the mention of her name. "We lost touch."

Jimin frowns. "Wait. What? You two were attached at the hip. What happened?"

You exhale briefly as pictures of her teareyed face flash in front of you. "She hurt someone we both care about."

Jimin watches you for a beat before realization flickers across his face. "Wait. No. Don’t tell me—Jungkook?"

You nod. "They broke up. Three years ago."

Jimin’s lips part slightly, eyebrows raising in genuine surprise. “Kaya and Jungkook broke up? I thought they were basically glued together. When did that happen?"

"Three years ago," you say, watching his reaction. You brace for his response, knowing that disbelief is about to hit.

Jimin waves his hands for a second, gesturing for you to reverse. "Okay, hold on. Kaya and Jungkook, the couple that made us all nauseous with their cutesy texts and matching outfits, broke up? I need details."

You press your lips together, debating how to soften the blow before deciding there's no point sugarcoating it. "She cheated on him."

Jimin stares at you for a long moment before he whistles. "Damn. And here I thought she was ride-or-die for him. Turns out she was just ride-for-someone-else."

He rubs his temples as if he has a headache. "I mean, I know relationships aren’t perfect, but they were basically the blueprint of a long-term couple. What, did she wake up one day and decide to self-destruct?"

You offer a small shrug. "Yeah. We all thought they were solid. Guess not."

You loved Kaya, after all she was someone with whom you grew up with. From high school to university and a small portion of your adult life but by the end of her relationship with Jungkook she changed. Never responded to any texts, always making excuses when you invite her for drinks and after a while you just let it be.

Jimin runs a hand through his hair, still trying to process. "Man, I wish I could’ve been there when Jungkook found out. Did he flip a table? Punch a wall? Write a whole album about it?"

You shake your head with a light chuckle. "No table flipping, but I’d say his gym membership got put to very good use. And as for the album? Well, you should check his discography when you get the chance."

He moves towards the couch, finding a comfortable spot in the middle of it. He touches the soft fabric as if he’s contemplating something. You half expecting him to fish out his phone and blast Jungkook’s I hate you as a form of belated support for the chaotic breakup however, he glances at you, lips curving into something more mischievous.

"You know this couch has seen a lot. Heard a lot, too."

You curse under your breath forgetting how Jimin tends to drop bombshell sentences here and there just to gloat at your reaction. Your cheeks warm instantly, and you shake your head, already regretting giving him any reaction. "Jimin—"

He winks, stretching out lazily as he settles into the cushions. "No need to get shy now. We practically lived here half the time. Spent majority of it watching k-drama."

Your lips part in protest, but no real words come out. He’s not wrong. The couch had been your shared sanctuary; movie nights turning into tangled limbs, lazy Sundays melting into laughter and stolen kisses.

"While you pretended to hate them, but actually got really into the plot?"

Jimin drops his head onto the cushions. "I stand by my criticism. But yeah, maybe I got a little invested."

Before you counter back stating how it was more then little invested, he made charts of different characters to keep up with the plot, his stomach growls.

"Hungry?" you ask, needing something to do with your hands.

Jimin nods, placing a hand over his stomach. "You still make breakfast, or did you become one of those coffee-only morning people?"

You roll your eyes. "I still eat, Jimin."

He grins, standing up. "Good. Then let me help."

You stop him with a light push against his chest. "You should rest."

"I’m not an invalid," he counters, passing by you and moving toward the fridge. "Come on, I can still crack an egg."

You watch him, debating whether to argue before sighing. "Fine. But no lifting anything heavy."

Jimin smirks. "Relax, I’m just here for moral support."

The kitchen fills with the soft sound of movement, the clinking of plates, the sizzle of butter in a pan. Jimin listens to you hum a melody he can't pinpoint but it feels nice. "You still hum when you cook," he notes.

You pause, becoming increasingly aware of the melody dropping from your lips. "Maybe."

"No maybe," he teases. "You used to do it all the time. Even when you didn’t realize."

You focus on the food, flipping an egg carefully. "Muscle memory, I guess."

Jimin hums. "Seems to be a theme this morning."

You pull the food onto the plate pushing it towards him. "Eat. Before you start analysing me like one of your case studies."

Jimin picks up his fork. "Too late."

A small smile tugs at your lips as you both settle into the moment.

Jimin takes a bite, humming in appreciation. "Still good at this. I was half-expecting you to have turned into a takeout-only kind of person."

You stab at your food with a fork. "Just because you lived off convenience stores and ramen doesn’t mean I do."

Jimin nudges your foot under the table. "Hey, those were dark times. And I survived."

He takes his final bite pushing the plate away as he wipes his mouth. "So, what’s the plan for today? Or am I just supposed to lounge around and bask in your hospitality?"

You snort. "That depends. Think you can handle a short walk without me calling Namjoon for backup?"

"I’ll have you know, I am fully capable of walking without medical supervision."

"We’ll see about that. Get dressed, then."

Jimin stands up with exaggerated effort. "Fine, fine. But only because I’m curious where you’re planning to drag me."

You don’t answer as you clear the plates. He watches you for a moment before heading toward the bedroom, leaving you standing in the quiet hum of the kitchen, collecting yourself before what comes next.

___________

The days pass by in a blink of an eye.

One of the days Jimin spends most of it resting in the room, exhaustion pressing heavy against his bones. Sleep comes in short bursts, light, restless. The remnants of a headache cling to him, dull but persistent, and though his body craves rest, his mind refuses to settle.

When he finally wakes up, the apartment is cast in the soft glow of the evening. He checks his phone before stepping out of the bedroom, his feet moving without thought. As he comes closer to the living room, he hears it.

Your voice.

Soft, delicate, threading through the apartment like silk. The melody is unfamiliar, but the moment he steps into the living room, the words settle into his chest.

“Be my only love”

You’re sitting near the window, the gentle city lights casting a warm glow on your skin. Your eyes focused on charts, lost in the music as you sing Only by Lee Hi, your voice wrapping around each note with quiet ease. The sound is hauntingly beautiful and pure woven into it.

He stills. His vision impairs with black and blue dots, a pain pierces through him as he slowly lowers himself to sit on the stair.

A memory flashes in bits and pieces. He sees you, but not here. Not now.

You at the Han River. The night sky stretched endlessly above, the lights reflecting on the rippling water like scattered stars. The laughter of a small crowd fills the air, a speaker crackling as music hums from it.

He watches as Jungkook pulls you forward by the wrist, a grin playing on his lips.

“Come on, you have to sing at least one song,” Jungkook teases, pushing you toward the makeshift stage where a small audience has gathered. “You can’t just sit there and enjoy everyone else—you’re the best singer here.”

You resist slightly, but Jungkook is relentless, playful yet firm as he pushes you closer. Hoseok and Namjoon clap from the sidelines, their cheers blending with the laughter of strangers encouraging you.

Jimin sees himself there too, standing just behind them, watching.

You turn, shooting Jungkook a mock glare before agreeing, not like you could ever refuse the younger friend. You take the microphone, adjusting it slightly, your fingers brushing against the metal and you sing. Body do you sing.

“The words I sincerely wanted to say”

Jimin’s breath catches as the memory sharpens, the lyrics spilling effortlessly from your lips. Your voice carries over the gentle hush of the river, weaving through the night like a whispered secret. Your eyes find him in the crowd, as you smile from ear to ear. All goes still, for a moment.

His heartbeat. The murmur of the crowd. The distant cityscape blinking like fireflies against the dark. The only thing that exists in that moment is you.

“I say, ‘I love you'”

You close your eyes, letting the song carry you, and Jimin swears he can feel the love he has for you grow deeper and deeper, to a point where it hurt. The way your voice reaches him even through time. The way the lyrics guide him back to you.

Each word makes the memory clearer, each note threading through the haze of his mind, pulling him deeper, deeper—

Until he can almost feel it.

“Be my only love”

Jimin exhales sharply, the present rushing back in, slamming into him with quiet force. He manages to get up, his fingers curled around the handrail, his chest tight.

Two days later, he helps you rearrange the bedroom - more like annoys to oblivion - watching as you fold clothes and straighten up the space, your movements fluid, practiced. A part of him wants to ask if you could postpone this and just lazily spread on the couch as you watch a movie, but he knew you. Knew you well enough to already see you rolling your eyes and dismissing him.

As you smooth down the last bedsheet, something catches his eye. A door. It’s one he barely noticed before, but now it stands out, pulling at something in the back of his mind. A faint recollection.

“When we moved in, you didn’t know what to do with this room.” The memory comes in fragments, your voice, thoughtful and uncertain, as you had stood in the empty space, debating its purpose. He remembers suggesting a study. You had considered a reading nook. But beyond that, nothing. The rest of the memory remains blank.

His curiosity gets the better of him and he reaches for the handle and pushes the door open. The room is bathed in soft afternoon light. And in the middle of it a piano. A grand, glossy black piano.

Music sheets are scattered over the floor, some stacked haphazardly on a nearby shelf. The sight is so out of place, so unexpected, that Jimin feels the air leave his lungs because this isn’t just any piano. This is his. However, that doesn’t make sense.

The last time he touched it, he was eighteen. Still finishing musical academy, still pretending that playing could be more than just a fleeting dream before stepping into the real world. He had walked away from it, from the late-night compositions, from the melodies that once poured so naturally from his fingers. His parents made sure of that.

Jimin swallows, stepping further inside, his hand brushing the cool surface of the instrument.

“Why is this here?” he murmurs, almost to himself.

His gaze drifts to the doorway and you’re still standing there, frozen. Your fingers grip the doorframe like it’s the only thing keeping you upright, eyes locked onto the piano as if you’re staring at something impossible. It takes a moment, but he sees it the raw emotion flickering across your face, the dazed look in your eyes, the way your lips part but no words come out.

“You—” His voice is hesitant. “You look just as surprised as I am.”

You blink, snapping out of your trance. “I… I thought you got rid of it.”

Jimin’s chest tightens at that because that means he didn’t just forget this piano, he also forgot a choice he made about it and that realization unsettles him in ways he can’t quite explain.

“When did I buy this?”

“You didn’t.”

Jimin steps closer, his fingers brushing the smooth surface. “Then who—”

“It was my wedding gift to you,” you say quietly.

Jimin stills, waiting for an explanation he’s not sure he’s ready for. “You loved playing. More than anything.”

Because before he was anything else, Jimin was music.

Before his name meant something, before he was pulled into the rigid path his parents set for him, he was a boy who livedthrough sound. He didn’t just play the piano; he became it. The keys were an extension of his hands, his soul translated into notes that hung in the air like poetry. He could hear the emotions in a song before reading the sheet, could compose melodies before he could properly explain them.

But talent meant nothing to the people who raised him.

“Music is not a career,” his father had told him, dismissive and firm. “It’s a hobby. And hobbies don’t pay the bills.”

So, he studied economics instead. Sat in lecture halls with textbooks too heavy in his hands, numbers running together in front of his tired eyes. He went to meetings and luncheons with men who saw creativity as nothing more than a child’s whim. All while his piano sat untouched in his childhood home, the lid gathering dust.

When you bought him this one, when you placed the key in his palm on your anniversary day and told him, “If no one else lets you play, at least let yourself”, he had just stared at you, silent, breathless. That night he played for you, no sheet music, no rehearsed melody, jut him and the piano, filling the quiet of your new home with something raw and unspoken. That night, you sat beside him, your head resting on his shoulder as he played. That night, you had closed your eyes, listening to the way his soul bled through the music.

A gift.

A love letter in the form of sound.

And now he stands in front of the same piano, staring at it like it’s a stranger in his own home. You see the way his breathing hitches, how his hands shake, fingers itching to reach out for something, but he doesn’t know what. His frustration isn’t just from the missing years it’s from knowing that he left music behind, made amends with never touching the piano, then coming back years later only to not remember it.

And he wishes he could.

He wishes he could step into that old symphony, into the late nights spent at the keys, into the silent love confessions stuck in every note. He wants to remember the weight of them, the way music once felt like home. Before he can break apart in front of you, you take a step forward. “Make a new memory.”

His eyes snap to yours.

“Not to replace the old one,” you say softly, “but you can make another.”

Jimin doesn’t speak, but you can see the battle, the hesitation in his stance. “Play the first thing that comes to your mind.”

For a moment, nothing happens then, slowly, hesitantly, his fingers settle over the keys. A pause. A sound followed soon after. The first few notes are tentative, uncertain, but as the melody takes shape, something shifts in him.

Chopin’s Spring Waltz.

Your favourite.

Your eyes sting because you know what this means. Even if his memories are fragmented, even if the past is slipping through his fingers like sand somewhere deep inside, his love for you still lingers.

As the notes spill into the quiet apartment, something inside Jimin unravels. His movements grow more fluid, more certain, like he’s slipping into something familiar and safe. And for the first time since he walked through your door, he doesn’t feel lost.

You’re unaware of holding your breath until a gentle exhale escapes you. As Jimin diligently searches for something in the music, you’re gradually losing something precious because while Jimin is finding something in the music, you are losing something.

You remember watching him like this before his eyes half-lidded, his expression unreadable yet open in a way only music could make him. He used to play for you late into the night, the piano’s voice an extension of his own, speaking in ways he never could.

Back then, you thought you understood every unspoken thing between you. Now, you wonder if understanding ever mattered when fate was so cruel. The melody shifts, swelling into something delicate yet achingly powerful. You’re curious if he notices that his fingers press a little harder during certain passages, as if there’s something lingering in his chest that he can’t voice.

Maybe he does. Maybe he doesn’t but you notice.

Jimin’s hands remain on the keys, unmoving. His shoulders rise and fall with measured breaths, but he doesn’t speak, doesn’t look at you. You don’t realize your own eyes are glassy until you blink, and a tear that you weren’t even aware of slips down your cheek.

You wipe it away quickly, swallowing the lump in your throat. “That was beautiful.”

Jimin's expression is unreadable, but there’s something fragile in his gaze. “I don’t remember playing this for you before,” he murmurs

“You did,” you whisper, forcing a small smile. “Many times.”

“I want to remember.”

It’s not a demand. It’s not spoken in frustration or anger. It’s quiet. Almost pleading. You open your mouth, then close it as you step closer, hesitating for only a moment before gently placing a hand over his on the keys.

“Then let’s keep playing,” you say, voice steady despite the ache in your chest.

Jimin doesn’t move for a moment. “Okay.”

So, you sit beside him and just like that night, years ago, he plays for you.

A week later, you needed new books specifically, ones on medical advancements and cardiovascular research. Jimin hadn’t planned on coming along, but when you grabbed your coat, he instinctively reached for his own. Now, you’re wandering through the aisles of a quiet bookstore.

He trails behind you, watching as your fingers glide over the spines of books, pausing now and then to pull one free. There’s something peaceful about it, the way you move with familiarity, completely at ease in this space.

Jimin looks around. His interest lands on a display of fiction novels near the window, and for a moment, his eyes blur again like last time, the edges of his vision softening—

A different bookstore. A different time.

He sees himself walking down a narrow aisle, fingers intertwined with someone’s. The warmth of a hand in his own. A voice, light, teasing. “You always go for the same kind of books.”

He turns his head, catching a glimpse of blonde hair, tucked behind a delicate ear. The memory shifts, a quiet laugh, the press of a shoulder against his. He watches as she reaches for a book, flipping through the pages lazily before passing it to him.

“You should read this one.”

His chest tightens. It’s you. It has to be. The warmth, the familiarity—it’s you.

Except…

Except something is wrong.

The memory begins to fray at the edges. His grip on the past wavers as he tries to focus on the details. The blonde hair. The voice—so familiar yet… not quite right.

He blinks, the memory slipping away, and suddenly, he’s back in the present, standing in the middle of the bookstore. His pulse feels uneven, his palms slightly clammy. His eyes land on you again, standing a few feet away, flipping through a textbook.

“Did you ever dye your hair blonde?” The question leaves his lips before he even realizes he’s asked it.

You stand few feet away startled. “What?”

“Your hair.” Confusion is threading into his tone. “Was it ever blonde?”

“No. Why?”

Jimin doesn’t answer immediately. His mind reels, replaying the memory again, trying to make sense of it. He could have sworn it was you. The way she held his hand, the way she smiled up at him, the way she felt so…

Familiar.

But it wasn’t you. A strange sensation creeps into his chest an unsettling mix of doubt and unease. If the memory wasn’t of you, then who?

His breath catches. Did he cheat on you?

The thought is a punch to the gut. His stomach twists, nausea creeping up his throat. Why was he holding another woman’s hand? Why did the memory feel so natural, so intimate? His heart pounds in his chest, the walls of the bookstore suddenly feeling too close, too suffocating.

“No reason,” he finally says. “I just thought I remembered something.”

You sense something is wrong but you don’t ask. Instead, you turn back to the book in your hands, flipping a page absently.

For the rest of the afternoon, he’s distant. He barely speaks as you walk back home, his responses clipped, his thoughts elsewhere. His mind replays the memory over and over, searching for an answer that won’t come.

That night, he lies awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. The warmth of a hand in his. The soft murmur of a voice. A memory that doesn’t belong to you. Jimin turns onto his side, squeezing his eyes shut.

And for the first time since waking up, he’s afraid to remember.

The day you go back to work finally arrives. More than a week has passed since you two came home, and Jimin’s wounds are healed enough for him to move around without you having to micromanage every move of his. You walk through the apartment with quiet efficiency, pulling on your coat and gathering your things, preparing for your first day back at work.

Jimin watches from the couch, one arm resting on the back of the cushions, his gaze following your every movement. There’s something comforting about the routine the way you check your bag twice, the way you tie your hair up only to take it down again, second-guessing the style.

He doesn’t realize he’s smiling until you glance at him.

“What?” you ask, adjusting your watch.

“Nothing,” he says then after a beat, he sits up. “I’ll come with you.”

You pause, your fingers stilling on the buttons of your coat. “What?”

“I need to see Namjoon.” His voice is calm, but there’s something in his expression something unreadable. “The headaches… they aren’t going away, and it’s time for my check-up anyway.”

You study him for a moment, then nod. “That’s a good idea.”

Jimin stands, walking to the hallway and about to reach for his coat when he notices a dark bomber jacket that is hanging next it. His fingers automatically move to graze over the material before tugging at the sleeve.

"This is mine, right?" he asks, holding it up.

"Yeah. Namjoon was with you when you bought it," you say, "You saw it in a shop window and tried it on immediately."

Jimin’s fingers pause slightly before resuming their slow glide over the material. "Did I say something dramatic about it?"

"You went on about how it was 'the perfect balance between street style and functionality.'"

Jimin cringes. "Did I really say that?"

"According to Namjoon, you did. You even threw in the phrase timeless design. Namjoon was waiting for the sales rep to give you a sponsorship deal."

You weren’t there to notice this scene firsthand, but when Namjoon dropped by with Jimin’s clothes he saw the jacket and started laughing. You didn’t think too much of it, perhaps the absurdity of the situation got to him.

Or having to ask Jimin’s mother to collect his friend’s clothes at the current girlfriend’s apartment and then have him drop it, at his friend’s shared apartment with the ex-wife’s who is currently again playing the role of his wife, was top notch comedy material.

However, he pulled the jacket out of the box and told you this fond memory and the way he spoke about it left an impression that besides funny interaction at the store there was something else that made him so happy, something he wanted to keep to himself.

Jimin makes a grimace, second hand embarrassment settling in. "God, I sound pretentious. Poor guy probably had to listen to me overanalyse it the whole way home. “

"You sound like a man who owns way too much Marvel merch."

He pinches your shoulder, offended by your words. "Excuse you. My collection is a work of art. And it’s well-rounded, okay? I didn’t just collect one hero; I was fair to all of them."

You clutch your bag, one leg out of the door. "Right. Because you totally didn’t have one shelf dedicated to Spider-Man alone."

Jimin leaves the jacket, switching it with his coat as he grabs the keys. "That was for aesthetic purposes."

"Sure, it was."

“To resume the paused conversation,” he adds, locking the apartment, “it’s not fair if you get to go back to saving lives while I just sit around doing nothing.”

You're already near the lift pressing the button for downstairs. “You’ve been resting, not doing nothing.”

“Feels the same to me.”

The city moves past in a blur, a mixture of the familiar and the unfamiliar. The skyline stands like an old friend, unchanged, but everything beneath it has shifted in ways that make Jimin feel like a visitor in his own life. The streets are alive with the same energy, people weaving between each other, the distant wail of a siren swallowed by the hum of traffic, but the specifics betray time’s quiet betrayal.

The ramen shop that once sat on the corner is gone, replaced by something sleeker, newer, detached. A boutique has taken over where a bookstore used to stand, its window displays full of things he wouldn’t know how to describe. He narrows his eyes slightly, as if looking hard enough might bring the past into sharper focus.

"That used to be a bookstore," he muses, nodding toward a sleek boutique with minimalist signage. His voice is casual, but there’s a slight tilt to his head, like his brain is struggling to process the change. "What happened to it?"

"Closed a while ago. Rent prices went up," you say, keeping your tone light.

"That ramen place is gone too and what's that? A boba shop?"

You don't need to follow his finger to know that he's talking about the colourful new signage that replaced the old family-run restaurant. "Boba became a trend nowadays, teenagers usually sit there after school. “

He exhales through his nose, lips pressing into a thin line. "I feel old.”

“You are.”

Jimin lets out an offended huff. “Thirty-three is not old Y/N. If I am old so, are you.”

You take a turn to the left, eyes focused on the road. “I never said I wasn’t.”

He doesn’t say it out loud, but you can tell it unsettles him. The city he thought he knew has shifted without him, leaving him slightly out of step with reality.

The radio interrupts the silences that nested itself between you before Jimin turns to you, brows slightly furrowed. "I wanted to ask you yesterday, but I forgot," he says, his voice casual but laced with curiosity. His gaze flickers across the dashboard before he nods toward it. "This is a jeep."

“Was it the sheer height of it, or did the universe whisper it to you?"

Jimin rolls his eyes as he repeats your question, voice an octave higher to tease you before he answers. "You never liked big cars. You always said smaller ones were more practical."

You click your tongue. "You were very persistent about it, actually."

There's a flicker of intrigue in his dark eyes and you feel like he's waiting for you to fill in the blanks of a story he can’t quite remember. "I did?"

"Yeah. You didn’t want me to get the BMW. Said the Mercedes was better. And then you convinced me to get a jeep."

He blinks, his frown deepening as if testing the words, turning them over in his head. "Why would I push for a jeep?"

You hesitate before answering with a small shrug opting for a half-truth. "You always complained that my old car could never fit our suitcases when we went on trips. And you knew I never wanted to drive your car."

But the truth is heavier than that. The truth is, one evening over dinner, Jimin had dropped the kind of bomb that reshapes futures. 'If we ever have kids, your car wouldn’t be ideal,' he had said, so casually, so certain. His words had lingered in the air between you, not a suggestion, but a decision already made.

And you, wanting to meet him in that imagined future, had adhered to his wishes without question. Your car had been replaced, the jeep had arrived, and in some small way, it had felt like preparing for something that never came. But now, looking at Jimin’s confused expression, that future feels further away than ever, like a dream you had once but forgot upon waking.

"Well, I can’t say the decision was bad, the car is spacious."

Beyond the windshield, the hospital comes into view, its reflective glass catching the morning sun. Jimin shifts in his seat, rolling his shoulders slightly as if bracing himself.

"This one I remember," he mutters, voice quieter now, almost to himself.

The car slows as you pull into the parking lot. The hospital looms ahead, all reflective glass and sterile walls, a place that should feel clinical and detached but instead carries the weight of something more personal.

When you step out of the car, Jimin follows suit, and you both barely have time to exchange a word before a familiar voice calls out.

"You made it," Namjoon says, standing near the entrance, his gaze flickers between you and Jimin, assessing without making it obvious.

"Of course," you say, locking your car. "Thanks for meeting us."

Namjoon's face holds one too many question to answer with a raise of your brow you gesture for him to move on. "How are you feeling?"

Jimin thinks for a second as if it was a million dollar question. "Like I should be remembering more than I do. But physically, I think I'm alright."

Namjoon offers him a smile with laced with pity. "That’s a start. Let’s get you checked in."

Before you can respond, a voice calls your name from behind. One of the residents, dressed in scrubs, approaches quickly. "Dr. Y/L, sorry to interrupt, but could you consult on a case? It’s a post-op patient with some complications."

You shift between Jimin and Namjoon which catches the latter's attenion and steps in easily. "Go ahead," he says. "I’ll stay with him."

Jimin lifts a brow. "You’re babysitting me now?"

Namjoon smirks. "Something like that."

You press a light touch to Jimin’s forearm before following the intern. "I’ll find you after."

Jimin watches you disappear down the hall with the resident before Namjoon motions for him to follow inside. "Come on," Namjoon says. "Let’s get this over with."

Jimin's point of view

Inside an exam room, Namjoon moves methodically, checking Jimin’s reflexes, eye movement, and responses to simple neurological tests. Jimin ever the one to be awkward with a longer pause or silence, decides to break it by asking more questions to fill in the gaps.

"So, how’s everyone been? Jungkook, Hoseok, the guys?"

Namjoon steps away, writing something on a pad before he continues the exam. "Hoseok’s doing well. Your company is still thriving, no surprises there. Jungkook’s finally gone global, and Seokjin opened a restaurant last year."

Jimin's leg bounces against the floor. "Seokjin in a kitchen for real? Feels illegal."

Namjoon presses two fingers against Jimin’s wrist, checking his pulse. "It was a shock to everyone, but he’s been killing it. Opened this fancy restaurant last year. Exclusive but not pretentious. Classic Seokjin. He’s hands-on with everything, too, always yelling at his chefs but somehow still their favourite person."

Jimin recalls the memory of Seokjin insisting he had 'natural chef instincts' flickering somewhere in the back of his mind. "He always did say he could outcook half the restaurants in Seoul. Guess he wasn’t bluffing."

Namjoon makes Jimin track his finger with his eyes. "It’s weird, isn’t it? Catching up on years you lived but don’t remember."

Jimin’s jaw tightens slightly. "Yeah. Feels like I’ve been given a highlight reel instead of the full thing."

Namjoon hums in response before switching gears. "Jungkook’s still traveling, by the way. Spends more time overseas than in Korea these days."

"Yeah? What’s he been up to?"

By the way Namjoon's feature soften, Jimin can conclude that whatever Jungkook is doing, Namjoon supports it. "What hasn’t he been up to? World tour, a couple of magazine covers, some random adventure sports phase where he started skydiving because of course, he did."

"Let me guess. He tried to get you to go with him."

"Tried and failed. You, on the other hand, would’ve been on that plane in a heartbeat." Namjoon, pinches his nose.

Jimin smiles at that, but it’s brief. "I can’t tell if I miss it or if I just miss remembering it."

Namjoon watches him carefully, giving a slow nod. "Reflexes are good. You’re healing well. No sign of complications."

Jimin's hand comes up absently, touching his ribs, and he stills for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly. Then, a memory flickers to life.

"Wait… the guys’ trip. We went away for a few weeks, right? Somewhere in the winter?"

Namjoon pauses mid-motion. "Yeah. A cabin trip. Jungkook dragged us all snowboarding. You nearly broke your ankle."

Jimin glances sideways, image sharp and fresh. "Hoseok kept yelling at me to stop being reckless. He was freaking out."

"Yeah, because you were trying to do a backflip off a jump that Jungkook barely landed."

The memory makes Jimin laugh, eyes crinkling into half-moons. "Taehyung was there too. He kept trying to record us, saying he wanted ‘cinematic footage’. He always acted like he was shooting a film, making us redo things just to get a better shot."

Namjoon's posture remains neutral, but there's a subtle flicker in his eyes brief but telling. It’s slight just a second of hesitation, the tiniest pause in his movements. Jimin catches it. However, Namjoon recovers quickly, too quickly. "Yeah, he was. He always got the best shots."

The warmth in Jimin's smile fades as he studies him with newfound scrutiny. "How is he? I feel like I should've talked to him more recently than that trip, but I can't remember anything after that."

Namjoon schools his expression, but the hesitation is there, enough for Jimin’s stomach to begin flipping as he feels that there is more than meets the eye.

"He’s… in Switzerland. Getting treatment." He says it carefully, as if weighing how much to reveal.

Jimin straightens slightly, a crease forming between his brows. "Treatment? For what? He was fine before, wasn’t he?"

Namjoon presses his lips together before speaking. "He needed time away, so he went to Switzerland to recover. It was the best option. “

Jimin’s gaze sharpens, tension creeping into his voice. "Why didn’t I go see him? Did I even know?"

Namjoon meets his eyes. "You knew. You had a lot going on, work, your personal life. It wasn’t intentional, just how things unfolded."

Jimin absorbs the information, but something about the way Namjoon is answering feels too structured. Like he’s picking his words carefully, making sure they fit together in a way that keeps Jimin from looking too closely. Not lying, but definitely not telling the whole truth either.

Jimin leans back. "So, he’s still in Switzerland? Is he okay now?"

Namjoon licks his lips, feeling like he’s losing the secure grip he had over the situation. "Yes, he’s still in Switzerland. He stayed longer than expected, focusing on treatment. “

Jimin nods slowly, the way his friend slowly begins to close up, divert the conversation leaves a bad taste in his mouth. "It feels weird, like I should remember more. Like I was supposed to check in on him. Was I?"

Namjoon’s arms folding over his chest. "It’ll come back in pieces. Sometimes memories just need the right trigger."

Before Jimin can press further, Namjoon moves on, gesturing toward Jimin’s bandages. "Take your shirt off. Let’s see how you’re healing."

Jimin obliges, pulling the shirt over his head and throwing it onto the bed. The bandages covering his bruises stand out starkly against his skin, and for the first time, he truly looks at them.

Namjoon’s voice cuts through his thoughts. "She did these, didn’t she?" His tone is knowing, more of a statement than a question. He gestures at the neatly secured bandages, tilting his head slightly. "It’s stupid, but you can always tell when she’s the one who patched someone up. It’s a little too careful. Too precise. Like she’s making sure it holds even when it doesn’t have to."

Jimin feels like he should be serious, but he lived by the proverb asking stupid questions get stupid answer. " No I did them myself. With my impeccable one-handed skills and a tutorial video on how to make my injuries worse."

Namjoon rolling his eyes, steps away allowing Jimin to get dressed. "Right. Because that’s exactly what you’d do."

"Namjoon." His voice is quieter now. "When exactly did I get this?"

Namjoon turns around, following where Jimin’s finger was pointing. "Japan. About a year and a half ago.”

"Why, though? Why would I get this? Did I ever tell you?"

Namjoon shrugs, shoulders relaxing, for the first time he felt like he didn’t have to adjust the truth. "You never gave a straight answer. At first, you avoided talking about it completely. Then, one night after a few drinks you said it pained you. I thought you meant the tattoo itself, but you just shook your head and said, ‘Not the ink. The thought.’" He says rubbing a hand over his jaw. "You kept giving these cryptic answers, like it was something only you were supposed to understand. Hoseok and I were with you that night, but we couldn’t piece it together. It didn’t seem like something you wanted to explain."

"I call Y/N lily, you know. So, when I first saw this, I thought it had to be for her. But then…" He trails off. "Then I saw her reaction. She wasn’t just surprised, she looked hurt. Sad. It didn’t make sense. If this was for her, shouldn’t she have been - I don’t know, happy?"

Namjoon feels the guilt seep in, biting at his consciousness for he knew why her reaction was like that. "Jimin, sometimes things don’t fit into neat little boxes. Maybe you got the tattoo with one meaning in mind, but by the time you did, maybe things had already changed. Maybe it wasn’t about her the way you thought it was.“

Jimin stays quiet but his consciences doesn't let him rest. "It’s strange, though. How didn’t she know about it? If I got it for her, wouldn’t she have seen it before? Wouldn’t I have told her?"

Russian roulette, that’s how Namjoon feels like this conversation is going. One wrong move and he could be opening a pandora’s box with a bullet. "Maybe it just never came up or maybe you never showed her."

Jimin’s hands hit the table, irritation clear on his face. "Come on, hyung. You really think that makes sense? We lived together. There’s no way she wouldn’t have noticed."

Namjoon hesitates, already on the brink of slipping up. "You weren’t in the best place back then. Maybe you meant to tell her, but you never got around to it. Or maybe… you didn’t want to."

At this point Jimin was desperate, he felt like there was much to unbox but no matter how hard he tries it doesn’t budge. "That still doesn’t explain her reaction. She wasn’t just surprised, she looked..." he searches for the right word. "Like it hurt. Like it was something she never wanted to see."

Namjoon’s already sitting behind the desk, writing away his assessment, the conversation long finished in his mind and now he’s giving crumbles that could satisfy Jimin. "Then maybe it meant something different to her than it did to you."

"Hoseok was there too?"

Namjoon nods, silently apologizes to Hoseok hoping that he will find a better way to deal with Jimin. "Yeah. He might remember more, if you ask him. Maybe he caught something I missed."

Namjoon clears his throat. "Physically, you’re healing well. Reflexes are good, no sign of complications. Just keep taking it easy."

"You busy?" Jimin asks casually, though his tone is anything but.

"Depends. Why?"

Jimin shrugs, slipping his shirt back on. "Coffee. Or lunch. Something."

Namjoon understandes the underlying request. A moment to breathe. A moment to process outside of sterile walls and medical evaluations. "Alright. There’s a café a couple of blocks away. Let’s go."

Soon, Jimin finds himself sitting across from Namjoon at a quiet café near the hospital. Namjoon stirs sugar into his drink, his spoon tracing slow circles along the rim of the cup before he finally sets it down with a quiet clink.

“I’m glad you finally came in for your check-up,” Namjoon says, breaking the quiet first. “I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

Jimin shifts his grip on the warm ceramic of his mug. “I’d never hear the end of it if I did.”

Namjoon exhales something between a chuckle and a sigh, taking a sip of his coffee before tilting his head slightly, studying Jimin. “How are you feeling? Any improvement?”

Jimin rolls his bottom lip between his teeth, considering. “The headaches come and go. Not as bad as before, but they still hit randomly.”

Namjoon runs his thumb over the edge of his cup. “That’s expected. Your brain is still trying to reconnect everything. The smallest things can act as triggers, scents, places, even a passing phrase.” He pauses. “Have you remembered anything new?”

Jimin drums his fingers once against the side of his cup before stopping himself. “Some things.” He keeps his tone light, casual, as if it isn’t keeping him awake at night. “Some are sharp, others feel… disjointed.”

“I remembered being in a bookstore,” Jimin draws circles on the table as he tries to remember more. “Walking through the aisles, holding Y/N’s hand.” He keeps his eyes on his coffee as he speaks. “She was laughing at something, me, maybe? She picked up a book and handed it to me like she already knew I’d like it.”

Namjoon is listening intently, trying to make something of what he is being told. “That sounds about right. Your memories might be resurfacing in pieces—details before context.”

Jimin leans back slightly, stretching his legs out beneath the table. “When did Y/N dye her hair blonde?”

Namjoon doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. It was about a year ago, I think? She went lighter for a while but changed it back not long after.”

Jimin doesn’t react. He just lifts his coffee and takes a slow sip, letting the heat settle in his chest as his mind works through the information.

A year ago.

That’s not what you said. A strange sensation unravels inside him, curling its way into his ribs, squeezing just enough to make his breath feel shorter than before. Namjoon doesn’t seem to notice, continuing on, something about how the brain prioritizes emotional memories, but Jimin barely hears it. He keeps his expression neutral, nodding as though Namjoon’s words don’t shift the very foundation beneath him.

It could be nothing. A miscommunication, a lapse in memory. But it doesn’t feel like nothing.

It feels like proof.

One of you is lying.

And he needs to find out why.

By the time Jimin steps back into the apartment, the evening light has softened into gold, stretching long shadows across the floor. He toes off his shoes without thought, his mind elsewhere, tangled in the weight of the conversation he just had.

A year ago.

Namjoon’s words sit heavy in his chest, pressing against the space already thick with doubt. His body moves before his mind fully catches up, carrying him toward the bedroom with a quiet urgency.

He doesn’t know what he’s looking for only that he needs to find something. He pulls open the first drawer of the nightstand, fingers sifting through neatly stacked belongings. A watch he hasn’t worn in months, a stray receipt, a set of wireless earphones. Nothing. He shuts it with a quiet thud and moves to the next.

Papers. Old notebooks with hastily scribbled lyrics, corners folded from use. He flips through them on instinct, his own handwriting staring back at him, filled with half-finished verses, melodies he no longer remembers composing. Nothing.

The tension in his chest tightens, winding itself around his ribs like a slow, deliberate vice. His movements become more hurried, dresser drawers pulled open with less care, hands pushing past neatly folded clothes, rifling through stacks of old letters, envelopes, anything that might—

His fingers still.

A small box, tucked toward the back of the drawer. Plain, unmarked. Something about it feels familiar.

He pulls it free, heart hammering against his ribs as he lifts the lid. Inside, photographs. Some of them stacked haphazardly, others in envelopes, edges slightly worn. He reaches for the first one and it’s you.

A candid shot standing near a window, sunlight spilling over your shoulder as you laugh at something outside of the frame. His fingers tighten around the photo. He flips through the others, a silent reel of moments captured on film. The two of you at a café, leaning close. You mid-sentence, gesturing animatedly. A blurry shot of you in his hoodie, sock-clad feet curled beneath you on the couch. And then a photo that makes his stomach drop.

Blonde hair.

The same bookstore aisle from his memory. His own hand in hers. A book between them, her smile barely visible at the edge of the frame. The air in the room feels suddenly too thick.

Jimin swallows hard, his fingers pressing into the photo as his pulse pounds against his temple. The memory had felt so sure like it belonged to you. But here, in his hands, is proof that it doesn’t. That it never did.

The photograph burns in Jimin’s hands.

Blonde hair. A memory that doesn’t belong to you.

The truth slams into him with unrelenting force he’s been remembering the wrong person. Or worse, he’s been remembering someone else entirely.

A sharp breath leaves his lungs, his fingers shaking as he tosses the photograph onto the bed like it’s something toxic. His head feels light, spinning, thoughts colliding too fast for him to make sense of. Who is she? Why does he remember her? Why? Why did it feel so real?

His vision blurs at the edges, his breathing uneven as he starts tearing through the room, like a man possessed. Drawers fly open, clothes shoved aside.

His hands push past shirts, socks, old receipts, searching for anything, anything that will make this make sense. Bills, takeout menus, hospital documents with his name on them, your old notes, faded receipts from restaurants he doesn’t remember visiting.

His elbow knocks against the vanity. Glass shatters.

The sharp, unmistakable sound of something breaking against the floor rips through the air. He stills, staring down at the mess your serum, the one you always used, the one that sat in the same place on your dresser for as long as he can remember. A drop of liquid slides across the tile. The scent light, floral, unmistakably you, fills the room curling in the air around him.

And then a memory slams into him.

His voice is sharp, unrelenting. “Is this what you wanted?”

You flinch, standing in the center of the room, your arms wrapped around yourself, shaking. You won’t meet his eyes. Your breath comes uneven, raw, as if you’re barely holding yourself together.

“Jimin, stop—”

Glass shatters.

He’s thrown something. A frame. A photograph. It hits the floor with a sickening crack, the splintered glass scattering across the wood, reflecting fractured pieces of the two of you.

Jimin watches himself, watches the way his shoulders rise and fall, his breath ragged, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Watches the way you sink onto the edge of the bed, shoulders trembling, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes like you can push back the tears.

“You don’t get to cry,” he snaps. “Not when you did this.”

The memory fractures.

Jimin jerks back to the present, gasping, his fingers pressing against the edge of the vanity like it might ground him. His head throbs, his pulse hammering in his ears, but something clicks—

The blonde woman in the photo. The blonde woman who was sitting beside his parents when he woke up in the hospital. The one who was there when you walked in. The one who looked at you with something too familiar, too knowing.

Rosé.

His stomach drops. That was her. That was the woman in his memories. The pieces snap together with brutal clarity, forcing him to face what he’s been too disoriented to see. She wasn’t just there when he woke up. She was part of his life before he lost his memories.

But how? What was she to him? Why does he remember her hand in his at the bookstore, the softness in her voice, the way it felt like something that belonged to him?

And why, why did it feel more certain than anything else?

His knees feel weak. His hands tremble as he slowly crouches, picking up the broken shards of glass, setting them aside like it will somehow undo the destruction, like he can put back what’s already been broken.

By the time the floor is clear, and the vanity looks untouched again, Jimin walks to the living room. He sits on the couch, fingers pressed against his temples, his mind still racing.

Jimin doesn’t sleep. Not really.

When morning comes, he steps out of the apartment before you wake, his mind moving faster than his feet. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, only that he has to keep searching.

The hospital feels like the logical place to start, but walking through those halls won’t give him anything new. Not yet. Instead, he pulls out his phone and scrolls through his contacts, his finger hovering over a name he hasn’t thought about in years—

Hoseok.

He doesn’t second-guess himself before pressing the call button. It rings twice before a familiar voice filters through the speaker.

“Jimin?” Hoseok sounds surprised, but not unpleasantly so. “How are you? I wanted to reach out sooner but man these kids are killing me”

“Are you busy?” Jimin asks, “I need to talk.”

A pause. Hoseok sighs. “No, meet me at Office.”

Jimin arrives at their office building, the glass doors reflecting the city skyline behind him. If anyone will give him a real answer, it’s Hoseok. His old friend is waiting inside, leaning back in his chair, flipping through reports. His desk is cluttered, stock reports, investment portfolios, documents requiring signatures. Things Jimin should be familiar with. Things he isn’t.

“You look like hell,” Hoseok says, setting a pen down and meeting Jimin’s gaze.

Jimin smirks faintly, lowering himself into the chair opposite. “You’re not the first to say that.”

Hoseok lets out a quiet snort, adjusting the sleeves of his shirt. “Guess I’ll hold back the lecture then.”

Jimin studies him, keeping his posture relaxed. Casual. Familiar. That’s the key. He can’t be too direct. Not yet.

“So,” he skims through the papers spread across the desk. “How’s everything been? Business still holding up?”

Hoseok crossing his arms. “Yeah. You left a mess, though. Some accounts need approval, and a few big investors are waiting for your confirmation on projects.”

Jimin rests his hands on his lap, fiddling his fingers a habit he picked up whenever he felt nervous. “Guess I really made my absence known.”

“You did.” Hoseok answer before throwing one of the papers in to a shredder bin “People were nervous. Stocks dipped a little after the accident. Some of our investors thought you might not come back.”

Jimin angles his chin slightly. “Did you think that?”

Hoseok clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Nah. Figured you’d drag yourself back eventually.”

Hoseok’s always been good at playing the game. Always two steps ahead. “Have you remembered anything new?”

Jimin presses nails into the palm of his hand to easen the anxiety that he felt was seeping out of him. “Here and there.”

Hoseok waits for a second, thinking Jimin might explain further. “Anything important?”

Jimin diverts his attention to the window. Push. Just a little. And that he does, eyes looking directly into Hoseok's. “Must’ve been nice having people around,” he muses, voice light. My parents, familiar faces.”

Hoseok’s expression doesn’t waver. “Of course. They had a lot of support.”

Jimin shifts in his seat. Nothing. Hoseok won’t budge. He’s too careful. He lets it go for now, letting the conversation drift. “What about you?”

“Me?”

Jimin gestures toward the framed photo on Hoseok’s desk. His wife and two kids smile back at him, their faces bright and full of life. A family Jimin should know well.

“Still dealing with two gremlins at home?” Jimin asks, resting his elbow on the chair’s armrest.

Hoseok although grateful for his family, the undeniable exhaustion eats him alive. “They’ve gotten worse. I swear, the younger twin is an evil mastermind.”

“Takes after you, then.”

“You’re damn right.” Hoseok’s eyes soften. “Somin’s growing too fast. Wants to start dance classes. Can’t believe she’s already six.”

Somin. The name rings in his ears, familiar yet distant, like something just out of reach. “I used to babysit, didn’t I?”

Hoseok nods. “Yeah. You and —” He stops, just briefly, before clearing his throat. “You helped out a lot.”

Jimin stills. Whose name was he going to say? Hoseok catches himself fast, covering the slip smoothly. But it’s too late. Jimin heard it.

He has to restrain himself from digging up more, it would raising suspicion. Instead, he pretends he didn’t notice. “Guess I need to catch up on everything, huh?”

“Yeah. But take your time. Don’t push yourself too hard.”

“You sound like Namjoon.” Jimin says as he reaches out for Hoseok's visit card, slowly playing with it.

Hoseok fixes a strand of hair that fell out of its place before answering. “Namjoon’s the smart one.”

Jimin quickly disagrees before rising to his feet. Enough for today.

“Good seeing you, hyung.” He pats Hoseok’s shoulder as he walks past.

Hoseok stands up as if jolted awake. “Jimin—”

“I’ll be fine,” Jimin cuts in, flashing an easy smile. Lying effortlessly. “I always am.”

And then, without another word, he walks out, the weight of everything he still doesn’t know pressing against his chest like a vice. Now, he knows exactly where to look next. Jimin doesn’t hesitate.

He calls Jungkook the moment he steps outside.

“HYUNG?!” Jungkook practically shrieks. “OH MY GOD. ARE YOU OKAY? DO YOU REMEMBER ME? WHAT YEAR IS IT? IS THIS A PRANK? WAIT, ARE YOU AN AI CLONE—”

“Jungkook,” Jimin interrupts, already wheezing from laughter. “Calm down.”

“I CANNOT BE CALM!” Jungkook yells. “I—OH MY GOD—OKAY��DO YOU REMEMBER ME?”

Jimin exhales dramatically. “Yes, Jungkook, I remember you.”

“WHO WAS MY FIRST CELEBRITY CRUSH?”

Jimin bites his tongue, even at the age of thirty Jungkook is behaving like a child. “IU.”

A half cry is heard from the other side followed by a minut elong silence. Jimin moves the phone away from his ear to check if the call is still on.

Just as he was about to call out his friend's name, Jungkook gasps as if he was fighting to catch air. “OKAY GOOD. YOU’RE REAL.”

Jimin rubs his temple, at least one person is the same as they were five years ago. Dramatic. “Can we meet?”

Jungkook pauses. “Serious talk?”

“Yeah.”

“Spain hyung,” Jungkook groans. “I’m in Spain, but I’ll be back in four days.”

Jimin looks around before he speaks, for some reason paranoia getting the best of him. “Keep this between us.”

“Hyung, do I look like a snitch?” something in the background breaks and Jungkook curses.

Jimin debates whether to ask what happened, but decides against it knowing that whatever happened Jungkook wouldn't explain it in three sentences. He would have to give a full report, all or nothing.

“Yes.”

Jungkook hisses, another thud sound. “Rude. Four days then.”

“Four days.”

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applejuicebegood · 10 months ago

Text

Best-friend!Dick Grayson HCs (Hero!Reader)

Fem!Reader

A/N: I haven't written anything for Mr. Grayson yet, I feel ashamed. This is based of the Young Justice Dick Grayson btw Masterlist

You met through the original Young Justice team. Both awkward tweens attempting to mirror the legacy of the Hero's the group was founded upon.

He was the unintentional balance between Kalders unrelenting seriousness and Wally's extreme extrorevtism. He could cancel out the chaos of Conner's fits of anger and Artemis's petty fights with Roy. He became your stability within this extremely unconventional friend group you had found yourself in.

Stripped of his family and a normal childhood, it was rare for Dick to grow confident in the stability of any relationship. Only, stability is what you embodied for him. You were like the serene guiding point in a crowd of uncontrollable teenage angst and anger.

In the early days of the team where Dick assumed the position of 'team-leader' was innately his, he would secretly mimic your intense control of not only your emotions but your abilities and skill to hopefully appear more qualified.

To him, your skill is battle was artful. You moved with a grace that he had never seen replicated in any dancer or gymnast that cycled through Haly's Circus. You were entrancing and almost addicting to watch. His footwork and faints becoming tighter and more effecting the more he watched you train, and eventually training with you.

It was how you initially grew close as teammates. Long sparing sessions where you're combat and skill was so perfectly reflecting off of each other. You both would stay on the training pad for hours, trying until you gave in to knock the other off of their feet. It appeared unless, you both were obviously equally matched in skill and fight IQ. With Wally and Megan taking bets on who would go down first, neither of them ever actually paid up since you both would have to tap out from pure exhaustion.

But it was the rush of understanding that made you train with Dick until you both couldn't feel your arms. It was the exhilarating thrill of knowing someone entirely understood your limits and skill as well as they knew their own.

And when it came time for Dick to have someone covering his blindspots, it was you with your back against his. You had spared and trained and bled so much together that your weaknesses and habits had become a second nature.

You knew Dick had a tendency to keep his kicks wider, putting him at a speed disadvantage to regain stability on his feet. Giving you more opportunity to keep his sides covered as he leapt back to cover your right, where he knew you had trouble keeping track of.

It wasn't just your synchronization that made you such a good pair, it was the tenderness you knew that the other needed afterwards.

After brutal missions where your knuckles would be caked with dried blood and the adrenaline high was making you too dizzy to think, Dick would slink his arm under yours and carry you back into the safety of the hideout. He would guide you to a bed, willing you to shut your eyes and breath deeply. He would lean his forehead against yours, having you match the pace of his breath to level your nerves.

He hated it when other people would treat your injuries and he wasn't there. This scared, paranoid part of him had to be present with you. He needed to have his hand open for your to hold in a vice grip as Megan dug the bullet from your leg. He needed to be sitting by your shoulder as you slept, the oxygen mask fixed over your face, so that when you woke up- it could be Dick smothering you in his arms as he silently sobbed against your shoulder. So happy that you hadn't left him just yet.

And as much as he worried about you and the team, it felt good to worry. It felt good to have so many people he cared for and needed to keep safe.

He helps wrap and clean your hands before and after missions. Smoothing his thumbs over the tightness of your calloused palm. He smiles as you groan in relief as he works out a stubborn knot.

Your his sister in everything but blood. His reminder that he was able to find another family after his was taken.

It's funny in that his last memories with his mother was her asking him if he wanted a sibling. Dick liked to think that she, where-ever her soul rested, pre-determined your presence in his life. That she still managed to give him a sibling.

When you were both still young teenagers, you encouraged him to try for the Gotham High gymnastics team. Thinking that it would be good to separate that part of himself from hero-work. Of course he made the team. And of course you would always be front row to everyone of his competitions. Your voice would hurt from how loud you cheered and screamed as the gold metals were hung around his neck.

He treats birthdays and other holidays very seriously. He's got a list for everyone on the team of things they said they needed or liked. His gifts are so personal and sweet but it's the cards that make you tear up.

Being Hero's from such a young age, both of you struggled with really bad nightmares. It was common when the two of you were 14 for Dick to tap on your bedroom door late at night. His eyes wide and his raven hair tousled across his tight forehead. You didn't have to say anything to each other, at least not until the morning. You would pull back your covers and pat the space beside you, his weight making the mattress dip. You both would lay there, looking up at the ceiling until his weak, hoarse voice would break the silence. 'Can I hold your hand?' You nodded, settling on your side. You poked your open palm out from the covers, waisting for him to lace his fingers over your knuckles. He finally let out a relived sigh, shutting his eyes as he squeezed your hand in a thank you you knew he couldn't say.

He snorts when he laughs, something only you know about since you have been one of the only ones to make him laugh so hard. You find it insanely adorable.

Slightly overprotective. He really hates it when you're out late at night and you haven't texted. A smaller, traumatized part of his assuming the worst. He likes to keep his shoulder close to yours if your walking down a busy street together, or his hand hanging behind your upper back if your making your way through a thick crowd.

You quite literally grew up together. You were there for every embarrassing fumble in conversations and violent breakdown. You were there, side by side, when you got your highschool diplomas and when you immediately had to stop a drug trade right after the ceremony. You were there through everything, and Dick is going to try his absolute hardest to make sure your there for the rest of it.

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fairestwriting · 2 months ago

Note

Hey, could you please do headcanons about Idia, Vil, Rook and Cater with a Korean reader who introduces them to the Korean Wave/Hallyu, particularly K-pop music, K-dramas & Korean movies, Korean fashion, Korean beauty trends such as Korean cosmetics & skincare routines, Korean food, Manhwa (Korean equivalent of the Japanese manga), webtoons, webtoonimation (webtoon animation) and Korean animation, Korean language, etc.?

i considered not doing this at first because even though i am into some of these things i dont know That much . so i thought like man i couldnt do this justice 😭 but it sounded like so fun to write and i wanted to do something different so i couldnt resist…. i hope i managed to pull it off (and also that i didnt come off like imoversimplifying anything?? what im going for here is just focusing on the things i think each character would get into the most)

𐙚 Cater Diamond

Cater would be curious about anything related to your life, even if you didn’t literally come from a different world — But that factor, plus your mention of how certain things are considered trendy in social media, definitely make him even more curious than he already was. The more he hears about it, the more he wants to know.

Considering Twisted Wonderland works in a somewhat parallel way to our world, certain concepts might not be fully unfamiliar to him, mirroring trends he’s seen in his own social media. When it comes to things like cosmetics and beauty routines, he already has a decent grasp on it, but he is very eager to learn about new products — if you have anything with you that he could try, he’ll definitely ask if you want to make a video of you two talking about it together.

The media does intrigue him very much too, he’s always looking for new things to watch and listen to, and Cater’s tastes are pretty eclectic, so you can have a lot of really fun watch parties. He’ll mostly enjoy it all pretty casually, but you *will* have his attention for hours if you tell him about fan culture and controversies. On a similar note, he’ll definitely be watching the more out there dramas more than once.

Out of everything though, the food will for sure be his favorite thing. With the amount of spicy dishes there are, how could it not? He can’t bear to watch too many food videos because of how badly he wants to try them. If you can somehow make some for him, he’s going to be raving about it for days on end. His Magicam stories get flooded with pictures of it. You’ll probably never know peace until you teach him how to make it himself.

𐙚 Vil Schoenheit

It’s obvious, sure, but it has to be said: The first thing to catch his attention is going to be the beauty products. He already makes his own custom ones, but he wants to know what you’ve been using anyway. He’ll already be very pleased if he learns you have a routine of your own, and even more if you’re as interested in the topic as he is. He doesn’t get to really have conversations about those things often.

If you have no way of getting your usual products when you run out, he’s definitely going to try and replicate the formula for you, no matter how difficult it might be. Vil isn’t a person who expresses excitement in a very obvious way, but you can definitely feel it radiating from him when you show him all those cosmetics he’s never seen before.

Media is something he’s a bit pickier about, being a person who is in the entertainment industry himself — He’s open minded though, and if he has the time he’ll gladly watch and listen to all the things you like with you. He’ll be commenting on it very coolly and critically at first, even if he’s enjoying himself, but if you keep showing him things, you’re bound to run into something he’ll get really into…

…Which might just end up being whatever you consider your biggest guilty pleasure interest. He secretly indulges in hatewatching more often than you’d imagine. Will definitely have a time with the drama shows that are full of insane twists and dubious romantic relationships. Talks at length about how much the love interest sucks and how the protagonist deserves better, then vehemently denies that his interest is anything more than trainwreck watching effect. Right before he asks you to put on the next episode.

He does get curious about the food too, and he can be persuaded to try something if you’ve made it for him, but… you can kind of see the fear in his eyes if it’s anything visibly spicy. He’ll definitely enjoy dishes like bibimbap though.

𐙚 Rook Hunt

Being someone who is both remarkably nosy curious, and very devoted to finding beauty in everything, it’s not unlikely that Rook will be the one to initiate the conversation about your cultural background. He would have done that to anyone he’s interested in really, but the details of your behavior he’s picked up aren’t really things he’s seen before, which makes it all the more compelling to him.

He’ll be completely enthralled regardless of what topic you start your explanation with. Food, language, media, trends… It doesn’t matter, everything is equally as fascinating and just incredibly beautiful to him. He’s just happy to learn, but especially the things that matter to you the most— Meaning your favorite dishes, shows, songs…

Gets especially excited to try out the food, and extra especially if it’s the kind of thing you used to eat often back home. A person’s favorite foods can give you quite the glimpse into their background, after all! …He’s not the best at dealing with anything significantly spicy however. Will still insist for you to not tone it down with the seasoning, he’s very adamant about wanting to get the “authentic experience”. Determined to power through and build as much spice tolerance as he needs to.

He’ll definitely have a fun time with movies and shows too, as well as watching live performances of your favorite artists. As usual, he has quite a lot to say about the beauty of everything, but as much as he genuinely enjoys those things, his focus will always be on the things that are the closest and more meaningful to you— Which means, he’ll want to learn korean since the first time you said a word in it to him. Even if it’s something like the name of a dish or a place in Korea. Actually starts studying it pretty hard, planning to one day leave as many loving notes for you as he can write.

𐙚 Idia Shroud

Idia isn’t very interested in what's considered trendy anywhere, at any given moment. He does actually know quite a lot about what’s currently popular, but really just because he spends so much time online. His curiosity is a lot more based on wanting to know more about you, and the things you like and are part of your culture. He’d feel the same even if none of it was known by people who weren’t a part of it.

Surprises you by actually managing to name most makeup products correctly. Even though he insists he doesn’t watch these kinds of videos, not that there’s anything wrong with them — but when it comes to skincare, it’s a whole other story. Mentions he’s always wondered what ”the stuff in the dropper bottles” actually do, may question you on the importance of moisturizing after washing your face. He’ll let you do makeup on him if you want though. But only if you’re not going outside that day.

Definitely the type who would eat up k-pop immediately. You don’t need to tell him the names of your favorite idols more than once for him to remember, a lot of the music really caters to his tastes. He’ll have to mostly rely on you for updates, since your phone is the only one where the related apps actually work, but he may or may not be trying to get them to run on his.

Because of how much he gets into the music, he actually ends up being pretty curious about the language too. He wants to be able to sing along to his new fave’s songs accurately, after all— And you did also mention webtoons and manhwa, which also undoubtedly ended up with him binge reading a bunch and not wanting to wait for translations. If you can teach him anything, or even just point him to good sources, you may just get to witness just how fast of a learner he truly is.

(Besides, he does like the idea of being able to speak to you in a language that other people around you wouldn’t understand, kinda like a secret code — it makes him feel closer to you, he really wants to be able to do that one day.)

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #cater diamond #vil schoenheit #rook hunt #idia shroud #cater diamond x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #rook hunt x reader #idia shroud x reader #twst imagines #twst headcanons #lis writing

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lana-llama-in-pajamas · 1 year ago

Text

Francis mosses x fem! reader

thick as blood

sweet as milk

"god i am down bad" you groaned getting up getting into the shower, it was.....nasty, the grout and limescale made a public bathroom seem more hygienic

but you didn't have time to think about it so you cleaned up and got out trying your best to not touch a thing, you looked over the makeup guidelines for your uniform, it had to be exact in order for the agents that came in to not suspect you. matching foundation no eyeshadow, black mascara and complimentary blush with matching lip stick

you looked in the mirror one last time before rushing out.

7 am sharp you sat at your desk watching Francis be the first heading out the door giving a small wave to you, your heart fluttered waving back. a few more residents left leaving you with a bit too much free time. most of them wouldn't come back till lunch and as stupid as dopples are for them to appear now is suicide, you look around and see a letter at your desk so you open it

dear agent 591138 it has come to my attention that no one has filled you in on your working conditions fully so I am here to do it for you. your working hours are 7am to 10 pm every full week then you will get the following work week off, we understand this is rather confusing but just know your best interest is our priority (among other things) this gives you time for recreational activities and self mental care. you do know how everything in the office works but we did just throw a gun to you like a baby. your DDD issued pistol has DDD issued bullets so we can verify the killing of the dopples or in serious cases murder of innocent civilians. an agent will contact you intermittently to check your mental health. best regards , agent 907811

what a letter. did they call you a baby with a gun? your 25.

you decided to open the filing cabinet under your desk to place the letter just to find it riddled with boxes of said bullets. you place it over them and close it staring straight into your reflection of the glass "ok lets just breath and get through it" you assured yourself before reaching into your bag for a bagel and milk, odd combination yes but its what you had in your icebox. you started to worry about your food supplies through the week from what you remember you had bread some fruit jam and POSSIBLY not rotten eggs to hold you over but you knew for a fact a grown person was not going to survive on jelly sandwiches. you looked to the phone wanting to call a cousin that lived nearby to get you some things but you decided against it for now, maybe at the end of your shift you could leave them a message with the operator. soon the middle of the day came and Nacha came in with her daughter looking rather feverish "hi so sorry we had to come back in early she's coming down with something" Nacha slid both their papers and ids through the slot holding her baby close, you looked over the info and all was in order. you even studied them and before opening the door "maybe a doctor would help more?" you asked not wanting to sound mean " oh we went to the pharmacy right before coming here, they said its probably something the kids are passing around" nacha responded happily, this woman was really upbeat it almost scares you " oh good, get better kiddo" her daughter coughed a quiet "whatever" before her mom chastised her passing the now opened door.

you looked to their papers, specifically Anastacha's.... then your stomach dropped. her eyes. her stand offish demeanor yesterday and today, you had a sinking feeling about her relationship to Francis but you weren't sure so you decided to drop the idea for now...

2 dopples came in, horrible replication so you just dropped the shutter and called the moment they spoke.

the phone rang and you picked up "hello, this is agent 907811 the one that sent the letter" the voice was manly but upbeat (imagine Gladiolus from final fantasy 15) you nodded to no one "oh hello, a little unprofessional to make wellness calls in the middle of my shift no?" you asked playfully to test the waters on the guy " intermittently, remember?" he said matching energy "noticed you got 2 already, might get more not to jinx ya" you hummed in agreement as he continued "anyway to make it easier for you instead of calling us and explaining the situation I want you to just say my name and ill know to send our boys in yellow, to save time and lives right?" he kind of lingered on the right so on que you answered "right." "great! ok the names rex." he spoke quick "wait really?" you asked absent for a minute "well no my real name is classified but everyone calls me rex, and whenever you dial 3312 it puts you straight to me~" he made you smile hearing his happiness so you giggled "well ok will do rex, time to get back to work" "yes ma'am" you heard hanging up. dreamboat was infront of you already sliding his papers to you "sorry about that Mr. Mosses" you read over the file, a blush overcoming you "boyfriend?" he asked catching you off guard "n-no, the DDD" you almost got up to let him know you were serious but fixed your seating position instead "mmm...ok" you thanked your god he had very prevalent verbal ques, made your job easy "were do you get your milk from?" he asked taking back his papers "my old apartment, believe it or not the DDD moved me in yesterday with everything I had" you chuckled thinking he took his job a little too serious and didn't want enemy milk on his turf "i give you milk now." he almost declared in an odd way. you turned red imagining unholy thoughts "the farm i deliver for also delivers here. the buildings day is Monday but ill grab a case for you tomorrow" he walked in before you could even form the words thank you but on instinct you shut the door behind him.

you tried to calm your blush to no avail, the way he just announced his caring for you! the way he said it made you swoon "i give you milk now" god it was weirdly hot!! you almost swore you heard a bit of a Russian accent when he said it. you kept holding your face praying to go back to your natural color "doll you look like a tomato" another male voice said "oh Mr. Gauss, I apologize its just allergies" you looked away for a minute before doing the usual "its winter. your a horrible liar" he tapped the glass teasingly "all is well, good day Mr. Gauss" you spoke restrained trying not to be angry with the fact he had no issue calling you a liar opening the door for him "see you later doll". you sat there a little peeved to say the least, munching on your slightly stale bagel you continue your shift.

the next morning you woke up to knocking, your heart raced putting on your robe and ran to the door opening it "its 7:30" francis looked down at you looking almost disappointed "oh my god really?? shit thank you for waking me up" you left the door wide open as you rushed to put on a fresh uniform and stuffing your makeup bag in your purse. francis watched you rush from bed to bath sighing and looking around, he placed down five bottles of milk on your counter and opened your ice box "how pitiful" he spoke looking at the carton of barely any eggs and a few rotting veggies. he took it upon himself to leave a milk out and put the rest in making you a single piece of toast. you looked actually quite presentable considering your rushing you walked towards the door hitting something hard "ow" at first you were going to cry because Francis just watched you almost break your nose but you looked up to see him looking down. god did he smell good. like bourbon and vanilla, thank god axe body spray wasn't invented yet. "I made you toast. I have to get to work." he furrowed his brows at the last bit and left you, you look to the counter to see well enough he set the toast with jam on a small plate and a glass of milk at your table.

days had passed and soon it was your friday

it was almost 10 pm but you had to stay an extra hour because the twin models were at a party. you've never really had a full conversation with them but they were nice to you even complimented you on your hair once, finally they came in beautiful gowns that made you get up to see them fully "y/n! so sorry it took so long!" Selenne said raising her hands up air hugging you from the glass which made you chuckle "its my job to see your safe return, beautiful dresses by the way" you placed your hand on the glass to match hers "why thank you, we'll show you the details in a bit" Elenois smiled passing their papers to you, you matched them up everything being in order "you should come to a party with us" selenne jumped a little visibly annoying her twin "sel she has a job to do. a stressful one at that she doesn't need more comingling with the upper-class that watches your every move" elenois huffed taking the ids back "oh actually my days off start tomorrow" you smiled "oh. nevermind, wanna wear airtight dresses and flirt with politics?" elenois laughed making you raise an eyebrow smiling, selenne slapped her sisters shoulder giggling "shes a little tipsy, yakn-" the girls went silent. all of you looking to your left to see it.

a dopple.

a twin dopple.

it was horrifying. a giant sharp mouth filled its face, no eyes no nose it snarled stretching its arm out to the girls as they screamed. you quickly opened the door hearing your own heart beat quicken with every thought, "get in the office NOW" you yelled banging on the glass to get thier attention, they did as told rushing passed El pushing her sister in forcing Sel onto the office floor next to you. the dopple sprung passed the door before you could shut it, it tripping and grabbing onto elenois' leg with its yellow claws you ran up your mind swimming from thier screams, you punched the side of its head forcing it to go down before turning its attention to you. you grappled with it on the floor yelling at the girls to get a grip and lock the main and office door, they were trembling...blood from Els leg soaking her dress as she held selenne nodding to you closing the door and locking the main one from the office. you were bloody , your fist scrapped its teeth cracking the bone a bit as you threw it againt the door earning another scream from the twins it snarled and screeched as you ran towards the stairs unclipping your gun from its holster going up a floor "all residence stay in your homes a dopple is in the building" you yelled repeating the phrase as you heard them all scamble yelling and some of the men even starting to descend the staircase before you hit the first step. the monster stood before you on the bottom step bleeding from its maw "YoU pICk uP A GOosd fiIIgHT MakeSS yoU moRe DeLishessssss" you trembled aiming "Fuck You" POW POW the pistol shot hitting its stomach, its screeches hurt your ears but you slowly backed away as it crawled to reach you it was fast ripping off quite a bit of your skirt as you kept pilling the trigger knowing it had no more than 8 rounds finally it hit its chest making the thing go down by the second floor.

you laid there on the steps breathing heavy hearing almost nothing as everyone crowded around you asking questions and tending to your leg, but you heard nothing.

you got up pushing poor mia to the side backing down stairs passed the body pulling it by the leg to the main floor and leaving it at the end of the steps, everyone but Nacha and nat following for obvious reasons. you walked to the office opening it with your key seeing the twins holding one another sobbing looking up at you, they smilied running up and hugging you close you could start to hear their voices thanking god and thanking you...the gun was still in your hand so you walked passed them slowly sitting in your chair and placing the gun on the desk everyone ran to the girls to inspect them as you dailed the number "....rex....i had to kill it in front of all of them.." you croaked "coming now kid hold on" his voice sounded shaky but you were still processing everything the smell of blood and what seemed like rot, the stinging sensation of your cuts and bruises...the sounds of your residence begging you to answer them. oh.

you breathed in a sharp breath finally being able to sense everything "please step away from the body" you stated to the mcoolys looking over at it "you really killed it" the older one spoke in shock "oh dear your skirt " gloria took off her head scarf to cover you but francis stopped her taking off his wrobe and placing it over you "the ...blood" you managed to get out "fuck the blood right now" he stated mia dressed you in it as the twins blocked you making sure your panty hose were no longer exposed, all of the men looking away either in respect or fear of thier wives.

DDD came escorting everyone upstairs as the other half stayed downstairs to clean up "didnt think we'd meet this way" you looked up from the chair the shmidts brought out for you to sit as DDD officers looked over your wounds. it was rex. a taller man in casual business attire with salt n pepper hair "you did good kid, you saved those girls and the rest of them" he held out his hand to you , you shook it nodding "thank you" he nodded back letting go to speak with a yellow suit qietly "well it seems theres no fatal injuries on any of you , they dressed your wounds so now you rest" rex looked down at you . some would say you looked like a beaten dog but maybe that was just rex "your one tough bitch y/n." he walked off with the hazmats in tow, "i think its time for you to rest baby...you look close to passing out" gloria squeezed your arm as your eyes fluttered, you were passing out and fast "ill take her home" francis spoke up "and we'll stay with her" El and Sel spoke together "she cant sleep in those clothes" el added , everyone agreed as francis picked you up slowly treating you like glass to your apartment the scent of his shampoo and his warmth made you pass out holding him tighter

you could almost hear him stiffle a tear as he held you closer.

end part 2

#thats not my neighbor #francis mosses #tnmn #milkman x reader #milkman #tnmn fanart

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gogogodzilla · 1 year ago

Note

hiiiii can i request a smut one shot with peeta🥰 anything you’d like. thank you!!!

Dress || Peeta Mellark

peeta mellark x reader warnings: nsfw 18+, unprotected sex, clothed sex, slight dirty talk, fingering, mentions of panty stealing, continuation of this post masterlist ✩ read on ao3 ✩

Effie isn’t lying when she mentions that the Capitol spared no expense for the reception at President Snow’s mansion, although it’s probably pocket change for the Capitol. Humongous parties like this are the norm, after all.

Your engagement ring’s an unfamiliar sensation on your finger but not an unwelcome one. You link your arm with Peeta’s as you explore the mansion. The ceiling of the banquet hall replicates the night sky and reminds you of home. You wonder if any of the Capitol citizens have ever seen the night sky. The lights from the city are usually too bright, and you doubt many have bothered to venture outside of the Capitol.

You walk through the ornate halls, exchanging pleasantries with dignitaries and various guests. As the night wears on you begin to think that your cheeks might cramp up from all the smiling.

It isn’t long before you find where the food is being kept and your mouth waters at the sight. Tables are laden with every kind of dish you could imagine and even more that you’ve never seen in your life line the walls.

“It isn’t fair,” you whisper as you gaze at the various tables.

Peeta turns to you with a barely-masked grim look. “People are starving…” he began but you’re quick to cut him off.

“I know.”

Before you know it, you’re sampling everything you possibly could, determined not to let anything go to waste. It’s no time before your moments of peace with Peeta are ruined by your prep team descending on you. Their drunken babbles mix together, but you do your best to keep up with what they’re saying.

Octavia questions why you aren’t eating and you brush her off with a laugh, claiming to be unable to fit another bite. This causes a chorus of high-pitched laughs to break out amongst your prep team, and you shoot Peeta a confused look which he mirrors.

“No one lets that stop them!” Flavius exclaims as he leads you and Peeta to a table holding thin-stemmed wine glasses filled with a clear liquid.

Peeta picks one up to take a sip, and it’s almost comical how fast every member of your prep team moves to stop him.

“Not here!” Octavia shrieks.

Venia points to doors that lead to the bathroom, “You have to do it in there or you’ll get it all over the floor!”

Peeta looks between the glass and your prep team, quickly putting the pieces together. “You mean this will make me puke?”

You attempt to hide your disgust while your prep team chuckles.

“It’s so you can keep eating. How else would you be able to try everything?” Octavia says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Peeta sets the glass gently back down on the table and holds his arm out to you. “I think it’s time for a dance. My love?”

Peeta leads you onto the dance floor and pulls you into his arms, mimicking the stance of the dance Effie taught you not too long ago. The dances at home are more lively than this, but you appreciate the closeness this one provides.

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” he murmurs, and his jaw tenses.

You run your fingertips along his shoulder and then give it a reassuring squeeze. “Just one more night, and then we can go home,” you remind softly, a small smile gracing your features as you attempt to comfort him.

He leans his forehead against yours, sighing. “I can’t wait.”

You pull away slightly, eyes flickering to the front pocket of his suit where your panties are safely nestled. He follows your gaze and grins slyly.

“You know, I think there are a few rooms we didn’t explore,” you suggest, looking at the crowd around you. Most people are too busy with their conversations to notice you.

The soft music comes to an end and you give a small curtsy while Peeta bows back. He takes your hand and leads you through the opulent halls of the mansion. Candlelight illuminates your path as you follow him, and a jolt of the thrill of what’s to come runs down your spine.

Your adventure leads you to a nearly empty hallway and Peeta picks a room to peek into. Once satisfied with the apparent emptiness of the room, he pulls you in and shuts the door gently behind you. He spins you around and before you know it, his lips are on yours. You’re quick to deepen the kiss, and he lets out a small groan in response.

You pull away to catch your breath and turn your head to admire the room you’re in. It’s elegantly appointed with plush furnishings and a canopy bed. Peeta takes the opportunity to trail kisses down the side of your neck, and you lean your head to the side to give him more room.

Peeta’s hands begin to wander across your body, caressing any skin he can reach as he nudges you closer to the bed. Your mind is screaming at you to stop this and return to the party, but the ache between your legs proves to be much more persuasive.

The backs of your thighs hit the mattress and you clamber onto the bed as quickly as your dress will allow. Peeta follows you and his lips are back on yours within an instant. You groan into the kiss, already becoming lost in him.

He runs his hands up your legs, pulling your dress up along with it. You nearly forgot how exposed you were the entire night until the cool air of the bedroom hits your dripping heat. Peeta kneels between your legs, and you spare a glance at him. His eyes are half-lidded and his cheeks are flushed and he looks absolutely perfect.

Your eyes dip down to the very obvious tent in his pants and you can’t help but reach for it. He watches as you palm him, occasionally grinding against your hand.

You tentatively reach for the button of his pants and look up at him for permission. With a nod of his head, you pop the button of his trousers and tug the zipper down. Clumsy fingers reach within the waistband of his briefs and free his cock from its confines. Peeta groans as you slowly stroke him.

He drags his fingertips along your thighs, slowly nearing where you need him the most.

You buck your hips unconsciously, desperate for his touch, as you continue to gingerly stroke him.

Peeta slowly, sinfully, circles your clit before dipping down to tease your entrance, earning a mewl from you. He presses a finger inside you, pumping it slowly before adding another one.

Your eyes roll in the back of your head as he touches what feels like the deepest depths of your insides, and your grip loosens on his cock as you get lost in the sensation of him.

He removes his fingers and you whine at the loss, but he quickly satiates you with the drag of his cock through your folds. Your fingers tangle in the bedsheets on either side of you, desperate for something to hold onto.

“So beautiful, my love,” Peeta murmurs as the head of his cock teases your entrance.

“Please, Peeta,” you whine as you grab onto his forearm, the cuff of his suit wrinkling under your grasp.

He chuckles before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “S’okay, my love. I’ll take care of you.”

Slowly, he pushes inside of you and your eyebrows knit together as you focus on taking all of him. You’ve never felt so full in your life, and it was making your head spin.

Your hands slide up to cup Peeta’s face, and his pulse quickens under your fingertips. You tug him closer, longing for his lips on yours.

The kiss is gentle and sweet, much unlike your heated and needy movements moments ago. Slowly, Peeta begins moving his hips and you gasp against him. He takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, and your cheeks flush.

You pull him impossibly closer as the pace of his thrusts increases and he presses sloppy kisses against the column of your neck. He pins your arms on either side of your head and intertwines your fingers with his.

Peeta rests his head against your shoulder and with every roll of his hips little pants and moans leave him. You wished he would be louder, but you feared you’d be shot on sight if you got caught. Although, it would be a very memorable headline for the evening news.

“You’re so,” he begins but is cut off by both of you moaning as he reaches a particularly sensitive spot within you and you clench against him. “Fuck, my love.”

“Faster,” you whine against him, acutely aware of the amount of time you’ve been gone from your own party.

Peeta ruts deeply within you as he quickens his pace, and the moans that left him cause your cheeks to flush. His head resting on your shoulder allows you to hear every little noise that he makes, and you love every single second of it.

You reach down to where you’re connected and draw hasty circles against your clit, causing the familiar coil inside you to tense. You’re not sure whether it’s the final roll of his hips or your fingers circling your clit just right that throws you over the edge, but you let out a loud moan that Peeta quickly swallows with a kiss.

His hips falter against your own, and Peeta quickly pulls out of you. You whine at the loss, and Peeta kneels between your legs as he strokes himself once and then twice before his release coats your inner thighs.

You attempt to catch your breath as you watch Peeta come down from his high. He leans down and captures your lips in his. You smile into the kiss, momentarily forgetting what awaits you outside the bedroom door.

You pull away and cup his face, “We should probably rejoin the party. I think Effie will be looking for us.”

He sighs as he leans into your touch, “It was nice to forget for a moment where we are and why we’re here.”

“It was,” you nod as you lean in for one last kiss. Peeta is quick to oblige you before pulling out his handkerchief and cleaning up the mess the two of you made.

He rights himself before helping you to the edge of the bed, careful of your skirts.

“Do you think people noticed?”

You huff out a laugh, “For the sake of our lives, I hope they were too busy with the food.”

“It’d certainly make our act more convincing,” he grins as he helps you stand. Your legs are a little wobbly and you cling to him.

“You keep making my legs feel like this, and it won’t be an act anymore,” you tease as you both near the door.

He leans down to whisper against the shell of your ear, “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

#peeta mellark x reader smut #the hunger games peeta #peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark smut #peeta mellark #reader insert #no y/n #zilla answers #thg series #thg #thg peeta #the hunger games #thg fanfiction #catching fire

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mulloey · 5 months ago

Note

Can you do sex tapes with wooyoung?😩

✨️Whenever you get the time✨️

warnings: mirror sex, crying, spanking, masturbation, degradation

wooyoung who loves to fuck you in doggy in front of the mirror and films the whole thing, zooming in on various parts of you - your face as you cry and moan, or your ass as he hammers down slaps against it, making it jiggle even more than it already is from the force of his thrusts

wooyoung who punishes you by making you jerk off in front of the camera; refusing to touch you at all - “you think you’re so fucking smart, you can do it yourself,” he hisses. “then we can watch the video back so you can see how fucking useless you actually are.” he’d never tell you, but secretly, those videos are his favourite to get off to - the pathetic sight of you trying desperately to pleasure yourself but completely unable to replicate the feeling of him; the sight of your desperate face, pouting and teary eyed, as you beg him to help you and tell him how sorry you are

wooyoung who bought those meta glasses, partially so he didn’t have the inconvenience of holding a camera while trying to focus on fucking you, and partially (mostly) to ensure that the videos would be as real as possible - after all, if you’re not there to please him, he should at least be able to pretend

wooyoung who, when he can’t be bothered with the glasses, holds the phone in his mouth when he needs both of his hands - to pleasure you, to hold you down, to go deeper, whatever. or sometimes when you’re in front of the mirror he makes you hold the phone - “get some nice videos, baby,” he grins. “and your hands better not be fuckin shaking when i watch it back”

wooyoung who insists on filming your pussy, close up, right before he slides into you; so you and him can both remember how wet and desperate you get for him before he’s even got his dick out. he’ll tell you to spread the lips open so he can get a clear view - running his fingers through the wet folds, showing the camera the wetness that lingers on his hand when he pulls away

wooyoung who always makes you say his name when he films you, so anyone watching the video will know exactly who it is that’s fucking you - exactly who it is that owns you. “tell them, babe,” he grunts. “tell them i’m the only one who gets to do this to you”

requests open

#ateez smut #ateez hard hours #ateez x reader #kpop smut #ateez hard thoughts #dom wooyoung #wooyoung smut #wooyoung hard thoughts #wooyoung hard hours #mulloey yaps

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heartz4levi · 8 days ago

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HIIIII ILOVE UR WRITING SM OML I CANNOT THANK U ENOUGH... just a suggestion but would u be interested in doing a ivan x reader nsfw alphabet?? preferably fem reader or gn,, if thats okay!! Have a great day/ night <3

can't find, my all, your soul, i need !

☆ thinking abt ivan + nsfw alphabet . . .

☆ ivan (alnst) ,, fem reader . . the dom/sub dynamic switches at random intervals ,, guess what i'm doing.. pushing the freak ivan agenda ,, lots of sex talk ,, lots of kink talk also.

a — aftercare :

absolute king of pillow talk. will clean the both of you up, provide food and water is needed, the bare minimum really.

but the pillow talk is unmatched. the gossip goes crazy, whether ivan is the one delivering the news or is the one listening to the latest drama you've heard.

b — body part :

ivan likes his eyes. there's a certain mischievous charm in them, one that's hard to replicate, which only adds on to how much he appreicated them.

not a body part, but ivan adores your smile. he can't pick just one part of your body that he loves more than the rest, but something that enchants him a considerable amount is your smile, something he strives to keep on your face for as long as possible.

c — cum :

ivan's cum is thick and sticky. the taste doesn't have any particularly dominating note to it.

always coming in fat globs, ivan likes to paint either your tongue or your cunt white. not the inside. he likes cumming inside too, of course, but there's something about tainting your body with his cum that gets him going, in an odd way.

d — dirty secret :

not really a secret since he did bring the idea up before. ivan is curious and really wants to know how it'd feel like to be used by you.

he's talking toying with him for your own pleasure, unleashing a never before seen sadistic side, torturing him sexually and not showing even an ounce of care for his personal needs.

e — experience :

not a virgin, but also not a total whore.

ivan has slept with a few people before, just enough to know what he's doing by the time he ends up in your bed. and he's well—versed in a lot of kinks, considering how experimental he is.

f — favourite position :

ivan likes to fold you in some of the most foul positions, but doggystyle takes the cake. a certain kind of doggy though.

yeah, the generic doggystyle position is good, but he likes it best when there's a mirror and you're facing it, staring at your own fucked—out expression. always ends up pulling you up, your back flush against his chest to reach even deeper inside of you.

g — goofy :

ivan is never completely serious during sex, but he isn't actively trying to make you laugh either. he's more so just actively teasing you.

however he'd be quite amused if you tried making him laugh mid—sex, as if he wasn't literally going to town on your poor cunt.

h — hair :

nicely groomed. is not against the idea of waxing, but doesn't feel obligated to do it.

as for his partner, ivan just wants someone who prioritizes their hygiene, doesn't mean that your pussy has to be completely bare. fuck it, let it grow out, so long as it's not contagious he'll still hit.

i — intimacy :

can be very, very romantic at times.

but, being the versatile man he is, ivan can also treat you as if you're nothing but a sex toy. however a small part, deep down inside of him, yearns to be gentle. to love you, to worship you, to handle you like you're a sacred treasure.

top tier deep, slow strokes.

j — jack off :

ivan jacks off a regular amount. doesn't practice abstinence but doesn't get off to something every day.

he likes to prolong his sessions though, edging himself on purpose and making it all the more painful so that the eventual climax he will have will make him ascend spiritually.

k — kink :

a whole entourage of kinks. is into so many things, more than you can count on two hands.

ivan does quite like bondage tho and isn't aversed to being tied up himself. he likes the feeling of helplessness that comes with being restrained but takes just as much pleasure in the sensation of control that comes with having you tied up, at his mercy.

l — location :

like previously mentioned, a total freak. ivan is open to taking you during any time of day, at any location.

in public? sure, let the people nearby watch. in a secluded alley? sure, don't cover your mouth though. at home? has bent you over every existing surface.

m — motivation :

ivan enjoys playful banter with you. he encourages you to engage in it with him, to not be afraid of some unserious bickering.

sass—mouthing is a completely different thing. he still encourages it, just not as blatantly. he subtly adds fuel to the fire that is your sassiness, wanting you to strike the right nerve that'll allow him to put you in your rightful place.

n — no :

ivan likes boasting to others, speaks your praises in the midst of conversations with friends and acquaintances, shows you off at every given opportunity.

but ivan isn't fond of sharing. not because he's possessive, but because he doesn't want your eyes to wander elsewhere, as he is afraid that one slip—up on his part will be enough for you to lose interest in him.

o — oral :

absolute beast at oral. knows how to put that tongue to use like no other. it takes such a long time for his jaw to start hurting and even then he keeps going.

ivan is quite fond of receiving oral too. he doesn't have a favourite when it comes to giving or receiving, but the sight of you on your knees, taking all of him into your mouth while slick begins to coat your thighs definitely awakens something with him.

p — pace :

ivan's default pace always manages to knock all of the air in your lungs right out. he gives you plenty of time to adjust to the stretch of his cock, starts out slow at first, but before you know it he's already jackhammering into your cunt.

try to keep up with him, you can't. however it will be entertaining for him to watch you try and meet his thrusts halfway, ultimately giving up once you realize that your efforts are useless.

q — quickie :

always scowls at the mentions of quickies. but it's not like he can really take his time in public or semi—public spaces, no?

technically he can, but.. yeah, no. prefers to slowly pick you apart piece by piece, dumbing you down with each orgasm that washes over you.

r — risk :

his freak tendencies go hand in hand with the love he has for taking a good risk. ivan simply cannot deny a rush of adrenaline, the overwhelming thrill that courses through his body each time he makes a questionable decision.

s — stamina :

ivan has good stamina. not including foreplay, he can go for about four rounds before his stamina starts to deplete.

sometimes though, maybe on particularly stressful days or when he's a lot needier for you, could go at it until the sun rises. not even exaggerating.

t — toys :

ivan does actually own a few toys. he likes using them on himself and is always open to trying new ones.

similarly to how he likes to use them on you, as well. started off with the classic vibrator and ball gag, will ask you to try sounding with him when you get more used to implementing toys in the bedroom experience.

u — unfair :

such a tease it's unbearable. takes pleasure in bullying you to see the plethora of emotions that swirl within your eyes, enjoys controlling your orgasms to watch you thrash around whenever he denies you of yet another one.

v — volume :

ivan is vocal and not afraid to hide a single sound that comes out of his mouth.

moans and whines. moans. if it's not right in your ear, then it's loud and lewd enough for the neighbors to hear.

w — wild card :

at some point you can't pinpoint the exact start of after becoming sexually active with ivan, nothing surprised you anymore when it came to sex.

ivan as a whole is a wild card. are you surprised? no. you've gotten used to him and his interesting preferences by now. as you should!

x — xray :

ivan's cock is long, a little thick. veiny and it curves a tad. the head always leaks so much pre whenever he's really aroused.

if you tease him, you will feel his cock twitch and/or jump. palm him through his pants and you'll feel his cock straining against the fabric, slap it and watch little spurts of cum ooze out of the tip.

y — yearning :

ivan is pretty much always down to get into your pants.

that doesn't mean he's constantly asking to have sex, it just means that he rarely ever denies you. his self—restraint is surprisingly good.

z — zzz :

never falls asleep before you do. the pillow talk keeps him up, not in the haunting him long after you've dozed off way, but in the he's so invested he needs to know more asap way.

#⠀⠀⠀⠀Ꮺ heartz4ivan #alien stage #alnst #alnst x reader #alnst smut #ivan alien stage #ivan alnst #ivan alien stage x reader #ivan alnst x reader #ivan alien stage smut #ivan alnst smut

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gojoacedia · 7 months ago

Text

tattoo artist! Touya Todoroki x Reader

NSFW ahead! This is my first full smut piece so I thought I would post it for kinktober, lmk how I did!

Touya Todoroki was the most sought-after tattoo artist in your city. His fine line work, detail, and color were unmatched. As an artist yourself, you weren’t just going to pick anyone to do your first tattoo. They had to be good enough to replicate your drawing, which wasn’t going to be easy for anyone. So you decided to email him to set up an appointment.

It took months to actually see him, but the day was finally here. You were going to get your first tattoo. It was a beautiful and intricate spine piece that Touya said he was personally impressed by. You were incredibly nervous but also excited to finally meet him. Then you were called back into his room.

“You (y/n)?” he asked you while finishing setting up for the session. You had seen pictures of this man but none of them did him justice. He had beautiful white hair, perfectly contrasted by the black inkwork all over his body. He had three nose piercings and many cartilage piercings, all of which made you weak in the knees. You realized you were staring.

“Yes,” you replied shortly, your nervousness showing more than ever. He only smirked at you, reading your body language like a book.

“This your first tattoo?” He asked, getting the stencil ready for placement. You only nodded, too shy to speak anymore. “Don’t worry, I’ll be real gentle to you,” he said in a suggestive voice, making blood rush to your cheeks.

“Thank you,” you could only say before he turned you around and started placing the stencil. The cool ink on your back gave you goosebumps, but you were more shaken by how delicate his fingers were pressing the stencil into your back. You had to try extremely hard to prevent yourself from shivering.

“Does that look centered? I usually don’t get it right the first time, but I think I did a pretty good job on this one,” he laughed a little at himself while watching you look in the mirror. You practically had hearts in your eyes at how good it looked on your back. “It looks amazing, perfectly centered!” you smiled up at him after looking at the stencil to find him already looking at you with an amused gaze. Did he think you were cute? You looked away before your brain could explore that thought any further. He motioned for you to lay down on the table so he could get to work. You unceremoniously flopped down on the bench and got in a comfy position. You knew this would take a while.

“Alright, this may pinch a little, let me know if it hurts too bad,” he told you before dipping his pen in the tattoo ink. You barely even felt the needle go into your skin, you were too preoccupied with how he was touching your back. “How does that feel?” He asked in the same suggestive voice he did before.

“I barely feel a thing. In fact, I think it’s relaxing,” you told him truthfully in a sleepy voice. It was his heart's turn to skip a beat. His first tattoo didn’t hurt particularly bad, but it was far from relaxing. He got used to it over the years, but he couldn’t help but wonder what pain you had to go through in your life to look this sleepy while needles were penetrating your flesh.

“Yeah? You got a high pain tolerance?” He asked, wanting to confirm his curiosity. “Mmhm, been through a lot worse than this,” you yawned while relaxing more on the bench. He thought you looked adorable. “That’s too bad, a pretty girl like you shouldn’t have to go through any pain,” he flirted before wiping some excess ink away. You giggled below him, glad your face was hidden in the table.

“Did your first tattoo hurt?” You asked him, not wanting to stop the conversation. “It hurt a little but wasn’t nearly as big as this one. I personally think piercings hurt more than tattoos,” he answered. “I agree, but I’ve only gotten piercings done by my friends, never at a parlor,” you laughed a little while telling your story, thinking he would be disappointed that you didn’t take body mods seriously. Some did get infected, but no more infected than they would’ve gotten at Claire’s. “I didn’t take you for the rebellious type, doll,” you could hear the smirk in his voice. He could probably hear your heartbeat through your spine at this point. “Then there’s a lot you don’t know about me, handsome,” you replied by calling him a pet name like he had called you, thinking you were funny for it. On the other hand, he felt his heart skip into his throat at the nickname. He was always a flirt, and shy girls like you were always his favorite to pick on. But you talked back. He thought he was falling in love.

You continued the conversation until about an hour and a half into the tattoo session, then he asked if you needed a break.

“I’m so glad you asked me, my legs went numb like 30 minutes ago but I felt bad messing up your rhythm,” you told him honestly while sitting up. You tried to stand up but it was all too fast, causing you to stumble due to the blood rush. Touya caught you, his hands on your elbows holding you up.

“Careful now pretty, don’t fall for me too fast, you might regret it later,” he teased from above you. You tried to hide your smile but it was futile. “Sorry, I stood up way too fast,” you explained even though he already knew what happened. He sat you back down before walking over to a mini fridge in the corner to get an energy drink. He asked if you wanted anything, and you looked over his shoulder to see what he had. You were surprised to see little boxes of apple juice.

“Can I have an apple juice?” You asked him while smiling, happy that he would have something like that in his fridge in the first place. He laughed while grabbing one and handing it to you.

“They’re for when kids come in to get their first piercings. I don’t know what magic is in them, but they take the pain away from every kid I’ve ever pierced,” he chuckled while explaining them to you. This man just kept getting hotter and hotter the more you talked to him.

“You’re a badass tattoo artist who’s also good with kids? I’m in love,” you joked, but it wasn’t really a joke. He laughed at that, letting you see his smile for the first time since you started the tattoo. Butterflies erupted in your stomach.

“You ready for the final stretch? It should take another hour and a half if you sit pretty for me like you’ve been doing,” he smirked while putting on a new pair of black gloves. You nodded and laid back down on the bench, getting in a comfortable position once again.

“So how’d you come up with this design?” He asked you, eager to start another conversation.

“It’s been something I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember, and because I’ve drawn for my whole life it was pretty easy to sketch up a draft,” you explained to him, happy you finally got to brag about how good your drawings were. “You drew this? It’s beautiful, if you ever want to become a tattoo artist I’d take you as my apprentice any day,” he complimented, trying his best to get you to like him. “I’ll definitely keep that in mind,” you laughed, although you both knew he wasn’t joking. “I’ll show you my art after this if you want to see it,” you offered, upset that you had seen his art all over his studio but he’s only seen one of your drawings. “Show me everything,” he replied, making you flustered at his innuendo.

“This is going to hurt more than the linework, I’m gonna start filling in the black,” he warned before starting shading. “I know you can take it though,” he said in that suggestive voice that made your knees weak. Thank god you were lying down.

You ended up falling asleep for the rest of the tattoo session, much to Touya's disappointment. You were woken up by the cool disinfectant being poured on your back.

“We all done?” You asked him while yawning.

“Yup, go ahead and take a look,” he replied. You almost shot up when he said that, excited to see how it turned out, but you caught yourself and got up slowly so you didn’t fall over again. You looked behind your shoulder to see the tattoo.

“It’s beautiful Touya! Thank you so much!” You exclaimed. You handed him your phone so he could take a picture. When he handed you your phone back you stared at the photo for what felt like forever, memorizing every little detail he was sure to add. You smiled up at him in appreciation, and he was once again already looking at your face in admiration. You didn’t know but he felt his chest tighten at the fact that you remembered his name. It sounded so good coming from your lips.

“I’m really happy you came to me for your first tattoo, this way you know how good I am and can come to me for every other tattoo you decide to get,” he subtlety flirted.

“I definitely will, don’t you worry,” you told him. “Alright, let's get you taped up,” he said before turning you around and putting healing cream on your back. You had become obsessed with the way his fingers felt on your skin, so much you didn’t want to leave. He put a bandage over your tattoo before turning you back around to look at your face again.

“I know this is unprofessional, but let me take you on a date. I get off work at 6 if you wanna stop by then. I know some amazing restaurants on this block,” he said nonchalantly while taking his gloves off one last time. You stared up at him in shock. You were hoping this would happen, but you had convinced yourself he didn’t like you and was just trying to make you more comfortable.

“I’ll be here at 6 then,” you smiled up at him before walking out of his studio to pay.

•••

Six was too close. You were so giddy about the date that you had forgotten to ask about how to take care of the tattoo, showering with the bandage on and hoping you weren’t supposed to take it off before the shower. You wore your favorite outfit and put on some simple makeup before heading out to see Touya.

You arrived at the studio around 5:45, watching as all the employees were cleaning up after a long day. You didn’t want to get yelled at for being here during closing, so you immediately made your way to Touya’s studio. Before you opened the door, you heard him talking to someone.

“Take a big deep breath in- and now out,” he was speaking to someone in a gentle voice, one you weren’t used to hearing from him. You quietly opened the door and slid in, and Touya knew it was you as soon as he heard the door. There was a little girl sitting on the table you were on earlier that day, getting her ears pierced. Her mom was in the corner smiling proudly at her, but also eyeing Touya down like you were. You couldn’t blame her, you were in the same position.

“You did so good! Now for the most important part-” he started before heading over to his mini fridge and taking out an apple juice. “Make sure you drink all of it so your body has all the proper nutrients to heal,” he explained, watching the little girl with comforting eyes that felt like home.

“Thank you,” the little girl said quietly before running off to her mom to show her. They both looked so excited, which made your heart soar. After they left the room, you approached Touya.

“How did you learn to be so good with kids?” You asked him, smirking. He let out a huff at your question.

“I’m the oldest of four, I’ve been takin’ care of my stupid siblings my whole life,” he explained while cleaning up. It made you wonder about his childhood. Why did he have to take care of his siblings? What did his parents do? You decided to drop the subject in case it brought up anything he didn’t want to share yet.

Once he was done cleaning his space, he walked over to you before snaking his hands around your waist and leaning into your ear.

“You look absolutely beautiful, you know that?” He whispered, leaving chills up your spine. You wrapped your arms around his neck before looking up at him to return the compliment.

“I could say the same for you,” you whispered up at him, looking at how soft his lips were. He suddenly pulled away before grabbing your hand to lead you out of the studio. “Let’s get going huh? I have the whole night planned out for us so I don’t want to waste a second,” he said at a normal volume. You nodded and followed along.

•••

Dinner was amazing. You talked the entire time about your work, families, and hobbies. You felt like you had known Touya for years after you left. It was shocking to you how easily conversation flowed, you usually had to carry the weight of conversation on your other dates. But Touya knew exactly what to say. At the restaurant, Touya offered to take you back to his place, which you happily accepted. You didn’t want the date to end.

The car ride over held a comfortable silence. You were looking out the tinted window at the city lights as you drove, absorbing the beauty while you thought about what you were going to do at Touya’s place. You entered a parking garage and watched as the cars passed while driving to the upper levels.

Touya’s apartment was nothing like you expected. Of course, there was art on every wall, but it was extremely clean and organized. Touya watched as you explored his flat, looking at every drawing and picture with curiosity. He felt his heartbeat speeding up as he watched you. As you were looking at a particularly impressive drawing, you felt arms snake around your waist and a breath on the shell of your ear.

“You know, the second I saw you I knew I had to get to know you, and after that you just got hotter and hotter,” he whispered in your ear, giving you shivers. You turned around to face him, again wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I could say the same for you,” you whispered back, standing on your toes to lean in to kiss him. He smirked before gently pressing his lips against yours. The gentle kiss turned more passionate, and you felt a hand tap on your ass, telling you to jump up. You jumped and he caught you without breaking the kiss, carrying you to his bedroom before throwing you on the bed. He took his shoes off before crawling on top of you to continue the kiss.

You didn’t understand how his kisses were making you this hot and bothered. Maybe it was the combination of delicate and passionate with every move of his lips. Maybe it was how soft his hair felt in your fingers. Maybe it was how his hands explored every inch of your upper half without even taking off your shirt. All of it was driving you crazy. He pulled away to look at how flustered you were, and you felt him get harder from looking at you melting underneath him.

“I promise I don’t usually do this on the first date, but no matter how hard I try I can’t resist you,” he said, expressing his hesitation. He didn’t want you to think he only took you out for sex, and you could see it in his eyes. In response you took off your shirt to let him know it was okay. His eyes widened seeing you in just a bra, then he smirked knowing this was permission to go further. He took off his own shirt before leaning back down to kiss you and explore your body, this time without the barrier of clothing. He felt you breathe heavier at how he grabbed your waist, and he felt how painful his erection was getting at all of your small reactions. If you were this sensitive already, how could you take his cock?

He reached behind your back to unclip your bra, but while he was there he felt the bandage of your tattoo still there. He was going to have to take that off once he was finished with you. He pulled your bra off of your chest and couldn’t help but stare. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice trailing off like he didn’t know he said that out loud. You bit your lip in embarrassment, about to cover your chest with your arms. He stopped you in your tracks by pinning your arms back down and kissing you, pressing his bare chest to yours. He felt so warm above you, and you felt comforted by his body heat. After making sure you weren't embarrassed anymore by kissing you, he reached his hands up your waist once again, but this time he didn’t stop at your chest. He grabbed a handful of your tit, causing you to let out a breathy moan into his mouth. You felt him smirk against your lips. He reached the other hand up to squeeze your other tit while starting to toy with the nipple on the first one. You couldn’t help yourself from moaning as he twisted the nipple with his thumb and pointer finger, bucking your hips up to his to create more friction. He started giving the same treatment to the other one, circling his fingers around the hardened bud, making you squirm with pleasure.

“You like that, don’t you?” He smirked in your mouth and your face got hotter. You let out a shy and breathy ‘yeah,’ before pulling his head back down on your puffy lips. You didn’t think you could ever get enough of him. As you kissed you explored his body with your hands, his toned arms, shoulders, back, and abs. You reached your fingers under the band of his pants to tease him, hoping he would take the hint. You were getting uncomfortable with how wet you were, feeling your slick start to seep through your pants. He smirked into the kiss before pulling away to take your pants off. He took his pants off as well, leaving him in his boxers and you in your panties.

“Fuck doll, you’re practically dripping through these,” he said while gently starting to trace his fingers along the outlines of your folds, making you squirm with anticipation. You looked down at his boxers, almost drooling at how big the outline of his cock was. “Heh, like what you see, love?” You nodded eagerly before once again tracing your fingers along the band of his boxers and up his spine and shoulders.

“Patience, babe, I haven’t even eaten you out yet,” he chuckled before pulling your panties down, coming face to face with your sopping cunt. You had no idea what to do. You had never enjoyed anyone eating you out before, so you were nervous about Touya. You prayed to whatever god you believed in he knew what he was doing. You absolutely did not want to stop him because he was bad at eating you out. Your train of thought stopped when you felt Touya bite the inside of your thigh. “What’s wrong, doll?” He asked, looking up at you and rubbing his cheek against the bite mark he just made to soothe it.

“It’s just… I’ve never enjoyed being eaten out…” you said quietly, almost ashamed that you had to express this concern.

“Trust me, ok?” he whispered, kissing down your thigh. You nodded, putting your hands on top of his on your thighs. He finally got down to your folds and gave a light kiss to your clit. You relaxed into his touch, and he took that opportunity to wrap his arms around your thighs and pull you closer to his face. You gasped in surprise, but it turned into a moan when you felt him kiss your cunt sloppily. You laced your hands through his hair, moaning as he lightly sucked on your clit. He brought his fingers down to collect your slick and you felt him smirk on your cunt.

“You’re leaking so much for me, doll,” he said into your clit, the vibrations of his voice making you jump. You tried to respond but your words caught in your throat at him slipping a finger inside of you, curling it upward, and hitting your most sensitive spots. You couldn’t hold on to his hair anymore in fear of ripping it out of his head, so your hands settled on the bedsheets. He started pumping two fingers into your wet hole, circling your clit with his tongue gently. You were the loudest you had ever been, arching your back and gripping the sheets for dear life. You were so right to trust him with this.

“Touya, I’m gonna cum,” you whined in between breaths. He instantly pulled away from you, causing you to whine again, but this time in annoyance. He was smiling wide at how your eyebrows turned upwards, how tears shined at the corners of your eyes, and how your gorgeous chest rose and fell with every breath.

“You haven’t even seen my cock yet and you’re already gonna cum? That was awfully easy for how hard you were making it out to be,” he grinned at your reactions to his teasing. He loved seeing you so desperate for him. He brushed your hair out of your face and grabbed the side of your head, leaning down for a passionate kiss. You felt him moving above you, taking off his boxers while holding your face up so you couldn’t look down. You felt him start to grind against you with his bare erection, earning a moan of surprise at the cold metal of the piercing on his tip. He deepened the kiss, grinding harder on your slick as he did so, causing you to reach up to tangle your hands in his hair for something to hold on to.

“Are you on birth control? Do you want me to get a condom?” he whispered against your lips, grinding lighter so you could respond.

“I have an IUD, so as long as you promise you don’t have any STDs we don’t need a condom,” you smiled up at him. He smiled back. “I promise I don’t have any STDs. I get tested regularly,” he replied while rolling his eyes. You wrapped your legs around his hips, exposing your hole for him to enter. He gave you one last quick peck on the lips before lining himself up with your entrance. His eyes didn’t leave yours as he slid in the tip, getting even more turned on by the way your mouth started to open and your brows started to curl up. Your hands were gripping his shoulders harshly, unable to lift your arms up into his hair anymore. He continued to slide in after he assured you looked fine.

“Ohhhhh fuck, princess, you feel so fucking good,” he threw his head back and moaned. Your back started arching as he bottomed out, your vision going slightly blurry, and nothing but moans and pants escaped your lips. He laid on top of you, going even deeper inside while grabbing the bottom of your chin, forcing you to look at him. “fuck, doll, I don’t know if I can bring myself to ruin a pretty thing like you,” he teased above you, looking deep into your eyes. You wrapped your legs around his hips so he couldn’t move out of you.

“Please, Touya… I want you to ruin me… You can use me however you’d like,” you whispered to the man above you. You watched as his eyes turned into something more crazed, and you watched as he put a pillow underneath your back before slamming into your hole roughly. You yelped and your hands returned to his back, this time clawing red stripes down the length of it. You could tell he loved it by the way he groaned and thrust his hips onto yours. He decided to return the favor by reaching to your chest, circling each nipple with his fingers before pinching and squeezing. You felt your eyes rolling to the back of your head with the overwhelm of pleasure, and you felt tears streaming down your cheeks. You heard Touya chuckle above you.

“Dick too big for ya? That’s too bad, you gave me permission so I’m gonna use this tight hole any way I please tonight,” he said roughly, his voice wavering every time he pounded into you. All you could reply with was “Mmhmmm! Yes, yes, oh fuck,” in a voice way more high-pitched than it usually is. He let out a small laugh at your response.

“I’m gonna make you come now, ok baby?” He muttered, moving one hand from your chest to your cunt, taking his dick out to cover your folds with your slick before rutting back in. You nearly screamed as he brushed his fingers over your folds, spreading your juices all over. He started to stroke over your clit quickly, pushing in your nipple before flicking it intensely with his other hand.

“Ahhhh, fuck Touya, please,” you sobbed out, tears now streaming freely down your cheeks.

“You want me to fill you up, doll? Cum for me and I’ll give you your reward, hm?” You came the instant he told you to, back arching and legs shaking around his waist. Feeling your cumming cunt throb against his cock made Touya come after, filling you up with hot spurts of cum. He kept thrusting into you, your juices mixing in a white froth around the base of his cock, his spurts of spend slowing down with every thrust. Once he was finally satisfied, he slowly pulled out and watched as his cum leaked down over your asshole.

“Fuck, that sight could get me hard all over again,” he smirked to himself before looking up at your face and laughing. You were so exhausted. “C’mon, let's get you cleaned up,” he chuckled while picking you up bridal style and taking you to the bathroom. He sat you down on his toilet before turning the shower on.

“I’m not letting you in the shower until you pee,” he said to you behind his shoulder while feeling the water as it warmed up.

“What? Why?” You asked as his come began to leak out of your abused hole in clumps. “I don’t want you getting any UTIs or yeast infections. That would mean I would have to wait for more than a week to fuck you,” he said as if it was common knowledge. You laughed to yourself in shock. He was planning on fucking you again?

Once he was satisfied with the temperature of the water, he turned around to look at you, still pouting on the toilet. “I can’t pee with you in the room. I just think of you fucking me and my pussy gets tight all over again,” you pouted while looking up at him. He gave you a big laugh at that. You tried to hide your smile as you hid your face in your hands, trying to think about anything other than the man you just fucked. Eventually, it worked.

You stepped in the shower before Touya did, taking a longer time to get your hair fully wet. You heard him step in behind you and felt his arms around your bare waist, his face buried in your neck just where he liked it.

“You’re blocking the hot water, I’m cold!” You complained, turning around to face him. He could only look down at your discolored hardened nipples, licking his lips at what he saw. You rolled your eyes before pushing him aside to get under the water. You reached for his conditioner before he stopped you.

“You’re not gonna let me put your conditioner in? It’s the least I could do after railing you like that,” he said before grabbing the bottle and squeezing a lot more conditioner than he usually used on his hands. “Fine…” you said meekly, not fully trusting him with your hair type. You were surprised to find he was very gentle, coating every chunk of hair with an even amount before moving on to another. He ran his fingers through the strands, lightly combing out any big knots. You relaxed into his hands enjoying the soothing warm water on your chest while you got the chance. After he applied the conditioner he switched spots with you to put in conditioner of his own and wash his hands off.

“Before body wash… let’s see how dirty this little hole is,” he growled before trailing his hands down your stomach and arriving at your slippery folds. He slowly inserted two fingers, curling them upward to gather any cum he left deep inside you. He brought out his fingers and told you to look. There were clear and white streaks of gloss completely covering his fingers, linking the two together. You felt your face get hot with embarrassment.

“Heh, I got really deep inside of you, huh?” He smirked down at you. You just ignored him, grabbing the body wash and putting it on his loofa before cleaning yourself. You didn’t get very far before he stole it.

“C’mon, you get to wash your pretty body every day, why not give me a turn?” He joked as he started rubbing your chest with soap. Once he was satisfied with your front, he turned you around. Before cleaning your back, he slowly peeled the tattoo bandage off and ran it under the water to wash away any excess ink.

“I don’t mean to brag, but I gave you a pretty sick tattoo. Next time I’m definitely gonna have to do backshots,” he smiled while brushing his fingers gently over the ink to wipe away any dead skin accumulated through the day. “Hey, I was the one that designed it!” You bickered, failing to hide the smile in your voice. He chuckled before finishing up with washing your body.

Touya got out of the shower first, drying himself off a little with a towel before wrapping it around his waist and grabbing a towel to wrap you in. He held the towel out with open arms and you stepped into it, getting embraced by the warmth of the towel and his body. You giggled in your towel burrito before looking up at him through the hole at the top. You could almost see the hearts in his eyes. He gave you a peck on the lips before he put out a pair of his boxers for you (your panties were soaked and ruined for the night) and a band T-shirt. You quickly changed before snuggling under his comforter for warmth. Soon after you felt Touya join you, pulling you close against his bare chest and holding your head in his arms.

“I think I’m the luckiest person on Earth,” Touya whispered to no one in particular.

“I could say the same,” you replied.

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