#how to lose weight while sleeping

[health-andfitness]

How to Reduce Weight Quickly While Sleeping: Simple & Effective Tips

How to Reduce Weight Quickly While Sleeping: Simple & Effective Tips

Losing weight while sleeping may sound too good to be true, but your body continues to burn calories even at rest. By making a few lifestyle and diet changes, you can boost your metabolism, burn fat, and lose weight effortlessly while you sleep. Here are some simple yet effective tips to help you shed extra pounds overnight.

1. Get Enough Sleep (7-9 Hours)

Your body needs sufficient rest to regulate hormones responsible for metabolism and hunger. Lack of sleep increases the hunger hormone ghrelin and decreases the satiety hormone leptin, making you eat more the next day. Prioritize quality sleep by:

Sleeping for at least 7-9 hours every night.

Maintaining a consistent sleep schedule (sleep and wake up at the same time daily).

Keeping your bedroom dark, quiet, and cool for better sleep.

2. Eat a Light Dinner

Eating a heavy meal before bed can slow down digestion and lead to fat storage. Instead:

Have a light, protein-rich dinner at least 2-3 hours before bedtime.

Avoid high-carb and sugary foods at night.

Opt for foods like grilled chicken, fish, tofu, or vegetables to promote fat burning.

3. Drink Herbal Tea Before Bed

Certain herbal teas boost metabolism and aid digestion, helping you burn fat while sleeping. Some of the best nighttime teas include:

Chamomile tea – Reduces stress and improves sleep quality.

Peppermint tea – Aids digestion and prevents bloating.

Ginger tea – Boosts metabolism and promotes fat loss.

4. Keep Your Bedroom Cool

Studies show that sleeping in a cool room (18-20°C or 64-68°F) helps activate brown fat, a type of fat that burns calories to keep you warm. This helps increase your metabolism and supports weight loss.

5. Drink Warm Lemon Water

Drinking a glass of warm lemon water before bed can:

Improve digestion.

Detoxify your body overnight.

Boost metabolism while you sleep.

6. Reduce Late-Night Snacking

Eating late at night can lead to unnecessary calorie intake and fat storage. To avoid this:

Close the kitchen after dinner and avoid mindless snacking.

Drink water or herbal tea if you feel slightly hungry.

If necessary, eat a small protein snack like Greek yogurt or almonds.

7. Try Intermittent Fasting

Intermittent fasting allows your body to enter fat-burning mode while you sleep. A simple method is the 16:8 fasting plan, where you fast for 16 hours (including sleep) and eat within an 8-hour window during the day.

8. Sleep in Complete Darkness

Sleeping in a dark room promotes melatonin production, which improves sleep quality and helps your body burn more fat overnight. Use blackout curtains or an eye mask for better results.

9. Do Light Stretching or Yoga Before Bed

Gentle stretching or yoga before bed helps relax muscles, improve digestion, and promote better sleep. It also reduces stress, preventing emotional eating.

10. Reduce Stress Before Bed

High stress levels can lead to weight gain due to increased cortisol levels. To manage stress:

Practice deep breathing or meditation before bed.

Write in a gratitude journal to clear your mind.

Listen to calming music or read a book.

Final Thoughts

Losing weight while sleeping is possible if you optimize your nighttime habits. By getting enough rest, eating light dinners, reducing stress, and keeping your metabolism active, you can burn fat effortlessly overnight. Start making these small changes today and wake up feeling healthier and lighter!

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[transgender-catboy]

up too late thinking about my past

yuck

[cellophobia]

the manic energy is going from positive to negative really fucking quickly right now 😭😭

[assumedcryptid]

does anyone have recs on how to get yourself to start working out 🧍🏽‍♀️

[sleepdeprivedfrfr]

nsfw! mdni!

dadbod!toji loves his family dearly, he's put aside his work, outside life, and his bad habits just for his family. He's put all his time and effort in taking care of you and your baby, but Toji didn't realize that keeping away from work for so long would get him so out of shape.

dadbod!toji who starts looking at himself in mirrors all around the house in disbelief, realizing that his abs are now enveloped by a soft puge.

dadbod!toji who you find in the bed room one day staring at himself in the mirror with no shirt on. His back muscles flexing as he flexed his abs and arms, then realizing you were watching him the whole time.

dadbod!toji who turns to look at you with a scowl, but it quickly turned into more of a perplexed look once he realized you were fully checking him out.

Your lip practically bleeding from how hard you were biting on it while your eyes were wandering down from his thick muscly neck, across his even bigger juicer pecks, and god his already huge biceps the size of a bears arm that somehow, grew even bigger.

"look at what ya did to me babe,"

"trust me Im looking."

"I need to get back in the fuckin gym"

dadbod!toji who notices your pout when he tells you that he wants to 'get back into shape'

"whyyy?"

"babe its getting ridiculous, you've been fattening me up with your cooking. this is your fault."

"aw my two babies are so adorable all chubby." you would reply while squishing your babies cheeks and earning a scoff from toji as he watched.

dadbod!toji who cant help but to be amused at how much more obsessed you have become with his body, but he'll pretend like he thinks you're just a weirdo.

dadbod!toji who chuckles to himself when you and your baby nuzzle up to him on the couch to watch a movie, just for the both of you to fall asleep in the first fifteen minuets of it starting, leaving Toji there wide awake.

Not that he minded, he wasn't even paying attention to the movie, he was more focused on the soft snores coming from you and the baby.

dadbod!toji who smiles to himself when he realizes that the baby sleeps way faster on his warm and soft chest.

dadbod!toji who finds you on the couch after putting the baby to bed and pulling you into his lap and kissing you passionately.

"toji what was that for?" You questioned with a small giggle.

"lets have another one."

"hm?"

"you heard me woman." you could practically hear the smirk on his lips as he pulled you into another deep kiss.

"toji what are are you-"

"I wanna get you pregnant again, make you a mama a second time. please." he held your chin gently, but the look in his eyes was anything but innocent.

"please make me a dad again." he said in between kisses.

"please baby."

dadbod!toji who has you on your back sprawled open on the couch, your legs bent over his shoulders as he pressed your thighs against your chest, pounding into you relentlessly.

His huge thighs slapping against the bottom of your ass as he rammed his thick cock into your pussy, he felt even bigger than before.

"t-toji I-i cant. its-its too much." you whine, tears of pleasure brimming your eyes, and gliding down your cheeks.

"shhh, its okay mama-fuck- you can take it. I know you can." he says as kisses away your tears, pounding into you harder than he ever has before.

you grab onto each of his biceps and squeeze as hard as you can, moaning out while his cock hits all the right spots, the pain never felt so good.

"toji, m'gonna-fuck! m'gonna cum!" you squeal out.

"cum with me baby. m'gonna fill you up so good ~plap~ get this belly~plap~ nice and round again hm? ~plap~ youre gonna look ~plap~ so beautiful ~plap~ with my kid inside you baby.~plap~ make me a daddy again."

dadbod!toji who admires you sound asleep on his chest, making a silent vow to himself to not lose the weight just yet.

I mean who else is gonna be your human maternity pillow?

another toji drabble/hc my period is making me fucking feral and horny so yuh, not proofread btw :p

divider creds: @cafekitsune

[dmitriene]

cw: omegaverse, knotting, breeding.

alpha simon riley coming back to the base after being away on recent mission, it's been too long, enough so you, his omega, would grow unsettled and worried, needy in the absence of his warmth beside you, made to sleep alone, grappling at what remained from his addictive pheromones on the sheets and couple of clothes, and just as you started losing it slowly, the heli with his team finally came back.

you're the first to welcome him, shoving through other soldiers and the captain, lumbering towards his solid frame, gear grimy, stained here and there with dried blood, some dust, his usually masculine scent thicked with sweat, gunpowder, so easily detectable and comforting it's makes you purr, stumbling against his muscular chest, clinging to his vest with tight, clenching fists, and he accepts your weight easily, throat rumbling with familiarity, masked face nosing directly in yours.

simon knows how much you missed him by your actions alone, the way your body shakes with the force of your own rumbling purrs, how you nuzzle in the crook of his neck, trying to stick your nose under his balaclava, clawing and scratching with your trembling fingers, high on the adrenaline just because he's finally here, your alpha, your throat tightening on a small, feisty growl when he tries to put you back down, already in his quarters.

you don't let him go to take a shower so easily, not until he takes care of you like he should, because you waited so much, all of his clothes and sheets now soaked fully by your cloying scent, something animalistic in it, doubled with excitation, and simon turns his head to the little chirp you let out, a purr, a whimper, stretching out on his bed, presenting, ass up with a tentative wiggle, glancing back at him with needy, wide on plea gaze.

simon fullfill's your every need, knowing how you missed cumming on his fat, engorged knot, with how pliable and wet your hole are, split wide to accommodate the girth of him, veiny and throbbing, jamming rough and deep against your spongy spot, making you tighten, bring him close to the point of filling you full of his cum until your tummy would ache, cunt pulsing and clamping with short pulls around his growing knot, welcoming his release against your cervix, the wrecked growl from his throat.

you remain tucked under heavy, fluffy blanket while he takes a shower, body twitching in the aftermath, feeling how his cum dribbles in frothy, creamy globs out of your hole, trailing down your thighs, squished together, lidded eyes barely open by the time simon comes back, sliding in beside you, cradling you close, arcing a calloused thumb over the fresh, swollen teeth dents on your mating gland, before pressing you even closer, his chest purring in response.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[classyrbf]

SHE'S A SUCCUBUS! — CHOSO KAMO

SYNOPSIS...as a sex demon, she can always sense the horny virgin boy who’s dying to lose his virginity

INFO...choso x succubus!reader, sub!choso, virgin!choso, somnophilia, riding, overstim, creampie, oral (m!receiving and f!receiving), slight ass eating, cum eating, doggy, squirting, choso is super needy and eager, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

Choso always felt left out when his friend would constantly talk about all the girls they’ve been with, all the experiences they had and what crazy shit they always got into. He’d just sit there, silent. He couldn’t relate to them not one bit. The closest he’s ever to having sex is his right hand or a sex toy. No girl ever looked his way, and his confidence was crushed. They’d only go after his friends, practically drooling over them. Not one of them spared a glance towards Choso.

He was begging to lose his virginity, dying to know what real pussy felt like, how soft tits felt in his hands or even some ass. God, don’t even get him started on wondering what it feels like to receive head. His friends swear it’s the best thing ever as long as the girl knows what she’s doing. He always watches porn, the women on their knees, slobbering all over the man dick like it was some divine dessert. He loved watching the way their pussies wrapped around the mans dick, just imagining how wet and warm it is. He was a lost cause. At this point, he was ready to pay someone to take his virginity. Literally.

And just like any other night, he goes back home, ready to fuck his fist to another average porn video before dozing off to sleep. He’s been extremely horny lately, more than usual and he can’t understand why. Not to mention the wet dreams he’s been having, waking up to cum in his pants like he’s a damn teenager. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, feeling the need to cum more and more everyday.

Hours later, he’s fast asleep, tossing and turning as he has another wet dream of someone riding him. He can’t make out her face, but it feels so damn real. Everything does. Even her moans and the weight on top of him. “Mmm,” he hums. His brows furrow. He can even hear the sound of skin on skin. His entire body feels like it’s on fire right now, like he’s been hit with some sort of sex pollen. It’s more intense than ever.

Little does he know it’s not a wet dream, no, it’s you. The succubus who’s been watching him for weeks, feeling his urgency to cum, to lose his virginity. He’s summoned you without even realizing. And now you were riding him, gliding your wet pussy up and down his aching cock while he slept, waiting for the moment he wakes up and realizes he’s no longer a virgin. He twists and turns when you run your clawed nails down his pale skin, smiling at the way he moans and whimpers in his sleep.

Choso couldn’t take this overwhelming feeling anymore, forcing himself to wake up, prying his tired eyes open. But the feeling doesn’t stop. The sounds don’t stop. And certainly the woman is his dreams doesnt disappear when he opens his eyes. “Wha—ah—what? Who…? Oh fuck!” He rasps, eyes darting around the room and over your naked body. “What the fuck? Oh my goddd.” As confused and scared as he is right now, he can’t escape the pleasure coursing through him right now.

“Shhh, shhh, just let me make you feel good. You’ve been dying for this haven’t you? I’m here to give you exactly what you want.” You slightly lean back, spreading your legs to let him get a clear view of the way your pussy sucks his cock in.

He looks at you with awe and confusion, but he can’t help but give in, moaning so sweetly when you fully sink down. “Who…who are you?” He gasps, eyes widen when you clench your pussy around him.

“I know when cute virgins like you wanna lose their virginity. You summoned me, accidentally. You’ve been so worked up lately, huh? Well,” you smile, “that was because of me.” His cock twitches inside of you, your hips bouncing faster and harder, watching the way he mouth falls open.

“Fuck, fuck! It’s feels so good,” he heaves, breathing heavily. His cheeks dusted a light pink. “I don’t wanna cum just yet, please slow down. Please, please—nnghhh, fuckkkk.” Choso didn’t stand a chance, shooting sticky ropes of cum into your pussy, his entire body quivering with how intense his orgasm was. “Please, slow down—ah, oh my god. It feels too good—” His eyes rolled into the back of his head as you kept fucking him.

“I’ll keep fucking you till there’s nothing left.” You lean forward, pressing your chest against his, placing your lips on his while you kiss him with such fervor, with such sloppiness. His hands reach down, gripping the plush flesh of your ass. He swears he’s in heaven right now. This can’t be real. No way a sex demon was taking his virginity right now. His dick was so sensitive, but still so hard. He knew he had so much cum left, the only thoughts he had were to fill you up over and over until it was dripping out.

He felt like he was losing his mind, fucking him so hard, creating a sloppy mess where you two met just so you can get him to cum again. Your devilish yet sweet giggles send chills up his spine and straight down to his already throbbing dick. With labored breaths, and his heart rattling against his rib cage, he already knows he’s going to cum again. So soon. “Come don’t hold back on me. I want it all,” you growl in his ear. “I’ll do whatever it takes to empty you dry and fuck you stupid.”

His trembling fingers grip onto your ass harder as he cries out, broken moans swallowed by your kisses and he can’t help but cum again, filling up your tight pussy to the brim. You pull away from the heated kiss looking at the way his hazy eyes stare up at you with such desperation. You halt the movement of your hips and get up from his lap. “No, no, wait. Where are you going?! Please, keep fucking me.” He sits up, watching you get on your knees. Poor thing looks like he’s almost about to cry.

And now he can get a real good view of you. The tail that swayed around and the small little horns that pointed from the top of your head. You really were a sex demon. Your hand took a firm grip on his throbbing cock, his tip leaking like it was begging you to make it cum again. “I can see your thoughts. Your nasty little thoughts.” You run a long stripe from his balls all the way to his tip, licking the excess cum off. Your tongue was freakishly long, but god did it feel so good on him. You spit on his cock, massaging it in as you stroke him, moving your hand in circular motions that make his hips jump. “Say it. I know what you’re thinking.” Your lips curl into a smirk, running the pad of your thumb over his slit.

“Put…put your mouth on it, please,” he says barely above a whisper, too shocked to even form proper words.

“Louder.” You massage his balls with your free hand, earning a guttural groan from him.

“Please, put your mouth on it! Fuck, I wanna know how good it feels!” His lip quivers, his breathing quickening the closer your lips get.

“Good boy.” You smile, darting your tongue out and wrapping it around the base of his cock, swirling it around the head before you take him in your mouth. You stare at him through thick lashes, bobbing your head up and down his thick shaft, spit spilling from the corners of your mouth. Glug, glug, glug.

The sound of you choking on his dick was like music to his hears, taking his all the way down your throat with no problem. How is he supposed to keep up? His brain is fried and his body already feels so weak from cumming two times in a row. But he can’t stop. It’s like you’ve put some kind of spell on him to make him want more. “Shit, I’m all the way in,” he gasps, fall back onto the pillows. You pull him out of your throat, string of saliva connect from your lips to his cock as you continue stroking him. You were so messy, so nasty, but he loved it so fucking much because this is always how he’d picture it.

You spit back on his cock before taking him down your throat again without warning. “Oh my—fuck me, I’m gonna fucking cum again!” He whimpers. His body jolts and his abs tense up at the sensation, pleasure shooting through his body like electricity. He’s so sensitive he can’t help it. His hips buck up into your mouth and next thing he knows, he’s cumming down your throat. “Nnngh shit!” He groans, each orgasm more intense than the last. It’s like as time goes on, he can’t help but get more horny, more greedy.

Within seconds he’s pulling you off his dick on bending you over, pulling your ass in the air. “I’m sorry, I can’t stop, I can’t stop, I can’t,” he’s muttering to himself, sweat dripping down his body. He pushes every inch into you with such ease, like your pussy was made for him. “Feels so good, feels so good I can’t stop stop,” he cries, rummaging his hips into you, fucking hard and fast.

“You’re learning so quickly.” You smile from below him, pushing your ass back against his hips. He watches the way your ass bounces back on his dick and he becomes mesmerized. “That’s it! Fuck me harder. Show me how badly you wanna cum in my pussy again,” you giggle.

Choso pushes your head into the mattress, broken moans falling from his lips. “I need it so badly, so fucking badly.” Your pussy grips him like a vice and he hisses at the tempting feeling.

“Make me squirt all over your cock! Come on, fuck me like you mean it!” You grip the sheets below you, feeling his swollen head press against your sweet spot over and over with each grueling thrust. Upon hearing your words, Choso remembers all those videos he’s watching of girls squirting, and to make you squirt just because of him makes his brain fuzzy. He keeps the same pace, huffing and panting when your pussy grows tighter. “Yes! Yes!” You laugh, sighing in relief when he pulls out and clear liquid shoots from your pussy, coating his cock and sheets.

His eyebrows raise in amazement. “Holy fuck,” he watches the way your pussy leaks before urgently ramming his cock back inside of you. “Do it again. Squirt all over me again! Please! It’s so fucking hot!” He begs as he pounds your pussy like his life depends on it. “Wanna watch you—nnngh—squirt again!”

As if on cue, your pushy gushes around him again, soaking his thighs and his cock and just the sight of it makes him cum so hard he’s toppling over you. “Fuck! I’m cumming!” He thrusts deep inside of you, making sure not to waste even a drop. “Yes, yes!” He huffs, bucking his hips. “I need to taste you, need to fucking—mmm.” He drops to his knees, pulling your ass back against his face while his tongue slurps every drop his cum and your juices, licking through your sloppy folds and sucking on your clit.

“Eager little thing, aren’t you? Such a good, good boy.” You praise, reaching behind you, taking a fistful of his hair and pushing his face deeper into your cunt. His moans at your taste, his free hand reaching down to stroke his swollen and sensitive cock. He moves his tongue up and down, running back and forth between your clit and your ass, and back down to your hole. You quickly pull him away before sitting up.

“Did I do something wrong? Why’d you stop?” He looks at with sad eyes.

“You’re done.” You look down at his cock.

“No, no, I’m not. I promise I still have more. Just keep fucking me, let me eat your pussy or something! Don’t leave!” He pouts, watching you crawl towards him.

“As much as I’d like to keep playing with you, you’re all out of cum, pretty boy.” You smirk. “I’ve got other desperate virgins like you to attend to.” You ghost your lips over his and Choso leans in for a kiss but you pull back from him. “You’re welcome.”

You disappear into a dark corner in his room, like you faded away into it. He runs to turn on his light and sees you’re completely gone. He’s at a loss for words, standing in the middle of his room completely naked. He looks towards his bed, seeing the wet spots you had left. So it was real? No? Yes? He didn’t know what to believe. He accidentally summoned a sex demon to take his virginity. If only he could do it again.

[circusclownproductions]

seeing a lot of videos that are like “I didn’t know babies couldn’t have water” so here’s an incomplete list of things you need to know before having a baby

- the obvious, they can’t have water bc milk is incredibly high in water already so excess water leads to over hydration

- babies cannot have honey until 1

- if ur breastfeeding your kid and saving excess milk, make sure you label what you pumped in the morning vs at night bc your body produces different melatonin levels throughout the day and giving your baby daytime milk at night can make them more alert and fuck up their sleep schedule

- idk why ppl keep saying this but swaddling your babies or getting them those baby straight jacket things is not abuse. It chills them out cuz it reminds them of the womb

- babies have a dandruff like buildup on their head called cradle cap, and it’s very easy to deal with and remove with just some baby shampoo, a gentle scrub brush (MADE FOR BABIES!!) and a comb. It does need to be removed tho cuz it can be very painful after a while. This can also continue to happen late into toddlerhood it’s normal

- you have to clean out the creases of your baby’s skin and hands and feet they WILL collect dust😭😭

- you cannot bathe your baby until their umbilical cord naturally falls off. Use a warm damp rag until then

- tummy time is actually very important

- your baby might have a misshapen head at first (not all the time but sometimes) this will either sort itself out or they’ll need a corrective helmet ask your doctor

- I wouldn’t recommend having your baby leave the house very much until they’re at least 6 months old, especially if they’re born near cold and flu season cuz the common cold can kill a newborn

- you’re not an awful horrible person for having postpartum depression and it’s always a million times better to let your baby cry a few minutes longer than normal while you regain your composure than to freak out and give ur kid shaken baby syndrome

- you’re not an awful horrible person for giving your baby formula milk either

- don’t put shoes on your baby it’ll compromise their toe box and balance

- babies put every single thing in their mouths

- the easiest way to burp a baby is to hold them straight up (spine straight) and hold their head a bit higher

- always support their head they barely have necks

- if your baby fights away food, fights tummy time, vomits every single time you burp them, is gaining or losing an unreasonable amount of weight at a time, wheezes after eating, or goes red after eating, chances are they’re probably allergic to the type of milk they’re eating (again ask a doctor but these are just some signs it’s not just colic)

- they will wobble a lot when learning to do things but you gotta fight the urge to help them every single time cuz they gotta learn

- they’re not always spitting out baby food cuz they don’t like it they just don’t know how to eat. Like they don’t know how to push food down they only know how to stick their tongue out so be patient

- babies craniums are broken up into three parts at first that later fuse together, this is to help make birthing easier but it results in a small EXTREMELY sensitive spot in the top of their head that has no protection. This puts their brain at a high risk. Always protect their soft spot

- read to your baby!! Get cute bright colorful sensory books with sight words and read them to your baby it makes such a huge difference in their educational growth and will help them acquire a love for reading early on. And talk to them never shut up just say whatever comes to mind all the time this will strengthen their vocabulary growth also.

- babies poop like a lot. A lot. an unreasonable amount. Bring back up clothes and more diapers than you think

- no pillows or stuffies in the crib and only use a muslin blanket unless it’s especially cold to prevent suffocation

- babies kick reflexively until they’re out of their newborn scrunch (they stay womb shaped for a while) and if your baby is crying and pushing at the swaddle try letting them flail around for a minute

- consoling your baby is not spoiling them ! They need comfort and they will learn to self soothe on their own

- singing lullabies actually works, they can recognize your voice a consistent place of comfort from the womb and the cadence of lullabies is literally engineered to create a calm headspace

- for the love of god do not get boring ass beige toys. Colors are important for their neurological development

- babies are very responsive to praise from a young age so be as supportive of them as you can

- babies get constipated a lot and you have to do like tummy massages to help ease their pain the easiest way is to lay them on their backs and hold one foot in each hand, kick their feet like bicycles, scrunch up, and then stretch their legs out

- holding them on your hip too much will not cause bow legged-ness if your baby is bow legged that was always gonna happen

- they drool so so much and you have to get bibs for them so they don’t get chest eczema

- don’t use scented products on their skin cuz their skin is sooo much thinner than ours

- when your baby first starts sitting on their own never walk away from them without setting up a nest of pillows and blankets around them. Even minor head trauma can mess them up sometimes

- this one is kinda morbid and scary but sometimes babies just die out of nowhere and it’s no one’s fault or anything it’s called sudden infantile death syndrome(SIDS) and it’s about 1.3k deaths on average per year in America so not super common but still very real. 90% of these deaths happen during the first four months however edit: apparently it’s bc of an enzyme deficiency which at the very least you can take steps to try and prevent

- smoking and drinking during pregnancy WILL affect your baby and your breast milk and also might contribute to SIDS cases

- babies sometimes have a big red mark on them somewhere called a stork bite immediately after birth but typically it goes away

- babies can’t see very well for a while after birth and they’re VERY wobbly so they’ll typically bonk their head into your chest and face a lot while trying to support themselves

- female babies might have smth similar to a period the first few days after birth, this is because of the hormone transfer that happens during the birthing process and the days leading up to it

- male babies get random erections for the first few days after birth(hormone transfer again) literally do not be weird about this it’s a baby

- things like weaning your baby onto solid foods, potty training, weaning off pacifiers etc, can actually be directed by the baby and will happen naturally will minimal guidance from the parent(some guidance is still necessary) although I would do individual research into baby led weaning for food to prevent choking

- get those chewy feeding pouches to help with weaning

- the most random things will scare the hell out of your baby don’t take it personal 😭

- baby carriers are life savers (tulas are one of my favorites)

- once babies hit toddlerhood they’re tougher than you think, and a lot of their reaction is based on YOURS. they’re always going to be looking to you for how to react to a situation. Remain calm and if they’re ok they’ll calm down but if they’re genuinely hurt they’ll keep crying

- babies will most likely get ridiculously attached to an inanimate object and you have to keep this thing intact at all costs until they’re old enough to abandon it or they will throw a FIT. I got a lemur plushie from a zoo once and every single one of the kids has bonded their soul with it until about 6 years old and once a month I have to stitch him back up

- don’t compare yourself to other parents. Maybe your kid isnt getting grass fed wild caught north Atlantic cheerios but at least they’re fed. If your kid is alive and healthy and happy you’re doing a good job

- you will need 3 car seats, an infant seat, a grow with me toddler seat, and a booster seat

- getting a good diaper bag is a MUST

- the hair a baby is born with will most likely all fall out or they’ll get a bald spot on the back of their head where they sleep cuz their hair is so fragile and thin but once it grows back it grows back thick

- get like 20 muslin blankets so you always have a backup when the main ones are covered in spit up

- the babies grip IS stronger than yours (keep your hair up and keep pets away best you can)

- your best bet for your teething baby is a pacifier you can put your finger in so you can massage their gums and some chewing toys numbing cream can be dangerous and should be used sparingly

- go ahead and come to terms with the fact you’re gonna have to use a Frida Baby to manually remove snot

- babies can get hair and thread wrapped around their toes and fingers that can cut off their circulation try to make a habit of checking

- don’t hit your kid please it’s nothing but trauma and fucked up coping mechanisms from there pls empathize with your child they’re a person too

- be careful not to pull too hard on their arms and legs(like during play or holding their hand while they walk) and NEVER pick them up by their hands this will very easily cause dislocation

- they might have a little tooth like callous on their lip from their pacifier. This does not hurt them and it will go away but it may hurt during breastfeeding

- breastfeeding will make your boobs different sizes

Yeag that’s all I can think of rn but yk i Will add as I remember stuff ppl are also adding things I forgot in the tags in case you’d like to look thru that as well <3

[sodapoppp]

˚୨୧ 𝗷𝗼𝗲𝗹 𝗺𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗿 ⋆｡˚ ⋆

a list of my favorite joel miller fan-fictions ༊*·˚

౨ৎ getting the poison out by @cum-a-calla

"in which you’ve been acting up all fucking day and Joel has to put you back in your place with a punishment tailored to fit the crime."

౨ৎ ride by @beardedjoel

"you try to grapple with feelings for your parents' friend while getting absolutely railed by him"

౨ৎ just this once by @punkshort

"After yet another argument with your dad, his buddy across the street is there to help make you feel better."

౨ৎ ain't right by @celiababy

"You have a major (borderline obsessive) crush on Joel, and you're on a mission to fuck him."

౨ৎ rotten by @alltheirdamn

"Joel decides to surprise you with something nice, but you're not in the mood. He's quick to fix your attitude, and put you in your place."

౨ৎ an old toy by @ilikemenolderthanmyfather

"Joel gets kidnapped and used like a toy, and best of all, he gets the save a hoarse ride a cowboy treatment."

౨ৎ bigger in texas by @gutsby

"Joel won't fit."

౨ৎ i know who you are (series) by @punkshort

"A fall on patrol causes you to lose your long term memory, forgetting the identities of your friends and loved ones. You have to learn all over again how to survive in a post-apocalyptic world, and you learn things about yourself along the way."

౨ৎ made of ice by @starlitscars

"One stormy night in the safety of Wyoming, it occurs to Joel that even though life has turned his heart into a slab of ice, there's a soft, melting spot buried deep inside... Only reserved for you."

౨ৎ stiff by @gutsby

"At fifty-nine, Joel isn’t sure his dick can keep up with every day it’s going to take to get you pregnant. He seeks help from Jackson’s local apothecary and gets more than bargained for when that little blue pill kicks in."

౨ৎ independent contractor by @lady-djarin

౨ৎ fine line by @paulyenvol6

"Very angsty and lots of dom!Joel with daddy vibes and subby reader."

౨ৎ shaping you by @joelswhcre

"joel miller teaches you pottery, but his hands are more interested in molding you than the clay. slow, teasing, and messy in all the best ways."

౨ৎ sleepless nights by @preciosapascal

"another sleepless night in jackson for both you and your neighbour Joel."

౨ৎ hunger by @joelswhcre

"you wake to the weight of joel miller between your thighs, hungry and aching to claim you. he’s been patient, but now? now he’s going to take."

౨ৎ keeps you up all night by @joelswhcre

"joel wakes up hard, again. and there’s no way he’s letting you sleep through it."

౨ৎ world's worst chauffer by @ilikeevilblondes

"Joel Miller, your dad's best friend, ends up getting roped into picking you up from a party. Without the key to unlock your house or anybody to let you inside, Joel offers to let you sleep at his place for the night. Needless to say, the both of you don't do a lot of sleeping."

౨ৎ texan tensions by @pedroscowgirl

"Your dad's buddy learns you how to play the guitar"

౨ৎ breaststroke by @ilikeevilblondes

"Joel, single dad extraordinaire, is struggling to teach his daughter how to swim. You end up teaching Sarah over the course of a few weekly swimming classes. One fortunate day, Joel accidentally stumbles upon a rather intimate situation involving you in the shower rooms after hours. He’s about to leave, but right before he can, he hears his own name spilling out in a desperate moan from your lips."

౨ৎ i will not ask and neither should you by @cherry-coloureddfunk

"you should have hated him"

౨ৎ drabble by @daryltwdixon

"angsty Joel thinking he doesn't deserve you"

౨ৎ somehwere only we know by @josephquinnswhore

"joel has been the only constant in your life since you’ve been at Jackson. But you don’t know if you deserve him despite his persistent efforts."

౨ৎ borrowed time by @aurorawritestoescape

"Joel and you are enjoying an ideal vacation together. Warm ocean, white sand, soft kisses, and hot sex make it feel like paradise. But as your time here is running out, the thoughts that you‘ve been trying to keep at bay start eating at your soul."

౨ৎ how the cookie crumbles by @egcdeath

"when you come back home to austin to help your sister with her bakery, you end up in an arrangement with your high school crush that ends up being far more than you bargained for. "

౨ৎ a glimpse of heaven by @ozarkthedog

"joel secretly watches you shower."

౨ৎ damp, dirty, his by @pascalispimp

"Joel’s been through a lot, but mysteriously damp flannels? That’s a new one. When he sneaks home to investigate, but what he finds is far filthier than he imagined. His housemate’s got a thing for his shirts… and from the way she’s moaning into one, she’s got a thing for him too. And Joel’s got every intention of making it worse."

౨ৎ dream scape by @joelswhcre

"it’s just a dream—you’re sure of it. because there’s no way joel, your best friend’s dad, is actually between your legs, making you fall apart on his tongue. right?"

౨ৎ give up by @talaok

"Once again you've found an excuse to invite your neighbor over, except for once you might be able to make him look past your age difference and have a little fun."

◡◡◡◡◡◡◡◡◡◡◡◡

-> as i was curating this i realized most of it is smut... i promise ya'll i do not have a problem

-soda

[alexispunkkk]

back where we started

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

- pairing: dark!joel x fem!reader

- summary: joel is a horrible partner post-outbreak. he yells. isn't too nice. fucks.

- warnings: dark!!! dubcon, slapping, choking, hair tugging, unprotected piv (don't do this guys!), smut smut smut smut, degrading, yelling, no established relationship, rough sex, crying, unsafe sex, angry sex, joel has crazy anger issues, blood, huggeee nasty age gap (legal, though! your choice for age), public / outdoor sex, size kink, joel's got a massive dick lols, power imbalance, submission, no aftercare, squirting, dirty talk, thigh riding if you squint, manhandling, joel is just incredibly mean. total asshole.

- word count: 4.5k

- author’s note: feining for mr joel miller recently so i wrote this... my first joel fic!! its gross yall. have your fun though!

—————————————୨ৎ

Partnering up with Joel Miller wasn’t ideal. He’s always looking at you like you’re some problem he doesn’t know how to solve – like you’re just cargo he’s exhausted of having to drag along. 

You don’t want to admit it, but he’s honestly an asshole. A real fucking dick, a mean bastard. To everyone else you meet, you’re a well loved, sweet girl. To Joel, though, you’re a burden. He’s a miserable person, and hanging around him only came with the positive that he knew how to hunt, how to keep you decently safe. But, hey, it’s better to be stuck with a brute of a man than to be infected. Right?

For whatever reason, the frustration has been building worse than usual for the past few days. You move like you’re on eggshells, do anything to not upset him, stay quiet when you’re asked and obey his every order. But it’s Joel fucking Miller. Nothing is ever enough with him. 

You’re young, but that's not a valid excuse for Joel. He expects as much out of you as he would another man his size and seniority, which is totally unfair of a girl your age.

So every little mistake ticks him off. Really riles him up. His temper is really fired up today for whatever reason, and you’re trying your best to not exacerbate it. 

—————————————୨ৎ

Joel should know now your most common flaws – he does pay attention, but that mind of his was too preoccupied with his fresh plan to head east to remember just how forgetful you tend to be. 

You remember twenty minutes after you leave. Everything is packed up, rifle on Joel’s thick shoulder, sleeping bags taken from Bill and Frank’s now deserted house strapped to your backs. Everything but one thing. And arguably, the most important thing for the new change of route. 

“Can y’get me out the map, girl?”

Girl. He always insists on calling you that. Rather derogatory, like he doesn’t wanna address you by a human name. Just girl.

At the question, your steps stutter. A little patch of dirt kicked up from your shoe hits the back of Joel’s calf, earning a soft grunt. “You fuckin’ deaf now? I said gimme the damn map.”

He knows what your silence means, and in that moment he's about to lose his goddamn mind. His feet stop bluntly, his large, brooding frame turning to face you. 

Your pace slows soon after him, halting to a nervous stop while your gaze flickers from its usual spot on the ground up into his dark eyes. A warning look.

“Better not tell me you lost the fuckin’ thing.” 

No words come out of your mouth, let alone even pop into your head; all you can seem to do is stare up at him like a mindless idiot, his height towering over yours when he takes a small step closer.

Again, your steps follow, this time backward. You stumble back half a foot, a twig cracking under the shift of your weight. Out of nervous habit, your left hand reaches for the right wrist, gently stroking the skin to keep yourself somewhat calm.

“Joel, I didn’t–”

His movements match your own, his large, calloused hands lurching forward to rip your hand off your wrist. It gets replaced with his own grip, but much tighter. Aggressive. Taut. Outraged. 

“Y’didn’t what? Didn’t think for once how t’not be a goddamned idiot?” He snarls, his untamed fingernails digging into the skin for a moment and leaving tiny crescents into the first layer. “Why d’you always gotta be like this, girl? Fuckin’ stupid…”

He trails off, removing his tight grip on your forearm, but not without hostility. He lets go but ends it with a good yank. Not hard enough to pop it out of place, but hard enough to get a quiet whimper out of your shy throat.

You never know what to say when he gets like this. Whether to defend yourself, whether to stay shut up and take the tirade. But you sure know well enough not to fight back – that’s how to get your arm pulled out of the socket.

“I–I swear, Joel. I had it, I don’t know where it went.”

He never takes your stupid excuses. They’re useless, he’ll never believe you. He knows that you know you forgot it at the last spot you camped out. And this time, the excuse was a pathetic mumble, your eyes glued at your wrist and the mark he left when he gripped it. Even more to make your pitiful case unconvincing. 

“Yeah, the hell you do. Quit lyin’, you know damn well where that map is.” He scoffs, brushing past you with a shove to the shoulder, his larger figure knocking you a few inches with a soft oof. “Back in the woods where you left it, ain’t it?”

Of course, you can’t plead your case anymore. You give in, nodding in submission and trudging after him once he turns around, back in the direction where you surely left the damn map. 

“...Yeah.” You murmur, rubbing a dry hand across the bottom half of your face, against your snotty nose. Not because you’d been crying, this is nothing from Joel yet. Just because the month has been terribly cold and sleeping outside every night isn’t doing you well. “At our last camp. M’sorry.”

“Always fuckin’ sorry. Sorry for almost gettin’ yourself killed, sorry for forgetting somethin’ again and again. M’sick of your shit.” He grunts, readjusting the rifle strapped over his shoulder. 

When you first met him, words like that got to you, as much as you hate to admit it. But now, everything seems to fade together. He’s just Joel. That’s how he is. And you’ve gotta live with it and try your best to not piss him off. 

To your luck, he shuts up and stops berating you – at least until you’re close to the previous camp spot. Just silence, interrupted only by the awkward shuffling of your steps behind him, desperately trying to keep up with his longer strides and stay quiet to not worsen his anger.

But when you get close enough and he has to start looking for the damned map, his mumbling and annoyance boils over once again, infiltrating the somewhat comfortable silence that your ears just got used to.

“Map was the only fuckin’ thing getting us around… no goddamn compass.” Joel mutters under his breath. Not at you, for once, but just a natural spilling of his frustration. He’s always gotta be mumbling about something, even in his sleep. “Slow me down enough as is. Gotta lose everythin’, too.”

You joined aimlessly behind him, searching around the patchy grass, anywhere for the map that was stressing him out so terribly. 

Minutes go by. He’s getting angrier by the minute, his hands flexing while he crouches down and searches. Mad, but still pretty tame for a pissed-off Joel Miller. 

That is, until he glances up and actually gets a look at you for the first time in an hour. He normally avoids any eye contact, avoids even peeking over at you. At that damn little frame… so much younger, sweeter. He seemingly hates having you around because you always tick him off, but what he hates more is the temptation that comes with having a pretty little girl by his side at all times.

He finally lets his eyes fall on you. But this time, he can’t even get his usual peek at your lips or neck, because something else catches his eye. A familiar shred of paper – just the fucking corner – poking out the zipper of your backpack. 

He genuinely slaps himself in the face, eyes turning dark and fists curling up in pure rage at the sight.

“Are you fucking kidding me.”

He growls. Not a question, but a threat. His eyes are black at this point, breath speeding up while he takes another step toward you. Not cautious like he’ll sometimes let himself be, but warring. 

You’re confused for a bit, as you hadn’t seen the map in your own bag. Or even thought to look before you turned around and walked a half hour back, a complete waste of your time. “Oh…”

He starts again, his voice much lower than usual. Dangerous.

“You wanna tell me…” Joel breathes, stepping towards you even more until he’s got you backed against a tree. Bark pushing your shirt and jacket up, scraping at the bare skin of your lower back. “Why the hell we just wasted an hour of our time, when the map was practically right in your fuckin’ hand!”

As he curses, your heart drops. You don’t have time to react before his hands are up, flying at you. You flinch, thinking they’re coming to hurt you, but they’re reaching into your backpack. 

And sure enough, there it is. The map you spent so much valuable time fussing over. Right on your damn back. 

‘I didn’t know, Joel. Didn’t think to check.” You whimper and choke out from the back of your throat, weak and apologetic. Again, he’s not one for excuses and apologies. He’s on you before you can even think, hand forcing the map in your face.

His palm hits your mouth when he shoves the paper, a direct blow to your jaw. Your lip comes in forced contact with your bottom row of teeth, tearing the skin and swelling instantly. The only thing that can escape your mouth now is a pained whimper, which agitates the furious man on top of you worse. 

“Fuckin’ idiot. Wastin’ my damn time like always. Do you ever think?” He scoffs and backs up, maybe half an inch. 

When he notices your slightly busted lip, it brings him a sense of triumph. You ticked him off and now you’re gonna pay for it. And you sure enough feel guilty enough to not stop him, so he’s got you trapped now.

You’re frozen in place against the tree, refusing to move or utter out even the smallest of another noise. Suddenly, Joel’s mind is more occupied by the girl under his grip, shaking like a damn leaf with a bleeding and busted lip. 

“Asked you a question, little shit.” He grunts and lets his hand venture up to your jaw, pushing it around like a toy before settling with a tight grip, squeezing your cheeks and watching how the blood oozes from your lip at the pressure. “Said, do you ever fuckin’ think?”

Sure, he’s yelled at you plenty, disciplined you, maybe put his hands on you out of frustration a couple of times before. But it never feels like this. His hands usually let up after they land on you, but now he’s squeezing at your face and looking into your hazy eyes as if this is a challenge.

“Mm.” You whine, throat bobbing while you adjust to the feeling of his huge hand gripping your face. “N-no.” 

Your voice is only the softest of a mutter. 

“Speak up, girl. Didn’t hear ya’.” He rolls his eyes, giving your face a nice knead and jerking it to the side to jolt you up more. 

A shuddering breath leaves your mouth, head jerking to the right at the flick of his wrist. He holds it against the tree, your ponytail getting caught on the rough edge of the bark, the lumber scraping your ear.

“No. Don’t–don’t ever think enough. M’sorry. Wasn’t… wasn’t thinkin’.”

You sigh, head lifting up while you feel the familiar sensation of your throat tightening up, eyes starting to burn. But you keep it in. 

Joel hums, jerking your head again and shoving it harder onto the hard bark. “Damn right. Don’t think. A fuckin’ burden on me.”

He’s not doing it because he’s mad anymore. Hell, he’s already forgotten about the stupid map that caused all of this. He’s doing it to get a rise out of you.

And you know that’s all he wants.

His gaze is different, his tone similar to but not matching the genuine anger you hear from him most of the time. There's a hint of more challenge in it, maybe even passion. The hand on your jaw only confirms that.

“Shoulda’ left you behind when I got the chance.” He mutters, knowing that threatening to leave you really gets under your skin. Honestly, he’s all that you have, and you’d be dead without him. So that always seems to hurt a little more than some name calling. 

You don’t react, gulping and keeping still at his arduous words. Getting no reaction from you riles him up worse, his free hand coming down to strike at the wood above your head. You flinch, and a tear unpromptedly rolls down your cheek. You don’t feel it until Joel curses, laughing in disbelief and moving his hand from your jaw down to your throat.

He squeezes. Not tight, not yet. A groan escapes his throat, low and almost pained. And before you know it, he’s got his body pressed against yours, rubbing you uncomfortably into the rotting tree. 

“Such a fuckin’ mess.” He grunts, one hand around your throat to cut off any words and the other moving to your chin to move your gaze up to him. “Cryin’ like a baby when you were the one that lost the map.” 

Your pulse jumps when he degrades you, and he swears he sees something else in your eyes this time. Not the usual fear, but something that looks like arousal. 

It sparks something in him, and he wants to see it again. His hand tightens on your neck, earning a pained gasp from your pretty throat. Your eyes lock, and he watches your head tilt back against the tree, your eyes fluttering slightly.

He can’t take much more. A tiny whimper comes out of you when his knee presses against your thigh. 

That’s it. That’s fucking it.

Joel growls. Low. Frustrated. He gives up on the choking, instead gripping the back of your head and taking hold of your messy ponytail. He tugs, tilting your head more, his big aquiline nose moving down to bump under your ear and rub along the cold curve of your jaw. 

“Fuck’s wrong with you?” He whispers, his unkempt scruff that he calls a beard brushing up against you, scratching deep into the skin he just had a hand wrapped around. “Feel you gettin’ turned on. Fuckin’ slut, getting all worked up when I’m angry with you.”

You can’t do anything but take his advances and cry softly, feeling the cotton of your panties dampening each time his gruff voice comes out against your ear, his harsh breath biting at your neck. 

“Don’t got time for th’shit.” He mutters, but you hear his resolve dropping. He’s getting less and less frustrated over you wasting time, but more frustrated over the fact that he’s got his knee between your legs and he can feel the heat seeping through the fabrics, even in the biting cold weather. “Don’t got time for you makin’ me… makin’ me–ngh.”

His words stop, replaced by a low grunt into your ear the second your body even twitches against his. The grip on your ponytail tightens, tugging backward and earning a needy whine from you.

As much as he wants to keep degrading you, making you feel worthless under him, he’s feeling pretty pathetic himself. And he never gets like this with women.

His nose bumps your ear one more time before he can’t take it – his lips crash into yours. It’s not friendly. It’s not intimate. It’s fucking rude.

He intrudes, letting go of your hair and grabbing your body instead to push you against the damn tree harder. Mouths battle, and he wins, nipping hard and tasting the metallic blood from where he busted your lip earlier. Yum. 

“Joel.” You whimper, finally. It’s music to his ears, but he can’t show that. He has to be tough, not show that he’s into this. Not into the young girl he’s supposed to be training.

Joel grumbles, bringing a hand up to mindlessly slap at the side of your face at the sound of your whimper. 

“Shut up.”

And you do.

You’d do anything he told you right now. The feeling of him slapping you, biting your lips, pressing his thick knee between your thighs has got you absolutely pathetic. It’s fucking disgusting, you know that. To be so grossly into the fifty-six year old man that’s been taking care of you, the one that relentlessly bullies you and makes you feel like a worthless burden.

But you like it. You’d be anything for him, even if it meant being a worthless, pathetic burden. 

Joel’s got control. Obviously. His hand that slapped you runs over the heated skin in the same spot, almost to soothe it. What a gentleman. His lips slow on yours for a moment, latching onto the neck he had his hand around earlier instead.

In the deep woods, the only sounds heard are the birds above and his angry gasps against your skin, breathing like a madman. The softer sounds are interrupted by one of his belt clinking, being unbuckled mindlessly. And then the rustle of fabric. And then the unfamiliar sound of denim against Joel’s rough skin.

He’s straining against his boxers. Hard. Harder than he thinks he may ever have, but you don’t know that. You can tell he’s big through the fabric. It’s a thought that’s crossed your mind maybe once or twice, but you would never have expected for it to be pressed against your thigh, dangerous amounts of precum slowly leaking through the thin fabric of his briefs. 

You distract yourself while he gets busy attacking your neck and working your pants off – you don’t wanna believe it. Joel Miller is about to fuck you. He slapped you, choked you, degraded you, sure. That’s believable. But now he’s going to fuck you with that giant cock of his. 

As if it helps you not give in too much, you look everywhere to try and distract yourself. Down. His boxers read CALVIN KLEIN at the top. Up. The top button of his flannel came undone. He’s got a lot of chest hair. Behind him. There’s a bird watching him gnaw at your neck and tear your pants off, watching his bulging cock rub against your covered thigh. 

And the map is on the ground behind him.

“Fuck you lookin’ at?” He finally interrupts your private session of ‘I spy,’ breathing heavy against your skin and cupping your clothed cunt through your panties. “Look at me.”

You look up, gaze locking with his again. His eyes are equally as dark, but not with anger anymore. Desire. 

He’s gripping extra hard, hands splayed across your waist – almost big enough to wrap around, to grip you real good. Joel’s eyes travel all down your body in ways he’s only ever dreamed of, your pants torn down and now discarded on the forest floor. 

“Gonna fuck the stupidity right outchya’, yeah?” He chuckles, hoisting your body up to keep you settled between him and the tree. “‘N I want you lookin’ at me while I do it, kay’, girl? Eyes up. C’mon now.”

You can do nothing but oblige. Your eyes dart up, staying on him, even when he pulls his cock out that you so badly want to get a look at. The sound of him stroking himself, little grunts escaping his throat mindlessly, is so fucking tempting. 

But you listen, eyes staying on him, hoping to get some kind of praise from him for the first time in your life. Or maybe you want to keep getting debased. Maybe both. You seem to like the shame of it. 

“Gonna fuck you s’good you never forget anythin’ again. M’still pissed about that map, y’hear me?” He grunts, lifting you effortlessly to move his cock up into place. He’s so strong, and you’re so little. He can manhandle you however he wants, use you for his pleasure. And maybe you want that. 

From your mouth slips an obedient hum, your head shaking in a little nod so he knows you’re listening. You swear you see the corner of his mouth quirk up in a smirk, but he replaces it within half a second with a grumble to maintain the tough guy look. 

His cock meets your slick after he pulls your panties to the side, not bothering to take them off. You’re not worth the time. Not after wasting that time with the map debacle. 

The pulsing head of it drags along your slit, collecting a bit of you on the tip, making a filthy mix with his precum. It’s been a minute since any intimacy for Joel, but he can’t let you know anything. Can’t show any kind of vulnerability. He keeps it in, biting his lip and grunting to avoid any embarrassing soft noises.

“Ain’t stoppin’ if you can’t take it, by th’way.” He grumbles into your ear, his tip just barely edging into your soaked cunt. You whimper, and he squeezes your waist in warning. If he didn’t have to be holding you up, he’d have hit you again. 

But, the soft noises you let out make him want more. You seem to let them out when you’re scared – or maybe it's out of arousal. Only from when he totally degrades you. He doesn’t care, he just wants to fuck you senseless.

“Could break ya’ if I wanted. Little… tight fuckin’ pussy.” He groans, head hitting the tree next to yours when his cock finally slides in. It was a fight to get in, your tight walls not stretched enough for his fat dick to fit due to your lack of experience. “Take ya’ how I fuckin’ want.’

If this was any other man, you’d cry and beg for him to stop. But Joel. It’s Joel. Joel fucking Miller. 

It hurts, but his threatening words seem to egg you on. They prod you to take it, try harder to take the thick cock that’s splitting your body right in half.

He doesn’t start slow like some guys. Joel doesn’t start slow. Ever. Joel Miller fucks, and he fucks how he wants. This isn’t about you, this is about him getting his worth back after you wasted all his damn time. 

His hips slam into you at an alarming pace, no time for you to stretch out and adjust to the movement. He’s already hitting deep enough to where, if your shirt was off, you could see the print all the way in your stomach. But no. Your shirt is on. Joel Miller doesn’t care enough to worry about a shirt, that’s foolish. He just wants pussy – no, needs it. He’s a man with priorities. 

You’re screaming, pain and pleasure. Usually he’d tell a woman to ‘shut the fuck’ up for being too loud, but you’re in the middle of the woods. Nobody around, except for the same fucking bird that’s continuing to watch you get destroyed and ripped open by a fifty-six year old. Great.

“God, baby. You’re fuckin’ helpless.” He grunts into your neck, resolve slowly slipping more. His noises get worse, louder. He doesn’t care enough anymore to pretend like this is some chore. 

He’s fucking you and he means it. 

Joel’s hips stutter after a few minutes, just in time with your own. Synced up perfectly. His rhythm is getting out of pace while you feel the pull deep in your core you haven’t felt in so long – white hot pooling in your stomach. You clench around him.

He can’t speak anymore, just like how you haven’t been able to for minutes now. All he can manage out are little grumbles into your hair, squeezing your body while he struggles with words. Getting pathetic himself.

“Fuckin’-- mm. Baby. Baby. Gon’cum soon.” 

At least he warns you. 

You could tell, anyway. The stuttering of his hips, the way he’s only hitting nice and deep now. But you’re in worse, you can’t warn him because your mouth is hung open entirely, spilling out the most pitiful string of moans that doesn’t seem to ever end. 

Without warning, you clench again. He groans, but gets louder when he feels you spill. Burst. All over his aching cock. 

“Shit, shit. You – you squirtin’?” Joel grumbles out, body spasming at the feeling of your liquids all coming out at once. Your legs are shaking, and he feels his own limbs join in. It was too much for him. 

He cums. Hard. Maybe harder than he ever has before, but you don’t have to find that bit out. 

The moment melts into a disgusting mess of simultaneous moans, whimpers, even from Joel. Despite the cold weather that was almost making you sick earlier, you feel hot. Sweaty. Both of  you.

Joel’s head comes to rest atop yours, stroking the back of your ponytail that he’d been tugging at the whole time. And for a moment – just a short moment – you thought he’d maybe take care of you after. Like a real man. 

But no. Apparently, you don’t know Joel well enough by now. He’s his own kind of man.

Once his breathing returns – somewhat – he’s back to ole’ Joel Miller. Grunts, huffs and drops you down by the tree. Tucks his spent cock back in. Before you know it, before you can speak, his pants and belt are back in place and his rifle is strapped back on his shoulder.

Your eyes shut, back scraped up from the rough tree he fucked you relentlessly against. Taking a shuddering breath, you rest for a moment, thinking that if he didn't give you any aftercare he’d at least let you have a moment to breathe. 

But again, no.

“Fuck you doin’?” 

Your single moment of silence is rudely interrupted by his southern drawl, entirely back to normal as if he didn’t have the most intense sex of his life only two minutes ago. As if forgetting it ever happened. 

And the map is back in his hand. And he looks so normal compared to you. And it makes you want to cry for whatever reason. 

There’s nothing else to do but hold back a pained whine from the soreness already building in your body, the blood you feel dripping on your back from the tree, and the metal taste of blood where he hit your lip. The slap on your cheek. The handprint on your throat. Fuck.

“C’mon, little shit. Gotta hurry. Now you wasted an hour of my time.”

[oceantornadoo]

dubcon, objectification, forced (?) threesome, f!reader

they say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.

ghost finds you ten months after your divorce, nursing a drink in a shithole of a pub. he doesn’t consider himself a good man, licking the tears on your cheeks when he fucks you for the first time, ignoring your whines of how “it’s been a while” and you’re “too tight.” he doesn’t like to keep birds around longer than a night, but something about how you wrap your leg around him in the morning makes him stay a little longer.

he lets you call him simon after you whine that you “can’t fuck him without knowing his name.” it takes a bit, but you get used to sleeping with someone who isn’t your ex-husband. he calls you bird instead of sweetheart, love instead of darling and after a while, the word honey loses its significance. when simon tells you he’s military, you try to leave his bed, only for him to pull you by the thigh, apologizing with his tongue in your cunt. simon doesn’t date and you aren’t ready for it, content to stay in your respective apartments, living for his occasional half-smiles and usual gruff admonishments. its a bit new to simon - he’s used his camera app more in the past weeks than he has in years. always pictures of you: his cum on your tits, the bruises he leaves on your hips, a rare photo of you sleeping. he even lets you corral him into taking a cheesy mirror picture, his arms dwarfing your waist with his face tucked into your neck, your jawline exposed as you turn to kiss his cheek.

it’s two months later when you promise to cook him a meal for the first time, a sunday roast he hasn’t tasted in years. “better not take too long, bird, ‘m starvin’.” simon murmurs in your ear, hands squeezing your stomach and waist as you fumble with your keys. “i’ve had it slow cooking before i left for yours last night. it’ll put us in a food coma.” you finally put the key in the lock, turning it with force before simon decides to fuck you against the door. he dips to bite your neck, sending you into your apartment giggling, swatting him off you. the weight of your divorce is finally off your shoulders, happy butterflies fluttering in your stomach formed by simon’s continuous presence.

the butterflies die when you see a familiar pair of boots at your door.

“stay here.” you order simon, a change from your usual dynamic. you can’t focus on his reaction, set on edge by the sounds of pots clanging in your kitchen. there’s no point in creeping - he knows you’re here. you turn the corner and there he is - your ex husband. “you’re just in time, sweetheart. nice ‘f you to make a roast.”

john’s standing there like he owns the place, like he knows this kitchen he’s never been in. he’s boiling potatoes on the stove, keeping an eye on the slow cooker timer. he’s even poured himself a fucking drink, a scotch he had to have brought since all you have is wine and simon’s whiskey. all smug and entitled in his civvies, commanding the room like he pays your rent. he's still as handsome as ever, darker eye bags the only indication he's been losing sleep.

“what the fuck are you doing here, john?” john doesn’t answer immediately, instead using a fork to test the potatoes. satisfied, he takes them off the burner and turns to the sink, dumping them out in a prepared strainer. “‘s our anniversary, sweetheart. thought that’s why you made the food.” you can sense simon still in the doorway, his presence unknown to your ex. it gives you strength, a guard dog at your back, and comfort that he’s letting you run this on your own. “our anniversary ended when we signed the papers. i don’t know how you got in here, but you need to leave.” he frowns at you and it almost tugs at your heart strings. your brain conjures images of his coldness and constant distance, and you shut that down real fast. unfortunately, he doesn’t get the memo. john takes a step closer, hands up like he’s approaching a wild animal. “honey, i-“ and that’s when ghost steps out of the darkness.

there’s a long pause. it boosts your ego a bit, showing john you’ve moved on, until the silence is so long that you start to worry. you chance a look at simon’s face and find it confused, not at all the guard dog you thought he was. a glance at john’s reveals the same. you’re about to ask your question when they answer it for you. “captain.” “lieutenant.” “what?”

the transformation happens in an instant. both men straighten to their full heights, wiping any emotion off their faces. their brows furrow as they flex their hands to control their instincts. how could you not see it before? simon only mentioned he was military, but the stamp of the SAS is clear as day. it was in the harsh lines he carried, a companionship with death, not unlike the one john had.

john started first, of course, always having to take control of the situation. “you fuckin’ my lieutenant, sweetheart? miss me that much?” you rolled your eyes at his cruel words, inching closer to simon. “whatever we do doesn’t concern you.” you emphasized the “you”, spitting it out with venom. john hums low, making you nervous. you turn to simon, but he's quiet and calculating, communicating silently with his captain.

"didn't know you had a wife, sir." you answer before john can. "we divorced a year ago." john chimes in. "to the day, actually. she served me on our anniversary." simon looks down at you, the man you thought you knew now gone. his eyes are black pits, targeting you like you're prey. "that's cruel, bird." you sputter, backing into the kitchen cabinets. you walk until your back hits the sink, each man on either side of you. john has his arms crossed and head cocked to the side, like you're about to get chewed out by the school principal. simon looks...no longer human. unrestrained. whatever spark you two had has gone out, replaced by sheer loyalty to his captain. "show the captain what he's been missin', love. y've been starvin' him." he moves at lightning speed, picking you up and dropping you on the island counter, sunday roast long forgotten.

"simon?" he doesn't answer, scarred hands squeezing up and down your body as john watches from behind him, arms crossed and eyes searching. your mind is telling you one thing but your body wants another. some twisted part of your brain reminds you that john came to visit on your anniversary, even though you threw him out a year ago. simon's no better, coaxing your sweater off your torso, leaving you exposed in a lacy bra. your nipples harden and john sees, making a clicking noise with his tongue. "warm 'er up, lieutenant." simon obeys instantly, pulling down the cup of your bra to suck on your nipple. he's ravenous, no sunday roast in sight, and he's decided you're his meal instead. he sucks hard, a calloused hand reaching up to pull your other tit out so you're fully exposed to your two men. he squeezes it with reverence, rolling your nipple between his fingers as he sucks hard on the other one, not minding his own teeth.

it's dirty - watching john watch you. you hadn't fucked in the last months before the divorce. he was always too busy, on base or deployed, and you were so angry you couldn't let him near you. now, your ex-husband moves closer, taking in the sight of his lieutenant feasting. "miss me, sweetheart?" you shake your head on instinct. he sighs at your attitude. you're seated on the corner of the island, perfect for john to come up on your side, one large paw making its way towards your jaw, turning you towards him. "say it." you shake your head again. john sticks a thumb into your mouth, pushing against your teeth. you try to force him out, but simon bites your tit, making you gasp and let john in anyways. you suck his thumb defiantly, gazing at him with all the emotions you can't convey.

you look so pretty like this, john decides. laid out for his lieutenant, taking his orders as well as your emotions will allow. he decides to forgive you for your indiscretions with ghost - at least it was with one of his own men. they're practically an extension of himself. john hooks his thumb into the gap between your tongue and teeth and pulls, forcing you right into his space. "i reckon your cunt's nice an' wet, though. should i check? know she's missed me even if you won't admit it." your eyes go wide, giving him an answer he already knew. simon follows orders well, manhandling you into position by yanking off your jeans. there's a wet spot on the light fabric of your underwear. john can practically see your cunt clinging to it, begging for him to say hello.

"want ya to take 'em off y'self, bird." simon's finally speaking, the glaze in his eyes fading. he looks at you, then his captain, and it makes sense. how you're used to being led but refuse it all the same. how you're desperate for affection but won't date him because he's military. you're scarred from the chains of your marriage, so it only makes sense that he's the one you seek out - the opposite of husband material. more dog than human on his worst days. simon stares at you until you follow his command, meekly lifting up your hips as you take off your underwear. your cunt is sopping, in a way it only does when you’re ovulating, practically begging for it. your ex-husband whistles through his teeth like he’s praising a recruit. “knew she’d be happy to see me. hullo, darling.” you can’t find it in you to cringe. john starts running his fingers through your folds, inspecting, and all you can do is stare. stare at the veins in his forearm. stare at simon behind him, eyes trained on his captain’s movements. stare at the counter where your juices start to gather and wonder how the hell you got into this situation.

“pinch ‘er tit an’ watch ‘er flutter.” simon’s callous with his instructions but john follows them anyway, his unoccupied hand reaching up to pinch your nipple. you can’t help the gasp that escapes you, the way your cunt flutters around john’s fingers. he hums thoughtfully. john decides you’ve been good, if not a bit quiet, and presses his thumb against your clit as a reward. he starts rubbing in that pattern that would get you off without fail during your marriage. he fits one finger into you easily as you grip the counter hard, the sudden sensation overwhelming. simon peers over his shoulder like a fucking scientist. “‘f she gets bratty, i pull back the hood til she screams.” like your cunt’s a machine and they have the two pieces of its manual. john’s movements are making you desperate, hips starting to buck against his fingers. he chuckles and adds another, not hiding a smile when you sigh in relief. simon’s hands come to your waist, helping you fuck yourself on price’s fingers. it feels so wrong, having them barely listen to your pleas, and yet being under their watch is the most right you’ve ever felt in your life. that’s what brings your orgasm - not john’s thick fingers on your cunt, his rough thumb in your clit - but two sets of hungry eyes on you, like you’re their last meal. john fucks you through your orgasm, simon not letting you out of his grasp until tears start to form, the embarrassment of your own wetness coming to the front of your mind. john slowly removes his fingers and brings them to simon’s mouth to taste, not satisfied until his lieutenant hums in agreement. the two men turn to you, naked save for your disheveled bra around your waist, somehow making the scene more depraved.

“‘ow ‘bout that roast, love?” simon murmurs gruffly.

good thing john never signed the divorce papers.

[mostly-imagines]

Moonstruck

jason todd x reader

aka sober thoughts and all that

warnings: intoxication

Jason has a thing about drinking around you. He’d kind of skirted around it for a while when you were first dating, but after a while you’d noticed he never really has more than a drink or two regardless of how much you had. The only times you ever see him drink more is when he’s downing whiskey as a pain mitigater when he needs stitches. You’d initially assumed he just wasn’t a big drinker, but eventually you’d come to realize it was more of a matter of not wanting to lose his inhibitions around you. 

You know he’s still working on trusting himself, even sober, because he’s terrified of accidentally hurting you. But you have a hard time imagining him losing control like that in any state and you’re nearly certain he’s just being hard on himself.

You’ve been falling in and out of less than peaceful sleep for the past few hours, having trouble easing yourself while your boyfriend is still out. You at least attempted to get to bed earlier tonight because for once he isn’t out fighting crime and risking injury, though you haven’t found much more luck than usual. 

You lie on your back, half ready to give up and turn on a movie while you wait.

You’re momentarily startled to hear Dick bellow out your name, no regard for the fact that it’s nearing three in the morning and you have neighbors. He’s not much of a shouter so you’re instantly on alert, worried that he or Jason are hurt.

You fumble out of bed and rush to the living room, surprised to find your fire escape empty. You turn, proceeding towards the front door, opening it cautiously. 

“Dick? What—” You don’t need to finish your question because the second you take one good look at the two of them, the state of them is immediately clear. Dick, who’s barely standing upright on his own, supports your boyfriend's weight via Jason’s arm slinged around his shoulder.

“Hey!” Dick grins at you, far more lively than he has any business being this late at night. “Sorry, couldn’t remember which apartment was yours.”

You nod pensively, “Well the perspective’s different than when you’re coming in through the window.”

He continues on past that without thought, “I’ve come to deliver,” he says, gesturing up to Jason with a bit of a strain. You’re pretty sure there were supposed to be a couple more words at the end of that sentence but you understand well enough anyway.

You nod, eyebrows raised and try to hide a smile. “Thanks, Dick.” He shifts your boyfriend off of his shoulder to lean him up against the door frame, where Jason places a majority of his weight.

You eye him warily, not confident in his steadiness. He seems to hold well enough against the heavy door though, his eyes drifting around the tiled floor. Your attention shifts to Dick, who’s clearly satisfied with a job well done and ready to go.

You tilt your head, seeing him turn away. “You good?”

“I’m great!” He calls out with a thumbs up. You watch as he staggers away, nearly missing the exit.

You look back over at Jason, who’s already staring at you with a soft gaze. “You’re pretty,” he fawns, irises blown out and flickering all over your face.

“Oh you’re drunk drunk.” You grin, watching him stumble forward a bit.

He shakes his head, looking a bit dizzy after, “Shoulda seen Tim.”

You pause mid laugh, “…Who drove you here?”

He falters at that, gaze falling to the floor. “Uh…” He winces, “Damian…”

You nod slowly, eyes wide, “We’re gonna talk about that tomorrow.”

“He’s better than you’d think.” You’d hope so. 

Well, at least he’s spending time with his brothers.

You sigh, straightening your posture in preparation for the job to come. “Alright, come on big guy,” you pull him up from his slant against the wall, hauling him into the same position he’d been in with Dick—though you’re struggling significantly more to hold him upright. “You gotta help me out here, Jay,” you grunt, trying very hard not to fold under his weight. You swat the door shut behind you, making peace with the fact that he’ll scold you in the morning for not locking it.

He presses an uncoordinated kiss to the side of your head as you try to shuffle him along, not interested in the least in easing your labor. His self discipline isn't quite gone, but his awareness of how big he is sure seems to be. 

You wobble from the heavy weight of his arm around your shoulders, holding onto him by his waist. You manage to get him to sidestep your cat, narrowly, though Salem hisses at him all the same. Jason takes no notice. You stumble into your bedroom with only about 30% of his usual balance aiding your effort.

He collapses onto the bed the second his legs hit the frame, pulling you down with him. You lie, somewhat awkwardly, on his chest as he holds you tight—probably tighter than he would if he were sober. It feels nice though.

You lie your cheek flat on his chest, relaxing against him. “What’d you guys do? Thought you were just having an easy night.”

He takes a deep breath before answering, “Raided Dick’s liquor c—” he stops, mulling over his words. “...Bruce’s liquor that was in Dick’s cabinet.” He annunciates every word in that sentence very carefully.

You squint speculatively, “Didn’t take Dick for the stealing type.”

He grumbles, “He’s not. ‘Less it’s Bruce.”

You can’t help the smile that breaks out on your face, “Aw, you really do take after your big brother, don’t you?” 

He scoffs at that, “I don’t. I’m the one who gave him the idea.” Yeah, that sounds right.

He taps on your cheek lightly and you pick your head up to find him looking at you with puppy dog eyes.

“What’s that look for?”

“Can I kiss you?” his eyes drop down to your lips, “I really wanna kiss you.” He’s nearly whispering and you feel your heart skip several beats at the feeling of his eyes on you like this.

You press a light kiss to his lips and he practically purrs.  

You pull back, admiring the serene expression on his face. “You taste like whiskey.”

“I like whiskey,” he says honestly.

You smile, nodding. “I know. Don’t know why, but..”

He leans in for another kiss but you parry, only letting his lips meet your cheek. He frowns grimly, attempting to chase your lips. 

“Lemme kiss you,” the pout on his face is adorable and while you hesitate to deny him, you retreat, resting your chin on his chest.

You smile wistfully, tracing his cheekbone, “You’re drunk, baby.”

“‘M not that drunk,” he tells you, though everything about him says otherwise.

Your hand falls flat on his shoulder. “Your eleven year old brother drove you here.”

He shrugs, “He can drive the bat…batcar? Bat…”

“Batmobile,” you finish.

“The batmobile.” he nods, as if he was seconds away from remembering. You suspect he wasn’t. 

“Bruce lets him drive it?” you question, wholly disbelieving.

“No.”

Enough said.

“You’re gonna be hungover as hell in the morning,” you mumble, taking in his uninhibited demeanor.

He nods that off, “‘S okay. You’ll be here, right?”

You tilt your head, observing him chalantly. “Where else would I go?”

His arms snake tighter around you at that, giving you a little squeeze before relenting. 

“I wanna marry you,” he murmurs, brushing your hair out of your face and tucking it neatly behind your ear. 

You blink rapidly a few times, “What?” You push yourself up on his chest, sitting up on his abdomen.

“Wanna marry you.” He repeats, eyes lidded as he breathes easy under you. “You’re m’favorite person…want you t’be my wife.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat. “..You want me to be your wife?”

His lips are slightly parted and his pupils are wide as he stares up at you, taking in your features carefully. “‘Course I do.” He brings his fingers up to your cheek, touching you softly with all the wonderment of a little kid. “You’re so pretty.”

You’re quick to return, “So are you.” Especially right now.

He shuts his eyes momentarily, shaking his head morosely, “You gotta stop bein’ so nice t’me,” he lets his hand fall to rest on your thigh. “Don’t deserve it.”

“Shut up,” you lour, “You deserve it more than anybody.”

“No. Not more than you,” his hands knead at your thighs like it’s an instinct. “You deserve everything.” He closes his eyes, tilting his chin up as his head sinks further back into the pillow. “Think I’d do anything you wanted.”

“Jay—”

He continues on, “Want you t’be happy. Wanna make you happy.”

Your face falls into an expression of dazed awe, “You do make me happy.”

He dwindles at that, “No, really happy. Take care of you. Build you a house, give you babies. Wha’ever you want.”

He paws at your thighs, trying to get you to come closer again to him. You lay back down on top of him and his hand instantly buries itself in your hair, stroking softly. “You’re just…you’re so perfect…” He turns his head to mumble against your forehead, “Feel like I dreamed you, sometimes.”

You breathe deeply against the crook of his neck, eyes feeling glassy. “I love you.” It’s all you can get out, and it’s not enough, but it’s all of it. 

“I love you,” he says like he’s trying to turn it into gospel. “So much. I love you so much, so fuckin’ much.” His words start to get lost in his weary babbling.

Your chest feels full and you can distinctly feel every beat of your heart against it. Or maybe it’s Jason’s heart. But what’s the difference?

You press a tender kiss to the nape of his neck. “You’re really sweet when you’re drunk, you know that?”

He hums lowly, head lulling against yours.

You still for a second, finding his breathing has slowed and his hand has seized its movement in your hair. His soft breaths fill the air as you press a kiss to his collarbone before settling in completely. “You’re gonna love when I tell you about this in the morning,” you whisper, letting your eyes shut too.

💗 likes are the poor mans reblog 💗

[lipsent]

SHOW ME WHO YOU ARE .ᐟ ── PITFIGHTER VI. been wanting to do something like this for a while now omg. i keep thinking about @shouyuus’s work and i decided to make my own version, because … i have rotted for far too long over this woman and i cannot lose any more sleep.

TAGS . . . 18+ !!! , f.reader , meeting at the bar , drunk vi , but she sobers up as she fucks you , vi yearning for you .

+ @eveningatthemoviesnetwork @thehoneypotserver @pixelcafe-network <33 tysm guys

ᯓ ݁˖ PITFIGHTER VI probably spotted you across the bar she always crashes into after her bloodied wins. she’d definitely give you a look and continue to stare even when you catch her, her eyes darkened and her brows furrowed as if she’d met you before and that non-existent encounter held a gory weight.

˖ ✶ PITFIGHTER VI pushed past all the people dancing and flailing around just to get to you. some poor guy even tripped and fell on his ass just from her drunken shove alone—and seeing as she too were fighting ghosts to keep from swaying, it couldn’t have been that strong of a push. then again—this is vi, the pitfighter champion.

ᯓ ݁˖ PITFIGHTER VI somehow had the balls to let loose in front of you while you were trying to dance by yourself. you surprisingly didn’t mind despite how heavy her glances were, and it was almost telepathic how you both communicated wordlessly when you allowed her hands to rest on your waist.

˖ ✶ PITFIGHTER VI kisses like she didn’t wreak of cheap liquor, her tongue nearly pinning your own down from how aggressive she was with needing to feel you on her. chest to chest, she supported your back when she continued to push against you like she knew she had this horrible habit of greed, of needing everything from something as sweet as you in three seconds, physical limitations be damned.

ᯓ ݁˖ PITFIGHTER VI cursed herself when she grabbed your hand and led you back to her room, knowing exactly how disgusting and grimy her sweat-filled bed was and had of course decided she’d rather get a slap to the face for even thinking you’d ever lie down on that thing than not try at all. what do you take her for, a madwoman? with a girl like you, she would be if she didn’t take you somewhere when you gave her enthusiastic consent.

˖ ✶ PITFIGHTER VI seems like she’s begging to get lockjaw when her tongue swirls anxiously around your clit, every so often flicking upwards in that sweet spot she’d discovered made you squeal and arch your back. how you reached new heights in both your moans and your nerves when she very carefully slipped a finger in, her thumb replacing her tongue when she rose up again and let you taste yourself on her tongue without warning. you grabbed her shoulders as if you want to shove her away, and when she entertains the idea that you could in fact hold a candle to her strength, she just huffed and smiled before going, “you opened your mouth, princess. don’t tell me you didn’t like that.”

ᯓ ݁˖ PITFIGHTER VI finally gets to fucking you and holy shit she was waiting so painfully long for you—her first strokes of her clit against your own were rough from the very start, both of you soaking and bubbling from everything that had been happening tonight—except she held out on her own pleasure just so she could see you come undone on her tongue and fingers. She bucks her hips against you roughly and the initial contact is explosive—you both moan in unison, yours higher and shakier as if racing her to something. you fell limp right after that first stroke and she continued to hold your leg up against her, hips bucking at a frenzied pace like she could see your orgasm approaching quickly, stopping at nothing to claw and fight to bring it back down to earth and let it spill all over her.

˖ ✶ PITFIGHTER VI has a death grip on your thighs and your waist when you cum, making sure you don’t squirm away now as your clit and hers throb in an unspoken rhythm like they’ve done this before and have made their shapes match perfectly with where contact is made and rubbed and heightened. You’re certain there’ll be bruises where her thumbs dug into her skin, and you can see it on her face the way one corner of her lips turn up just because she managed not to dig her nails into your skin but oh fuck is it going to bruise. she doesn’t even seem to realize, she’s too drunk on your clit to think now.

ᯓ ݁˖ PITFIGHTER VI cums and you scream because she pushes her clit all the way up yours like she wants to take up all of you in a capacity physically and biologically impossible for either of you—but she pulls your leg and waist towards her anyway, screaming your name when she cums and she pants, letting her grip lax finally as half-mast black-smeared eyes drag up your body from one last lick of the view before she collapses next to you, both of you panting and taking in the liquor and sweat.

˖ ✶ PITFIGHTER VI found the strength in her to somehow get up and pass you her waterbottle. when you tried to sit up, you winced and she snapped her head back to you only to put the waterbottle aside and slide a leg under your knee, her left arm slipping under the curves and lumps of your back and its bones before lifting you like you were wind ready to slip away. “hey woah woah—i’ve got you,” she muttered and you swore stars circled your head at how incredibly gentle she sounded, as if someone else’s sweet, unused and unexercised voice made it into such a hard-trained throat and still managed to stay soft despite everything. her hand’s grip was tight but her arms were so stable you might as well have been lying on a rock or a bumpy wall.

ᯓ ݁˖ PITFIGHTER VI lent you her jacket when she offered to at least send you off to wherever you needed to be in the morning. you were about to shrug the jacket off when it was time to leave but she chuckled weakly as her hands weigh it down on your shoulders, keeping it there before going, “nah, return it to me when we see each other next time. i’ll be at the bar every night.”

˖ ✶ PITFIGHTER VI lost her mind even more than she already had when you didn’t return for the next three days. her punching bag broke from its chain, stuffing blasting in her face and she had to go through one hell of a hassel to get a new one. but all she thought of was you and so she was ending fights quicker, thinning her voice and reducing it to a coarse hair of a sound from all the screaming. even if she had wiped the spot where both of you came, she flipped her mattress the moment she found the stain.

ᯓ ݁˖ PITFIGHTER VI jacked off to you eventually, needing to forget you quickly but after cumming found that it just might be her end because she can’t forget how sweet you smell, the taste of you somehow still lingering even when a week or two has gone by and she’s weakened by the lack of your essence—not just from your clit but from the saccharine flowers that you managed to plant in her head and her chest with the memory of your smile, eyes narrowed like it was making room for such a pretty thing. she can’t breathe when she jacks off to you, remembering how your hips twitched into her at how good her clit felt against yours.

[alaia777]

jacked and kind?

ೃ༄ barou;

you giggled while you set your phone on the drawer in your room, you don’t know how you managed to convince your boyfriend to do this trend with you, but you did.

“alright, all you just have to do is pick me up and put me on your shoulder.”

“whatever.”

a boy who’s jacked and kind. can’t find his ass to save my life.

suddenly, you’re lifted off the ground and put on his shoulder. you start to laugh, not because of the situation, but because he’s flexing his muscles in front of the camera. you put your hands on his hair and tug a little. “you’re so corny. stop flexing, who are you trying to impress?”

the next second, you’re thrown onto the bed, and he’s leaving the room, mumbling something about how a king never tries to impress anyone.

ೃ༄ bachira;

“pleaseeeee. i promise i won’t drop you.”

“bachira, no. you’re 5’9. i know for sure you’re going to drop me.”

your boyfriend was trying to convince you to do this tiktok trend he saw. you trusted him, but the last time you tried one of his ideas, you found out he’d been using your toothbrush. you didn’t speak to him for days after that.

“i’m going to stay in front of the bed so, in case something happens, you’ll fall on something soft.”

you sigh, already regretting this, and move in front of him so he can do this stupid thing.

a boy who’s jacked and kind. can’t find his ass to save my life.

you feel his hands grab your hips as he slowly lifts you onto his shoulder. you cling to him tightly, silently promising that if you’re going down, he’s coming with you. when you catch his reflection in his phone, you can’t help but smile—his expression is so adorable, so focused.

until you feel him slowly backing away.

you squint in confusion as you see him shift his weight.

“what are y—”

before you can finish your sentence, you realize exactly what he’s about to do.

ೃ༄ shidou;

you watch as your boyfriend struggles to prop his phone up, grumbling under his breath. “stupid piece of—”

“no cursing, ryusei.”

he mumbles something about not telling him what to do, and honestly, you’d snap back at him, but considering he just woke you up to do some random trend he saw on his phone, you let it slide.

“alright, stop making faces and look at the camera.”

a boy who’s jacked and kind. can’t find his ass to save my life.

before you have time to process that thought, he hoists you up onto his shoulder like you weigh nothing. grinning like an idiot, he spins around, showing off different angles to the camera.

when the video finally ends, you wait for him to put you down. but, of course, he has other plans.

“ryusei, what are you doing now?”

he strides toward the kitchen, still carrying you effortlessly. “you’re going to watch me make a sandwich. ratatouille style.”

ೃ༄ rin;

“this is stupid.”

“you are stupid. shut up and do what i just told you.”

rin couldn’t believe he agreed to do some brainless trend like this. one second, he was watching a football match on tv, and the next, he was standing in front of your phone’s camera, looking unimpressed.

“what if i decide to just drop you?”

“then you’ll be sleeping outside in your car.”

a boy who’s jacked and kind. can’t find his ass to save my life.

for a moment, he didn’t move at all, like he was genuinely refusing to take part in your trend. but just as you turned around to give him a piece of your mind, he scooped you off the ground and threw you over his shoulder. he was so stiff you almost felt bad for making him do it, but when the video ended, he surprised you—his hand gently caressed your knee, and he leaned into you.

“don’t post it.”

ೃ༄ isagi;

you were laughing so hard your sides were hurting. isagi looked like he was on the verge of tears, all because, during this trend, you accidentally hit him in the crotch with your sole, making him lose his balance.

“stop laughing, i could’ve hurt you.”

“isagi, i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to.”

“you know, this apology would’ve been better if you weren’t laughing like that.”

you wanted to go and hug him, but he seemed more focused on restarting the video. it was clear he really wanted to get this one right.

a boy who’s jacked and kind. can’t find his ass to save my life.

you sat up straight, waiting for him to pick you up again. and that’s exactly what he did. this time, he made sure your legs were far from his crotch as he lifted you onto his shoulder. when the video ended, he gently lowered you into his arms, holding you close and murmuring how much he appreciated you.

ೃ༄ i hope you guys like this one :’)

ೃ༄ also, my requests are open so please let me know if you guys have any suggestions !

[honey-tongued-devil]

HEYY

i saw the vi x chubby user and as a chubby girl I NEED more of the girlies x chubby user. please 🙀

[Arcane preference (girlies)] with a chubby s/o

I made you wait so long for nothing, I’m sorry if it���s short, BUT I haven’t forgotten about you!

Jinx:

- Forget that thing called “personal space.”

- If you want to sleep with her, you’ll be the little spoon, and she’ll even throw herself on top of you. She loves feeling human warmth, and with a partner with more body mass, it’s not painful to stay in a long embrace because no (or almost no) bones are attacking her.

- She pinches your love handles and thighs, then bursts out laughing. It's done with tenderness, she loves it to bits, and it’s something extremely rare in Zaun.

- If you can't find anything your size, she'll sew it for you from leftover fabric, or by beating up a passerby to steal their clothes. Either way, you don’t have to worry.

- If you even try to say the words "lose weight," she’ll furrow her brow, deeply offended: you’re hers, and if you lose mass, she has less of you for herself, which means you’re trying to take something from her.

- Which means for the following week, she’ll do everything to make you eat more, terrified that you might lose weight.

Vi:

- What’s the point of being so strong if not to lift you into her arms effortlessly?

- She makes you stay on her back while doing push-ups, carries you to the bedroom, and holds you on her lap on the couch.

- She’s a fighter, not a coward. If she can’t lift you, it’s not that you weigh too much, but that she’s too weak. And within three days, she’ll make sure she fixes this shortcoming.

- But it never actually happens. Vi never misses an opportunity to show you how strong she is and how special you are.

- When you talk under the blankets, she often loses herself playing with your soft spots, almost as if she’s relaxing.

Caytlin:

- She sits on your lap, but if you want, you can sit on her without any issues.

- She loves your body to bits, and if you try to hide it, she might put on a little show just to take off your shirt and enjoy what you were hiding, like your belly.

- Clothes aren’t a problem; she’ll have them made so that they not only fit you but also highlight your best features.

- No jokes here—when you go out together, she wants the world to see how proud she is of her partner and how attractive they are. So, she takes care of your preparation herself, even stealing a kiss here and there, but letting you choose what you want to wear.

Mel:

- She has a personal tailor who makes coordinated outfits for every occasion. She can’t let you look bad, and she wouldn’t want to, so she personally ensures every detail reflects you.

- She knows what you like and dislike, so she can correct the sketches herself, so when the clothes arrive, they’ll be a complete surprise.

- When you're in public, she likes to sit on your lap, if the occasion is casual enough to allow it. Otherwise, she’ll leave subtle lipstick marks on you before leaving, just enough to discreetly remind people you’re with her.

- She likes being the little spoon, feeling protected and vulnerable at least in one place, even though, subconsciously, she changes position while she sleeps. But in any case, feeling your softness against her gives her comfort.

Sevika:

- Think you’re big? Be more humble.

- She lifts you like you’re a little bunny, carries you around on her shoulder, takes you to bed in her arms, and constantly pulls you onto her lap, always keeping one hand on your waist.

- She loves skin-to-skin contact, and she’s strong enough to lift you completely onto her shoulders, with your back against the wall, and hold you like that until her ‘hunger’ passes (or until you can’t take it anymore).

- She’s still terrified of hurting you, so she always keeps you on the side of her good arm, so she doesn’t damage your body with her prosthetic limb.

- When you’re resting, she pulls you completely up onto her, no matter how tall or heavy you are, constantly reminding you that she’s big and strong enough.

[rvp32]

Falling for the Unknown Part 2

Karina x reader

Part 1

Thank you so much msafterhours and kesujo for proofreading

Karina stands in the quiet of the Seoul night, the distant hum of the city a faint backdrop to the storm of emotions swirling within her. Months ago, she had been Jimin again—not the polished idol, not the face of a million posters, but just Jimin—tangled in sheets and your arms, her heart pounding with a freedom she rarely feels. That night, she lets herself drown in you, in the way you look at her like she is everything, not just a fragment of a spotlight. But as dawn creeps closer, reality claws its way back in, cold and unrelenting.

She remembers slipping out of your embrace, your steady breathing contrasting the chaos in her mind. Her phone buzzes incessantly on the nightstand—schedules, rehearsals, a looming comeback. Her groupmates count on her, their dreams intertwined with hers, and the weight of that responsibility presses down like a vice. She stands by the bed, watching you sleep, your face soft and unguarded, and her chest aches with a longing she cannot indulge. He doesn’t deserve this, she thinks. Dragging you, a non-celebrity with a life untouched by the madness of her world, into the relentless scrutiny, the rumors, the suffocating expectations, would be cruel. She imagines a future where you resent her for it, where the spark between you dulls under the glare of her reality, and it breaks her.

So she leaves. A whispered thank you scribbled on a note is all she manages, a fragile apology for cutting herself out of your life. She wants to stay—God, how she wants to stay—curled against you, pretending the world outside doesn’t exist. But she turns away, slipping back into Karina, the idol, the untouchable star, and buries that night deep where it cannot hurt her. Or so she thinks.

Now, standing outside the stadium after the halftime performance, the past rushed back with a vengeance. She’d seen you on the sideline, your eyes wide with recognition, and her carefully constructed mask had cracked. The dance moves had felt mechanical after that, her mind spinning with the shock of your presence. You were here, in her world, and the distance she’d forced between you felt like a wound reopening.

The air between you and Jimin crackles with tension as you face each other, the stadium’s noise fading into a dull hum. She’s close enough that you can see the faint tremble in her hands, the way her eyes dart nervously before settling on yours. The months apart haven’t dulled the pull you feel toward her—it’s sharper now, edged with the pain of her absence. You want to step forward, to pull her into your arms and kiss her until the questions and the hurt melt away, but you hold yourself back, fists clenched at your sides. She left you once, and the fear of reaching out only to lose her again keeps you rooted.

Her lips part, then close, as if she’s searching for words she’s scared of saying. Her voice was soft but strained, carrying the weight of everything unsaid. Your throat tightens, and you force a nod, the memory of that empty bed and her note flashing through your mind.

“Yeah,” you manage, your tone clipped despite the storm raging inside you. “Guess the universe has a cruel sense of humor.” You want to ask why she left, why she didn’t fight for you, but the words stick, tangled in the ache of wanting her so badly it hurts. She can't seem to meet your eyes fully, darting back and forth, meeting your gaze and flickering back onto the ground, in an endless, restless cycle. In the corner of her eyes, you can see her grip on her arm tightening, her feet shuffling every so often: there's an impatience about her, something about your presence that seems to make her uneasy, and while it makes you feel bad in more ways than one, it also arouses within you an urge to hold her—and it only makes the urge to hold her stronger, your resolve fraying with every second she stands there, so close yet untouchable. 

The silence stretches, thick and awkward, as you and Jimin stand there, the weight of months apart pressing down on you both. You shift your weight, she fidgets with the hem of her hoodie, and then—

“Why did you—” you start, just as she says, “I didn’t mean—”

You both freeze, a nervous laugh escaping her lips while you rub the back of your neck. “You go first,” you say, gesturing toward her, your voice softer than you intend.

Jimin opens her mouth, her expression shifting to something vulnerable, but before a word can escape, a sharp voice cuts through the tension. “Karina, we need to go. The van’s waiting.” A man—broad-shouldered, clipboard in hand, with the unmistakable air of a manager—approaches, his tone brisk. Her face tightens, and she glances at him, then back at you, a flicker of frustration in her eyes.

“I—” she starts, then stops, turning fully to you. “Can I have your number? I want to talk. Really talk.” Her voice is low and urgent, and you nod quickly, fumbling for your phone. You exchange numbers in a rush, her fingers brushing yours as she hands it back, sending a jolt through you.

“Text me,” she says, her gaze lingering as the manager huffs impatiently. Then she’s gone, swept away by her world, leaving you standing there, heart racing.

*************************************************************************************************************

Later that night, you text her: When are you free? Her reply comes fast—Tomorrow, late. After midnight. Can we meet somewhere private? You suggest your hotel room, knowing the risk of being spotted together could spark chaos. She agrees, and the hours crawl by until the clock ticks past midnight.

A soft knock pulls you from your restless pacing. You open the door, and there she is—Jimin, or Karina, or whoever she is tonight—slipping inside, hood up, eyes wary but searching. You close the door behind her, and the room feels smaller, the air charged with everything unsaid.

“Hey,” she says, pulling down her hood, her hair spilling loose. She looks softer here, away from the stadium lights, but there’s a tension in her shoulders you can’t ignore.

“Hey,” you echo, leaning against the desk, arms crossed to keep your hands from reaching for her. “So… talk.”

She takes a deep breath, sitting on the edge of the bed, her fingers twisting together. “I owe you an explanation. About that night. About… me.” She meets your gaze, and there’s a rawness there that makes your chest tighten. “I’m Karina from Aespa. That’s my real life—stages, schedules, cameras. That night, with you, I was just Jimin. For once, I got to be someone else.”

You blink, the pieces clicking into place—her disappearance, the secrecy, the note. “You’re an idol,” you say, more to yourself than to her, running a hand through your hair. “And I’m—well, I guess I should tell you too. I’m not just some random guy. I play for Manchester United. Midfielder. Just got back from injury.”

“Guess we were both hiding something,” you say, a wry smile tugging at your lips. But it fades as the real question looms. “Why’d you leave, Jimin? That night—it felt real. Then I woke up, and you were gone. Just a note. ‘Thank you.’ Like it was nothing.”

Her face falls, guilt shadowing her features. “It wasn’t nothing. It was everything. That’s why I left.” She looks down, voice trembling. “I wanted to stay so badly. You have no idea how much. But I had rehearsals at dawn, a comeback to prepare for. My groupmates—they depend on me. And you… you didn’t sign up for my mess. The fans, the cameras, the chaos. I thought dragging you into that would ruin you.”

You step closer, unable to stop yourself, though you still don’t touch her. “You didn’t even give me a choice. I woke up thinking I’d dreamed you up, Jimin. That note—it broke me.”

“I know,” she whispers. “I hated myself for it. I thought I was protecting you, but I was just scared. Scared of what I felt, scared of what it’d do to you. I didn’t want you to hate me later.”

“I could never hate you,” you say, your voice rough with the truth of it. “I’ve been looking for you ever since. Every day, wondering where you went, why you didn’t trust me enough to stay.”

She stands, closing the distance between you, her hands hovering near your chest before settling there, tentative. “I trust you now. I didn’t leave because I didn’t want you— I left because I cared, no, I care about you and was worried about pulling you into a life you never chose to live. I thought it was the right thing, but it wasn’t. I’m sorry.”

You look into her eyes, seeing the regret, the longing, and it cracks your restraint. “I wanted you too,” you admit, voice low. “Still do.” Your hands twitch, aching to hold her, but you wait, letting her words settle, the misunderstanding unraveling like a knot finally loosened.

The air in the room thickens with the weight of your confessions, the space between you and Karina—Jimin—shrinking as her hands rest lightly on your chest. Her touch is hesitant, but it burns through you, reigniting every buried feeling from that night. Her apology lingers in your ears, her eyes searching yours for forgiveness, for understanding, and you can’t hold back anymore.

You cup her face gently, thumbs brushing along her cheekbones, and she leans into your touch, her breath hitching. “Jimin,” you murmur, her name a tether pulling you closer, and then you kiss her. It’s slow at first, tentative, a question answered as her lips part beneath yours, soft and warm and so achingly familiar. The intimacy of it steals your breath—her taste, the way she melts against you, her fingers curling into your shirt like she’s afraid you’ll vanish. It’s not just a kiss; it’s a reclamation, a stitching together of everything torn apart by her absence.

You deepen it, one hand sliding to the nape of her neck, tangling in her hair as you tilt her head just so, and she responds with a quiet whimper that sends a shiver down your spine. Her lips move with yours in perfect sync, a dance of longing and relief, and you pour every missed moment into it—the nights you wondered, the days you ached. She presses closer, her body fitting against yours like it never left, and the world outside fades until it’s just her, just you, just this.

You pull back slightly, needing to see her, to ground yourself in the reality of her here in your arms. Your foreheads rest together, breaths mingling as you stare into her eyes. They’re dark, endless, shimmering with something raw—regret, desire, hope. Her pupils dilate, her gaze flicking to your lips and back, and you see the moment she breaks. “I missed you,” she whispers, voice trembling, and it’s all the warning you get before she moves.

Jimin shifts with feline grace, climbing onto your lap in a single fluid motion that steals the air from your lungs. You’re still perched near the coffee table, its sharp edge grazing your knee as she straddles you, her toned thighs bracketing your hips with a firm, possessive grip. Her hands cradle your face, fingertips trembling faintly against your jaw, and then she dives in—kissing you with a raw, insatiable hunger that obliterates your thoughts. Her lips crash against yours, hot and urgent, and you groan into her mouth, a deep, primal sound that vibrates between you. Your hands snap to her waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh beneath her hoodie as you yank her closer, her body molding seamlessly to yours.

The weight of her atop you—the delicious press of her lithe, warm frame against your chest—ignites a wildfire in your veins. She rocks subtly, a teasing shift of her hips that sends a dizzying rush through you, and your hands glide up her back, tracing the elegant curve of her spine. Beneath the fabric, her skin is satin-smooth, her muscles flexing faintly as she moves. Her tongue brushes yours—tentative at first, then bold and demanding—and the kiss turns sloppy, a chaotic dance of lips, teeth, and breathless need. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” she gasps between kisses, her voice fracturing with desire as she grinds down harder, the friction of her pelvis against your growing erection sparking a heat that threatens to unravel you both.

You pull her flush against you, fingers sinking into the plush give of her hips, anchoring her as you lose yourself in her essence—the sweet, faintly salty taste of her lips, the press of her boobs against your chest, the soft whimpers she muffles against your mouth. It’s intoxicating, the way she fits so perfectly in your lap, her slender frame a puzzle piece slotting into yours. Her kisses carry the weight of every moment she’s been gone, a desperate reclamation of what distance stole.

The kiss deepens, a tangle of ragged breaths and clashing tongues, and the ache of missing her for months surges through you like a tidal wave. Karina’s hands grip your face tighter, her nails grazing your skin as she straddles you, her thighs flexing with each restless shift. You can feel the heat pouring off her, the damp warmth seeping through her shorts where she presses against your straining cock. It’s not enough—nowhere near enough. You need her closer, need to dissipate every inch of separation time carved between you.

Your hands slide beneath her thighs, firm and possessive, gripping the taut muscle as you stand in one swift motion. She gasps softly against your lips, a startled little sound that melts into a moan as you lift her effortlessly. Her legs wrap around your waist, locking tight, her ankles hooking at the small of your back. You don’t break the kiss—not for a heartbeat—as you carry her toward the bed, her fingers digging into your shoulders with a needy intensity. Her lips stay fused to yours, hungry and unrelenting, and you stumble slightly, too consumed by her to care about grace. The mattress edge bumps your knees, and you lower her onto it, her lithe body sinking into the sheets as you follow, hovering over her, your forearms braced on either side of her head.

“God, I missed you,” you murmur against her lips, your voice rough with the aching truth of it, and she arches up, her chest pressing into yours. Her hands claw at your shirt, tugging insistently, and you pull back just enough to rip it over your head, tossing it aside. Her eyes darken as they roam over your bare chest, drinking in the hard planes of muscle, the faint scars. Her fingers trace the lines of your pecs, then lower, mapping you like she’s relearning every inch.

“I missed you too,” she breathes, her voice trembling with the same pent-up longing that’s been gnawing at you. She sits up, peeling her hoodie off in one smooth motion, revealing the expanse of her smooth, golden skin and a simple black bra that clings to her round, firm breasts. Her nipples pebble faintly beneath the fabric, and your hands are on her instantly, sliding up her sides, savoring the warmth radiating from her. She shivers under your touch, her breath hitching as your thumbs brush the sensitive skin just below her ribcage.

You kiss her again, slower this time but no less desperate, your tongue teasing hers in a languid, deliberate dance as you ease her back onto the bed. Her hands roam your back, nails grazing lightly over your shoulder blades, leaving faint, tingling trails. You trail your lips down her jaw, then her neck, tasting the salt of her skin as you go. She tilts her head, offering more, and you linger at her collarbone, sucking gently until a faint, rosy mark blooms beneath your mouth—a quiet claim. “Mine,” you whisper, half to yourself, and she moans softly, her fingers threading through your hair, tugging just enough to send a spark of pleasure-pain down your spine.

“Not fair,” she murmurs, a playful lilt cutting through the heat in her voice. She pulls you down, her lips finding the taut skin just below your collarbone. Her mouth is searing, deliberate as she kisses the spot, then sucks hard, her tongue flicking against you. The sensation jolts through you—sharp and electric—and you groan, your cock twitching in your jeans as her teeth graze your skin, leaving a bruise to mirror hers. She pulls back, smirking at her handiwork, a glint of satisfaction in her eyes, and you grin back—until the primal urge to touch her overtakes you again.

You ease her onto her back, hands roaming her flat stomach, teasing the waistband of her shorts. “You’re too much,” you say, voice low and teasing as you pop the button open, dragging the zipper down with excruciating slowness. She lifts her hips, helping you peel the denim away, and you take your time, letting your fingers skim the silken insides of her thighs—soft yet firm, trembling faintly under your touch. You stop just shy of her core, and her breath catches, her legs parting slightly as she whines, “Stop teasing.”

“Not yet,” you reply, smirking as you lean down, pressing a kiss to the tender skin of her inner thigh. You move higher, closer, your breath ghosting over her warmth, and her hips buck, chasing your mouth. Her chest heaves, her round breasts rising and falling rapidly, frustration simmering in her half-lidded eyes. You slide her panties down, revealing her glistening core—pink and slick with want—and the sight makes your throat tighten, your cock aching painfully against your jeans. “Fuck, I’ve missed this,” you say, voice raw with hunger, and you dip your head, kissing just above her clit, teasing her with the faintest brush of your lips.

“Please,” she gasps, her hands fisting the sheets, knuckles whitening, and you relent—just a little. Your tongue flicks out, tracing her slowly, savoring her sweet, musky taste as her body trembles beneath you. She’s warm and wet, and every shuddering moan she lets out stokes the fire in your gut. You circle her clit, deliberate and torturous, sucking gently until she’s writhing, her voice breaking on your name in a desperate, jagged plea.

When you finally pull back, she’s panting, her eyes glassy with need. You shed your pants and boxers in a frantic rush, climbing back over her, and she drags you down, kissing you fiercely, tasting herself on your lips. “I need you,” she whispers, her legs wrapping around your hips, pulling you close. You tease her one last time, sliding your cock along her entrance, coating yourself in her slick heat, and she groans, her nails biting into your back hard enough to leave crescent marks.

“Missed you so fucking much,” you growl, and then you push inside her, slow and deep. The sensation is overwhelming—her tight, wet heat envelops you, her walls fluttering around your shaft as you stretch her open. She cries out, her head tipping back into the pillow, exposing the delicate column of her throat, and you feel her pulse racing beneath your lips as you bury your face in her neck. “Jimin,” you groan, starting to move, each thrust a visceral reminder of how much you’ve craved her—how much you’ve needed this.

She meets you thrust for thrust, her hips rising to match your rhythm, her moans loud and unrestrained, filling the room. “Harder,” she gasps, her voice raw with desperation, and you oblige, slamming into her with a force that makes the bedframe creak. Her body arches beneath you, her breasts pressing into your chest as you grip her thighs, spreading her wider. The angle lets you hit deeper, your cock brushing that spot inside her that draws a scream from her lips, sharp and uninhibited. “Yes—fuck, just like that,” she pants, her words ragged, her face flushed and glistening with sweat.

You pull her up slightly, shifting so she’s half-sitting, and kiss her again—messy, deep, all tongue and clashing teeth—as you drive into her relentlessly. Her hands clutch your shoulders, her breath scorching against your lips, and you feel her tightening around you, her walls pulsing with every thrust. “I’m so close,” she whimpers, her voice breaking, and you push harder, your own release coiling tight in your core as her body trembles on the brink.

When she cums, it’s with a cry of your name, her body shuddering violently beneath you. Her walls clamp down around your cock, milking you as she unravels, her eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in a silent scream of ecstasy. The sight—her flushed cheeks, her arched back, the raw vulnerability of her pleasure—shatters you. You groan, spilling inside her, the pleasure crashing through you in blinding waves as your cock pulses, filling her with heat. You hold her tight, riding out the aftershocks together, your breaths mingling in the stillness.

You collapse against her, both of you sweaty and breathless, and she clings to you, her lips brushing your ear as she whispers, “I’m never leaving again.” Her voice is soft, shaky, but certain, and it sends a warmth through you that has nothing to do with the sex.

You pull back just enough to kiss the mark you left on her collarbone, then press your forehead to hers, your noses brushing as the afterglow settles over you like a second skin. The world narrows to this—the quiet rhythm of her breathing, the steady beat of her heart against yours, and the unspoken promise hanging in the air.

*************************************************************************************************************

The morning light filters through the curtains of your hotel room, casting a gentle glow across the bed where you lie, still wrapped in the warmth of last night’s passion. You stir awake, the weight of Karina’s arms around you pulling you back to reality. Her grip is tight, almost desperate, her fingers curled into your side as if she’s afraid you’ll slip away like she once did. It’s a silent plea, a fear mirrored in the way her body presses against yours, her chest rising and falling steadily in sleep. You can feel the tension in her hold, and it tugs at your heart—a reminder of how much she’s been carrying, how much she fears losing you again.

You shift slightly, careful not to wake her, and take a moment to admire her. Her face, inches from yours, is a vision of serenity, illuminated by the soft light. Her dark hair fans out across the pillow, framing her delicate features—those almond-shaped eyes, closed now but still vivid in your memory, framed by thick lashes that curl gently against her cheeks. Her skin glows, smooth and flawless, with a subtle flush that lingers from the night before. Her lips, full and slightly parted, are a soft pink, still swollen from your kisses, and the beauty mark near the corner of her mouth catches your eye, a perfect detail in her otherwise ethereal face. Her high cheekbones and sharp jawline, softened by sleep, are as striking as the poised idol you saw on stage, but here, in this quiet moment, she’s just Jimin—vulnerable, real, and breathtakingly beautiful.

You can’t resist reaching out, your fingers brushing a strand of hair from her face. Leaning in, you press a tender kiss to her forehead. The contact is light, but it stirs her. Her brows furrow slightly as her eyes flutter open. She blinks, disoriented, and her grip on you tightens for a moment before relaxing as recognition dawns.

“Good morning,” you whisper, a smile tugging at your lips as you lean in to kiss her, craving the taste of her again. But she turns her head away, her cheek pressing into the pillow, a shy giggle escaping her.

“No, wait—” she mumbles, her voice groggy but playful, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. “Morning breath.”

You chuckle, the sound warm and genuine, and you gently cup her face, turning her back toward you. “I don’t care,” you say, your voice soft but firm, and before she can protest again, you kiss her. It’s slow and sweet, her lips hesitant at first but softening under yours, the taste of her—morning breath or not—exactly what you’ve been craving since she walked back into your life. She melts into it, her arms loosening their grip to wrap around your neck, and you pull her closer, the laughter fading into a shared, quiet intimacy that feels like coming home.

The morning lingers in comfortable silence, the warmth of your kiss fading into a gentle closeness as you both lie tangled in the sheets. Jimin shifts beside you, propping herself up on one elbow. Her dark hair falls over her shoulder as she looks at you with those captivating eyes. “What if we went on a date today?” she suggests her voice soft but laced with excitement. “Just the two of us.”

You hesitate, the image of paparazzi flashes, and headlines flash through your mind. “I don’t know, Jimin,” you say, your tone cautious. “I’d love to, but… what if someone sees us? I don’t want to cause trouble for you—your career, your group. It’s risky.”

Her expression softens, and she reaches out, her hand resting lightly on your arm. “I get it, I do. But I’ve spent months hiding, running from this—from us. I don’t want to do that anymore. I’ve noticed some llittle spots that linger in my mind, and I catch myself picturing us there, sharing quiet moments. And the other day, a film played on the flight, its warmth sticking with me, making me think of us tucked away together, enjoying the story. We can be careful. There’s a private restaurant I know, with private rooms. No one will see us. Please?” Her plea is earnest, her eyes pleading, and the way she looks at you—vulnerable yet determined—chips away at your reluctance.

After a moment, you nod, a small smile breaking through. “Okay. Let’s do it. Private restaurant it is.”

*************************************************************************************************************

Later that evening, you’re seated across from her in a secluded room, the soft glow of candlelight casting shadows on the walls. The table is small and intimate, and the door is locked behind you, ensuring your privacy. The meal—delicate Korean dishes served with care—sits mostly untouched as the conversation deepens, the food secondary to the connection reigniting between you.

Karina leans forward, her hands clasped in front of her, her gaze steady but emotional. “You know,” she begins, her voice low and sincere, “you make me feel so safe. Like I can breathe, even with all the chaos in my life. That night we spent together—it wasn’t just passion for me. It was the first time I felt like I could be myself, not Karina the idol, but Jimin. And then I left, and I missed you every single day. The way you looked at me, the way you held me—it haunted me. I can’t believe I almost gave this up because I was too scared. Too scared of what people might think, of what it might do to you. I was wrong.”

Her words hit you hard, stirring your longing since she disappeared. You reach across the table, your hand hovering over hers before you gently take it, your thumb brushing over her knuckles. “I missed you too,” you admit, your voice rough with emotion. “More than I can say. And I don’t want to lose you again.” You pause, the question burning in your chest, and before you can overthink it, you blurt out, “Jimin—Karina—will you be my girlfriend?”

Her eyes widen, and for a moment, she doesn’t respond, her lips parting as if searching for words. The silence stretches, and panic creeps in. “I know it’s quick and random, and maybe I’m rushing this,” you ramble, your free hand running through your hair. “But I don’t want to let you go. I’ve spent too long wondering where you were, and now that you’re here, I—”

She cuts you off with a laugh, bright and melodic, her head tilting back as she squeezes your hand. “You’re adorable when you’re nervous,” she teases, her eyes sparkling with affection. Then her expression softens, and she leans closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that feels like a promise. “Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend. With you, I feel like I’ve found a home I didn’t know I needed—a place where I can be me, fully and without fear. I want to build this with you, step by step, through every hidden room and stolen moment, because you’re worth it. You’ve always been worth it.”

Her words wrap around you, warm and romantic. You can’t help but smile, your heart swelling as you gently kiss her hand.

*************************************************************************************************************

Over the next few days of Manchester United’s tour in South Korea, you and Karina carve out stolen moments in secret places, each date a cherished escape from the world. You meet her at a hidden rooftop garden in Gangnam, the city lights sprawling below as you share whispered conversations and soft kisses under the stars. Another night, you sneak into a private hanok courtyard in Bukchon, the traditional wooden walls shielding you as you hold hands and laugh over shared street food. You even manage a late-night stroll through a secluded trail in Namsan Mountain’s forest, the darkness cloaking you both as you steal glances and brush against each other, the air filled with the scent of pine and her perfume. Every second with her feels like a gift—her laughter lights up your world, her touch grounds you, and the way she looks at you, unguarded and real, makes you forget the looming end of your time together.

But the final day arrives, inevitable and heavy. You’re at the airport, your team already boarding for the flight back to Manchester, and Karina stands before you in a quiet corner of the terminal, her hoodie pulled low to avoid recognition. Your chest tightens as you pull her into a hug, her arms wrapping around you with a desperation that mirrors your own. “I don’t want to go,” you murmur into her hair, the words raw and honest, but you both know it’s not something you can change—not with her comeback looming and your season about to start. She pulls back, her eyes glistening but resolute, and presses a lingering kiss to your lips, a silent promise that this isn’t the end, even as you step away, the ache of leaving her settling deep in your bones.

Karina watches as you disappear through the airport gate, your figure swallowed by the crowd until there is nothing left but the echo of your goodbye in her heart. The weight of your departure crashes over her the moment you are out of sight, and tears spill down her cheeks, unchecked, as she makes her way back to the van. The ride to the dorm blurs into a haze of quiet sobs, her hands trembling as she presses them to her face, unable to believe how deeply she has let herself fall for you. In just a few stolen days, you weave yourself into her soul—your laughter, your touch, the way you make her feel safe—and now the emptiness suffocates her.

When she finally reaches her room, the door clicking shut behind her, she drops her bag and moves instinctively to her bed. Her fingers find the tiger cub toy you won for her at the bustling street market. Its soft fur is a tangible reminder of your grin as you hand it to her. She clutches it tightly to her chest, curling into a ball as fresh tears soak into its surface. Then, reaching for the hoodie she slyly took from you—a bold theft masked by a playful kiss—she pulls it over her head. The fabric envelops her, carrying your scent—earthy, warm, and unmistakably you—and she buries her face in the collar, inhaling deeply. It is a poor substitute for your presence, but it wraps her in a fragile comfort, easing the ache just enough to let her drift into a restless sleep, dreaming of the next time she sees you.

Karina knows she misses this—misses the rare, unguarded moments where she sheds the weight of her public persona and simply is. She misses the freedom of her truest self blooming in your presence, unfurling like a flower kissed by dawn after a long, cold night. Most of all, she misses you—misses the way you see through the layers she has so carefully crafted for the world, peering straight into her soul with those warm, knowing eyes. Even after she bares her deepest secret, confessing the identity she hides behind the spotlight, you never waver. You still call her Jimin, her name falling from your lips like a soft, cherished melody, untouched by the chaos of her fame.

She adores how it sounds in your voice—smooth and tender, a quiet caress that wraps around her heart each time you speak it. “Jimin,” you say, the syllables rolling off your tongue with a reverence that makes her feel seen, truly seen, not as an idol or a symbol, but as the woman she is beneath it all. It is a simple act, yet it carries a profound intimacy, a promise that you hold her authenticity close, cradling it like something precious. In those moments, with your voice threading through the air between you, she feels anchored, loved in a way that transcends the fleeting adoration of crowds. She misses that sound, that feeling, the way it tethers her to you—a lifeline she hadn’t known she needed until it becomes hers.

Back in England, the rhythm of your life as a Manchester United midfielder picks up with the intensity of the season, but Jimin—Karina—remains a constant, grounding presence despite the distance. You both make it work, carving out time for video calls whenever your schedules align, often late at night for her due to her packed idol schedule. Her face lights up your screen, sometimes framed by the dim glow of her dorm room, other times from a backstage corner during a break. “I’m so tired,” she’ll admit at 2 a.m. her time, her voice soft but warm, “but talking to you makes it better.” You smile, urging her to rest, but she insists on staying up, craving the connection as much as you do.

Your conversations flow effortlessly across a wide range of topics—her latest dance practice struggles, your grueling training sessions, funny stories about her groupmates, and your teammates’ locker room antics. One night, she giggles, her eyes sparkling through the screen. “My members figured out I’m dating someone—they keep teasing me about how I’m always smiling at my phone. But I haven’t told them it’s you. Not yet.” You laugh, imagining her blushing under their scrutiny, and the thought of being her secret makes your heart race.

As the Premier League season kicks off, Jimin surprises you during a call after one of your matches. “I’ve been learning more about football,” she says, her tone proud. “I watched some breakdowns online, and now I can really appreciate how good you are. That assist you made last game? Insane.” Her words catch you off guard, a flush creeping up your neck as you rub the back of your head, trying to play it cool. “You’re making me blush, stop it,” you mutter, but her laughter only grows, bright and infectious. “I also try to watch your matches whenever I can,” she adds, “even if I’m half-asleep on a plane. You’re worth it.”

Through your late-night scrolling, you stumble across a fan page mentioning Jimin's birthday. An idea sparks, and you spend days planning the perfect long-distance gift. You settle on a delicate platinum necklace with a small pendant shaped like a heart with ‘I love you Jimin’ engraved on the back, paired with a handwritten letter pouring out how much she means to you. You arrange for it to be delivered to her dorm through a discreet courier, ensuring her privacy.

A few days later, during your next video call, Jimin’s eyes are brimming with emotion as she holds up the necklace, the pendant glinting in the light. “I love it,” she says, her voice trembling with gratitude. “It’s so thoughtful—I can’t believe you remembered the tiger cub. And your letter… I cried reading it. Thank you, really.” She clasps the necklace around her neck, her fingers brushing the pendant with a soft smile. “I’ll wear it all the time. It’s like having a piece of you with me.” Your heart swells at her reaction, the distance between you shrinking just a little at that moment.

The days stretch on, each one marked by the gnawing ache of missing Jimin. Your mornings start with thoughts of her smile, your evenings end with the memory of her touch, and every quiet moment in between is filled with longing for the sound of her voice. In England, the grind of training and matches keeps you busy, but it’s never enough to fill the void she left when you parted at the airport. Meanwhile, her texts hint at the same yearning—late-night messages about how she stares at the necklace, how the hoodie she stole from you still carries your scent, and how she wishes she could feel your arms around her again. The distance feels unbearable, yet your video calls, scattered across time zones, become a lifeline, a way to bridge the gap between Manchester and Seoul.

One night, during one of your usual calls, the screen flickers to life, revealing Jimin in her dimly lit dorm room, her face framed by tousled hair. But something’s off—her breathing is uneven, punctuated by occasional gasps, and her voice carries a strange, breathy edge, distracted and distant. “Hey,” she says, her words faltering slightly, and you tilt your head, narrowing your eyes.

“Jimin, what’s going on?” you ask, your voice tinged with curiosity as it crackles through the video call. She shakes her head quickly, a breathy “Nothing” slipping from her lips, but the gesture feels hollow. Her dark eyes flicker away from the screen, betraying her, and you catch the subtle shift of her hand disappearing below the frame. Leaning closer, you study her—the faint quiver in her slender shoulders, the way her full lips part with each shallow, uneven breath. Then it clicks: she’s touching herself. Her fingers, hidden just out of view, are working her slick, needy pussy, her body betraying her attempt to stay composed while she pretends to focus on you.

A slow, mischievous grin curls your lips as you decide to play with her. “Oh, I see what you’re up to,” you tease, your voice dropping low and warm, laced with amusement. Her reaction is instant—her cheeks flush a deep, rosy pink, the color blooming across her smooth skin as her wide, doe-like eyes snap back to you in mortification. “I—I didn’t mean for you to—” she stammers, her hand stalling beneath the desk, fingers glistening with her own arousal. You interrupt her gently, your tone softening but carrying a hungry edge.

“No, don’t stop,” you murmur, your voice dipping into a husky, commanding register that sends a shiver through her. “Keep going. Let me watch you.” Her blush deepens, painting her neck and chest in a faint glow, but she nods shyly, her hesitation melting under your gaze. Her hand resumes its rhythm, slow and deliberate at first, and you can just make out the way her delicate fingers slip between her wet folds. Her pussy is slick and pink, glistening in the soft light as she parts her thighs slightly, giving you a better view. Her thumb grazes her swollen clit in tight, needy circles, and the sight ignites a surge of heat that races down your spine, pooling in your groin. Your own hand drifts instinctively, sliding beneath the waistband of your pants to wrap around your hardening cock. The first touch sends a jolt through you—your shaft thickens in your grip, warm and pulsing as you stroke yourself slowly, syncing with her tentative pace.

“God, I wish I was there,” you groan, your voice rough with want as your fingers tighten around your length. Precum beads at the tip, slicking your hand as you drag it along your shaft, the friction sparking a low burn in your core. “I’d bury my face between your legs, taste every inch of you—lick you slow until you’re dripping for me.” You imagine her sweetness on your tongue, the way her thighs would tremble against your cheeks, her soft moans filling the air.

Jimin lets out a quiet, desperate moan, her fingers picking up speed as she responds to your words. Her pussy shines wetter on the camera, her arousal coating her hand as she spreads her legs wider, her hips tilting forward. Her body is a vision—petite but curvaceous, her small breasts rising and falling beneath her thin tank top, nipples pressing faintly against the fabric. “I miss you so much,” she gasps, her voice trembling with raw need, her long, dark hair clinging to her sweat-dampened neck. “I wish you were here, filling me up with your cock instead of my fingers. Touch yourself harder—please.”

Her plea sends a thrill through you, and you obey without hesitation. Your strokes grow firmer, your grip tightening as your cock throbs eagerly in your hand, the veins along its length pulsing with each rough tug. You can almost feel her—her tight, wet heat clenching around you, her walls fluttering as you thrust into her. “Like this?” you ask, your voice gravelly, and she nods with a frantic little whimper, her eyes glued to the screen where your hand moves in a steady, relentless rhythm. “Yes—faster,” she begs, her fingers plunging deeper into her soaked pussy, her knuckles brushing her clit with every thrust. Her hips buck slightly, her toned thighs tensing as she grinds against her own touch, chasing that edge. Her moans climb higher, breathy and unrestrained, her free hand clutching the edge of her desk so hard her knuckles whiten. You can see her inner walls tightening around her fingers, her clit flushed and swollen beneath her circling thumb, and it drives you wild.

“I want to feel you come,” you growl, your hand pumping your cock with desperate urgency now, the heat coiling tight at the base of your spine. Your balls draw up, heavy and aching, as you imagine sinking into her, the way her body would arch beneath you. “Picture it’s me inside you, Jimin. I’d thrust so deep, stretch you open, make you scream my name until you’re shaking.”

“Oh God—yes,” she cries, her voice breaking as her orgasm crashes over her. Her body trembles violently, her fingers buried to the hilt in her pulsing pussy, her juices spilling over her hand and dripping onto the chair beneath her. Her head tips back, exposing the graceful line of her throat as she rides the waves, her lips parted in a silent scream of ecstasy. The sight shatters your control—your cock jerks in your hand, and with a guttural groan, you cum hard. Hot, thick streaks spill over your fingers, splattering across your stomach as your hips twitch, every pulse a release of the tension you’d built watching her.

Panting, you both ease to a stop, your chest heaving as you catch your breath. Jimin’s hand slips from between her legs, her fingers slick and trembling as she wipes them on her thigh. A shy, dazed smile breaks through her flushed face, her eyes half-lidded with satisfaction. “I can’t believe we just did that,” she whispers, her voice soft and shaky, a contrast to the boldness she’d shown moments ago. You chuckle, grabbing a tissue to clean yourself up, the sound warm and intimate despite the miles between you.

“Me neither,” you admit, your tone tender as the afterglow settles over you like a blanket. “But I meant it—I wish I was there with you. Soon, okay?”

“Soon,” she echoes, her eyes softening with a mix of longing and contentment, the distance between you shrinking just a little in the hazy warmth that follows.

One evening, as the golden hues of a Manchester sunset filter through your apartment window, you settle in for another video call with Jimin. Her face appears on the screen, her eyes sparkling with a brightness that makes your heart skip a beat. “I’ve got something to tell you,” she says, her voice practically vibrating with excitement, and you lean closer, hanging on her every word. “Aespa’s going on tour next month—and we’re stopping in England! London, Manchester, the whole deal!”

The words slam into you like a tidal wave, and for a moment, you’re speechless, your chest tightening with a rush of joy so intense it almost hurts. “Are you serious?” you finally choke out, your voice cracking as a wide, uncontrollable grin spreads across your face. “Jimin, you’re really coming here? I’m going to see you?” Your hands grip the edge of the table, your pulse racing as the reality sinks in. After months of longing, of aching for her touch, the thought of holding her again feels like a dream you’re terrified to wake up from.

“Yes, I’m serious!” she laughs, her own excitement mirroring yours, her eyes crinkling at the corners in that way you adore. “I couldn’t believe it when they told us. All I could think about was you—finally seeing you, being with you. I’ve been counting down the days already.”

“God, Jimin,” you say, your voice thick with emotion, “you have no idea how much I’ve missed you. I feel like I’ve been holding my breath since I left Korea, and now I can finally breathe again. I can’t wait to hold you, to kiss you, to just… be with you.” Your throat tightens, and you blink back the sting of tears, overwhelmed by how much she means to you.

“I’ve missed you too,” she whispers, her voice softening, her gaze locking onto yours through the screen. “Every day, every second. I keep touching the necklace you gave me, thinking about you. I can’t wait to be in your arms again.”

The call ends with your heart soaring, the promise of her arrival a beacon lighting up the days ahead. After training the next day, your phone buzzes, and you open a message to hear Jimin’s voice—pure, hauntingly beautiful, filling your ears with an unreleased song. Her vocals soar through the melody, a perfect blend of longing and tenderness, each note wrapping around you like a warm embrace. You listen to it on repeat, letting her voice wash over you, and it becomes your sanctuary—something you play whenever you’re alone, whether you’re on the team bus, in the locker room, or lying in bed at night, her voice a tether to her across the miles.

The following day, you can’t wait to tell her how much it means to you. You call her, your excitement spilling over the moment she answers. “Jimin, that song—it’s incredible,” you say, your voice brimming with awe. “Your voice… it’s like magic. It’s so perfect for the melody like it was made for you to sing. I’ve been listening to it nonstop, every chance I get. When I’m alone, it’s like you’re right here with me. I can’t stop hearing you.”

Her laughter comes through, soft and delighted, and you can see the faint blush creeping up her cheeks on the screen. “You really think so?” she asks, her tone shy but warm. “I was so nervous sending it to you. But knowing you love it, that it’s with you like that… it makes me so happy. It’s like I’m there with you, even when I can’t be.”

“You are,” you say, your voice low and earnest. “Every note, every word—it’s you, Jimin. And it’s keeping me going until I can see you. I love you.” The words slip out, raw and unfiltered, and her eyes widen for a moment before softening, a smile tugging at her lips.

“I love you too,” she whispers, and the words settle deep in your chest, a promise that makes the wait for her arrival feel both endless and worth every second.

*************************************************************************************************************

The day finally arrives when Aespa’s tour reaches London, and the anticipation has been building inside you like a crescendo, each passing hour amplifying your excitement. Thanks to Jimin, you’ve secured VIP tickets and backstage access, a privilege that feels surreal as you watch the concert from the front row, her voice soaring through the arena, her every move a testament to her artistry. The crowd roars, but your eyes are locked on her, your heart pounding with the knowledge that you’ll see her soon.

As the final notes fade and the lights dim, you’re ushered backstage, your pulse racing. The moment you spot her, standing near a dressing room door, still glowing from the performance, you don’t hesitate. You close the distance in a few strides, pulling her into a tight hug, your arms wrapping around her with a fierceness born from months apart. “Jimin,” you breathe into her hair, and she melts against you, her arms squeezing you back just as hard. Then you tilt her face up, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss—deep, hungry, and filled with all the longing you’ve carried. Her lips part under yours, her breath hitching as she kisses you back with equal fervor, the world narrowing to just the two of you until the sound of giggles breaks you apart.

She pulls back, her cheeks flushed, and turns to the three women standing nearby—her groupmates, Winter, Ningning, and Giselle—watching with wide eyes and amused grins. “Guys, this is… my boyfriend,” she says, her voice a mix of pride and nervousness as she gestures to you. The room goes quiet for a beat, then erupts in a chorus of gasps and exclamations.

“Wait, boyfriend?” Winter blurts, her eyes darting between you and Jimin. “And he’s… a football player? Like Manchester United famous?”

Ningning claps her hands, laughing. “Oh my God, Karina, you sneaky thing! We knew you were dating someone, but a pro athlete? That’s next-level!”

Giselle steps forward, eyeing you with a playful smirk. “So, you’re the reason she’s been all giddy and blushy on her calls? She turns into a lovesick puppy. It’s hilarious—last week, she was giggling at her phone like a teenager!”

Jimin’s face turns beet red, and she swats at Giselle’s arm. “Stop it!” she protests, but her smile betrays her embarrassment. “They’re exaggerating,” she mutters to you, but the warmth in her eyes tells you she’s secretly delighted.

Winter chimes in, grinning. “No, we’re not! She’s been spacing out during practice, muttering your name under her breath. It’s adorable—and totally unlike her usual self.”

You laugh, pulling Jimin closer, your arm around her waist as you take in the teasing. “Well, I’m honored to be the cause of that,” you say, winking at her.

The backstage chatter buzzes around you as you spend a little while getting to know Jimin’s groupmates—Winter, Ningning, and Giselle. Their energy is infectious, each of them sharing quick anecdotes about life on tour, their playful teasing about Jimin’s lovesick demeanor blending with genuine curiosity about your football career. Winter leans in with a grin, asking about your latest goal, while Ningning mimics Jimin’s giddy phone-scrolling with exaggerated flair, earning a mock glare from her leader. Giselle, ever the observer, nods approvingly as you recount a tough training session. After a few minutes, you turn to them with a polite smile. “Hey, would you mind letting the manager know Jimin’s coming with me tonight? I’d love to spend some time with her.” They exchange quick glances, then nod enthusiastically, Winter giving you a thumbs-up. “Go for it! We’ll handle it,” she says, and the others chime in with supportive winks, clearly rooting for the two of you.

You guide Jimin out of the venue, the cool London night air brushing against your skin as you lead her to the parking lot. There, parked under a streetlight, sits your Aston Martin Vanquish—sleek, black, and gleaming with a quiet elegance. You open the passenger door for her, and her eyes widen in surprise, a delighted gasp escaping her lips. “Oh wow, this is your car?” she asks, running her fingers along the smooth edge of the door before sliding into the leather seat. The interior smells of polished wood and luxury, the soft hum of the engine starting as you close her door and circle to the driver’s side.

As you pull out onto the road, you glance at her, her profile illuminated by the dashboard lights. “That concert was incredible,” you say, your voice warm with admiration. “And you—God, Jimin, you looked so beautiful up there. Every move, every note—it was like you were glowing.” Her cheeks flush, and she turns to you with a shy smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thank you,” she murmurs, her voice soft. “Hearing that from you means everything.”

The 30-minute drive to your house flies by, the car filled with a lively hum of conversation. You talk about your upcoming matches, and the pressure of the season kicking into high gear, and she shares details about her next concert stop in Manchester, her eyes lighting up as she describes the choreography. Laughter weaves through the dialogue as she recounts a hilarious mishap during rehearsal—Ningning tripping over a prop and dragging Giselle down with her—while you counter with a story about a teammate’s locker room prank gone hilariously wrong. The miles melt away, her voice a melody that keeps you anchored, and every shared glance feels like a step closer.

When you finally pull into your driveway and the car comes to a halt, the engine’s purr fades into silence. Before you can even unbuckle, Karina leans across the console, her hand cupping your face as she presses her lips to yours. The kiss is sudden, fervent, tasting of her excitement and longing, and you respond instantly, your hand sliding to the back of her neck to pull her closer. Your lips move together with a passion that’s been simmering since London, her breath warm against your skin as she deepens the kiss, a soft moan escaping her. The world outside the car fades, leaving just the two of you, wrapped in the intimacy of the moment, the night stretching ahead with unspoken promises.

You pull away from Jimin, the taste of her lips lingering on yours as you catch your breath, your heart racing from the intensity of the kiss. Her eyes are still locked on yours, dark and shimmering with desire, but you don’t linger in the car for long. You step out quickly, the cool night air hitting your flushed skin, and rush around to her side, opening the door with a swift motion. Before she can protest, you scoop her up into your arms in a classic princess carry, one arm under her knees, the other supporting her back. Her sudden yelp of surprise melts into a laugh, her arms instinctively wrapping around your neck.

“What are you doing?!” Jimin exclaims, her voice a mix of shock and amusement as she squirms slightly in your hold. “I’m too heavy—you’ll hurt yourself!” Her tone is playful, but there’s a hint of genuine concern as she looks up at you, her brows furrowed.

“You’re light as a feather,” you dismiss with a grin, tightening your grip as you start walking toward your front door. “Besides, I’ve been training for this moment—carrying my girlfriend is the best kind of workout.” She rolls her eyes at your teasing, but her protests fade, and she gives in, her body relaxing against yours. Her face nuzzles into the crook of your neck, her warm breath tickling your skin, and you can feel her smile against you, her hair brushing your jaw as you carry her. The closeness, the way she melts into you, sends a rush of warmth through your chest, and you savor every second of having her so near after so long apart.

You fumble briefly with the keys, managing to unlock the door with one hand while keeping her secure in your arms, and step inside your house, kicking the door shut behind you. The moment her feet touch the hardwood floor, you don’t give her a chance to catch her breath. Your hands find her waist, and you push her gently but firmly against the wall just inside the entryway, your lips crashing into hers with a passion that’s been building since the concert. The kiss is fiery and desperate, your mouths moving together with a hunger that speaks of months apart and countless nights spent dreaming of this moment.

Jimin moans softly into your mouth, her hands sliding up your chest to grip your shoulders, pulling you closer as her body arches against yours. You press yourself against her, pinning her to the wall, one hand cupping her face while the other slides down to her hip, your fingers digging in just enough to make her gasp. Her lips part, and you deepen the kiss, your tongue brushing hers, tasting the sweetness of her as the heat between you ignites. The wall is cool against your knuckles, a stark contrast to the warmth of her body, and every sound she makes—every hitch of her breath, every soft whimper—fuels the fire coursing through you, the longing of being apart finally giving way to the reality of having her here, in your arms, against your lips.

The kiss against the wall explodes into something feral, a collision of lips and tongues that sets the air ablaze with unrestrained heat. Jimin’s hands slip beneath your shirt, her nails—short but sharp—raking across your skin, igniting a trail of tingling fire over your abdomen. She tugs the fabric upward with impatient fingers, and you break the kiss just long enough to rip the shirt over your head, tossing it into the shadows. Her eyes, dark pools of molten desire, rake over your bare chest, drinking in the taut lines of muscle, the faint sheen of sweat already gathering there. You don’t hesitate—your hands find the hem of her hoodie, peeling it off to reveal the smooth, golden curve of her shoulders and the gentle swell of her breasts, barely contained by a thin black bra. The air between you crackles, electric with urgency, as you scoop her up again. Her legs snap around your waist, thighs clamping tight, the heat of her core pressing against your lower abdomen as you carry her toward the living room, her lips locked to yours in a messy, unbroken dance of need.

You lower her onto the plush couch, the cool fabric brushing her back as she sinks into it, her body a vision of taut curves and trembling anticipation. You hover over her, your hands roaming with a ravenous hunger that’s been simmering for months—fingers tracing the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips, the soft give of her belly. Her breath hitches as she fumbles with your belt, her desperation palpable, and you help her, shedding your pants and boxers in a frantic tangle that leaves you bare and aching. She’s already wriggling out of her jeans and panties, kicking them off with eager little jerks, and the sight of her—naked, her pussy glistening with slick arousal, her inner thighs faintly trembling—makes your cock throb, hard and heavy with need. You dip your head, kissing down the slender column of her neck, your teeth grazing her skin before you suck hard at her collarbone, pulling a faint, rosy bruise to the surface. Your hand slides between her thighs, finding her pussy soaked and scorching, the lips puffy and inviting. She gasps, a sharp, needy sound, her hips bucking as your thumb brushes her swollen clit, teasing it in tight, lazy circles while two fingers slip inside her impossibly tight heat.

“God, I’ve missed this,” you groan, your voice gravelly with raw want as you pump your fingers, marveling at how her walls grip you—velvet-soft yet so fucking tight, like she’s molded just for you. You curl them, hitting that spongy spot deep inside, and her moan—your name spilling from her lips in a broken cry—sends a jolt straight to your cock. “I want you so bad, Jimin.” Her pussy pulses around your fingers, slick and greedy, coating your hand as you work her, each thrust drawing wet, obscene sounds that fill the room.

“Please—don’t tease,” Karina whimpers, her voice fraying with desperation, her hands clutching your shoulders, nails digging into your skin as she pulls you closer. You can’t deny her—not when she’s like this, flushed and panting, her dark hair fanning across the couch. You pull your hand free, her juices clinging to your fingers, and position yourself, the head of your cock nudging her entrance. With a slow, deliberate thrust, you slide into her, and the sensation is mind-blowing—her pussy a tight, wet vise, clenching around you as you fill her inch by inch. She cries out, her head tipping back, exposing the delicate arch of her throat, and you set a steady rhythm, each thrust sinking deep into her molten core. Her walls flutter around your cock, warm and slick, sucking you in with every motion, and you groan low in your chest, the sound mingling with her breathy gasps. The couch creaks beneath you, protesting as you pick up speed, the slap of your skin against hers—your balls smacking her ass—echoing in the room. “Harder,” she begs, her voice a ragged plea, and her legs tighten around your waist, heels digging into your lower back.

You comply, slamming into her with a force that jolts her body up the couch, her round, firm breasts bouncing beneath her bra with each punishing thrust. Her pussy grips you like a fist, so tight it’s almost painful, the friction building a white-hot pressure in your groin. She shudders beneath you, her orgasm tearing through her with a scream that rips the air apart—her walls clamp down hard, pulsing wildly around your cock, milking you as her juices flood out, soaking your shaft and dripping onto the couch. The sensation shatters your control, and with a guttural moan, you cum, your cock jerking as you spill deep inside her, thick ropes of heat painting her insides. Your body trembles, muscles tensing and releasing as you collapse against her, her chest heaving beneath you, her skin sticky with sweat and sex.

But the hunger doesn’t fade—it lingers, smoldering, ready to flare again. After a brief respite, her lips crash into yours, fierce and demanding, reigniting the spark. You’re both up, stumbling toward the kitchen in a tangle of limbs, her hands shoving you against the counter with surprising strength. The cold edge bites into your lower back as she kisses you hard, her tongue claiming your mouth. Then she pauses, stepping back, her hands sliding to her back. “Wait,” she murmurs, voice husky, and with a flick, her bra unclips and falls away, revealing her tits—full, round, and fucking perfect. Your breath catches, eyes locking onto them: creamy skin, dusky pink nipples hardening in the cool air, the slight bounce as she shifts. “Goddamn, Karina,” you rasp, voice thick with awe, “your tits are unreal. So fucking beautiful—perfectly round, so soft-looking, I could stare at them all day.”

She smirks, stepping closer, letting them press against your chest. “You like them that much, huh?” she teases, but there’s a needy edge to her tone. You don’t just answer—you act. Your hands cup her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples, feeling them pebble under your touch. “Love them,” you growl, squeezing gently, marveling at their weight, their warmth. “They’re fucking gorgeous—best I’ve ever seen.” You pinch her nipples lightly, rolling them between your fingers, and she gasps, head tilting back as a shiver runs through her.

“Play with them more,” she whispers, and you oblige, kneading her tits, tugging her nipples until they’re stiff and swollen, her soft moans spurring you on. You lower your head, taking one into your mouth, sucking hard, tongue flicking over the sensitive peak. She arches into you, fingers tangling in your hair, and you switch to the other, leaving both glistening with spit, her skin flushed. “Fuck, you’re driving me crazy,” she pants, her chest heaving.

She drops to her knees in a fluid motion, hands gripping your thighs, nails pressing into your skin. Her eyes—dark, wicked—lock onto yours as she wraps her lips around your cock, still slick with your cum and her arousal. “Fuck, Karina,” you groan, voice hoarse as her mouth envelops you, warm and wet, her tongue swirling around the sensitive tip with devastating precision. She sucks hard, hollowing her cheeks, tasting the salty-sweet mess, and the sight—lips stretched around your shaft, spit glistening as she bobs her head—makes your head spin. Your cock twitches, hardening fast, and she takes you deeper, the head brushing the back of her throat. Her hands slide up, one cupping your balls, rolling them gently as her tongue flicks the underside, the other stroking the base.

“You taste so fucking good,” she murmurs, words muffled around you, vibrating through your length. You tangle your hands in her hair, guiding her as you rock your hips slightly, fucking her mouth. She moans, eyes watering but locked on yours, pupils blown with lust. Her tongue teases the slit, lapping up precum, her lips tight and perfect. The pressure builds—too fast—her skill undoing you. “Karina—shit, I’m gonna—” you warn, voice breaking.

She pulls off with a wet pop, lips swollen and shiny, a string of spit and cum dangling before it snaps. “Not yet,” she says, voice dripping with need. She stands, pressing her tits together with her hands, framing them like an offering. “Cum on my tits—please, I want it. I need you to cover them.” Her begging hits you like a punch, raw and desperate, and your cock throbs at the thought.

“Fuck, Karina, you’re killing me with those,” you groan, stroking yourself as she kneels again, pushing her breasts up higher. You can’t resist—your hands reach out, squeezing them again, thumbs circling her nipples as she whimpers. Then she takes over, wrapping her tits around your cock, soft and warm, enveloping you completely. “Like this,” she whispers, starting to move, sliding them up and down your shaft. The friction’s insane—her skin’s silky but firm, her nipples brushing your tip with every stroke, slick with spit she lets drip down to ease the glide.

“Holy shit, your tits feel so good,” you rasp, watching her work you, her cleavage swallowing your cock as she pumps faster. “Love how they squeeze me—perfect fucking fit.” She smirks, but her eyes are pleading, locked on yours. “Cum on them—please, I want it so bad,” she begs again, voice shaking, and she tightens her grip, pressing her breasts harder around you. The sight—her on her knees, tits bouncing as she titfucks you, begging for your load—snaps your restraint. You groan, hips jerking, and cum explodes from you, thick ropes splattering across her chest. She moans loud, tilting her head back as hot streaks paint her tits, dripping down her nipples, coating her skin in a glossy mess.

“Fuck, look at that,” you pant, admiring the sight—her breasts glistening with your cum, nipples swollen from your play, her chest heaving as she catches her breath. She runs a finger through it, smearing it over one nipple, then licks it clean, smirking up at you. “Tastes even better off me,” she teases, and you haul her up, kissing her fiercely, tasting yourself mingled with her sweat and spit.

She stands, wiping her swollen lips with the back of her hand, cum glistening on her chin and tits. You grab her wrists and bend her over the kitchen island, hunger driving you. Her pert, round ass presses against you, soft and warm, as you align yourself, your cock nudging her soaked entrance. You thrust in from behind, plunging deep into her tight, dripping pussy, and she moans loudly, the sound echoing off the walls. Her walls grip you like a vice, slick and scorching, clenching around your shaft as you drive into her. The cold marble presses against her belly and cum-slicked breasts, her nipples hardening against it.

You thrust hard, relentless, the wet slap of your hips against her ass filling the room, paired with the counter’s creak under her grip. Her fingers curl around the edge, knuckles whitening, and her second orgasm hits fast—her legs tremble, her pussy spasming around you, so tight it’s almost unbearable. Her juices gushed out, mixing with your precum, and trickling down her thighs. The sensation tips you over, and with a guttural groan, you cum, your cock pulsing as you spill deep inside her. Your thick release blends with hers, a hot, sticky mess dripping down her skin and pooling on the floor.

Breathless, you scoop her up, her body limp yet clinging as you stumble to the bedroom. The sheets are rumpled from earlier, and you lay her down, her dark hair fanning across the pillow. You kiss her breasts, nipples still pebbled and sticky with your cum, your tongue flicking over them, drawing a soft gasp. You kiss her stomach, muscles twitching under your lips, then her inner thighs, silky and trembling, slick with your combined release. You spread her legs, exposing her glistening pussy—pink, puffy, dripping—and dive in, tasting her. Your tongue laps up her sweet juices mixed with your salty cum, intoxicatingly filthy.

She writhes, hips bucking as you tease her oversensitive clit with slow swirls until she’s whimpering, tugging you up. You kiss her fiercely, letting her taste the mess, and slide into her again—slower, savoring her tight, fluttering walls. Her nails rake down your back, leaving stinging trails, and she cums again, cries muffled against your shoulder as her pussy clenches hard. It drags you over the edge, your cock throbbing as you spill inside her, collapsing together, sweat-soaked and panting.

The night stretches on, insatiable, and you stagger to the bathroom, bodies slick with cum, sweat, and sex clinging like a second skin. The tiles are cool underfoot as you fumble for the shower, but she presses you against the sink, pinning you with surprising strength. Her hand wraps around your cock—still slick, half-hard—and strokes you back to life, fingers tight and teasing, coaxing a low groan. “One more,” she whispers, voice hoarse, and you lift her onto the counter, her legs spreading wide, her pussy dripping with your combined mess.

You step between her thighs, the mirror reflecting her bouncing breasts—round, perfect, still streaked with your cum—and her stretched, swollen pussy as you drive in. Her tightness grips you like a glove, every thrust forcing a wet squelch as fluids spill out, coating your shaft and dripping onto the counter. The slap of skin echoes in the small space, lewd and relentless, and she clings to you, arms around your neck, breath hot in your ear. Her third orgasm hits with a sob, her pussy clamping down hard, pulsing wildly, pulling you into your release. You cum with a broken moan, pumping her full again, some splattering her thighs as you thrust through it.

Exhausted, you step into the shower together, warm water washing away the cum, sweat, and raw scent of your marathon. The intimacy lingers, soft and unspoken, as your hands move gently over her body. You trace her hips, the dip of her spine, lathering soap across her skin as she sighs, head resting against your chest. She cleans you too, fingers tender over your shoulders and chest, washing away her nail marks, steam rising like a warm cocoon around you.

The soft light of a London morning filters through the curtains, casting a golden glow across the bedroom where you and Jimin lie entwined, her body nestled perfectly against yours. Her rest day in England is your precious gift, the only full day you have before her tour sweeps her away again, and you intend to savor every second. You wake slowly, the warmth of her breath against your chest stirring you from sleep, her arm draped possessively over you. With a reluctant sigh, you gently pry yourself from her embrace, careful not to wake her, and slip out of bed, the cool floor a stark contrast to the heat of her skin. Your heart aches with how much you already miss her closeness, but the promise of a perfect day fuels your steps as you head downstairs to make breakfast.

In the kitchen, the quiet hum of the morning surrounds you as you gather ingredients—flour, eggs, milk—setting out to make pancakes, her favorite. The sizzle of butter in the pan fills the air as you pour the first batter, the scent of vanilla wafting up, a small gesture of love. Lost in the rhythm of flipping, you don’t hear her at first, but then a soft rustle, followed by hurried footsteps, catches your attention. That morning, Karina wakes in your bed, the empty space beside her jarring, and a wave of panic grips her—her pulse quickening as she scrambles out of the sheets, searching the bathroom, the hallway, her voice shaky as she calls your name with increasing urgency. When she finally reaches the kitchen, her breath catches in relief. You turn to see Jimin standing in the doorway, her hair a tousled halo, her eyes still heavy with sleep but now softening with reassurance at the sight of you. She’s wrapped in your oversized shirt, the hem brushing her thighs, and the sight steals your breath.

“Good morning, beautiful,” you say, your voice warm and tender, a smile spreading across your face as she pads toward you. She doesn’t reply with words—instead, she slips behind you, her arms sliding around your waist in a gentle back hug, her cheek pressing against your back. “Your heartbeat,” she murmurs, her voice soft and dreamy, “it’s so calming. I could listen to it all day.” The intimacy of her words wraps around you, and you feel a surge of affection, your heart beating a little faster under her touch.

You turn in her arms, facing her, and cup her face gently, leaning down to kiss her. It’s slow and sweet, her lips soft and warm against yours, tasting faintly of sleep and the promise of the day ahead. Breaking the kiss, you lift her effortlessly, her surprised giggle filling the room as you set her on the counter, her legs dangling. “Stay there,” you say with a grin, turning back to the stove to flip the first pancake, the golden edges crisp and perfect. You slide it onto a plate, drizzling it with a touch of syrup, and hand it to her straight from the pan, the warmth transferring to her fingers.

She takes a bite, her eyes closing in delight, and as you cook more, you pass her each fresh pancake, the kitchen filling with the cozy aroma. She feeds you a piece in return, her fingers brushing your lips, and follows it with another kiss—brief but filled with love, the taste of syrup mingling between you. The ritual continues, a dance of giving and receiving, until the stack is gone, and her fingers are sticky with syrup and butter. You catch her hand, bringing it to your mouth, and slowly lick her fingers clean, your tongue tracing each digit with care, savoring the sweetness and the way her breath hitches at the intimate gesture. Her eyes lock with yours, a soft blush coloring her cheeks, and the moment stretches, a quiet, romantic thread binding you together on this fleeting, perfect day.

After the tender moment of cleaning her sticky fingers, the air between you and Jimin shifts, charged with a quiet, simmering intimacy. The kitchen is still warm with the scent of pancakes, but your focus narrows to her—her soft breaths, the way her eyes follow your every move. You step closer, your hands resting on her hips where she sits on the counter, and gently guide her thighs apart, the fabric of your shirt riding up to reveal the smooth expanse of her skin. Her gaze meets yours, a mix of curiosity and anticipation flickering in her dark eyes, and you feel your heart swell with love and desire.

Leaning in, you start with slow, deliberate kisses along her neck, your lips brushing the sensitive skin just below her ear. Each kiss is a tease, lingering for a heartbeat before moving to the next spot, your breath warm against her as she tilts her head back with a soft sigh. You trace a path downward, your lips grazing the curve of her collarbone, then lower, nipping gently at the hollow of her throat where her pulse quickens beneath your touch. Her hands find your shoulders, fingers curling into your shirt, and a quiet moan escapes her, fueling the romantic tension building between you.

You sink to your knees, your hands sliding down her thighs, parting them further as you press slow, reverent kisses along the inner skin. Each kiss is a caress, your lips soft and warm, moving with agonizing slowness from her knee upward, savoring the smoothness of her flesh. Her breathing grows uneven, her thighs trembling slightly under your hands, and you can feel the heat radiating from her core as you inch closer. You kiss the tender crease where her thigh meets her hip, your lips hovering just shy of her pussy, and her hips shift instinctively toward you, a needy whimper slipping out.

Teasingly, you pause, your lips a breath away, and instead of touching her where she craves, you blow a gentle stream of cool air across her slick folds. She gasps, her body jolting at the sensation, the contrast of the air against her heated skin making her squirm. “Please,” she whispers, her voice a desperate plea, her hands tightening on your shoulders, but you only smile against her thigh, placing another slow kiss just to the side, prolonging the sweet torture. The intimacy of the moment wraps around you both, a dance of love and longing, her vulnerability laid bare as you worship her with every careful, teasing touch.

The teasing tension hangs in the air, but you decide to shift the moment into something even more intimate. Pulling back from Jimin’s trembling thighs, you rise to your feet, your hands lingering on her hips as you meet her flushed gaze. “I think it’s time for a bath,” you say, your voice low and warm, laced with affection. “Want to join me?” Her eyes light up, a soft smile breaking through her needy expression, and without a word, she slides off the counter, her movements eager.

Before you can take a step, she leaps onto your back, her legs wrapping around your waist and her arms encircling your neck in a playful, clinging hug. Her laughter rings out, light and joyous, as she presses her cheek against yours, her breath tickling your ear. “Carry me!” she giggles, and you chuckle, adjusting your grip under her thighs to support her weight, her body warm and soft against you. The short journey to the basement feels like a dance, her legs tightening playfully as you descend the stairs, the cool air of the lower level contrasts with the heat between you.

You reach the basement, where the jacuzzi sits nestled in a cozy corner, its sleek edges promising relaxation. Setting her down gently, you turn on the faucet, the sound of water filling the tub a soothing backdrop. “Can you keep an eye on it?” you ask, brushing a strand of hair from her face. She nods, her eyes following you with a tender smile as you head upstairs to gather supplies. You grab a pair of soft sweatpants and a t-shirt for yourself, a fluffy robe, and one of your old hoodies for her, along with thick towels. On impulse, you snag a bottle of red wine and two elegant wine glasses from the kitchen, the idea of sharing a romantic soak with her fueling your steps.

Returning to the basement, you find the jacuzzi nearly full, steam rising in gentle curls, the air thick with warmth and promise. Jimin stands by the edge, her silhouette is graceful against the soft, amber light filtering through the room, her presence magnetic. You set the clothes and towels aside on a nearby bench, your pulse quickening as you approach her. “Let me help you,” you murmur, voice low and edged with anticipation, your hands trembling slightly as you reach for the hem of the loose shirt she’s wearing—one of yours, oversized on her frame, the fabric clinging faintly to her curves.

You peel it off slowly, deliberately, revealing her skin inch by inch, and as the shirt lifts past her waist, her breasts come into view—unrestrained, no bra beneath, full and perfect. Your breath hitches, eyes locking onto them: round, supple, with a gentle heft that makes your mouth water, her dusky pink nipples already perking up in the warm, humid air. “Fuck, Jimin,” you whisper, almost to yourself, “your tits are incredible.” You drop the shirt aside, hands hovering for a moment before settling on her waist, guiding her closer as you begin your worship.

You start with soft, lingering kisses along her collarbone, tasting the faint salt of her skin, then trail down the curve of her shoulder, your lips brushing with a featherlight touch that makes her shiver. But it’s her chest that draws you—irresistibly—and you dip lower, pressing your mouth to the swell of her breasts. “So fucking perfect,” you murmur against her skin, voice thick with awe, as you cup them gently in your hands, thumbs grazing the undersides. They’re warm, and heavy, the weight of them filling your palms like they were made for you. You knead them softly, savoring their softness, the way they yield under your touch yet hold their firm shape.

Jimin lets out a quiet moan, her hands resting lightly on your head, fingers threading into your hair as you kiss across her chest, lips tracing the delicate curve where her breasts meet her ribcage. “You like them that much?” she breathes, a teasing lilt undercut by the hitch in her voice. “Love them,” you reply, muffled against her skin, and you prove it—your mouth finds one nipple, brushing it with a slow, wet kiss before sucking gently. She gasps, arching slightly, and you take your time, tongue swirling around the sensitive bud, feeling it harden under your attention. “So pretty,” you groan, pulling back to admire how it glistens with your spit, swollen and flushed, before switching to the other, sucking harder this time, teeth grazing just enough to make her whimper.

Your hands never stop, massaging her tits with a reverent rhythm, thumbs flicking her nipples in sync with your mouth. “God, I could play with these all night,” you say, voice rough with need, and you press her breasts together, marveling at the deep cleavage it creates. You bury your face there, kissing and licking the valley between them, inhaling her scent—clean sweat and something faintly sweet, uniquely her. She squirms, a soft laugh breaking through her moans. “You’re obsessed,” she accuses, but her grip on your hair tightens, urging you on.

“Damn right, I am,” you growl, and you pinch her nipples lightly, rolling them between your fingers until they’re stiff peaks, her breath coming faster now. You tug gently, watching her face—eyes fluttering shut, lips parting in a silent cry—and it’s intoxicating, the way she reacts to every touch. “They’re so sensitive,” you murmur, almost in wonder, and you lower your mouth again, sucking one nipple deep while your hand works the other, squeezing and teasing until she’s trembling, her thighs pressing together as arousal pools lower.

You pull back for a moment, just to look—her tits are flushed, nipples dark and glistening, a faint sheen of sweat making them glow in the dim light. “Fucking gorgeous,” you say, voice hoarse, and you can’t resist giving them one more slow, deliberate lick each, tongue flat and broad, dragging across the peaks as she moans louder, her hands clutching you tighter. Only then do you continue downward, kissing her stomach, the dip of her hips, your lips brushing every exposed inch with the same reverence? You kneel, trailing kisses along her thighs, then her calves, before sliding her panties down, pressing a final worshipful kiss to the tops of her feet as they step free, her body now bare and trembling before you.

You shed your own clothes quickly, your eyes never leaving hers, and step into the jacuzzi first, the warm water enveloping you as you settle against the side. “Come here,” you say softly, holding out your hand. Jimin joins you, her movements graceful despite the steam, and she slides into the water, settling between your legs. Her back presses against your chest, her head resting on your sternum, and you wrap your arms around her, pulling her close. The water laps gently around you both, the heat seeping into your muscles as her hair floats softly against your skin. You reach for the wine, pour two glasses, and hand her one, clinking yours against hers in a silent toast to this stolen moment, the intimacy of her body against yours filling the space with a profound, romantic stillness.

The jacuzzi’s warm water envelops you and Jimin, the gentle jets humming softly, easing you both into a cocoon of relaxation. Steam curls upward in lazy spirals, blending with the faint, fruity scent of red wine perched on the ledge. Jimin nestles perfectly between your legs, her back flush against your chest, her head tucked just below your chin.

You feel her breathing, slow and steady, her chest rising and falling in sync with yours, the world beyond this moment fading away. One arm drapes around her, hand splayed across her soft stomach, while the other traces idle, featherlight circles along her forearm. The silence wraps you like a warm blanket, melting away the stress of your separate lives.

After a long, peaceful stretch, Jimin’s voice cuts through, soft and tinged with melancholy. “I’ll miss this,” she murmurs, her head tilting so her cheek grazes your collarbone. Her words sting, a sharp reminder of her looming departure, and your heart tightens painfully.

You refuse to let the sadness take hold—not now, with her warm, pliant body pressed against you. “Let’s enjoy every single moment we have left,” you say, voice low and resolute, a vow to savor her presence. To banish the gloom, you dip your head, lips brushing the delicate curve of her neck.

At first, you kiss her gently, lips lingering on the sensitive skin below her ear, tasting the faint salt of her skin, warm and slightly damp from the day. She sighs, a soft, contented hum vibrating through her chest. Her body sinks deeper into you as tension ebbs from her shoulders. You trail kisses down the slope where her neck meets her shoulder, each one slow and deliberate, a silent promise. Your hands slide up her sides, brushing the edge of her shirt before slipping beneath, finding her breasts—bare, soft, and warm against your palms. You cup them gently, thumbs grazing her nipples, feeling them stiffen under your touch, velvety and hot. She gasps, a sharp intake of breath, as you roll one nipple between your fingers, the skin puckering into a tight bud. Your lips move lower, kissing the swell of her chest, tasting her sweetness, then close around the other nipple—wet and slick as you suck lightly, tongue flicking over the hardened peak. Her fingers twitch against your arm, a quiet moan slipping out as her body arches into the heat of your hands and mouth.

Your hand on her stomach stirs, creeping downward with agonizing intent. It slips between her legs, the water slicking her skin as your fingers graze the tender insides of her thighs. You tease her, brushing so close to her core but never quite touching, a maddening dance of almosts.

You trace slow, teasing circles around her pussy, skimming the edges of her folds, feeling the heat radiating from her. Her breath hitches, legs parting slightly, inviting you in, her body arching just a fraction toward your hand. You graze her clit with the lightest whisper of a touch, then retreat, leaving her wanting.

You blow a soft stream of air through the water, the bubbles tickling her sensitive skin, and she whimpers, a needy little sound that makes your cock twitch. Her hands grip your thighs beneath the surface, nails digging in as she squirms against you, desperate for more.

“Please,” she gasps, voice trembling, her head tipping back against your chest. Her dark eyes lock onto yours, wide and pleading, glistening with raw need. “I need you—please, stop teasing me, I can’t take it.”

Her desperation fuels you, her breathy plea dripping with want as she writhes, her ass pressing harder against your growing erection. “Touch me, please—I’m begging you,” she whines, her voice cracking, her hips rolling subtly to chase your hand. The sight of her—so undone, so needy—sets your pulse racing.

You prolong the torment, letting your fingers hover near her entrance, brushing her folds with featherlight strokes. “You want it that bad, huh?” you murmur, voice low and teasing, lips grazing her ear. She nods frantically, a soft sob escaping her throat.

“Please, I need your fingers inside me—please, it’s too much,” she begs, her tone raw and shattered, her body trembling with anticipation. Her pussy clenches the air, aching for you, and you can’t resist her any longer.

Finally, you give in, sliding two fingers into her slick, searing heat, curling them deep as your thumb presses firmly against her swollen clit. She moans loudly, the sound bouncing off the tiled walls, her pussy gripping your fingers like a tight, wet glove, pulsing with every move.

“Oh God, yes—that feels so good,” she groans, her voice thick with pleasure, her hips bucking to meet your thrusts. You set a slow, torturous pace at first, dragging your fingers in and out, feeling her walls flutter and squeeze you, her slickness coating your hand.

“Fuck, you’re amazing—so deep,” she pants, her head lolling back, eyes half-lidded as she surrenders to the sensation. You pick up speed, thrusting harder, curling your fingers to hit that sweet spot inside her, and her moans turn to desperate cries.

“It’s so good—don’t stop, please,” she gasps, her hands clutching your thighs tighter, nails biting into your skin. The water sloshes around you, splashing over the edge as her hips grind against your hand, chasing every stroke, every press of your thumb on her clit.

You kiss her neck again, sucking a dark, possessive mark into her skin as you drive her higher. “You feel incredible—so tight around me,” you growl against her ear, reveling in how her pussy clenches even harder at your words.

“Oh fuck, I can’t—feels too good,” she whimpers, her voice breaking as her body tenses, teetering on the edge. You thrust faster, your thumb circling her clit with relentless pressure, and she’s a mess of moans and pleas, her breath ragged.

“Cum for me, baby,” you murmur, voice rough with desire, your lips brushing her earlobe. That’s all it takes—her orgasm slams into her, her body shuddering violently in your arms, her pussy clamping down on your fingers so tight it steals your breath.

“Yes—fuck, I’m cumming!” she cries, her voice shattering as she rides the waves, her walls pulsing wildly, gushing slick heat over your hand. You keep moving, drawing out every tremor, her thighs quaking, her moans turning to soft, broken sobs of ecstasy.

“So good—so fucking good,” she pants, her body limp against you as the aftershocks ripple through her, her pussy still fluttering around your fingers. You slow your pace, easing her down, kissing her shoulder tenderly as she catches her breath.

When the high fades, Jimin turns her head, her lips crashing into yours in a deep, desperate kiss. One hand slides up, tangling in your hair, tugging hard, while the other grips your shoulder, anchoring herself to you.

The kiss is messy, all teeth and tongue, her taste mingling with the faint tang of her arousal still on your lips. She pours her lingering pleasure into it, possessive and fierce, and the water laps gently around you, a warm contrast to the fire between you.

As Jimin’s orgasm subsides, her body still trembling in your arms, you feel the overwhelming urge to take her right there in the jacuzzi, to bury yourself inside her and lose yourself in the heat of her. The way her pussy clenched around your fingers, the raw sound of her cries echoing in the steam-filled room, ignites a fire in you that’s hard to ignore. But the intensity of her release is evident—her legs shake uncontrollably, her chest heaving with ragged breaths, and her head lolls against your shoulder, a testament to how powerfully it hit her. You don’t want to overwhelm her, not when she’s still so vulnerable in your embrace, so you temper your desire, choosing instead to cherish her in this moment.

With gentle care, you reach for the soap, lathering your hands to clean her, your fingers gliding over her skin with a tenderness that contrasts with the passion moments ago. You wash the sweat and remnants of her pleasure from her thighs, her stomach, her breasts, each touch a silent promise of love. She sighs softly, leaning into your hands, and you clean yourself too, the warm water rinsing away the evidence of your shared intimacy. Once done, you step out, wrapping her in a fluffy towel before helping her into the oversized hoodie and robe you brought, the fabric swallowing her petite frame. You dress in the sweatpants and t-shirt, the casual comfort grounding you as you guide her upstairs, her hand clasped in yours.

In the living room, you settle onto the couch, pulling her close as you drape a blanket over you both. You queue up her favorite movies—romantic classics she’s mentioned in late-night calls—and the soft glow of the TV casts a warm light across her face. Her head rests on your chest, her breathing slowing as the familiar scenes unfold, and soon her eyelids flutter shut, her body relaxing fully against you in sleep. You watch her for a moment, her peaceful expression a stark contrast to the passion of earlier, and your heart swells with love. Reluctantly, you glance at the clock—training awaits—and with a sigh, you ease out from under her, careful not to wake her. You scribble a quick note—“Went to training. Be back soon. Love you, Jimin”—and leave it on the coffee table, pressing a feather-light kiss to her forehead before heading out.

The day at training drags, your mind drifting to her sleeping form, but when you finally return home, the door creaks open to a sight that stops you in your tracks. Jimin—now awake—rushes toward you, her bare feet padding against the floor, her hair a messy cascade around her face. She throws her arms around your neck, pulling you into a kiss that’s sweet and eager, her lips soft and warm against yours. “Welcome back home, babe,” she murmurs against your mouth, her voice laced with affection, her body pressed close.

The words and her embrace hit you like a wave, a deep warmth spreading through your chest as you hold her tight, your hands resting on her lower back. “I could get used to this,” you say, your voice thick with emotion as you pull back just enough to look into her eyes. “Coming home to you jumping into my arms and kissing me every day—it’s more than I ever dreamed of.” Her smile widens, a blush coloring her cheeks, and she nestles back into you, the promise of more moments like this lingering in the air, a romantic thread binding your fleeting time together.

After stepping through the door and sharing that heartfelt moment with Jimin, you feel the lingering sweat and fatigue from training clinging to you. You excuse yourself for a quick shower, leaving her in the living room with a lingering kiss on her forehead. The hot water washes away the day’s exertion, and you emerge feeling refreshed, slipping into a comfortable pair of joggers and a loose t-shirt. Your mind turns to the rest of the evening—Jimin’s last few hours before she has to leave for her next tour stop—and you decide to cook for her, something simple yet heartfelt to make the most of your time. Homemade pasta with a light tomato sauce comes to mind, paired with a small cake for dessert, a sweet ending to her rest day in England.

You head to the kitchen, Jimin trailing behind you with a curious smile, her oversized hoodie sleeves dangling past her hands. “What’s the plan, chef?” she teases, leaning against the counter as you pull out ingredients—flour, eggs, sugar, and a few ripe tomatoes. “Just some pasta and a little cake,” you reply, rolling up your sleeves. “Thought we’d start with the cake first. Want to help?” Her eyes light up, and she nods eagerly, stepping closer to join you.

You begin mixing the cake batter, measuring out flour and sugar while Jimin cracks the eggs, her movements careful but playful. As you sift the flour into a bowl, she sneaks up beside you, a mischievous glint in her eye. Before you can react, she dips her fingers into the flour bag and flicks a handful onto your face, the white powder dusting your cheeks and nose. “Jimin!” you exclaim, laughing as you wipe your eyes, the flour leaving a streak across your forehead. She giggles, her laughter bright and infectious, and tries to dart away, but you’re quicker, grabbing a handful of flour and tossing it at her. It catches her hair and the front of her hoodie, turning her into a snowy mess.

The kitchen erupts into a full-on food fight, the air filling with clouds of flour as you both lob handfuls at each other, your laughter echoing off the walls. She squeals, ducking behind the counter to grab more, then launches another attack, the powder sticking to her cheeks and eyelashes, making her look like a playful ghost. You chase after her, dodging a particularly wild throw that sends flour scattering across the floor, and finally catch her, wrapping your arms around her waist from behind. Your grip is firm, pinning her arms to her sides, preventing her from throwing any more flour. She squirms, laughing breathlessly, but there’s no escaping your hold, her body pressed against yours as you both catch your breath.

Jimin tilts her head back, looking up at you, and her eyes are alight with happiness, the kind of pure, unfiltered joy that makes your heart ache with love. Flour dusts her face, a smudge on her nose, and a streak across her cheek, but she’s never looked more beautiful. Her gaze softens, the laughter fading into a tender warmth, and you can’t resist. You lean down, capturing her lips in a kiss that’s brimming with passion, the taste of flour mingling with her sweetness. Her lips part under yours, and she melts into the kiss, her body relaxing in your arms as her hands—still dusted with flour—reach up to cup your face, pulling you closer. The kiss deepens, a hungry edge to it as your tongues brush, the mess of the kitchen forgotten in the heat of the moment, the passion a testament to how much you’ll miss her when she’s gone.

The passionate kiss in the flour-dusted kitchen sparks a fire neither of you can tame, the playful food fight fading into a raw, primal hunger. Jimin’s flour-dusted hands slide from your face to your chest, fingers clawing into your shirt as she presses closer. “God, I want you so bad,” she breathes against your lips, her voice trembling with need, her kiss fierce and hungry.

The air thickens with lust, flour scattered on the counter and floor a forgotten mess as desire takes over. You pull back, panting, locking eyes with her—dark, dilated, blazing with want. “Jimin, I need you—right here, right now,” you say, voice husky and thick.

“Yes, please—take me,” she gasps, nodding eagerly, her words a desperate plea. Your hands grip her hips, hoisting her onto the counter, the cool edge biting into her thighs as her legs part wide. “Fuck, hurry,” she urges, her tone needy.

Her oversized hoodie rides up, baring her smooth skin, and you yank it off, tossing it aside. She’s naked beneath, flour smudged across her chest and arms, her breasts heaving. “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” you murmur, voice dripping with awe, and she blushes, whispering, “Touch me—please.”

She fumbles with your joggers, fingers shaking, and you help, shoving them down with your boxers. Your cock springs free, hard and throbbing, and she gasps, “Oh God, you’re so big—I need it.” You step between her legs, hands sliding up her thighs, spreading them wider.

Her pussy glistens, wet and ready, and she leans back on her elbows, panting, “Please, don’t make me wait.” You smirk, leaning in to kiss her deep, tongue plunging into her mouth as your hand teases between her legs. “Not yet,” you whisper against her lips, fingers brushing her slick folds.

She moans into the kiss, hips bucking, and you circle her clit with your thumb, light and teasing. “Oh fuck—touch me more, I’m begging you!” she cries, voice quivering, her body trembling under your control. You graze her entrance, barely dipping in, and she whines, “Please, I need your fingers—tease me more and I’ll lose it!”

“You want it that bad?” you taunt, voice low, dragging your fingers along her folds, avoiding her clit. “Yes—fuck, yes, I’m dying for it!” she sobs, her hands gripping the counter, flour puffing around her. “Please, put them in me—I can’t take this!”

You prolong the torture, tracing her pussy’s edges, feeling her drip onto your hand. “Tell me how bad you want it,” you growl, lips brushing her ear. “So fucking bad—I need you inside me, please, I’m begging!” she wails, her hips rolling desperately.

Finally, you slide two fingers into her tight, soaking heat, and she screams, “Yes—oh my God, that’s it!” Her pussy clamps down, hot and slick, and you pump slowly, curling them deep. “Fuck, you feel so good—so deep, don’t stop!” she moans, voice loud and raw.

“Like that, huh?” you rasp, thrusting harder, your thumb teasing her clit in slow circles. “Yes—holy shit, it’s amazing!” she gasps, her head tipping back, flour dusting her hair. “You’re driving me crazy—feels so fucking good!”

Her walls flutter around your fingers, squeezing tight as you pick up the pace. “Oh God, I’m gonna explode—keep going!” she cries, her hips grinding against your hand, her juices coating you. “You’re so good—so fucking perfect inside me!”

You suck a mark into her neck, thrusting relentlessly, and she groans, “Yes—right there, it’s insane!” Her moans fill the kitchen, loud and unrestrained, her breasts bouncing as she writhes. “I can’t—fuck, it’s too good, please don’t stop!”

“Cum for me, Jimin—let me hear you,” you growl, thumb pressing hard on her clit, fingers curling to hit her sweet spot. “Oh fuck—I’m cumming, yes!” she screams, her pussy pulsing wildly, gripping your fingers as her orgasm rips through her, juices soaking your hand.

“So good—so fucking good!” she pants, riding the waves, her voice breaking with each shudder. You keep moving, drawing out every cry, her body shaking, “Oh God, you’re amazing—I can’t stop cumming!”

When she quiets, you pull your fingers out, gripping your cock, guiding it to her dripping entrance. “Ready for me?” you ask, voice rough. “Yes—fuck me, please!” she begs, eyes pleading, and you thrust in slow and deep.

“Oh shit—you’re so big, it’s perfect!” she groans, her pussy stretching tight around you, warm and wet. You both moan, and you grip her hips, starting a steady rhythm. “Goddamn, you’re tight—feels incredible,” you rasp, thrusting deep.

“Harder—please, fuck me harder!” she cries, legs wrapping around your waist, heels digging into your back. You slam into her, the counter creaking, flour puffing into the air. “Yes—like that, don’t stop!” she screams, nails clawing your shoulders.

You lean down, sucking her nipple, tongue flicking the hard peak, and she gasps, “Fuck—right there, it’s so good!” Her pussy tightens, fluttering around your cock, and you growl, “You’re gonna cum again, aren’t you?”

“Yes—oh God, make me cum!” she pleads, and you rub her clit hard, thrusting deeper. “I’m there—fuck, I’m cumming!” she wails, her orgasm crashing over her, pussy pulsing, soaking you. “You’re unreal—cum with me!” she begs, and you do, groaning, “Fuck, Jimin!” as you spill inside her, hot and thick.

Panting, you stay connected, her legs still locked around you, her chest pressed to yours. “Holy shit, that was insane,” she whispers, pulling you into a tender kiss. “I love you—so much,” she murmurs, flour streaking her face.

“I love you too,” you reply, brushing a flour-dusted strand from her eyes. The messy kitchen is a testament to your wild, beautiful connection.

As the afterglow of your passionate encounter settles over the kitchen, you and Jimin linger in each other’s arms, the flour-dusted counter a testament to your intimacy. Her breathing steadies against your chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin, and you press a tender kiss to her forehead, savoring the quiet moment. The thought of her leaving soon weighs on you, but you push it aside, wanting to make the most of her remaining time. “How about we go out for dinner?” you suggest, your voice soft but hopeful. “Somewhere nice, just the two of us.” Jimin’s eyes light up, a smile spreading across her face, and she nods eagerly. “That sounds perfect,” she replies, her tone warm, unaware that this decision will cast a shadow over your future.

You both clean up, wiping the flour from your skin and changing into fresh clothes—Jimin in a casual sweater and jeans, her hair pulled into a loose bun, and you in a simple button-up and trousers. The drive to a cozy Italian restaurant is filled with laughter and shared glances, the evening unfolding like a dream. The dimly lit dining room offers a secluded corner table, and you order pasta and wine, feeding each other bites across the table, your hands brushing as you share romantic moments—her leaning in for a quick kiss, you wiping a smudge of sauce from her lip. Unbeknownst to you, paparazzi lurk outside, their camera lens capturing every tender exchange through the window, the flashes unnoticed in the warm ambiance.

The night ends too soon, and early the next morning, you drive Jimin to meet her groupmates at the airport for her flight to the next concert destination. The sky is still dark, the air crisp as you pull up to the terminal, her suitcase in the trunk. You help her out, pulling her into a tight hug, your lips meeting hers in a lingering kiss that tastes of goodbye. “I’ll call you when I land,” she whispers, her eyes shimmering with emotion, and you nod, watching her join Winter, Ningning, and Giselle before they disappear into the terminal. Exhausted, you return home, the house feeling emptier without her, and collapse into bed, drifting into a deep sleep.

Your slumber is shattered hours later by a relentless barrage of notifications—your phone buzzing with messages and calls from your teammates, friends, and family. Groggy, you fumble for the device, the screen lighting up with texts like “Is it true about you and Karina?!” and “Mate, you’re all over the news!” Panic sets in as you open a news app, and there it is—a headline screaming “Manchester United Star Dating K-Pop Idol Karina!” accompanied by those stolen photos of your dinner, your faces clear as you shared that intimate meal. 

Your mind spirals into chaos, images flashing of the paparazzi, the public scrutiny, and the potential fallout for Jimin’s career. Your first instinct is to call her, to hear her voice, and figure this out together, but her phone is switched off. You try again, then a third time, the automated message cutting through each attempt, and the silence that follows terrifies you. Your heart pounds, fear gripping you as you wonder how this will affect her, her group, and the fragile love you’ve built, the uncertainty leaving you frozen in your bed.

The weight of the unfolding media storm presses heavily on your shoulders as you head to training, your mind a chaotic whirlwind of worry and guilt. The drive to the training ground, usually a time for mental preparation, is filled with dread, your fingers gripping the steering wheel too tightly, your jaw clenched as you replay the images of those paparazzi photos in your mind. You can’t stop thinking about Jimin—how she must be feeling, whether she’s okay, why she hasn’t called. The silence from her end is a knife twisting in your gut, each unanswered call amplifying your fear that this scandal might have pushed her away for good.

As you pull into the training facility, your worst fears materialize—a swarm of reporters and photographers crowds the entrance, their cameras flashing aggressively as they shout your name. “Are you dating Karina?” “How long have you been together?” “What does this mean for your career?” The barrage of questions hits you like a tidal wave, your heart pounding in your chest as you push through the throng, keeping your head down, your lips pressed into a tight line. The scrutiny is suffocating, the flashing lights blinding, and you feel a raw, exposed vulnerability you’ve never experienced before. Your teammates, already on the pitch, glance over with curious expressions, but you can’t meet their eyes, the shame and anxiety coiling tighter around you.

Inside, you’re summoned to the manager’s office, the familiar space now feeling like a courtroom as you step through the door. Your manager, a stern but fair man with experience handling high-profile players, sits behind his desk, his expression unreadable. You brace yourself, expecting a reprimand, your stomach churning with the fear that this could jeopardize your place on the team. But he leans back in his chair, his tone calm yet firm. “I don’t care what happens off the pitch,” he says, his voice steady. “Your personal life is yours. But I’ll be clear—your performance cannot slip. The media will eat you alive if you let this affect your game. Stay focused.” His words are both a relief and a warning, the pressure to perform now layered with the chaos of your personal life. You nod, muttering a quiet “Understood, sir,” but as you leave his office, the weight of his expectations settles heavily on your already burdened shoulders.

Days crawl by, each one an agonizing stretch of silence from Jimin, and the weight of her absence presses down on you like a suffocating fog. Aespa has already performed in Germany, their tour schedule moving forward without pause, and yet she still hasn’t called you back. The absence of her voice, her laughter, her reassurance—it eats at you, gnawing at your thoughts like a relentless parasite, each unanswered moment reopening a wound you thought had healed. You check your phone obsessively, your fingers trembling as you swipe through notifications, hoping for a message, a missed call, anything, but the blank screen mocks your desperation, a cruel reminder of the void she left behind. Your mind spirals into the darkest corners, conjuring worst-case scenarios that haunt your sleepless nights. What if her management forced her to end things? What if the scandal has damaged her career and reputation, and she blames you? What if she’s decided the pressure is too much, that loving you isn’t worth the risk?

The thought of losing her again, of never feeling her warmth, her touch, sends a sharp pang through your chest, a hollow ache that feels all too familiar. You’ve been here before—when she slipped out of your life the first time after that night in Seoul, leaving nothing but a whispered note and an empty bed. That abandonment carved a deep scar into your heart, the pain of waking to her absence, of not knowing why she left, haunting you for months. You’d spent countless nights wondering if you’d done something wrong, if you’d been too much or not enough, the silence amplifying your insecurities until you buried them deep. Now, as the news of your relationship spreads like wildfire, those old wounds rip open, the fear of abandonment clawing at you with vicious claws. What if this is her leaving again, but this time for good? The idea of her walking away, of choosing her world over you, is a torment that seeps into every corner of your being, your heart aching with an emptiness that no amount of training can distract you from.

You go through the motions at practice, your body moving on autopilot—dribbling, passing, shooting—but your mind is elsewhere, trapped in a loop of memories and fears. You replay every moment of that dinner, the way her eyes sparkled as she laughed, the warmth of her hand brushing yours; every stolen kiss, her lips soft and urgent against yours; every whispered “x,” her voice a melody that tethered you to her. Now, with the headlines screaming your names, those memories feel like fragile glass, on the verge of shattering under the weight of public scrutiny. The uncertainty is a torment, a constant undercurrent of fear that threatens to drown you, each unanswered call a reminder of the first time she vanished, leaving you to pick up the pieces of your broken trust. With each passing day, the hope you cling to feels more fragile, more out of reach, and the pain of her potential abandonment cuts deeper, a raw wound you fear might never heal.

The moment Karina steps into the hotel lobby in Germany with her Aespa members—Winter, Ningning, and Giselle—their phones erupt with a cacophony of notifications, a sudden storm of buzzing and dinging that shatters the quiet exhaustion of their arrival. Her heart sinks as she glances at her screen, the headlines blaring in bold: “Karina of Aespa Spotted with Manchester United Star!” The accompanying photos—her laughing with you over dinner, your hand brushing hers—stare back at her, a public exposure of the private sanctuary she tries to protect. A wave of panic crashes over her, her chest tightening as her breath quickens. Shame burns her cheeks, not for loving you, but for the vulnerability of it all—her career, her group, her carefully curated image, all laid bare for the world to judge. Fear gnaws at her, a cold dread that this might ruin everything she has worked for, that her members might resent her, that SM Entertainment might force her to end it. The weight of their stares—curious, concerned—presses down on her, and tears prick at the corners of her eyes as she clutches her phone, her mind racing with worst-case scenarios.

Yet, beneath the chaos, a fierce resolve flickers. She loves you—deeply, irrevocably—and the thought of losing you over this feels like losing a part of herself. The stolen moments, the late-night calls, the way you make her feel safe and seen—they are worth fighting for. Her heart aches with longing, a desperate need to hear your voice, to assure you she isn’t walking away, but the situation spirals out of her control before she can act. When SM management summons her to a video call the next day, their expressions stern and unreadable, she takes a deep breath and speaks the truth. “Yes, I’m dating him,” she admits, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. “He’s a football player from Manchester United, and I love him. This won’t affect my work or the group—I promise.”

The managers exchange glances, their silence heavy, and after a tense pause, they deliver their verdict: they will discuss it after the tour ends, a week away. Until then, her manager confiscates her phone, a cold, impersonal act that leaves her feeling isolated, her lifeline to you severed. The days blur into performances, her voice carrying through sold-out arenas, but her heart isn’t in it—every note tinges with the ache of your absence.

The final stop of the tour—Paris—passes in a blink, the stage lights blurring into a haze as Jimin pours every ounce of her energy into the performance, her movements sharp and her voice powerful, a defiant declaration that this won’t break her. But her focus narrows to one thing: confronting management. After the concert, everyone returns to South Korea, and in a long, grueling meeting that stretches into the early hours, she stands her ground. “I won’t break up with him,” she says, her voice firm despite the exhaustion etching her features. “This won’t affect Aespa—it’s my personal life, and I’ll manage it. Please, let me keep this.” Hours of debate follow, her arguments met with skepticism, but her passion and commitment to the group eventually sway them. SM relents, agreeing to let the relationship stand, and returns her phone, the weight lifting slightly from her shoulders.

The moment she powers it on, her fingers tremble as she dials your number, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and hope. When you pick up, the first word that tumbles from her lips is raw, unguarded, and filled with all the love she has held back: “Babe.” The sound of your voice on the other end, even before you can respond, brings tears to her eyes, a floodgate of relief and longing breaking open as she clings to the phone, desperate to bridge the silence that has torn you apart.

The phone rings, shattering the tense silence of your apartment, and your heart leaps into your throat. You’ve been on edge for days, the uncertainty gnawing at you like a relentless beast, and seeing Jimin’s name on the screen sends a jolt of both hope and fear through you. You answer in just one ring, your thumb trembling as you press the button, and her voice—soft, raw, and filled with emotion—comes through. “Babe,” she says, and the single word breaks something inside you, a dam you didn’t even know was there. Your eyes well up instantly, a single tear escaping to trace a hot path down your cheek, the relief of hearing her voice after days of silence overwhelming you. You’ve been so scared, so terrified that she might have decided to end things, that the weight of your dread has been a constant ache in your chest.

“Hm,” you manage, your voice tight and barely above a whisper, not wanting her to hear the quiver in it, the way you’re teetering on the edge of bursting into tears. You swipe at your cheek, trying to steady your breathing, but your heart pounds so loudly you’re sure she can hear it through the phone. Jimin doesn’t hesitate, her words spilling out in a rush, her tone heavy with the weight of everything she’s been through. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t call you sooner,” she starts, her voice trembling slightly. “They took my phone—management, I mean. The photos… the news… it all blew up when we got to Germany. I was so scared, babe. I didn’t know what they’d do, what they’d make me do.”

She tells you everything—the barrage of notifications, the panic that consumed her, the meeting with SM where she laid her heart bare, refusing to let go of you. Your heart thunders in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears as you hang on her every word, the rollercoaster of her emotions mirrored in your own. “I told them I love you,” she says, her voice breaking with sincerity. “I told them I wouldn’t break up with you, that this wouldn’t affect the group. They debated for hours, but in the end… they agreed to let us keep this going. For now.” She pauses, her breath shaky, and you can feel the gravity of what’s coming next. “But they said if it affects the group in a hugely negative way… I’d have to break up with you.”

The relief that washes over you is so profound it feels like a physical weight lifting from your shoulders. Your worst fear—that she’d be forced to end things, that you’d lose her—hasn’t come to pass, and the realization makes your chest ache with a mix of gratitude and lingering caution. “Jimin,” you say, your voice finally steadying, though it’s thick with emotion, “I’m so relieved. I was so scared—so scared I’d lose you. I’ve been a mess these past few days, thinking of every worst-case scenario. But hearing this… knowing we can keep going… I’m so happy. We’ll be careful, I promise. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure this doesn’t hurt you or the group.”

She exhales softly, the sound laced with her own relief. “I’m happy too,” she says, her voice softening with love. “I missed you so much. But there’s more—SM is going to accept the rumors tomorrow. They’re releasing a statement confirming our relationship. You should have one prepared too, just to be safe.” Her words carry a mix of resolve and nervousness, and you nod to yourself, already mentally drafting what you’ll say, determined to protect her as much as you can.

The next day, both parties release their statements—SM’s a concise confirmation of your relationship, yours a heartfelt acknowledgment of your love for Jimin while emphasizing your commitment to your career and her privacy. The response is a whirlwind of mixed emotions. Many fans and supporters flood social media with positivity, celebrating your love with heartwarming messages and edits of you both, their acceptance a balm to your nerves. But the online space quickly turns into a battleground as a fierce fanwar erupts between Manchester United fans and Aespa fans, both sides staunchly defending their idols. Manchester United supporters rally behind you, posting messages like, “Our star doesn’t need this K-pop drama—leave him alone to focus on the game!” and “Karina’s just a distraction, he deserves better than her!” Meanwhile, Aespa fans fire back with equal intensity, defending Jimin with comments like, “Karina’s a global icon, your washed-up footballer should be grateful!” and “Don’t drag our queen into your boring sports mess—Karina deserves the world!” The clash escalates, with some United fans writing, “She’s using him to boost her failing career—K-pop idols are all fake!” and Aespa fans retaliating, “Your guy’s a nobody compared to Karina—keep her name out of your mouth!”

But there’s a darker, more vicious side to the reaction—hateful comments aimed directly at Jimin, tearing into her with a cruelty that makes your blood boil. On various platforms, detractors unleash their venom, each message a dagger to your heart and a deeper wound to her spirit. A user named @KpopTruthUnveiled writes, “Karina’s such a disappointment, throwing away her career for some washed-up footballer. She’s a slut who doesn’t care about her fans.” Another, @AntiAespaForever, posts, “She’s pathetic, chasing a guy while her group suffers—Karina’s a selfish idiot!” A particularly vile comment under a news article reads, “Karina should just quit. She’s a disgrace to K-pop, sleeping her way to headlines. Hope her career tanks and she fades into nothing.” The cruelty of these words cuts deep, a bitter reminder of the cost of your love being public, and you can’t help but worry about how Jimin is handling it, imagining the pain she must feel seeing herself reduced to such hateful labels.

The days following the public statements are a turbulent storm of emotions, the internet a battleground of support, fanwars, and vitriol. While many fans rally behind you and Jimin, flooding your social media with messages like “They’re so cute together! Love wins!” and “Protect these two at all costs,” the fanwar between Manchester United and Aespa supporters rages on, adding fuel to the fire. United fans post captions like, “Our lad’s too good for her—she’s just a publicity stunt!” while Aespa fans counter with, “Karina’s a queen, your team’s just jealous of her shine!” The hateful comments targeting Jimin multiply, piling up under every post about your relationship, each one a fresh wound. Another user, @HateKarinaNow, writes, “She’s a talentless fake—using a guy to stay relevant. K-pop doesn’t need her!” The brutality of these attacks makes your stomach churn, a mix of anger and helplessness boiling inside you as you picture Jimin reading them, her heart breaking under the weight of the cruelty, her confidence shaken by the relentless onslaught against her character.

At SM Entertainment, the initial wave of hate catches management off guard, and whispers circulate about whether Karina should lay low for a while to let the storm pass. The pressure mounts as they monitor the negative comments, their concern for Aespa’s image growing with each hateful post. Meanwhile, you’re grappling with your own frustration, the distance between you and Jimin making it harder to shield her from the onslaught. One evening, your phone buzzes with an incoming call from her, and you answer immediately, expecting her usual warmth. But instead, you hear the unmistakable sound of her crying—soft, broken sobs that pierce through you like a knife.

“Jimin, what’s wrong?” you ask, your voice laced with worry, your heart sinking as her cries continue. She doesn’t respond at first, just sniffles, and the silence on her end only heightens your panic. “Babe, please—talk to me. What’s going on?” you press, your tone gentle but firm, desperate to understand.

After a long pause, her voice comes through, trembling and raw. “It’s… it’s the messages,” she confesses, her words punctuated by shaky breaths. “Some of them—they’ve been getting to me. People saying I’m a disappointment, that I’m ruining my career, that I don’t deserve to be in Aespa. They’re calling me horrible things, and I… I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you to worry, but it hurts so much.” Her voice breaks again, and the sound of her pain shatters something inside you, a fierce protectiveness surging to the surface.

“Jimin, I’m so sorry,” you say, your voice thick with emotion, your own eyes stinging with tears. “You don’t deserve any of this. Those people—they don’t know you, they don’t know us. I’m not going to let this continue.” The anger in your chest hardens into resolve, and you make a decision right then, your love for her outweighing any fear of backlash. “I’m going to sue everyone who’s been leaving those disgusting comments about you,” you declare, your tone unwavering. “I’ll make sure they face consequences. No one gets to hurt you like this—not while I’m here.”

True to your word, you work with your legal team over the next few days, announcing publicly that you’ll be taking legal action against those responsible for the hateful comments targeting Jimin. The statement, released through your management, is clear and firm: “I will not stand by while my partner is subjected to vile, baseless attacks. Legal action will be pursued against those who have posted defamatory and harmful comments about Karina.” The news spreads like wildfire, and the impact is immediate. The popularity of your relationship skyrockets and fans and even neutral observers rally behind your protective stance. Posts begin to flood in with captions like “This man loves her—look at him fighting for Karina!” and “Respect for standing up for his girl. That’s true love.” The tide turns, and the public begins to see the depth of your care for her, the lengths you’re willing to go to shield her from harm.

Those who were still against your relationship—lurking in the shadows of anonymity—suddenly go silent, unwilling to risk the legal repercussions of their hateful words. The comments sections transform, the venom replaced by admiration and support, with messages like “I was wrong about them—they’re perfect together” and “Karina deserves someone who fights for her like this.” The shift in public perception is a balm to your frayed nerves, and though the scars of the initial hate linger, the knowledge that you’ve protected Jimin, that you’ve shown the world how much you love her, fills you with quiet, resolute pride.

The shift in public perception, fueled by your fierce defense of Jimin, prompts SM Entertainment to seize the moment, leveraging the global spotlight on Karina to elevate Aespa’s international presence. They selected her to represent the group at Paris Fashion Week, partnering with Prada, where she’ll don a stunning ensemble—a floral-patterned dress with a delicate blend of soft peach and green hues, adorned with intricate leaf motifs, paired with a ruffled white collar and cuffs dotted with tiny polka dots. The outfit hugs her figure elegantly, the tied sash accentuating her waist, and her long, dark hair cascades in loose waves, framing her face with natural grace. Unbeknownst to her, you’ve also been invited by a sponsor, keeping it a secret to surprise her, your heart racing with anticipation.

The day of the event arrives, and you navigate the chaotic backstage of the Grand Palais, the air buzzing with the chatter of stylists and the click of cameras. You spot Karina near a mirror, her Prada dress catching the light, her poised demeanor a stark contrast to the flurry around her. When she turns and sees you, her eyes widen, a gasp escaping her lips. “Oh my God, you’re here!” she exclaims, her voice trembling with joy as she rushes toward you. She throws her arms around your neck, her lips finding yours in a fervent kiss, her body pressing against you as if she might never let go. Her hands clutch your jacket, her fingers digging in, and she clings to you, her warmth seeping through the fabric. “I can’t believe you surprised me like this,” she whispers, her breath hot against your ear, tears of happiness glistening in her eyes.

“I wouldn’t miss seeing you shine like this,” you reply, your voice thick with emotion as you stroke her back, feeling the delicate ruffles of her dress under your fingers. “You look absolutely breathtaking, Jimin. I’m so proud of you.” She pulls back slightly, her smile radiant, a blush coloring her cheeks, and you guide her toward the front-row seats, your hands brushing as you walk, the connection between you electric.

As the runway show begins, the lights dim, and the first model strides out, but your focus remains on Karina beside you. The conversation flows naturally, a private sanctuary amidst the glamour. “That green in the dress—doesn’t it match my outfit from Paris?” she asks, leaning closer, her shoulder resting against yours as she gestures at a model. “Only if I get to take you out in it later,” you tease with a grin, and she playfully slaps your arm, her laughter bubbling up. “You’re impossible!” she giggles, but her hand finds yours, her fingers lacing with yours, squeezing gently. The audience murmurs approvingly, some snapping photos, captivated by your chemistry. “Look at that pattern—reminds me of a garden,” you comment, and she nods, resting her head on your shoulder for a moment, her hair tickling your neck. “I wish we could do this all the time,” she sighs, her voice laced with longing, and you turn to kiss her temple, murmuring, “We will, I promise—someday.”

The show concludes with a standing ovation, and as the lights brighten, you and Karina are ushered to the press area. Cameras flash as you pose together, her arm looped through yours, her smile dazzling. “One more, please!” a photographer calls, and you tilt your head toward her, sharing a quick, loving glance before the shutter clicks. Sensing the need for privacy, you guide her out a side exit, slipping into a nearby private restaurant you’d researched. The maître d’ leads you to a secluded room, the door clicking shut, muffling the outside world.

Alone, you pull Karina into your arms, your lips crashing into hers in a passionate kiss that’s all heat and yearning. She reciprocates eagerly, her hands sliding up your chest to grip your shoulders, her mouth opening to deepen the kiss, a soft moan escaping her. The taste of her—sweet and intoxicating—ignites a fire in you, and your hands roam her back, feeling the ruffles of her dress, pulling her closer. But the risk of being caught, the fragile balance of your public relationship, pulls you back. “We should stop,” you murmur against her lips, your voice thick with regret, and she nods, her breathing heavy. “You’re right,” she agrees, her fingers lingering on your collar before she steps back, her eyes still smoldering.

You settle at the table, ordering pasta and wine, the romantic ambiance wrapping around you. As you eat, Jimin’s phone buzzes incessantly, the screen lighting up with a flood of messages. She glances at it, laughing as she reads aloud. “Oh my God, listen to this—Winter says, ‘Karina, you and your man are killing it! That dress and his arm around you? Iconic!’” She scrolls further, her smile widening. “Ningning wrote, ‘OMG, you two are the cutest! That shoulder moment had me screaming!’ And Giselle just sent, ‘The fans are losing their minds over these pics—power couple vibes! Slay, girl!’” She looks up at you, her eyes sparkling with amusement and love. “They’re going absolutely crazy over us.”

You laugh, reaching across to take her hand, your thumb brushing over her knuckles. “They’re not wrong you look quite sexy next to me,” you say. She leans forward, kissing you softly, the moment a quiet promise amidst the whirlwind of your public life. The messages keep coming, a testament to the support growing around you. Though the world watches, in this room, it’s just the two of you, savoring every second.

The months following Paris Fashion Week marked a turning point for you and Jimin, a testament to the power you’ve drawn from each other. The legal action against the haters, combined with SM’s strategic embrace of the publicity, propels Aespa to new global heights, their music topping charts worldwide, with Karina’s star shining brighter than ever. Her presence at Fashion Week, bolstered by your surprise appearance, cements her as a fashion icon, her floral Prada dress becoming a viral sensation. At the same time, her performances exude a confidence that fans attribute to your unwavering support. Meanwhile, your career flourishes—Manchester United’s season ends with you scoring a career-high number of goals, your focus sharpened by the love that anchors you, the media dubbing you “the heart on the pitch” inspired by your off-field devotion.

The public scrutiny that once threatened to tear you apart fades into a distant memory, replaced by a narrative of resilience. SM’s decision to accept your relationship, reinforced by your legal stance, silences the naysayers, and the mixed emotions of the fanbase settle into overwhelming support. Fans post captions like “They’ve made each other unstoppable—look at their glow!” and “Karina and her footballer are goals—pure love and strength,” their admiration starkly contrasts the earlier venom. The couple photos from Paris, with Jimin leaning on your shoulder or playfully slapping your arm, become iconic, a symbol of a love that thrives under pressure.

With the tour concluded and the season winding down, you seize every free moment to be with her. During your off-season, you spend most of your time in South Korea, the vibrant streets of Seoul becoming a second home. The first morning after your arrival, you wake in her dorm, the soft light filtering through the curtains as you watch her sleep, her face peaceful, the tiger cub necklace glinting at her throat. When she stirs, her eyes meet yours, and a smile spreads across her face. “You’re here,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion, and you pull her close, kissing her forehead. “Always, when I can be,” you reply, your heart swelling with the reality of her in your arms.

You explore Seoul together—quiet afternoons at hidden cafés where she feeds you tteokbokki, evenings strolling through Namsan Park where you steal kisses under the cherry blossoms, and lazy holidays at her family’s countryside home, where she teaches you to make kimchi, her laughter filling the air. Her groupmates, now your extended family, tease you relentlessly—Winter quipping, “You’re stuck with us now, footballer!” while Ningning adds, “Better keep up with her schedule!”—but their warmth embraces you. In return, you invite her to Manchester during her breaks, showing her the training grounds, taking her to quiet pubs where you share pints and dreams, her hand always in yours.

Your careers soar in tandem—Karina’s next single breaks streaming records, her voice a beacon of empowerment, while you lead Manchester United to a championship, your leadership on the field a reflection of the strength she’s given you. The distance remains a challenge, but you navigate it with video calls late at night, her voice a lifeline, and planned visits that punctuate your schedules. One evening, as you sit on her dorm couch during the off-season, a documentary about your season plays on the TV, and she rests her head on your chest, her fingers tracing the tiger cub pendant. “We’ve made each other so strong,” she murmurs, her voice soft but certain. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Me neither,” you reply, tilting her chin to kiss her, the taste of her lips promising more moments. “We’ve built something powerful, Jimin. And I’ll spend every holiday, every free second, proving it.” The room fills with the quiet hum of your shared future, the chaos of the past resolved, your love a force that propels you both to success, together yet independent, a partnership forged in adversity and destined to endure.