Summary: At the beach with your flirty friend Karina, applying sunscreen on her back turns into something more...
Genre: smut, friends to lovers, female reader
Word count: <1k
Applying suncream on Karina’s narrow back… that was totally normal, right?
Your hands trembled as you massaged the sunscreen over her shoulder blades and down the lightly furred dimple of her spine.
This was something friends did for each other all the time. You were sure it didn't mean anything. It couldn't mean anything. You were nothing special to Karina - she was equally flirty and friendly with everyone.
You sat straddling her back. She was in a tiny black bikini and shorts, the neatly looped black bow the only part of her back you couldn't reach.
Your fingers kept skating towards it, but you didn't dare to slip underneath.
“Just undo it,” she said, her voice a little muffled. She was resting her cheek on her hands, eyes shut like she barely cared.
“The-?” you stuttered.
Karina huffed, reaching behind to flick open the black bow.
You gazed at the thin tan line underneath, then finally dared to skate your fingers over it. You tried not to think about her soft breasts squished on the sand.
“Go lower, too,” Karina said, in a strange voice. If you didn't know better, you might think she was nervous.
You shimmied down to her legs, then gazed at the hem of her shorts. It was impossible not to stare. Her butt squeezed out of the distressed denim. Sand and seawater caked her thighs.
The shorts were so tiny that where they went between her legs, you could see a sliver of black bikini bottom and a dusting of pussy hair. Your throat went dry.
She shimmied down her shorts for you to apply the suncream. Your fingers timidly covered the area.
The shorts went lower and lower until she just kicked them onto the sand, leaving her in only her bikini bottom.
For a second, your fingers accidentally skated over the edge of her pussy. Karina sucked in a breath.
“Sorry!” you said, upsetting the suncream bottle in the sand. “That was an accident. I swear.”
“Are you sure?” she said, and suddenly, her brown eyes were staring seriously into yours.
“What?”
“I mean…” she said, her fingers tracing shapes in the sand. “That would be a shame. What if I wanted you to touch me there… again?”
“Here? In public?” you whispered, eyeing the couples sunbathing a little way off, the kids playing in the distant ocean. You couldn't believe what you were hearing. It was all happening too fast. You needed time to think.
She batted her thick eyelashes, lying down like she was about to nap in the sand again. “I suppose it was a mistake.”
This was your moment. You had to act now, or Karina would never look at you like this again.
Daring your hand to stay still, you slipped her bikini bottom to the side, and slid your fingers over her bare pussy.
To your shock, it already glistened with wetness. It was softer than you could ever imagine, except for the gritty sensation of sand.
Karina’s eyes were still closed, but you could feel her rolling her hips up against your hand.
Unable to resist, you slipped a finger inside her, and earned a sweet sigh. She was burning hot, and sucked your finger in so deep you were breathless.
You buried your fingers in her pussy, knuckle deep, tracing every sigh, every tremble of the fat of her butt.
When you looked up, you saw the couple nearest staring at you, but you didn't care. Karina had no idea, and you knew she looked beautiful. Let them stare.
When she came, it was with a low, husky moan. Wetness soaked your fingertips.
Karina twirled around, flashing you a shy smile. Her bikini top, still untied, slipped off her chest, revealing her large breasts and round, dark nipples.
She pressed the cups to her chest, laughing. “I forgot it was untied.”
“No,” you said. “I want to see. You're beautiful.”
Looking quickly around, she let it slip down again, then pressed shyly against you.
Her fingers slid inside your bikini bottoms. As soon as she plunged her fingers inside you, you came with a shudder.
“Sorry,” you mumbled. “I—I was so worked up, and-”
“I like it. Easy to please,” she whispered in your ear. “I think I can get more than one orgasm out of you. Wanna see my hotel room?”
You couldn't agree fast enough.
Once you both looked respectable, she grabbed your hand and you ran down the shore.
“I like you, you know!” Karina called into the wind. “That's why I invited you out today, away from the others. Because I like you!”
You were so giddy you felt like you were flying. Karina didn't need to hear that you liked her back. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that you were head over heels.
—
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The tapping is the first thing you notice when you step onto the second-to-last floor of the SM building. Jimin's foot bouncing against the tile floor, nervous energy bleeding out through that one repetitive motion. She's hunched over her phone, thumb scrolling, and even from behind you can see the tension in her shoulders.
You reach over and pluck the phone from her hands.
"Hey—"
"Not good for you," you say, holding it out of reach. "Watching that shit."
She spins around in her chair and her whole expression shifts when she sees you. Relief floods her face and she's up in a second, hands grabbing your shirt as she pulls you down into a hug. It's quick but desperate, like she needed to confirm you're actually here.
When she pulls back, her eyes drop to the cup in your other hand.
"That much caffeine isn't good for you either." She takes it right out of your grip before you can protest.
"It's my first cup of the day."
Jimin gives you this look. The kind that says she knows you're full of shit.
"Okay, second."
She doesn't break eye contact.
You sigh. "Third. But in my defense, I couldn't sleep last night. This whole... everything is driving me fucking crazy."
"Yeah." Her fingers trace the rim of your coffee cup. "Me neither. Especially after they called us in."
You hand her phone back and she stares at it for a moment before shoving it in her pocket. The SM building today feels much more oppressive than it normally does. Too bright, too sterile. White walls and uncomfortable chairs and that generic corporate smell of air conditioning.
Jimin moves to the wall and leans against it, arms crossed over her chest. "How did this even happen?" Her head tilts back, eyes on the ceiling. "This is my fault. I shouldn't have kissed you."
"Stop."
"I mean it. If I hadn't—"
"Jimin." You step closer. "It's not your fault. You kissed me, and I dared you to do it again. So technically it's both our faults, but really? It's neither. It's whoever the fuck leaked that footage."
She shakes her head, and there's this lost quality to how she's looking at nothing in particular. "It feels like everything's falling apart. Two days ago, everything was perfect. I was the happiest I've ever been. And now..."
The sentence just dies there.
You pull her into a hug and she melts into it, face buried against your chest. "The bright side," you say into her hair, "is that if we make it through this shitstorm, we won't have to hide anymore. No more sneaking around. No more pretending we're just friends. It's a necessary hell."
"Necessary hell." She laughs weakly. "That's one way to put it."
"I'm serious though. After this, it's done. The worst will be over."
She pulls back just enough to look at you. "Thank you. For being here. For not..." She doesn't finish but you know what she means. For not running.
"I'm with you until the end. I know what's at stake for you." You're trying so hard to be her anchor right now, to be the steady thing she can hold onto. But the truth is you're just as terrified as she is. Maybe more. Because she's Karina, she's survived scandals and hate and the brutal machinery of the industry. You're just some guy who accidentally became the center of a media shitstorm.
But then you remember the hotel room two days ago. How she held you when you were the one falling apart, how she fought through your insecurities and showed you exactly what you mean to her. This is your turn. Time to be strong for her.
The door opens and a woman in a sleek black blazer appears. Mid-thirties, clipboard in hand, expression professionally neutral.
"They're ready for you now."
You and Jimin exchange a look. Her hand finds yours and you hold tight as you walk down the hallway. The secretary's heels click in front of you. When you reach the door, you both stop. Your hands separate slowly, reluctantly.
Jimin turns to face you fully. "No matter what happens in there," she says, "I'm not staying away from you. Whatever they say, whatever they want. I won't."
You smile despite everything. "I know."
You push the door open together.
The office, as you already expected, is big and imposing. Floor to ceiling windows overlooking Seoul, expensive furniture, and behind a massive desk sits Lee Soo-man's successor as the real power at SM Entertainment: Vice Chairman Kim Youngmin. Late forties, silver starting to thread through his hair, wearing a suit that probably cost as much as a small car. He built half of SM's current roster and has a reputation for being brilliant and absolutely ruthless.
"Please, sit." He gestures to the two chairs across from his desk.
You and Jimin sit. The chairs are less comfortable than they look.
"We know," you both say, almost in unison.
Kim Youngmin leans back in his chair, fingers steepled. "Let me lay out where we are. The footage has been circulating for approximately eighteen hours. Major news outlets picked it up within four. Trending on every platform. Twitter, Instagram, Naver, Weibo. The comments sections are..." He pauses. "Volatile."
"This conversation shouldn't even be happening," Jimin says. "We're not criminals."
"No, you're not." Kim Youngmin's expression doesn't change. "But you are under contract, Jimin. Section 7, subsection C. Public image and conduct clauses. I'm sure you remember signing it. The situation is delicate," he continues, pulling out a tablet and sliding it across the desk. You can see metrics, graphs, social media analytics. "Your individual brand value dropped 23% overnight. aespa's group endorsements are being reviewed by three major sponsors. We've had calls from luxury brands reconsidering their ambassador contracts. Your upcoming comeback promotion schedule is in jeopardy."
Jimin opens her mouth but you touch her arm lightly. A signal. Stay calm. She glances at you and takes a breath.
Kim Youngmin isn't done. "I need you both to understand the scope of what we're dealing with. This isn't just about you two having a... personal relationship. This impacts your group members, their careers, the company's stock price, investor confidence. There are hundreds of people whose livelihoods depend on aespa's success. The timing couldn't be worse with your world tour announcement scheduled for next month."
He's being professional about it, clinical even, but every word makes it sound like your relationship is a catastrophic mistake. Like you're the problem that needs to be solved.
"What about whoever leaked the footage?" Jimin's hands are balled into fists on her lap. "That's who you should be going after. We're sitting here like we did something wrong when someone invaded our privacy and weaponized it. That's the actual crime here."
"We are working on it," Kim Youngmin says smoothly. "Legal is coordinating with the police, IT is tracing the source. But that investigation will take weeks, possibly months. Right now, we have more pressing concerns. Damage control. Public perception. Your career."
"My career," Jimin repeats flatly.
"Yes." He pulls the tablet back, swipes a few times. "Which brings us to the response options. We need to make a decision within the next twelve hours. The longer we wait, the more the narrative spirals out of our control."
You feel your heart rate pick up. Here it comes.
"Option one." Kim Youngmin looks directly at Jimin. "We deny the relationship entirely. Claim the footage is a deepfake. AI-generated. There are precedents for this approach in the industry. We'd bring in digital forensics experts, release statements questioning the video's authenticity, suggest anti-fan sabotage."
"But it's not a deepfake.” you point out.
"Obviously. Which makes it difficult to prove. We'd be playing a long game, counting on public doubt and the media cycle moving on. It's risky. If the denial falls apart, the backlash would be worse than the original scandal. Trust issues, accusations of lying to fans."
Jimin is staring at the desk, processing.
"Option two," he continues. "We acknowledge the video is real but deny the romantic relationship. You and—" he glances at you, "—have known each other since childhood. The kiss was a moment of platonic affection between old friends. Perhaps celebratory, perhaps taken out of context. Young people today are more socially open to hugs and kisses than older generations used to be. We could frame it as conservative fans misunderstanding cultural norms."
"That's bullshit," Jimin says quietly.
"It's a narrative. Will everyone believe it? No. But it gives your hardcore fans something to defend you with. It provides plausible deniability. The challenge here is consistency. You'd both need to maintain that story indefinitely. Any slip, any future photo or rumor, and the whole thing collapses. And frankly, the way you two were kissing..." He trails off meaningfully. "It would be a difficult sell. But not impossible."
Jimin lets out a long sigh. The mood in the office feels like a full-on funeral - for her career and for your job.
"Option three." Kim Youngmin sets the tablet down. "You confirm the relationship. Full transparency. Release a statement that yes, you're dating. Emphasize the longevity of your connection, childhood friends who reunited, a natural progression. Make it romantic, not scandalous. Paint it as a fairy tale rather than a scandal."
"That's the one," Jimin says immediately.
"It's also the riskiest." His tone is grave. "You would be the first active female idol at your level to publicly confirm a relationship in nearly a decade. The precedent is not encouraging. Several idols faced massive backlash and career impacts despite their groups' success. Male idols have slightly more leeway, but for women? The parasocial relationship with fans is different. Harsher. You'd lose a significant portion of your fanbase. Possibly majority. The hate would be relentless."
"I don't care," Jimin says.
"You should care. We're talking potential group disbandment. Your members would suffer the consequences of your choice. Ning, Giselle, Winter… their careers would be affected. Comeback sales could tank. Concert attendance. Everything."
You feel sick. He's not wrong about the potential fallout. You've seen it happen to other idols.
"And there would be conditions," Kim Youngmin continues. "If you go public, we control the narrative completely. Approved photos, statements, interview responses. Your relationship becomes part of your public brand, which means it's subject to company management. And should things end..." He lets that hang. "The breakup would also be public. Messy. Another news cycle."
Jimin's looking at you now, and you can see the calculation happening behind her eyes. The weight of choosing between her truth and everyone else's careers.
"There's also the matter of your position," Kim Youngmin says, turning his attention to you. "You're an employee. Dating a talent you work with directly violates company policy. Regardless of which option we choose regarding the public narrative, internally there would need to be consequences."
"Consequences,” you repeat.
"Termination, most likely. Or at minimum, reassignment far from any projects involving aespa. We can't have the appearance of impropriety or conflict of interest."
Jimin's hand finds yours between the chairs where he can't see. Her grip is tight.
"So those are the options," Kim Youngmin says. "Think carefully. This decision will define both of your futures.”
"This is unacceptable,” Jimin protests. "He didn't do anything wrong. You want to talk about professionals? Ask anyone who's worked with him. Anyone on the team. He's never once crossed a line, never behaved inappropriately, never let our relationship affect his work. He's been nothing but competent since day one."
Kim Youngmin regards her calmly. "I'm not questioning his competency."
"Then why punish him?" She leans forward. "My boyfriend doesn't deserve to lose his job because someone leaked private footage of us."
"The optics—"
"Fuck the optics!"
There's a pause. You've never heard Jimin talk to a superior like this.
Kim Youngmin adjusts his tie. "The most we can do in the current situation is reassignment. Different department, different projects. You would no longer work with the aespa team in any capacity. No direct contact during work hours. It's either that or termination."
"But that's not even guaranteed," you say, finding your voice. "Right?"
"Correct. It still needs to be discussed with HR and upper management. But if I advocate for it, there's a strong chance they'll approve the transfer rather than dismissal."
You take a breath. The alternative is unemployment in the middle of a scandal with your face plastered everywhere. "Okay. I could accept that."
Jimin's head whips toward you. "What—"
"You both have until tomorrow morning to decide which route to take regarding the public response," Kim Youngmin says, standing. "Ten AM. We'll need your answer then so we can coordinate with PR and legal. Until that time, I strongly suggest you avoid drawing attention to yourselves. No social media, no public appearances. Stay low."
"We need to talk about this more," Jimin argues, almost getting up from her chair. "There has to be another way. You can't just—"
"Jimin." You touch her shoulder and she looks at you. You shake your head slightly.
"But—"
"There's nothing more to discuss right now. This is the scenario we're in."
She stares at you like you've betrayed her somehow, but she also knows you're right. Arguing won't change the options on the table. You both stand. Kim Youngmin walks you to the door, all professional courtesy now that the hard part is over.
"Tomorrow. Ten AM," he repeats.
The hallway feels longer on the way out.
—
You push open the door to your apartment and immediately spot her silhouette by the window. Jimin hasn't moved from that spot since you left forty minutes ago, just standing there watching the city lights blur into the night. You set the grocery bag on the kitchen table, pull off your mask and baseball cap, and walk over to her.
She turns when she hears your footsteps. "Did anyone recognize you?"
"No. I was careful."
"Good."
"It's weird though," you say, coming to stand beside her. "Walking around with this feeling that someone could spot me at any second. Like I'm being hunted. Your face is everywhere but mine's spreading too now. I get it now, how you feel all the time."
That gets a weak chuckle out of her. "Normally it doesn't feel like I'm some kind of outlaw on the run, but yeah. Welcome to my world."
You lean against the window frame. "My mom called while I was out."
Jimin's expression shifts immediately. "What did she say?"
"At first she was super happy. Like, 'I always knew you two would end up together' happy. Going on about how she could tell we had something special even when we were kids, how she was rooting for us this whole time." You smile at the memory of your mom's excited rambling. "Then she got worried. Asked if we were okay, if we needed anything, told me to take care of you. The usual mom stuff."
"I miss her," Jimin says softly. "She's amazing."
"She asked about you too. Wanted to make sure you were holding up."
"What'd you tell her?"
"That we're managing. That we've got each other."
Jimin nods but doesn't say anything. You can see the weight settling back over her shoulders, that thing that's been there since you walked out of Kim Youngmin's office.
You move to the couch and she follows automatically, arranging herself on your lap like she's done a hundred times before. Her legs drape over yours, body tucked into your chest. This close, you can feel how tense she is despite the casual positioning.
"The protest trucks in front of SM today," she says quietly. "Did you see them?"
"I saw photos online."
"The things they wrote..." Her voice trails off and you can fill in the blanks. You've seen enough of the comments, the trending hashtags, the coordinated hate campaigns.
"Don't think about it."
"How can I not? They're calling me every name you can imagine. Saying I betrayed them, that I'm selfish, that I don't deserve to be an idol. Some of them are sending funeral wreaths to the company. Funeral wreaths. Like I died."
You tilt her chin up and kiss her, trying to pour reassurance into it. When you pull back, you keep your forehead pressed to hers. "This will all pass. I promise."
"You don't know that."
"Think about it like getting really sick. You know that feeling? When you're lying in bed with the flu or food poisoning and you're convinced you're dying? It feels like the end of the world. Like you'll never feel normal again. But you do. Eventually it passes, your body heals, and you forget what it felt like to be that miserable. We're sick right now. The whole situation is sick. But we'll get better. You and I, we'll get better from this."
She searches your face and there's something like hope starting to break through the despair. "Since when do you use metaphors?"
"I'm training. Figure after SM fires me, I can start my writing career. Become a novelist or something."
That actually makes her laugh, a real one this time. "How are you being funny right now? At a moment like this?"
You shrug, lips quirking. "What else can I do? Our fate is in someone else's hands now. Might as well laugh while we wait for them to decide what happens to us."
She shakes her head but she's smiling, and you count that as a win. You slowly lie back on the couch, bringing her down with you. She settles fully on top of your chest, her weight grounding and familiar. You start petting her hair, running your fingers through the dark strands, and her eyes flutter closed.
"I don't care about losing the job if I still have you," you say into the quiet. "That's the truth. They can transfer me, fire me, whatever. As long as you're still here, I can handle anything else."
Her arms tighten around you, face pressing harder into your chest. "I love you," she whispers.
"I love you too."
"I mean it. I really love you. More than..." She takes a shaky breath. "More than I thought I could love anyone."
You keep stroking her hair, feeling her slowly start to relax into your touch. "I don't care about losing my career if it means I get to keep you," Jimin says suddenly. "If tomorrow Kim Youngmin says I have to choose between being Karina or being with you, I choose you. Every time. I'll choose you every time."
You weren't expecting that. Not really. You knew she loved you, knew she was serious about this relationship, but hearing her say she'd walk away from everything she's worked for since she was a teenager? That she'd give up aespa and the fame and the dream she's been chasing her whole life?
"Jimin—"
"I mean it." She props herself up to look at you directly and there are tears in her eyes. "I know what that sounds like. I know it's crazy. But these past few weeks with you have been the happiest I've ever been, and that includes every award, every sold-out show, every milestone. None of it means anything if I can't share it with you. If I have to pretend you don't exist or hide what we have or lose you completely? Then what's the point?"
You reach up and wipe the tear that's tracking down her cheek. "You really mean that."
"Yes." No hesitation. "I really mean it."
And you believe her. You can see it in her eyes, hear it in the way her voice doesn't waver. She would actually do it. She would walk away from Karina, from aespa, from the entire life she's built, if it meant keeping what you have together.
The weight of that kind of love is almost unbearable.
You pull her down and kiss her like you're trying to merge your souls, like you can somehow show her through this kiss what you can't find words for. She kisses back just as desperately, and when you finally break apart, you're both breathing hard.
"Tomorrow," you say. "We'll face whatever comes tomorrow. But right now, right here, we're okay. We have each other. That's enough."
She nods against your chest, and you hold her tighter as the night deepens around you. Whatever Kim Youngmin says, whatever options get chosen, whatever consequences rain down; you'll face it together. And that makes even the impossible seem survivable.
—
The next morning, you're both wearing your most professional outfits. Jimin in a black blazer and slacks that make her look like she means business, you in the nicest suit you own. It feels weird, getting dressed up for what's essentially a firing squad, but appearances matter. Especially now.
The conference room on the executive floor is bigger than the one yesterday, with a long table that could seat twenty people. You and Jimin take seats on one side. Across from you sits Kim Youngmin, flanked by two other executives you recognize from company events but have never actually spoken to. A woman in her fifties with severe glasses, head of PR. A younger guy, maybe early forties, from the legal department.
The door opens again and Winter walks in first, followed by Ning and Giselle. They look worried, eyes immediately finding Jimin. Winter sits next to her and squeezes her hand under the table. Ningning takes the seat on Jimin's other side. Giselle sits next to you, giving you a small encouraging nod.
"Thank you all for coming," Kim Youngmin says once everyone's settled. "I know this is an unusual situation, having the full group present for what is essentially a personal matter. But given the circumstances and the impact on aespa as a whole, we felt it was necessary for everyone to be informed and involved in the decision."
The PR head adjusts her glasses. "As you're all aware, footage of Jimin and—" she glances at you, "—was leaked two days ago. The response has been significant and largely negative. We've been monitoring the situation closely."
"Largely negative is putting it mildly," Giselle mutters.
The woman ignores that. "We presented two options to Jimin yesterday. After taking time to consider, we need their final decision on how to proceed. This will determine our response strategy, PR approach, and the immediate future of aespa's scheduled activities."
Kim Youngmin looks directly at Jimin. "So. What have you decided?"
You and Jimin exchange a look. You saw the fear in her eyes last night, but also the determination. You talked until almost three in the morning, weighing everything, playing out scenarios. In the end, it came down to one question: could you live with lying? Could she?
The answer was no.
Jimin sits up straighter, and when she speaks, there’s a firmness in her voice that almost makes it seem like she isn’t scared inside: "We want to confirm the relationship. No denials, no deepfake claims, no pretending we're just friends. The truth."
Winter, Ning, and Giselle immediately break into relieved smiles. Ningning actually does a little fist pump under the table.
The executives, on the other hand, look at each other with these grim expressions that say they were hoping you'd pick literally any other option.
"You understand the risks," the PR head says. It's not a question.
"Yes."
"The potential career impact. The fan backlash. The—"
"I understand," Jimin says firmly. "This is our final decision."
Kim Youngmin leans back in his chair. "Alright then. Here's what happens now. SM will begin preparing an official statement. It will be released tomorrow afternoon through all official channels; website, social media, press release to major outlets. The statement will confirm the relationship, emphasize the long-term friendship foundation, and request respect for your privacy going forward."
"aespa's activities will be temporarily paused," the legal guy adds, pulling out a folder of documents. "Scheduled appearances are being canceled or postponed. The photo shoot for Elle next week is off. The variety show filming is off. Radio interviews, all off."
"Anything that involves public promotion or group appearances, yes. Previous commitments that are already completed will still be released as planned. The makeup campaign you filmed last month will still air, the photoshoot from two weeks ago will still be published. But new activities are suspended indefinitely."
Winter's face has gone pale. "For how long?"
"Until we can properly assess the situation and gauge public sentiment. Could be a few weeks, could be months."
"What about the international tour?" Giselle asks. "The official announcement will be next month.”
The PR head exchanges a look with Kim Youngmin. "That's still being decided. We need to see how Western fans react to the news. If the response is as hostile as it is domestically, it might be better to cancel and issue refunds. If there's more support internationally, we may proceed as planned but with modified promotion."
The girls look gutted. You know how much they were looking forward to that tour. The LA stop. New York. London. It was supposed to be huge for them.
Jimin's grip on Winter's hand tightens but she keeps her expression neutral. "And what about him?" She tilts her head toward you. "Is he getting fired?"
"We will attempt to reassign him to a different management team," Kim Youngmin says. "Another group, ideally one with no connection to aespa. If HR approves the transfer, we'll notify him by next week. If they don't..." He doesn't need to finish that sentence.
"That's bullshit," Giselle says bluntly. "He's good at his job. This has nothing to do with his competency."
"It's a conflict of interest situation. We have to maintain certain standards."
"Whose standards?" Winter asks, and wow, you've never heard her sound angry before. She's usually the sweet one. "You're punishing them for being happy."
"We're managing a crisis," the PR head snaps. "One that could have been avoided if proper boundaries had been maintained."
"Okay," you say, because this is getting heated and the last thing Jimin needs is her members getting in trouble on your behalf. "Okay. I accept the terms. The reassignment or whatever happens. Let's just move forward."
Kim Youngmin nods like he appreciates you defusing the situation. "One more thing, Jimin. Do not post anything on social media during this period. No statements, no photos, no Instagram stories. Nothing. All communication goes through official SM channels. Understood?"
"Understood."
"Alright then." He closes his folder. "We'll be in touch with updates as the situation develops. For now, I suggest you all go home and prepare for the statement release tomorrow. It's going to be a media circus."
The meeting ends with a weird formal feeling, everyone standing and gathering their things in stiff silence. The executives leave first. Once they're gone, the atmosphere shifts immediately.
Ningning throws her arms around Jimin. "I'm so proud of you."
"Me too," Winter says, joining the hug. "That took guts."
Giselle wraps her arms around all of them, creating this group huddle thing. You stand awkwardly to the side until Giselle reaches out and yanks you into it.
"You too," she says. "You're part of this now."
When they finally break apart, Jimin has tears in her eyes but she's smiling. "Thank you. God, thank you guys so much. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"You'd probably make terrible decisions," Ningning teases. "Good thing you have us."
"Seriously though," Winter says, "we're here. Whatever you need, whenever you need it. We're sisters. This doesn't change that."
"If anything, it makes us stronger," Giselle adds. "Fuck the haters. We're aespa. We've been through worse."
"Have we though?" Ningning asks.
"Okay, maybe not worse. But we'll get through this too."
They migrate into the hallway, instinctively forming this protective circle around Jimin. You hang back slightly, giving them space, but Jimin reaches for your hand and pulls you into the group.
"There's nothing we can do right now except wait," Winter says. "You guys did what you could. Made your choice. Now it's out of your hands."
"Use this time to rest," Ningning suggests. "Get away from the internet. Don't read the comments, don't check Twitter, just... exist for a while without all the noise."
"She's right," Giselle says. "The next few weeks are going to be hell. Take care of each other. Sleep. Eat actual food. Watch stupid movies. Do normal people things."
Jimin nods, wiping at her eyes. "I love you guys. So much."
"We love you too," they say in unison, and then they're hugging again.
You watch them and smile proudly at this group. Whatever happens, Jimin has this. She has people who love her unconditionally, who'll stand by her even when the world turns hostile. That matters more than any tour or commercial deal. Then, eventually they have to go. Ning has a vocal lesson, Winter has a meeting with her personal trainer, Giselle has a photoshoot for a magazine. They extract themselves reluctantly, making Jimin promise to text them later, to let them know she's okay.
Once they're gone, Jimin turns to you in the quiet hallway. "What are we going to do now?"
You've been thinking about this since last night. About what she needs, what you both need. How to get through the storm that's about to hit.
"I have something in mind," you say.
She looks up at you, curious. "Yeah?"
"Trust me?"
"Always.”
—
The bus drops you off at the main intersection and from there it's a fifteen minute walk. Gapyeong is exactly what you remembered, this small quiet city about an hour outside Seoul where time moves differently. Slower. The air smells cleaner here, pine trees and fresh water from the nearby river instead of exhaust fumes and convenience store kimchi. It's a beautiful afternoon, the kind where the sun hits everything at this perfect golden angle that makes even ordinary things look special.
You and Jimin are both hauling suitcases and backpacks, dressed down in hoodies and masks and baseball caps. Incognito mode. Nobody's recognized you yet, which feels like a small miracle considering your faces have been plastered across every news site in Korea for the past two days.
"It's this street," you say, checking your phone one last time before you shut it off completely. "Should be the fourth house on the left."
Jimin adjusts her backpack strap. "I can't believe we're actually doing this. Just disappearing."
"For a week. Then we'll face reality again."
"A week sounds perfect."
You find the house and stop in front of it. It's exactly how you remember it from your childhood visits, a small traditional hanok with modern renovations. White walls and dark wood beams, a tiled roof that curves at the edges. There's a small garden in front that's slightly overgrown but charming in that wild way.
"This is it," you say.
Jimin pulls down her mask to get a better look. "Whose place is this?"
"My late grandmother's house. She left it to my cousin when she passed. He's traveling for work right now, some engineering project in Singapore, so the place is empty. I ran into him in Seoul a few days ago, so I asked if you and I could stay at the house for a while. He was actually happy about it. Said as long as we water the plants, we'd be doing him a favor."
You pull out the key from your pocket and unlock the front door. When it swings open you're hit with that smell, the one that's pure nostalgia. Wood and aged paper and the subtle scent of flowers in the backyard. The interior is clean and well maintained despite being empty. Your cousin clearly takes care of the place even when he's not living here.
Jimin steps inside and immediately does this slow spin, taking everything in. The wooden floors, the traditional sliding doors, the low table in the living room, the small kitchen visible through an archway. "Oh my god. This is beautiful."
"I knew you'd like it."
"Like it? I love it." She sets her suitcase down and walks further in, fingers trailing along the wall. "It feels so... I don't know. Peaceful? Like the outside world doesn't exist here."
"That's kind of the point."
She turns back to you and there's this lightness in her expression that you haven't seen since before the leak. "Show me around?"
You give her the tour. It's not a big house but every room has character. The main bedroom with its floor mattress and the window that overlooks the backyard garden. The second smaller bedroom that your cousin uses as an office. The bathroom with its traditional tub. The kitchen with the ancient rice cooker your grandmother refused to replace because it made the best rice.
"We can stay in the main room," you say. "It's got the most space and the best view."
Jimin nods, already pulling clothes out of her suitcase. "I need to change. I've been in these jeans for like six hours."
"Yeah, me too."
You both change into more comfortable clothes. You swap your jeans for sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. Jimin emerges from the bathroom wearing this floral dress, white background with small blue flowers scattered across it. It's simple and summery and makes her look like she belongs in a painting.
"Wow," you say before you can stop yourself.
She does a little twirl. "Too much?"
"Perfect. You look perfect."
She grins and sits down on the edge of the floor mattress, tucking her legs under her. "Okay, so what's the plan? You said you had something in mind. I trust you, obviously. You always come up with the best ideas."
You smile but also feel the pressure of that statement. "Alright, so. I'll admit this one's not as elaborate as the camping trip. Actually, it's simpler. But I think that's what we need right now."
"I'm listening."
You dig into your backpack and pull out something wrapped in brown paper. Jimin watches curiously as you unwrap it to reveal a leather-bound photo album, the kind with blank pages where you manually insert photos. Old school.
She looks confused. "Is that... a notebook?"
"Photo album. And since we're going to be offline for a bit, disconnected from everything digital, I thought we could do something more manual. A special little project." You hold it up. "There's an analog camera here somewhere, my grandfather's old one. The idea is that you and I spend this week walking around the city, taking pictures, filling this album. Real physical photos that we develop and then put them in here.”
Jimin's eyes are getting wider.
"And in the future," you continue, "when we look back on this time in our lives, we won't remember the scandal or the hate or the fear. We'll remember this album. These photos. The memories we made together when everything else was falling apart."
"YES!" Jimin literally shouts it, jumping up from the mattress. "Oh my god, yes! That's brilliant! That's so romantic!"
She throws herself at you, nearly knocking you over. Her arms wrap around your neck and she's kissing you, fast excited kisses all over your face.
"This is perfect," she says between kisses. "This is the most beautiful thing anyone's ever planned for me. We're going to fill that whole album. Every single page."
"I was hoping you'd be into it."
"Into it? I'm obsessed with it. Come on, let's go right now." She grabs your hand and starts pulling you toward the door.
You laugh, holding her back. "Wait, wait. We need the camera first. And the film rolls. And we also need to water the plants in the backyard before we leave. My cousin specifically asked about the plants."
She stops, composing herself. "Right. You're right. Okay. Camera first. Where is it?"
"Honestly? No idea. I haven't been here in years. We'll have to search for it."
You both start looking through the house. Jimin takes the office room, going through drawers and closets. You check the main bedroom, looking in the wardrobe and under the bed. Nothing. You move to the living room, checking the cabinets built into the walls. Still nothing.
"Found film!" Jimin calls from the office. "There's like, a whole box of unused rolls."
"Nice. Keep looking for the camera."
Ten minutes later, you're starting to worry your grandfather's camera got lost or donated when Jimin calls out from the kitchen.
"Got it!"
You rush in and find her holding up a vintage Canon AE-1, the black body a little worn but clearly well cared for. There's a lens attached and a brown leather strap.
"Where was it?"
"In the cabinet above the fridge. There's a whole shelf of random stuff up there."
You take the camera from her, feeling the weight of it. It's heavier than modern cameras, solid and real in your hands. You pop open the back to check the mechanisms and everything looks functional.
"This was my grandfather's," you say, running your thumb over the grip. "He developed this little hobby for photography when he got older. Started taking tons of photos. He loved photographing my grandmother especially. Just candid shots of her cooking or reading or tending the garden. She'd always complain about it but you could tell she secretly loved the attention."
Jimin moves closer, looking at the camera with new appreciation.
"When he got sick," you continue, "near the end, he told me he wanted me to have this. Made me promise I'd take care of it, use it, keep taking pictures. But I never came back here to pick it up after he passed. Life got busy, I went to study abroad, and I just... forgot. I don't know. It's a strange feeling. But now feels like the right time, you know? Like maybe he was waiting for this moment."
Jimin's hand finds yours. "I remember when you'd come here on weekends. You'd come back with all these funny stories about your grandparents. Your grandmother teaching you to make kimchi, your grandfather showing you his garden. I always wanted to come with you so badly."
"You did?"
"Yeah. I'd ask my parents all the time if I could tag along, but they never let me. Said it was family time and I shouldn't intrude." She looks around the house again, this wistful expression on her face. "I used to imagine what it was like here. Built this whole fantasy version in my head."
"And now you're here," you say. "With me."
She smiles, that real genuine smile that makes her whole face light up. "Yeah. Now I'm finally here. With you."
You load the film into the camera, the mechanical click satisfying as it catches. "Alright. Camera's ready. We've got film. We just need to water those plants and then we can start our photography adventure."
"Lead the way."
The backyard is a lush, slightly wild patch of green. There are raised beds overflowing with herbs and vegetables you can't name, and a line of clay pots with blooming flowers sits along the stone wall. A hose is coiled up near the back door, but you also spot a vintage-looking metal watering can hanging from a hook on the wall.
"I'll get the plants," Jimin says, taking the watering can.
"Are you sure? I can do it."
"No, I want to. I haven't done anything like this since... ever, probably." She fills the can from the spigot and starts methodically watering the tomato plants.
You watch her for a moment, the afternoon sun filtering through the leaves of a large persimmon tree, catching the highlights in her hair. She's completely absorbed in her task. An idea sparks. You quietly lift your grandfather's camera, holding it up to your eye, pretending it's a full-blown documentary camera.
"And here we are," you say in your best David Attenborough voice, low and serious. "Witnessing something truly rare. The elusive K-pop idol, Yoo Jimin, also known as Karina, spotted far from her natural habitat of sold-out stadiums and blinding camera flashes."
Jimin looks up, a confused smile on her face. "What are you doing?"
"Shhh," you whisper loudly. "We're documenting. Here she is, engaging in... is that manual labor? Yes, it appears to be. Watering plants like an ordinary, common woman. What a historical record for future generations. Notice the technique, the focus. She shows a surprising aptitude for it."
She sighs but can't hide the wide grin spreading across her face. "Oh my god, stop. You're ridiculous." She turns her back to you, pretending to be focused on a pot of basil, but you can see her shoulders shaking with laughter.
"C'mon, don't be camera shy," you continue, circling her. "The world needs to see this. The 'real' Karina. Unplugged. Unfiltered. One with the earth."
She finally turns back, trying and failing to look annoyed. "Don't you have something better to film?"
"Nope. This is the most interesting thing happening in the world right now." You zoom in on her face. "Okay, okay, documentary's over." You pull the camera away from her for a moment. "But seriously, stay right there. Just... smile for me. A real one."
And that's how it starts. The mini photoshoot in the backyard. She doesn't even have to try. Every angle is her best angle. You tell her to lean against the old wooden fence, and she does, looking off into the distance like she's on the cover of some indie folk album. You have her sit on the stone steps of the back porch, and she pulls her knees to her chest, laughing as you tell a joke. She picks a small wildflower and tucks it behind her ear, her expression turning dreamy. She makes you look like some genius photographer, but you know the truth: the camera just loves her. It's impossible to take a bad picture of Yoo Jimin.
At the end of it all, she stands up, brushing her hands on her dress. "Okay, I think my modeling career is officially over. My hands are filthy."
She walks over to the hose to wash them, turning the spigot just enough for a gentle stream. The water splashes over her hands, washing away the dark soil. Her hair, which was perfectly styled this morning, is now loose and a little wild from the breeze and her movements. A smudge of dirt has found its way onto her floral dress, just above the hem. And as she looks up at you, pushing a stray strand of hair from her face, she looks absolutely perfect. Not idol perfect, with the flawless makeup and designer clothes. Just... her. Real and beautiful and standing in your grandmother's backyard.
You raise the camera one last time. The shutter clicks.
You know you've just captured something true.
"What was that one for?" she asks, drying her hands on her dress.
"That," you say, "was the first official photo for our album."
Her face lights up. "We did it! We started!" She runs over and jumps into your arms, wrapping her legs around your waist. "We already have photos! This is going to be the best album ever."
You hold her tight. “It’s going to go down in history as the best amateur photography album,” you say, laughing as you kiss the top of her head.
Finally, after finishing watering the plants, you and Jimin step out of the house. She has the camera strap slung over her shoulder this time. She looks like a tourist, an adventurer, anything but a global superstar on the run from a career-ending scandal.
"Okay," she says, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Where to first, Mr. Photographer?"
"I was thinking we'd just... walk. See where the city takes us." You shrug. "No plan. Just moments."
She loves that. Her smile is so wide it makes her eyes crinkle at the corners. "This feels like a movie."
"Which one?"
"I don't know yet. We're writing it as we go."
Your first stop is an old bridge that arches over the Bukhan River. The water flows lazily below, sparkling in the sun. A few fishermen are dotted along the banks, their lines cast out in patient silence. It’s a world away from the frantic energy of Seoul.
"Okay, go stand in the middle," you instruct, already lifting the camera to your eye.
Jimin walks to the center of the bridge and leans against the railing, looking out over the water. The wind gently plays with her hair, and the floral dress flutters around her legs. She’s not posing, not really. She's just being. And it’s breathtaking.
"Did you get it?" she calls out.
"I think so. We'll find out in a few weeks"
She laughs. "The suspense is killing me. My turn."
She runs over, takes the camera from you, and shoves you gently toward the railing. "Your turn to look pensive and handsome."
You feel awkward, unsure what to do with your hands. "I'm not the model here."
"Bullshit. You're my model." She circles you, looking through the viewfinder. "Okay, just… think about something. Something good."
You think about her. About waking up next to her this morning, about the way she laughed when you pretended to be a documentary filmmaker, about how right it feels to be here with her.
"Got it!" she says, looking pleased with herself.
As you wander deeper into the town, you fall into an easy rhythm. You take pictures of her admiring a display of colorful pottery outside a shop. She takes a picture of you buying two ice cream cones from a street vendor. You capture the way she closes her eyes in bliss with her first bite of the strawberry cone. She captures the smear of chocolate you have on your nose. Each click of the shutter feels like you're bottling a little piece of this perfect day.
You find a quiet side street lined with old bookstores and small, independent cafes. The walls are covered in layers of faded murals and peeling paint, a collage of history and art.
"Oh, this is beautiful," Jimin says, running her hand over a painting of a giant koi fish. "This reminds me of that movie. You know the one."
"Which one?"
"Before Sunrise." she answers softly. "Two people, just walking and talking through a beautiful city, falling in love. That's us right now. Except we're already in love."
"I think that makes it the sequel," you say, leaning against the wall next to her. "Before Sunset."
"The one where they find each other again after years apart? Oh my god, that's even more us!" She looks at you, her eyes shining. "This whole day feels like a scene from it. Just… us against the world, making our own little bubble."
You reach out and tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "I'd walk through a thousand cities with you."
"Good. Because I'd want you to."
She raises the camera and snaps a picture of you, so close you can hear the whir of the film advancing. Then she hands the camera back.
"We need one together," she says. "For the first page of the album."
"A selfie with this thing is going to be tricky." You hold the heavy camera at arm's length, trying to angle it so you're both in the frame. It’s awkward and heavy.
"Here, let me." Jimin squeezes in next to you, her cheek pressing against yours. She wraps her arm around your back, her other hand helping you support the camera. You're tangled up together, laughing as you try to find the shutter button without looking.
"Okay, on three," you say. "Smile."
"One… two…"
She turns at the last second and kisses your cheek.
"Did we get it?" she asks, pulling back with a grin.
"No idea," you laugh. "But if we did, it's a good one."
You can feel the moment solidifying into a memory even as it's happening. The warmth of her body pressed against yours, the scent of her perfume, the feeling of her lips on your skin. This picture, whether it turns out blurry or perfectly in focus, will always be this feeling.
She takes your hand as you continue walking, her fingers laced through yours. "This is the best plan you've ever had," Jimin says quietly, leaning her head on your shoulder as you walk. "Even better than camping."
"I told you it was simpler."
"It's not simple," she counters. "It's… essential. It's real. Just us."
You squeeze her hand. The scandal feels like a bad dream you’re slowly waking up from. It's still out there, waiting for you. But for now, in this quiet city, under the golden afternoon sun, it can’t touch you. So, like this, you two continue, without any clear direction, you wander down the main street until you spot a small family-run restaurant with paper lanterns hanging in the window. The kind of place that's been there for decades, where the menu is handwritten and laminated, slightly faded from years of use.
"You hungry?" you ask.
Jimin nods enthusiastically. "Starving. All this walking and picture taking has me ready to eat everything."
The interior is cozy, maybe six tables total. An older woman greets you with a warm smile and gestures to a table by the window. You slide into the booth across from Jimin, the camera carefully placed on the seat beside you. The menu is simple. Comfort food. Jjigae, bibimbap, various banchan. Perfect.
After you both order bibimbap, Jimin leans forward on her elbows, chin resting in her hands. "You know, I just realized I never asked you about your student exchange. How was it? You were in London, right?"
"Yeah, London. It was really cool, actually. Different from what I expected but in a good way."
"Would you ever want to go back? Like, work there or something?"
You take a sip of the barley tea the woman brought over. The question sits heavier than it should. "Funny you should ask that."
"Why?"
"I've never told anyone this, but..." You pause, tracing the rim of your glass with your finger. "I actually got a job offer there. After I finished the exchange program. A good one too, PR firm, international clients, the whole package."
Jimin's eyebrows shoot up. "Wait, seriously? Why didn't you take it?"
"It was around the time my grandparents passed away. Both of them, same year. Three months apart. My grandmother first, then my grandfather just... gave up, I think. Didn't want to be here without her."
"Oh," Jimin says softly.
"And I was sitting in this tiny London apartment, staring at the job offer email, and I just... couldn't do it. Something about losing them made me realize I didn't want to be far away from the people I love. From family. From home." You meet her eyes. "Something told me I needed to come back, to stay close. And then eventually I ran into you again. Maybe it was a sign, you know? Like I was supposed to find you again."
Jimin's expression has shifted, something tender and aching in it.
"So I'm glad I turned it down," you continue. "My parents don't know about the offer. They'd probably think I was insane for rejecting it. But I don't regret it at all."
You find yourself getting lost in the thought, your gaze drifting to the window where people pass by on the street, living their ordinary lives. "Time passes too quickly to not spend it close to the people you love. That would be too great a sacrifice, you know? I'm probably built wrong for this world." You laugh a little. "Modern capitalism, the current model of society, all of it tells you to chase opportunities, climb ladders, sacrifice everything for career advancement. The way I acted wasn't conventional. Most people would think it's stupid, actually. Objectively stupid."
The food arrives but you barely notice, still caught in your own thoughts.
"And maybe I'll be unemployed now after all this," you say, gesturing vaguely at the situation you're both in. "But at least I found love. At least I have—"
You finally look at Jimin's face to tell her that the only right thing you did was choose to be with her, and you freeze. She's crying. Not sobbing, but tears are streaming down her cheeks, her eyes red and glassy.
"Whoa, hey, why are you crying?" You reach across the table instinctively.
"That's so sad," she says, sniffling. "I didn't know any of that. About your grandparents, both of them in the same year. God."
"Jimin—"
"You must have felt so much pressure at the time." She grabs your hand with both of hers, holding tight. "And you were alone in London dealing with all of it. I wish I'd been there to hug you. To help you through it."
You give a small laugh, squeezing her hands. "It's okay now, baby. You don't need to worry. It was hard, yeah, but it's okay now. Really. You don't need to cry."
"I'm sorry." She wipes at her face with the back of her hand, smudging her minimal makeup. "I just feel so sorry for what you went through. And you never told anyone about the job offer, you've been carrying that alone this whole time."
Without thinking, you reach for the camera and lift it to your eye.
Jimin blinks, startled. "Why did you just take a picture of me like this? I'm a mess."
"I don't know." You set the camera down gently. "It just seemed real. You, right now, caring about something that happened to me years ago. Getting emotional over it. That's real. Genuine, I guess.”
She sniffles, trying to compose herself. "You're so weird, babe."
"You love it."
"I do." A watery smile breaks through. "I love you."
"I love you too.
The restaurant owner brings extra napkins without commenting on Jimin's tears, just gives a knowing, grandmotherly smile before retreating. You finally start eating, the conversation shifting to lighter things, but something has deepened between you. Another layer peeled back, another piece of yourselves shared and held sacred.
You clear your throat, gesturing to the steaming bowls in front of you both. "Come on, let's eat before it gets cold. This looks too good to waste."
Jimin nods, wiping the last traces of tears from her cheeks with the napkin. She picks up her chopsticks and takes her first bite of the bibimbap, mixing the vegetables and rice together. Almost immediately, her expression shifts from emotional vulnerability to pure contentment. Her eyes close and she makes this small sound of satisfaction that makes you smile despite everything. There's something about watching her eat, the way she loses herself in simple pleasures, that makes your chest feel full. She's beautiful like this. Just Jimin, your Jimin, sitting across from you in a small-town restaurant with slightly red eyes, completely absorbed in a bowl of rice and vegetables.
You dig into your own food. The two of you eat in comfortable silence for a while. It's domestic and easy, the kind of moment that doesn't need words to be perfect. At one point she looks up at you mid-bite and just smiles, this soft genuine thing that reaches her eyes, and you think about how you'd give up a thousand job offers in London just to have more moments exactly like this one.
When you're both finished, you flag down the owner and pay the bill despite Jimin's half-hearted protest that she should pay since she's the one with the idol money. You remind her that you're technically still employed for at least another week, so you're taking advantage while you can. That makes her laugh as you both stand and gather your things. Your stomach is full and happy, that pleasant heaviness that comes from a good meal shared with someone you love.
Outside, the late afternoon sun has started its descent, painting everything in shades of gold and amber. Jimin stretches her arms above her head, her dress riding up slightly before she smooths it back down. "Where to now?" she asks, linking her arm through yours. "It's going to get dark soon."
"I've got a few ideas," you start to say, already thinking about the small park you remember from childhood visits, the one with the old pavilion that overlooks the valley. "There's this place I used to go with my grandfather, up on the hill where—"
"Oh my god!"
The sudden shriek cuts you off mid-sentence. You both turn to find a group of four girls, probably late teens or early twenties, frozen on the sidewalk about ten feet away. Their eyes are wide, phones already halfway out of their pockets, staring at Jimin like they've just witnessed a miracle.
"It's Karina!" one of them says with disbelief. "It's actually Karina!"
They rush over in a flurry of excitement. "Hi! Hello! Oh my god, we're such huge fans!" They glance at you briefly, a quick polite nod and a "hello" in your direction, but their focus immediately returns to Jimin, who looks momentarily caught off guard, her body tensing slightly against yours before she smooths her expression into something warm and polite. The switch is so fast you almost miss it, the way she shifts from girlfriend to idol in the span of a heartbeat. "Hi," she says, genuinely kind despite the surprise. "How are you guys?"
"We're amazing! Even better now!" The tallest one of the group, wearing a denim jacket covered in enamel pins, gestures wildly. "You're so much more beautiful in person. Like, you don't even seem real."
Another girl, shorter with glasses, nods enthusiastically. "Seriously, you're like... glowing. How do you even look like this without all the stage makeup?"
Jimin laughs, a little embarrassed. "You guys are too sweet. Really."
"Can we take a picture with you?" the third girl asks, already pulling out her phone. "Please? We'll literally die if we don't."
"Of course," Jimin says without hesitation.
They take turns, each girl getting their individual selfie with her. Jimin knows exactly how to angle herself, which poses look best, where the light hits. She's done this thousands of times and it shows. Each girl looks absolutely euphoric when they check their photo, already probably planning which filter to use and what caption to write. You stand off to the side, holding the analog camera and watching. A couple of them glance at you with knowing looks, probably putting two and two together about who you are, but they don't say anything directly. There's this moment where the girl with the denim jacket meets your eyes and gives you this small nod, almost approving, before turning back to Jimin.
"We just want you to know," the girl with glasses says, "we're so sorry about what you're going through right now. The whole controversy thing. It's so unfair."
The others murmur in agreement. "We're totally on your side," another adds. "We've been supporting you online, fighting with all the haters."
The tall one grins proudly. "I wrote this whole thread defending you on Twitter and it got like fifteen thousand likes. People are with you, Karina. Real fans understand."
Something in Jimin's expression cracks, just for a second, and you see genuine gratitude flood her features. "Thank you," she says, smiling. "That means more than you know. Really. Thank you so much for supporting me."
"Is aespa going to end?" one of them asks quietly, almost afraid of the answer.
Jimin takes a breath. "I don't have clear answers right now," she admits. "Everything is really confusing and uncertain. But aespa isn't going to end. We're stronger than this."
"Good," the girl in the denim jacket says firmly. "Because true fans will be with you and the other girls until the end. No matter what. We're not going anywhere."
The conviction in her voice, the way all four of them nod in agreement, it's like watching a small army pledge their loyalty. Jimin's eyes get glassy again and she reaches out to squeeze the nearest girl's hand. "Thank you. All of you. For being here, for caring. It helps more than you know."
They eventually say their goodbyes, walking away in an animated cluster of excited whispers and phone checking. You watch them go before turning back to Jimin.
"That was nice," you say. "Seeing a little support every now and then. Reminds you it's not all terrible."
Jimin nods, still looking a bit emotional. "Yeah. It really does."
"Those are your true fans," you continue, "People who actually care about you, who want to see you well and happy. Not those other jerks who think they can control your life like you're some kind of puppet they own."
Jimin's eyebrows rise. "Oh, wow. Someone's a little sour now."
"I've got nothing left to lose at this point. Might as well say what I think. I'm done being the good guy. I'm the bad boy now."
That makes her laugh, loudly, the sound bright and clear in the quiet street. "You? A bad boy? Babe, you couldn't pull that off even if you tried. You're a little angel. All well-behaved and sweet. A total good boy."
You feel your cheeks heat up, laughing despite yourself. "I have layers, okay? I'm complex. Multifaceted."
"You have layers," she agrees, reaching up to pat your cheek affectionately. "And they're all adorable and cute."
"Alright, alright," you concede, "I can see you're not going to let me win this one."
She grins triumphantly, taking your hand again. "Never. Now come on, show me this place you were talking about before we were so wonderfully interrupted."
—
After a full day of wandering through Gapyeong's quiet streets, snapping photos and stealing moments that feel like they belong in a different, simpler world, you both finally make it back to the house. You set the plastic bag containing your dinner on the kitchen table, and both of you collapse onto the couch with synchronized groans of exhaustion and satisfaction.
"That was a great day," Jimin says, letting her head fall back against the cushions, eyes closed.
"Yeah," you agree, carefully placing your grandfather's camera on the coffee table. "We used up the whole roll."
She opens one eye to look at the camera. "All of it?"
"Every single shot. Thirty-six pictures of the best day."
"It's kind of crazy to think about, you know? My career is under threat. Everything I've built since I was a teenager is on the verge of collapsing. The entire world is probably talking about me right now, tearing me apart online. And yet..." She gestures around the quiet living room, at the two of you sprawled on this old couch in the middle of nowhere. "Everything feels so peaceful right now. Like none of that exists."
She shifts closer, cupping your face with one hand, her thumb tracing the line of your cheekbone. Her eyes search yours, dark and deep and full of love. Then she leans in and kisses you, slow and soft, tasting faintly of the honey candy she'd been sucking on during the walk home. When she pulls back, her forehead rests against yours.
"Thank you," she whispers. "For this. For today, for this week, for this moment. Things don't seem so bad when I'm by your side."
You catch her hand and bring it to your lips, kissing her palm, her wrist, the delicate inside of her forearm. "Always," you murmur against her skin.
She sighs, content, then reluctantly pulls away. "I should take a shower. Get cleaned up. Then we can have dinner, maybe watch a movie together?" She stretches, her dress riding up slightly on her thighs before she tugs it back down. "Something mindless and fun. No thinking allowed."
"Sounds perfect," you say, but you don't move. An idea has been forming in the back of your mind all day, watching her laugh and pose and exist so freely in that floral dress that catches the light just right. "But first, there's something I want to do for you. To help you relax."
Her eyebrow arches, curious. "Oh?"
You slide off the couch and kneel on the floor between her legs, your hands coming to rest on her knees. She watches you with growing interest, her breath already changing rhythm. You let your palms slide slowly up her thighs, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her dress.
"You look so beautiful in this dress," you tell her, leaning in to press a kiss to her inner thigh, just above her knee. "Been thinking about this all day."
She makes a soft sound, her legs parting slightly. "Have you?"
"Mm-hmm." You kiss higher, your hands following the path of your mouth, gradually pushing the hem of her dress up inch by inch. Her skin is soft and warm, and you can feel the fine tremor running through her muscles as you work your way up. Another kiss, then another, trailing a slow line toward the apex of her thighs.
"Okay," she breathes, her hand coming to rest in your hair. "Don't stop."
You have no intention of stopping. Your lips continue their journey, reverent and unhurried, as your hands push her dress higher until it's bunched around her hips. She's wearing simple cotton panties, already damp, and the sight makes heat coil low in your belly. Her legs open wider for you, her head falling back against the couch as a sigh escapes her lips.
"God," she murmurs, eyes fluttering closed. "That feels good."
You hook your fingers into the waistband of her panties and slowly drag them down her thighs, over her knees, off completely. She's gorgeous like this, spread out before you, her pussy pink and glistening in the dim lamplight. You look up at her face, flushed and wanting, and can't help but smile.
"You know," you say, your breath ghosting over her skin, "the good side of this exile is that we can have sex whenever we want. No sneaking around, no worrying about who might walk in."
Jimin laughs breathlessly, starting to respond. "True, we can just… Just… Oh fuck!’
Her words dissolve into a moan as your mouth finally makes contact, your tongue dragging slowly through her folds. She tastes like perfection, and the sound she makes,high and needy, goes straight to your cock. Your hands grip her thighs, holding her open as you work your tongue against her clit, circling and teasing until her hips start to roll against your face.
"Yes," she gasps, her fingers tightening in your head. "Just like that. Don't stop, please don't stop."
And you don't. You settle into a rhythm, your tongue working against her clit in slow, deliberate circles that have her gasping and squirming on the couch. Her taste fills your senses, sweet and musky and entirely addictive. You can feel her thighs trembling on either side of your head, the muscles tensing and releasing with each stroke of your tongue. Her hand is still tangled in your hair, not quite pulling but holding you there like she's afraid you might stop.
"Fuck," she breathes, her hips rolling up to meet your mouth. "That's so good. Your tongue feels so good."
You pull back just enough to speak, your lips still brushing against her wet heat. "You taste incredible. I could do this for hours." And you mean it. There's something intoxicating about having her like this, spread open and vulnerable and completely at your mercy. You drag your tongue through her folds again, slower this time, savoring every inch of her.
Jimin whimpers, her free hand clutching at the couch cushion beside her. "You're teasing me."
"Maybe a little," you admit, grinning against her pussy. You place an open-mouthed kiss directly on her clit and she jerks, a sharp gasp escaping her. "But you like it when I tease you, don't you baby?"
"Yes," she admits breathlessly. "God, yes. But I also like it when you make me come."
"Patience," you murmur, and then you're back to work, your tongue flat and broad as you lick her from entrance to clit in one long, slow stroke. She moans, low and needy, and you do it again. And again. Building a steady rhythm that has her panting above you.
You can feel her getting wetter, her arousal coating your chin and lips. The sounds she's making are obscene, these breathy little moans and whimpers that make your cock strain painfully against your pants. You shift slightly, trying to relieve some of the pressure, but your focus stays entirely on her. On the way her body responds to every touch, every lick, every deliberate stroke of your tongue.
"Talk to me," you say between kisses to her inner thigh. "Tell me how it feels."
Jimin's head is thrown back, her neck arched beautifully, and it takes her a moment to find words. "It feels... fuck, it feels amazing. Like I'm going to lose my mind. Your mouth is so fucking perfect."
You hum against her clit in approval and she cries out, her hips bucking. "Sensitive?" you ask, even though you know the answer.
"Very," she gasps. "Everything feels so intense right now. Like every nerve is on fire."
You love that you can do this to her, reduce her to this trembling, desperate thing. Karina, the untouchable idol who commands stages and captivates millions, completely undone by your tongue. There's power in that, and tenderness too. You press a soft kiss to her clit before taking it gently between your lips and sucking.
"Oh god, oh fuck—" Her words dissolve into a moan, her fingers tightening almost painfully in your hair. "Don't stop, please don't stop."
But you do stop, pulling back to look up at her. Her face is flushed, lips parted as she pants, eyes full of arousal and a hint of frustration at the loss of contact. "Look at me," you tell her.
She does, her gaze finding yours, and the sight of you between her legs, chin wet with her arousal, makes her whimper. "You're cruel."
"I just want to see you," you say, your hands stroking soothingly up and down her thighs. "Want to watch your face while I make you feel good." You lean in again, your tongue flicking quickly over her clit. Her mouth opens on a silent gasp. "You're so beautiful like this. So fucking perfect."
"I'm a mess," she protests weakly.
"Yeah," you agree, grinning. "My mess." You dive back in with enthusiasm, alternating between broad strokes of your tongue and focused attention on her clit. You can feel her getting closer, the tension building in her body, the way her breathing becomes more erratic.
"That's it," she encourages. "Right there, fuck, right there."
You maintain the exact rhythm and pressure she needs, your hands gripping her hips to hold her steady as she starts to rock against your face. Her thighs are trembling violently now, squeezing around your head, and you know she's close. So close. You can feel it in the way her muscles are tensing, hear it in the pitch of her moans climbing higher and higher.
But then you slow down, easing off just enough to keep her on the edge without pushing her over.
"No," she whines. "Why did you… I was so close."
You pull back again, placing soft kisses along her inner thigh while she catches her breath. "I know. I want to take my time with you. We're not in a rush, remember? No one's going to interrupt us. No schedules to keep. Just you and me."
She makes a sound that's something between a laugh and a groan. "You're going to kill me."
"Never," you promise. You want to worship her, to spend hours between her thighs learning every sound she makes, every spot that makes her gasp. "Besides, you love it when I draw it out. When I make you wait for it."
"I do," she admits, her hand gentle in your hair now, stroking rather than gripping. "But I also love when you make me come so hard I can't think straight."
"We'll get there," you assure her. "I promise. But first..." You lean in and run your tongue through her folds again, gathering her wetness. "I want to enjoy this. Enjoy you."
She shivers at your words, at the sensation of your mouth on her again. "You're such a tease."
"Only because you're so fun to tease." You focus your attention on her clit again, circling it with the tip of your tongue in a pattern that has her moaning within seconds. "And because you get so wet when I take my time. Look at you, baby. You're dripping."
"That's your fault," she gasps, her hips rolling seeking more pressure.
"Mm, I'll take responsibility for that." You slide one finger through her entrance, not pushing in yet, just gathering the slickness there. "You feel so good. So soft and wet and perfect."
"Please," she breathes. "I need more."
"More of this?" You circle her clit with your tongue, firm and steady.
"Yes, fuck, yes."
"Or more of this?" You slowly slide one finger inside her, feeling her clench around you immediately.
Her back arches off the couch. "Both. Everything. I need everything."
You add a second finger, curling them to find that spot inside her that makes her see stars, while your mouth continues its relentless assault on her clit. The combination has her crying out, her hands scrambling for purchase on the couch, on your shoulders, anywhere she can reach. She's close again, you can tell from the way her walls are fluttering around your fingers, from the increasingly desperate sounds falling from her lips.
But you're not ready to let her come yet. You want to keep her here, suspended in this perfect moment of pleasure and need, for just a little longer. So you ease up again, your movements becoming gentler, more teasing. Maintaining just enough stimulation to keep her desperate but not enough to push her over the edge.
"Baby," she pleads. "Please. I'm so close."
"I know," you murmur against her skin. "I can feel it. You're squeezing my fingers so tight."
"Then let me come," she begs. "Please, I need it."
You decide it's time to stop teasing, to give her what she's been begging for. “Okay, then,” you say. Your fingers curl inside her with renewed purpose, finding that rough patch of nerves that makes her entire body tense, while your mouth latches onto her clit with focused intensity. No more pulling back, no more easing off. Just relentless, deliberate pleasure designed to take her apart completely.
"Oh fuck," Jimin gasps, her whole body going rigid. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, that's—"
Her words cut off into a strangled moan as you increase the pressure, your fingers stroking that spot inside her in firm, steady strokes while your tongue works her clit in tight circles. She's writhing on the couch now, her hips grinding against your face, chasing the orgasm that's building like a storm inside her. One of her hands flies to her breast, squeezing through the fabric of her dress, while the other stays tangled in your hair, holding you exactly where she needs you.
"Don't stop," she chants. "Don't stop, don't stop, I'm so close, I'm—"
You can feel it building, the way her walls are clenching rhythmically around your fingers, the way her thighs are shaking so hard she can barely hold them open. She's right there, balanced on that knife's edge between pleasure and release, and you're determined to push her over. You double down, your fingers pumping faster, curling harder against that spot, your mouth unrelenting on her swollen clit.
"Yes, yes, yes—" Her back arches completely off the couch, her whole body going taut as a bowstring. "I'm gonna… oh god, I'm gonna—"
That's when you adjust the angle of your fingers just slightly, pressing firmly against that special spot deep inside her, and everything changes. Her eyes fly open wide and then she's coming with a force that takes both of you by surprise. Clear fluid suddenly gushes from her, spraying across your hand, your chest, soaking the couch cushion beneath her as her entire body convulses.
"Oh my god!" she cries out high and desperate as the orgasm crashes through her. "Oh my god, oh my god—"
You keep your fingers moving, working her through it, feeling her walls clamping down so hard it's almost difficult to maintain the rhythm. More fluid pulses out with each stroke, her body completely out of her control as wave after wave of pleasure rocks through her. She's squirting, really squirting, and it's the hottest thing you've ever witnessed. Her hand is still squeezing her breast desperately, her other hand has abandoned your hair to clutch at the couch, and her face is twisted in an expression of pure ecstasy.
"That's it, baby," you encourage. "Let it all out. You're so fucking beautiful like this."
She's making these broken, sobbing sounds, her hips jerking with each pulse, and you can feel the wet heat of her release coating your hand, your forearm, dripping down onto the floor. It seems to go on forever, her body wringing every last drop of pleasure from the orgasm until finally, finally, she collapses back against the couch, trembling and gasping for air.
You carefully withdraw your fingers and she whimpers at the sensitivity, her whole body twitching. You climb up her body, capturing her mouth in a deep, hungry kiss, letting her taste herself on your lips and tongue. She kisses back weakly, still trying to catch her breath, her hands coming up to frame your face.
When you pull back, she's staring at you with dazed, unfocused eyes. Then awareness starts to creep back in, and her gaze drifts down to survey the damage. Her hand slowly moves to cover her mouth as the full scope of what just happened registers.
"Oh my god," she says, voice muffled behind her hand. "Oh my god, I just—" She looks at the couch cushion beneath her, which is absolutely soaked through, dark with wetness. Then at your shirt, which is splattered and damp. Then at the floor, where there are visible puddles. "I squirted everywhere. I squirted all over your cousin's couch!"
You fall down beside her, careful to avoid the wet spots, and you start laughing, eventually she does too, these breathless giggles that shake both your bodies.
"Holy shit," you manage between laughs. "That was so hot but also—"
"Your cousin's couch!" she repeats, dissolving into another fit of giggles. "How are we going to explain this?"
"I mean, we could just... not tell him?" you suggest, which makes her laugh even harder.
"There's a literal puddle on the floor!" She gestures wildly. "Multiple puddles! It looks like we had a water fight in here!"
You're both laughing so hard your sides hurt, the post-orgasm endorphins mixing with the ridiculousness of the situation. Jimin rolls toward you, burying her face in your shoulder, her body still shaking with laughter.
"I can't believe that just happened," she mumbles against your shirt. "I've never... I didn't know I could do that."
"I didn't know you could either," you admit, running your hand through her hair. "But fuck, that was the hottest thing I've ever seen."
She lifts her head to look at you, her face still flushed, hair a complete mess, and she's grinning despite her embarrassment. "Yeah?"
"Absolutely. Ten out of ten, would make you squirt all over my cousin's furniture again."
That sets her off into another round of giggles. "Stop! We need to figure out how to clean this before it stains!" But she makes no move to get up, just lies there against you, still catching her breath.
"Okay, okay," you say, trying to be serious but failing as another laugh escapes. "We need a plan. First, we find towels. Lots of towels. Then maybe some kind of upholstery cleaner? Do we have that?"
"I have no idea what's under the sink," Jimin says. "But we better find something because I am not explaining this to your cousin."
"'Hey, thanks for letting us stay, by the way your couch had a really good time,'" you say in a mock-serious tone, and she smacks your chest, laughing.
"You're terrible!"
"You love me.
"I do," she agrees, her laughter finally subsiding into soft giggles. "Even though you just ruined your cousin's couch with your magical fingers."
"Excuse me, we ruined the couch. Team effort."
She snorts, then pushes herself up to sitting, putting her panties back in place as surveying the damage with a more critical eye. "Okay. Towels first. Then we figure out the cleaning situation. Then maybe we just… keep this a secret until the end of our lives?"
"Sounds like a good plan," you agree, sitting up beside her.
She looks at you, at the wet patch on your shirt, at the absolute mess surrounding you both, and shakes her head with a smile. "This week just keeps getting weirder."
"Weird good or weird bad?"
"Weird perfect," she says, leaning in to kiss you softly. "Even with the property damage.”
—
The week unfolds like a carefully constructed dream, each day following a gentle rhythm that feels almost meditative in its simplicity. What you'd hoped would happen is actually working: the routine, the distraction, the deliberate choice to exist in this small bubble removed from the chaos of Seoul and the internet and the career crisis hanging over both your heads like a sword. Every morning starts the same way: you and Jimin stumbling out of bed, still tangled in each other, making your way to the backyard with the watering can. It's become a ritual, this quiet act of tending to your cousin's plants while the morning sun filters through the persimmon tree and birds chirp in the distance. Jimin always insists on doing most of the watering herself, saying it's therapeutic, and you're content to watch her move through the garden in whatever oversized t-shirt she stole from your suitcase the night before.
Breakfast is simple, usually whatever you can scrounge from the local market; fresh eggs, rice, kimchi that the elderly woman next door makes and keeps bringing over in endless supply. Then you're out the door, your grandfather's camera slung around your neck, ready to explore another corner of Gapyeong. You've been showing Jimin all the places you frequented as a child during those weekend visits: the bridge where you used to catch tadpoles, the hiking trail that leads to a stunning overlook of the valley, the tiny bookstore run by an old man who still remembers you and your fascination with comic books. Each location comes with stories, memories you'd almost forgotten until you're standing there with her, pointing out where you fell and scraped your knee or where your grandfather taught you to skip stones across the river.
And of course, there are the photographs. So many photographs. You went through all four rolls of film by Thursday afternoon, clicking away at everything: Jimin laughing at a street market, the way sunset hits the mountains, her profile as she examines pottery in a shop window, selfies where you're both grinning like idiots, candid shots of her just existing in the world. Yesterday you took everything to a specialized photography shop an hour away, the kind of place that still develops analog film with care. The owner looked through your order and whistled low. "That's a lot of memories," he said, and you agreed. He told you it would take two weeks and a half, maybe three depending on the backlog, and you left the shop feeling like you'd entrusted something precious to a stranger.
The surprising part is how little recognition Jimin has gotten while walking around. You'd expected it to be constant, overwhelming, but Gapyeong isn't Seoul. People here move slower, pay less attention to celebrity gossip. Sure, she's been spotted a few times (there was the group of girls that first day, and a couple other instances where fans approached shyly asking for photos), but everyone has been kind. Supportive, even. Telling her to stay strong, that they're on her side. It's allowed her to move through the world without the suffocating weight of a mask and hat obscuring her face, and you can see what that freedom does to her. The way her shoulders relax, the way she smiles more easily.
During this entire period, you've made a silent pact not to talk about the future. No discussions about what SM might decide, what the public thinks, whether aespa will survive this. Just the present. Just the two of you in this house, in this city, in these moments. The TV stays off except for when you watch movies at night (stupid comedies and action films that require zero emotional investment). No news. No updates. Just existing.
And it's working. Jimin looks lighter than you've seen her in weeks, maybe months. There's color in her cheeks, genuine laughter that reaches her eyes, a looseness to her movements that wasn't there before. She's sleeping better too, no longer waking up in the middle of the night with anxiety attacks or reaching for her phone with shaking hands. She's just... Jimin. Your Jimin. Not Karina the idol, not the center of a scandal, just a woman spending time with someone she loves.
Friday arrives and you barely notice until you're marking off another day on the mental calendar you've been keeping. A week ago you were sitting in Kim Youngmin's office being presented with impossible options. Now you're here, and it feels like a lifetime has passed.
But of course, you can't completely disconnect. You're not built that way, and neither is the situation. Someone needs to stay alert, to monitor what's happening in the world you've temporarily left behind. You need to know what Jimin’s and aespa’s reputations are like after SM’s official statement confirming your relationship. It’s been a few days since it was published; enough time to get a sense of the situation. So this afternoon, when Jimin mentions she's going next door to help Mrs. Kim with a cake recipe, you see an opportunity.
"I'll hold down the fort here," you tell her, kissing her forehead.
"Don't get into trouble," she warns playfully, already halfway out the door with an apron borrowed from the kitchen.
Once she's gone and the house settles into silence, you retrieve your MacBook from where it's been buried at the bottom of your suitcase all week. You make yourself a cup of coffee; strong and black, because you need the caffeine hit for what you're about to subject yourself to, and settle at the kitchen table. The laptop hums to life, the screen glowing bright in the afternoon dimness, and you take a fortifying sip before opening a browser.
The first thing you check is Twitter, because that's always where things explode first. Your timeline is a mess of Korean and English, fan accounts and news aggregators and opinion pieces. Things are still unstable, the discourse as vicious as you expected, but as you scroll deeper, you start to notice shifts. Cracks in the wall of hate.
Several idols have been speaking out. Not overtly (that would be career suicide in an industry built on unspoken rules), but discreetly. Taeyeon posted a cryptic Instagram story with lyrics about living authentically. Wheein liked a tweet defending Jimin's right to date. Moonbyul shared an article about the toxicity of parasocial relationships. Small acts of rebellion from people who understand the cost of this kind of scandal because they've navigated the same brutal system.
And then there's Yuna, who apparently missed the memo about subtlety entirely. Her Instagram story from fifteen hours ago is still up, a screenshot of an article about the controversy with her own text overlaid: "Let people live their lives. Love is love. 💕" It's been shared thousands of times, dissected and praised and criticized in equal measure. You have to laugh. Of course she'd be the least discreet.
There's also a text from her sitting in your messages, sent yesterday: "How are you guys holding up? Saw the news. This is bullshit. Rooting for you both 🙏"
It's funny. The girl who almost derailed your relationship through her flirting, who served as the catalyst for Jimin's jealousy and your first big fight, is now one of your most vocal supporters. She's really something else.
You shift your attention to the fan discourse, which is where the real battle is being waged. Korean netizens are predictably divided: a vocal segment screaming betrayal and demanding Jimin leave aespa, another contingent defending her right to happiness, most people somewhere in the muddled middle. But Western fans, the international audience that's become increasingly important to K-pop's global expansion, are overwhelmingly on Jimin's side. Tweets with tens of thousands of likes arguing that idols are human beings, that the industry's dating bans are archaic and cruel, that fans who can't support their favorites' happiness were never real fans to begin with.
"This is so fucked up. Karina deserves to be happy. Leave her alone." - 27K likes.
"If you're sending hate to Karina for dating, you're not a MY, you're just a toxic person." - 33K likes.
"The idol industry needs to change. This is 2025, not 1995. Let people LIVE." - 19K likes.
There's a coordinated hashtag campaign - #StandWithKarina - that's been trending globally for three days straight. Fan projects raising money for billboards in support. Video compilations of aespa's achievements set to emotional music with captions about unconditional love. It's not universal support, not even close, but it's something. Maybe enough of something to tip the scales.
You're so absorbed in scrolling, in cataloging every piece of evidence that might indicate this isn't a complete catastrophe, that you don't hear the door open until Jimin's voice breaks through your concentration.
"I'm back!" she announces, and you nearly jump out of your skin. "The cake turned out amazing, look."
She sets down a plate with several generous slices of what appears to be a honey castella cake, golden and fluffy and still slightly warm. Then her eyes land on the MacBook open in front of you.
"Why are you using the MacBook?" She asks, not in an accusatory way, just curiosity. "You weren't even supposed to bring it."
"I was just looking at a few things," you say, which is both true and a massive understatement. "Research. Mindless scrolling. You know how it is… chronically online and all that."
"Hmm." She eyes you skeptically, then her gaze drops to your mug. "Is that coffee?"
"Tea," you lie smoothly, taking a deliberate sip.
She leans closer, sniffing. "It smells like coffee."
You make a show of sniffing the cup yourself, your expression perfectly confused. "Really? I didn't even notice. Weird."
Jimin just laughs before looking at you like you're a kid eating candy before dinner. "I'm never going to be able to separate you from caffeine, am I? It's like a dependency. A medical condition."
"I can stop whenever I want," you protest.
"Sure you can, baby." She pulls out the chair next to you and sits down, stealing your mug for a sip and making a face when it's definitely coffee and not tea. "The week's almost over."
"Yeah," you say. "It is."
"What did you think?" She's looking at you now, studying your face. "Of all this. Was it boring? Was the countryside exile everything you hoped it would be?"
"Boring? No. It was..." You search for the right word. "Necessary. Good. Really good."
"It's been a while since I felt so..." She pauses, considering. "Normal. Like I was just a person doing person things. Walking around, taking pictures, making friends with the neighbor lady who keeps feeding us. No performances, no cameras, no expectations. Just existing." She's quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing patterns on the table. "If I lost my career, I think having a normal life wouldn't be so bad. I could handle it. I'd have you anyway."
"Don't be pessimistic," you say automatically.
"I'm being realistic,” she counters gently. "You know there's a chance. A big chance. We both know that."
You can't argue with that. The possibility has been sitting in the back of your mind all week, a shadow you've been deliberately ignoring. "SM would never give up aespa," you say, trying for confidence. "It's one of their most profitable groups at the moment. The numbers don't lie."
She raises an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "So you just see my group as a product to be marketed? Pure capitalism?"
"Not me. The company. I think what you and the girls do is incredible, you know that. But from SM's perspective, yeah, you're an investment. A successful one."
"Okay, so you said SM would never give up on aespa." She's still smiling but there's something more bitter underneath now. "But... would they give up on me? Specifically me?"
It's a delicate question, you find yourself unable to immediately answer because the truth is yes, it's absolutely a possibility. Companies have done it before: sacrificed one member to save a group, calculated that the PR hit of removing someone is less damaging than keeping them. They're trying to save her image now, but if the metrics don't improve, if the sponsor deals keep falling through, if the comeback underperforms...
"They'd be crazy to do that," you finally say. "It would be the biggest mistake that company ever made."
"But they could," she presses.
"They could," you admit. "But they won't. You're too valuable. Too talented. Too—"
Her phone starts ringing, cutting you off. She glances at the screen and her whole face lights up. "It's the girls!" She accepts the video call and immediately three faces fill the screen; Giselle, Winter, and Ningning all crammed together on what looks like a couch in someone's apartment.
"Jimin!" they chorus in unison.
"Hi!" Jimin stands up, moving away from the table toward the living room for better light. "Oh my god, I miss you guys so much!"
"We miss you too," Winter says. "How's the countryside? Are you surviving without Instagram?"
"Barely," Jimin laughs. "But actually it's been amazing. We've been taking all these photos - analog, with an actual film camera - and we're making this whole album of memories. And I made friends with the neighbor, this sweet old lady who's been teaching me to bake. And we went hiking and—"
She's off, words tumbling out in an excited rush as she gives them a virtual tour of the house, showing them the backyard garden and the traditional architecture and the view from the bedroom window. You can hear them oohing and ahhing, asking questions, sharing their own updates about what's been happening in Seoul. Someone's been teaching Ningning guitar. Giselle booked a solo magazine shoot. Winter's been stress-baking and has made approximately fifteen batches of cookies in the past week.
Their conversation becomes background noise as your attention drifts back to the MacBook screen, to the tabs still open showing Twitter and news articles and fan forums. The support is there, tangible and growing, but so is the hate. The calls for Jimin to leave the group, to apologize, to sacrifice her happiness for the sake of her career. The industry think pieces about whether female idols can survive dating scandals in 2025. The endless speculation about SM's next move.
You think about what Jimin said. About them potentially giving her up. And you realize with creeping dread that she's not wrong to worry. The company will do whatever protects their bottom line, their other investments, their reputation. If keeping Jimin becomes more costly than letting her go, the choice becomes obvious from their perspective.
Behind you, Jimin's laugh rings out as Ningning apparently makes a face at the camera. They're talking about the tour now, whether it'll still happen, and you can hear the hope and fear mingled in their voices. These four women who've become sisters through shared dreams and brutal training and the unforgiving spotlight of fame, trying to hold onto something that's threatening to slip through their fingers.
You close the MacBook quietly. Whatever happens, you'll face it together. That's the only certainty you have right now.
—
You push through the apartment door with your shoulder, arms full of packages and your work bag sliding down toward your elbow. It's been another long day, your third since returning from Gapyeong, and the strange new reality of being back in Seoul is still settling into your body. The only sound inside the apartment is the low hum of the TV playing some drama Jimin's only half-watching. She's sprawled on the couch in one of your hoodies and shorts, hair piled messily on top of her head, and the sight of her makes the tension in your shoulders ease just a little.
"Hey," you say, dropping your bag and crossing to the couch. You lean down and kiss her, soft and lingering, tasting the cherry chapstick she's been obsessively applying all week.
She smiles against your lips before pulling back. "How was work?"
"It was okay." You straighten up, rolling your neck to work out the kinks. "Still weird being the main target of office gossip. Like, I can feel people staring and whispering whenever I walk past. But honestly? It's good to be back. Feels productive, you know? Like I'm doing something instead of just waiting."
"That's good," she says, and you can hear the genuine happiness in her voice even as something else flickers across her face (something that looks uncomfortably like envy or longing).
The fact that you're still working with aespa at all is nothing short of miraculous. Your direct superior, Ms. Park, the woman who's managed the team for three years and has always been fair and professional, went to bat for you hard. Apparently she gave this impassioned speech to the executives about your competency, your work ethic, how you've never once let personal matters interfere with your professional responsibilities. She convinced them that firing you would be a mistake, that you're too valuable an asset to lose over something that had nothing to do with your actual job performance. So instead of termination, you got reassigned within the same sphere: handling individual activities for Ningning, Giselle, and Winter. Nothing related to aespa as a group for now, nothing that would put you in direct proximity to Jimin during work hours, but still within the ecosystem you know and understand.
You know Jimin is happy for you. She told you as much when you came home on that first day, throwing her arms around you and saying how proud she was, how relieved. But you can also see the frustration eating at her, the way her jaw tightens when she talks about being stuck in this limbo. It's been fifteen days since SM's official statement, and since then, nothing. Radio silence from the company. No updates about comeback schedules, no clarity on the international tour, no word on when or if aespa's activities will resume. They're gauging reactions, running analytics, monitoring social media sentiment across different markets to determine their next move. And Jimin is stuck on the sidelines, watching her career hang in the balance while everyone else moves forward.
"Oh!" You remember suddenly, adjusting the package tucked under your arm. "These came today."
Her eyes immediately lock onto the parcel, curiosity sparking. "What is it?"
"The photos. From Gapyeong. They finally finished developing them."
The transformation is instantaneous. Jimin sits bolt upright, the lethargy that's been clinging to her all week evaporating. "Are you serious? They're here? The actual photos?"
"All of them." You grin at her reaction. "They sent it to me by mail. I just picked it up as soon as I got to the building.”
You set the package on the coffee table and head to the bedroom, returning with the leather-bound photo album you've been keeping on the nightstand. When you come back, Jimin has already migrated from the couch to the floor, sitting cross-legged in front of the coffee table like a kid on Christmas morning. You join her, settling down beside her as you carefully begin unwrapping the package. The shop wrapped everything in brown paper and twine and you have to cut through several layers before you finally reach the photos themselves.
They're organized in four separate envelopes, one for each roll of film, and the weight of them in your hands feels significant. Substantial. These aren't digital files that can be deleted or lost to a corrupted hard drive. These are physical objects, tangible proof that those days happened.
"It's like opening Pokémon cards," Jimin says breathlessly, watching you slide the first envelope open.
You pause, considering. "That's not a very accurate comparison, babe.”
"You know what I mean! The anticipation. Not knowing what you're going to get."
"Except we do know. We took these photos."
"But we don't know how they turned out! If they're blurry or perfectly clear or if we accidentally captured something magical. That's the whole point of analog." She reaches for the envelope eagerly. "Come on, let me see."
You hand it over and she pulls out the stack of photos with reverent care. The first one makes her gasp: it's from that very first day, in the backyard, when you caught her watering the plants. The late afternoon light is golden and perfect, and she's laughing at something, her head thrown back, completely unguarded. The floral dress, the messy hair, the smudge of dirt on her cheek. It's beautiful in a way that has nothing to do with professional styling or perfect angles.
"Oh my god," she whispers. "Look at this. I look so... happy."
"You were happy."
She stares at the photo for another moment before carefully setting it aside and moving to the next one. This one is the selfie you took together on the bridge, except she turned at the last second to kiss your cheek. The framing is slightly off, your thumb visible in the corner, but your expression (surprised and delighted) makes it perfect. Imperfect in the best way.
"I love this one," she says, tracing the edge with her finger. "This is definitely going in the album."
You open the photo album to the first page, blank and waiting. Together, you place the photo carefully in the corner slot, and just like that, the project becomes real. No longer an abstract idea but something you're building together, memory by memory.
The next envelope yields photos from the market; Jimin examining pottery with intense concentration, you holding up a ridiculous hat that neither of you ended up buying, candid shots of elderly vendors and colorful produce displays. Each one brings back the moment in vivid detail, the smell of fresh fish and roasted chestnuts, the sound of vendors calling out their prices, the way Jimin's hand felt in yours as you navigated the crowded aisles.
"I remember this," Jimin says, holding up a photo of herself biting into a hotteok, her eyes closed in bliss, sugar dusted across her lips. "That was the best thing I'd eaten in months. I wanted to go back and buy ten more."
"Why didn't we?"
"Because you said I'd get a stomach ache."
"I was being responsible."
"You were being a killjoy." But she's smiling as she says it, already placing the photo in the album.
The third envelope contains photos from the hike you took to the overlook. The trail winding through the forest, Jimin posed dramatically on a large boulder, the sweeping vista of the valley below with mountains layered in the distance like watercolor washes. There's one of you that she insisted on taking, sitting on a fallen log with your elbows on your knees, looking off to the side at something she'd pointed out. You barely remember the moment, but in the photo you look contemplative, peaceful.
"You're very photogenic when you're not trying," Jimin observes, studying the image. "When you're just existing."
"Thanks, I think?"
"It's a compliment. You're real. Not posed or manufactured. Just you." She looks at you then. "That's what I fell in love with, you know. How real you are. How you never pretend to be anything other than exactly who you are."
You just lean over and kiss her temple, letting the gesture say what words can't.
The fourth envelope is the most eclectic; photos from various days all mixed together. Jimin in the bookstore, reading the back of a novel. You at the restaurant table, mid-laugh at something she said. The sunset over the river, all oranges and purples and pinks. Her feet next to yours on the wooden porch of the house. A stray cat you befriended one afternoon. Jimin asleep on the couch with a book on her chest. Each image is a fragment of those days, and together they form a complete picture of what you shared.
You work in silence for a while, sorting through the photos and deciding which ones go where. Some are immediate favorites that you both agree on instantly. Others require debate (Jimin wants to include a blurry photo of you making a ridiculous face, and you veto it until she promises to include an equally unflattering one of herself). Compromise is reached.
As you place a photo of the two of you at sunset, silhouetted against the sky with your arms around each other, Jimin's eyes start to glisten. She blinks rapidly, trying to hold it back, but a single tear escapes and trails down her cheek.
"Hey," you say softly, wiping it away with your thumb. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. I'm just... that week was so perfect. Looking at these, reliving it all, I just wish we could go back. Stay there forever."
"Me too."
"Everything was so simple there. No pressure, no expectations, no one judging us. Just you and me and all the time in the world." She picks up another photo, this one of her laughing at something, completely unaware of the camera. "I forgot what it felt like to just be Jimin. Not Karina, not an idol, just... me."
You set down the photo you were holding and turn to face her fully, taking both her hands in yours. "You're always just Jimin to me. Always have been, always will be. The rest is just what you do, not who you are."
She nods, squeezing your hands. "I know. And that's why this—" she gestures to the album, to the scattered photos, to the two of you sitting on the floor surrounded by memories, "—matters so much. You see me. The real me. And you're documenting it, preserving it. When I'm eighty years old and can barely remember my own name, I'll have this album. I'll look at these pictures and remember that once upon a time, when my whole world was falling apart, someone loved me enough to capture what it looked like when I was whole."
Now you're the one getting emotional, your throat tight with feelings too big for words. You pull her into your arms and she comes willingly, burying her face in your shoulder. Her body shakes slightly with suppressed sobs, and you just hold her, one hand stroking her back, the other cradling her head.
"We're going to be okay," you murmur into her hair. "Whatever happens with SM, with aespa, with all of it. We're going to be okay because we have this. These memories, these moments. They can't take that away from us."
She nods against your shoulder, her arms tightening around you. When she finally pulls back, her eyes are red but she's smiling. "Sorry. I didn't mean to get all emotional."
"Don't apologize. This is emotional. It's supposed to be."
She wipes her face and picks up the album, flipping through what you've completed so far. About a third of the pages are filled now, photos carefully arranged and placed. "We should add captions. Write little notes about what we were doing or what we were thinking."
"That's a good idea."
She finds a pen and starts writing in small, neat handwriting next to one of the photos. "Our first day. You made me laugh so hard I snorted." She looks up at you. "I did snort. You remember?"
"I remember. It was adorable."
"It was embarrassing."
"Adorably embarrassing."
You continue working, adding more photos and writing captions. Some are simple: dates and locations. Others are more elaborate like inside jokes and confessions and things you want your future selves to remember. Jimin's handwriting mingles with yours on the pages, creating something that belongs to both of you equally.
By the time you're done, it's past midnight and you've made significant progress. The album isn't complete yet (you still have dozens of photos to sort through and place) but it's taken shape. It exists. This tangible record of a week that saved you both in different ways.
Jimin yawns, stretching her arms above her head. "We should sleep."
"Probably."
Then the sudden trill of Jimin's phone cuts through the apartment, you both freeze, looking at each other with matching expressions of confusion. It's almost one in the morning - who the hell would be calling at this hour? Jimin reaches for her phone on the coffee table, and when she sees the caller ID, her eyebrows shoot up.
"It's from SM," she murmurs.
Late night calls from the company are never good news. At least, they haven't been lately. You watch as she accepts the call, bringing the phone to her ear.
"Hello? Yes, this is Jimin." Her face is carefully neutral, impossible to read. "Yes. Okay. I understand." A pause, and then something shifts in her expression; her eyes widen slightly, her lips part. "Really? Are you sure? When?" Another pause. "Okay. Yes, I'll be there. Thank you. Thank you so much."
She ends the call and just stares at the phone for a moment, like she's not entirely sure what just happened. You're practically vibrating with the need to know what that was about, but you force yourself to wait, to let her process whatever she just heard.
Finally, she looks up at you, and there are tears in her eyes. But this time, they're not sad tears.
"That was SM," she says. "A last-minute meeting just ended. aespa is resuming activities. The international tour is officially on."
For a second, you can't quite comprehend what she's saying. The words don't make sense, or maybe your brain is refusing to accept them because the alternative - the fear and uncertainty and worst-case scenarios - has been your default setting for so long that hope feels dangerous.
"Wait, what?"
"The tour!" She's suddenly on her feet, the photo album tumbling off her lap forgotten. "We're doing it! They said the Western markets responded positively enough that they're moving forward. The shows are confirmed. We're back!"
Then she's throwing herself into your arms with such force that you nearly topple backward. She's laughing and crying at the same time, her whole body shaking as she clings to you. You wrap your arms around her, holding her tight, and feel something that's been coiled tense in your chest for weeks finally start to unwind.
"You did it," you say into her hair. "You fucking did it."
"We did it," she corrects, pulling back to look at you. Her face is a mess: tears streaming, nose running, smile so wide it must hurt, and she's never looked more beautiful. "We survived. Together."
"Jesus. It really feels like it was all just a bad dream, doesn't it? Like none of it actually happened."
"Except it did happen," she says, wiping at her face. "But we made it through. And now—" Her phone starts buzzing repeatedly, notification after notification lighting up the screen. She grabs it and laughs. "It's the girls. Winter, Giselle, Ning. They got the news too. Look at this group chat."
She shows you the screen and it's complete chaos. All caps messages, strings of emojis, voice notes of screaming. The kind of unbridled joy that can only come from people who thought they'd lost everything and just got it back.
"They want me at SM tomorrow morning to discuss logistics and scheduling," Jimin says, scrolling through her messages. "Oh god, there's so much to do. Rehearsals, promotional schedules, wardrobe fittings—" She's spiraling into work mode, her brain already shifting gears, and you can see both the excitement and the exhaustion that comes with it.
"Hey," you say, touching her arm gently. "One thing at a time. Tonight, we celebrate. Tomorrow, you conquer the world."
She nods, taking a deep breath. "You're right. One thing at a time." She looks at the photo album on the floor, at the scattered pictures still waiting to be placed. "We still need to finish this."
"We will. We have time now."
—
The next day, you're on your coffee break (no pretense that it's tea this time) standing in the small break room on the third floor. The view overlooks a busy intersection, people and cars flowing past in their endless urban dance. You're thinking about last night, about the look on Jimin's face when she got the news, when a hand claps down hard on your shoulder, making you jump and nearly spill your coffee.
"Yo!" Jae grins at you, his energy way too high for 11 AM. "I heard aespa is back, man. Congratulations!"
"Yeah," you say, unable to suppress your own smile. "The nightmare is over. Or at least, part of it."
"Part of it? Dude, you're literally the luckiest guy in the world." He leans against the counter. "You're dating an idol. Not just any idol by the way; It's Karina! Like, she's objectively one of the most beautiful women on the planet. I mean, I'm more of a Yuna guy myself, but still. You've got serious bragging rights."
"I don't know about being the luckiest," you say dryly. "My life almost ended because of this relationship. The stress alone probably took years off my lifespan."
Jae waves this off. "You're being dramatic."
"I received death threats. Actual death threats. People telling me they'd find me and—"
"Okay, okay," he interrupts, wincing. "That's actually pretty fucked up. I'll give you that. But now it's all good, right? The company backed you, the tour is happening, everything worked out."
"It's far from 'all good,'" you correct him. "It's just better than it was. There are still people who hate my existence. Still sponsors who dropped aespa because of me. Still this cloud hanging over everything. And they still haven't found the bastard who actually caused all this. But yeah, it's better than before."
"For what it's worth, I'm glad you're okay. Both of you. But I gotta say, I'm kind of sad you didn't tell me about the relationship. I thought we were friends. That you trusted me."
"I do trust you, man. I really do. It's just… it was all still so new and uncertain. We were figuring things out ourselves. And with the secrecy requirements from the company… I hope you understand. It wasn't personal."
"Yeah, I get it." He seems to accept this, his usual grin returning. "But seriously, what was the deal with Yuna? Because I could've sworn something was going on there. The way she was looking at you, I was convinced you two had something."
"In her head, we definitely did," you say, laughing despite yourself. "Reality didn't quite match up with her intentions."
"Jesus Christ." Jae runs a hand through his hair, looking genuinely frustrated. "I can't believe two idols were hitting on you. Two! You're like a fucking protagonist in some fanfic super well written. How does that even happen?"
"Can we please change the subject?" you plead. "Are you getting the new Pokémon game when it—"
Movement in your peripheral vision makes you stop mid-sentence. Through the break room's glass door, you can see Jimin in the hallway, and she's making eye contact with you. She gestures subtly with her head, a clear signal that she wants to talk. Your heart starts beating a little faster, the way it always does when you see her unexpectedly.
"Sorry, I gotta go," you say to Jae, already moving toward the door. "We'll talk later, yeah?"
"Yeah, yeah, go to your superstar girlfriend," he teases, but he's smiling.
You slip out into the hallway and walk toward where Jimin is standing near a quiet alcove by the emergency stairwell. She's dressed professionally (black slacks and a cream blouse, her hair pulled back in a ponytail) and she looks every bit the successful idol ready to reclaim her career. But when you get close, you can see the slight nervousness in her eyes, the way she's worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.
"Hey," you say quietly, glancing around. "Is it safe for us to be seen together here? I thought the whole point was keeping distance at work."
She shrugs, and there's something defiant in the gesture. "We're not doing anything wrong. And besides, everyone already knows now. The statement went out, the world didn't end. Fuck it."
You can't help but smile at that. "Okay then. How did things go with the meeting?"
"Good. Really good, actually." She's practically bouncing on her toes. "The tour is definitely happening. All fourteen shows over thirty days. They're finalizing the setlist today and rehearsals start next week. And they said I can get back on social media. Carefully, they emphasized carefully. But I can post again. Interact with fans. Be visible."
"That's amazing."
"They also said we should continue to not draw attention to ourselves," she continues. "No public dates, no paparazzi photos, keep things low-key for a while until everything fully settles."
"That's on you," you joke. "I've already exceeded my attention quota for my entire life. I'm good staying invisible."
She laughs, but then her expression turns more serious. "We haven't really talked about the tour yet. About what it means."
You lean against the wall, crossing your arms. "I've been avoiding thinking about it, honestly. But there's not much to discuss, is there? It's your job. It's what you've been working toward. I'll be here, cheering you on from Seoul."
"I wish you could come with us," she says quietly. "I know that's selfish, but I do. Having you there would make everything easier."
"It'll be better this way," you assure her, even though the thought of being apart for a month makes you actively sad. "You need to focus on the performances, on reconnecting with your fans, on being Karina. You don't need me there being a distraction or causing problems."
"You're never a problem."
"Fourteen shows in thirty days," you continue, "that's brutal. Promise me you'll take care of yourself? Eat properly, sleep when you can, don't push yourself too hard."
"I'll be fine," she says with more confidence than the situation probably warrants. "I've got redoubled energy now that the worst is over. I can handle anything."
From somewhere down the hall, a voice calls out. "Jimin! They need you in Studio B!"
It's one of the managers, a woman in her forties with a tablet and the perpetually harried expression of someone managing too many moving pieces.
"Coming!" Jimin calls back. She turns to you, and for a moment you see her hand twitch like she's about to reach for you, to pull you in for a kiss. But you're in a public hallway, in the company building, surrounded by potential witnesses and cameras. So instead she just steps a tiny bit closer, close enough that you can smell her perfume, and whispers low enough that only you can hear.
"I love you."
Three words, soft as a breath, yet they hit you like it’s the first time you’ve ever heard them. You want to kiss her senseless right here in this corporate hallway, consequences be damned, but you settle for holding her gaze and letting her see everything you feel reflected in your eyes.
"I love you too, babe,” you say, just for her to hear. “Later. At the apartment."
"Special dinner?" she asks, a smile tugging at her lips.
"The most special. I'll even attempt cooking something that isn't instant ramen."
"Now I'm really excited." She's backing away now, still looking at you, and there's this lightness to her that hasn't been there in weeks. "See you tonight."
"See you tonight."
You watch her walk away, watch her rejoin the manager and disappear into the maze of hallways and studios that make up SM Entertainment. And you think about how close you came to losing this; losing her, losing the future you're building together, losing everything that matters. The universe gave you a second chance, somehow, against all odds.
You're not going to waste it.
—
You finish plating the spaghetti at the exact right moment, al dente pasta twirled into perfect nests, homemade marinara sauce with fresh basil on top, parmesan shaved over everything. The kitchen smells incredible, garlic and tomato and herbs filling the small apartment. You step back to admire your work, feeling stupidly proud of yourself for pulling off something more ambitious than your usual repertoire of instant ramen and fried rice.
It reminds you of that first real date with Jimin, back when everything was new and terrifying and exciting. She'd invited you to her apartment and cooked for you and you'd felt so cared for, so seen. Now it's your turn to return that gesture, to show her through actions what words sometimes fail to capture.
The doorbell rings. You wipe your hands on a kitchen towel and head to the door, and when you open it, wow. Jimin stands there looking absolutely devastating in a black wrap dress that hugs every curve, the neckline just low enough to be suggestive without being obvious. The fabric is some kind of silky material that catches the hallway light. Her hair is down in soft waves, makeup subtle but expertly done, and she's wearing strappy heels that make her legs. Sexy but discreet.
"Hi," she says, and her smile is warm and immediate.
You pull her in for a kiss, one hand on her waist, feeling the silk slide under your palm. She tastes like cherry lip gloss and possibility. "Hi yourself. You look incredible."
"Thank you." She steps inside, her heels clicking on the hardwood, and immediately her nose lifts as she takes in the smell of dinner. "Oh my god, what is that? It smells amazing."
"Spaghetti from scratch," you say proudly, leading her toward the kitchen. "Well, mostly from scratch. I didn't make the pasta itself, but the sauce is all me. And there's garlic bread and salad and—"
"You really went all out," she says, looking genuinely touched as she surveys the table you set, complete with candles and actual cloth napkins you had to go buy specifically for this occasion.
"You deserve it." You move to the counter where you've set up a modest bar - wine, beer, some juice. "What would you like to drink? I've got red wine, white wine, that beer you like, or—"
You don't get to finish the sentence because suddenly there are hands wrapping around your waist from behind, Jimin's body pressing against your back. Her lips find your neck, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses that make your breath catch for a moment.
"I think we can skip the drinks for now," she murmurs against your skin, her breath warm.
You turn in her arms, finding her eyes shining with intent, and capture her mouth in a deeper kiss. "Someone seems hungry," you manage between kisses.
"Mmm, yes." Her hands are already roaming, sliding under your shirt to find bare skin. "But hungry for something else."
Her palm presses against the front of your jeans, feeling you already half-hard just from that look in her eyes. You groan into her mouth, your hips involuntarily pushing forward into her touch.
"What about dinner?" you ask, even though you already know the answer, already know you'd abandon a five-course meal if she asked. "I worked really hard on it."
"Dinner can wait," she says firmly, taking your hand and pulling you toward the bedroom. "I have other priorities right now."
You let her lead you, pausing only to blow out the candles so the apartment doesn't burn down while you're otherwise occupied. The bedroom is dim, just the ambient light from the city filtering through the curtains, and it paints everything in shades of blue and gold. You're both kissing again, hands grabbing and pulling, that desperate energy of two people who've been apart all day and need to reconnect in the most fundamental way.
When you finally separate to breathe, you sit on the edge of the bed, taking off your shoes and you can't help but laugh. "If I knew we were going to take our clothes off this fast, I wouldn't have bothered dressing up so much."
Jimin stands in front of you, and the look she gives you is pure heat. "I'm glad you did. Makes it more fun to undress you." She reaches for the tie of her wrap dress, but pauses. "Though I have to admit, I'm kind of sorry to take this off. It cost a fortune."
"It's beautiful," you agree, already working on your belt. "You're beautiful."
She holds your gaze as her hands move to the straps at her shoulders. Then, in one smooth motion, she pulls both straps down simultaneously. The dress slides down her body like water, pooling at her feet in a puddle of black silk, and underneath—
"Fuck," you breathe.
She's wearing red lingerie, and not just any lingerie. A matching set in deep crimson lace that looks like it was designed specifically to destroy you. The bra pushes her breasts up and the panties are this barely-there scrap of lace that somehow manages to be more provocative than complete nudity. The color against her skin is obscene, beautiful, absolutely perfect.
"Changed your mind about dinner?"
"Changed my mind about a lot of things." You're shedding your pants now, desperate to have less fabric between you. "Mainly about how much I need you right now."
She climbs onto the bed, straddling your lap in just that red lace, and the weight of her is perfect. Her hands frame your face as she kisses you deeply, thoroughly, her hips already starting to move in slow rolls against you. You can feel the heat of her even through the remaining layers of clothing, and it's driving you insane.
The feeling of being in your own bed again, in your own space, is almost overwhelming. At your cousin's house, everything had this edge of wrongness to it; the unfamiliar mattress, the knowledge that you were in someone else's home, and oh god, that incident with the couch that you've been trying not to think about. But here, this is your territory. Your bed, your rules, and Jimin spread out above you like the best kind of gift.
Your hands find her ass, squeezing the firm flesh through the lace, and she makes this breathy sound that goes straight to your cock. You pull her closer and bury your face between her breasts, just breathing her in - her perfume mixed with her natural scent, the warmth of her skin, the rapid beat of her heart. You kiss the swell of her cleavage, the spot where the lace meets flesh, tracing patterns with your tongue that make her gasp and arch into you.
"Bed," she manages. "Lie back."
You do as instructed, letting her push you down until your back hits the mattress. She's above you, straddling your hips, her hair falling around both your faces as she leans down to kiss you. It's slower now, more deliberate, like she wants to savor every second. Your hands roam her body, mapping territory you're becoming intimately familiar with; the curve of her waist, the dip of her spine, the way her muscles shift under your palms.
Then she's moving, repositioning herself, and you realize what she's doing. She turns around so her back is facing you, still straddling but now giving you the most incredible view. Her ass in those red panties, the elegant line of her spine, the way her hair falls over one shoulder.
"Do you like the view?" she asks, looking back at you over her shoulder with a wicked smile.
You run your hands over her ass, squeezing appreciatively. "I really, really do."
"Good." She's shifting again, moving lower, her hands sliding up your thighs. "Because I really want to feel your mouth on my pussy again. Like last time."
The memory of that night in Gapyeong floods back, her taste, her sounds, the way she came apart under your tongue. Your cock twitches with interest.
"But this time," she continues, her fingers finding the waistband of your boxer briefs, "you won't be left out." She starts pulling them down slowly, teasingly, and when your cock springs free, already hard and leaking, she makes this satisfied hum. "I think that's only fair, don't you?"
"Very fair," you agree.
You hook your fingers into her panties and pull them to the side, revealing her pussy glistening in the low light of your bedroom. She's already wet, arousal coating her inner thighs. The perfect 69 position, both of you about to pleasure each other simultaneously, and you can't wait another second. You pull her hips back toward your face as she leans forward to take you in her mouth, your tongue makes first contact with her pussy and she gasps around your cock. She tastes exactly how you remember and you can't help the groan that escapes as you drag your tongue through her folds slowly, deliberately, savoring every inch. Her hips roll back against your face, seeking more pressure, more friction, and you're happy to give it to her.
At the same time, her mouth envelops you, hot and wet and perfect. She starts with just the tip, her tongue swirling around the head and catching the precum that's already leaking, and the sensation makes your thighs tense. She hums in appreciation at the taste, and then she's taking you deeper, inch by inch, until you can feel yourself hitting the back of her throat.
"Fuck, Jimin," you breathe against her pussy, pausing your own ministrations for just a second to process how good her mouth feels. "That's so good."
She pulls off, her hand wrapping around your shaft to stroke what her mouth isn't covering. "Then don't stop what you're doing," she says, already breathy. "I want to feel your tongue on my clit."
You obey immediately, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves and circling it with the tip of your tongue. Her reaction is instantaneous: her back arches, pushing her pussy harder against your face, and she lets out this desperate little whimper that makes you want to wreck her completely. You establish a rhythm, alternating between broad flat strokes through her folds and focused attention on her clit, listening to the sounds she makes to guide you to what feels best.
She returns her attention to your cock with renewed determination, and suddenly this feels less like mutual pleasure and more like a competition. Who can make the other lose control first. The realization seems to hit both of you at the same time because she increases her pace, taking you deeper, adding suction that makes your vision blur, while you double down on your efforts, sealing your lips around her clit and sucking.
"Oh god," she moans, her hips grinding against your face now. "That's… fuck, that's not fair."
You pull back just enough to speak, your breath hot against her wet flesh. "You started it. Taking me so deep like that."
"Because I want you to come for me," she says, pumping your cock with her hand while her tongue traces the vein running along the underside. "I want to taste it. Want to swallow every drop."
Her words send heat flooding through you, your cock pulsing in her grip. "Keep talking like that and you're going to get what you want really fast."
"Good." She takes you back in her mouth, and this time she's relentless, bobbing her head in a steady rhythm while her hand works what she can't fit. Her other hand cups your balls, rolling them gently.
You try to maintain your focus on her pleasure, your tongue working her clit in tight circles while you slide two fingers inside her, curling them to find that spot that makes her shake. She's so wet that they slip in easily, her walls clenching around you immediately.
"You're so wet," you murmur against her, punctuating your words with a long lick from her entrance to her clit. "Dripping all over my face. You love having my mouth on you, don't you?"
"Yes," she gasps, her movements on your cock faltering slightly as pleasure overtakes her concentration. "Love it so much. Your tongue feels amazing."
"And your mouth," you continue as she takes you particularly deep, "your mouth is fucking perfect. So hot and tight. I could come just from this."
"Then do it," she challenges, pulling off to look back at you over her shoulder. Her lips are swollen and slick. "Come for me. I want it."
She dives back down, and this time there's no teasing, no building. She's sucking you hard and fast, her hand twisting on every upstroke, and you know you're not going to last much longer. You increase your own pace to match, your tongue flicking rapidly over her clit while your fingers pump in and out of her.
"Fuck, Jimin, I'm close," you warn, your thighs trembling with the effort of holding back. "If you keep doing that—"
She just hums in acknowledgment and somehow takes you even deeper, and that's it. That's all it takes. Your orgasm hits you hard, pleasure exploding from your core and radiating outward. You groan against her pussy, your hips bucking up involuntarily as you come, spilling into her mouth in hot pulses. She doesn't pull away, doesn't hesitate, she takes everything you give her, swallowing around you, her throat working, and the sensation prolongs your orgasm until you're shaking beneath her.
Even as you're coming down, aftershocks still rolling through you, you don't stop working her pussy. If anything, you become more focused, determined to push her over that edge right behind you. Your fingers curl harder against her g-spot while your tongue assaults her clit with renewed purpose, and within seconds you feel her start to tense.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck," she chants, her thighs trembling on either side of your head. "Don't stop, please don't stop, I'm gonna—"
She doesn't finish the sentence because she's coming, her whole body going rigid as the orgasm crashes through her. You feel her pussy clench rhythmically around your fingers, more wetness flooding your mouth as you lap at her through it, extending her pleasure for as long as possible. She's making these broken, desperate sounds above you, her hand still loosely holding your softening cock.
Finally, she collapses forward, boneless and panting, and you have to gently guide her off you so neither of you suffocates. She ends up sprawled beside you on the bed, both of you catching your breath, skin flushed and sweaty.
"Holy shit," she manages after a minute, turning her head to look at you. "That was—"
"Intense," you finish for her.
"I was going to say incredible, but intense works too." She shifts closer, draping herself across your chest. "Though for the record, I totally made you come first."
"You did," you concede. "But it was close."
"Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades." She's grinning now, clearly pleased with herself. "I win."
"What do you win?"
"The satisfaction of knowing I can reduce you to a whimpering mess with just my mouth."
You laugh, wrapping an arm around her. "Fair enough. Though in my defense, you were literally swallowing my cock while simultaneously looking like every wet dream I've ever had in that lingerie. The odds were stacked against me."
"Excuses, excuses." But she's still smiling, nuzzling into your neck. "For what it's worth, you almost had me. That thing you do with your fingers while your tongue—"
You capture her mouth in a deep kiss, silencing whatever she was about to say. When you pull back, your eyes lock with hers. "It's not over yet," you murmur against her lips.
She makes a questioning sound, but you're already moving, your hands sliding up her back to find the clasp of her bra. Your fingers work the hooks with more confidence than you probably should have, and within seconds the red lace falls away, revealing her breasts, full and pale, her nipples already hard from arousal and the cool air of the bedroom. You've seen them before, touched them before, but every time feels like the first time, this sense of awe that she's here with you, that this is real.
"I'll never get tired of telling you how beautiful you are," you whisper, your hands coming up to cup the weight of her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples and making her gasp.
"Then don't stop," she says breathlessly, arching into your touch.
You kiss her again, your tongue sliding against hers while your hands continue their exploration. Her skin is so soft, warm and responsive to every touch, and you can feel her heart racing under your palms. She makes these small sounds of pleasure into your mouth, little gasps and sighs that drive you crazy, that make you want to catalog every single thing that brings her pleasure.
After a moment, she breaks the kiss and gently pushes at your shoulder. "Move to the edge of the bed," she instructs.
You obey without question, shifting until you're sitting on the edge of the mattress, feet on the floor. Jimin stands before you, and the sight is something out of a fantasy: her breasts bare and flushed, the red panties still pushed to the side from earlier, revealing the slick pink of her pussy. Her hair is messy from your hands, her lips swollen from kissing, and she looks thoroughly debauched in the best possible way.
She turns around slowly, deliberately, giving you her back. The elegant line of her spine, the curve of her ass in those panties, the way her hair falls between her shoulder blades, every detail is designed to torment you. She looks over her shoulder with a smile that's equal parts sweet and wicked.
"Just relax," she says, reaching between her legs to wrap her hand around your cock. You're already starting to harden again despite having just come, because apparently your body has decided that Jimin touching you overrides any normal refractory period.
She strokes you a few times, her grip firm and confident, and you can feel yourself getting harder with each pass of her hand. When she's satisfied with your state, she positions herself above you, the head of your cock pressing against her entrance. The heat of her is incredible even through that first point of contact, and you have to grip the edge of the mattress to keep from just pulling her down onto you.
"Ready?" she asks.
"Always," you manage.
She sinks down slowly, so slowly, taking you inch by inch into her tight heat. Unprotected sex has become familiar to you two lately, but the feeling of sliding into Jimin raw still hits like the very first time - always otherworldly. You both groan at the sensation, her walls stretching to accommodate you, the way she's still so wet and sensitive from her earlier orgasm, the perfect friction as she sheathes you completely. When she's fully seated in your lap, your cock buried to the hilt inside her, she pauses, just breathing, adjusting to the fullness.
"Fuck," she breathes. "You feel so good like this."
"So do you," you say, your hands coming up to rest on her hips, feeling the way her muscles shift as she starts to move.
She begins with small movements, just rolling her hips in slow circles, getting used to the angle. Then she lifts up slightly and drops back down. She establishes a rhythm, bouncing on your cock from behind, and the view is absolutely perfect; her ass moving up and down, the way you disappear into her pussy with each downward stroke, the way her body moves with this fluid grace.
Your hands slide from her hips up to her breasts, cupping them from behind. They fill your palms perfectly, soft and heavy, and you squeeze gently, feeling her nipples harden further against your skin. She leans back slightly, pressing her back against your chest, and the new angle makes you slide even deeper inside her.
"Yes," she sighs, her head falling back onto your shoulder. "Just like that."
You take advantage of her position to trail kisses along her shoulder, her neck, the sensitive spot behind her ear that makes her shiver. Your lips map the landscape of her skin, tasting salt and perfume and Jimin, while your hands continue to play with her breasts. You roll her nipples between your fingers, alternating between gentle touches and firmer pinches, learning what makes her breath hitch and her pussy clench around you.
"Your hands," she gasps, still riding you with those slow, deliberate movements. "God, your hands feel so good."
"Yeah?" You kiss the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, letting your teeth graze the skin. "Tell me what you like."
"Everything," she admits breathlessly. "The way you touch me, like you can't get enough. Like you want to memorize every inch of me."
"I do want that," you confess against her skin. "Want to know your body better than my own."
She makes this broken sound, a moan and a laugh at the same time, and her movements become slightly less controlled. You can feel her thighs trembling with the effort of maintaining the rhythm, can feel the way her pussy is fluttering around your cock in a way that suggests she's building toward something again already.
Your left hand stays on her breast, continuing its ministrations, while your right slides down her stomach, tracing the defined muscles there. She works so hard for this body, hours of dance practice and training, and you want to worship every result of that dedication. Your fingers trail lower until you find her clit.
"Oh fuck," she gasps when you make contact, her hips stuttering in their rhythm.
"Keep moving," you encourage, your fingers starting to circle that sensitive bud in time with her bouncing. "Don't stop. You look so beautiful like this, taking my cock, using me for your pleasure."
"It's not just for me," she manages. "You're you're hitting so deep like this."
"Good." You kiss her shoulder again, then her neck, working your way up to that spot just below her ear. "I want you to feel me everywhere. Want you to remember this tomorrow when you're in those meetings, when you're rehearsing. Want you thinking about how good this feels."
She moans at your words, her movements becoming more erratic, more desperate. She's no longer bouncing in that controlled rhythm but grinding down onto you, seeking friction against her clit from your hand while keeping you deep inside her. Her back is pressed fully against your chest now, her head turned to the side so you can kiss the corner of her jaw, her neck, anywhere you can reach.
"You're so tight," you murmur against her skin. "So wet. Can you feel how hard you make me? How much I want you?"
"Yes," she breathes. "I can feel everything."
Your hand on her breast squeezes a little harder, and your fingers on her clit increase their pressure slightly, and she makes this sound: high and desperate and absolutely beautiful. Her pussy clenches around you rhythmically, and you know she's getting close again, her body still sensitive from the first orgasm and building rapidly toward another.
But you don't want to rush this. Don't want it to end too quickly. So you deliberately slow your movements, your fingers easing off her clit, and she makes a sound of frustration.
"Don't stop," she pleads.
"Not stopping," you assure her. "Just slowing down. Want to make this last."
She takes a shuddering breath and nods, understanding. Her own movements slow to match yours, these long, languid rolls of her hips that keep you deep inside her while providing this steady, building pleasure that's intense without being overwhelming. It's intimate like this, her back pressed to your chest, your hands on her body, both of you moving together in this perfect synchronization.
"I love you," she says suddenly, quietly.
"I love you too," you respond, kissing her shoulder. "So much."
She turns her head, seeking your mouth, and you meet her in an awkward but passionate kiss, your neck craning to reach her. When you break apart, she's smiling.
"This is perfect," she says. "Right here, right now. Everything is perfect."
And she's right. It is.
The slow, languid rhythm continues for a few more moments, both of you savoring the intimacy and connection. But then something shifts in the air between you. Jimin's breathing becomes more ragged, her movements slightly more urgent, and you can feel the tension building in her body again.
"I need more," she says. "Please."
"Tell me what you need," you murmur against her shoulder, even though you already know.
"Faster. Harder. I need you to make me come."
Your fingers on her clit begin moving faster, applying more pressure, while your hand on her breast squeezes harder. Jimin responds immediately, her hips lifting and dropping with increased urgency, bouncing on your cock with real purpose now.
"Yes," she gasps, her back arching. "Just like that. Don't stop."
You have no intention of stopping. Your fingers work her clit in tight, rapid circles, matching the pace of her bouncing, and you can feel how swollen and sensitive she is under your touch. Every pass makes her pussy clench around your cock, makes her movements stutter slightly before she regains her rhythm. She's chasing her orgasm now with single-minded determination, using your body to get herself there.
"You're so close, aren't you?" you say against her ear. "I can feel it. Feel how tight you're getting around me."
Your left hand releases her breast and slides up to her throat, not squeezing, just resting there possessively while your right hand continues its relentless assault on her clit. Her movements are becoming erratic now, her thighs trembling with exertion, but she doesn't slow down. Actually, she speeds up, bouncing harder, taking you deeper. You can feel her wet pussy squeezing tighter, the sight and sound and feel of her falling apart overwhelming every sense.
"Come for me," you encourage, your fingers pressing harder against her clit. "Want to feel you come on my cock. Want to feel you squeeze me."
"I'm—fuck, I'm—" She can't finish the sentence because she's coming, her entire body going rigid in your arms as the orgasm crashes through her. Her pussy clamps down on you like a vice, rhythmic pulses that milk your cock, and she's making these high, desperate sounds that go straight to your dick. You keep your fingers moving through it, drawing out her pleasure until she's shaking and pushing your hand away because it's too much, too sensitive.
She collapses back against you, boneless and gasping, and you wrap both arms around her waist to keep her upright. Your cock is still hard inside her, still buried deep, and even though she just came, you can feel her pussy still fluttering with aftershocks. You press kisses to her shoulder, her neck, her cheek, wherever you can reach, murmuring praise against her skin.
"That was incredible," you tell her. "You're incredible."
She makes a sound that might be agreement or just acknowledgment, still too wrung out to form words. After a moment, she lifts herself off you with a wince, and you slip out of her with a wet sound that makes you both groan for different reasons. She stands on shaky legs, turning to face you.
"Bed," she manages. "Need to lie down."
You stand with her, guiding her the few steps to the center of the mattress. She lies down on her side facing away from you, and you immediately understand what she wants. You lie down behind her, your body curving to fit against hers, your chest pressed to her back. This position is intimate in a different way, quieter, and you take a moment to just breathe with her, your hand stroking her hip. "You okay?" you ask softly.
"More than okay," she says. "But I'm not done with you yet."
She reaches back between your bodies and wraps her hand around your cock, still hard and slick with her arousal. She guides you to her entrance, lifting her top leg slightly to give you better access, and you slide inside her easily. The angle is different like this, tighter somehow.
"Fuck, Jimin," you breathe against her neck.
"I know," she agrees. "Feels so good like this."
You start moving slowly, shallow thrusts that keep you deep inside her while providing this constant, building friction. Your hand slides from her hip to her stomach, holding her against you, while your other arm is tucked under her neck, wrapped around her shoulders. She's completely enveloped in you like this, surrounded, and from the way her breathing is already starting to quicken, she loves it.
"This okay?" you ask, your lips brushing her ear.
"Perfect," she sighs, her hand covering yours on her stomach. "Everything about this is perfect.”
You establish a rhythm that's deliberate and deep, each thrust slow and measured as you pull almost completely out before sliding back in to the hilt. The position lets you reach places inside her that make her gasp every time you bottom out, your hips flush against her ass. There's something incredibly intimate about this: the way you're wrapped around her, the way she's completely open and vulnerable to you, the way every breath she takes you can feel against your chest.
"God, you're so deep like this," Jimin moans, her hand gripping yours tighter on her stomach. "I can feel every inch of you."
"Yeah?" You kiss the spot where her neck meets her shoulder, your lips trailing over the marks you left earlier. "You like feeling me this deep?"
"Love it," she breathes, her hips pushing back to meet your thrusts. "Love how full you make me feel."
You maintain that slow, deep pace, focusing on the sensation of her tight heat enveloping you, the way her walls grip your cock on every stroke. Your hand on her stomach can feel the slight bulge when you thrust in particularly deep, and the knowledge that she can feel you that intensely makes your head spin. She's so wet that every movement creates these obscene sounds, the slide of your cock through her slick pussy loud in the quiet bedroom.
"You feel amazing," you murmur against her ear. "So tight and wet for me. Could stay inside you forever."
Jimin moans sweetly and her free hand reaches back to tangle in your hair. The position pulls her body even tighter against yours, and you adjust your angle slightly, hitting a spot inside her that makes her cry out.
"There," she gasps. "Right there, please."
You file that information away, making sure to hit that same spot with every thrust. It requires a slight shift of your hips, a different angle, but the sounds she makes are worth it. Her breathing becomes more ragged, these soft moans escaping with every exhale that drive you crazy. You can feel her heart racing where your chest presses against her back, can feel the way her whole body responds to what you're doing to her.
"You're shaking," you observe, your hand sliding from her stomach up to cup her breast. Her nipple is hard against your palm, and you roll it between your fingers, adding another layer of sensation. "Sensitive baby?"
"Very," she admits. "Everything feels so intense. You're everywhere - inside me, around me, touching me. It's overwhelming."
"In a good way?"
"In the best way." She turns her head slightly, seeking your mouth, and you meet her in an awkward kiss over her shoulder. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."
You obey, your thrusts remain deep and steady, each one deliberate, letting her feel the full length of you as you withdraw and then fill her completely again. The hand on her breast continues to play with her nipple while your other arm holds her close, your fingers splayed across her ribcage. You can feel every breath she takes, every tremor that runs through her body, every response to your touch.
"Talk to me," you encourage between thrusts. "Tell me how it feels."
"It feels..." She pauses, moaning as you hit that spot again. "It feels like you're claiming me. Like you're marking me inside and out. Like my body was made for this, made for you."
Her words send heat rushing through you, your cock pulsing inside her. "You are made for me," you agree. "This perfect pussy, these beautiful tits, this gorgeous body… all mine."
"All yours," she confirms breathlessly. "Only yours. Nobody else gets to have me like this, gets to see me like this."
The possessiveness in her words is undeniable, matches your own, and it does something to you. You increase the force of your thrusts slightly, still maintaining that deep penetration but adding more power behind each movement. The sound of your bodies meeting becomes louder, your hips slapping against her ass with each thrust, and Jimin's moans increase in volume to match.
"Yes," she encourages, her nails digging into your forearm. "Just like that. Harder."
You oblige, your hips snapping forward with more force, driving into her with purpose. The position gives you incredible leverage, and you use it, each thrust pushing her forward slightly before your arm around her waist pulls her back onto you. She’s taking you to the hilt, her pussy stretched tight around your cock, slick cream gathering where you meet, making every thrust glide deeper, wetter, easier.
"You take me so well," you praise. "Like your body knows exactly what to do with my cock."
"Because it does," she gasps. "We fit perfectly. You fill me perfectly. Everything about this is perfect."
Your hand leaves her breast and trails down her stomach, over her hip, to her ass. You squeeze the firm flesh, spreading her slightly to watch your cock disappear into her pussy with each thrust. The sight is mesmerizing, the way she stretches around you, the way her arousal coats your shaft, the way her body accepts you so completely.
"I love watching myself fuck you," you admit. "Love seeing how well you take me, how wet you get for me."
She whimpers at your words, her pussy clenching around you in response. "Keep talking. Love hearing you like this, hearing you lose control."
"Not losing control yet," you say, though your breathing is definitely more labored now. "Still focused on making you feel good. Still focused on every sound you make, every way your body responds to me."
You shift slightly, adjusting the angle again, and this time when you thrust in, Jimin nearly screams. Her whole body jerks, her back arching, and you know you've found something particularly sensitive.
"Oh my god," she pants. "What was that? How did you—"
"This?" You repeat the motion, hitting that same spot, and she makes that sound again. "Like this?"
"Yes, fuck, yes." Her hand scrambles behind her, trying to grab your hip, your ass, anything to pull you closer, deeper. "Don't stop doing that. Please don't stop."
You maintain that exact angle, that exact depth, each thrust calculated to hit that spot that makes her lose her mind. Your pace is still relatively controlled, still focused on depth over speed, but the power behind each movement increases. You can feel sweat starting to bead on your skin, can feel the exertion in your muscles, but you don't care. All that matters is the woman in your arms, the sounds she's making, the way her body is responding to yours.
"You're incredible like this," you tell her, your hand moving from her ass back to her breast. "So responsive, so perfect. Could fuck you like this for hours and never get tired of it."
"I wouldn't complain," she manages. "Could let you fuck me forever. Would let you do anything to me."
"I'll take care of you," you promise, your lips tracing the shell of her ear. "Always. In bed and out of it. You're mine to protect, mine to pleasure, mine to love."
You continue the deep, steady thrusts, your bodies moving together in perfect synchronization. Every time you push in, she pushes back, meeting you halfway. Every time you withdraw, she makes this small sound of protest, like even that brief separation is too much. It's intoxicating, this dance you're doing, this perfect rhythm you've found together.
"More," Jimin pleads, though you're not sure what more she wants. "I need more of you."
"You have all of me," you assure her, but you understand what she means. You increase your pace slightly, the thrusts coming faster now while maintaining that same depth. Your hand on her breast squeezes harder, your teeth find her shoulder and bite down gently, adding more sensations, more stimulation, more everything. She cries out, her body trembling in your arms, and you can feel how close she is again despite having already come twice tonight. You decide it's time to give her what she needs. "Ready?" you ask.
"God, yes," she breathes. "Please. I need to come so badly."
You shift your angle to find that spot again (the one that made her nearly scream earlier) and when you thrust in and hit it perfectly, her entire body goes rigid. "There," she gasps. "Right there, don't stop, please don't stop!"
You focus all your attention on hitting that exact spot with every thrust, increasing your pace gradually but maintaining that precision. Your hand slides from her breast down between her legs, fingers finding her clit and beginning to rub in tight circles. The dual stimulation makes her cry out, her hand flying back to grab your hip, urging you on.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she chants. "I'm so close. Don't stop, please don't stop."
"Not stopping, babe,” you promise. "Want to feel you come on my cock. Want to feel you lose control."
Your thrusts become harder, faster, each one calculated to hit that spot deep inside her while your fingers work her clit relentlessly. You can feel the tension coiling in her body, the way her muscles are going taut, the way her breathing has become these short, desperate gasps. She's right on the edge, teetering, and you know exactly what will push her over.
"Come for me, baby," you murmur against her neck. "Let go. Make a mess for me."
That's all it takes. Jimin screams, actually screams, as the orgasm hits her with a sudden force. Her whole body convulsions in your arms, her back arching violently, and you feel it: the sudden gush of fluid as she squirts, soaking your cock, your thighs, the sheets beneath you. It's even more intense than that time in Gapyeong, her pussy clamping down so hard on your cock that you can barely move, rhythmic pulses that seem to go on forever.
"That's it," you encourage, your fingers still working her clit, drawing out every last drop of pleasure. "So good, baby. You're doing so good. Keep going, make a mess. Don't hold back."
And she doesn't. More fluid pulses out with each wave of her orgasm, her body completely out of her control as pleasure overwhelms every sense. She's making these broken, sobbing sounds, her hand gripping your forearm so tight it might leave bruises, and you've never seen anything more beautiful than Jimin completely lost in ecstasy.
You keep moving through it, slower now but still hitting that spot, prolonging her orgasm until she's trembling so hard she can barely breathe. Finally, she pushes weakly at your hand on her clit, oversensitive, and you immediately stop, your fingers moving to rest gently on her hip instead.
"Holy shit," she gasps when she can finally speak. "That was… I can't even—"
"Incredible," you finish for her, pressing soft kisses to her shoulder. "You were incredible."
She's still trembling with aftershocks, her pussy fluttering around your cock, which is still hard inside her despite how close you are to your own edge. The sheets beneath you are soaked through, a wet patch spreading across the mattress, and there's something deeply satisfying about the visual evidence of her pleasure.
"I made such a mess," she says weakly, though there's satisfaction in her words rather than embarrassment.
"You did," you agree, grinning against her skin. "It's perfect. You're perfect."
She makes a contented sound, but after a moment she shifts, and you understand she needs to move. You slip out of her carefully, both of you groaning at the loss of connection, and help her roll onto her back. She lies there for a moment, chest heaving, skin flushed and glowing with sweat, and you take a second just to admire her. Thoroughly fucked, completely satisfied, absolutely gorgeous. But you're not done yet. Your cock is still achingly hard, slick with her arousal, and you need release. Jimin seems to realize this at the same time, her eyes focusing on your erection with new interest.
"Come here," she says. She shifts slightly on the bed, moving to lie more fully on her back in the center, and pats her chest. "I want to try something."
You move to straddle her waist, understanding immediately what she's suggesting. Your cock rests in the valley between her breasts, and just the sight of it, your length against her pale skin, makes you throb with need. You shift forward, guiding your cock to her mouth first, the head pressing against her lips. "Taste yourself first," you say. "Want you to taste how wet you got for me."
Jimin opens immediately, her tongue darting out to lick the head before she takes you into her mouth. You push in deep, not quite hitting the back of her throat but close, and she moans around you at the taste of her own arousal coating your shaft. She sucks enthusiastically, her eyes fluttering closed as she savors the flavor, her tongue swirling around you to gather every drop.
"Fuck, that's hot," you groan, watching her lips stretch around your girth. "You like tasting yourself on my cock?"
She nods as much as she can with her mouth full, humming in affirmation, and the vibration makes you throb. After a few more seconds, you reluctantly pull out, a string of saliva connecting her lips to your cock before it breaks.
"Now the tits," you say, repositioning yourself to straddle her chest again. Your cock, now wet from her mouth, slides easily into the valley between her breasts.
Jimin immediately pushes her breasts together with both hands, creating that perfect tight channel, and you start thrusting. The sensation is insane; the softness of her skin, the pressure she's creating, the way the head of your cock appears between her breasts with every forward thrust. It's different from anything else, this unique pleasure that has your thighs trembling already.
"God, your tits feel amazing," you breathe, your pace increasing. "So soft and perfect wrapped around my cock."
"Yeah?" She looks up at you with those eyes: big and dark and pleading, innocent and dirty all at once. "You like fucking my tits?"
"Love it," you confirm, your hips snapping forward harder. "Love watching my cock disappear between them. Love how you're squeezing them for me."
She adjusts her grip, pushing them together even tighter, and the increased pressure makes you gasp. "Like this? Is this good?"
"So good, baby. So fucking good."
Your pace becomes more urgent, more desperate, and you're fucking her breasts with real force now, your hips pistoning as you chase your release. Jimin watches your face intently, reading every expression, every sign that you're getting closer, and then she starts talking.
"Come for me," she says. "Please, baby. Want to feel your cum all over me."
"Fuck," you grunt, your movements becoming erratic.
"Want you to cover me," she continues, squeezing her breasts rhythmically in time with your thrusts. "Mark me with your cum. Show me how good I make you feel."
"Jimin—"
"Please," she begs, and her voice is so sweet, so eager, so genuinely desperate for it. "Need your cum, baby. Need you to give it to me. Be a good boy and come for me. Come all over my tits."
"Going to come," you warn. "Fuck, Jimin, I'm going to—"
"Yes," she encourages, squeezing her breasts even tighter. "Give it to me. Want all of it."
The orgasm hits you hard, intense and overwhelming after being held back for so long. The first spurt is powerful, shooting up between her breasts with such force that it lands across her face, a thick rope of cum that splashes across her cheek, her nose, her parted lips. She gasps at the impact, her eyes widening, and then she moans, this deep sound of pure satisfaction as she feels your hot release marking her skin.
"Yes, baby, yes," she encourages breathlessly, watching your face contort with pleasure.
The subsequent spurts paint her breasts in thick white stripes, covering the pale skin, pooling in her cleavage. She squeezes her breasts tighter, milking your cock for every last drop, and you keep coming, more than you thought possible, coating her chest thoroughly. It seems to go on forever, each pulse wringing more pleasure from you until you're shaking and gasping, completely spent.
When you finally finish, you're bracing yourself on the headboard with both hands, breathing hard, your entire body trembling with the aftermath. Jimin is a mess beneath you - cum dripping down her face, coating her breasts, pooling in her cleavage - and she looks absolutely delighted about it.
"That was so much," she says, full of wonder and satisfaction. Then, maintaining eye contact with you, she sticks out her tongue and licks the cum from her lips, from her cheek, gathering as much as she can reach. The sight is simultaneously cute and obscene, her expression almost innocent despite the absolutely filthy nature of what she's doing.
"You're incredible," you manage.
"Mm, and you taste amazing," she responds, using her fingers to wipe more cum from her face and bringing them to her mouth to suck clean. Then she does something that nearly makes you hard again despite having just come: she cups her own breasts, lifting them toward her mouth, and proceeds to lick them clean. Her tongue traces patterns through the cum covering her skin, gathering it, savoring it, all while making these little satisfied sounds.
"I love the taste of your cum," she says between licks, completely unselfconscious about it. "Could lick it off myself all day."
"Jesus Christ, Jimin," you breathe, watching her continue her thorough cleaning. "You're going to kill me."
She grins up at you, cum still visible on her chin. "But what a way to go, right?"
You can't argue with that logic. You carefully move off her, collapsing onto the bed beside her, and she immediately curls into your side, apparently unbothered by the mess still covering her. Your hand finds hers, fingers intertwining, and you both just lie there catching your breath, hearts slowly returning to normal rhythm.
"We should probably shower," she says eventually, though she makes no move to get up.
"Probably," you agree, equally unmotivated to leave the warmth of the bed.
"And change the sheets. I definitely ruined these."
"Worth it."
She laughs, happy, and turns her head to kiss your shoulder. "Definitely worth it."
You lie there in comfortable silence for a few more minutes, just existing together in the aftermath, before reality starts creeping back in. Dinner is probably cold. You both definitely need showers. The bed is a disaster. But none of that seems important right now, not when Jimin is wrapped around you, safe and satisfied and yours.
—
You wake up to sunlight streaming through the bedroom window, the kind of warm golden light that only happens on lazy weekend mornings. For a moment you just lie there, listening to Jimin's soft breathing beside you, watching the way her face looks peaceful in sleep. Saturday. your day off, and Jimin only has appointments scheduled for later in the afternoon. No rush, no urgency, just time stretching out ahead of you like a reward after everything you two have been through.
Carefully, so as not to wake her, you slip out of bed. She stirs slightly, making a small sound of protest before burrowing deeper into the pillows you left behind. You pull on sweatpants and pad quietly to the kitchen, deciding to make her breakfast. Nothing fancy, just scrambled eggs, toast, some fruit you bought earlier in the week, but made with care. You brew coffee for yourself and tea for her, the kind she likes with honey and lemon, and by the time everything's ready, you hear movement from the bedroom.
Jimin appears a few minutes later wearing one of her pajama sets that she left here weeks ago, soft pink cotton shorts and a matching tank top that rides up slightly when she stretches. Her hair is messy from sleep, no makeup, and she looks absolutely perfect in that effortless way that always takes your breath away.
"Morning," she says, and you notice she's still sleepy as she walks over and wraps her arms around you from behind.
"Good morning, beautiful." You turn in her embrace to kiss her properly, soft and unhurried. "I made you breakfast."
"I can see that." She eyes the plate on the counter appreciatively. "And smell it. You're spoiling me."
"You deserve to be spoiled." You pat her ass affectionately. "Go eat. I'll meet you in the living room."
She steals one more kiss before grabbing her plate and tea, padding into the living room. You follow with your own coffee, settling onto the couch as she curls up beside you, tucking her feet under her. You grab the remote and turn on the TV to some morning news program, just background noise while you eat.
"We have a few hours before you need to leave," you observe, glancing at the clock. "Any ideas how you want to spend them?"
Jimin gives you this look: the one where her eyes go soft and warm and a little bit wicked all at once. "Well," she says, setting her plate down on the coffee table and shifting closer. "I was thinking maybe some cuddling. And possibly more sex. That sounds like a pretty good way to spend a Saturday morning."
"I more than agree with that plan," you say, grinning.
She's about to say something else when a news anchor's voice cuts through your attention. "—SM Entertainment has identified and is taking legal action against the individual responsible for leaking private security footage—"
Your hand reaches for the remote, ready to change the channel, but Jimin stops you. "Wait. I want to hear this.”
"The footage, which showed idol Karina of the group aespa in a private moment with a staff member, sparked controversy when it was leaked online three weeks ago. SM Entertainment announced today that they have identified the perpetrator, a former IT contractor with access to the company's security systems, and are pursuing both criminal charges and a civil lawsuit has been charged with unauthorized access to computer systems, violation of privacy laws, and corporate espionage. SM's legal team stated that they will be seeking maximum penalties, including substantial financial damages. The company's CEO released a statement saying, 'We take the privacy and safety of our artists extremely seriously. This violation will not be tolerated, and we will pursue justice to the fullest extent of the law.'"
The camera cuts to footage of SM's building, then back to the anchor who's already moving on to the next story. You mute the TV and turn to look at Jimin, who's staring at the screen with wide eyes.
"They found him," she murmurs. "They actually found who did it."
"They found him," you confirm, and then you're both moving at once, pulling each other into a tight embrace. "Finally. It's about fucking time."
"I can't believe it." She pulls back to look at you. "They're actually holding him accountable. Suing him. Pressing charges."
"He's going to pay for what he did," you say firmly. "For what he put you through. Put us through."
She nods, wiping a lone tear from her eye. "It feels like everything's being resolved now. Like all the pieces are finally falling into place. The tour is back on, the company's supporting us, and now this? Now they're going after the person who actually caused all of this?"
"Maybe things are finally returning to normal," you suggest. "Or at least whatever our version of normal is."
"I hope so." She takes a shaky breath, her smile growing more genuine. "I really hope so. That we can just... move forward from all of this."
You pull her onto your lap, and she comes willingly, straddling you and wrapping her arms around your neck. "There's nothing left for you to do now except focus on your work," you tell her. "Let SM's legal team handle this asshole. You just concentrate on the tour, on performing, on doing what you love."
"And on you," she adds, kissing your nose. "Focusing on you too."
"I'll accept that." You run your hands up and down her back soothingly. "But seriously, this is good news. Great news. Justice is finally being served."
She rests her forehead against yours, just breathing with you for a moment. "I'm so glad we faced this together," she says quietly. "I don't think I could have survived it without you. Having you there, supporting me, believing in me when it felt like the whole world was against us… that made all the difference."
"We're a team," you remind her. "Always have been, always will be. You and me against whatever bullshit the universe throws at us."
"You and me," she echoes, smiling. "I like the sound of that."
"This was a really fucked up chapter in our relationship," you admit, thinking back over the past few weeks: the fear, the uncertainty, the moments where it felt like everything was falling apart. "But every story has trials, right? Every relationship goes through hard times. Ours just happened to involve a leaked video and national media attention."
She laughs at that, the sound a little watery but genuine. "When you put it like that, we sound very dramatic."
"We are dramatic. Look at us: childhood best friends who lost touch, reunited by chance, fell in love, had to hide it, got exposed, and somehow survived. That's prime K-drama material right there."
"Don't give them ideas," she jokes. "The last thing we need is someone making a show about us."
"Too late. I'm already writing the screenplay in my head." You grin at her expression. "What comes next though? That's the real question."
She tilts her head, considering. "What do you think comes next?"
"Honestly? I have no idea." You trace patterns on her back absently. "But I have a feeling it's going to be good things. The worst is behind us. The tour is happening, your career is safe, they found the guy who leaked the footage. From here, things can only get better."
"You sound very optimistic for someone who was stress-drinking three cups of coffee every morning three weeks ago."
"What can I say? Good news puts me in a good mood." You lean back against the couch, pulling her with you. "Plus, I have you on my lap on a Saturday morning with nowhere to be for hours. Life is pretty good right now."
She kisses you then, slow and sweet. When she pulls back, her eyes are bright with unshed tears but she's smiling. "So what's the plan for these few hours we have? Still interested in that cuddling and sex combination I mentioned?"
"Absolutely," you confirm. "Though maybe we could add 'celebrating good news' to that list."
"Celebratory sex?" Her eyebrows raise playfully. "I can work with that."
"Thought you might. Breakfast, then bedroom.”
She gets off your lap and sits next to you, reaching for her plate. "You know what the best part of all this is?" she asks between bites of eggs.
"What's that?"
"We don't have to hide anymore. No more sneaking around, no more secret meetings. When I leave here later, I can just... leave. Normal goodbye. Maybe even a kiss at the door like regular couples do."
"Revolutionary," you tease, but you understand what she means. The freedom of not having to constantly look over your shoulder, to just exist as a couple without the weight of secrecy.
"It is revolutionary," she insists. "For us, anyway. After everything we went through to keep this secret, then everything we went through when it became public - to finally just be together openly? That's huge. Of course we’re not going around showing off our relationship for everyone to see, but you know what I mean.”
She's right. It is huge. And as you sit there on the couch with her, the TV playing quietly in the background, Saturday morning light spilling through the windows, you realize that this is what you fought for. Not the grand gestures or dramatic moments, but this: simple, quiet contentment. The ability to just be together without fear.
"I love you," you tell her, because it feels important to say it in this moment.
"I love you too," she responds immediately, leaning against your shoulder. "So much. More than I knew I could love anyone."
Jimin happily eats the breakfast you prepared, occasionally commenting on whatever's on TV, and when she sets her empty plate down and turns to you with that look in her eyes, you don't hesitate. You pull her back onto your lap, kiss her deeply, and start the slow, sweet journey toward the bedroom.
Tags : all holes filled, double penetration, pussy gaping, ass gaping, golden shower, squirting, spanking, creampie, cum shower
Karina was very excited to hear the invitation from Prada. She knew what awaited her; news about her during her Nike ambassador contract was sure to have spread far and wide. Immediately, she got ready to leave for her destination. "You're really not going to bring a change of clothes?" the manager said. "No need, beside, I'm sure I'll rarely wear clothes when I get there," Karina replied with a laugh. Now she's just wearing shoes, black stockings up to her thighs, a white tank top, and a jacket. Inside her bag, she only carries one tank top and one blazer. After several hours on the plane, Karina finally arrived in Milan.
Now Karina is wearing a white tank top with a black blazer and long jeans that cover her black stockings. The event went smoothly, with a group photo session featuring Prada executives, other artists, and designers. Throughout the event, many male dignitaries and male designers whispered naughty words in Karina's ear.
"Tonight you will wear nothing," one designer whispered softly as he passed behind her during the cocktail hour, his breath hot against her neck. Another executive slid a hand too low on her back during group photos, murmuring, "I do like to see all your skin covered in cum." Karina kept her smile flawless, nodding politely while her knuckles whitened around her champagne flute. These weren't propositions—they were promises, delivered like business forecasts.
The whispers grew bolder as the event stretched into its third hour. "You'll be dripping from every hole before sunrise," a silver-haired executive hissed against her ear as they pretended to admire a handbag display. Karina felt the cool slide of a business card slipping into her blazer pocket, followed by fingers lingering too long on her hip. She didn't flinch, but her jaw tightened imperceptibly. These men spoke like they owned the night—and her.
"They've prepared everything. Tonight at 10 PM, after this event is over, you'll get into the car they've provided." Her manager sent a message to her phone.
10 PM arrived. Karina got into the car that was provided. Inside the car were only her and a very big black man, who was in charge of driving. He opened the dashboard and took out some items. Vibrator panties, collar chain, and nipple clamps. "Take off everything you're wearing except your black stockings, and use all of this," the man ordered. Karina nodded obediently, remembering that her prostitute's soul could no longer be contained. She took off everything she was wearing. Her white body was exposed inside the car, her clean pussy without a single hair, her breasts now free without a bra with hardened nipples. Slowly, she put the collar chain around her neck, attached nipple clamps to her nipples, and put on vibrator panties.
The driver started the car. Karina sat in the passenger seat, her naked body exposed to the driver. The driver glanced at her clean pussy and smiled. Then he took out a controller from his pocket. Without warning, he pressed the button. The vibrator panties immediately turned on to maximum speed. Karina gasped loudly as the intense vibration attacked her clit without mercy. Her body jerked violently in the seat, her legs instinctively spreading wider as her hands gripped the seatbelt tightly.
Karina tried to close her legs. She squeezed her thighs together desperately, her muscles trembling as she fought against the overwhelming sensations. The vibrations were relentless, buzzing deep inside her, making her hips buck uncontrollably.
"Keep open your legs as wide as possible, don't you dare close your legs or I'll throw you onto the streets right now and let those homeless people use your body however they want." That firm order came from his mouth. Karina, who had been a slut since the "Nike" accident, didn't mind being used by the homeless, but she couldn't let the world know that herself was a slut.
The journey felt very long. Perhaps because of the stimulation she received, she couldn't wait to reach the destination and being used freely by the people from Prada.
Karina's voice trembled as the vibrations intensified, her words spilling out in breathless gasps. "Oh god it's so strong I can feel it deep inside me," she moaned, her knuckles white where they gripped the seatbelt. "My clit's throbbing... feels like I'm being fucked raw by electricity." She arched her back, sweat glistening on her collarbones as the nipple clamps bit into her tender flesh. "Please... I need to come so bad..."
The driver chuckled darkly, thumb hovering over the controller. "Let it out, slut. Show me how much that cunt wants it." He watched her thighs quiver violently, the scent of her arousal thick in the confined space. "Scream if you have to."
Karina’s head slammed back against the headrest as her climax tore through her. "I'm cumming ahhhh!" she shrieked, her voice raw. A hot gush of fluid sprayed across the leather seat beneath her, soaking the upholstery and dripping onto the floor mat. Her entire body convulsed, the vibrations still ruthlessly assaulting her oversensitive clit as she rode the aftershocks, gasping like a drowning woman.
He didn’t ease the intensity. Instead, he drove faster through Milan’s dimly lit streets, the vibrator’s relentless buzz syncing with Karina’s ragged whimpers. Her juices pooled beneath her, the wet sound obscene against the hum of the engine. She clawed at the seatbelt, tears pricking her eyes—not from pain, but from the brutal, unending pleasure that blurred into agony.
The driver kept the vibrator on at maximum power, not letting her breathe for a moment after orgasm. Her body is now glistening with sweat, her heart is pounding, and her breathing is irregular.
Karina squirted again, soaking the seat even more. She tried to hold back her moans, but the vibrations were too intense. Her hips lifted off the seat involuntarily as another wave hit her, her clit throbbing relentlessly. She lost count after the fourth orgasm each one crashing over her faster than the last, leaving her trembling and gasping.
Another gush escaped her as the vibrations shifted deeper inside her panties. Her thighs trembled uncontrollably, slick with her own fluids. The orgasms blurred together now no beginning, no end just a continuous, brutal assault on her senses. She arched her back, the nipple clamps biting sharply as another climax tore through her without warning.
Karina doesn't know if she can continue this activity or not. Her cunt kept squirting continuously, even though the pause this time was only a few seconds. Her body was already sprawled out on the back seat with her legs open, her body shaking violently, her eyes rolled back and her mouth opened wide like "O" with no sound. Silent tremors wracked her frame, the vibrator still mercilessly buzzing against her swollen clit as another thin stream of fluid trickled down her thighs onto the leather seat. The air smelled sharply of sweat and sex, thick enough to taste.
The driver glanced in the rearview mirror, his expression impassive. "Keep those legs spread, whore," he commanded, his voice cutting through her haze. "They paid for a dripping wreck, not a tired slut." He flicked the controller again, maintaining maximum intensity despite her trembling exhaustion. Karina's hips jerked helplessly, a choked gasp finally escaping her slack mouth as fresh tremors began building beneath her skin.
She floated in a numb, buzzing void where time meant nothing only the relentless thrumming between her legs and the sharp bite of clamps on her nipples. Another weak spurt escaped her, warm against her inner thigh, as her muscles fluttered uselessly. Her vision blurred at the edges, darkness creeping in, but the vibrations dragged her ruthlessly back toward the brink yet again.
A sharp sting exploded on her cheek. Her eyes snapped open, unfocused. The driver’s massive hand hovered near her face, his voice a low rumble cutting through the fog. "Wake up. You keep squirting all the way journey, slut. Eyes open." His thumb traced the red mark blooming on her skin. "Show me you're still breathing."
Karina tried to regain consciousness. Her legs felt like jelly because they were kept wide open during the journey, her nipples were very sore from the nipple clamps, and she was shocked to see that the back seat was no longer just wet, but rather looked as if it had been flooded.
The driver pulled her chain collar sharply. "Walk," he commanded, his voice low and final. Karina's legs were shaking violently as she tried to stand, while her hands were tightly gripping the car door.
"I can't walk," Karina gasped, her voice raw and trembling. "My legs feel boneless." She slumped against the seat, thighs slick with sweat and arousal, her muscles refusing to obey. The vibrator still hummed relentlessly against her swollen clit, sending fresh tremors through her exhausted body. She looked up at him, eyes glazed, tears mixing with sweat on her cheeks. "Please... it's too much."
The driver leaned over the seat, his expression coldly amused. He gripped her chain collar tighter, yanking her forward until her face was inches from his. "Just crawling, your dumbass slut," he ordered, his voice thick with contempt. Before she could react, his open palm cracked sharply against her left breast, the sting radiating through her nipple clamp. She cried out, jerking backward. Instantly, his other hand swung hard, delivering a stinging slap to her ass cheek that echoed in the confined space. The impact jolted her upright, pain flaring white-hot where he struck. "Out. Now. On your hands and knees."
Karina whimpered, scrambling clumsily over the wet leather seat. Her limbs shook violently as she lowered herself onto the cold pavement of the underground garage. The rough concrete scraped her knees, the sudden chill a shock against her overheated skin. She kept her head bowed, humiliation burning hotter than the sting on her ass or breasts. The driver stood beside her, nudging her hip impatiently with his boot. "Move," he commanded, pointing toward a discreet service elevator across the dimly lit garage. "They're waiting upstairs. Don't keep them bored."
The vibrator's brutal buzz intensified again as she crawled forward. Karina gasped, her hips bucking involuntarily against nothing, slickness dripping onto the concrete with each awkward, trembling shuffle. The driver walked beside her, his fingers casually twisting the controller's dial higher whenever her pace faltered. Her clit throbbed mercilessly, the sensation a white-hot brand searing through her exhaustion. Tears blurred her vision as she focused only on the rhythmic scrape of her knees and the punishing thrum between her legs.
Karina finally arrived inside the villa. Everyone was watching her from the second floor. There were so many people, Karina didn't know the exact number. Some of them had white skin, some had black skin, and some were from Asia. She was convinced that they were investors, executive clients, and senior executives of Prada. Everyone clapped seeing Karina being treated like a pet.
Karina crawled across the polished marble floor, her knees raw from the garage concrete. Whispers echoed from the balcony above executives, designers, all leaning over the railing with champagne flutes in hand. "Look at that desperate cunt dripping on the tiles," someone chuckled. Another voice, sharp and mocking, cut through the hum: "Pathetic. Can't even walk after a car ride?" The words coiled hot in Karina's belly. Her clit throbbed violently under the vibrator's assault, a fresh gush of arousal soaking her thighs as humiliation burned into arousal. She lifted her chin defiantly, a moan escaping her lips low, hungry. The jeers didn't shame her; they lit a fuse deep inside her ruined body.
Her knees scraped to a halt on cold marble. Without waiting for command, Karina shoved herself upright and flopped backward onto the floor, legs splaying obscenely wide. Her swollen, dripping cunt pulsed visibly in the villa's harsh light. "Please," she gasped, the vibrator's buzz distorting her voice into a ragged whine. "I need cock. Now." Her eyes, glazed and desperate, swept across the balcony above. The words echoed off vaulted ceilings, sharp and shameless. A stunned silence fell then erupted into laughter, cruel and approving.
The first three people went down the stairs. Judging by their physical appearance, they seem to be from Asia. The first person came and held Karina's chin, saying, "You've been so thirsty for cock, haven't you?" The second person forcibly removed the nipple clamps from Karina's nipples, causing her to moan, "ahh." Meanwhile, the third person removed the vibrator panties that Karina was wearing. "Please master, give your slut your cocks," Karina begged. Without delay, the first three people immediately took off all the clothes they were wearing.
Their dick weren't as big as Karina had felt before, but she didn't care. She just needed a dick, no matter the size.
Karina immediately knelt down between the first three men, sucking their penises alternately and without stopping. "This slut is very thirsty for cock," one of them said. "The people from Nike are very good at educating her," another man replied.
Karina sucked each penis alternately, wetting them thoroughly with her saliva. Her tongue slid hungrily along each shaft, coating them in glistening wetness until all three stood slick and hard. "That's enough," commanded the man whose cock she'd just released from her lips with a lewd pop. Immediately, another dropped onto his back on the cold marble, spreading his legs. "Ride me, baby." Karina scrambled over him without hesitation, positioning her dripping entrance directly above his erection. The remaining two men moved into place one pressing his cock against her parted lips, the other positioning himself behind her, the thick head of his penis nudging insistently against her tight, untouched asshole.
Karina sank down onto the first cock with a guttural moan, impaling herself fully in one slick slide. Her wetness eased the penetration, but she gasped sharply as the man beneath her gripped her hips and thrust upward, burying himself deeper. Simultaneously, the cock at her mouth pushed past her lips, filling her throat as she began to bob desperately. Behind her, fingers slicked with her own juices probed her asshole before the thick head breached her tight ring. Karina screamed around the cock in her mouth a muffled, animal sound as she was stretched and filled from both ends, her body trembling violently from the brutal invasion.
She rode the man beneath her in frantic, jerking motions, her thighs slick with sweat and arousal. The cock in her ass pistoned relentlessly, each thrust forcing her down harder onto the shaft filling her pussy. When the man in her mouth withdrew slightly, she gasped for air, saliva and tears streaking her face. "Harder!" she choked out before he slammed back in, silencing her. Above, the balcony crowd roared approval, champagne glasses raised as they watched her body used like a common whore pussy and ass stretched wide, mouth stuffed, breasts bouncing with each brutal thrust.
Karina’s vision blurred. Pain and pleasure blurred into a white-hot haze as she was fucked raw from three directions. The man beneath her grunted, his hips bucking upward erratically. "Gonna fill this slut!" he growled. She felt his cock swell inside her pussy just as the man in her ass groaned, his thrusts turning shallow and urgent. The cock in her mouth pulsed against her tongue. Karina’s eyes rolled back she was seconds from being flooded from all three holes, her ruined body nothing but a vessel for their release.
Thick ropes of cum exploded into her throat, her ass, her cunt. Karina gagged, swallowing convulsively as the man in her mouth emptied himself down her throat. The man beneath her arched, spilling deep inside her womb while the one behind her slammed home one last time, painting her insides with his seed. They withdrew abruptly, leaving her shuddering and gaping. Cum dripped from her gaping asshole, spilled from her swollen pussy, streaked her chin. She collapsed onto the cold marble, a broken doll leaking their mess.
Then it hit her. The emptiness was sudden, violent. Her cunt clenched around nothing, spasming wildly. A tremor started deep in her belly, radiating outwards until her entire body convulsed. Her back arched off the floor, toes curling, fingers scrabbling at the slick marble. "N-no!" she gasped, but it was too late. A gush of clear fluid sprayed from her pulsing pussy, soaking her thighs and pooling beneath her hips. Her eyes flew wide, unseeing, as wave after wave of orgasm tore through her, leaving her trembling and gasping.
She lay there, utterly spent. Her legs splayed obscenely, her chest heaving. The scent of sex and sweat hung thick in the air. Above, the balcony erupted into applause and laughter. "Look at that filthy mess!" someone shouted. Karina didn’t move. She stared at the vaulted ceiling, tears mixing with sweat and cum on her cheeks. The marble beneath her was cold, sticky. She could feel eyes crawling over her naked, trembling form. Someone chuckled, low and cruel. "She’s not done. Not even close." Footsteps began descending the stairs again.
Two other men immediately climbed down the ladder. "Now it's our turn," one of them said to the three men who had already tasted the pleasure of Karina's body. The two people who came down this time had black skin and very large bodies, they seemed to be from Africa or America. They descended the stairs while removing their clothes. Truly, their penises are enormous, Karina doesn't know what will happen if that thing enters her body.
These two people are more impatient than the previous three. They both immediately pulled Karina to her feet. Karina stood with trembling legs while the men held her up to keep her from falling. Round two begins.
The larger of the two black men gripped Karina's hips, spinning her roughly to face away from him. His massive cock, thick as her wrist and glistening with anticipation, pressed against her cum-slicked entrance. Though soaked, her pussy struggled to accommodate his girth. He shoved forward relentlessly, stretching her impossibly wide. Karina’s head snapped back, a silent scream tearing from her throat as her eyes rolled white. Her cunt spasmed violently around the invading thickness, triggering an immediate, convulsive orgasm that made her legs buckle. She hung suspended by his grip, impaled and shuddering, juices gushing down her thighs.
The second man stepped forward, his own monstrous erection aimed at her asshole—still dripping with the previous man’s seed. He pressed the swollen head against her tight ring. Karina gasped, her body tensing. "Fuck, it won’t fit!" she shrieked, voice cracking with panic. He ignored her, pushing slowly but inexorably. The stretch was excruciating; she felt herself tearing, a sharp, white-hot pain radiating through her pelvis. Her asshole yielded reluctantly, burning as it stretched around his girth. Tears streamed down her face as she was speared open from both ends, her body trembling
violently.
Karina hung limp between them, filled to bursting. The man in her pussy began thrusting in deep, brutal strokes, each slam forcing her body down harder onto the cock in her ass. The dual penetration stretched her beyond endurance—every movement a collision of agony and overwhelming sensation. Her cunt clenched and released in involuntary spasms, squirting thin streams of fluid with each downward plunge. Above, the balcony crowd roared, chanting "Deeper!" as they watched her body used like a flesh puppet.
"It's... too big," Karina gasped, her voice shredded. She felt herself tearing inside, stretched impossibly wide. "I'll break—" Her words dissolved into a choked scream as the man behind her pistoned harder, his hips slamming against her bruised ass cheeks. The pain blurred into a white-hot haze, her vision tunneling. She felt her muscles ripping, the brutal stretch burning through her pelvis. Tears streamed down her face, mixing with sweat and saliva. "Please... stop... I can't—"
Her body betrayed her. A violent tremor seized her core, radiating outward like an electric shock. Her cunt clenched *hard* around the monstrous thickness inside her, triggering an explosive orgasm that ripped through her defenses. Fluid sprayed violently onto the marble floor beneath her, splattering their legs. She shuddered uncontrollably, her hips bucking against the relentless thrusts, her cries turning into ragged, involuntary moans. The agony hadn't lessened—it had fused with the brutal pleasure, twisting into something monstrous and consuming.
"I think your body said another thing from your mouth," the man buried in her pussy growled, his voice thick with contempt. He gripped her hips tighter, fingers digging into her flesh, forcing her down onto him even deeper as he felt her muscles flutter and spasm around his cock. Her traitorous hips rocked back against him, seeking more friction, more fullness, despite the raw pain radiating through her pelvis. Her head lolled forward, a low, guttural groan escaping her lips—pure, desperate need overriding conscious thought. She was nothing but sensation now, a vessel wired for overload.
The balcony erupted into cruel laughter. "Look at that slut take it!" someone shouted. Karina’s eyes rolled back as another orgasm tore through her, weaker this time but still violent, her body jerking like a puppet on strings.
They pulled out abruptly. The sudden emptiness was worse than the stretching. Karina collapsed face-first onto the cold marble, her hips still twitching violently. Thick streams of cum flooded from her gaping pussy and stretched asshole, pooling beneath her trembling thighs. Her cunt visibly pulsed—a raw, swollen "O"—as another weak gush of clear fluid sprayed onto the already soaked floor. Her legs spasmed uncontrollably, toes curling against the sticky tile. She couldn't stop shaking.
Before she could even suck in a ragged breath, two pairs of polished leather shoes appeared beside her head. Rough hands gripped her shoulders, flipping her onto her back. Two white men, leaner than the last but eyes burning with the same predatory hunger, stood over her. Their cocks were already hard, glistening pre-cum dripping onto her thighs. One gripped her hips, lifting her pelvis off the floor. The other positioned himself at her entrance, the thick head pressing against her abused, dripping folds. "Hold her open," he commanded. His partner instantly hooked his fingers into the slick, swollen lips of her pussy, spreading them obscenely wide.
The first cock slammed into her with brutal efficiency. Karina gasped, arching off the floor as the familiar stretch ignited fresh agony mixed with raw, unwanted pleasure. Before she could adjust, the second man pressed his cockhead right beside the shaft already buried deep inside her. He ground against her stretched entrance, demanding space. Karina screamed—a raw, tearing sound—as the impossible pressure mounted.
Her lips parted, trembling. Only a ragged whisper escaped, thick with tears and exhaustion: "I can't... my pussy's going to break..." The words dissolved into a choked sob as the second man shoved forward relentlessly. Her flesh yielded with a sickening burn, forced to accommodate two thick shafts simultaneously. She felt herself splitting, a sharp, white-hot rip tearing through her core. Tears streamed down her cheeks, mixing with sweat and saliva pooling beneath her head. Her hips jerked violently, caught between the instinct to flee the agony and the body's traitorous clench around the invading fullness.
Above her, the men grunted, pistoning in opposite rhythms—one pulling back while the other thrust deep—stretching her ruined cunt wider with every brutal stroke. Karina’s vision blurred. The pain fused with the relentless friction into a searing buzz that short-circuited thought. Her back arched off the marble, toes curling against the sticky tile. A gush of fluid sprayed weakly onto their thighs, her body convulsing in a silent, seizure-like orgasm that offered no relief, only deeper violation.
Her eyes rolled back until only the whites showed, unseeing. Her mouth hung slack in a perpetual "O," drool pooling beneath her cheek. No screams came—her throat was raw, her voice shredded. Only shallow, rapid breaths escaped between parted lips. Her pussy clenched and released in violent spasms, squirting thin streams of fluid with each inward thrust. It wasn’t pleasure; it was her body betraying her, reacting on pure, broken instinct.
The men slammed harder, faster, their hips slapping against her thighs. Karina’s head lolled limply to the side. Her gaze fixed blankly on the balcony railing above—a blur of faces, champagne flutes, leering smiles. Another spasm tore through her. Fluid splattered the marble beneath her hips. She felt nothing but the mechanical clench-release of her muscles, the endless wet gush between her legs. Her mind floated somewhere distant, detached.
They withdrew abruptly. Karina collapsed, her body jerking uncontrollably. Fluid leaked from her gaping entrance in a steady stream. Her eyes remained rolled back, unfocused. Her mouth stayed open—a silent scream frozen in time. The marble beneath her hips shone wet.
Two new men approached. They wore expensive watches. Their eyes lingered on her stretched asshole, still dripping cum. One spat onto his palm, slicking his cock. The other did the same. They knelt behind her trembling form. Rough hands gripped her hips, lifting her onto her knees. Her head lolled forward, hair sticking to her sweaty face. She offered no resistance—just shallow breaths.
The first thick head pressed against her abused ring. It breached slowly, stretching the tender flesh wide. Karina whimpered—a broken, airless sound. Before she could tense, the second cock pressed tight beside it. Both men shoved simultaneously. Her asshole ripped wider, forced to accommodate both shafts. A guttural scream tore from her throat. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her body convulsed violently, squirting weakly onto the floor.
They pistoned in brutal rhythm. Each thrust stretched her beyond limits. Karina’s vision blurred into white static. Her asshole burned—a raw, tearing agony. Yet her hips rocked back instinctively, seeking the punishing fullness. Above, laughter echoed. Someone shouted, "Look at that ruined hole!" Her body betrayed her again. Another violent orgasm seized her—pure reflex. Fluid sprayed across the marble as she trembled, impaled and broken.
They pulled out abruptly. The emptiness hit like a physical blow. Karina collapsed face-down. Her gaping asshole pulsed visibly—a raw, stretched "O" leaking thick streams of cum onto the cold floor. The muscles fluttered weakly, unable to close. She felt hollowed out. Destroyed. Her cheek pressed into a puddle of sweat and tears. She didn’t move. Couldn’t.
Above her, the balcony crowd descended. Footsteps echoed—sharp clicks of designer heels, muffled thuds of polished loafers. They formed a loose circle around her broken body. Champagne flutes tilted. Gold liquid splashed across her trembling shoulders. Red wine followed, staining her skin like blood. Whiskey burned in the raw scrapes on her knees. Laughter rang out—sharp, cruel notes that bounced off marble walls. "To the corporate slut!" someone toasted. Another voice slurred, "Make her drink the floor!" More liquid rained down—vodka, cognac, sticky-sweet liqueur—drenching her hair, pooling in the hollow of her spine, mingling with the fluids leaking from her ruined holes.
Two men hauled her up by the arms. Her legs buckled, feet sliding in the slick mess. They dragged her across the villa—past gilded mirrors reflecting her naked, dripping form—and threw her onto a massive velvet chaise lounge in a dimly lit parlor. The fabric felt cold against her burning skin. Before she could curl inward, hands pinned her thighs apart. Two new men stood between her legs, cocks already hard and glistening. One pressed his thick head against her swollen, gaping entrance. The other aligned his shaft beside it. Karina whimpered—a raw, animal sound—as they pushed forward simultaneously. Her torn flesh stretched impossibly wider, burning as both crowns breached her at once. Tears blurred her vision. She felt herself splitting anew.
They shoved deeper in brutal unison. Karina’s back arched violently off the velvet, a silent scream tearing her throat raw. Her cunt strained around the impossible thickness—a searing, white-hot agony that drowned all thought. Yet her body betrayed her again. Muscles fluttered and clenched reflexively, milking the invading shafts. Fluid gushed around them, soaking the dark velvet beneath her hips. The men grunted, pistoning harder, faster. Each thrust stretched her wrecked passage wider, forcing ragged moans from her lips. Pain and violation fused into a jagged current that short-circuited her mind. Her eyes rolled back, unfocused. Drool pooled on the cushion beside her cheek.
Suddenly, a third man knelt beside her head. He gripped her hair, yanking her face toward his erection. "Open," he commanded. Karina’s jaw fell slack—obedient, broken. He shoved his cock deep into her throat. She gagged violently, throat convulsing around the intrusion. Tears streamed down her temples. The dual invasion below pistoned relentlessly, stretching her beyond endurance. Above, the balcony spectators filtered into the room, forming a silent, leering semicircle. Their eyes crawled over her—a body reduced to three gaping holes, rhythmically stuffed, dripping, used. Karina’s vision darkened at the edges. Consciousness frayed. Only sensation remained: the brutal fullness, the tearing burn, the wet, rhythmic slap of flesh against flesh.
They withdrew without warning. Karina collapsed back onto the velvet, choking on saliva and cum. Fluid gushed freely from her ruined cunt, pooling beneath her hips. Before she could draw breath, rough hands flipped her onto her stomach. Fingers pried apart her cheeks, exposing her stretched, leaking asshole.
The men dragged her limp body through French doors into the moonlit garden. Cool night air hit her sweat-slicked skin as they dumped her onto dew-soaked grass. Figures emerged from the shadows—more executives, shirts unbuttoned, eyes gleaming with predatory intent. One hauled her onto her knees. Another gripped her hips from behind, thrusting into her gaping asshole without preamble. A third shoved his cock deep into her slack mouth. Karina gagged, eyes rolling back as she was filled again.
They rotated positions swiftly—one emptying his load down her throat while another took her ass, then switching to pound her wrecked pussy as soon as it emptied. Cum streaked her thighs, her belly, her breasts. Her body convulsed with involuntary orgasms each time a new cock breached her, fluid spraying weakly onto crushed petals beneath her. The garden filled with grunts, slapping flesh, and the wet sounds of her overused holes.
Karina lost count. Faces blurred. Sensation narrowed to the brutal stretch, the hot floods inside her, the tremors wracking her frame whenever her body betrayed her with another reflexive climax. Dawn approached—pale light creeping over manicured hedges—as the last man pulled out, spilling across her trembling back. She lay facedown in the dirt, utterly hollow. Cum leaked from every orifice. Between her legs, her cunt gaped obscenely—swollen, torn, and dripping onto the trampled roses. Silence fell. Only her ragged breathing remained.
Hands seized her again—not urgently now, but with a grim purpose. They hauled her limp form back across the dew-slick lawn, through the villa’s French doors, and dumped her unceremoniously onto the cold marble floor she’d first stained hours before. Karina didn’t resist. Her cheek pressed against the polished stone, sticky with dried fluids. She stared blankly ahead, seeing nothing.
The executives formed a loose ring around her. Silk ties loosened, cufflinks gleamed under the chandelier light. One by one, they unzipped trousers, pulling out half-hard cocks slicked with anticipation. A low murmur spread—not laughter now, but something darker, hungrier. The man who’d first ordered her into the car stepped forward, his polished Oxford nudging her hip. "Every drop," he commanded softly. "Paint
her."
Hands began moving in unison—a dozen fists pumping rhythmically. The wet, slick sounds filled the echoing hall. Karina flinched as the first thick rope struck her shoulder blade, hot and viscous. Then another splattered across her lower back. Another hit her thigh. It became a rain—warm, sticky streaks painting her skin white. She squeezed her eyes shut as it hit her neck, her hair, the curve of her ass. Rivulets ran down her spine, pooled in the hollow of her waist. The smell—salt and sex—clung thickly.
Karina curled inward instinctively, but rough hands pinned her wrists, spreading her arms wide. "Open," someone growled. Cum splashed across her breasts, her belly, the raw, swollen mess between her legs. She gasped as it hit her closed eyelids, forcing them open.
The first hot stream struck her thigh—a scalding jet that made her flinch violently. Another hit her lower back, pooling in the hollow above her ass. Then came the deluge: arcs of piss spraying her torso, her face, her gaping cunt. It stung her eyes, filled her nostrils with the sharp ammonia reek, soaked her hair into dark, dripping ropes. She choked, turning her head away, only for a stream to hit her open mouth—bitter, warm, flooding her throat. She gagged, sputtering, as more piss rained down, washing streaks of cum into milky rivers that streamed across the marble beneath her.
They aimed deliberately now—one man pissing directly into her stretched pussy, the flow forcing its way deep inside her battered passage. Another targeted her asshole, the stream probing the raw, torn ring before overflowing down her thighs. A third arched his stream high, letting it cascade over her face like a grotesque shower, filling her ears, her nose, her screaming mouth until she could only swallow convulsively or drown. Her body convulsed, not with pleasure, but with primal revulsion—muscles spasming against the invasive heat flooding her violated holes.
The torrents slowed to trickles, then drips. Karina lay motionless in the spreading yellow puddle, soaked through, her skin slick and reeking. Silence fell, broken only by zippers closing and low, satisfied chuckles. Then footsteps retreated across the wet marble, leaving her alone in the echoing hall.
The sharp click of familiar dress shoes approached. The driver stood over her, his expression unreadable. Without a word, he bent, slid one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her shoulders, lifting her effortlessly. Her limp body hung in his arms, dripping piss and cum onto his polished shoes as he carried her away from the wreckage of the main hall. He navigated shadowed corridors, past closed doors murmuring with fading revelry, toward the villa's private quarters.
He kicked open a heavy oak door into a vast, tiled bathroom. Steam curled from a sunken marble tub already filling with hot water. He lowered Karina onto the cold floor beside it, her back against the vanity cabinets. Her eyes cracked open, unfocused, as he unbuckled his belt. The zipper hissed down. What emerged wasn't just big; it was obscene, a monstrous, veined pillar of flesh that dwarfed everything that had filled her that night. It stood thick as her forearm, flushed dark purple, the swollen head glistening under the harsh bathroom lights. He gripped the base, his knuckles white. "Last stage," he rumbled, his voice devoid of mockery, pure finality.
He stepped forward, his shadow engulfing her. Calloused fingers gripped her jaw, forcing it wide. Karina could only stare, slack-jawed, as the impossible girth filled her vision. He didn't thrust; he pressed the slick, bulbous crown against her lips. Her jaw strained instantly, tendons screaming. He pushed relentlessly, ignoring the choked gag that tore from her throat as her mouth stretched wider, wider, impossibly wide. Teeth scraped against hard flesh. Tears welled instantly, blurring the monstrous intrusion. He shoved deeper, the thick shaft forcing her tongue flat, filling her mouth cavity completely, pressing against the back of her throat. Her nose pressed against his lower belly, the coarse hair tickling her skin. He groaned, a low, satisfied rumble. "Fuck… so warm and tight," he grunted, his hips shifting minutely, grinding the massive head deeper into her constricting throat.
Her gag reflex hit violently, her body convulsing, trying desperately to expel the suffocating intrusion. Saliva flooded uselessly around the shaft. He held firm, his hand tightening on her jaw. "Swallow," he commanded, his voice thick. Karina tried. Her throat muscles fluttered weakly against the unyielding pressure. He pulled back slightly, just enough for her to gasp a ragged, wet breath, then surged forward again, burying another brutal inch. Her neck strained, tendons standing out like cables. Stars exploded behind her eyelids. The sheer, suffocating fullness was overwhelming, a different agony entirely – not just stretching, but consuming. Her nostrils flared desperately for air that barely came. His musky scent filled her senses.
He began a slow, grinding rhythm. Not thrusts, but deep, deliberate presses, each one forcing her throat to yield fractionally more. Her jaw felt dislocated. Tears streamed freely, mixing with drool soaking her chin and neck. He watched her struggle, his expression impassive except for the tightening of his jaw. "Good slut," he murmured, his hips pressing forward again, burying himself to the root. Her eyes rolled back, consciousness flickering as the overwhelming pressure and lack of oxygen merged into a terrifying, drowning sensation. The hot water continued to pour into the tub beside them, steam curling around their locked bodies.
He held himself buried deep for an agonizing eternity. Karina felt her throat muscles flutter uselessly, her body convulsing weakly against his grip. Then, a low groan vibrated through him into her skull. She felt the thick pulse deep inside her throat, a hot, thick flood surging directly down her gullet. He didn't pull back. He kept her pinned, forcing her to swallow convulsively as he emptied himself, the torrent thick and salty, coating her raw throat. Her stomach lurched violently, but she had no air to gag properly, only shuddering swallows forced by the relentless pressure holding her captive.
He withdrew abruptly, the monstrous shaft sliding slickly out of her ruined throat with a wet, sucking pop. Air rushed into Karina’s burning lungs in a ragged, desperate gasp. She slumped forward, coughing violently, strings of saliva and cum dangling from her swollen lips, her throat a raw, agonized tunnel. Before she could collapse fully, his hand tangled in her soaked hair, hauling her brutally upright. Her legs trembled violently, threatening to buckle. He dragged her stumbling, dripping form away from the tub, shoving her face-first against the cold, tiled wall. The ceramic felt icy against her overheated skin.
His palm cracked against her ass cheek with shocking force—a sharp, stinging explosion that echoed in the steamy room. Karina cried out, her body jerking against the wall. The impact sent a jarring ripple through her abused core. Her gaping pussy, stretched beyond recognition, clenched violently around nothing, a reflexive spasm that squeezed out a thin, clear stream of fluid onto the tiles below. Her equally ravaged asshole pulsed in a tight, painful flutter. The emptiness was a fresh agony.
Another brutal spank landed lower, squarely across her sit-spot. The sting was immediate, sharp, and deep. Again, her ruined cunt convulsed, muscles seizing involuntarily. Another weak squirt sprayed from her, pattering onto the floor. Each slap wasn't just pain; it was a brutal command that bypassed her shattered mind and spoke directly to her broken body’s reflexes. Her hips bucked helplessly against the wall with every strike, her swollen lips visibly trembling and releasing fluid onto her thighs and the tiles beneath her shaking feet.
He delivered a final, open-handed blow right across her trembling, dripping entrance. Karina arched her back with a choked sob, her entire lower body convulsing. A final, pathetic gush sprayed out, leaving her trembling violently, pinned against the cold wall, her ruined holes spasming weakly in the aftermath. The only sounds were her ragged, wet breaths and the steady drip of fluids onto the bathroom floor.
Without preamble, his thick hands gripped her hips, fingers digging into bruised flesh. The massive head of his cock, slick with her own fluids and spit, pressed brutally against her swollen, gaping entrance. Despite the night's relentless abuse, the sheer girth was obscene. He shoved forward in one powerful thrust. Karina screamed – a raw, tearing sound – as her already wrecked passage stretched impossibly wider. The burning sensation was immediate, a fresh agony layered over the deep, throbbing pain. Yet, instantly, her body betrayed her. A violent jet of fluid erupted from her core, spraying across the tiles beneath her knees. "Fuck," he grunted, his voice thick with exertion and surprise, hips grinding deeper, "you're still tight after all of this."
He began a relentless rhythm, deep, piston-like thrusts that forced her hips forward against the cold wall with each drive. Karina gasped, desperate to scream again, but the sound died in her raw throat – only ragged, wet breaths escaped her gaping mouth. Her head lolled weakly, eyes rolling back until only the whites showed, unfocused and blind. Her jaw hung slack, drool pooling thickly on her chin and dripping onto the tiles below. Inside her, the monstrous cock dragged against torn flesh, each withdrawal pulling her ruined lips obscenely outward before slamming back in. And each brutal inward surge triggered another violent reflex. Her pussy clenched violently around the invading girth, squeezing out another gush of clear fluid that pattered onto the floor in a steady, humiliating stream.
He increased his pace, the wet slap of flesh echoing sharply in the steamy bathroom. Karina’s body became a shuddering puppet controlled by the relentless invasion. Her hips bucked weakly backward against his thrusts, seeking the punishing fullness even as her mind recoiled. Every deep penetration forced another involuntary jet from her abused core – not an orgasm, but a raw, reflexive expulsion. Her gaping mouth trembled, trying and failing to form a scream, producing only choked, airless whimpers. Her eyes remained rolled back, unseeing, tears mingling with the sweat and drool coating her face. The driver’s grunts grew louder, punctuated by the rhythmic splatter of her squirting onto the wet floor beneath her trembling knees.
A final, brutal thrust buried him to the hilt. He groaned, a low, guttural sound of release, his cock pulsing thickly deep inside her battered passage. The sudden flood of hot cum triggered one last, violent convulsion. Karina’s body arched sharply, her ruined pussy clamping down and spraying a final torrent of fluid mixed with his seed onto the tiles before she collapsed forward against the wall, utterly spent and silent except for her shallow, ragged gasps. He withdrew with a slick, sucking sound, leaving her gaping hole visibly pulsing, leaking cum onto her trembling thighs.
Without pause, his thick fingers gripped her hips again, pulling her asscheeks apart. The slick, swollen head of his cock pressed against her already torn and gaping asshole. Karina whimpered weakly—a broken, airless sound—as he shoved forward relentlessly. The burning stretch was immediate and excruciating, tearing the raw flesh anew despite the night’s brutal preparation. Her body betrayed her instantly; her hips rocked back instinctively, her asshole fluttering weakly around the invading thickness as another reflexive jet squirted from her pussy onto the wall.
He hauled her upright abruptly, one powerful arm hooking beneath her knees. Her legs folded against his chest like a broken doll’s, forming a crude "M" shape that exposed her completely. Her head lolled backward, eyes unfocused, as he slammed into her asshole from behind with brutal force. Each deep thrust lifted her limp body slightly off the tiles, the wet slap echoing sharply. Her ruined pussy sprayed violently against the wall with every penetration, arcs of fluid painting streaks down the ceramic.
His rhythm intensified—short, punishing drives that buried his entire length inside her tortured asshole. Karina’s body convulsed like a ragdoll with each impact, her legs bouncing limply in his grip. Her gaping pussy clenched and released in perfect, agonizing synchronization, spraying the wall in rhythmic bursts that splattered higher with each thrust. Drool streamed from her slack mouth, pooling on the tiles below her dangling head.
He slammed home one final time, grinding deep as he roared his release. Karina’s body seized violently, her asshole pulsing around his shaft while her pussy erupted in a final, violent torrent that drenched the wall from floor to waist-height. Then silence—broken only by the drip of fluids and her shallow, ragged gasps as he lowered her trembling legs. She crumpled to the floor, a broken heap beneath the mural of her own humiliation.
The driver stepped back, his shadow looming over her. Karina slumped against the cold tile wall, her spine pressed to its unyielding surface. Her eyes remained glazed, unfocused, mouth slack and trembling. He stood before her, his spent cock glistening inches from her face. A slow, deliberate smirk twisted his lips as he aimed the thick head directly at her open mouth.
A hot, acrid stream burst forth, splattering across her lips, flooding her slack jaw. Karina choked, sputtering as piss filled her mouth, bitter and scalding. It washed over her cheeks, her eyelids, plastering her hair to her forehead in sodden streaks. She gagged weakly, swallowing reflexively, the foul taste flooding her throat.
He shifted his aim, painting her entire face—nose, chin, hollows of her eyes—in a relentless golden cascade. It pooled in her collarbones, streamed down her neck, soaking the ruined canvas of her skin. Karina didn’t close her mouth. Didn’t turn away. She simply sat, trembling against the wall, drowning in the warm, stinking rain until it slowed to a drip, leaving her drenched, reeking, and utterly hollow.
Without a word, the driver turned. His polished shoes clicked sharply on the wet tiles as he strode toward the door. The heavy oak thudded shut behind him, leaving Karina alone in the steam-filled silence. She remained slumped against the wall, her body a ruined landscape of bruises, bite marks, and drying fluids. Between her legs, her gaping pussy pulsed weakly, a slow, involuntary clench. A thick, wet bubble of air escaped her ruined hole with a low, resonant "pop". Then another. And another. Each queef echoed obscenely loud in the quiet bathroom, a rhythmic, hollow sound betraying the brutal emptiness within her. Her equally torn asshole followed suit, releasing its own series of muffled, wet gasps against the cold tile floor.
Her body shuddered violently. A final, pathetic jet of clear fluid sprayed weakly from her gaping cunt, pattering onto the puddled floor beneath her. Her eyelids fluttered. The steam blurred into a gray haze. The rhythmic "pop-hiss" of her own violated holes became distant, muffled, like sounds heard underwater. Her chin slumped forward onto her chest. The cold tile against her spine faded. Darkness crept in from the edges of her vision, swallowing the harsh bathroom light, the dripping sounds, the lingering stench of piss and sex. Consciousness frayed, snapped, and vanished. Karina slumped sideways onto the wet marble, utterly still, her breathing shallow and ragged, her face pressed into the cooling mess beneath her.
Time dissolved. Was it minutes? Hours? Days? The steam had thinned. The tub’s overflow drain gurgled softly. Karina stirred. A low groan escaped her cracked lips. Her eyelids scraped open. Blurry shapes swam—the tub’s curved lip, the chrome faucet still dripping, the grout lines between large, ivory tiles. The silence pressed in, thick and heavy, broken only by… "pop-hiss… pop-hiss…" She blinked slowly. The sound was coming from her. Her wrecked pussy, stretched obscenely wide, pulsed weakly against the cold floor. Each tiny contraction squeezed out a bubble of trapped air, a hollow, wet gasp. Her asshole echoed it, a softer, muffled "pfft" against the tile. The relentless queefing continued, a grotesque metronome marking the void within her.
Pain registered next—a deep, throbbing agony radiating from her core, her ass, her throat. Every breath scraped like sandpaper. She tried to move her fingers. They twitched weakly. Her legs felt like lead weights. The tub. The steaming water. The thought pierced the fog. "Clean". It was the only coherent idea. With a ragged gasp, Karina dragged one trembling arm beneath her. Her elbow slipped in the slick mess. She pushed. Her hips screamed in protest. She managed to roll onto her belly. The movement triggered another violent spray of fluid from her gaping hole. "Pop-hiss… pop-hiss…" Ignoring the humiliating soundtrack, she dug her fingers into the grout line. Inch by agonizing inch, she dragged her broken body forward. Her knees scraped over the tiles, leaving smears of pinkish fluid and drying cum. Her breasts dragged through the cold puddles. Her gaping pussy kissed the floor with every shuddering crawl, releasing another wet
gasp.
Her fingers finally curled over the tub’s warm marble edge. She hauled her torso upward, collapsing her upper body over the rim. Steam curled around her face. The hot water lapped against her bruised ribs. With a final, desperate heave, Karina rolled her hips and legs over the side. She slid into the deep water with a heavy splash. Scalding heat enveloped her battered flesh. She sank beneath the surface, eyes closed, letting the water sting her wounds and wash away the filth, the silence punctuated only by the muffled "pop-hiss… pop-hiss…" bubbling up from her submerged core.
She scrubbed mechanically, fingers raw on her skin, scraping away dried cum, piss, and humiliation. The water turned cloudy, then gray, then a sickening brown. She drained it, refilled, scrubbed again until the water ran clear and her skin was pink and raw. Every movement echoed hollowly inside her. She climbed out, dripping, and found a thick terrycloth robe hanging on the back of the door. She wrapped it tightly, the fabric rough against her abused skin. It was the smallest armor she could find.
Karina pushed the heavy oak door open and stepped into the hallway. Her legs trembled violently. She leaned her shoulder against the cool plaster wall for support, sliding one foot forward, then the other. The villa was utterly silent. Dawn light streamed through tall windows, illuminating utter devastation. The marble floor was a Jackson Pollock of dried fluids—thick streaks of white sperm, splatters of red wine like bloodstains, sticky champagne puddles, and everywhere, the ghostly, shimmering trails of her own dried squirt. Crushed crystal glasses glittered amidst the wreckage. An overturned chaise lounge lay smeared with bodily fluids. The air hung thick with the cloying stench of sex, alcohol, and decay.
The manager stood waiting by the villa’s grand entrance, his expression impassive. He didn't look at her face, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond her shoulder. A simple black jacket lay folded over his arm. "Flight leaves in three hours," he stated flatly. He held out the jacket. Karina let the thick terrycloth robe slide from her shoulders. It pooled at her feet on the filthy marble. She stood naked in the devastation, her body a roadmap of bruises—deep purple fingerprints encircling her hips, bite marks blooming along her inner thighs, the skin around her gaping pussy swollen and raw. She reached for the jacket. It was cheap polyester, thin, barely reaching her mid-thigh. She slipped it on. The rough lining scraped her sensitive skin. It offered no warmth, only the thinnest veneer of covering. Her ravaged pussy pulsed weakly. "Pop-hiss". The sound echoed sharply in the silent hall. The manager’s eyes flickered downward for a fraction of a second before he gestured wordlessly towards the waiting car.
Inside the sleek Mercedes, Karina pressed herself against the cool leather of the passenger door, putting as much distance as possible from the driver. The jacket rode up, exposing the bruised tops of her thighs. Every bump in the road sent a fresh jolt of pain radiating from her core. She stared blankly out at the manicured lawns blurring past. Her body betrayed her relentlessly. With each subtle shift in her posture, each involuntary clench of her traumatized muscles, the hollow gasps escaped. "Pop-hiss... pfft... pop-hiss". The driver’s knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. He didn't turn his head, but his jaw clenched. Karina closed her eyes, focusing on the monotonous hum of the engine, trying to drown out the obscene rhythm emanating from between her legs.
Business class felt cavernous and sterile. Karina sank into the wide leather seat, pulling the thin jacket tightly around herself as if it could shield her. The engine’s drone was a welcome blanket of white noise. She curled towards the window, feigning sleep, praying the hum would mask it. But her body was a traitor. As the plane climbed, pressure shifted inside her battered cavities. A deep, resonant "pop-hiss" vibrated against the leather seat cushion. Then a softer, wetter "pfft" from behind. Karina froze, eyes squeezed shut. Across the aisle, a silver-haired man in a crisp suit glanced up from his tablet. His brow furrowed slightly. He scanned the ceiling panels, then shrugged, adjusting his noise-canceling headphones before returning to his screen. Relief washed over her, cold and fleeting.
Hours crawled by. Karina drifted in and out of a shallow, nightmare-filled doze. Each time she shifted, each time the plane encountered turbulence, her ruined passages protested. The sounds returned – muffled by the seat but distinct: a low bubble escaping her pussy ("pop-hiss"), followed by a tighter gasp from her ass ("pfft"). Two rows back, a woman applying lipstick paused. She tilted her head, listening intently for a moment, her gaze drifting towards Karina’s seat. Her expression was one of mild puzzlement, perhaps mistaking it for a faulty air vent or a strange cabin pressure anomaly. She snapped her compact shut and returned to her magazine, oblivious to the source mere feet away.
Backstage at Music Bank, the air crackled with pre-show adrenaline. Karina adjusted her sparkly miniskirt, the sequins scratching her raw thighs. She took a deep breath, centering herself for the choreography. As she bent slightly to stretch her hamstrings, a sharp "pop-hiss" escaped her gaping pussy, echoing slightly in the cramped corridor. Winter, leaning against a costume rack nearby, snorted loudly. "Seriously, Unnie?" she drawled, not bothering to lower her voice. Ningning giggled, covering her mouth theatrically. "Is that your new sound effect for the comeback stage? Very avant-garde." Giselle, applying eyeliner in a mirror, smirked without turning around. "Maybe she’s practicing her ASMR track. ‘Ambient Queefing’, track one."
During the live performance, Karina moved with fierce precision, her smile bright and unwavering under the blinding stage lights. She hit every note, nailed every sharp dance move. But beneath the glittering bodysuit, her body betrayed her relentlessly. A complex spin landed her in a deep crouch – "pop-hiss". A powerful jump – "pfft". The microphones picked up nothing but the music and the crowd’s roar, but Karina felt every humiliating release vibrate through her core. Backstage after the encore, breathless and sweating, she leaned against a wall. Before she could catch her breath, Winter sauntered past, mimicking the sound under her breath: "Pop-hiss-pfft-pop! Must be exhausting, Unnie, leaking air like a broken balloon." Ningning dissolved into helpless giggles beside her.
Karina stared at her reflection in the brightly lit vanity mirror. The flawless makeup couldn't hide the shadows under her eyes, nor the slight tremor in her hands. The thin jacket lay discarded on a chair. She smoothed her stage outfit, the fabric whispering against her bruised skin. The relentless queefing was a constant, physical reminder of the villa, a soundtrack she couldn't escape. She saw Winter’s mocking smirk reflected behind her. Taking a slow, deliberate breath, Karina straightened her shoulders. The defiance was brittle, a fragile shield against the internal void and the audible proof of her violation that followed her every step.
ㅤꨄ︎ synopsis: you’re a member sm’s first global girl group and karina invites you to her dorm to get to know you better!
ㅤꨄ︎ tags: smut (18+), wlw, idol x idol, karina x female reader, scissoring, boobs, shy reader, tipsy!karina, foreign reader
ㅤꨄ︎ word count: 8k+
Technically, this wasn’t your first time meeting Karina. You’d known her for a while. Not well, obviously, and not in any real way. But enough to know she was sweet, helpful when she wanted to be, and a little distant in that polished senior-idol way, like she knew how to make people comfortable without actually letting them get close.
You’d seen her a few times back when you were still a trainee, usually in passing. Hallways, practice rooms, the company cafeteria, company elevators where everyone stood too straight and pretended not to stare at anyone more famous than them. She was already huge by then, the kind of person people whispered about after she walked by, and it was shocking how much prettier she was in person.
On camera, she was beautiful in the way idols were supposed to be beautiful. Perfect lighting, practiced angles that seemed effortless, elite styling. In person, the perfection didn’t feel edited anymore. She was just there, breathing, smiling, expecting you to introduce yourself like a normal person. She was taller than you expected, softer in some places, sharper in others. The kind of pretty that made you almost forget to even bow.
So when your company told you you’d be filming a TikTok challenge with her for your debut song, you tried to be casual and professional about it, as professional as you could be at least.
You didn’t fail, not outwardly, hopefully. You weren’t that bad. You bowed when you were supposed to bow, smiled when you were supposed to smile, introduced yourself without your voice cracking, which felt like a win on its own. But inside, you were embarrassingly aware of everything. Your manager standing off to the side. The staff checking the lighting. Your own members trying to act normal even though they knew exactly how big of a deal this was.
And then Karina walked in like this was just another schedule. Like she wasn’t THE Karina that you spent hours of your time watching as a trainee and told yourself, yeah, okay, that’s what an idol is supposed to look like.
The choreography for your song wasn’t easy either. It had too many sharp little transitions, the kind that looked simple until you actually tried to do them and realized your body had to hit five different accents in two seconds. You thought you’d have to walk her through it a few times, maybe slow it down, maybe mark it once or twice before filming.
She needed one walk-through, then she did it almost perfectly.
You stood there trying not to look too impressed, mostly because you didn’t want to seem like a rookie who got starstruck over basic professionalism. But she caught the details so fast, smiling like it was nothing, like she wasn’t casually eating up choreography you had spent weeks drilling until your knees hurt.
And maybe you would’ve survived if it had only been that, but then she kept touching you.
Not in a weird way though, and that was a part of it. Nothing she did was bold enough for you to react to, hand on your waist when you reset positions., her fingers brushing your arm when she asked where to stand, a quick hug after the first take, then another after the second. Then her leaning into you to check the video on the staff’s phone, close enough that you could smell her shampoo and whatever expensive perfume she had on.
You knew how idol stuff worked. You’d been trained on it. Skinship, fanservice, looking close even when you barely knew each other. Fans had to think you were either best friends, secretly dating, or one wrong move away from kissing on camera. That was normal.
Maybe it was because you were foreign and that was the part you were missing. You were in a global group, and people always had weird little assumptions about what that meant. Maybe she thought you were more casual about touching, or less strict about personal space, or maybe she just thought foreign girls were naturally more comfortable with that kind of thing. You kept trying to make it make sense that way, because the alternative was admitting she was touching you on purpose, and that felt unrealistic. Like actually delusional. She was a senior idol, and not just any senior idol, but the visual and leader of the biggest group of her generation. You were barely out of debut promotions. There was no reason for your brain to be acting like this was a sign.
But this felt different.
There were no cameras or staff filming when she hugged you the last time. No reason for her hand to stay resting at your lower back while she told you you did well, and no reason for her to smile at you like that, soft and amused, like she could tell you were trying very hard to keep your eyes where they belonged.
Most idols had nice bodies. That wasn’t new. Everyone was pretty and everyone was toned, plus they all knew their angles. But Karina was different in a way that made it hard to think around her. Her waist was so small under your hand when you were fixing the formation. Her hips curved, her thighs looked soft and full every time she bent slightly to watch the playback, and her chest in that fitted top was becoming a real threat to your ability to remember that you had literally debuted, like, five minutes ago and needed to act accordingly.
So you kept telling yourself maybe she was just like this. Maybe she was touchy with everyone! That this was senior-idol kindness and you were reading too much into it because you had admired her for too long. Perhaps she hugged everyone a little too warmly and looked at everyone with that same calm, unreadable expression.
Then filming ended.
Your manager got pulled into a conversation with one of the staff, and everyone started moving around you, cleaning up, checking schedules, packing equipment. You thought that was it, and that you’d thank her one more time, bow a little too deeply, go back to your dorm, and spend the rest of the night pretending you hadn’t just been weirdly aware of her the entire time… but Karina stayed beside you.
She watched the final take on someone’s phone, then looked over at you with this tiny smile.
“You did good,” she said.
You laughed because you didn’t know what else to do. “You learned it faster than me.”
“That’s not true.”
“No, I’m serious, it is,” you said, way too quickly. Then, because apparently you wanted to make it more embarrassing, you added, “I mean, you’re obviously really good. I just mean, like, the details. You got them really fast.”
She smiled wider, like she liked that you were rambling. Then she glanced toward the door, casual. Too casual.
“Our dorm is close,” she said. “The members ordered food. You should come.”
You blinked.
That was normal… right? Senior idols invited juniors places sometimes, groups hung out, people networked, ate chicken, talked about schedules, complained about music shows, normal idol stuff. Still, your brain immediately acted like she had asked you to do algebraic topology.
“To your… dorm?” you asked, because apparently you needed to repeat it out loud like you didn’t understand basic words.
She tilted her head. “Yes… Is that strange?”
No. Maybe? Extremely. You had no idea.
Her hand touched your arm again, light and quick, like it meant nothing.
“You’re busy?”
You should’ve said yes, or at least looked at your manager first. That would’ve been the normal rookie thing to do, probably? Check the schedule, ask permission and pretend you were someone with professional instincts and not someone whose brain had completely emptied the second she invited you anywhere.
But she was looking at you, waiting, close enough that you could see the little smile she was trying not to show.
So of course you said, “No, I can come.”
The car ride made you feel even more confused, and not because anything happened, but because nothing happened.
Karina was completely normal. She slid into the backseat beside you, thanked the driver, then immediately pulled out her phone like this was just a regular schedule. No weird smile, lingering touch, hand on your leg, nothing. She asked if you were cold, then started replying to messages on her phone like she hadn’t just invited you to her dorm and given you permanent anxiety and a racing heart for the past five minutes.
You sat beside her with your hands folded in your lap like you were on your way to a job interview.
The city moved past the tinted windows, all headlights and convenience stores and people walking around like you weren’t currently losing your mind in the backseat. Karina texted someone, smiled at her screen, then turned it slightly toward you.
“Yeah so the members are really hungry,” she said with a giggle.
“Oh,” you said cracking a nervous smile, because apparently that was all you had.
She laughed a little, but not in a flirty way. Just normal and casual, like you really were just going to eat with her members. Which, to be fair, was exactly what she said you were doing.
Maybe that was it and you had made the whole thing weird in your head because you were nervous and foreign and still new enough to overthink every interaction with a senior. Maybe she was just being nice, and she invited rookies over all the time. Maybe this was a normal industry thing, and you were sitting there acting like she had personally asked you to run away with her because you were neurotic and didn’t know how to behave around hot girls, apparently.
Karina leaned back against the seat, relaxed, one leg crossed over the other as she scrolled through her phone. The soft light from the screen moved across her face, and she looked so calm that you felt like you needed to get yourself together by force.
So you tried.
Inhale. Exhale.
This was fine. You were going to her dorm. Her members would be there. There would be food. You would eat, laugh politely, maybe get teased a little for being shy, then go home.
Right?
She didn’t even look at you for half the ride. By the time the car pulled up, you had almost convinced yourself you were being insane.
Then you got inside.
Their dorm was different. Like, way different. It basically wasn’t a dorm at all, at least not the kind your group lived in. Your dorm was five girls and a manager crammed into a tiny two-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment where someone was always drying their hair, boiling ramen, or yelling because they couldn’t find their charger. The living room barely had enough space for everyone’s suitcases, and if two people opened their closet doors at the same time, someone was probably getting hit. This was not that. This was what money and success did.
Technically, it was an apartment, but it didn’t look like one on the inside. It looked like the kind of place people filmed house tours in. Two bedrooms, just her and Winter, with this massive open living space and a kitchen that looked like nobody had ever dared to spill anything in it. High ceilings, marble floors, huge windows, soft lighting, furniture that probably cost more than your group’s entire years rent combined,
And this is just where you guys stay for promotions? you thought.
You must have been quiet for too long, because Karina glanced back at you from where she was taking off her shoes.
“Are you surprised?” she asked.
Her voice cut through your thoughts so suddenly you looked up like you’d been caught doing something wrong.
“No,” you said way too fast.
She stared at you.
You stared back.
Then she smiled, slow and knowing, like she had absolutely read your mind and was giving you one chance to stop lying before she made it worse.
“You are,” she said.
You looked away, pretending to care a lot about lining your shoes up neatly by the door. “I mean, it’s nice.”
“Nice?” she repeated, amused.
“It’s really nice.”
She laughed under her breath and stepped closer, not enough to touch you, but enough that you remembered she was there. That she had brought you here. That this was her space, her place, her world, and you were standing in it trying not to look overwhelmed.
“It is just for promotions,” she said.
“Right,” you said. Just for promotions.
You followed her into the living room, trying to act like you weren’t mentally comparing every inch of it to your dorm back home. The smell of food was already in the air, something fried and spicy and expensive enough that you could tell it was not from the place your manager always ordered from when everyone was too tired to cook.
Somewhere deeper in the apartment, you heard voices. Laughter. One of the members calling something out in Korean, and Karina answered easily, slipping back into normal senior-idol leader mode so fast it made your head spin.
See? You really were just here to eat with her members.
Your face heated as the embarrassment settled in. Did you really just make up an entire situation in your head? Did you really sit in that car acting like you were about to be alone with her or something? You had practically turned the whole interaction into the intro of a smut fic in your mind, and now you were standing in her expensive promotion dorm with your shoes lined up too neatly by the door, realizing she probably just thought you were nice. Maybe even cute in the way rookies were cute, which was humiliating in a completely different way.
Then Karina turned back to you, holding your gaze for half a second too long before smiling like she hadn’t done anything.
“Come,” she said. “Don’t be nervous.”
And honestly, at that point, you were more embarrassed than nervous, hoping no one in the room secretly had mind-reading powers and could tell exactly what you’d been thinking about as you walked through the front door.
The living room did not help.
Too nice, big, clean, and too much space for people who were supposedly just “staying here for promotions.” The food was already set out on the counter in takeout containers that looked more expensive than anything your company had ever ordered for you. Fried chicken, spicy squid, tteokbokki, noodles, some kind of salad nobody was going to touch, and way too many side dishes for the amount of people in the room.
The members were all scattered around the living room, already comfortable. Giselle was curled up on the couch with her knees pulled to her chest, scrolling on her phone. Ningning was sitting on the floor, mixing soju and beer like the girls didn’t have schedules tomorrow. Winter was at the counter, picking at the food with chopsticks and talking to someone on speakerphone in a voice so casual it made you feel like you had walked into a private world by accident.
Karina introduced you like it was nothing.
“She came after the TikTok challenge,” she said, like that explained everything.
Everyone greeted you warmly, they were nice. No one looked at you like you were intruding or one acted like it was strange that Karina had brought a rookie from another group back to their dorm after filming. One of them even handed you a drink and told you to sit wherever.
So you sat. Very carefully. On the edge of the couch, like the furniture belonged to a museum.
Karina sat beside you, close but not too close. She accepted a drink from one of the members, took a sip, and finally picked up a piece of chicken.
This really was just a dinner, you thought. You were going to drink a little, laugh at the right moments, and go home with your dignity mostly intact. Except you didn’t really eat. Neither did she. Every time someone passed food your way, you took it, thanked them, and then held it like you had plans for it. Karina kept saying she would eat in a second, kept picking up chopsticks and putting them down again, kept sipping from her glass instead.
At first, you thought maybe she was tired. Then you noticed she was watching you. A glance over the rim of her glass. A smile when someone said something you didn’t fully understand. Her knee brushing yours once under the low table, so light you almost convinced yourself it didn’t happen.
The alcohol made everything warmer. Not enough to make you drunk, just enough to loosen the room around the edges. The members were laughing louder now, switching between Korean and English whenever they remembered you were there. You laughed too, even when you were half a second late because you were mostly watching Karina’s hand around her glass and wondering why that had to be interesting to you.
At some point, Ningning teased Karina about not eating.
“I will,” she said.
“Why not now?”
“I’m talking.”
“You’re drinking.”
Karina just smiled and took another sip, which made everyone laugh. You laughed too, because everyone else did, and because she looked pleased with herself in a way that made your stomach feel weird.
Then she turned to you.
“Do you want to see my room?”
The conversation kept going around you like she had asked the most normal question in the world.
You blinked at her. “Your room?”
She nodded, calm as anything. “You’re curious, right?”
“No,” you said, too fast.
She smiled. “You looked at everything though.”
“I was not looking at everything.”
“You were.”
“I was just… observing.”
“Observing,” she repeated, like she was testing the word in her mouth. You hated that she made it sound cute.
Winter barely looked up from her phone. “Show her. She keeps it clean only when people visit.”
Karina rolled her eyes, but she was smiling when she stood. “Come.”
And that was how you ended up following her down the hall with your drink still in your hand and your heart acting like you had agreed to something much more serious than looking at a bedroom.
Her room was exactly what you expected and somehow not at all what you expected. It was clean, obviously, but not empty or cold. There were clothes folded over a chair, a few beauty products scattered on the vanity, PR boxes, a hoodie tossed at the end of the bed like she’d taken it off and forgot about it. A suitcase sat open near the closet, half-unpacked. The bed was huge, the lighting soft, the windows showing the city below like even the view knew it was expensive. It made her feel more real again. Not like Karina from the stage or K the senior idol everyone whispered about. Just Karina, standing barefoot in her own room, holding a drink, watching you take everything in.
“Still not surprised?” she asked.
You looked at the bed, then the vanity, then anywhere that wasn’t her. “It’s nice.”
She laughed. “Again with nice.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“The truth.”
You glanced at her and immediately regretted it, because she was closer than you thought. Not touching you, but close enough that the room suddenly felt smaller.
“Okay, well the truth is, my dorm is embarrassing compared to this,” you said.
She smiled, but softer this time. “You just debuted.”
“I know, but still.”
“It gets better.”
The way she said it was simple. Not bragging or teasing. Just honest enough that you relaxed a little.
From the living room, you heard Winter laugh, then say something into her phone that made the others start teasing her.
Karina glanced toward the door but didn’t move at first.
You stayed where you were, pretending very hard not to feel awkward standing alone in her room.
A few seconds later, Winter called Karina’s name.
Karina opened the bedroom door halfway. “What?”
The conversation was fast, mostly Korean, but you caught enough. Winter’s boyfriend was downstairs. She was leaving first. Someone made a kissing noise, someone else told her to shut up, and then there was a small burst of laughter before the front door opened and closed.
Karina shut the bedroom door again, but not all the way.
“She’s leaving?” you asked, mostly because silence felt insane.
“Yes,” Karina said. “Her boyfriend came.”
“Oh.”
Karina leaned back against the vanity, taking another slow sip from her glass like none of this was strange. You looked at the floor. Then the bed. Then immediately back at the floor because no, actually, the bed was not a safe place to look.
A few minutes passed like that. Not quiet exactly, but weirdly suspended. You could still hear Giselle and Ningning in the living room, talking over each other, gathering things, opening cabinets, laughing at something on someone’s phone. It made the whole thing feel less dangerous for a second.
Then Giselle called out again.
This time Karina did go to the door, opening it just enough to answer.
More fast Korean. More movement. You caught “other dorm,” “early schedule,” and Ningning complaining that she was tired. Someone asked if Karina was coming so she didn’t have to sleep alone, Karina said something short and casual, and your stomach flipped even though you didn’t fully understand it.
Giselle appeared in the doorway for half a second, eyes flicking from Karina to you.
“Have fun,” she said in English, way too cheerfully.
Your soul almost left your body.
Karina just rolled her eyes. “Go.”
Giselle laughed and disappeared down the hall.
After that, the apartment thinned out slowly, bags being picked up, slippers dragging across the floor, someone reminding someone else to take their charger, Ningning yelling goodbye from the entryway. The front door opened once, stayed open while they argued about something stupid, then finally shut.
And then it was quiet, actually quiet.
Karina closed her bedroom door the rest of the way and looked back at you.
“They’re gone?” you asked, even though that was obvious.
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
She tilted her head. “You want to go too?”
That should’ve been an easy question. You should’ve said yes, or maybe not yes exactly, but something sensible that acknowledged you had already been invited over, already drank with them, already followed her into her room, and maybe that was enough bonding for one night. But she was standing there waiting, and the apartment outside her room was getting quieter by the second.
“I don’t know,” you said.
Which was not a good answer.
She set her glass down on the vanity, then walked over and carefully took yours from your hand too, like she was making sure there was nothing left for you to hide behind.
“You’re nervous again,” she said.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m literally fine.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I am.”
She smiled a little. “Liar.”
Your face got hot. “You keep saying stuff like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you know me.”
Her smile faded just slightly, not in a bad way. More like she was interested now. Like you had finally found a personality and said something that wasn’t just polite panic.
“I know you are nervous,” she said. “I know you think too much.”
“Well, that’s not knowing me. That’s just obvious.”
She laughed under her breath and stepped closer. “And I know you don’t want to leave.”
You looked at her, and there was no way to make your face normal fast enough. Not with her this close and with her room this quiet.
“You don’t know that,” you said, but even you didn’t believe it.
Karina’s eyes dropped to your mouth and back so quickly you could’ve imagined it if you weren’t already losing your mind.
“No?”
You swallowed. “No.”
She smiled like you had walked directly into something.
“Then leave,” she said.
For a second, you actually forgot how to move. The door was right there. Not locked and not blocked. You could leave. This was the perfect chance to prove you were not delusional and not the kind of person who made up romantic tension in her head just because a pretty senior idol was nice to her.
But you didn’t move.
Karina waited, letting the silence speak for itself.
Then the front door opened again, stayed open for a few seconds while someone complained about forgetting their charger, and finally clicked shut.
Then the apartment went quiet, actually quiet.
Your heart was beating so hard you could feel it in your throat.
Karina stepped closer, and this time she did touch you, just two fingers under your chin, tilting your face toward her.
“You can go,” she said, softer now.
“I know.”
“You want to?”
“No,” you said softly.
For a second, neither of you moved.
Then Karina kissed you, slowly, like she had all the time in the world to see if you’d pull away. Like she wanted to make sure you were really there with her and not just panicking your way into something you’d regret.
You didn’t pull away. You kissed her back so fast it was embarrassing.
She made this small pleased sound against your mouth, and that was when your brain finally gave up on pretending. Your hands moved before you could overthink them, catching lightly at her waist, then stopping there like you were still trying to be respectful even though you were literally kissing her in her bedroom.
Karina seemed to find that funny.
She pulled back just enough to look at you. “You can touch me.”
Your face went hot immediately. “I know that.”
“Do you?”
“Stop.”
She smiled and kissed you again, deeper this time, and you forgot whatever argument you were about to make. She backed you up slowly until your legs hit the edge of her bed, and you made a noise into the kiss that you were honestly glad no one else was around to hear.
Then you sat because there was nowhere else to go, and suddenly she was standing between your knees, looking down at you.
“You’re really shy,” she said.
“I’m not shy.”
“You are.”
“I’m new.”
“Is that different?”
“Yes.”
She seemed to consider that, then nodded like she was accepting your terrible excuse. “Okay. New.”
Then she climbed onto the bed and over your lap, one knee sinking into the mattress beside your thigh, then the other, until she was above you and your hands had nowhere to go besides on her.
You froze.
K looked down at you, amused but softer than before.
“Still nervous?”
You exhaled, shaky and annoyed at yourself.
That made her laugh, not meanly, but like she liked it.
“It’s okay,” she said.
Then she leaned down and kissed you again, and this time there was nothing careful about the way you kissed back. Your hands finally settled at her waist, then a little firmer, like your body had decided to be braver than the rest of you. She shifted closer, her weight warm over you, knees pressed into the mattress on either side of your hips, mouth moving against yours.
The kiss got heavy fast, messy in a way that made your stomach flip because this was not the practiced kind of fanservice intimacy idols did for cameras. No cute angles or staff laughing behind the monitor. Just her bedroom, the apartment going quiet outside, and Karina kissing you like she had been waiting for everyone to leave.
Her hands slid into your hair first, then down the sides of your neck, thumbs brushing under your jaw while she tilted your face exactly where she wanted it. She seemed so calm compared to you, not unaffected, but focused. Like she was enjoying the fact that you were still catching up.
You were trying not to touch too much, which was ridiculous at this point. Your hands hovered at her waist, then settled there carefully, feeling the smooth, stiff fabric of her dress under your palms. Pink and metallic, tight enough that it looked poured onto her, catching the soft bedroom light every time she moved. It had been made for a music show stage, not for your shaking hands or the way her hips shifted over yours, slow and testing, making the fabric whisper against your own dress.
Yours was blue and yellow, sporty in that bright, debut-stage kind of way, with little details that probably looked cute under studio lights and felt stupidly fragile now that K’s knees were bracketing your thighs.
Her mouth moved to the corner of yours, then your cheek, then your jaw. The first roll of her hips was barely anything, just enough pressure to make your breath catch.
Karina paused with her lips against your neck, and even without looking at her, you knew she was smiling. You could feel it, that tiny curve of her mouth against your skin, pleased and almost mean.
You gripped her waist tighter before you could stop yourself, and that seemed to be the permission she wanted.
The next grind was slower, more deliberate, her body pressing down into yours until your head fell back against the mattress. The dresses made it harder to think. The tight fabric, the heat trapped between you, the strange guilt of knowing both outfits had probably been styled, steamed, and approved by a whole team weeks ago, only for the two of you to end up like this.
Karina sat back suddenly, breathing a little harder now, and looked down at the space between you.
“Wait.”
That one word made your whole body go cold for half a second, but then she grabbed the hem of her dress and started pulling it up.
“Not this,” she said, almost annoyed.
You moved at the same time she did, both of you suddenly clumsy in a way that made the whole thing feel real again. She slid off your lap to stand, tugging carefully at the metallic fabric so it wouldn’t snag, while you sat up and reached behind yourself for the zipper on your own dress. Your fingers fumbled uselessly for a second. Too much adrenaline and too much Karina standing in front of you looking both impatient and way too pretty for your nervous system.
She noticed you struggling and stepped closer, and for once, she didn’t tease you. Her fingers brushed yours away, quick and gentle, and she found the zipper easily. The sound of it sliding down your back felt embarrassingly loud. Your dress loosened around your chest, and you held the front up on instinct even though the woman helping you out of it was literally the reason you were in this situation.
Karina’s eyes flicked down, then back to your face.
You peeled the dress off carefully, trying not to wrinkle it too badly, and laid it over the chair near her vanity. Karina did the same with hers, smoothing the pink metallic fabric once before letting it go. Even now, half-undressed and clearly losing patience, she had the nerve to be careful with the styling. You almost laughed, but then she turned around.
No dress, just Karina in her underwear, bare shoulders, soft skin, a few loose pieces of hair falling around her face. The room seemed to tilt a little.
She reached behind herself and unclasped her own bra like it was nothing. The straps slid down her arms, then the bra dropped onto the floor beside the bed. Your eyes went straight to her chest before you could even pretend otherwise, and Karina let you look and she watched your reaction like she wanted to memorize it.
Your mouth started to water.
Karina climbed back onto the bed, slower this time, and you leaned back on your elbows as she crawled over you. Her bare chest hovered above yours for a second before she lowered herself again, warm skin meeting yours, her body soft and heavy in the places you already couldn’t stop thinking about all day.
The kiss after that was different. Her mouth opened against yours, and one of her hands slid up your arm, guiding your wrist above your head. Then the other. She did it slowly enough that you could’ve stopped her. When your breath hitched, her grip loosened right away, her eyes searching your face. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you let your wrists rest under her hands.
Her expression shifted, just a little, and then she pinned them down again. Just enough to make the point. Her chest pressed against yours and your whole body reacted. The second your hands were trapped, Karina’s hips moved again, her underwear dragging against yours in a slow, firm roll that made your mouth fall open. Every movement got more confident. Less like testing, more like she knew exactly what angle made your thighs tense under her. The lace of her underwear brushed against the thin fabric of yours, friction building in a way that was almost unbearable because it wasn’t enough and somehow still too much. Your body kept trying to chase it. Tiny lifts of your hips, barely controlled. Karina felt every one.
Her hands tightened around your wrists and the pressure made your brain go quiet.
Karina was above you, topless, flushed, eyes darker than they had been all night, grinding into you like she liked watching you lose whatever control you had left.
Her breathing started to change. Her lips parted, shoulders dipped. Her pace stuttered once, just barely, when your hips pressed up at the same time hers rolled down. She wasn’t as calm as she wanted you to think, and the realization gave you enough nerve to test her back. You shifted under her, pressing up more deliberately, and Karina’s eyes fluttered for half a second before she caught herself.
The grip on your wrists tightened and you would’ve smiled if you weren’t so busy trying not to make an embarrassing sound.
She lowered her mouth to your neck, kissing just under your jaw, then down toward your collarbone. Each roll of her hips pushed her closer against you, warm and slick through the fabric, and the fact that there was still underwear between you started to feel like torture. Your wrists pulled once under her hands, not because you wanted her to stop, but because you needed to touch her.
Karina lifted her head and for a second, you thought she might let go, but she didn’t. Instead, she looked down at you, chest rising and falling, mouth swollen from kissing you. The smugness was still there, but thinner. Less controlled.
Then she ground down harder.
Your back arched before you could stop it.
That finally broke her a little.
Her eyes dropped to your body, to the way you were trapped under her, the way your thighs had spread without you noticing, how you were trying so hard to stay quiet and failing at the edges. She made this small sound, low and pleased, then leaned down until her lips brushed your ear.
“You’re cute like this,” she murmured.
It was barely any dialogue, barely even a sentence, but it landed straight between your legs. Your hips lifted again and the next few seconds blurred.
Her mouth was on yours again. Her chest pressed against yours. Wrists pinned above your head. Her hips moving faster now, less smooth and more needy, the mattress shifting under both of you. One of your knees bent, giving her a better angle, and Karina took it immediately, settling heavier against you until the pressure made your vision go strange at the edges. She dragged herself against you in this perfect, awful way that made you gasp, then her pace slowed suddenly, not stopping, just turning deeper. More deliberate. Her forehead dipped toward yours, and for a second the room got too quiet around the sound of both of you breathing.
She looked less amused now. Her eyes moved over your face like she was checking for something, and whatever she found there made her grip on your wrists loosen.
This time, when you pulled one hand free, she let you.
Your palm landed at her waist first, then slid up her side, over warm skin, feeling the way she shivered under your touch even though she tried very hard not to show it. You touched her chest carefully at first, still somehow afraid of being too much, and Karina’s eyes closed for half a second.
You touched her again, braver this time, and her hips stuttered.
Oh. So that was what she liked.
Karina opened her eyes, and the look she gave you said she knew exactly what had just happened. She knew you had figured something out and you were probably going to get annoying with it now.
Then she reached for your wrist again, pinned it back above your head, and rolled her hips down so slowly that whatever confidence you’d found disappeared straight out of your body.
Karina seemed to know it too, because the smile that crossed her face was small but way too pleased. She had you exactly where she wanted you, flat against her bed, one wrist pinned, your other hand still uselessly resting against her waist like you were pretending to have manners.
The thing was, she wasn’t fully composed anymore. Her breathing had gone uneven, and her mouth was swollen from yours. It made her look less untouchable. More like a real person who had dragged you into her room and gotten just as worked up as you had.
You let your free hand slide up her side again, slowly this time, just to feel the way her body reacted under your palm. Her hips faltered, barely, but enough. Enough for you to notice, and for your confidence to come crawling back in the worst possible way.
Karina lowered her head, kissing you hard before you could get too smug about it. Her mouth was warm and impatient, and the kiss got messy fast, both of you breathing through it badly. She rolled against you again, the thin fabric between your bodies slick enough now that the friction made your toes curl against the mattress.
It was actually ridiculous.
You could feel how wet she was. Not guessing, not imagining it and making up signs because you were a nervous rookie with a crush and no self-control. You could feel it every time she moved against you, hot and slick through the fabric, and she could probably feel you the same way because her breathing kept changing every time she dragged herself down at the right angle.
Karina pulled back, looking down between your bodies like she had finally gotten annoyed with the last thing separating you. Then her hand moved to the edge of her underwear.
For one second, your brain just stopped.
She shifted off you just enough to slide the fabric down her thighs. Your eyes followed the movement without your permission, and honestly, whatever subtlety you thought you had left? Completely gone. Karina stepped out of them and climbed back onto the bed like she knew exactly how badly you were staring.
Her fingers hooked under the waistband of yours and your whole body tensed. You wanted it so badly it made you feel like you might genuinely tear up. She paused there, eyes on your face, waiting, and you lifted your hips.
Karina pulled them down slowly at first, then tossed them somewhere near the edge of the bed without even looking. The room went weirdly quiet after that, except for both of you breathing and the low hum of the city outside her window. It should have felt awkward. Maybe it would have if you had more time to think.
But then she was over you again. Bare this time. Warm and wet. Your whole body reacted before your brain had even caught up.
Karina straddled one of your thighs first, trying to find the right position, her hands braced on either side of you as she shifted. It was clumsy for a second, which almost made you feel better. Like, okay, thank god, she was human. She wasn’t some flawless sex genius who knew exactly how to arrange two bodies on the first try.
Then she found the angle.
Your breath caught hard.
Karina froze for half a second too, eyes lowering, lips parting as both of you felt it at the same time. The contact was immediate, slick and intimate in a way that made your stomach drop. She adjusted again, slower, settling herself against you properly, and the first real grind sent a pulse of heat through your entire body.
Neither of you could form words.
Karina’s hips started moving, cautious at first, like she was testing how much pressure felt good. A few loose strands or hair slipped forward over her shoulder as she looked down, flushed and focused, one hand planted near you while the other slid to her own chest.
The second her fingers closed around her breast, you almost lost it.
She wasn’t even doing it for show at first. Her hand moved like she needed it, like the pressure of your body under hers wasn’t enough and she had to touch herself too. Her thumb brushed over her nipple, once, then again, and her hips rolled harder against you.
The sound that came from between you was obscene. Wet, slick, and too loud in the quiet room.
Your face burned, but Karina’s reaction told on her too. Her eyes fluttered, and she looked down at the place where your bodies met, watching herself ride you like she couldn’t help it, the sound was making her just as crazy as it was making you.
You reached for her chest without thinking and this time, she let you.
Your hands covered her breasts, warm and heavy in your palms, and the moan she let out went straight through you. That was the kind of sound you knew you were going to remember at the worst possible time later. In a car, at practice, on stage, somewhere deeply inconvenient when you were supposed to be a normal person.
Karina’s hips stuttered when you rubbed your thumbs over her nipples, and for once, she didn’t hide it. Her head tipped back. She looked completely different like this. Messier. Hotter. Less like the cool senior who had casually invited you over and more like someone who had been waiting to fall apart but refused to go first. Still, she was on top and in control enough to make that very clear.
One of her hands dropped from her chest to your thigh, gripping hard as she adjusted the angle again. Her fingers dug into the soft skin there, pulling your leg higher, opening you more under her. The movement made everything line up better, and the next grind dragged a gasp out of both of you.
Karina’s eyes snapped back to yours.
There.
That was it.
She knew it too.
Her pace changed after that, faster but not careless. Every roll of her hips pressed her against you just right, wet pussy sliding against wet pussy, both of you so soaking now there was no pretending this was anything but desperate. The sounds kept filling the room, wet and rhythmic, mixed with her shaky breathing and the small noises you kept trying and failing to swallow.
You stopped caring pretty quickly and so did she.
Karina’s grip on your thigh tightened as she rode you harder, her body moving with this focused kind of need that made your head go light. She looked down at you, chest bouncing softly with every movement, one nipple still caught between your fingers because apparently you had lost the ability to let go.
Her mouth opened, just a broken breath, and then another, and then her hips pressed down harder.
One of your hands stayed on her breast, squeezing and rubbing exactly how she seemed to like, while the other moved to her hip, pulling her into you when her rhythm slipped. The confidence from earlier was gone again, replaced by something needier and less controlled. You wanted her to finish like this.
Karina leaned forward suddenly, her chest pressing into your hands as she braced herself near your head. The new angle made you see white for a second. Everything got tighter, hotter, wetter, the pressure building so fast you had to grab at her waist just to have something to hold onto.
She was close.
You could feel it before you even saw it. Her rhythm started breaking, her grip on your thigh turned almost bruising, and her breathing kept catching right before she tried to pull it back under control.
So you touched her harder. Your thumb dragged over her nipple again, and Karina’s whole body jerked. Her hips ground down into yours, firm and slick and perfect, and the sound she made was enough to push you right to the edge with her.
You weren’t even sure who came first. It really didn’t matter because the second she broke, you went with her.
Karina’s body tensed above you, thighs tightening around your leg as she shuddered through it, still moving because stopping apparently wasn’t an option. She looked so messy and beautiful and unreal that it made the pleasure hit you all over again. You came hard under her, hips lifting helplessly against her, hands gripping at her waist and chest like you needed to keep her there or you might actually lose your mind.
For a few seconds, neither of you could stop moving. It was too much and not enough, slick and hot and overstimulating, both of you riding out the last of it in shallow, shaky rolls until Karina finally slowed. Her hand loosened on your thigh. Her head dipped as she caught her breath.
The room was a mess now.
Your music-show dresses were laid too carefully over the chair, like that made any of this less out of the ordinary. Her underwear was somewhere on the floor. Yours too.
Karina looked down at you. Her lips were swollen, cheeks flushed, one hand still resting on your thigh.
A small smile started to form on her face, slow and tired and way too satisfied.
Then she leaned down, kissed you once, soft and warm and almost sweet, and rested her forehead against yours.
Neither of you moved for a while, and you were in no rush to.
“i got what you need, i’m thinking you should plant this seed.”
synopsis. karina meets your family for the first time at one of those loud, messy cookouts where everyone’s talking over each other and no one’s sitting still. she’s nervous at first, trying to keep it together but slowly, she shows a side of herself you hadn’t seen before.
pairing. mean!sorority!karina x loser!gp!reader
warning(s). 18+ (smut), readers got a big ah family tree, g!p reader, p in v (unprotected), pet names (puppy & baby), reader is uhh down horrendous…wait they both are </3, breeding kink, dom!karina, overstimulation 🥀, and let me know if there’s more.
word count. 6.4k+
authors note. welp here it is and yea so im sorry anon who requested this. i tried to cook… 🥀 this is like when you ask for lays from the store and they give u the great value version..
campus was a far trip from home.
three hours by car, longer if you hit traffic. long enough for your stomach to tie itself into knots and your brain to start feeding you worst-case scenarios like a playlist on loop. long enough for karina to cycle through three moods: dismissive, annoyed, and now completely silent.
she hadn't said a word since the second toll booth.
you glanced over at her. she was curled slightly against the window, legs pulled up, arms crossed, sunglasses still on despite the clouds. she looked like she was heading to court, not to meet your mother.
"want music?" you offered, eyes flicking toward the aux cord.
"no."
"podcasts?"
"god, no."
you bit back a smile. "conversation?"
that earned you a slow, lethal look.
you held up a hand.
then you cleared your throat.
it was a mistake. you could feel it even before she turned her head back and fixed her stare on the road ahead of you, but her foot was still bouncing—heel tapping a steady rhythm against the edge of the seat, the same three-count beat over and over again and the tension in her jaw was so tight it looked like her teeth were grinding together.
she didn't say anything, didn't give you a glare, didn't sigh, and didn't roll her eyes.
she just stared at the road, jaw clenched, and tapped her foot.
tap. tap. tap.
you knew her well enough by now to recognize the signs.
karina wasn't someone who panicked out loud. but when her anxiety reared its ugly head, it showed itself in all kinds of quieter ways: she got more fidgety and less talkative, and her body language was always off—she stood farther away, kept her arms close, and sometimes she wouldn't look you in the eye.
right now, her heel was bouncing so hard against your seat it felt like a warning bell.
"i can turn around," you offered lightly.
she didn't blink. "don't tease me like that."
"i'm serious. we can fake a tire blowout. park under a bridge. say we got abducted."
she finally—finally—cracked the tiniest smile.
it was barely there, barely noticeable, and you would have missed it if you didn't know her and you would've missed it if you didn't know her so well. but you did. you knew that twitch in the corner of her mouth wasn't nothing. that it meant something got through.
you softened a little. "they're gonna love you, you know."
she let out a low, unbelieving breath.
"they will," you insisted. "you're—"
"i'm mean," she cut in.
you snorted. "you're not mean."
she turned her head just enough to raise an eyebrow at you over her sunglasses.
"okay," you allowed. "you're, like, medium mean. with a heart of gold. a crunchy exterior. caramel center."
"i hope they hate me."
"you don't."
"i do. it'd make this so much easier."
you didn't say anything. she didn't look at you. her sunglasses had slid down her nose just slightly, and you could see the tiny crease forming between her eyebrows—the one that only showed up when she was thinking too hard.
you pulled one hand off the steering wheel and reached for her knee, giving it a little squeeze. "you don't have to impress anyone."
she was quiet for a second. then she let out a low, humorless laugh.
and said, simply, quietly:
"i want to."
it was a loaded sentence.
and, honestly, you weren't quite sure how to respond.
the karina you knew had never cared about what other people thought. she had no use for them. other people were either useful to her or they weren't—there was no middle ground, and there was no need to try and impress. not classmates. not the girls in her sorority who half-feared and half-worshipped her. definitely not the people she used to flirt with before she was your girlfriend.
and definitely not you—not at first, anyway.
but now?
now she wanted to impress your family.
she wanted to impress your mother, your loud cousins, your overprotective aunties, and your father who never knows when to stop talking.
she wanted to walk into your childhood home and be met with approval. she didn't want to be tolerated, and she didn't want to be judged. she wanted to walk into the room and hear your family whisper compliments about her behind their hands.
and, maybe, more importantly—she wanted to give you a reason to be proud.
you let the silence stretch for a moment.
then you nudged her again, thumb brushing across her knee. "you're kind of a mess right now."
"i'm aware."
"they're not royalty. it's not a coronation."
"they're your family."
"so?"
"so," she said, finally looking at you again, "they made you. and i... i love you, so—"
she paused, jaw tightening again like she regretted how easily it came out.
"so if they don't like me, i'll take it personally," she finished.
you blinked. stared at her for a second too long.
she looked away first.
and just like that, the highway noise got swallowed up by something louder inside your chest.
the same feeling had been building ever since karina answered your phone in the shower.
you'd been rinsing out conditioner, blinking through soap in your eyes, and reaching blindly for the showerhead in karina's shower, the one that had a knob that switched the water from a gentle stream to a powerful spray.
final fantasy vii was paused on her tv because you'd been playing barefoot on the floor until she'd kicked you toward the bathroom with a towel and a pointed, "you actually smell like a puppy." your ego was bruised.
she was sitting cross-legged in the middle of her bed now, methodically folding laundry like she was in a boot camp for the domestically gifted. she had your hoodie in her lap and a pile of unmatched socks beside her, all while your phone sat forgotten on the comforter.
until it lit up.
she glanced over. saw the name:
BIG HOMIE FROM THE TAX BRACKET ABOVE.
and—understandably—assumed it was mason.
"...of course," she muttered. "of course he would call while you're in the shower."
karina stood up from the bed, feet bare against the hardwood, and padded into the bathroom like she owned the place.
(which, let's be honest—she kind of did.)
"big homie is calling you!" she yelled out, slightly rolling her eyes.
she didn't hesitate to answer. swiped before the third ring finished, already opening her mouth to tell mason off, because what the hell kind of contact name is big homie from the tax bracket above anyway?
"don't answer it!" you yelled back. "i'll call him later—just leave it!"
but she was two seconds into the call. "hello?"
"who the hell is this?"
she blinked. paused. one hand on the doorframe, phone to her ear. "...excuse me?"
"you're not y/n."
"no," karina said slowly, narrowing her eyes. "but i'm her girlfriend. who is this?"
three seconds passed.
"i'm her dad."
you pushed the curtain aside, heart thudding. "karina?"
no answer.
"...karina—did you really answer?!"
karina was standing completely still, her hand white-knuckled on the door frame.
"girlfriend?" your dad repeated, voice muffled but confused. "wait—hold on. as in, you're an actual person. a girlfriend. a girl no space friend. like, you're here. on earth."
karina blinked. "...yes?" she replied, mouth twitching because she was trying so hard not to laugh.
there was a pause.
"...you're not paid, are you?"
and that's how your dad found out you had a girlfriend. the rest of the story blurred after that. you'd blacked out from secondhand panic by the time she passed you the phone. and later, your parents texted you about a "small, casual cookout" they were organizing, which was code for a full-blown social event with matching t-shirts and a dessert table.
you hadn't asked her to come... yet. not even after she'd smiled and said, "your dad sounds funny," like it wasn't the most mortifying moment of your entire adult life.
but the text sat in your inbox anyway, taunting you every time you opened your phone: [BIG HOMIE FROM THE TAX BRACKET ABOVE]: Don't forget to rsvp for the cookout 😁 Bring your lady if she's real 😎
which is why, three days later, you were sitting at the edge of the counter in the sorority's house shared kitchen, watching karina rinse strawberries as if your mind wasn't spiraling over a simple question.
her hair was clipped up. she wore one of your crewnecks, sleeves pushed past her elbows, and every now and then she'd hum under her breath, bob her head, or shuffle her feet.
you let out a slow breath. "...rina."
"hmm?"
"i, uh—" you scratched the back of your neck. "my parents are having this dumb cookout thing. very wholesome. lots of potato salad. matching shirts. you know."
she plucked a berry from the colander and took a bite. "mhm."
"i wasn't gonna go," you added quickly. "i usually don't. it's kind of—" you waved vaguely. "a thing."
another strawberry. another bite, which caused you to forget your point. her eyebrow rose.
you cleared your throat.
she smiled.
yeah, you were whipped.
"...you want me to come?" she asked, tilting her head.
your face went warm. "only if you want to."
her expression shifted slightly, a little softer. she reached over and tapped a strawberry against your mouth.
you leaned forward and bit down.
she pulled her hand away and said, casually, almost dismissively, "i'd go if i were invited."
so, yeah.
that's how you ended up here, two hours from home with a tense girlfriend and a heart that wouldn't stop fluttering. and a minute later, you were pulling into the driveway of your childhood home.
"i'm going to throw up," she told you.
"no, you're not."
"i am."
"rina," you said gently, "they're just normal people."
"i'm not worried about them," she snapped. "i'm worried about me. i didn't even bring a gift."
"it's not a dinner party," you snorted. "it's a backyard cookout. you don't need a gift. besides, my family doesn't even like gifts. we're weird. my aunties will think you're crazy for bringing something."
karina was staring at the house. there were a lot of cars surrounding the driveway and lining the curb. you knew your mother had gone a little overboard with the party prep, but you didn't realize she'd invited the entire family tree.
"this is a small get-together?"
"well..." you shrugged. "my mom gets excited."
she let out a shaky breath, but she still followed you up the driveway. still reached for your hand the second you rang the bell.
the door opened before you even knocked.
"there they are!"
a wave of noise hit you like a brick wall. the smell of grilled meat, citronella candles, and some kind of peach-flavored wine cooler clung to the air. there were balloons and streamers everywhere, and as soon as you stepped inside, the noise seemed to swallow you whole.
before you could say a word, someone was pulling you into a hug. "look at you! my baby! i thought you were gonna skip again, i told your mother—oh hellooo, who is this?"
karina froze.
one of your aunts (you couldn't remember which one—gold hoops, big hair, smells like a church) was suddenly holding her shoulders and giving her the same once-over a cop might give a suspect.
"and she's pretty, too, huh?" she said, looking karina up and down. "is this the one who answered your daddy's call? 'cause he said she sounded classy."
you saw karina's soul leave her body.
"she is classy," you said, arm wrapping firmly around her waist. she immediately leaned into you because right now gravity wasn't working unless she had at least three points of contact. "this is karina."
karina gave the most polite, most strained, most pageant-ready smile you'd ever seen. "hi."
more aunties emerged. more hugging. a high-pitched shriek from the back—definitely your cousin jasmine. you heard someone yell, "you brought your girlfriend?!" like it was breaking news. which is fair because she's the first girl you've ever brought home, but the sheer amount of attention made you feel like an exhibit at the zoo.
karina's grip tightened.
"you okay?" you asked under your breath.
she nodded quickly. then lied. "i'm great."
further inside the house was worse. people filled every hallway, couch cushion, and stair step. the kitchen table was covered in tin foil pans. a child ran past you in a superhero cape. someone yelled "catch it" from the bathroom, followed by the sound of a loud thump. a toddler began crying, and someone was blasting music outside on the deck.
and through it all, she clung to your side like a lifeline. fingers in your belt loop, palm at your lower back. she didn't laugh at any jokes. she barely spoke. but her eyes scanned everything, tracking every new relative, cataloging the entire house.
she was trying. you could see it.
and then your mom appeared, holding a stack of paper plates.
"hey, sweetheart—can you help me run these out to the deck? and your dad needs you to check the propane. he swears it's full, but i don't trust that man with anything that requires a tank."
you glanced at karina. her face said, please don't leave me alone. her hand did not move.
but your aunt swooped in with terrifying precision. "i'll take her. come on, baby, you ever had peach cobbler? you're about to."
karina looked betrayed.
"i'll be right outside," you promised. you leaned in. "just relax, okay? they love you already."
she nodded once. still didn't let go until your mom physically pulled you by the wrist. "you can flirt with your little friend later," she muttered.
you shot one last look at karina—being shepherded into the living room like a foreign diplomat. she turned, lips slightly parted like she wanted to say something, but all she managed was a look.
and then you were outside.
the deck was a mess, and it was extremely hot. the grill was roaring, kids were screaming in the bouncy house, and your dad was swearing at a spatula.
"'bout time," he said when he saw you. "tell your mom the propane was full. she owes me twenty bucks."
you helped him flip burgers while trying to keep karina in your peripheral, but the crowd was thick, and your mom was assigning tasks like she was the director of an action movie.
after a few minutes, you finally managed to break free. you headed toward the living room, but karina was nowhere near the couch. you checked the kitchen, the hallway, and the garage, and then you finally saw her in the front yard—with the kids.
karina was seated cross-legged on the grass, surrounded by six of your tiny cousins. one hand deftly weaving through a thick ponytail while her other arm was wrapped around the kid in her lap, who was showing her some animated youtube video at full volume.
"that's not a real dragon," karina muttered.
the kid gasped, scandalized. "yes, it is!"
"it has sunglasses and a fanny pack."
"he goes to the beach," the kid defended.
karina didn't flinch. "dragons can't go to the beach."
then, from behind the bouncy house:
"oh my god. is she doing their hair?" you glanced over and saw your cousin tanya standing next to you, beer in hand, staring in awe. "that's cute," she said, nodding her head. "damn."
you couldn't help but smile.
a different cousin cackled. "you're funny. are you gonna marry our cousin?"
karina blinked. "what?"
"you said you were y/n/n's girlfriend," the one in her lap said, poking her cheek. "that means you're gonna get married."
she cleared her throat. "that's not how it works."
"yes, it is," the first one insisted. "that's what my mom said when she made uncle brian bring his lady friend to thanksgiving."
karina shot them a look. "you have a booger in your nose."
they paused. scowled. "do not."
"you do."
"liar."
karina was still arguing with your cousin about hygiene when you walked over, hands in your pockets. karina didn't look up, but the kid did.
"y/n, look," they said, pointing, "this lady said i have a booger."
"because you do," karina shot back.
you knelt down next to them, brushing your fingers gently over the kid's forehead as you looked them straight in the eye. "okay. let's get to the bottom of this. chin up."
they pouted but obeyed, sniffling exaggeratedly as they tilted their head back. you squinted. "i hate to say it, buddy, but... there might be a booger."
their jaw dropped. "tú también, y/n?!"
you laughed, reaching over to tickle their ribs. the kid let out a shriek of laughter and wiggled out of karina's lap, scurrying back to the bouncy house, the rest of them following.
"traitor!" they shouted, voice carrying over the crowd.
you grinned.
then, a little more quietly, you asked:
"how are you doing?"
karina's face was flushed, and the way she looked up at you with her sunglasses pushed on top of her head, a smile on her face, and hair falling in her eyes was so soft and so gentle and so different from the girl you met two years ago.
you wanted to kiss her.
"i'm doing great," she replied, and she meant it. you helped her up. wiped the grass off her jeans, "you're good with kids."
"i was arguing with them."
you scoffed. wrapped your arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, kissed her temple. "yeah," you muttered against her skin. "i saw, but they like you. jj never showed me anything off his tablet, and you got him to share."
"i don't share my stuff either," she said. "i'm very territorial."
"i know."
she tilted her head. looked at you. "...thank you for bringing me."
you smiled.
"thank you for coming."
then, like clockwork, your aunt's voice rang through the house again. "y/n, i swear if you don't come grab this extra bag of ice—"
you groaned. "they're everywhere."
karina glanced at the kid now fully sprawled across her lap and sighed. "you go. i'll be okay."
you nodded and let go, backing away, one foot after the other, but as you glanced back one last time, you saw it—karina, finally letting herself relax as the kids started to play a game involving chasing each other with bubble guns, one of them dragging her along like she was a prized possession.
after another ten minutes of labor for your family, you finally peeled yourself away from the endless shuffle when things settled just a bit and no one was watching.
quiet footsteps on the porch creaked beneath you as you rounded the corner, scanning for her.
there, on the shaded steps, your eyes caught a softer scene. karina was crouched down beside the porch steps, cradling your baby niece against her chest. the little one's eyes were fluttering shut, her tiny fingers curling around a loose strand of karina's hair.
karina's expression had shifted entirely—gone was the mischievous smirk and playful teasing. instead, she was quiet and gentle, humming a soft, almost imperceptible tune as she rocked the baby lightly back and forth.
you froze for a moment, watching her like you'd stumbled on a secret. it was the kind of tenderness you hadn't expected from her—not the sharp-tongued, quick-witted karina you knew, but something softer, something real.
karina glanced up and caught your gaze, her lips curving into a shy, almost sheepish smile. "she fell asleep on me," she whispered, voice low and warm.
you smiled back. and that was the first time you thought, oh. this is dangerous.
it was dark when the party finally started to wind down.
everyone had gone home, including your aunts and uncles and cousins and nephews. your mom and dad had disappeared too, probably someone's ride, leaving behind a few plastic trays of half-eaten dessert and a cooler full of slowly melting ice.
the guest room was quiet. a quiet you had missed and you'd be robbed of all day. karina was already on the bed, sitting in the middle of it in one of your old high school shirts and a pair of sweatshorts, scrolling through photos she'd been secretly taking on her phone all afternoon.
she looked up as you set a water bottle down on the nightstand. "you left me for, like, an hour," she whispered.
you climbed onto the bed, knees pressing into the mattress. "you braided like six kids' hair in that time."
"yeah. my fingers hurt."
you sat in front of her before tugging your hoodie off. "you didn't have to entertain them that long."
"i didn't," she said, like it was obvious. "they kidnapped me. one of them threatened to cry if i moved."
you laughed, rubbing your hands over your face. "you didn't look like you hated it." and you also held a baby like it was second nature, so now i'm even more whipped than i was before. if that's possible.
karina set her phone down on the nightstand before scooting closer to you.
you dropped your gaze. her fingers were playing with the hem of your shirt now, slipping underneath, cool against your skin. you looked back up at her, watching her carefully.
you kept your mouth shut, but your brain didn't stop. you're perfect. you're like wife material. my family is weird. but they liked you. you're kind. you're funny. i'm in love with you.
you bit your lip.
she smiled.
and said, voice low, eyes dark: "i like it when they call me your girlfriend."
your breath caught.
"...yeah?"
she nodded. leaned in. her mouth hovered a millimeter away from yours.
"i really like it."
her hand slid higher.
it wasn't a surprise when she kissed you, soft and slow and deep. she was smiling against your lips, and you could taste the punch from earlier on her tongue. you kissed her back, hands sliding to her hips, tugging her closer.
she pressed and leaned backwards until she was lying down before pulling you on top of her, legs wrapped around your waist, arms wrapping around your neck.
she hummed.
kissing you again even harder.
then, in the most soothing voice: "been thinking about you all day."
"karina—"
"mm?"
"we're—my parents—"
"are gone," she finished. "they're not coming back until later."
"i know, but i'm trying to be a good houseguest."
she let out a breathless laugh. "and you were so good earlier." she nipped your lower lip, her hands moving to cup your cheeks, thumbs stroking lightly.
then, with a little more force, she murmured, "but right now i need you be a bad houseguest for me. please, puppy?"
your stomach dropped. your pulse throbbed behind your ribs, and all of your good intentions melted.
she moaned into your mouth, pulling you in by the neck, legs hitching up around your waist. you settled between her thighs, one hand bracing yourself on the mattress, the other sliding down her body, gripping her hip. "you're such a bad influence," you breathed.
"mm," she hummed. "whatever."
"karina..." you whispered against her jaw, trailing down, lips brushing along her throat. you sucked gently, just enough to make her moan.
you felt her fingers tighten against the nape of your neck. she tilted her head back, eyes closing, a soft sigh escaping her lips.
"puppy—just, god, go lower." she breathed, tilting her head back, moving your head down towards her chest.
you obeyed instantly, lifting the hem of her shirt just enough to mouth at the soft skin of her chest. she wasn't wearing a bra—of course she wasn't, there was no need to be when she was supposed to be asleep.
your lips parted over her breast, tongue dragging slowly and warmly across her skin before you sucked at her nipple, gently at first, then harder when her breath hitched. you could feel her arching into your touch, could hear the little whimpers she was trying to hold back, and see the way her body shifted restlessly against the mattress.
"fuck," she hissed, nails digging into your scalp. "don't stop."
you didn't. you switched to her other breast, kissing messily across her chest, tongue teasing before your mouth closed around her again, sucking until her back arched and her thighs squeezed around your waist.
"shit—" she gasped, half a sob, her hips rolling up into you without thinking. the friction made you moan, low and broken, against her skin.
you ground down against her, rigid and uncoordinated, so desperate for friction your thighs were trembling. her sleep shorts were thin, your sweats were riding low, and it didn't take much to feel her dampening the front of them.
"feels good, doesn't it?" she whispered, breath catching as your teeth grazed her chest again. "you're such a good girl when you're needy."
you whimpered, forehead pressing to her sternum, hips stuttering.
"i c-can't," you choked. "you're—fuck—you're so perfect..."
her hands cradled your face again, thumbing over your flushed cheeks, pulling you up for another kiss.
you didn't even realize how desperate you'd both gotten until your hands were tugging at her shorts, fumbling at the waistband, desperate to feel more of her skin against yours.
she lifted her hips, helping you slide them down her legs, underwear clinging before slipping off too. her skin was hot, and her thighs were wet and trembling. your hands lingered for a second on her thighs—before she was already pulling at your sweats, impatient.
"please," she mumbled, almost annoyed at how slow you were.
and—god, there was no way to deny her, not when her hands were so insistent, not when she was biting her lip like that, not when her legs were spread and she was looking up at you like this, and not when you were already hard to the point it ached, twitching against your stomach as you finally kicked your sweats and boxers off.
your hands went to her thighs, just to steady yourself, fingers digging into her skin. and, well, if the rest of your good intentions melted before, then they were gone now.
you couldn't wait, couldn't do anything but grind against her, your cock sliding against her, slick and hot and desperate. you pressed forward, breath hitching as every inch of you burned to be inside her.
you wanted to say something smart or smooth, but all that came out was a breathy, "oh—fuck, you feel..."
you trailed off. she just looked up at you, lips parted, eyes wide, but not all that smug like you expected—more desperate than anything else. her hands came up to your waist, guiding you closer, pulling you into place, her knees pressing into your sides.
"come on, baby," she urged, hips rolling up, her wetness smearing against your skin. "hurry—"
and then, finally, finally, you slid inside her. it was like a punch to the gut, all the air leaving your lungs, a choked sound breaking in your throat. your eyes fluttered, vision swimming, hips jerking forward, burying yourself to the hilt.
you pulled back just slightly, watching her face, her body, trying to find the tiniest hint of discomfort, but all you found was a flush creeping down her chest and a whimper that sounded a lot like your name.
"good?" you managed, breathless, a little dizzy.
"yes—mhm, yes, just—move."
you nodded once, swallowed, moving slowly at first, shallow and careful. but she was rolling her hips to meet you, hips rising, hands scrambling up your back like she couldn't get you close enough. her mouth parted with no words, but instead just that shaky breath she always gave when she was overwhelmed and wanted more.
and hell, you were trying. you were trying to stay steady, trying to savor it, but you were so keyed up already, so wound up by everything that had happened today. by her. by the way she felt, by the way she looked, by the way she kept breathing your name, by the way she was squeezing around you every time your hips moved—and it was over for you.
you groaned, low and shaky, and pressed forward again, deeper this time. her legs curled tighter around your waist, and her hands flew up to your shoulders, nails dragging just enough to leave heat.
"yeah?" you whispered, voice rough but sweet as you slowed for a second, just to look at her. her hair was messy, cheeks flushed, lips parted—and her eyes, glassy and fixed on yours like you were the only thing tethering her to the planet.
"you're—" she swallowed hard, arching just slightly into you. "you're so good. you're so good to me."
your stomach dropped.
she knew exactly what she was doing. she knew that made your chest ache in a way you didn't have words for. she knew how much you craved her approval, her affection, and her praise, and she knew how to give it to you.
"please," she murmured, softer this time. "puppy, please, don't stop. i need—"
her voice broke off into a whine when you pulled back again and thrust forward harder, burying yourself to the hilt again with a grunt.
"fuck," she gasped. "love you."
your hand came up without thinking, cradling her face with your right, brushing your thumb along the flushed curve of her cheek. her eyes fluttered shut at your touch, turning into it, her mouth brushing your skin before she took your thumb into her mouth.
the sight made you moan, hips stuttering forward again. "fuck," you breathed.
she sucked at your thumb gently, tongue curling underneath the pad of your thumb, eyes opening again just enough to watch your face, her eyes dark and hungry and completely unraveled.
was she trying to drive you insane on purpose? it was working.
she blinked up at you, innocent, but the corners of her mouth turned up as she took your thumb even further into her mouth and hummed.
"karina—"
your voice cracked on her name as you dragged your thumb out of her mouth with a soft, wet pop, trailing the wetness along the edge of her bottom lip. "you're—fuck, you're so beautiful," you murmured.
she hummed, satisfied. "yeah?"
you were too busy watching where you disappeared into her, too busy thinking stupid, reckless things that soon stumbled out of your mouth. "...yeah," you breathed, barely thinking, barely there. "could do this forever."
your voice was low. wrecked. barely yours.
"just want to—fuck—just wanna keep you like this. wanna come inside." you were rambling now, almost babbling, hands tightening on her hips.
and then—like instinct—you moved.
one hand slid behind her knee and pushed up, folding her without a second thought. her thighs pressed against her chest, folding her in half, pushing her down into the mattress with every thrust.
she let out a choked moan, head thrown back, hair spread out over the pillow.
god—she was so pretty. she was always pretty, but here—in your childhood bed, naked and panting in your wrinkled and half-off shirt, her skin flushed and her mouth falling open—she was something else entirely.
"f—fuck." it ripped out of her.
you could barely think. "just wanna—wanna stay right here," you slurred, breath catching. "wanna come inside."
karina's hands scrambled for something to hold onto—the sheets, her own legs, you—and she was trembling, shaking, clenching around you every time you bottomed out.
she liked the angle. that much was obvious.
her legs were pressed up, knees by her shoulders, and she felt everything. her thoughts were completely incoherent except for one:
so close.
so goddamn close that she could cry, could feel herself starting to shake apart, could feel that tension curling tighter and tighter, her orgasm building higher and higher—
"you better mean it," she breathed.
her hips started to move against yours, impatiently, chasing that feeling, that sweet pressure deep inside her, the heat building in her stomach and making her tremble.
"what?"
"you said you wanna come inside—" she broke off with a moan, nails digging into your arm, "—then you better mean it."
you choked on a curse.
her walls fluttered around you, and it pushed you over the edge. your whole body tensed. you buried yourself as deep as you could, stuttering out a moan, your orgasm ripping through you.
you came hard, so hard your vision went white for a second and your muscles tensed and your hands tightened on her thighs hard enough to bruise. just like that—you were spilling inside her.
you didn't even mean to collapse. it just happened—legs gone, arms jelly, chest heaving against hers as you spilled inside with everything you had left.
karina let out a small, frustrated whimper beneath you.
"i was right there," she panted, grinding her hips up against yours. "you couldn't hold it for five more seconds?"
you managed a weak laugh, collapsing back into the sheets, dazed, chest rising and falling like you'd just run ten miles.
you blinked up at the ceiling. your vision was still fuzzy, your muscles were still trembling, your ears were still ringing—and holy shit, you were so tired. karina followed you, eyes dark and frustrated, thighs already coated with your cum.
before you could even roll over, to try and control your heavy breathing and get your heart rate under control karina was already moving, climbing over your leg and settling her weight against your thigh.
she stared down at you with her lip between her teeth, brow furrowed, and hair sticking to her forehead. her hips were rolling slowly against your thigh, and you could feel her, still hot and slick.
you swallowed hard.
"karina," you managed, voice hoarse, "i—i can't—" she huffed, frustrated, and lifted herself just enough to slide her hand down between her legs.
it made your cock twitch.
she let out a shaky breath, eyes flicking down to your lap, then back up. her hand was still between her legs, fingers moving quickly, hips stuttering and her gaze flicked down to your lap, then back to your face.
"you're still hard," she whispered, almost accusing. her voice was soft, but trembling, full of heat. "look at you..."
you couldn't move. your muscles were jelly, your brain fried. literally felt like you just got out the ring with mike tyson.
she bit her lip. "...baby?" her fingers didn't stop. "can i—please? just a little?"
a pause, then quieter: "i'll ride it real slow, promise."
you didn't answer fast enough, and she took it as a yes anyway.
karina reached between you both, fingers wrapping around your half-hard cock, smearing your release over the length of it. she whimpered at the feel, her thumb pressing to the tip, coaxing what she could from it.
you watched her, mesmerized. you couldn't think, couldn't do anything but let her use you.
she lined you up and sank down slowly, taking her time, every movement dragging out the stretch until she was seated fully on your lap. your body barely responding, caught between overstimulation and the sheer heat of her.
she rolls her hips once. extremely slow for the first few seconds, then she starts to pick up the pace. you gasp and try to sit up, hands flying to her waist to steady her, to slow her down, and the other half to beg her not to move just yet.
she leans forward, her palms against your chest, nails digging in as she grinds down into you. "you still with me?" she whispers, breath catching. "or are you too tired now?"
your hands try to guide her hips, a soft "slow down" leaving your mouth.
but karina doesn't listen.
"you feel so good," she breathes, letting her head fall back. "you like it when I use you like this, don't you?"
"karina—wait, wait—"
"mm-mm," she hums, rolling her hips again. "no waiting. wanna come like this, please, puppy, wanna come on your cock, want you to stay inside me all night—"
you let out a broken moan, trying to hold her still, trying to slow her down, trying to stop yourself from going over the edge again already.
she's unrelenting.
she's riding you like she'll die if she stops. the sound of her moaning and her wetness on your skin is enough to make your brain short-circuit and make you lose any restraint you had left.
"here," she says. "you can—do it how you like—" it's an attempt to give you control, placing your hands back on her hips to help, but instead it makes you whine because she just feels so good and it's been so long since you've felt this good.
your lips are parted—eyes dazed, mouth open, hands shaking. you can barely breathe, your lungs burning; the only sound in your ears is karina, whispering your name in between breathless gasps.
she's still moving. she's still talking, still whispering dirty things between kisses that are more bite than anything else. you know she's close—her walls fluttering around you, her moans getting higher and breathier, her movements getting less graceful.
but you're close, too... but you'd be damned if you finished before her. again.
"trying to keep it in?" she taunts softly. "trying to act good now?"
you can't respond. can't do anything but whimper and hold her tight and try to hold on.
she's persistent. she knows what she wants. and she wants to feel you come inside her again, wants to feel you fill her up even more, wants to come all over your cock, and wants to collapse against your chest and not move for hours.
karina feels it—how close you are again, how your body's trembling like it's pleading for release, overstimulated but so, so hopeless.
"karina—'s too much, fuck—can't—"
"yes, you can," she whispers. "you can, puppy, you can. i know you can, just for me, yeah?"
her voice breaks on the next moan, and she grabs their wrists—pinning your hands above your head, forehead pressed together.
"give it to me, baby," she begs, breath hot and uneven. "just one more. please. fill me up again."
you choke on a sound. you're trying so hard to not, to hold back just a second longer, but her hips roll again and—
"wanna feel you dripping out of me in the morning," she mumbles, barely audible. "wanna still be full when i wake up—"
you arch up hard—shaking, stuttering, teeth clenched so tight it hurts. your second release hits like a wave, full-body and dragging, leaving them gasping, mind white noise and useless.
karina cries at the feeling—utterly undone now too, head thrown back, body twitching on top of you. she doesn't even let them go yet, hands still pinning theirs down, rolling her hips even slower as she rides out her orgasm.
when she finally lets go, her arms are trembling, and you can see the effort it takes for her to not just collapse against your chest. she does anyway—carefully, slowly, trying not to crush you as she lets herself rest against you. her face burrows into the crook of your neck, breathing unsteadily.
"mmph," she slurs, lips brushing your collarbone. "so good. fuck. mine."
your fingers twitch weakly at her hips, but you've gone boneless—completely, blissfully ruined. your throat is hoarse from moaning, your vision is still spotty, and your heart is pounding so hard you can feel it in your ears.
"i love you," you whisper, voice barely above a breath.
she hums again, sleepily this time, her hand sliding up your chest to settle over your heart.
"i know," she murmurs, smiling into your skin. "i love you too. always."
she touches your cheek, brushing damp hair from your forehead. her fingers tremble, but she's smiling.
"so in love with you," she murmurs, eyes fluttering shut. "even when you're useless."
you let out a soft laugh, breathless, still ruined.
"shut up," you mumble, reaching down to smack her ass. she yelps and nips at your jaw, but she doesn't move from her spot on top of you.
your eyes are already closing. you're so tired, so utterly spent, that your head lolls to the side, lips resting on the crown of karina's head. you breathe her in.
she feels so good. you feel so good. you both smell like sweat and sex, and everything is sticky and gross, but you don't care.
you just want to lie here.
so, that's exactly what you do. you wrap your arms around her, keeping her close, keeping her safe, and let the sound of her breathing lull you to sleep.
Note: I have joined the meta. Can't believe I'm starting my first fic after 2k with a Rina fic lol.
Ok, but seriously, special shoutout to @azelfty for the plot suggestion (it was so good that I have to write it), and @valentinedrifter for beta reading <3
And also listen to Farewell my First by TripleS too.
tw: melodrama.
(11.7k words)
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re experiencing some turbulence. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts.”
Just a slow, exhausted exhale through your nose as the plane shudders again and your headache pulses in protest.
Of course.
Fifteen hours in economy. Middle seat. Paid with possibly all your savings and more. Knees wedged between a metal tray table and the unforgiving spin of the seat in front of you. The guy on your left has annexed half your armrest, while the woman on your right snores like she is in her own place an hour into the flight (and also slowly leaning into your shoulder ever since.)
You consider just lying on the walkway instead, because you'd have legroom there.
The seat cushion is so thin that you swear you can feel the frame underneath, and by then your lower back has given up on fighting back for comfort. Two rows up ahead, the annoying overhead light keeps on flickering at the peripheral of your tired eyes, which apparently is a signal for the plane to jolt again.
Sigh.
Why did you pick Korea again? There were easier places to disappear to, like Thailand or Vietnam with all the foods to eat, cultures to see, and places with history that is not your own.
Well, you clearly didn't think that far when booking the ticket.
Anyway, another dip seems like enough cue for the fasten seatbelt sign to chime (no one is standing anyway.), and you are already strapped in all directions. Good thing your hand can still reach down to your pocket for the phone. Of course, no signal — just you and the sweet ass fifteen hours of recycled air.
So the camera roll it is.
You thumb scrolls lazily — dinner you had last night, a building façade that you saved to show to your boss later, a random rock layout in a garden, the pigeon chilling on your window sill.
And then there’s Jimin.
You stop at a particular old photo of her back in 2010 — short hair, bare face, sitting cross-legged on your apartment floor, holding your mirrorless camera that you kept telling her to not touch it (it cost you 8 months' worth of allowance saving.) The conversation still lingers in your head, with how whiny that tomboy was.
"I don't get it," she squints through the viewfinder. "Why does it look worse when I touch it?"
"Because you're touching it."
"I have to touch it." "Not like that what the fuck."
You scroll past them now, somehow never delete them.
The plane jolts again, harder this time. The sleeping woman's head knocks against you, but your quick reflex tilt your shoulder and lift her head up so that she falls back upright without waking.
Apparently, that was amusing enough for you to let out a small chuckle — the same dry sound you made in the park where Jimin screamed like a banshee when learning to ride a bike.
Oh right, here's the video: the park near your high school that day was busier than you expected. Students draped across the grass with textbooks they definitely weren’t reading, couples sharing headphones, a few overachievers holding impromptu study circles, and someone near the food stall insisting their guitar cover of “California Gurls” would change lives.
And then there was you adjusting the rental bike seat, and a certain nervous Jimin stood beside you quivering — helmet strapped tight, hands holding the camera with such pseudo-confidence, and her brows furrowed. She may be pretending to be an athlete, but in reality, she just needed to pedal twenty metres.
“Alright,” you said, patting the seat. “Rule one: don’t panic. Rule two: stay balance. Rule three—”
“Don’t panic again?” she interrupted, lips twitching.
You gave her a flat look. “No. Rule three is don’t make me look stupid in public.”
“…Not ‘be stupid’ but ‘not make you stupid’?”
"Yes, also why are you holding the camera?"
"For you to record my success."
"Bitch, you haven't even moved." "Confidence is key."
“No,” you corrected. “Balance is key. Rule 2. Confidence is what you’ll lose in about ten seconds.”
"Sure right. I got this, easy!"
She did not.
“YAAHHHHHHHHHH—!”
Second attempt: the camera is propped on a bench nearby that (miraculously) got you two in sight. You jogged beside her and hand gripped the back of the seat. She pedalled this time with such wobble and instability. Her breathing is no better — out of context, people will think she's on the last leg of the triathlon. For three seconds, her stance was fine…until she steered directly into a bush.
The video ends here, and you don't remember much of what happened afterwards. It’s been seven years ever since you left (Jeesus, fucking christ. It’s 2017 now.), but you don't delve further to it and lock your phone.
Sigh. Bundang. Korea. Hopefully not meeting Jimin right now, and hopefully the visit will be simple.
You close your eyes again as the plane rattles once more.
-
The headache still continues, and it doesn't go away when you spot Jimin from afar before she spots you. (Aw shuck.)
One thing you remember about Yoo Jimin is that she likes to show off. Because look at that girl leaning against a pillar near Arrivals with her cap low, mask pulled down under her chin, and scrolling through her phone. Oh, and there’s a black SUV parked illegally not too far from the curb. Hazard lights blinking too. Mhm. She is definitely showing off that new car, for sure.
Ok so, your first thought is: how the fuck she knows you're coming today? You told virtually no one.
And then your second thought comes immediately: ah, Mom and Dad.
Yeah, your family and hers have always been like that since moving to the neighbourhood — occasional overlapping dinners, the mothers going groceries together, the fathers bonding over oil leaks and DIY sink repairs, and gossip bounds to pass around. This time? No different — they told her, and she volunteers to pick you up. Well, at least it's better than grabbing Uber with a random driver. No point complaining then, you just adjust the strap of your backpack, hand grabbing the suitcase, and walking towards her.
She looks up.
And her face lights up like those episodes of Shin-chan she never outgrew. She pushes off the pillar and waves both arms above her head, greeting you as if you just found a solution for homelessness (A big problem to solve as a future architect).
And you resist the urge to turn sideways, preparing to sleep on the street instead. Ah shit that sounds bad, but to refute, you don't hate her — she's been your best friend since the age you both discovered that concrete hurts when you fall. (on the head, because Jimin,)
But that — ugh, fucking hell — is exactly why she's the last person you really want to see right now.
Of all the same-age friends you know, Jimin's the only one who stayed up with you on video calls, listening to you when you two were studying for the CSAT. The one who also has a high chance of accepting the scholarship, yet she said "You'll obviously get it." The one who proudly told anyone who would listen that you were pursuing a top-tier PhD overseas. At a university she once admitted she wished she could attend.
And now…Sigh. Maybe not yet. You're too tired for that conversation.
You drag your suitcase towards her, and up close, and she looks…different. Well, longer hair, for one, but more than that, time actually did its job.
The town used to call her the wild child who unapologetically dragged you into the mud, who climbed trees in oversized shorts and punched your arm for no reason whenever you two sat on a bench in front of the ice cream shop. Yeah, all those memories mean jack shit when looking at her right now — fitted jeans, cropped shirt, and baggy jacket, straight posture like a model, long hair falling down neatly. (You look around to make sure there aren't any idol paparazzi around.)
Speaking of the melon in the room, yeah of course you notice. Not that hard when strangers glance at her twice, and how her curve fills out clothes that makes you forget how she once ate dirt just for a dare.
"What?" Ah shit, she catches you looking. "I look good, yeah?"
"…sure."
"C'mon, be more enthusiastic for me! I've been working out."
"I can tell."
She beams brightly upon hearing the exact validation she was fishing for. "Cool, right? Pilate and good styling. Airport fashion is very important."
"Bitch, last time we called, you were in a public park looking like a bozo."
"Whatever." She slaps your shoulder playfully before grabbing your suitcase handle from you. "You look more homeless now than I am."
You glance down at the hoodie you have been wearing since moving aboard, and the-true-definition-of-comfy trackpants. "I flew here for 15 hours. Almost dying in Economy."
"…Skill issue." "Fuck you."
(You almost smile. Almost.)
She yaps the entire walk to the parking lot — the everlasting traffic, the constant honk when she drives at 20km/h when looking for parking space, how she parallel parked perfectly on the first try, and whatever rambling nonsense Jimin has on the back of her seat. It's easier to let her voice wash over you like a radio on a Sunday morning.
In the car, she adjusts the rearview mirror slightly, presumedly to check herself out. A subtle hair flip and a quick lip gloss touch-up.
"You're staring, sleepyhead." Oh, oops. Must've subconsciously staring at her.
"I'm not." "You are."
"Just thinking how much you've changed." "For the better?"
"…" You pinched your brows.
-
The city lights blur past the window as the car merges to the highway, and the night air outside Incheon is colder than you expected. Or maybe you're just tired enough to feel every little annoying detail — the chill against the glass, growl of the engine, reflection of the lights glares, and the weight of what's gnawing at you inside sitting heavily in your heart.
But…still awake enough to register the fact that Yoo Jimin is driving with one hand on the wheel (like a self-proclaimed cool adult she has always wanted), the other tapping lighting against her thigh to some song on the radio. It's a far cry from the same girl a few years back cowering in her room and chewing her lip raw over a driving test the next morning.
“How’s living abroad like?”
“Uh…” Your eyes are still closed. “It feels like it takes all of my life saving just to survive for a week.”
“Oh come on…that PhD of yours can afford you some fine things in life, amirite?”
“...Sure.” And you sink down further to your seat. “You can say that.”
"Ok then, show off. How long are you gonna be here?"
"Seven days."
"That's short, what the heck?" Her voice drops slightly.
"It's enough for a rest."
"Hell the fuck it is!" Jimin yelps. "You don't have enough time to go to Seoul for a small trip! Checking out the cute coffee shops in the morning and the fun bars at night! You're missing out!"
Enjoying Korea is the last thing you think you deserve to have, but let’s not say it out loud. Instead: "Peace and quiet is enough for me, really."
She glances at you, studying your expression for a moment. And then she slowly nods and looks back at the road.
"Well lucky for you, I'm also free for 7 days."
You hum. "Why? What are you up to? Did your firm give you a vacation?”
“Sorta? I do use my PTO for a few days too. Looks like my work was significant enough for my boss to let me chill.”
“Well that’s nice. How are you going to spend them?”
"Well, I gotta hang out with my tired best friend before I get married, of course."
“Ah sure sure…wai—”
It does take you a few seconds to register, and when you do, you have never gotten up upright than you ever have in your life. "The fuck what now?" And that seems to be the reaction she wants from you. (Clearly satisfied, she is.)
"Yeah, I am getting married."
…Right, so where is the punchline?
"And I'm being legit."
Ok, there isn't one. Damn. Your brain cycles through possibilities as if you're eligible to review the unfortunate guys who get charmed by her. Which poor idiot signed up for that without knowing the boogers she—
Anyway, you lean back to your seat. "Ok then."
"That's it?" "The fuck you want me to say?"
"I don't know, be happy for me?" "Ok fine, congrats."
"That's so dry." "Bitch, you announced it like a Friday morning."
She narrows her eyes. "Bitch, you sat up like someone zapped you."
"It's a reflex." "Yeah, reflex. Sure."
"You say insane things all the time. My body reacts before my brain does."
She lets out a loud laugh. "You're so mean!"
You look out to the window, ignoring the small smile at the corner of your lips, and the churning stomach that paradoxically feels like it's tied in knots.
"Do I know this guy? Also, is he fine with you hanging out with me like this?"
"What?” She teases. "Are you curious?"
"Concerned."
"For him?" "Damn right. Now answer the question."
And Jimin laughs again. Gosh, this is going to happen for the rest of the trip, isn't it?
-
Apparently yes.
And it starts with the next day when she unapologetically drags you out of the couch you crashed out of exhaustion. So much for getting used to jet lag. Also, couldn't she wake you up with something else rather than a pillow whacking to your face?
"Wake the fuck up, bestie!"
You groan into the couch cushion. The light bleeds in through the half-open blinds and cuts across the living room in pale strips. Your phone has been running off with alarms that you set it up every 15 minutes out of habit — years of early classes, work shifts, and other things.
None of them compare to Jimin.
"Wake upppppp!"
You begrudgingly peel one eye open (not without voicing out your disdain with a groan) and see Jimin hovering above you. A far cry from the show off girl last night, her hair is messy, wearing the oversized sport uniform T-shirt slipping off one shoulder that clearly has been overworn (she stole this shirt from you one time she forgot to bring it.)
"Let's go hang out today!"
"Ugh…what time is it…?"
"It's morning time!" "One, that is a terrible pun. And two, that is not a time."
She nudges your knee with her foot. “Get up.”
“Is this how you wake him up too?” “No, just you.”
You drag a hand down your face, and finally feel the ache in your neck from sleeping on her couch. The blanket she forced on you last night is twisted around your waist. At least the caveat is that her apartment does smell nice — a faint of fabric softener and the aroma of something orange(?) that she sprays.
Maybe it is a good thing that she refuses to let you book a motel. Also, your parents are out of town, so staying at their place alone would’ve been… too quiet. ("You don't have a space." “You can sleep on the couch.” “It’s better than a motel, I paid top money for this couch”) Ugh, her reasoning is still scary and effective as before.
You check your phone. She grins too brightly for 8 a.m.
"Ok, ok, fine." You sigh. "Where are we going?"
-
Yeah, if you still have your free will to run (and if she wasn't your best friend), you definitely would've gone somewhere else but Yuldong Park.
(Why. On Saturday. Ugh.)
Ok, the park does (mostly) nothing wrong — it still looks the same as years ago, with the wide blue open sky and the lake that reflects it, the paved walking paths under the luscious and green canopy where people are walking. Some are couples holding hands, some walking with dogs, and kids running around without a care. It’s a welcome noise for sure, a far cry from living alone in your modest apartment where the loudest thing most nights was the hum of your refrigerator and your own thoughts.
The thing the park does wrong, however, is that stupid motherfucking bungee tower that stands there like an evil's lair.
Your stomach squeezes inwards more and more as Jimin parks. Unlike you, who roll off the chair like a slug, she hops out like she's arriving at Lotte Park.
"Stop being a pussy and come on!" Jimin laughs.
It's actually really nice and sunny, but you feel hyper fixated to the cold air that sting your nose, to the wind brushing against your ears, and the very audible creak when someone jumps that followed by the snaps and recoils of the elastic cord (you're probably just being a bitch, but it is that scary!)
"I am not being a pussy." Yep, totally. You're wearing long sleeves and trackpants.
"You definitely were back then." She reminds you now. "You were literally shaking."
"I did not."
"You were praying."
"I don't pray." "You did that day."
You glare at her.
She’s wearing fitted black leggings and a cropped athletic jacket today. Her hair tied high, and sunglasses resting on top of her head. She looks like she was born for this. A little reminder again for those at the back — you're wearing long sleeves and trackpants. Good to know that air resistance will (maybe) do its job.
She looks genuinely happy. “C’mon! Smile, dummy. It’s our hang out time!” Because you’re here.
Truthfully…you tell yourself you don’t deserve to smile.
Not right now.
You shouldn’t be here pretending everything is fine. Hell, you shouldn’t be fleeing back to Korea right now. You shouldn’t get to stand under a blue sky like nothing cracked inside you months ago, when you hand in your drop out forms.
But she keeps on tugging your sleeve with her wide grin. “Let’s go!” And you couldn’t help but momentarily forget the demons in your head.
Because you just found your impending doom, where the climb up stairs feels endless. Each metal step clangs under your weight. The higher you go, the louder the wind gets, the canopy becomes a blanket of green, and the lake shrinks beneath you. Only halfway up, and your palms are pooling with sweat. Holy shit, yeah, maybe this is your punishment.
"Ya, are you okay?"
See, that should've been your cue to belt out at her and demand to just go back down to the ground. You could admit that you don’t feel steady in more ways than one. But a part of you screams: Things in life have already gone wrong. What else can be worse than that?
"No, I'm fine. Let's…let’s just do it."
You're totally not fine when you finally reach the platform. The open air hits you fully. Nothing between you and the drop but a staff member, the railings and trust issues.
"Holy—" Jimin walks straight to the edge and leans over casually. "It's higher than I remember."
"Don't fucking lean, damn it."
"You still scared?" "Bitch, of course!"
You need a distraction, quick! Uh…ok, the I-beam is a good choice of material for a non-habitable structure like this tower. At least it won't fall over with adequate support. What else..oh, painting it blue is pretty nice — hopefully it was painted with fire-resistant and rust-resistant coating. And uhh…oh, the wind is a bit nicer now, with how it presses her jacket against her body, and the fitted fabric does absolutely nothing to minimise her well-endowed shape.
…ok, maybe too much distraction. "…You, of all people, should not jump."
"Eh? Why?" "It's inappropriate."
"Huh? How?"
"You're…" you gesture vaguely at her chest. "…overqualified for high-impact sports."
A crow caw from afar. And her eyebrows lift.
"Did living aboard make you a perv?" "No! I'm just— don't think that way, I'm being concerned about you."
She steps closer and slaps your back hard, and you nearly lurch forward toward the railing. "You could've said I have a nice body."
"Like I said, I am not a perv. And may I remind you that you are getting married soon?"
She was about to retort back when the staff called her to strap in. (Wait, did she just sigh?) And of course, like before, she gives no hesitation nor visible nerves (or none at all) as Jimin steps into the harness like her usual Monday.
You watched her from behind stepping towards the edge. Steady. Calm. And annoyingly fearless. (Don't cue the song.) The countdown starts: Three, two, one. And she jumps with a child's enthusiasm.
Your heart spikes violently when her body drops out of sight, and quickly rushes to the edge before you can stop yourself. The cord stretches, snapping tight. She rebounds upward, hair flying, laughing mid-air like gravity is optional, followed by a loud "WOOOOOOOOO!"
Of course she is fine. She's flushed and glowing when they pull her back up. "Gosh, that was so fucking fun."
She turns to you. "Your turn."
Oh boy.
Unlike the fearless Jimin, it takes all of your courage and self-chanting to step toward the harness. Your limbs feel strangely disconnected as the staff strap you in tight around your ankles, then waist. An extra pull to the strap just to be secure, and even the wedgie doesn't make your fear go away (well, it sort of does.)
At the corner of your eyes, Jimin has both her hands into fists and cheers for you. Her pout, at least, makes you forget about the situation for a bit. Finally gaining control of your breathing, you step toward the edge.
You look down.
Ah shit, it's all coming back now.
The lake looks distant. The blanket of green canopy looks even more like one colour of green like when the rendering is on 200p. And just like the slow ass render, you freeze on the spot.
You quickly snap out of it when Jimin cheers loudly. "YOU GOT THIS, YOU COWARD! THIS SHOULDN'T BE AS HARD AS YOUR PHD!"
You hate that your pride reacts before your fear. Nodding once, you just step off the platform. But was it really a cheer when she just called you a cow—
The world drops violently and, "HOLY SHIT IT'S GOING DOWN SO FAST, FUCK!!!! YOO JIMIN, YOU SON OF A BITCH!!!"
Your stomach lurches upward into your throat. The wind roars past your ears so loud it drowns everything else. And your hands clench instinctively to the safety strap. Your mouth goes wild with a mantra of cry for help.
(And you don’t realise it, but the demons haven’t gone back…yet..)
"OH SHIT! OH SHIT! OH FUCKIN' WHY IS IT SO TA— WHAT THE FU—"
Admittingly, it was funny when you think back, even more so when the cord catches and your body just jerks upward. If Jimin is fearless, you are just weightless. Like a fish getting pulled up to the boat when the staff haul you back up to the platform.
Ok, legs? Shaky, but still here. Arm? Still here. Head? A bit dazed but still here. Ok, sick. You're alive.
Jimin just cackles at the recording when you walk toward her. And instead of feeling annoyed, your heart beats erratically at hearing how full her laugh is. Well, you do, even if it feels temporary, and even if the demon of guilt slowly creeps back.
You hope the tower still stays up if you decide to come back.
-
From Wikipedia:
Yuldong Park had a bungee jumping tower that was 45 metres (148 ft) tall, but operations stopped around 2018, and it was taken down at the end of 2024.
-
Bold of you to assume she doesn't whack your face again the next day. This time at your belly.
You fold in half on instinct, air punching out of your lungs like she just drop-kicked you off a cliff. (Wait, don't give her that idea, she might do it.)
"You fucking piece of sh—"
"Language, Mr. Foreigner-ish." Jimin stands over you, one hand holding the pillow, the other holding the edge of the blanket she just ripped off your body. "Get up."
You groan and turn your face deeper into the couch cushion. And yes, it still ruins your neck even after she claims (multiple times) that it's "orthopedic". Well, she can find those orthopedic(k)-heads and whack them instead.
"What time is it…?"
"Time for some soul-cleansing."
"I didn't sin."
"And I'm not either, but here I am."
Fair.
You drag a hand over your face. It feels like a repeat of yesterday — room flooded with late-morning light, half-drawn curtains, pale streaks of lighting peeking through; something citrusy is in the air, she sprayed that damn mist again.
Oh, and she's already dressed. Long skirt, light blouse, her long hair tied back at the nape of her neck, minimal makeup, glossy lips.
"…Didn't you say you're taking days off? Sudden new clients you have to meet? I thought you said that the project is doing ok? Or going somewhere with your fiance? I need a break from your annoying ass right now."
"…it's Sunday church, you dunce."
"…No." "Yes."
"Why?" "My fiance is busy with work today, so I’m dragging you instead.”
"But I stopped." "Well, just go look at the architecture there or something."
"But I want to slee—" "And I'm leading Bible study today."
2 for 2, you jolted up again, this time from your couch. "You?"
"Yes."
"You? Leading?" "Yes." A little sweeter this time, she is.
"The fuck you do?" "Nothing?"
"Bro, that is worse."
-
After being in the practice since you started your Master's, you and Jimin have come to appreciate how cool the Bundang Church is.
You thought you would get sick of the theatre-like layout after 5 years of attending lectures back when you're still studying for your Bachelors, but you have to admit, it works. The space rises in tiers like an auditorium, and there is a central stage lit with fluorescent lights and a giant projectile screen at the back. The seating arcs gentling toward the stage, and it feels expansive, almost dramatic, but not cold. There’s something truly oddly homely about it.
Or maybe that’s just nostalgia playing tricks on you.
It's one of the largest Roman Catholic buildings on the Asian continent (Jimin boasted one time through a call), yet…it doesn't overwhelm you. It's a mix of modern and Gothic, so none of the stained glasses or intricated walls and columns, but just clean structural lines and brick walls—
Ah. So much for a break after that entire disaster of a life implosion.
"Dummy, we're not at a site visit." Jimin nudges your side.
"No, just wondering how tall the auditorium is." What a try hard."
Well, props to her for pointing out a cause why you're back here. "Anyway, where is the session?"
"On the stage. It's a small group anyway."
"Yeah, like you would present for a full house." "Hey! I am capable!"
Sure, sure. Back then, you two used to sit in the third row from the back (after sneaking away from the parents who sat near the front), whispering nonsense and timing how long Father would stretch the speech. You’d both pretend to bow your heads while actually passing notes. And she once bet you five thousand won that she could recite the whole Psalm section faster.
She lost.
Now she's walking to the stage like she owns it, and your curiosity rises through the roof. (The auditorium is 9m in height. Nice.) She looks like she has a great standing in the society, and honestly, good for her, truly. You’re really proud of what she has worked herself to be.
You? Pretty much fucked.
Your casual student assistant job for a tyrant shitshow of an architectural firm is going nowhere, you got no proper standing in life like Jimin does, everyday is just you chasing the bills living in a foreign country by yourself, every day chasing deadlines that don’t even carry your name on the credits. Sometimes (or all the time you two call each other) you do wonder if Jimin thrives in your predicament better than you.
(With her optimism? Most likely.)
"Anyway, please address me as Katarina while in session."
…sure. Whatever floats her boat. As long as she doesn’t start interrogating you in front of children. You thought she would have asked already. Yesterday, maybe. Or during lunch.
But she hasn’t.
That freaks you out more than anything ever.
She smooths down her sleeve, posture straightening slightly as she approaches down. There’s a confidence to her movements that didn’t exist when she was the mud-covered kid who dared you to eat dirt behind the convenience store. The main stage is already illuminated. A semicircle of chairs arranged for the kids, with a chair in the middle, presumedly for Jimin. The parents filter in with their children and exchange greetings. Huh, maybe Jimin has become a big shot here. Quite a crowd huh.
"Thank you so much for leading today, Miss Katarina." One mother gives gratitude.
"It's my pleasure, ma'am." Jimin replies with that polished smile. Shoulders back. Chin lifted. You almost applaud.
You have no intention of attending the session — you’re not twelve. And you haven’t really attended properly since you left Korea. So you linger near the aisle instead, which caught the eyes of a few parents.
"And you are…?"
"Hello." You lightly bow. "Her friend, visiting from abroad."
"Oh wow, exciting! What do you do?"
"Working for a firm."
"What field?"
"Architecture."
"Oh wow, just like Miss Katarina! You must've been making good money, right?"
“...you can say that, yes.”
“Oh! I remember you now. Miss Katarina speaks highly of you!”
“Wow, did she?”
The questions keep stacking, (Salary. Overseas life. How competitive is the field? Do you design skyscrapers? Did you get to have tea with the high class? Do you miss Korea?) and far out, it's starting to feel invasive. This shouldn't be how Jimin finds out you–
CLAP. "Ok! Ma’am, sir, I will take it from here. Thank you!"
You glance over at Jimin who is very jolly, but she's already looking in your direction as she announced, which gets the parents to finally tidy themselves up to leave. Huh, maybe Jimin has grown. There’s something annoyingly mature about her social awareness and her way of diffusing before things escalate.
Maybe you did underestimate her.
Maybe you did.
Her fiance must’ve seen this every Sunday, huh. Have to admit, you do feel quite envious of him then. (Or her, you don’t know who you truly envy.)
When the parents leave the space, the kids settle into their seats and exchange greetings, and it does remind you of times where you and Jimin sit together on the corner of the semicircle. Jimin sits on her central chair and guides them into the opening prayer.
Maybe you should pray. Mhm. Yeah, just once in a while.
What should you pray about? About your luck in a better job? Eh, you pray too much for that. About making new friends? Urm…hard to get any time for that when you keep getting overtime work. What about a lucky lotto ticket?...tempting.
Maybe just… pray for Jimin. For her upcoming marriage. For her happiness. It feels easier to wish good things for her than to ask for anything for yourself.
You lower your head.
She clears her throat, smiles. And immediately, you regret your generosity from five minutes ago.
"Yo."
You choke instantly. How the fuck none of the kids laugh at this? How long has she started praying like that? Is this what you call the Generation Gap?
“Dear Lord, thank You for bringing us here safely today…”
How the fuck she is so calm and composed?
“…and please grant patience,” she continues evenly, “especially for a certain idiot in this building who thinks I won’t see him laughing.”
You don't realise a wheeze escape from you before she points it out.
Well that is a jab, Yoo Jimin. Unbelievable.
(Maybe coming back to Korea is not so bad, after all.)
-
Today’s session: Sincerity and Guilt
The aim of our charge is love that issues from a pure heart and a good conscience and a sincere faith.
1 Timothy 1:5, New Testament, 378.
For my iniquities have gone over my head; like a heavy burden, they are too heavy for me.
Psalm 38:4, New Testament, 500.
-
You wake up to the hum of the engine and the faint vibration of tires rolling over the road. Wait, hold the fuck up — this is not Jimin's couch. Well, the stiffness when you wake up is still there, the scent of orange mist is still here (why the hell does she have this mist sprayer everywhere), and Yoo Jimin is here. Phew.
Well, you're in the passenger seat, and she's driving. Not phew.
Hair tied up in a low twin bun, sunglasses sit on her nose despite the sun barely being fully up. Just like before, one hand rests confidently on the steering wheel, while the other taps absentmindedly against it in rhythm with the music playing low from the speakers. Safe to say, she's more awake than you right now.
You squint at the windshield, and trees blur past you. "Where the fuck are we…"
She glances at you, and her lips fail to contain her amusement. "Good morning, sleepyhead."
"What time is it?" "It's…6."
"A.M?!" "Uhuh."
"Are you selling me off?"
"Hey, I tried to wake you up multiple times while I was packing. So this was the best next move."
"Hold up." At this point, she is skipping too many steps for you to even process. "Packing?"
She nods toward the back without taking her eyes off the road. “Camping gear.”
True to her words, there is a cooler wedged between two duffel bags. A folded tent. Fishing rods. A stack of blankets. A grocery bag filled with food. You can only stare at it speechlessly, and then back at her.
So much for having free will.
"Now," she starts quickly, already getting defensive. "Before you yell at me. Yes, you will do that, I know. I just want to maximise our time together! You have like 4 days left!"
…At least she has good intentions. Or you're just giving up arguing with her at this point — her plans sound more exciting than you just lounging around even more like a sloth. So you just sink back to the seat and close your eyes again. (And also pretending to not feel the growing excitement in your chest.)
A good little manageable nap later, you open your eyes to murmurs. And then at some point, you hear her voice clearer, soft and different.
“Yeah, we’re almost there. No, he’s still asleep— Ya, you should be taking my side! I did it with good intention!”
You blink. Who is she talking to?
“This blunt idiot will just lay down on the floor all day, and that is so boring, honey!”
“Jimin,” a voice from the other side says. “Babe, the more you describe it, the more I think it’s a kidnap.”
Oh…her fiance.
Eh, let’s just close your eyes a second longer. This conversation is pretty entertaining..well it was until: “No, it’s fine. I’ll make him carry the heavy stuff. Obviously.”
Her laugh sounds different than whenever she’s with you. Not brazen or a cackle. More…womanly. Still, it doesn't constitute the fact that she admits that you will be her porter. And far out, she notices immediately when you open your eyes. “Hey, you’re awake.”
“Of course I do, when I’m being subjected to carry all of that shit behind us.”
She lowers the volume slightly, then glances at you before speaking into the phone again. “He’s on the phone. Want to say hi?”
Your brain is definitely not ready for this.
She smacks your shoulder with her free hand while keeping the other hand on the wheel. “At least say hi. Don’t be rude.”
…She’s not wrong. “Ahem, uh…hey man, nice to meet you.”
There’s a brief, polite greeting from the other end. Friendly. Normal. Nothing threatening. Just a man you’ve never met but who apparently knows about you from your best friend. Words have been exchanged —weather, work (not telling him everything, of course), how much of a headache Jimin has been — that is a joke, and other random things.
“Nice to finally talk to you. Hopefully we get to have a can of beer together.” Oh right, and you both love Asahi Dry.
“Likewise man.” You chuckle. “Thank you for choosing Jimin.”
And it’s over.
She hangs up and smiles faintly. “See? That wasn’t hard.”
You turn back towards the windshield, and a while later, the Yuldong Park sign appears as the car passes through. She’s not dragging you back for another round of bungee jumping, right?
You turn toward her in suspicion, but before you can accuse her of attempted murder, she signals and turns into a newly paved entrance you don’t recognise.
"Why are we…" "You'll see."
Today you learn: there's a campsite now. Close to the lake, actually.
Wait, this is kinda cool, what the heck. They have large tensile shelter lining up on the gravel, neatly sectioned tent grounds clean vegetations along the road, and there's a fucking proper cabin for the toilet. Oh yeah, this is definitely not here when you left.
“This is new,” you mutter.
“Opened two years ago,” she says proudly. “I booked us a tent spot. You’re welcome.”
This is too much of a surprise for a morning. The lake greets you again with the glints under the morning sun. The air smells like wet grass and pine. Families are already setting up tents. A couple nearby struggles with poles while arguing in whispers. Everything feels so unfamiliar, and you had too many bad experiences with the unknown.
Honestly, you expected to feel guilty again for being here, and for even having a thought of enjoying this when you feel like you haven’t earned it. But Jimin looks elated, proud of this little surprise she concocted behind your back, and happy that you’re here to see it.
Maybe you can enjoy it…yeah, might as well. So you stretch when you step out of the car, spine cracking faintly. Fuck, that feels great.
"Ok, old man. Stop showing your age."
"Look at you." You point out her stretching pose. "Stop showing your age too, dummy."
She grins.
-
Camping with Jimin is exactly how you remember it back then: a fucking mess.
She insists on assembling the tent herself, but then pushes the work towards you anyway. Well, not all of it, you just unroll the fabric first and flatten it against the ground while Jimin fumbles with the poles.
"Did you check if everything's here, Jimin?" You yawn.
"Of course, duh. I'm the most meticulous girl ever."
One minute later, she's staring at two identical poles and probably forgot how they work. You can hear the mutters under her breath, rambling about what the fuck they do. You look over to find her flipping one pole around, then the other, then squinting at the instruction sheet like it owns her floor plans and a section. "Jimin, you're practicing architecture as your career, by the way. Top of your cohort, too."
"Reading floor plans are easier than reading Ikea instructions. Be patient, this kid."
“I fear for the lawsuits coming at you.” “Shhhh.”
You crawl over and brush her shoulder, reading the instruction while taking one of the poles from her hand. "Ok, make it stand. I will do the cross support."
The pieces snap together with eases like the sound of breaking spines. Jimin, reading the cue, slides the pole through the sleeve of the tent after you finish it. Together, you lift the structure upright. The frame arches slowly, fabric stretching tight as you secure it into the ground. Your hands get dirty pressing the stakes in. Jimin struggles with one stubborn corner as she plants the stake and then — instead of using her foot — leans her entire body weight on it.
"Ya, don't just lean your melons to it." "It's an accident!"
She pushes harder. The stake finally sinks in and she nearly falls forward. You catch her by the elbow automatically, because you have always been.
She freezes, which makes you freeze. "I get that you're very excited to be productive during our 7 days, but far out, don't overexert it."
Jimin straightens immediately and brushes grasses off her knees like nothing happened. "I had it…"
"I know, I'm just telling you."
When the tent finally stands properly — the fabric fully stretched out, poles standing proudly and strong, and stable enough that it won't collapse after one touch — you both step back to admire it. It's simple, a two person tent, yet you feel more accomplished than the multiple times you have attended the work sites.
And it feels smaller than you remember.
"Not bad." Jimin starts.
"Duh, I mostly built it." "Shaddup, I put equal contributions to it."
"No, you kept leaning on the pole and almost made it collapse multiple times." You nudge her shoulder.
"Are you calling me fat?" "Now you're just twisting my words as usual."
She kicks your ankle lightly. "You didn't even deny it, perv."
"Ok, I am not a perv, and I did not say anything about your chest." "When did I say anything about chest?"
The bantering doesn't stop until the tent collapses after a pigeon lands on it.
-
About an hour later, you two finally fish.
(Let's not think about how many times the tent collapsed because one of you “accidentally” nudged a pole mid-argument.)
You walk down toward the water where the dock is, with the rods balanced on your shoulders. The lake is still calm and barely rippling. The breeze carries that clean, damp scent of freshwater and pine. It cools the sweat at the back of your neck, softens the lingering irritation from assembling the tent for the third time. Jimin, from behind, carries the basket filled with a box of bait, and some drinks. She deserves to carry the heavier stuff with all the shenanigans she caused.
(Ok, you're not that mean. She just wants to flex her power. Her words, not yours.)
Jimin kneels first, and opens the bait box.
"You still remember how to fish?"
"Probably not." "Lovely, I can teach you again!"
"Yay. How fun." "Don't use that tone with me, mister."
You crouch beside her anyway, taking the hook between your fingers. The worm twists slightly as you thread it through. You did say you forgot, but your hands move like they never did. The motions are almost fluid, precise, steady — muscle memory sliding back into place without permission. Well, almost fluid, because your hand gets a bit sweaty with the laser-focused look from Jimin behind you.
"Jimin, you're scaring me."
"You said you forgot." She pouts.
"…maybe I am built different." "I think I got goosebumps hearing you saying slangs."
"Ok, rude."
She laughs, loudly and full. Hell, her shoulders shake a little after hearing a very corny joke — which makes your heart leap a mile again whenever she laughs. You just shove the rod towards her and sigh. "Here, now don't try to fall."
"I won't." She gets up and stretches (and with an unnecessary old man groan).
“You sound like that with him too?” you ask dryly.
“With my fiancé?” She grins. “Yes. He says I’m like a grandma.”
“He’s correct.”
“Jealous?”
“Of him? Never.” (You do.)
She walks to the edge of the dock, winding up too dramatically like there are multiple cameras around, she casts the bait.
It lands pathetically about 5 feet away.
"Lovely casting, Champion of the Lake." You clap slowly.
"Shush."
You cast yours — smoother, cleaner, and more streamlined. The line arcs perfectly into the water like the Harbour Bridge.
You can't stop the smirk on your face. "Should I teach you instead?"
"Show off, tsk." Jimin pouts. "Bet I catch one first."
"Loser cooks the fish." "And starts the fire."
The dock creaks softly. Leaves rustle. Somewhere in the distance, someone laughs. The water ripples gently around the floating bobbers. Jimin hums under her breath.
“You know,” she says suddenly, eyes still on the water, “I made him try fishing once.”
You glance sideways. “And?”
“He got bored after ten minutes. Said it was too quiet.”
You huff. “Weak.”
“I told him you could sit still for hours,” she continued lightly. “Back then, at least.”
Right, back then. “Well, tell him again that I still can.”
“You competitive ass.”
And it's back to childhood again, where Jimin doesn't have a wedding at the end of the trip, and where you don't have to figure out how to tell her. Just an over-the-top competition about basically nothing, where 90% of it is Jimin rambling about her time with her fiance and ways to make it “interesting”.
It's simple.
-
The day ends with you sitting on the camping chair and sipping on hot tea while watching Jimin trying her best with the "fish on a stick".
It was burned to fuck.
-
The next day, she decides that she refuses to accept defeat.
“You know what we haven’t done yet?” Jimin asks through a mouthful of toothpaste, words bubbling and distorted as she brushes aggressively…in public.
You’re beside her, equally half-dead, foam at the corner of your lips. “What?” you mumble, spitting and rinsing to the gravel. “Are we committing a crime now?”
"No, we're biking."
You freeze mid-wipe.
Your brain lags for a second before supplying the image: the rental bicycles lined up near the trail entrance yesterday. Rows of metal frames gleaming under the sun, and bright plastic helmets dangling off handlebars. The lake behind them looks deceptively calm and inviting.
It probably invites you to a comedy show with you and Jimin.
"You remember back then?"
"That was years ago," she spits out. "I have more practice now."
"You ram straight to the bush."
"It's not going to happen this time," She rinses her mouth again and glares at you. “Trust.”
You don’t.
Yet somehow, fifteen minutes later, you’re fastening a helmet strap under your chin like this was always the plan. Many times you have wondered at some point in life that it was a mistake to sign a lifetime contract as Yoo Jimin’s babysitter.
The trail curves along the lake, paved smooth and wide. Morning sun filters through the trees, scattering light across the trail. Families ride past casually. An elderly couple pedals in steady paces.
Now, let's see how you both fare when it comes to biking.
You? Mount the bike easily, and push off in one fluid motion.
Jimin? Nah. Well… at least she lasts 10 more seconds before the handlebar wobbles.
“Why is it moving like this?!” she yells.
“Because you are.” “I am stable!”
She is aggressively not stable.
You circle back, riding slowly beside her now. One hand hovering near the back of her seat without actually touching it just in case. “For someone who flexes about Pilates,” you comment, “your core is suspiciously dogshit.”
"Shut up, Mr. One Try."
And just like the old video on your phone, the first few attempts sucks (First one, which is the current one: Wobble. Second one, Wobble. Third one—yeah, you know how this goes.)
By the tenth time, she's actually doing it. Her legs pedalling a bit more stable than before, her shoulders tense but very determined, and the handlebar less wobbly. You just walk behind her now and push your own bike with one hand, the other still hovering near her seat. And for a moment, it was perfect. She looked confident, focused, and you're very proud of how far she has gone since back then.
And then you finally remembered what happened after the old video cut off.
A pigeon. Yep. A fucking pigeon.
Shot across the path, wings flapping violently, aiming straight for her face like it is fully locked in to its target.
Karina’s scream was instant, ear-splitting. “NOOOO—!”
She swerved wildly. You lunged, but oops! Too late! She toppled straight into you, and both of you crashed onto the grass in a messy heap. The bike clattered to the side, rolling away like it wanted no part of this mess.
You groaned, blinking up at the sky, only to find Karina sprawled across your chest. Her helmet knocked slightly askew, strands of hair falling into her flushed face. Her hands had fisted in your shirt on instinct, and her wide eyes were still darting around like the pigeon might swoop back for round two.
“…Are you okay?” you asked, trying very hard not to notice how close her lips were to yours (and also clenching your ass to not just laugh at her).
Her grip tightened. “I hate birds.”
Yeah, you can’t stop smiling at her. "I genuinely forgot that the great Yoo Jimin is scared of government drones."
“Shut up,” she muttered, smacking your chest lightly.
But she didn’t move.
And that was the problem. Because lying there with her weight pressing down on you, warmth seeping through your clothes, and her lashes brushing her cheeks as she blinked at you—it was too much. Way too much. She has someone waiting for her at the altar damn it, get yourself together.
You had laughed alone in your airplane seat, without knowing déjà vu works like this…except this time she's older, and so are you.
"Jimin, get up, you're crushing me."
She still doesn't get up immediately — her eyes meet yours, and there's something you can't exactly point out in her gaze, but it feels…serious.
A cyclist passes by and coughs awkwardly, which makes Jimin scramble off you so fast she almost trips again.
"Don't say anything." "Oh, I won’t."
"I will tell everyone you screamed like a bitch." "Right, I wonder who screamed again."
You sit up, rubbing the back of your head, watching her inspect the bike. At this point, Jimin will still be bad at this in the unforeseen future, and of course if you come back again, you will still be the idiot jogging behind her with your hand hovering, ready to catch her.
Look, she's pedalling aga— Ah, fucking hell, she's wobbling again. "YA, JIMIN, DON'T RUN OFF ON YOUR OWN!"
“STOP YELLING, YOU’RE DISTRACTING ME—” and she almost runs towards the lake.
-
The sun dips low behind the trees by the time you two drag yourselves back to the campsite. Your legs feel like someone replaced the bones with wet cement. Between having to chaperone Jimin who kept biking off the paths and throwing yourself off the bungee jumping tower again with her insistence (less terrifying this time, which is both impressive and concerning), your body screams to give it a break.
You collapse onto the foldable camping chair, and it is far more comfier than her couch.
“Don’t sit yet,” she says, already crouching by the fire pit with alarming enthusiasm. “Help me with the wood.”
“I deserve a break.”
“You're going to make a pretty woman do the work?”
You stare at her. “Yes.”
"You are so mean."
"Boo hoo, cry me a river, Jimin."
She ignores you and crouches by the fire pit, arranging the wood with far too much confidence for a girl who nearly crashed into a tree. You just poke at the kindling with a wooden stick that is luckily long enough for you to not get up. The campsite hums softly around you — distant giggles from another tent, the faint clinks of cookware, the crickets warming up, and the whooshing of the gentle wind from behind. The lake reflects the last streaks of oranges in the sky.
Down here, the fire glows a bright orange, and you both fall quiet. It's the first real quiet of the whole time you're with Jimin.
Just the sound of burning wood.
Jimin sits cross-legged, chin resting on her knee. Firelight paints her face in warm gold, shadows dancing along her cheekbones. Her helmet flattened her hair earlier; now it’s messy in a way that makes her look younger. (Or maybe that's just the memory creeping in now.)
She looks tired, but her smile lingers.
"This whole trip was really fun." she starts.
You watch a spark drift upward. “Mhm.” Understatement of the year.
"You, somehow, are still better at almost everything even though you said you don't remember."
You shrug, leaning back on your palms. “Maybe it’s genetic.”
She scoffs. “Boooo.”
Silence folds over you again, thicker this time. The fire pops. You focus on it because looking at her too long feels dangerous tonight. After everything — the biking, the falling, the way she laughed when you both nearly rolled down the grass, not to mention all the past few days spending your time with her — something underneath it all feels… you can't really describe it, but it's surely not the groans and complaints like you did back on the plane.
“Oh.” She reaches for her phone. “I should finally show you my fiancé’s face.”
Your heart palpitates more than you should. "O-oh, sure. Gotta see my fellow Asahi Dry fanatic."
She scrolls through her gallery, thumb hesitating for half a second before stopping. Then she turns the screen toward you. "That's my fiancé."
In the photo, they’re seated at what looks like a brunch café. Sunlight pours through wide windows. He’s leaning slightly forward, smiling. Not too wide, not cocky. Just… steady. His hand is comfortably wrapped around hers across the table.
You sigh out of relief, yet your feet keep shuffling.
"Good look, chill, subtly alcoholic like me." You hand her phone back. "Solid pick, Yoo Jimin."
"Solid?"
“What? You want ‘reinforced concrete’?”
She snorts. “You’re so annoying.” But she's smiling faintly.
You lean back on your palms, staring into the fire.
“He treats you well?” “Yeah.”
“Patient?” “Mhm.”
“Rich?”
She slaps your thigh. "Shut up, you prick."
You chuckle. "Ok, then good job. You picked well."
The words taste strange in your mouth. And you feel like she can tell the bitterness of your tone with how she doesn't respond right away, just staring at the flames instead.
After a moment, she speaks again. “He’s… steady.”
You glance at her. “Sounds like he does.” Hafta admitted that.
“He doesn’t panic,” she continues quietly. “Even when things get messy. He just thinks it through. Take responsibility. Don't run.”
Ok, that’s a good man, yes.
“He’s blunt sometimes,” she adds, a faint smile forming. “But not in a bad way. Just… straightforward. And when he decides to do something, he works like crazy until it’s done. Even if it kills him.”
What the heck, please take care of your hea— wait. That’s… familiar.
“He remembers small things,” she continues. “Like what I order. Or when I’m pretending I’m not upset. And he gets annoyed when I skip meals.”
…Hey, you used to do that back during exam periods.
“He’s also not the loud type,” she says. “But when he laughs, it’s real. And when he’s scared, he still jumps anyway.”
She keeps talking, unaware — or maybe even aware. “He doesn’t show off, but he always tries to carry the heavier stuff. And when he leaves, he always promises to update me about his whereabouts to not make me worry.”
Looking at her feels like you’re going to burn instead of looking at the fire pops. This is too ridiculous — coincidences happen. There are thousands of men like that in the world, yeah? Don’t get too full of yourself.
“Well, I don’t see red flags.” Your chuckle is so awkward.
She takes a whole breath. "I thought it would feel clearer."
You refuse to look at her. "What do you mean?"
“Like I’d only see him. Only think about him. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right?”
Right...this doesn’t sound good.
“But it’s not like that.” She laughs softly, but it doesn’t sound amused. “Every time I look at him, there’s… something in the way.”
"…having second thoughts?"
"No." She answers it too quickly. "…ok, maybe."
"Jimin, that is not good."
"No, I do love him a lot. I really do. It's just that every time I look at him, there's something in the way."
Your eyebrows furrow as you look at her, but your inside is on high alert. "In…the way?"
She turns toward you fully. "It's you."
The campsite noise feels farther away now.
“I can’t look at him properly,” she admits. “Not fully. Because part of me keeps wondering what you’re doing. What you’re thinking. Why are you here? I was genuinely confused when your parents told me you're back here. I-I mean, I’m happy that I can see you in person, of course, but why?"
You force a small scoff. “Vacation. Obviously. You’re reading too much into it.”
“No,” she says quietly. “You’re the one that is obvious.”
Your stomach drops slightly. “How so?”
“You always tell me what you’re doing. Even when you don’t want to.” Her voice is calm but steady. “But you didn’t. Not for months. Then suddenly you’re here.”
Damn it. You thought you were smooth. “I just don’t want to talk about work.”
“I know.” Her eyes don’t leave you. “But you are trying to hide it away from me.”
“Jimin,” you say, voice firmer now, “can we not?”
“No.”
“Yoo Jimin.”
She doesn’t flinch.
“Why are you really here?”
-
It was not a pleasant drive back the next day.
-
The moment you step back to her apartment, you know you have to tell her eventually, even though you have been dreading this moment since the plane took off.
After the dream, the reality follows.
You drop your bag by the entrance. It lands with a dull thud against the wooden floor. Jimin follows behind you, dragging the camping equipment in. Your body aches from five days of being outside and pretending you're still eighteen — biking, camping, falling, laughing, bungee jumping, just living life, really. But your body doesn’t get to feel any of that. Because anxiety is overwhelming you.
Jimin moves around the apartment quietly — unpacking, wiping down the cooler, hanging the key. But she doesn’t look at you.
It's fine, you tell yourself. The moment she asks, you tell yourself you will let her know, and she'll understand. Of course she will, it's your best friend.
It’s Yoo Jimin.
The dork who used to put extra candies in your pockets during exam weeks. The girl who sat beside you at cram school until 10 p.m., both of you half-dead over mock exams, then walked home under flickering streetlights. The girl who understands that when you say something blunt, it’s because you don’t know how to say it gently.
You basically live with her throughout your life. She'll get it…she has too.
(Hopefully.)
"Sit down." She says without turning around. "Have some tea."
"Ok."
She sets two mugs down on the table. Steam curls upward between you like a fragile truce. She sits next to you. Too close.
"Why…why did you really come back?"
The question hits harder than you expect. You thought you were ready. You really do. But you weren’t. And you hate how you keep trying to deflect it. “We’re doing this again?”
“Yes.”
“Jimin.”
“Don’t ‘Jimin’ me.”
You rub your face with both hands. “You’re being nosy.”
She laughs once. “Nosy? You flew back in the middle of March. Not summer. Not winter break. March. You never come back in March.”
"Impulsive decision, really."
"You're the last person to make decisions on impulse." She studies your place. "…something happened, didn't it?"
Your heart pounds once. Hard. Okay, this is it. Just say it. She’ll understand. She will understand. She will…understand…Please understand.
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. "I…um, left."
"Left what?" "The program."
The silence is suffocating. Her expression is not helping in clearing the tension at all - it just freezes, like her brain is buffering.
“You… what?”
“I left,” you repeat. “The PhD.”
Her fingers tighten around her mug.
“You mean… you’re on leave?” “No.”
“You’re transferring?” “No.”
“Then what does ‘left’ mean?”
Your throat feels dry. “It means I dropped out.”
The words feel smaller in the room than they did in your head. You wait, bracing yourself for the version of her you expect — the soft one, the worried one. The one who’ll reach for your hand and ask if you’re okay. Just like back then when you two stayed up revising calculus and she’d nudge your shoulder when you looked too tired, right?
Right?
"Why."
That…sounds more like an accusation than anything.
You blink. “It wasn’t…working out.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I–I…” Your chest feels like it's compressing. "I was…burnt out." You begin. “My advisor changed. My project stalled. Funding got complicated. And I was swamped with working and juggling with this program. I—”
“So you quit?”
The sharpness in her tone makes you flinch. It's a far cry from your image of Jimin.
"Jimin, I didn't want to just wake up and quit," you say carefully. "It accumulated and I got burnt out, you have to understand."
"You? Burnt out? We went through CSAT exams, come on. You’re tougher than this!" That disbelieving laugh of hers makes your stomach twist.
"Even steel bends and snaps under intense pressure!"
"You're the most stubborn person I know even when under pressure." "I’m allowed to feel overwhelmed, Jimin."
"You don't give up just like this." "Apparently, I do."
"You got a full scholarship!" Her voice rises as she stands up abruptly, like what coming out of your mouth is blasphemous. “A. Full. Scholarship! You moved overseas. You get PAID to be overseas. You had such a golden opportunity that everyone in our school couldn't stop talking about. You were doing what we talked about since we were seventeen!”
…you don't know how to feel about that outburst.
“You think I don’t know that?” you shoot back, defensive now. “You think I don’t replay that in my head every night?”
“Well, you should know that you sounds entitled as fuck right now, yeah? Then why would you throw it away?”
Ah, now you know how to feel: anger.
“I didn’t throw it away!” you snap. “It was fucking hard!”
“You didn’t try hard enough, then.”
All your efforts just got ripped in front of you. The demons finally come in full swing and douse you with the worst situation right now. "I didn't try hard enough?"
“You had everything lined up,” she continues. “You were ahead. You were building something.”
"Jimin, I was drowning in everything."
"You should've told me!"
"I don't want to make you worry!"
"Oh, so you just shut the fuck up and don't tell me?" She slams her hand to the counter. "You barely send me updates the past few months. Left me on read. And then you show up here like it's some motherfucking trip back to childhood?!"
How do you even respond to that? Well, you don’t— she just keeps on going.
“You have the past 5 days to tell me. 5 FUCKING DAYS, COME ON.” She aggressively scratches her head. “You could’ve told me the moment you landed. You could’ve told me when we went bungee jumping. You could’ve told me after church. Fucking heck, you could’ve told me during camping!”
“I just don’t know the right words to—”
“You’re just fucking running away! You telling me at the last minute RIGHT NOW is the damn proof!”
You don't realise your tears have been falling for a while now. You thought she would say: Are you okay? But instead it's: Why did you ruin it?
“If I knew you were going to do this,” she spits out, “I should’ve tried harder for that scholarship.”
“Excuse me?” Your head jerks up. “Are you serious right now?”
“You think I didn’t want it?” she fires back. “You think I didn’t want to study architecture abroad too? I worked just as hard as you.”
You know she does. So much. “You were the one who got chosen,” she says, her voice trembling. “So I told myself that’s fine. I’ll be happy for you. You’ll go. I’ll stay. I’ll build my life here, and let you know that I'm fine, that I can stand up after the loss of my dream."
She looks at you directly. "I fucking lived through you, wishing that it was me."
The confession makes your stomach twist.
“Every update you sent — your studio projects, your professors, your exhibitions that you helped, all the contributions for your firm — I was so damn proud of you,” she continues. “I bragged about you. I told people you were brilliant. I was seriously your biggest supporter when people shit talk about you.”
Your throat burns.
"I fucking loved that about you," her voice becomes more ragged. “Your focus. Your drive. How you're standing up to yourself. Even when you were blunt and impossible.”
Loved. Past tense.
“And now you’re telling me you just… gave up?”
Something inside you cracks. “Are you stubborn? I didn’t give up!” you shout. “I was exhausted! I was alone there! Do you know what that’s like?!”
“And I wasn’t alone here?” she fires back.
“Hell the fuck no?! At least you had people! Your family, my family, your friends, our friends!” you argue. “I had no one over there. I had to learn English by myself. I had to adapt to a new culture. I had to get used to new neighbourhood. I couldn’t eat my childhood food on days I crave them. Everyone is smarter and more competitive than me. The professors didn't give a shit if I got no sleep before critic days.”
"Again, you could've told me!"
"And again, I don't want you to see me failing!"
"It's far better than you crawling back like a bitch right now!"
“A BITCH?” your bare feeling spills out. “I missed sleep. I missed hang outs. I worked like a fucking dog. I studied like a fucking madman. I fucking clean the garbage room of the kitchen to get minimum wage. I had panic attacks in studio bathrooms. I lived with eating only one meal at a time. I cry in the corner of the train and feel so fucking embarrassed when stranger asked if I need help!”
She freezes slightly, but she doesn’t soften.
“And you still walked away. You think I don't have it tough? It's just life!”
"You can't just say that…" You wipe your tears. "Even I can break down under intense expectations too!"
“So you drop everything? Just like that?”
“Have you not paying att— It wasn’t ‘just like that.’”
“It looks like that to me!”
Silence crashes down, and then she says it. “I was wondering the whole week if I should introduce you to him in person. But I guess I don’t have to.”
“What?” “My fiance.”
“Why don't you have to?” “I’m too ashamed to.”
The word stuns you. “...Ashamed?”
“Yes. Ashamed to put you in the same room.” “Why the hell would you be ashamed?”
“Because he’s—” She stops. Swallows. “Because he’s everything you’re supposed to be.”
The air sucks out of you. “Are you fucking serious?”
“I’m being serious.”
“Wow, so you married him because he’s successful,”
“That’s not—don’t twist my words.”
“You married him because he’s stable, didn’t break, and didn’t disappoint you.”
“Stop.”
“Because he’s me,” you continue, laughing in disbelief, “just more successful. Wow, how shallow, Yoo Jimin.”
“Shut it!”
“You couldn’t have me becoming a failure, right? You fucking show off. I should’ve known that habit hasn’t died out yet.” you push. “You need to keep your face in society, so you found a replacement.”
Her face drains of color. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” you laugh bitterly. “You said it yourself. You lived through me. And when I fell short of your dream, you needed someone else to project it onto.”
“That’s fucking disgusting.”
“Good that you fucking realise it! Then stop living your life through me!” you shout. “Stop tying your happiness to what I achieve. Stop measuring your own worth against mine!”
The silence is pregnant.
“You don’t get to decide what my marriage is,” she says, trembling.
“And YOU don’t get to decide what my breaking point is.”
She looks at you like she doesn’t recognize you. “I miss the 5 minutes when I don’t know how you’re...like this.”
What…’like this?’ “You’re embarrassed of me, huh.”
She doesn’t deny it, nor try to hide it either.
“You built your life here,” you continue, voice hollow. “Good. I’m proud of you. But stop treating me like a trophy.”
“Oh I'm sure I will. Maybe now I can finally focus on getting married,” she says quietly, “knowing you’re not who I thought you were.”
“How could you…” That hurts. That hurts more than anything else she's said.
You stare at her dead straight. You scream for comfort, you scream for understanding. It's the only reason why you fly back to Korea — knowing that Jimin, of all people, will be empathetic to your struggles living alone. The first lesson of being an architect is to be empathetic right?
Instead, you feel judged and small, and the world around you feels so..shallow.
"You know what, just— get out."
You blink. “Jimin—”
“Get out.” She’s shaking now. “I can’t look at you right now.”
“Are y—” You stand there for a second longer than you should. Waiting. For her to take it back. For her to soften.
She doesn’t. And suddenly you don’t know what is familiar to you anymore.
“Fine.”
What else can you say, or do really, except just grab your clothes from the coffee table? Hastily shove them into your luggage without folding. Your hands shake. Your pride feels like shattered glass in your chest. You don't look at her again, and shut the door behind you.
If even your best friend sees you like this, who else is there…?
-
The bungee jumping tower stopped operating around a year later.
