A/N: I have been BFH'd by Karina's thighs. Thigh Fueled Haze, or something of that similarity. Because of this, I've accidentally made a Karina fic for her birthday, so uh.
Happy Karina Day in advance!
Fanprose link here.
Enjoy.
“You're gonna get the both of us in trouble.”
“Oh please, me, getting you in trouble?”
The thing about Yu Jimin is that—
One, she's a walking trouble magnet. To expand on that note, it’s in her job description to be.
Two, nobody knows that she is the trouble.
Three, she is positively enamored with you for reasons you yourself are not privy to. One can say that it simply happened, and everyone—and you mean everyone—believes that as if it was fact. Which, in your case, may or may not be true as to reiterate, you have zero clue on why she’s head over heels for you.
(Three point five, you might feel the same to a much lesser degree. This is to be discussed and possibly integrated with reason Three alongside a revision upon review.)
Four, as much as everyone is in complete love with her bubbly, cheery personality that pairs up too well with her perfect pretty face and her two very much trouble attracting forces in her chest, nobody—and you mean nobody—is talking about the pillows that you call her thighs. Nobody except for you.
(Four point five, her lap makes for a very nice place to rest your head on.)
Five, you toss both One and Two out of the window and look back at how Three happened. Mostly because of what the people around her say.
If Yu Jimin said to do it, then you do it.
And when you first heard that, you had to ask:
Why?
Because of Six—she's the President of the Student Council.
And that makes it the perfect cover for everything she wants to do with little old you.
That returns you to Four, where Jimin's back is pressed up against your chest, her hands are over yours—hands that are currently toying with the buttons of her shirt as Jimin oh so kindly asked—and her ass is most definitely not grinding against your painfully hard erection.
“Yes, you–” you hiss out, glancing to your side, eyes trying to focus on that small metallic doorknob that you can't tell is locked or not. “We shouldn't be doing this here, Jimin.”
“You said that the last time,” she pouts, and for a moment, you understand how One and Two have come to fruition. Years of psuedo-politics through the many responsibilities of being in the Student Council has honed her in the verse of bullshitting. Talking with so many people, students and professors alike have given her the uncanny ability of allowing reason Five to come into fruition.
And she's a natural at it. Seen it first hand. Knows how to talk her way into anything, strong arming certain people if she has to (Giselle coming to mind, the slut that she is), and has connections that you're afraid of who it's with and how deep it goes.
Yet, you have no choice in the matter. She's pulling you towards all of it—the talks, the people, the networking.
Simply because you are hers.
Her very own Vice President of the Student Council. Which, again, was technically not of your own true volition. Just because you brought up that you might try for the VP spot did not mean you were actually going to run for it, but she’s practically closed her ears and made you her running mate, leading you to win it all.
And normally, typically, in most cases, you would be ecstatic at the fact that you'll be directly working underneath Yu Jimin. Great leader, you’ll admit, even back when you were just some Council guy, and she was in your position. And yet, reason Three means that you get special privileges. Ones that you at your best, halfhearted push back on and at worst, wholeheartedly lean into.
It also means that your job ultimately gets a lot harder when you’re with Jimin for half the day, everyday that it is a weekday.
(You spend the whole day with her on weekends.)
Which brings you back here. Back against the wall, Jimin’s back against you, looking up with that sulking look.
“–didn’t even get to do it on the rooftop earlier.” And that is why you consider reason Two to be of note.
You lick your lips. “Jimin, please,” you sigh, trying horribly at ignoring the slow, teasing circles that her hips are doing, tingles going up and down your body. “We would’ve gotten caught.”
“No, we wouldn’t,” she replies, cockily. A teasing grin on her face as she scrunches her eyes at you. “I had Miggy clear out the top floor because I said we’d be using it for Council purposes.”
“Isn’t that a little abuse of power,” you say, repressing a groan at a particular thrust of her ass straight into your poor, poor cock. “And Miggy might even snitch.”
“He won’t,” she giggles, shaking her head at you. Her fingers dig into her chest, right over yours. Letting you get a nice, good handful of her tits, and even through clothing and lace, they feel fantastic. “I promised him a date with Chaeryeong. Stop worrying so much, honey–” She’s pulling your hand down, past her chest, through her waist, down to that skirt that is surely short enough to get an ordinary student in trouble. “Don’t you wanna play with me?”
God, the way she’s weaponized words even here is making you lose it. A constant tug of war between you two; every pull she makes accumulates until you fall down into her arms, surrendering yourself to her every whim.
“Seriously, we need to talk about this week’s reports–” She brings your hand underneath her skirt. “Are you not wearing any panties?”
“Oops.” She doesn’t sound, look, or act so apologetic when she’s leaning your fingers further into her legs, pressing them up against her wet folds. “Silly me, I must’ve left on the rooftop.”
“Oh my god.” On one hand, you’re dreading what would happen if someone found it. On the other, your dick is twitching at the sheer idea that she’s been listening in class, leading meetings, greeting everyone she comes across with a bright smile all while she’s bare underneath that skirt.
A skirt that in one gust of wind, would expose her dripping cunt to anyone in the vicinity.
This woman is fucking crazy, your mind thinks. Scratch that, this woman is starved. Ever since the school year started she’s been doing all these little rendezvous with you all over the campus. Started off with the quick make outs after the day ends, moving into hands getting grabby, every single day inching you both closer to the inevitable and now this?
Jimin’s calling out your name as you feel your fingers get wet, and god; the damnation that would come if you ever decide to push even a single digit inside her would cause repercussions that’ll shake your entire being. This is your first time ever coming close to her core, to pushing past the boundaries of foreplay, and you’re crumbling against the pressure that comes barreling forth, logical reasoning losing all meaning in favor of all the emotional damage you’re being dealt with.
And fuck, would you take it. Being blessed or cursed to feed this succubus, hidden underneath the angelic persona she’s known by everyone as. Committing sin upon Jimin, making her sing heaven on earth and you swear upon everything—
Not even God can stop you from turning it into reality.
“Now now, we can multitask,” she says, leaving your hands alone. Coming to fiddle the button of your pants, fumbling around it as you enjoy learning more of her tits, her pussy. “Tell me all about it while you–” She finally unbuttons it, and your fly quickly zips down, a palm cupping your cock over your underwear.
The moment makes your body lock up, the soft caress of her touch making you sigh out of sheer relief after the tightness of your pants have been removed. “God, you feel so big.” She’s mapping you out, teasing you with light strokes over the fabric blocking the both of you, wanting to feel as much as she can.
Memorializing the very first time she touches your cock, because once she’s pulled the last barrier between you down, neither of you will ever stop.
She’s gone quiet on you now, stuck in an internal debate with herself, before you get asked the most unhinged order you’ve ever heard come out her lips.
“Fuck my thighs while you tell me about those reports, honey.”
Reason Five comes to mind, and you’re too happy to oblige.
Jimin hooks her thumbs over your underwear while yours have come to pull her skirt up, those long legs of hers that pair up with the meaty flesh you call her thighs peeking out from underneath. She’s biting her bottom lip, pulling them down to free your cock and she gasps as it slaps against her skirt, hitting her skin. “Oh my god–”
You’ve pulled her closer, gripping her hips as she stumbles back, your length disappearing in between pillowy heaven, your dick literally getting wet at her juices that have started dripping down her thighs. “How are you this wet, Jimin, what–”
“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” she admits, her hips starting to move back and forth, cock slipping in and out between the soft flesh. “I told you, didn’t I? Since the rooftop.”
You’re gritting your teeth, a groan possessing your throat, letting itself loose straight into her ears. Her response is a sultry giggle, never once changing her pace, the slow rocking of her hips as her fingers start to remove the tie around her neck.
“Those reports, honey?” she sweetly reminds, as if nothing lewd is happening. Like it was another end of the week for her, your usual routine being bastardized with this affair. “Didn’t you want to let me know all about them?”
“Fuck–” Your mind is imploding, each neuron activating in that degenerate-warped frontal lobe of yours. Reports all in the back of the current machinations inside your smoothing brain, the sensation, the idealogy of Jimin’s God-blessed thighs fucking your cock consuming you entirely.
All you can do is breathe—deep, quick, through your nose, your mouth; you can’t tell anymore. Jimin is fucking you stupid, not with her pretty mouth, not with her more-than-a-handful pair of tits, not with that tight, dripping pussy that you have yet to feel or taste. No, she has you by the balls just with those juicy fucking thighs; of which she is taking full advantage of with a maddeningly slow rock of her hips.
“Oh, is my honey ok?” She’s caressing your cheek, her back arching, her legs tightening around your cock. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No.” It comes out rough, hoarse, your throat feeling like it hasn’t had the chance to have a drop of water in hours. Your hands give her body a squeeze, an attempt to stabilize yourself back to reality, back to remembering what life was like before this has even happened.
An impossible task, yet you manage to wring yourself back to a barely functional intellect. “There’s–” You take a deep breath, steadying your thoughts; another unfeasible idea, yet you power through it. “Which one do you want first?”
Jimin pauses, flinging the tie in her hand away to her desk. “Let’s start with that new guy we picked up.” She wiggles her ass at you, your cock slipping upwards and pressing up against her pussy lips. One simple push and you would be in that cunt that’s coating you in another sheen of her juices, yet that’s not what she’s after.
What she is after, is to find out what it would feel fucking her folds while you struggle to let eligible words out of your mouth. Yet it doesn’t matter, her goal ultimately to lube you up even more before she’s taking a hold of your cock, giving you a few pumps as she lets you back to her thighs.
Not a moment’s rest is given, not a reprieve lasting a millisecond bestowed; only the rising need in the both of you to keep this shameless vice on for longer, seeing how far this can be pushed until either of you crack under the pressure.
“He’s doing good,” you say, slowly, enunciating every syllable you can. Clinging on to them as a way to ground yourself onto something that wasn’t her pillows fucking your shaft. “Yeji pi-picked him up for that freshmen party–” you groan as she takes hold of your arms to bring them up to the top of her button up, your fingers shakily beginning to unbutton each stud. Thankful that it’s another thing to focus on aside from her insistent fucking. “But he might be attracting a problem.”
Jimin chuckles, swaying her hips at you, your cock following as her shirt slowly begins to loosen. “Let me guess,” she says, palms moving up and down your forearm as you reach the mid way point of her shirt. “Giselle?”
“Y-Yeah,” you answer, reaching the very last button. Exposing the white lace hiding underneath, her tits managing to look bigger than they already are in them. Given a top down view of that cleavage that’s mouthwatering, enough to send you back to a brain without wrinkles. “I can–fuck, Jimin–”
She’s brought you back to her chest, shirt all messy and open. Doesn’t even bother to untuck them from her skirt, only asking you–no, demanding that you play with her tits, feeling so soft and heavy under your palms as the lace digs into her chest as you squeeze.
You’ve felt her breasts before—on the few occasions that you get to cup a feel of them. The common occurrence of her chest brushing along your arm when you pass by each other. Yet this is the time that you get to see them so up close, outside of the prim and proper look she maintains. Get to cup them in your arms, see the flesh jiggle and bounce at each thrust of her hips she sends back.
Lots of firsts today, you realize.
“You can what?” And she’s still playing innocent facade, the guise slowly losing its composure as you grope her chest, your hips beginning to buck forward in rhythm with hers.
“Can–” you gasp, toying with the underband of her bra, resisting the urge to pull them up and free her breasts. “Can keep an eye on him.”
She moans, arm coming around the back of your neck as her head lolls back, resting in your chest. Only a single word gets uttered out of her lips, and there are so many interpretations to it that any single one you take would bring you to your end.
“Please.”
Allowing yourself the decency to go animalistic, you wrap an arm around her waist, plant your legs firmer on the ground, and start pounding her thighs. Finally letting yourself go, forgetting everything about your reports and work—fixating only on Jimin.
And she’s relinquished control to you, looking up at you with her mouth wide open, symphonies and concertos of beautiful, poetic, perverse sounds. Pleading eyes staring deep into yours as you fuck her thighs harder, knead her tits rougher, yes yes yes, honey please fuck–
Lips meet, and it was an addiction fueled, your need satiating itself with her soft lips that lock together with yours. Tongues melding together in a dance as her moans and your groans echo inside the chamber that were your mouths.
You never once stop your pounding, leaving her chest to reach under her skirt, finding Jimin’s neglected cunt. Leaving her lips in exchange for peppering kisses all over her neck, you rub her folds, fingers circling around them and she’s wailing.
That door better be locked or else this would not end up well for the both of you, and in spite of the danger you can’t find it in yourself to stop this. Already too far gone to even pause for a moment to rest, to have a clear mind. Opting instead to finish what Yu Jimin started, to dirty that pure image she’s built for everyone, because to you, she is anything but.
“Honey, hun–” Jimin’s babbling now, body trembling from the pleasure you’ve assaulted her with. Every bit of her body is being hit—a mark left on her neck, your wrapped arm around her waist coming upwards, holding onto a breast while your other is circling her clit, gushing even more juices down her legs, getting even more friction to fuck her thighs faster.
And you can’t last any longer. Rutting into her without a care in the world, driving into her harder and harder until you feel that stirring in your loins.
“I’m close,” you mutter into her neck, tongue lapping at the mark you’ve left. Her eyes find yours, and you can see the need that’s reflecting in her irises, your own desires matching it.
“Me too.” It only makes you slam into her harder, the slaps of your flesh consuming the room. Your fingers dare itself to go forward, a lone digit pushing into her folds, inching itself inside her cunt and she peaks.
Jimin keening, back arching as her legs begin to tremble, juices squirting out of her pussy as you pull out of her folds and keep her upright. Your hips still fucking her throughout it, all the more cum that’s substituted as lube slipping your cock in and out of her thighs so fucking easier that it sends you quickly to your own climax.
Your first spurt spills in between thrusts—coating the inside of Jimin’s thighs, and your second hits the inside of her skirt, staining it with a line of white. Her legs are a complete mess as you keep thrusting, your cum leaking all over her smooth skin, combining with her own juices.
It leaves you spiraling as the last remnants of your load have left you, slumping back against the wall, slowly sliding down until you're sitting down on the floor. Panting as you stare up the ceiling, muttering a curse at the daze this entire situation has left you. Jimin’s right there with you, collapsed against your chest as her own chest heaves, causing a rather precarious position for you when you decide to look back at her again.
You hope that she didn’t notice your cock twitching against her thighs, or else you’re never gonna leave this room alive.
“That was,” she gasps, catching her breath as she lets out a laugh. “Stopping us at the rooftop was the right call.”
You scoff, a smile playing your lips. “And doing this here was any better?”
“Don't see you complaining,” she says, and she was half-correct. She leans up to give you a kiss on the cheek, that smile of hers somehow managing to light up everything around her like she was an angel. Until she speaks, and you get reminded that she is sin incarnate.
“I can feel your cum in my legs.” Her fingers brush against your cock as she scoops up some of your seed, popping a fingerful of it into her mouth. She lets out a hum, and she pops the digit out. “Salty,” she comments, hand coming back down between her legs. “About earlier–”
She's gone on to remind about the rookie, making sure that Giselle doesn't cause the guy trouble. “She's gotten interested,” Jimin adds, after another tasting of your load. “And you know what that means.”
“Yeah, I know.” It was oddly hot, listening to her talk so serious about work while she's cleaning herself up off your load. “I'll be sure to stick around him when the party goes on full swing.”
“You don't have to,” she says, letting out a whine once she realizes the stain on her skirt. “This is your fault, by the way.”
“Sorry, boss, but you started it,” you shoot back, getting an eyeroll from her.
“Yeah, yeah.” She cuddles up to you, arms resting over yours. “Stick with me during the party, okay?”
“What about the new guy? Yeji won't be able to babysit him.”
“Someone else will.” She brings your hand up to her lips and gives it a kiss. “Ever heard of Asa?”
“Yeah, close friends with him.” She lets out a laugh. “What?”
“Think they're a lot more than that,” she answers, looking up at you. “Don't worry about him, alright? Worry about me.”
You get a bad feeling about where this is going. “And why's that?”
“Because now that we've done this–” A finger points up and down herself. “We are going to be doing so much more.”
“Jimin–”
“Please?” The puppy eyes get to you, and even without this statement of hers, you're expecting it to happen anyway.
Totally not eager about it yourself, no.
“I'm graduating this year, and you're going to take over my spot next year,” she says, and you're reminded of the fact that this—whatever it is you have with her—won't last forever (Three point five comes to mind, and this needs to be evaluated soon). “Let me have as much time as I can with you.”
“We can still meet once you graduate,” you tell her, and it seems to lift her spirits up by a bit.
“But it's not going to be the same, will it.” You can only nod at that.
“Okay.” You make an impulsive decision, but you know it's one you won't regret. “Anything you want, I'll do it.”
Jimin's gaze snaps to you, and an emotion flashes in her eyes. One that you could barely decipher before she turns and straddles you before coming in for a kiss and it all just clicks.
“Thank you,” she whispers into your lips, and it grows quiet for a while, her embrace the only thing in your mind before—
“I can feel you twitching.”
Jimin's slowly snaking down, getting on her hands and knees until she's eyeing your cock with a hunger returning in her eyes tenfold.
“You said you'd do anything for me?”
You just gave her free rein over you, superseding reason Five, you realize. Her hands wrap around the base of your cock, and all you can do is nod.
“Mind fucking my tits next then?”
When she's trapped your cock in between her bra, pushing her tits together as you begin thrusting into the tight pressure, you lose the reasoning about telling her of other less important reports and instead reach an addendum to reason Five.
florado.ㅤ{ㅤㅤepㅤㅤ0.3ㅤㅤ}ㅤmeu âmago, banhado de amor, o espelhar de um jardim, com o abraçar do sol ao amanhecer; denotar das coisas boasㅤ ─────────ㅤ @enfloris
ㅤ
equinócioㅤdeㅤ──ㅤprimavera.ㅤ駅'愛ㅤ✿︎
você é o toque méleo que traz sentido aos meus dias, natureza aprazível a fazer-me florescer sob o melodioso acorde entre a "paz e o amor".
ㅤ
parágrafoㅤ"𝟢𝟤.ㅤmaresia e fulgor;
no balouçar das ondas formadas pelo reconforto de contigo─estar, levaram consigo todo o meu desalento;
o dilacerar da amargura que outrora arrojou fazer morada em meu coração, culminou-se em desaguar.
The penthouse had the same cozy smell every morning: fresh coffee, Yoona's floral perfume, Taeyeon's soft vanilla lotion, and the light sweet scent of the perfume the sisters always wore at shows. At seven in the morning, Yoona was already in the kitchen, her long bare legs under one of Taeyeon's oversized shirts, humming old Girls’ Generation songs while stirring the eggs and rice. Taeyeon entered a few moments later, sleepy and warm, hugging her wife from behind and giving her a kiss on the nape of her neck. They were the foundation of the family, married, mature, affectionate. Yoona was the most organized and proper, always making sure everyone's schedules aligned. Taeyeon was the calmest, whose love felt like a blanket you could wrap yourself in forever.
Then the siblings arrived, turning the kitchen into something noisier and much more electric. Jimin (Karina to the world, but just Jimin at home) entered next, her hair still damp from the shower, wearing only an old loose white t-shirt that did nothing to hide the heavy sway of her huge, soft breasts and tiny black sleep shorts that clung tightly to the curves of her thick thighs and that perfect, round ass. At twenty-two, she was the oldest, the second mother (or rather, the third), the one who made sure Luccas ate well and that Minjeong remembered her vitamins. As she passed, she ruffled Luccas's short dark hair, leaned down to kiss the top of Minjeong's head, and dropped into the chair with a dramatic sigh, “Ah~ another day being perfect...” she joked, and her mothers laughed because it was true. She kept everyone together.
Minjeong (better known as Winter), nineteen years old and the baby of the family, entered last, almost disappearing inside one of Luccas's huge hoodies, which hid her small and delicate body. She was reserved with strangers, but at home she was all soft whimpers and excessive caresses seeking attention. Casually, she sat directly on Luccas's lap, resting her head under his chin and murmuring: “Oppa, did you sleep well?”, while her hands played with the hem of his shirt. Her jealousy was silent but huge, especially when Jimin's hugs lasted a little too long or when Luccas's eyes fixed even for a second on his older sister's chest.
Luccas, twenty years old, sat in the middle, literally and figuratively. The quiet middle child, the one who carried everyone's bags after practice and remembered what kind of coffee each aespa member needed. On the surface, he was the perfect son and brother. Respectful, helpful, introverted. No one knew that inside, he was burning alive with the most intense and shameful perversion imaginable. It started at sixteen and, over time, consumed him more and more. Every room, every scent, every movement in this house fed the fire inside him.
He was obsessed with his sisters. Jimin's voluptuous body, the vigorous sway of her big breasts, the softness of her belly, the way her thick thighs rubbed against each other. Minjeong's small and delicate body, her flat chest, narrow waist, the round little butt that seemed almost fragile. He was equally obsessed with his mothers. Yoona's long and elegant legs and the way her big ass filled her yoga pants. Taeyeon's slender and graceful figure and the quiet maturity in her smile. And permeating all of this, clear and undeniable, was his deep foot fetish. He loved their feet. The soft arches, the perfect toes, the way they looked after a long day in high heels or barefoot on the cold tile. He desired them in secret. The sight of any of their feet was enough to make his cock throb instantly.
He had more than special moments alone whenever the mothers went out. He masturbated in Jimin's bed with her used panties wrapped around his penis, inhaling her scent while imagining burying his face between her thighs. He would sneak into Minjeong's room to rub himself on her pillow while imagining her small body under him, using her as the perfect little toy she secretly wanted to be. He had done the same in his mothers' room. Once, thinking about Yoona, he masturbated furiously while looking at the strappy heels she had worn the night before, imagining her long and beautiful feet pressed against his face. Another time, thinking about Taeyeon, he stuck his nose into a pair of her elegant Louboutin high heels and masturbated imagining her beautiful soles on his tongue. The guilt was there, but so was the thrill.
Jimin noticed everything. She started leaving the bedroom door ajar while changing after practices, allowing him to see her voluminous and heavy breasts swinging when she unhooked her bra and the slow movement of her bottoms sliding down her thick thighs. She would “accidentally” brush her body against his in the hallway, pressing her soft belly and huge breasts against his chest for a second longer than she should. At dinner, her small soft hand would rest on his thigh under the table and squeeze it, her eyes shining with mischief. Minjeong's jealousy made her bolder, in her own way. She started wearing even shorter shorts at home, sat on his lap more often, rubbing her tiny ass while whispering, “Oppa, I can feel you getting hard… Is it because unnie is being super clingy again?” She would press her flat chest against his back in the kitchen and murmur: “I can be good for you too, you know... Even better than her...”
The tension had been building slowly for months until it finally exploded. The first big break happened on a Thursday night. Yoona and Taeyeon were at a business dinner. Jimin and Minjeong had just gotten home from a performance. Luccas couldn't wait any longer. He entered Jimin's room while she was showering, grabbed the black pantyhose she had just taken off, which was still warm and with the crotch slightly wet, and wrapped it around his cock on her bed. He was in the middle of jerking off, moaning her name, when the door opened. Jimin was there, wrapped in a towel, hair damp, her dark eyes intense. She didn't look surprised and a slight smile formed on her face, “Luccas…” He froze, his cock throbbing, his face burning with shame. She entered, closed the door slowly and let the towel fall. Her voluptuous body was completely exposed. Huge heavy breasts with dark nipples, soft belly, meaty thighs and a beautiful pussy that she hadn't shaved in a few days and that certainly smelled and tasted wonderful. “Little brother… you don't need to hide anymore. I've known for a long time. The way you look at me. The way my things come back… used.” She smiled again, soft and warm, crossing the room to sit on the edge of the bed. “And I like it. A lot.” That night, they didn't go all the way. She simply pulled his face to her chest, cradling him like she always did, and let him suck on her nipple while her small hand caressed his cock slowly and gently through the pantyhose. She watched her brother and his desperate mouth on her breast with great pride. Afterward, she held him tightly as he spilled all over her soft belly, thick jets painting her skin. She kissed his forehead and whispered: “You're safe with me, Luccas. Noona is here.”
Minjeong caught them the next morning, entering the hallway and seeing Jimin saying goodbye to Luccas with a kiss, his hand cupping one of her breasts. Instead of anger, Minjeong's eyes filled with desire and that familiar intense jealousy. She simply approached, leaned against his back and whispered: “It'll be my turn soon, oppa. I'm waiting too.” Jimin truly claimed him two nights later. Minjeong was in a prolonged recording session. The mothers were out. Jimin prepared dinner wearing nothing but an apron, her huge tits visible from the side of the apron and her big ass completely exposed. They ate on the couch, her thigh resting over his lap. Afterward, she pulled him into her room, gently pushed him onto the bed and straddled his hips. “I need you tonight, baby,” she murmured, her voice low and affectionate. “No more pretending.” She guided his hands to her breasts, letting him squeeze them as much as he wanted. Then she slid down his body, taking his thick cock into her mouth, hot, wet and perfect, sucking him slowly and deeply until he was trembling. When she finally sat on his cock, taking every inch in a smooth slide, Luccas moaned at how hot and tight she felt around him. She rode him firmly, thighs flexing as her hips rotated in slow circles. Her huge boobs swayed with every movement, and she kept one hand in his hair, guiding his mouth back to her nipple. “That's it... suck on noona while you fuck me,” she whispered, her voice sweet and commanding at the same time. “You're such a good boy for me, Luccas. My perfect little brother.” He felt completely dominated, completely safe, loved in the most obscene way possible. Jimin treated him like her baby and her toy at the same time. Protective, dominant, infinitely affectionate. She made him feel small and loved, even while using his dick for her own pleasure, whispering praises between moans until they both came intensely, him deep inside her and her contracting around him with a trembling cry.
Afterward, she slowly pulled away from him, his cock glistening with their mixed fluids, and smiled that mischievous older sister smile. “I know what else you want, baby. You've been staring at my feet for years.” She positioned herself on the bed, placing the perfect soft soles of each foot on either side of his still-hard cock, and pressed them together around him. Her arches wrapped perfectly around his thickness, her toes flexing as she began to stroke him up and down in a slow, teasing footjob. The heat of her skin and the way her toes curled over the head of his cock was everything he had fantasized about. Jimin watched his face the whole time, biting her lip, her huge breasts rising and falling as she stimulated him. “That's it… fuck noona's pretty feet like the little pervert you are. You've jerked off thinking about them so many times, haven't you?” Luccas thrust between her soles, moaning, until he couldn't hold back anymore. He came hard, thick ropes of cum splashing over her perfect feet and ankles. Jimin just chuckled softly, bringing one foot to his mouth so he could lick it clean. “Good boy.” Afterward, she pulled him to her chest again, nestling his head between her breasts, stroking his hair and kissing his forehead. “You belong to me now,” she murmured. “I'll protect you, spoil you, ruin you… anything you need. I love you so much, little brother.”
Minjeong's turn came three days later. She had been extremely affectionate and whiny all morning, wearing only Luccas's hooded sweatshirt, with nothing underneath. She found him in his room and suddenly snuggled into his lap. “Oppa…” she whispered, her voice soft and sweet but tinged with desire. “Unnie had you first... but I want you to use me too...” Luccas tried to be gentle at first, kissing her softly, removing the sweatshirt to reveal her tiny breasts, smooth belly and narrow waist. But Minjeong didn't want gentleness. She pushed his head between her thighs and begged: “Eat me, oppa. Make me yours.” Her pussy was shaved, tiny, tight and so wet. He licked her until she came, moaning and pulling his hair. When he finally penetrated her, she gasped, digging her nails into his shoulders. “You're splitting me... so deep... use me harder, oppa.” He fucked her like the delicate toy she wanted to be, pinning her small wrists above her head, thrusting deep and firmly into her tight heat while her thin legs wrapped around his waist. Minjeong treated him differently from Jimin. She was possessive and spoiled, making him feel powerful and needed at the same time. She wanted to be dominated, used and then spoiled. “Harder… break me,” she moaned, her eyes glazed with pleasure. He came deep inside her, filling her up while she contracted around him, cumming again with a soft moan. Afterward, she snuggled against him like a kitten, her hand wrapping around his softening dick. “Don't love unnie more than me,” she murmured, half joking, half serious. “I'll be your perfect little toy… or I'll be bad if you want. But you have to take care of me afterward, oppa.”
The three continued getting involved for another week. Stolen kisses in the kitchen, Jimin caressing Minjeong on the couch while Luccas watched, Minjeong giving him a blowjob under the dinner table while Jimin cooked. The mothers would come home and, apparently, everything seemed normal. Family dinners, movie nights where Luccas's head rested on Jimin's soft chest and Minjeong snuggled by his side. But the atmosphere between the siblings was electric.
The night when everything became definitive came on a stormy Saturday. Yoona and Taeyeon had spent the night in another city. The penthouse belonged to the siblings. They started on the couch, with the lights low, the rain beating hard against the windows. Clothes were slowly removed. Jimin's huge breasts were freed, Minjeong's small body looked so fragile next to her, Luccas's thick cock stood proud and leaking. Jimin took control as always. She made Luccas lie on his back on the couch. Then she straddled his face, facing his feet, lowering her wet pussy onto his mouth while leaning forward. Minjeong climbed on top of him too, but instead of mounting his cock immediately, she knelt between his spread thighs and took him into her mouth first, sucking him deeply while Jimin rubbed herself on his face. The position allowed the sisters to kiss and touch each other on top of him. Jimin's hands in Minjeong's blonde hair, Minjeong's fingers pinching Jimin's nipples, while Luccas licked, sucked and moaned into his older sister's pussy. After a few minutes, Jimin pulled away from his face, breathing heavily. “Switch, baby. I want to feel you inside me while Minjeong watches closely.” She turned and sank onto his cock in cowgirl position, facing him this time, so he could see her massive tits swaying loosely. Minjeong crawled to the side of them on the carpet, kissing Luccas wetly while her hand rubbed Jimin's clit. The three moved together, Jimin riding him deep and slow, Minjeong's tongue in his mouth, her tiny body pressed against his side. They kept switching positions, never losing the rhythm. Luccas sat up, pulled Minjeong onto his lap with her back to him and fucked her in reverse cowgirl while Jimin knelt in front of her, licking Minjeong's tiny clit and massaging Luccas's balls at the same time. Minjeong came hard, whimpering like a puppy. Then Luccas put Jimin on all fours on the carpet and penetrated her from behind, hammering her soaked pussy while Minjeong lay underneath them, sucking and squeezing Jimin's swinging breasts.
The hours passed and they didn't even notice. They came again and again. Jimin contracting around him while Minjeong masturbated, Minjeong screaming when he filled her small pussy, the two sisters on their knees sharing his cock with their mouths until he covered their tongues and chins. In the last round, Luccas laid them on their backs side by side on the carpet, legs spread, and fucked them one after the other, with deep thrusts into Jimin's welcoming heat, then into Minjeong's incredibly tight little pussy, until he couldn't hold back anymore. He pulled out at the last second and came over both their bellies and breasts, thick white spurts marking them as his. When they finally collapsed in a sweaty, cum-covered pile on the couch, Jimin pulled their heads to her soft chest. Luccas latched onto a fat nipple, lazily sucking like the baby he secretly loved to be. Minjeong caressed the other, her hand possessively wrapping around her brother's exhausted cock.
“This is us now,” Jimin whispered, her voice hoarse and satisfied, stroking their hair. “No more hiding. No more masturbating alone in our rooms. You cum for your sisters. You fuck us. You belong to us.” Minjeong kissed his chin, sleepy and satisfied. “And I can be your little toy whenever I want… right, oppa?” Luccas nodded, exhausted, happy, completely subdued. The rain kept falling. The penthouse smelled of sex, vanilla, strawberry, sweat and cum. Tomorrow the mothers would come home, and everyone would sit down for breakfast as if nothing had changed. Yoona teasing them for being too quiet, Taeyeon smiling softly. But the three would exchange secret glances across the table, carrying the most obscene and most beautiful family secret. Jimin kissed the top of Luccas's head. “Sleep, baby. Tomorrow we start figuring out how to make this work every day… us three, whenever we want.” Minjeong let out a soft giggle against his neck. “Promise?” “I promise,” Jimin murmured, pulling the blanket over the three of them. Luccas then fell asleep between the two girls who had become his obsession, his ruin and his everything. His sisters, his lovers, the center of all his obscene fantasies.
Karina had a way of walking into the office that made the fluorescent lights seem dimmer by comparison. Not because she demanded attention—she didn’t—but because the sheer precision of her movements drew it anyway. Today, like every other Tuesday, she wore a navy-blue pencil skirt that hugged her hips just enough to be noticed but not enough to be inappropriate, paired with a crisp white blouse tucked neatly at the waist. Her heels clicked against the linoleum floor with the same measured rhythm she applied to everything: emails, spreadsheets, the way she stirred her coffee exactly three times before taking the first sip.
You glanced up from your monitor as she passed your desk, catching the faintest trace of her perfume—something clean and expensive, like citrus and linen. She didn’t look your way, but you knew she was aware of you in the same detached way you were aware of her: a fact of the office, like the hum of the printer or the perpetually broken Keurig in the break room.
“Morning,” you said, because it was polite, and because you’d been sitting close enough to each other for two years that silence would’ve been weirder.
Karina paused mid-stride, turning just enough to acknowledge you without fully stopping. “Morning,” she replied, her voice smooth and neutral, the kind that could’ve been reading a weather report. Then she was gone, disappearing into her cubicle with the same efficiency she applied to everything else.
The office settled back into its usual rhythm—keyboards clacking, phones buzzing, someone coughing three desks over. You adjusted your chair and dragged your focus back to the quarterly report blinking accusingly on your screen. It was the same as any other day, the same as it would be tomorrow, and the day after that.
The office had long since emptied when the hum of Karina’s chair rolling back cut through the silence. You glanced up just in time to see her slip her arms into her blazer, the motion effortless, like she’d practiced it in a mirror. “Heading out,” she said, more statement than announcement, as she tucked her phone into her purse.
“Yeah, me soon,” you lied, knowing full well the stack of unfinished reports on your desk had other plans. Karina nodded, her heels tapping a quiet retreat down the hallway. The elevator dinged softly in the distance, and then there was nothing but the relentless glow of your monitor and the occasional creak of the building settling into night.
Forty minutes later, your phone buzzed against the desk, startling you out of a spreadsheet-induced trance. Karina’s name flashed on the screen, followed by a message so succinct it bordered on clinical: Left my laptop. Can you bring it? You swiveled in your chair, spotting the sleek silver device perched on the edge of her desk, half-hidden under a stack of sticky notes.
“No problem,” you typed back, because it wasn’t. The walk to her apartment complex was only fifteen minutes, and the night air might actually clear your head. You packed up your own things, slung her laptop bag over your shoulder, and killed the lights on your way out.
The city outside was all amber streetlights and the occasional whoosh of a late-night cyclist. You’d texted Karina to let her know you were on your way, but she hadn’t replied. Maybe she was busy—or maybe she was the kind of person who considered “thanks” implied. You rounded the corner to her building, a modern high-rise with a lobby that smelled faintly of lemongrass disinfectant.
Karina’s apartment was bathed in the flickering blue glow of the TV, the only light in the otherwise dim living room. She had changed out of her office attire into a simple, sleeveless dress—one that clung to her curves in a way that would’ve been distracting in the workplace but felt natural here, alone. The fabric draped just low enough to hint at the swell of her breasts, the cinch at her waist accentuating the dip of her hips. She lounged sideways on the couch, one leg curled beneath her, the other stretched out lazily over the armrest.
On screen, two actors murmured heated dialogue, their hands roaming with practiced urgency before the scene dissolved into something far less clothed. Karina exhaled through her nose, shifting slightly against the cushions. It wasn’t that she was particularly invested in the movie—just that the sudden shift in tone had nudged something loose in her, a restless energy that had been simmering beneath the surface all day. Her fingers trailed absently along her thigh, then higher, teasing the hem of her dress upward. The air conditioning hummed softly, but it did little to combat the warmth spreading under her skin.
By the time the actors on screen were fully entangled, Karina’s breath had gone uneven. Her touch grew deliberate, fingers slipping beneath the fabric, tracing slow circles where she needed them most. Her head tipped back against the couch, eyes half-lidded but still fixed on the TV—as if watching the scene unfold gave her an excuse to indulge in the tension coiling low in her stomach. The dress rode up further, fabric whispering against her skin as she arched into her own hand, teeth catching her lower lip.
The rhythm of her fingers faltered only when her phone buzzed against the coffee table, the sound jarring in the quiet room. Karina blinked, momentarily disoriented, before reaching for it with her free hand. Your name flashed on the screen—right, the laptop. She had forgotten about that. For a second, she considered letting it go to voicemail, but professionalism won out. She cleared her throat before answering, though her voice still came out lower than usual. “Hey. You here already?”
On the other end of the line, you stood in the lobby, shifting the weight of the laptop bag on your shoulder. The elevator doors slid open with a muted chime. “Yeah, just got in. Front desk said I could come up.” There was a pause, barely noticeable. “You sound… out of breath.”
Karina’s fingers stilled. She could’ve played it off—blamed it on rushing to answer the phone, or the walk from the kitchen. But something in the quiet of the apartment, the way her pulse hadn’t quite settled, made her honesty sharper than usual. “I was distracted,” she admitted, the words leaving her mouth before she could weigh them. Then, as if realizing how that sounded, she added, “By a movie.”
The elevator doors slid shut behind you with a quiet hiss, sealing you in the sterile, mirrored box. Your reflection stared back at you—slightly rumpled from the late hour, laptop bag hanging awkwardly off one shoulder. You jabbed the button for Karina’s floor, then hesitated, thumb hovering over the emergency stop. Not that you’d press it—but the impulse was there, a fleeting awareness that once those doors opened again, whatever neutral professionalism existed between you two might crack like thin ice.
Karina’s apartment door was ajar when you reached it, the gap just wide enough to spill a sliver of golden light into the hallway. You knocked lightly, the sound swallowed by the plush carpet. “It’s open,” she called, her voice closer than expected. You pushed the door wider and stepped inside, the scent of her perfume—warmer now, mixed with something muskier—hitting you like a physical thing.
She was perched on the arm of the couch, one foot tucked beneath her, the other dangling just above the floor. Her hair, usually sleek in its ponytail, had loosened into soft waves around her face, and a faint sheen of sweat glowed at her collarbone. The TV still played softly, the actors’ murmurs now reduced to post-coital whispers. Karina didn’t look at it. Her gaze pinned you in place, sharp despite the flush high on her cheeks.
“Thanks for this,” she said, nodding toward the laptop bag you were clutching like a shield. You handed it over, careful not to brush her fingers. She set it aside without glancing down.
The silence stretched between you, thick and electric, broken only by the soft murmur of the TV. You shifted your weight toward the door—polite exit strategy already forming in your mind—when Karina’s voice cut through the tension. “Stay.” It wasn’t a question. Her fingers curled around the edge of the couch cushion, nails sinking into the fabric. “The movie’s almost over.” Her gaze flicked to the screen, where the actors were now tangled in sheets, their bodies moving in lazy, post-climax closeness.
You should’ve said no. Should’ve mumbled something about early meetings, about unfinished reports. But the way her dress clung to her thighs, the way her breath still hadn’t quite steadied—it short-circuited whatever professionalism you had left. “Yeah,” you heard yourself say, as if your mouth had decided without you. “Okay.”
The couch was just shy of too small for two people, and Karina’s knee brushed against yours within the first thirty seconds of settling in. She jerked it away immediately, murmuring a clipped, “Sorry,” without looking at you. You nodded, eyes fixed on the screen where the actors were now arguing in a rain-soaked alley. The tension in the room was thicker than the plot.
Ten minutes later, her fingers grazed your forearm as she reached for her wineglass. “Oops,” she said, the word light, practiced. This time, you caught the way her gaze flickered to your face—testing, calculating—before she withdrew. The third time, her thigh pressed flush against yours under the pretense of adjusting her position. “My bad,” she added, but the corner of her mouth twitched.
That’s when it clicked.
You waited for her next move, your pulse ticking up a notch. When she “accidentally” leaned into you during a jump scare, her shoulder bumping yours, you didn’t let her pull away. Instead, you tilted your head toward her ear, close enough to feel her breath hitch. “You’re terrible at this,” you murmured.
Karina stilled. For a heartbeat, you thought you’d misread her. Then she turned, her lips inches from yours, and said, “Prove it.”
You didn’t give her time to overthink it. The moment the challenge left her lips, you closed the distance between you, one hand tangling in her hair while the other gripped her waist, pulling her flush against you. Karina gasped into your mouth, but she didn’t pull away—her fingers dug into your shoulders, nails biting through the fabric of your shirt as she kissed you back with a hunger that matched your own. It was messy, desperate, the kind of kiss that left no room for professionalism or pretense.
Her blazer hit the floor first, followed by the muffled thud of your belt unbuckling. Karina’s hands were everywhere—yanking your shirt over your head, fingers skimming down your chest like she was mapping territory she’d only ever glanced at from afar. You retaliated by slipping a hand beneath the hem of her dress, dragging it up her thighs until the fabric bunched at her hips. She arched into your touch, a quiet moan escaping her when your fingers found the damp lace of her panties.
“Off,” she demanded, breaking the kiss just long enough to tug the dress over her head. You barely had time to register the sight of her—bare except for that flimsy scrap of lace—before she was on you again, her teeth scraping your lower lip as her hands worked at the button of your pants. The air between you was charged, thick with the sound of ragged breaths and the slick slide of skin against skin.
Your pants pooled at your ankles, and Karina kicked them aside with a impatience that bordered on violence. She pressed you back against the couch, her body a warm, insistent weight against yours. The lace followed soon after, peeled down her thighs with agonizing slowness until she stepped out of it, leaving her completely bare. You dragged your palms up the curve of her ass, relishing the way she shuddered under your touch.
“Now you,” she murmured, her voice rough as she reached for your waistband. You let her push you back onto the cushions, watching as she knelt between your legs, her fingers hooking into the elastic of your boxers. The fabric slid down your hips, and then there was nothing left between you—just heat, skin, and the unspoken certainty that neither of you would pretend this hadn’t happened tomorrow.
Karina’s hands skimmed up your thighs, her nails leaving faint trails in their wake. Her gaze locked onto yours, dark and unreadable, before she leaned down, her breath ghosting over your cock. “Tell me,” she said, her lips brushing the tip, “if this is still professional.”
You groaned, tangling your fingers in her hair as she took you into her mouth, slow and deliberate. The TV droned on in the background, forgotten, the actors’ voices drowned out by the sound of your pulse roaring in your ears. Karina’s tongue swirled around you, her rhythm alternating between teasing and demanding, until your grip on her hair tightened involuntarily.
She pulled back with a wet pop, her lips glistening. “Too much?” she taunted, though the flush creeping down her chest betrayed her own arousal.
“No, not too much,” you gasped, your fingers tightening in her hair as she swallowed you deeper, her throat flexing around you in a way that sent shockwaves down your spine. “Fuck, Karina—your mouth is unreal.” The words came out ragged, barely coherent, but her eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and glinting with something like triumph. She didn’t pull back, didn’t break contact—just held your gaze as she took you to the hilt, her nose brushing against your stomach, her throat working around you with practiced ease.
You groaned, hips lifting off the couch involuntarily, but she pressed a hand flat against your abdomen, pinning you down with a strength that shouldn’t have been surprising but still caught you off guard. “Stay still,” she murmured around you, the vibration of her voice making your toes curl. Her tongue dragged along the underside of your cock as she pulled back just enough to breathe, then plunged down again, her rhythm relentless. Every time she took you deep, her eyes stayed locked on yours, unblinking, as if daring you to look away first.
“You’re—god, you’re fucking perfect at this,” you managed, your voice cracking as she hollowed her cheeks, sucking hard enough to make your vision blur. She hummed in response, the sound vibrating through you, and you swore you could feel it in your teeth. Her fingers dug into your thighs, nails biting just shy of pain, and you realized with a dizzying rush that she was cataloging every twitch, every ragged breath, every broken compliment—hoarding them like ammunition.
The tension coiled in your gut like a live wire, every nerve ending screaming for release. Karina’s mouth was relentless—warm, wet, and so fucking skilled it was almost unfair. Your fingers tightened in her hair, gripping hard enough to make her gasp around you, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, her eyes rolled back, lashes fluttering as she surrendered to the rhythm you set, her throat working around you with every thrust.
You didn’t slow down. Couldn’t. The pressure built to a breaking point, your hips jerking erratically as you fucked her mouth with abandon. Karina’s nails dug into your thighs, her muffled moans vibrating against your cock, and that was all it took—your release hit you like a freight train, spilling hot and thick down her throat. She swallowed instinctively, her body arching against your grip, but you held her there until the last pulse faded, until her lips were slick and her breath came in ragged, shuddering gasps.
When you finally let go, Karina slumped back on her heels, one hand braced against your knee as she caught her breath. A strand of saliva glistened between her lips and your still-hard cock, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand, her gaze dark and unreadable. “That,” she said, voice hoarse, “wasn’t professional.”
You barked out a laugh, your fingers trailing absently through her mussed hair. “Neither was your little movie night.”
Karina’s lips curled into a smirk as she pushed herself up, straddling your lap in one fluid motion. Her bare skin pressed against yours, still flushed and fever-warm. “Fair,” she conceded, grinding down just enough to make you groan. “But I didn’t hear you complaining.”
“Not a single one,” you admitted, hands sliding up her waist to palm her breasts. She arched into your touch, her nipples pebbling under your thumbs, and you leaned forward to capture one between your teeth. Karina gasped, her fingers tangling in your hair as you nipped and licked, reveling in the way her hips rolled against yours.
“It’s your turn,” you murmured against Karina’s throat, flipping her onto her back with a rough push. Her breath hitched as her shoulders hit the couch cushions, legs splaying open instinctively—not wide enough. You hooked your hands behind her knees and dragged her closer, spreading her wider until the heat of her pressed against your mouth. She shuddered, her hips jerking off the couch, but you pinned her down with a firm grip on her thighs. “Stay,” you ordered, echoing her earlier command, and watched her throat bob as she swallowed a whimper.
The first slow lick up her folds drew a broken noise from her lips, her fingers twisting in the cushions. You repeated the motion, savoring the way her taste bloomed across your tongue—sharp and musky, unmistakably hers. Karina’s thighs trembled under your hands, but she didn’t pull away; instead, she arched into it, her heel digging into your shoulder blade as if to drag you closer. You chuckled against her skin, the vibration making her gasp. “Eager?” you taunted, flicking your tongue over her clit just hard enough to make her jerk.
Karina’s response was a ragged exhale, her hips canting up in silent demand. You obliged, circling her clit with slow, deliberate strokes until her breathing turned uneven, her thighs tightening around your head. Her moans were quiet at first—restrained, like she was still trying to maintain some shred of control—but when you sucked gently at her clit, her back bowed off the couch with a sharp cry. “Fuck,” she hissed, her hand flying to your hair, fingers tightening almost painfully. “Right there—don’t stop—”
You didn’t. You lapped at her with relentless precision, alternating between broad strokes and quick flicks, learning the rhythm that made her gasp, the pressure that made her nails scrape against your scalp. Her thighs clenched around your ears, her breath coming in short, punched-out bursts as she rocked against your mouth. The scent of her arousal was thick in the air, mingling with the faint tang of sweat and the citrus-clean remnants of her perfume.
When you slipped two fingers inside her without warning, Karina’s whole body stiffened, a choked moan tearing from her throat. You crooked your fingers just so, dragging against that spot that made her eyes roll back, and her grip on your hair turned punishing. “Yes—god, yes,” she gasped, her hips rolling to meet every thrust of your fingers. Her muscles fluttered around you, her thighs shaking with the effort of holding herself together, but you could feel the tension coiling tighter, her breath hitching with every stroke.
“Cum for me,” you growled against her clit, sealing your mouth over it and sucking hard. Karina’s back arched violently, her cry echoing off the walls as her orgasm ripped through her. Her thighs clamped around your head, her cunt pulsing around your fingers as she rode out the waves, her whole body taut like a bowstring. You didn’t let up—not until her grip on your hair went slack, her legs falling open bonelessly against the couch.
Karina’s chest heaved as she came down from her climax, her skin flushed and damp. Before she could catch her breath, you ducked your head and latched onto one taut nipple, swirling your tongue in tight circles while your fingers—still buried inside her—curved upward again, pressing insistently against that spongy spot.
“Wait—” Karina gasped, her hands flying to your shoulders, fingers digging in half-protest, half-pleasure. “It’s too much—ah!” Her voice cracked as your teeth grazed her nipple, the sharp sensation jolting through her oversensitive nerves. You didn’t relent, twisting your fingers deeper just as she tried to squirm away, turning her shudder into a full-body tremble.
Her thighs clamped around your wrist, her body betraying her words as she rocked into your touch despite her weak protests. “You don’t mean that,” you murmured against her breast, flicking your tongue over her nipple one last time before trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down her stomach.
Karina’s head thrashed against the cushions, her breath coming in ragged hitches. “I—I do,” she lied, her voice thin and unconvincing even to her own ears. Her hips lifted off the couch anyway, chasing the slow drag of your fingers as you withdrew them almost completely—only to plunge back in with a rough thrust that punched another moan from her lips.
You smirked, watching her stomach muscles jump under your lips. “Liar.” With that, you sealed your mouth over her clit again, sucking hard just as your fingers found that spot inside her once more. Karina’s back arched violently, a strangled cry tearing from her throat as another orgasm crashed over her, this one sharper, brighter, leaving her toes curling and her thighs shaking.
Karina’s body arched like a bowstring pulled too tight, her thighs clamping around your head with desperate, shaking pressure. You didn’t let up—not when her nails raked down your back, not when her breath hitched into something ragged and broken. Your tongue lashed at her clit in relentless, rapid flicks while your fingers pistoned inside her, curling just so with every thrust to drag another choked whimper from her throat. Her hips jerked erratically, her heels digging into the couch cushions as if trying to ground herself, but the friction only made her cunt clench tighter around your fingers.
The first spasm hit her like a live wire—her back bowing off the couch, her mouth dropping open in a silent scream. You felt it before you saw it: the hot gush of her release soaking your chin, your fingers, the couch beneath her. Karina’s eyes rolled back, her eyelids fluttering wildly as the second wave crashed over her, her legs trembling so violently you had to grip her hips to keep her from sliding off the couch entirely. Her orgasm ripped through her in pulsing waves, her pussy squirting in messy, uncontrollable bursts that left her gasping like she’d been drowning.
You didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Not when her body was still convulsing, not when every ragged sob from her lips was another plea you refused to ignore. Your tongue lapped at her oversensitive clit, gentler now but no less insistent, and Karina’s hands flew to your hair, twisting in the strands as if she couldn’t decide whether to push you away or drag you closer. “T-too much,” she slurred, her voice wrecked, but her hips still rocked against your mouth, her thighs quivering with the effort of holding herself together.
The third climax hit her like a freight train—her entire body seizing, her cunt clamping down on your fingers so tight it almost hurt. This time, the sound that tore from her throat was raw, unfiltered, her back arching so sharply you worried for a second she might snap. Her release gushed over your chin, hot and slick, and you drank it down greedily, your fingers working her through the aftershocks until her legs finally gave out, collapsing bonelessly against the couch.
Karina lay there, breathless and trembling, her chest rising and falling in uneven hitches. A thin sheen of sweat coated her skin, glistening under the dim glow of the TV still playing forgotten in the background. Her fingers twitched where they’d tangled in your hair, her grip slackening as the last tremors faded from her limbs. For a long moment, the only sound in the room was her ragged breathing and the wet, slick noise of your fingers slowly withdrawing from her.
Karina’s protest came out breathless and half-slurred, her fingers weakly swatting at your shoulder as she lay sprawled across the couch, limbs still trembling from the aftershocks. “It’s not fair,” she muttered, her voice hoarse. “I made you cum once, but you—” She gestured vaguely at the mess between her thighs, the couch cushions still damp beneath her. “You made me cum multiple times, and I just had the biggest squirt orgasm of my life.”
You just laughed, dragging your thumb through the slick mess between her thighs before bringing it to your lips. “You like it,” you said, voice rough with satisfaction, “and I promise, my dick is even better. I’ll make you squirt until you’re dry.”
Karina’s eyelids fluttered, her chest still rising too fast, but the corner of her mouth twitched into something defiant. “Prove it then,” she challenged, pushing herself up on shaking elbows. Her hair was a wild tangle, her lips swollen from biting back moans. “I’ll be ready. Take me to the bed—” She paused, tilting her chin up, “—and you can use me like a fuck doll.”
The challenge in her voice sent a fresh jolt of heat straight to your cock. You didn’t hesitate. Gripping her hips, you hauled her off the couch in one smooth motion, her legs instinctively wrapping around your waist. Karina gasped, her nails digging into your shoulders as you carried her down the hallway, her bare skin warm and sticky against yours.
The bedroom was dim, the only light spilling in from the half-open door behind you. You dumped her onto the mattress more roughly than intended, but Karina just sprawled back, her legs already parting in invitation. The sight of her—flushed, fucked-out, but still daring you with her eyes—made your pulse spike.
“Are you sure you want to challenge me?” Your voice was rough, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips as you leaned over her, your cock pressing against her slick entrance. “You won’t surrender halfway?”
Karina’s laugh was breathless, her pupils blown wide. “Please,” she taunted, arching her back to press herself closer, her nails scraping down your chest. “I’m the one who makes men surrender. Don’t get too confident just because I came a few times on your tongue.”
You didn’t give her a warning. With a sharp thrust, you buried yourself inside her to the hilt, the sudden stretch drawing a gasp from her lips. Karina’s body tensed, her thighs clamping around your hips instinctively, but you didn’t stop—didn’t let her adjust. You pulled out almost completely, then slammed back in, the wet slap of skin echoing off the walls.
Karina’s breath hitched, her fingers twisting in the sheets. “Fuck—”
Karina’s breath hitched as you pulled out almost completely, leaving just the tip of your cock inside her before slamming back in with a sharp thrust that punched a ragged moan from her throat. “Fuck—your dick—god—” Her words dissolved into a gasp as you dragged your hips back slowly, teasing her with the stretch before burying yourself deep again. “It’s so big,” she panted, her nails digging into your shoulders. “How the hell do you walk around the office like you’re not packing this?”
You smirked, rolling your hips in a slow, deliberate circle that made her thighs tremble. “Easy,” you murmured, leaning down to nip at her collarbone. “I don’t think about you bent over the copy machine.”
Karina’s laugh turned into a broken whine as you snapped your hips forward, the sound of skin slapping against skin loud in the dim room. “Bullshit,” she gasped, arching to meet your thrusts. “You definitely thought about it.” Her hands slid down your back, fingers pressing into the muscles as if trying to pull you deeper. “Admit it—you imagined me like this, didn’t you? On my knees, taking every inch—”
You cut her off with a rough thrust, the headboard banging against the wall as her legs locked around your waist. “Keep talking,” you growled, your voice rough with want. “Tell me how much you like it.”
Karina’s lips curled into a smirk even as her breath stuttered. “I love it,” she moaned, her hips rolling to meet yours. “Love how you fill me—god, your cock is perfect.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, lashes fluttering as you hit a spot that made her toes curl. “Bet you’ve ruined girls with this thing. Bet they begged for it after the first time.”
You chuckled darkly, gripping her hips to angle her just right before driving into her with a pace that left her gasping. “You’re the one begging now,” you pointed out, watching her bite her lip to stifle a moan.
Karina’s defiance flickered for just a second before she surrendered to it, her head tipping back as her back arched off the bed. “Fuck—yes, okay? Yes,” she admitted, her voice cracking. “I’ll beg if you keep fucking me like this.” Her hands flew to her own breasts, pinching her nipples roughly as if she couldn’t decide whether to ground herself or chase more pleasure. “Just—don’t stop—”
You obliged, your rhythm turning relentless, each thrust punching a sound from her lips—whimpers, gasps, your name tangled in curses. Karina’s thighs trembled around you, her body tightening like a coil ready to snap. “You close?” you rasped, your own control fraying at the edges.
Karina nodded frantically, her fingers twisting in the sheets. “So close—” Her voice broke as you hooked a hand behind her knee, hiking her leg higher to sink even deeper. “There—right there—”
Karina’s body arched like a live wire under yours, her thighs clamping around your hips as you fucked her through another shuddering orgasm. Her cunt pulsed around your cock in rhythmic clenches, soaking the sheets beneath her with another gush of her release. She gasped your name, her voice raw and broken, but you didn’t slow down—couldn’t. Not when she’d dared you to ruin her.
“That’s it,” you growled, pinning her wrists above her head as your hips pistoned into her with brutal precision. “Look at you—dripping. You take my cock so fucking well.” Her hips jerked erratically, her back bowing off the bed as another wave of pleasure crashed over her. “How many is that now? Three? Four?” You grinned down at her wrecked expression, her lips parted in a silent scream. “We’re not done.”
Karina’s reply was a slurred whimper, her eyelids fluttering like she couldn’t decide whether to keep them open or surrender to the haze. Her nails scraped weakly at your forearms, but her legs stayed locked around you, her body betraying her even as she gasped, “T-too much—please—”
“You challenged me,” you reminded her, dragging your tongue up her throat before biting down on her earlobe. “You said you’d take it.” Her answering moan was music to your ears, her hips rolling to meet your next thrust as if her body couldn’t help itself. “Fuck, you’re greedy. Even now, you’re still grinding on me.” You laughed darkly, snapping your hips harder, reveling in the way her breath hitched. “Admit it—you don’t want me to stop.”
Karina’s head thrashed against the pillows, her words dissolving into a broken sob as you angled your cock just right, hitting that spot inside her that made her vision whiten. “I—I can’t—” she choked out, her thighs trembling violently. “I’ll—break—”
“You won’t,” you promised, your voice rough with want. “You’re too damn perfect for that.” Your thumb found her clit, rubbing tight circles as you fucked her deeper, harder, until her entire body seized. Her orgasm hit like a thunderclap—her cunt clenching around you in erratic pulses, her scream muffled against your shoulder as she came again, her release gushing hot between your bodies.
This time, she didn’t recover. Her arms fell limp at her sides, her legs sliding bonelessly off your hips as her breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. Her eyes rolled back, her mouth slack, her whole body twitching with oversensitivity. You didn’t stop. Couldn’t. The sight of her—utterly ruined, dripping, yours—drove you wild, your thrusts turning frenzied as your own climax coiled tight in your gut.
“One more,” you ground out, gripping her hips to haul her onto your cock with every snap of your hips. “One more, and then I’ll let you rest.” Karina whimpered, her body limp but still responsive, her cunt fluttering weakly around you as you chased your own release. “Cum for me.”
Her response was a broken cry, her back arching off the bed as another orgasm tore through her—smaller this time, but no less intense. Her thighs trembled, her toes curling into the sheets as she squirted again, the wet sound of it mingling with the slap of skin. That was all it took. With a groan, you buried yourself to the hilt, your release spilling deep inside her as her body milked you through every last pulse.
When you finally stilled, Karina was motionless beneath you, her chest rising unevenly, her lips parted around silent, panting breaths. Her eyelids fluttered when you brushed a thumb over her cheekbone, but she didn’t—couldn’t—open them fully. A slow smirk curled your lips as you leaned down to murmur against her ear, “Still think you can make me surrender?”
Karina’s response was a weak, wordless sound—half-protest, half-exhaustion—before her head lolled to the side, her body finally giving out.
Sunlight sliced through the blinds, painting stripes across Karina’s bare skin as she blinked awake, disoriented. The sheets were twisted around her legs, damp and sticky—evidence of last night’s relentless indulgence still clinging to her thighs. She stretched gingerly, wincing at the ache between her legs, the memory of your hands, your mouth, your cock branding itself into every muscle.
The clock on the nightstand glared back: 9:07 AM. Shit. She’d slept through her alarm. Again.
The muffled cadence of your voice drifted in from the kitchen—professional, measured, the polar opposite of the growls and taunts that had filled this room hours ago. A meeting. Of course you were already working, already composed, while she lay here with your cum leaking out of her. The realization sent a thrill down her spine.
Karina smirked, rolling onto her stomach with deliberate slowness, savoring the way her muscles protested. She could play this game too.
Silent as a shadow, she slid off the bed, her knees hitting the carpet with a soft thud. The cool air kissed her bare skin as she crawled forward, her hips swaying with each movement, her palms pressing into the floorboards. The scent of coffee and your cologne grew stronger as she neared the kitchen doorway.
She paused just out of sight, listening to the steady rhythm of your voice. “—Q2 projections need revision before the board review—”
God, you sounded so boring. So normal. As if you hadn’t reduced her to a sobbing, squirming mess less than six hours ago.
Karina’s nails dug into the wood. Time to fix that.
She rounded the corner on all fours, her hair tousled, her lips still swollen from last night’s abuse. You were seated at the kitchen island, laptop open, dressed in nothing but sweatpants slung low on your hips—casual, effortless, infuriatingly unruffled. Your back was to her, your attention fixed on the screen.
Perfect.
She slithered between your legs before you could react, her hands sliding up your thighs. Your voice hitched mid-sentence as her fingers traced the outline of your cock through the thin fabric, already half-hard just from her proximity. “—ah—apologies, my connection glitched for a second.”
Karina grinned, pressing a kiss to the bulge straining against your waistband. She could feel the way your muscles tensed, the way your breath stuttered when her tongue flicked out to trace the shape of you.
On screen, a colleague’s voice crackled through the speakers. “—so we’ll need those numbers by EOD—”
“Understood,” you replied smoothly, but your fingers were suddenly tangled in her hair, urging her closer.
Karina obeyed, nuzzling against you like a cat before hooking her thumbs into the waistband of your sweats and tugging them down just enough to free your cock. It sprang against her cheek, hot and heavy, already leaking at the tip.
She didn’t hesitate. Wrapping her lips around the head, she swirled her tongue over the slit, tasting the salt of your precome. Your grip tightened instantly, your hips jerking forward as if you couldn’t help it.
“—uh, yeah, let’s circle back on that,” you managed, your voice rougher now.
Karina hummed around you, the vibration dragging a choked sound from your throat. She took you deeper, her lips stretched tight, her eyes flicking up to watch your jaw clench. The laptop camera was angled just high enough to miss her, but she could see the screen—could see the confused frown of your colleague as your responses grew clipped, distracted.
Her fingers traced the seam of your balls, rolling them gently as she sucked you off with slow, filthy pulls. Your thighs trembled under her palms, your abs flexing as you fought to keep your composure.
Your fingers tightened in her hair, tugging sharply—a silent command to stop. Karina paused, her lips still wrapped around the head of your cock, her dark eyes flicking up to meet yours with feigned innocence. You mouthed the word “Enough,” your voice a near-silent growl, but she just smirked around you, her tongue darting out to lap at the slit.
Then she pulled back, releasing you with a wet pop—only to shift her weight forward, her full breasts pressing against your thighs as she dragged them upward, enveloping your cock in soft, warm heat. Her nipples brushed against the base, already stiff from the cool air, and you clenched your jaw hard enough to ache.
“—final approval on the Henderson account,” you forced out, your voice impressively steady despite the way Karina’s mouth found the tip again, her lips sealing around it in slow, teasing sucks. Her hands kneaded her own tits around your shaft, the slick friction of skin and precome turning the glide torturously smooth.
She hummed around you, the vibration traveling straight to your balls, and your grip on the edge of the laptop turned white-knuckled. “Yes, I’ll—” Your breath hitched as her tongue swirled under the head, “—send the files.”
Your fingers flexed against the laptop’s edge, your grip the only betrayal of the torture unfolding beneath the screen. Karina’s breasts enveloped your cock in a slick, warm vise, her nipples dragging along the shaft with each slow, deliberate roll of her shoulders. But it was her mouth that threatened to unravel you—the way her lips stretched tight around the head, sucking with a pressure that bordered on painful, her tongue flicking against the slit in quick, teasing strokes.
“—we’ll proceed with the revised timeline,” you choked out, your voice strained but miraculously level. Onscreen, your colleague’s brow furrowed at the delay in your response, but Karina didn’t care. Her dark eyes gleamed with mischief as she hollowed her cheeks, the suction making your thighs jerk.
She timed it perfectly—every bob of her head synced with your attempts to speak, her lips sealing tighter just as you opened yours to reply. “The—fuck—client expects—” You barely suppressed a groan as her thumbs circled your balls, her tits squeezing tighter, the heat of her mouth unbearable. Your free hand fisted in her hair, not to guide her, but to anchor yourself as your vision blurred at the edges.
Karina smirked around your cock, her tongue swiping a wet stripe from base to tip before diving back down, taking you deeper than she had any right to during a goddamn meeting. The wet sounds were obscene, her saliva dripping down your shaft to mingle with the precome smeared across her cleavage. She was trying to break you—pulling off just long enough to drag her tongue along the throbbing vein underneath before swallowing you whole again, her throat fluttering around the head.
“—yes, I’ll—” Your voice cracked as she suddenly cupped her breasts tighter, creating a sinful tunnel of flesh that she fucked you into, her mouth working the tip in counterpoint. “—forward the notes.” The words tasted like ash in your mouth, your control fraying with every slick slide of her skin.
The call dragged on, an eternity of half-formed sentences and gritted teeth, while Karina reduced you to a trembling mess beneath the guise of professionalism. When the final “Thanks, everyone” left your lips, you didn’t even wait for the disconnect—you slammed the laptop shut and hauled her up by the hair, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave.
Cum spilled over her lips, her chin, painting her tits in thick, white stripes as you fucked into her grip, your release endless. Karina gasped as the first hot spurt hit her tongue, but she didn’t pull away—just milked you through it, her breasts jiggling with each pulse, her mouth hungrily catching what her tits couldn’t.
“You call this your revenge?” You hauled Karina onto your lap in one swift motion, her bare thighs straddling yours, still sticky with the remnants of her earlier squirts. Her breath hitched as your cock slid effortlessly between her slick folds, the head catching at her entrance but not pushing in—not yet.
Her lips curled, still glistening with your release. “Maybe it is,” she murmured, rolling her hips just enough to tease. “Or maybe it’s a gift—because you did make me surrender last night.” Her nails raked down your chest, leaving faint red trails in their wake.
You gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, yanking her down onto your cock in one brutal thrust. Karina’s back arched, her mouth dropping open in a silent scream as she took you to the hilt. “Yeah?” you growled, watching her eyelashes flutter. “But I still want to punish you.” You pulled out agonizingly slow, savoring the way her cunt clenched around you, desperate to keep you inside. “You lost the challenge after being so damn confident.”
Karina’s laugh was breathless, broken. Her hands braced against your shoulders as she rocked forward, her swollen clit dragging against your abdomen. “Just punish me then, Daddy,” she taunted, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness.
The title sent a jolt of electricity straight to your cock. You didn’t hesitate—slamming back into her with enough force to knock the air from her lungs. Karina’s head snapped back, her tits bouncing with each punishing thrust, her thighs trembling where they gripped yours. “Fuck—yes,” she gasped, her fingers tangling in your hair. “That’s it—ruin me—”
“Like that, baby?” Your voice was rough, fingers digging into Karina’s hips as you pistoned into her, the chair creaking dangerously beneath you both.
Karina’s breath hitched, her back arching as she rocked into each thrust, her nails raking down your chest. “Yes—fuck—Daddy—” The word spilled from her lips like a prayer, broken and breathless, and something primal in you snarled in response.
“You begged for this,” you reminded her, snapping your hips up hard enough to jolt a cry from her throat. “Now take it.”
Karina’s body obeyed before her mind could catch up—her thighs clamping around yours, her cunt fluttering wildly as another orgasm ripped through her. Her release gushed between you, soaking your thighs, her moan cracking into a sob as you didn’t slow down, didn’t stop. “Too much—” she gasped, her fingers twisting in your hair, “but don’t you fucking dare stop—”
You laughed darkly, gripping her ass to haul her down onto your cock with brutal precision. “Greedy little thing,” you growled, watching her tits bounce with each punishing thrust. “You’re dripping down my thighs and still asking for more.”
Karina’s response was a wordless cry, her head falling back as you hit that spot inside her that made her vision whiten. Her thighs trembled violently, her cunt clamping around you in erratic pulses as she came again, her orgasm wringing another gush of slick from her already soaked pussy.
You didn’t give her a second to recover. Wrapping a hand around her throat, you dragged her forward until her lips brushed yours, her breath hot and ragged against your mouth. “You love it,” you murmured, your voice low and taunting. “Love being used like this, don’t you?”
Karina’s eyelids fluttered, her pupils blown wide with surrender. “Yes,” she admitted, the word barely audible, her hips still rolling in tiny, desperate circles. “Fuck me—please—”
You obliged, slamming into her with a pace that left her gasping, her tits swaying with each thrust, her nipples stiff and flushed. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with her broken moans and the wet, filthy squelch of her cunt taking you deeper with every snap of your hips.
Karina’s thighs shook, her body teetering on the edge of another climax, her breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. “Gonna cum—” she warned, her voice wrecked, her fingers scrambling for purchase on your shoulders. “Fuck—your cock—I can’t—”
“Do it,” you ordered, your grip tightening on her hips. “Cum on my dick like the desperate little slut you are.”
Karina’s orgasm hit like a freight train—her back bowing, her cunt clamping down on you so tight it nearly hurt. Her scream was raw, unfiltered, her release gushing hot between your bodies, her thighs quivering violently as you fucked her through it.
You weren’t far behind. With a groan, you buried yourself to the hilt, your release spilling deep inside her in thick, pulsing waves. Karina whimpered, oversensitive but still grinding her clit against you, milking every last drop from your cock as her body trembled with aftershocks.
For a long moment, the only sound was her ragged breathing and the wet drip of your combined mess between her thighs.
Then Karina smirked, her voice hoarse but triumphant. “Told you I’d make you surrender.”
You laughed, swatting her ass hard enough to leave a mark. “Keep dreaming, princess.”
She just grinned, limp but satisfied, her head dropping onto your shoulder as the chair groaned beneath you both.
The moment her knees hit the tile floor, Karina knew she wasn’t getting a break. You hauled her up by the hips before she could catch her breath, her stomach slamming against the cold marble of the kitchen island. Her legs dangled uselessly, toes brushing the air as her slick dripped onto the floor in a steady rhythm. The sound was obscenely loud in the quiet kitchen—a wet tap tap tap against tile that made her cheeks burn even as her cunt clenched around nothing.
“We’re not done yet, baby,” you growled, your hands spreading her ass cheeks wide. The air against her soaked folds made her shiver, but the heat of your cock pressing against her ruined pussy had her gasping. You didn’t ease in—just shoved, burying yourself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. Karina’s scream cracked halfway through, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the smooth counter as her body bowed under the force of it.
“Fuck—fuck—!” she chanted, her voice splintering into nonsense as you set a merciless pace, hips pistoning into her with enough force to rock the island beneath them. Her tits slid against the marble, nipples pebbled and oversensitive, her ass jiggling with every snap of your hips. The slap of skin on skin echoed off the cabinets, mingling with the wet, filthy squelch of her cunt taking you deeper with every thrust.
Karina’s vision blurred, her mouth hanging open as drool pooled beneath her cheek. She couldn’t form words—just broken syllables and gasps that dissolved into moans whenever you angled your hips just right. Her legs kicked weakly, her toes curling as another orgasm coiled tight in her belly. “G-gonna—” she managed, her voice wrecked, her cunt fluttering around you in erratic pulses.
You didn’t let her finish. Wrapping a fist in her hair, you yanked her head back, your breath hot against her ear. “Cum,” you ordered, your voice rough with command. “Now.”
Her body obeyed before her mind could catch up—her back arching, her cunt clamping down on you like a vice as pleasure ripped through her in violent waves. Her scream was raw, unfiltered, her thighs trembling violently as her release gushed between her legs, soaking your thighs and dripping onto the floor.
Your fingers tangled in Karina’s hair, yanking hard enough to make her gasp—not in pain, but in anticipation. The sharp pull arched her back, her throat exposed as her lips parted on a ragged exhale. “Do you like it?” you growled, your voice dripping with dominance, your hips never slowing their relentless pace. “Talk, baby. Show me how much you fucking love it.”
Karina’s breath hitched, her eyelids fluttering as her cunt clenched around you. The words tumbled out in a broken stream, her voice wrecked and shameless. “Love it—love your cock—fuck—so deep—” Her hips rocked back to meet your thrusts, her ass jiggling with every snap of your hips. Drool dripped from her bottom lip, her cheek smeared against the marble counter, her reflection distorted in the polished surface beneath her.
You tightened your grip, tilting her head back further until her pupils blew wide with surrender. “Louder,” you demanded, punctuating the word with a sharp thrust that punched a cry from her throat. “Let the whole fucking building hear how much of a slut you are for me.”
Karina’s moan cracked into a sob as you hit that spot inside her that made her toes curl. “Yours—” she gasped, her nails scraping uselessly against the counter. “All yours—please—more—” Her thighs trembled violently, her cunt fluttering around you in erratic pulses as another orgasm coiled tight in her belly.
You didn’t let her cum yet. With a cruel twist of your wrist, you dragged her upright, her back slamming against your chest. Your free hand groped her tits, pinching her nipples hard enough to make her whimper. “Not yet,” you murmured against her ear, your voice a dark promise. “You don’t get to cum until I say so.”
Karina’s head lolled against your shoulder, her breath coming in shallow gasps as you slowed your thrusts to a maddening grind. Every inch of your cock dragged against her oversensitive walls, her cunt clenching helplessly around you. “Cruel,” she moaned, her hips twitching in tiny, desperate circles. “Fucking—tease—”
You chuckled, your teeth grazing her earlobe. “And you love it.”
She couldn’t deny it. Her body betrayed her, her pussy dripping around your cock, her thighs shaking with the effort of holding back. “Please—” she begged, the word dissolving into a whine as you rolled her nipple between your fingers.
You rewarded her with a brutal thrust, your hips slapping against her ass hard enough to leave a mark. “Now,” you ordered, your hand sliding down to circle her clit in tight, punishing strokes.
Karina’s orgasm hit like a lightning strike—her back bowing, her scream ripping through the room as her cunt milked your cock in violent pulses. Her release gushed between her thighs, soaking your fingers and dripping onto the floor in a filthy, obscene rhythm.
You fucked her through it, your pace never faltering, your grip on her hair keeping her upright as her legs gave out. “Again,” you commanded, your voice rough with barely restrained hunger. “Cum again.”
Karina sobbed, her body wrung out but still obedient, her cunt fluttering around you as another wave of pleasure crashed over her. Her moan was raw, unfiltered, her thighs trembling as her second orgasm wrenched itself from her body.
Your palm cracked against her ass with a sharp, stinging slap—hard enough to make Karina jerk forward with a gasp. The red handprint bloomed across her cheek, stark against her pale skin, and she barely had time to whimper before you did it again. “Ah!—fuck, that hurts—” she protested, her voice breaking as her hips instinctively rocked back into you, her pussy clenching greedily around your cock.
You chuckled darkly, delivering another slap, this time harder, watching her skin flush darker under the impact. “Bullshit,” you murmured, your fingers digging into the soft flesh of her ass. “Your cunt’s dripping, baby. Begging for it.” As if to prove your point, you dragged your thumb through her slick folds, collecting the evidence before smearing it across her swollen clit. Karina shuddered, her thighs trembling as a fresh gush of arousal coated your fingers.
Then you stopped moving entirely—your cock buried deep inside her but motionless, a cruel tease as her body throbbed around you. “No—” Karina whined, her hips twitching in desperate little circles, trying to fuck herself on you. But you held her still, your grip unyielding, your other hand rising to deliver another sharp slap to her pussy. The wet smack echoed in the room, her clit jolting under the sting, and she cried out, her walls fluttering wildly.
“Admit it,” you ordered, your voice rough with command, your fingers tracing lazy circles around her abused clit. “Say you love it.”
Karina bit her lip, her breath coming in ragged gasps as you spanked her pussy again, the sharp pain melting into heat that coiled tight in her belly. Her thighs shook, her toes curling against the tile as another slap landed—this time harder, meaner—and her resistance shattered. “Fine—fuck—yes!” she sobbed, her hips bucking helplessly. “I love it—love your hand on my pussy, love—ah!—when you spank me like a fucking slut—”
You rewarded her honesty with another slap, this time letting your fingers linger, rubbing firm circles into her clit as she writhed against you. “Good girl,” you purred, your cock twitching inside her as her cunt squeezed around you in frantic pulses. “Now cum for me.”
Karina’s orgasm hit like a tidal wave—her back arching, her scream tearing through the room as her pussy gushed around your cock. Her thighs clamped around yours, her body bowing under the force of it, her release soaking both of you in a hot, sticky mess. You didn’t move, didn’t give her an inch, just let her ride it out on your still cock, her moans dissolving into broken whimpers as the aftershocks wracked her body.
You didn’t let her recover. The second her orgasm subsided into shuddering aftershocks, your hands gripped her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh as you dragged her back onto your cock with a single, brutal thrust. Karina’s gasp was sharp, her body jolting forward, her palms slapping against the marble counter to brace herself. “Fuck—yes—” she choked out, her voice already wrecked, her cunt fluttering around you in helpless pulses.
You set a punishing pace immediately—no warm-up, no mercy. Just the wet slap of skin on skin, the obscene squelch of her well-used pussy taking every inch of you with each snap of your hips. Her ass bounced with every thrust, the red handprint you’d left earlier now a darkening bloom against her pale skin. You leaned over her, your chest pressing against her sweat-slick back, your breath hot against her ear. “Gonna fill you up again,” you growled, your voice thick with promise. “Mark you inside where it counts.”
Karina’s moan was half-sob, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the counter as you drilled into her with relentless precision. Her thighs trembled, her toes curling against the tile, her body arching to meet each thrust. “Do it—” she begged, her voice cracking. “Please—breed me—claim me—”
The raw need in her voice sent a surge of possessiveness through you. Your hand fisted in her hair again, yanking her head back until her spine bowed, her throat exposed. “Mine,” you snarled, your hips pistoning into her with enough force to rock the island beneath you both. Her tits swayed with each movement, her nipples stiff and flushed, her cunt clamping down on you in erratic spasms as another orgasm coiled tight in her belly.
You felt it the second she tipped over the edge—her walls fluttering wildly, her scream shattering into wordless, breathless cries as her release gushed between her thighs. Her body convulsed around you, her back arching, her ass pressing back against you greedily as if she couldn’t get enough. “Fuck—fuck—so good—” she babbled, her voice wrecked beyond recognition.
That was all it took. With a groan, you buried yourself to the hilt, your release spilling deep inside her in hot, pulsing waves. Karina whimpered, oversensitive but still grinding her hips back against you, milking every last drop from your cock as her body trembled with aftershocks. Your grip on her hair loosened, your forehead dropping between her shoulder blades as you both rode out the high, the only sounds in the room the ragged hitch of her breathing and the wet drip of your combined mess between her thighs.
Karina’s fingers slipped from the railing as another brutal thrust sent her lurching forward, her cheek pressing against the cold metal. The morning air was crisp against her sweat-slicked skin, the city stretching out below them in a haze of early sunlight. She’d thought she’d won—thought she’d drained you dry after the kitchen, the living room, the hallway—but your grip on her hips was ironclad, your cock pistoning into her with a stamina that bordered on inhuman.
Karina gasped as her body was suddenly lifted, the world tilting violently before her back hit the cold balcony railing. Her fingers scrambled for purchase, nails scraping against metal as she blinked up at you in dazed disbelief. “What the—how are you still—standing?!” she panted, her voice raw from screaming, her thighs still trembling from the last round. The sunrise painted the sky in streaks of gold and pink, casting your silhouette in an almost predatory glow as you loomed over her.
Karina’s fingers clawed at the railing, her knuckles whitening as the metal dug into her palms. The city stretched out below them, indifferent to the way her thighs shook against the cold steel, her breath coming in ragged gasps that fogged the morning air. “You—you were supposed to be done,” she panted, her voice hoarse from overuse, her body still thrumming with the aftershocks of the last orgasm you’d wrung from her.
You chuckled, low and dangerous, your hands splaying across her hips as you pulled her back against you. The evidence of your earlier rounds glistened between her thighs, dripping onto the balcony floor in a slow, obscene rhythm. “You really thought a few rounds would knock me out?” Your teeth grazed her shoulder, biting down just hard enough to make her jerk. “Cute.”
Karina’s protest died in her throat as you angled her hips, the head of your cock pressing against her soaked entrance. “Wait—fuck—I can’t take—” Her words dissolved into a sharp cry as you sheathed yourself in one brutal thrust, her body stretching to accommodate you even as her cunt fluttered in protest. The railing groaned under their combined weight, the sound drowned out by Karina’s broken moan.
“Are you a monster?” she gasped, her head dropping forward as you set a punishing pace immediately, your hips slamming into her with enough force to rock the balcony beneath them. The sunrise painted her skin in gold, highlighting the sweat-slick curve of her spine, the way her ass jiggled with each snap of your hips.
You leaned over her, your breath hot against her ear. “No,” you murmured, your voice thick with promise. “I’m just getting started.” Your hand slid between her thighs, finding her swollen clit with unerring precision. “And I’ll make sure you’re dry.”
Karina’s scream tore through the dawn air, raw and unfiltered, bouncing off skyscraper glass as the city below stirred to life. Her fingers clenched the railing so hard her knuckles blanched, her thighs quivering against the cold metal as you drove into her with a force that sent shockwaves through her body. The sound of skin slapping skin echoed louder than car horns on the street below—wet, filthy, deliberate.
“Louder,” you growled against her ear, your teeth scraping her pulse point as your hand snaked around her throat. “Let them hear who owns this cunt.”
Karina’s head fell back against your shoulder, her lips parting on another broken cry as you angled your hips just right—hitting that spot that made her vision whiten. Her voice cracked, syllables dissolving into nonsense as her orgasm slammed into her without warning. The railing shuddered beneath her grip, her release gushing down her thighs in hot, slick waves that dripped onto the balcony tiles.
A distant shout rose from the street—someone had heard. Karina’s stomach flipped, half-mortification, half-thrill, her cunt clenching around you in erratic pulses. “Fuck—they know—” she gasped, her hips rocking back to meet your thrusts despite the oversensitivity wracking her body.
You laughed darkly, palming her ass to spread her wider, your cock plunging deeper. “Good,” you murmured, your voice thick with possession. “Let them envy me.”
Her answering moan was drowned out by the blare of a car horn—some asshole leaning out their window, craning to see the source of the noise. Karina didn’t care. Her world narrowed to the stretch of your cock inside her, the way your fingers dug into her hips hard enough to bruise, the sound of her own voice splintering the morning calm.
“Again,” you ordered, your thumb circling her clit in tight, punishing strokes.
Karina sobbed, her body bowing under the dual assault. “Can’t—too much—”
You didn’t relent. Your pace turned brutal, the railing creaking ominously as you fucked her into another climax. Her scream this time was shrill, her thighs clamping around yours as her cunt milked you in violent spasms. Below, a chorus of whistles and whoops rose from the street—an audience.
Karina’s cheeks burned, but her hips never stopped moving, her body betraying her shame with each greedy roll of her ass. “Y-you’re—ruining me—” she choked out, her voice wrecked beyond recognition.
You kissed her shoulder, your lips curling against her sweat-slick skin. “Correction,” you murmured, your thrusts slowing to a maddening grind. “I’m remaking you.”
The balcony door slammed shut behind you, Karina’s knees buckling the second you crossed the threshold. She barely caught herself on the hallway wall, her palms sliding against the paint as you crowded her from behind, your cock already nudging at her swollen entrance. “No—wait—” she gasped, but you didn’t. You sheathed yourself in one brutal thrust, her cunt so slick it made a wet schluck sound as you bottomed out. Karina’s forehead thumped against the wall, her fingers scrambling for purchase as you set a merciless pace, her ass jiggling with each snap of your hips.
By the time you reached the living room, her thighs were shaking so badly she couldn’t stand. You dumped her onto the couch face-first, her tits spilling over the armrest as you mounted her from behind. The leather squeaked under her sweat-slick skin, her moans muffled by the cushions as you fucked her raw, your hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises. Her pussy was still dripping, but the wet sounds grew shallower with every thrust, her body struggling to keep up.
The kitchen island came next—her back pressed against the cold marble, her legs hooked over your shoulders as you drove into her with enough force to rock the cabinets. Karina’s screams were hoarse now, her voice shredded, her cunt fluttering around you in weak pulses. You didn’t stop. You flipped her onto her stomach, her ass in the air, and fucked her until her thighs were streaked with a mix of your cum and her own slick, the puddle beneath her growing stickier by the minute.
The bedroom was a blur—her on her knees, her on all fours, her on her back with her ankles pinned to her ears. Every position wrung another broken sound from her throat, her body oversensitive but still obedient, still taking you even as her cunt grew tighter, drier. By the time you dragged her into the bathroom, her pussy was so overused it ached, her inner thighs chafed red, her clit swollen to the point of pain.
The shower was already running when you shoved her against the tiles, the water scalding against her flushed skin. Karina whimpered as you lifted her, her back pressed to the wall, her legs wrapping around your waist out of sheer habit. Her cunt was tender now, the initial slide of your cock drawing a sharp gasp from her—not pleasure, not pain, but something raw in between. You fucked her slow this time, deliberately, watching her face contort with every thrust.
Then you felt it—the faintest resistance, the barest hint of drag. Karina’s breath hitched, her nails digging into your shoulders. “Stop—please—” she begged, but you didn’t. You thrust deeper, harder, and when you pulled out, the tip of your cock was smeared with a thin streak of pink. Karina’s eyes widened, her thighs trembling violently. “Fuck,” she whispered, her voice wrecked. “You broke me.”
You kissed her then, deep and possessive, your hand cradling the back of her head as the water sluiced between you. “No,” you murmured against her lips. “I just made sure you’ll remember.”
And when you carried her to bed—her body limp, her pussy throbbing—the rust-colored smudge on the sheets was proof enough.
It's fucking cold and your blazer does exactly nothing to stop it. The wind just cuts right through like the fabric doesn't exist. You should've grabbed an actual coat before leaving, but hindsight and all that. At least you remembered the hat. Small victories.
Your dress shoes click against the pavement. That's the only sound besides the wind. The whole park is basically empty, which makes sense: it's past midnight. Way past. This is the hour when normal people are home in bed, not walking along the Han River with a bag of honey butter chips in one hand and fresh bandages on the other.
The bandages are from earlier. You punched a mirror in your office. Stupid move. The mirror won that fight. Your knuckles are still throbbing to prove it.
The bench comes into view. Your bench. The one you've been visiting since you were seventeen. Back then it was college entrance exams and a father who looked at you like a disappointment. Now it's a hemorrhaging portfolio and a boardroom full of middle-aged men who look at you like you're a child playing dress-up with daddy's money.
Different problems. Same bench. Same river. Same pathetic ritual of sitting alone in the dark until your head stops screaming.
Except tonight, someone's already there.
You slow your pace. A figure hunched forward, elbows on knees, hands pressed against their head, their shoulders shaking. Not from the cold, but from crying. You can hear the faint whimpering. It's a woman. You can tell from the frame, small and slight, wearing this oversized hoodie. Her face is completely hidden, buried in her hands, and she's just... falling apart. Right there. On your bench.
Great. Just what you needed.
You glance around. The pathway stretches empty in both directions. No friends hovering nearby, no security guards, no one at all. Just you and this stranger having a breakdown on your bench at one in the morning. You could leave. Turn around, find another spot, let her have her moment of private misery without some asshole in a wrinkled blazer standing ten feet away like a creep.
But your feet don't move. Eventually, though, she becomes aware of you, because her head snaps up. That’s when the streetlight catches her face. Your own face is obscured by shadows, so she doesn't see your expression of astonishment when you see her.
It's Karina.
Yu Jimin. From aespa. The Yu Jimin whose face you've seen on billboards, variety shows and big stages. She's staring at you with red-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked cheeks and an expression that's rapidly shifting from devastation to alarm. "Who are you?" She scrambles to her feet, putting distance between you. "What are you doing here?"
You don't answer immediately. Your brain is still buffering, still trying to reconcile the idol on the billboards with the crying girl in front of you, but your mouth operates on autopilot. "Well." You gesture at the trees, the river, the general ambiance of public outdoor space. "This is a park. People walk here. I just came to sit on the bench where I usually come to cry… But it seems someone beat me to it."
Jimin's expression flickers. She can't tell if you're joking or genuinely pathetic, and honestly, neither can you. "I'm sorry." She wipes hastily at her face, smearing tears across her cheek. "I'll go. I shouldn't be here anyway."
"No, no." You wave your unbandaged hand in a dismissive gesture. "I'm kidding. Stay. Bench is all yours. I'm leaving."
Who cares about the problems of Korea’s it girl when your own life is falling apart? So you turn. Start walking. Your shoes click against the pavement again, and you're already thinking about the convenience store two blocks over, whether they'll have more chips, whether you can find another bench somewhere that doesn't have a sobbing celebrity on it.
Three steps. Four. Five.
You stop.
Because the thing is: that's Yu Jimin back there. Karina. And you watched the news last week like everyone else. You saw the footage of her walking off stage mid-performance, the confused backup dancers, the fan cams cutting to black. The internet exploded with theories. Mental breakdown. Contract dispute. Secret illness. Nobody knew anything concrete, and SM Entertainment released some bullshit statement about "scheduling adjustments" that convinced exactly no one.
And now she's here. Alone. Crying by the river at one in the morning with no one around. You don’t want to go home, fall asleep, and wake up in the morning to turn on the news and hear the final, tragic headline about Yu Jimin. Knowing you could have done something.
You turn back. Jimin hasn't moved. She's watching you with wary eyes, arms wrapped around herself.
"On second thought," you say, walking toward her again, "I'd like to leave. I really would. But all that social ethics and empathy that one person is supposed to have for another is making it difficult."
"I'm fine. Really. You can go."
You stop a few feet away from the bench. Study her face in the dim light. The swollen eyes, the blotchy skin, the way her lower lip trembles even as she tries to set her jaw.
"You don't look fine."
You sit down on the opposite end of the bench, leaving a solid three feet of space between you. The wood is cold through your slacks. You settle back, stretch your legs out, and stare at the river instead of her.
"If you want to talk about it," you say, "you can. I'll listen." You give her your name. She doesn’t give you hers. Whatever. You already know it.
"I'm not going to open up to a stranger."
"That's fair." You nod. "I wouldn't either. Strangers are terrible. Half of them are serial killers or… you know." Silence. The river laps against the concrete embankment. "I'll just sit here for a while," you continue. "Until you're feeling better. And, you know." You pause. "Stop you from jumping in the river."
"What? I’d never do that.”
"Great." You shrug. "Saves me the trouble. I can't swim."
Another pause. You're not looking at her, but you can feel her gaze on the side of your face, trying to figure you out. Trying to decide if you're making fun of her or genuinely this weird. You open the bag of chips. You pop one in your mouth, chew slowly, then tilt the bag in her direction.
"Want some?"
Jimin stares at the offering like it might be poisoned. Her eyes flick to your face, then back to the chips. She reaches out. Takes one. Eats it.
"These are my favorite," she says quietly.
"I know."
"How... How do you know that?"
You chew another chip. Swallow. "I know who you are. Everyone does. You're kind of famous."
She exhales, then murmurs: "Fuck."
"Yeah."
"You're a fan."
"I own an album or two. Doesn't mean anything. I'm not going to ask for a photo or an autograph or whatever. I'm not going to tell anyone I saw you here." You pause. "Crying alone at one in the morning isn't exactly the image SM wants to project, I'm guessing."
Jimin doesn't respond. She's staring at the river now, the same way you were a moment ago. The water is black and glittering under the scattered lights of the city. "Why are you being nice to me?" she asks finally.
You consider the question. Think about the boardroom meeting from hell, the investors pulling out, the whispered conversations that stop when you enter a room. Think about your throbbing knuckles and your empty apartment and the fact that you came here tonight because you didn't know where else to go.
"I'm not being nice," you say. "I'm being a basic human being." You hold out the bag again. She takes another chip.
"What happened to your hand?" Jimin's question catches you off guard. You'd almost forgotten about it. The throbbing has faded to a dull ache. You glance down at the bandages wrapped around your knuckles, the gauze is already slightly grimy from the evening's adventures.
"This?" You hold it up. "Got into a fight. Some guys. You know how it is." She raises an eyebrow. "Happens all the time," you continue, keeping your face perfectly straight. "You should've seen the other guys. Absolutely wrecked. One of them's probably still in the hospital."
"You don't seem like the type to get into a fight."
"Excuse me?"
"Or to win one."
You press your unbandaged hand to your chest and say, incredibly offended: "That's so rude. I'm very intimidating. You clearly don't know my reputation; I've beaten up half the guys in this city. "
"Uh huh."
"I do."
"Sure."
You hold the pose for another beat, then let it drop. Shrug. "Okay, you've got good eyes. I punched a mirror."
"A mirror?"
"In my office. Full-length. Extremely expensive. Had this whole elegant frame, imported from somewhere in Europe." You flex your fingers experimentally, wince slightly. "It won."
"Why would you punch a mirror?"
"Because the wall was too far away."
Before you can react, Jimin reaches over and takes your hand. Her fingers are cold against your skin as she turns your wrist, examining the bandages with a frown. The touch is clinical, careful, but it still sends something strange through your body.
"Don't do that again," she says. "You could have been seriously hurt. This needs to be rewrapped. Did you even clean it properly?"
"A doctor looked at it."
"A real doctor?"
"The emergency room kind. With a degree and everything."
She lets go of your hand. "I'm serious. That was stupid."
You tuck your hand back in your lap. "Sorry, If I'd known Yu Jimin would be upset about it, I wouldn't have done it."
Jimin's nose scrunches. It's subtle, but you catch it. "That's a weird thing to say to someone you just met."
"I'm a weird person. Ask anyone."
She doesn't respond to that. Instead, she reaches for the chip bag still sitting between you, pulls out another handful, and chews slowly. The crunch is the only sound for a long moment. "Why did you do it?" she asks. "The mirror thing. Were you drunk?"
"Stone cold sober." You lean back against the bench, tilt your head toward the sky. The stars are invisible here. Too much light pollution. Just a flat expanse of urban grey. At the lake house, there are probably stars in the sky. "I was angry."
"At what?"
"Everything. My life is crumbling right in front of me and there's nothing I can do about it. I just have to sit there and watch it fall apart, piece by piece, while everyone stands around waiting for me to fix it." You pause. "The worst part is that it's my fault. All of it. Every single thing that's going wrong right now is because of decisions I made."
Jimin is quiet. Listening.
"Now everyone hates me," you continue. "My investors. My board. My employees, probably. They all look at me like I'm some kind of idiot child who got lucky once and has been failing upward ever since." You give a quiet, self-deprecating laugh. "Maybe they're right."
"What happened?" Jimin asks. "With your company?"
You think about how much to tell her, how much you even want to say out loud. But between the darkness, the late hour, and how ridiculous this whole situation is, this bench and Jimin seem very much like a safe space.
"I made a bet," you say. "A big one. Moved a lot of money into a position that I was sure would pay off. Everyone told me it was risky. Everyone told me to hedge, to be careful, to think about the downside. And I told them they were being cowards." You close your eyes. "I was wrong. The position collapsed. We lost... a lot. More than I want to think about. And now the investors are pulling out, the board wants my head, and the company I built is probably going to be sold off to some private equity firm that'll gut it for parts."
"That sounds..."
"Pathetic? Yeah."
"I was going to say overwhelming."
You open your eyes. Look at her. "Same thing, in my experience."
Jimin pulls her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. "Do you feel powerless?"
"Every second of every day lately."
She nods slowly. "Me too," she says quietly.
You turn to face her more fully. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Then I guess we have a lot in common. Karina and I, united by a shared feeling. Who would have thought, huh?”
A breeze picks up, carrying the smell of water and city and approaching rain. You watch Jimin shiver, then you shrug out of your blazer. It's rumpled, probably smells like stress sweat, but it's wool and it's warm.
"Here."
She looks at the offered jacket, then at you. "No, I'm fine."
"You're shaking."
"It's not that cold."
"Your lips are turning blue."
"They are not."
"Just take it." You hold it out further. "I'm not being polite. I'm being practical. If you get hypothermia out here, I'm the one who has to deal with it, and I really don't want to explain to the paramedics why I was hanging out with an idol at one in the morning."
Jimin hesitates. Then, slowly, she takes the blazer. Drapes it over her shoulders. It swallows her, the sleeves hanging past her hands, the hem nearly reaching her thighs.
"It fits you perfectly," you say.
She looks down at herself. A ghost of something that might be amusement crosses her face. She pulls the blazer tighter around herself and asks: "Are you scared?"
You take a moment before answering. "Yes."
"Of what?"
"Losing everything. Proving everyone right about me. Finding out that I really am just a lucky idiot who got in over his head." You pick at the edge of your bandage. "Waking up one day and realizing I wasted my entire life chasing something that was never going to work out." Jimin nods. Like she understands. Like she knows exactly what that fear tastes like. "What about you?" you ask. "What are you afraid of?"
"Getting lost," she replies. "Not knowing who I am anymore." She presses her forehead to her knees. "I've been doing this for so long. Being Karina. Being what everyone wants me to be. And somewhere along the way, I think I forgot who I was before all of it. Who I am underneath. Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and can’t see myself. A body with no face.” You don't say anything. You just listen. "I don't know who I really am," she continues. "And I don’t know how to figure it out."
"I had a girlfriend in college," you say after a moment. "She was really into esoteric stuff. Crystals, tarot cards, meditation retreats. The whole thing. She used to say that when you think too much, your mind separates from your body. Like it just... drifts away. Floats off somewhere and leaves the rest of you behind." You wave your uninjured hand. "She said the key was recalibration. Bringing your mind back to your body. Grounding yourself in the physical."
"How do you do that?"
You shrug. "No idea. We broke up before I figured that part out." Jimin lets out a breath. It's almost a laugh. "But you'll figure it out," you add. "Eventually. You seem smart."
"You don't know me."
"I know you have good taste in chips. That's something."
You stand up. Your body protests, joints stiff from the cold, but you ignore it. You grab the bag of chips (still half full) and hold it out to her. "Here. Take the rest."
She looks up at you. "I can't take your chips."
"Consider it a gift. From one pathetic person crying in a park to another."
Jimin takes the bag, holds it in her lap.
"My company," you say, "is in the Yeouido financial district. The building with the copper spire that's shaped like a twisted flame. You can't miss it. Only building in Seoul that looks like it's actively on fire." You pause. "My office is on the top floor. If you ever want to talk. Or just sit somewhere warm and eat snacks in silence. Whatever. Just show up."
She stares at you. "You're inviting me to your office?"
"Yeah. Is that weird? I feel like I lost my social instincts a while back."
"Why?"
"Because I have a lot of snacks up there, and no one to share them with." You start backing away, keeping your eyes on her. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Jimin-ssi. Genuinely. Even under the circumstances."
She doesn't respond. Just watches you, the blazer still wrapped around her shoulders, your chips still clutched in her hands.
"And maybe stop going out alone in the middle of the night," you add. "It's not safe. There are weirdos everywhere. Present company included." You take a few more steps backward. Almost trip on a crack in the pavement. Recover with what you hope is dignity. "One more thing."
Jimin tilts her head.
"You're my favorite in aespa," you say. "Always have been. Total diva."
And there it is. Finally. The corner of her mouth twitches, then lifts, and she smiles. It’s small, tired, still a little broken, but it’s there. Real.
“Thank you,” she says.
You turn and walk away before you can say another stupid thing. At least tonight, you’ll go to sleep knowing you made Karina from aespa crack a small smile.
—
It's a hallway big enough for everyone, but they insist on staying close to you. Your chief financial officer walks on your left, rattling off numbers that stopped meaning anything to you three days ago. Your head of operations flanks your right as he lists every reason why this trip is a terrible idea. Behind you, your assistant struggles to keep up while she reminds you about the seventeen emails you haven't answered.
You? Well, you’re starting to get pissed about the lack of personal space.
"You can't just leave," the CFO says. "There's too much happening here. The quarterly reports need your signature by Friday, and the auditors are asking questions about the Singapore accounts."
"I'm taking my MacBook." You don't slow down. "I can do everything remotely. That's the whole point of technology."
"With respect, sir, you said that last time and then you disappeared for three days without answering a single call."
"It won't happen again. You have my word."
Your operations head cuts in. "The meeting will also be on Friday. The board meeting. You need to be there. Everything is at stake. They're going to vote on whether to accept the acquisition offer, and if you're not present to argue against it, they'll sell us off without a second thought."
"I'll be there." You reach the elevator bay and press the button. "I'll be back on Friday morning. I'll sit in that room and I'll argue until I'm blue in the face. But right now, today, I'm getting on a plane."
"Sir, please, we need to discuss the restructuring proposal. The legal team has concerns about the liability clauses, and the PR department wants to schedule a press conference to address the investor concerns, and there's the matter of the pension fund adjustments that require your direct approval, and honestly we're all very worried about your mental state given recent events and we think perhaps you should speak to someone, a professional, someone who can help you process what's happening because this level of avoidance behavior is concerning and we care about you as a person not just as our employer and—"
The elevator doors open and there she is: Seol Yoon-a. Standing dead center like she's posing for a photoshoot. Her hair's down, these perfect brown waves past her shoulders, so glossy that makes you wonder if it's even real. Angular face, delicate features, coral pink lipstick. She's tall. Taller than you right now, but it's because of the high heels. The short blue dress is definitely designer, you can tell just by looking at it. And she's holding her dog. A tiny white Pomeranian with a rhinestone collar, cradled in her arms like it's a purse.
She looks absolutely furious.
"I have been trying to reach you all morning," she says. "All. Morning. I called seven times. Seven. I texted you fourteen messages. I even tried emailing."
You step into the elevator. The doors close behind you, sealing you in with her and the world's most judgmental Pomeranian.
"I was in meetings."
"You were avoiding me."
"Those aren't mutually exclusive."
"You've been so irresponsible lately," she continues. "Missing dinners. Canceling plans. Last week you forgot we were supposed to go to that gallery opening, and I had to show up alone like some kind of abandoned housewife."
"My company is on the verge of collapse." You watch the floor numbers tick upward. "I think I've earned the right to be a little irresponsible."
"That's not an excuse."
"It's literally the definition of an excuse. A reason for not doing something. My reason is corporate bankruptcy."
She huffs. The Pomeranian huffs with her. You wonder if she trained it to do that or if it just absorbed her personality through proximity.
"What about dinner tonight?" she demands. "With my parents? They've been wanting to meet you for months now, and I finally convinced them to fly in from Busan, and the reservation at that restaurant took three weeks to get, and my father is very particular about punctuality, and my mother is going to ask me why you're not there, and what am I supposed to tell her? That my boyfriend is too busy having a crisis to show basic courtesy?"
"We've already talked about this: I'm not your boyfriend,” you remind Yoon-a and see her face deflate right before your eyes. You exhale and add: “Yet. I’m not your boyfriend… yet. And I can't do that right now. I have too much going on. Your parents will have to wait."
"You always say that. You always have some excuse. I'm starting to think you don't even like me anymore."
You exhale slowly. Count to three. Try to find the diplomatic answer, the gentle deflection, the words that will smooth this over without actually addressing the underlying issue.
"I like you," you say. "But sometimes you can be a little... clingy."
Yoon-a's eyes go wide. Her mouth drops open. The Pomeranian actually stops yapping, like even it knows you've crossed a line.
"Clingy?" She repeats, completely horrified, like it’s the most offensive thing a guy could ever say to a girl. "You think I'm clingy?"
"I said a little."
"How could you say that?" She clutches the dog closer, and her outrage reaches a fever pitch. "How could you say that in front of our son?"
Your eyes sweep over the tiny fluffball, unimpressed, before flicking to her. "Pretty sure our son doesn’t shed this much.”
"Excuse me?"
"That dog isn't our son. You've had him for four years. We've been together for eight months. The math doesn't work."
Yoon-a literally gasps. Like you've said something unforgivable. She claps one hand over the Pomeranian's ear, pressing his fluffy head against her chest.
"Don't listen to him, baby," she coos. "He doesn't mean it. He's just having one of his moods."
"I'm not having a mood. I'm stating a fact."
The elevator dings. The doors open onto the ground floor lobby. Yoon-a steps out. Turns to face you. Her eyes are glistening (whether from genuine hurt or theatrical effect, you can't tell.)
“If you’re gonna be petty and take your frustration out on our innocent kid, then we’re done," she announces. "It's over. Don't look for me again. Don't call me. Don't text me. Don't even think about me." She spins on her heel and strides away.
"Yoon-a." You step out of the elevator, follow her a few paces. "Yoon-a, wait. We should talk about this."
She doesn't turn around. Doesn't slow down. Just keeps walking. You stand there for a moment. Processing. Then you shake your head and keep walking.
You're maybe twenty steps from the main exit when someone intercepts you. A young woman from the front desk. "Sir? I'm sorry to bother you, but there's someone here who wants to speak with you."
"I cancelled all my appointments today."
"I know, sir, but she was very insistent, and she's been waiting for almost an hour, and she said you'd want to see her."
You frown. "Who is it?"
The receptionist hesitates. Glances over her shoulder toward the lobby seating area. "She says her name is Yu Jimin. Karina. From… aespa.” You stop walking.
It's been two weeks since that night by the river. Two weeks since you sat on a bench with Yu Jimin and shared chips and talked about falling apart. Two weeks since you gave her your blazer and told her where to find you and walked away thinking that was probably the last time you'd ever see her. You'd convinced yourself she wouldn't come. Why would she? You're a stranger. A random guy she met while crying in a park. The invitation was impulsive, probably inappropriate, definitely weird. Any sensible person would have thrown your blazer in the trash and forgotten the whole thing.
And yet.
"Where?" you ask. The receptionist points toward the seating area near the windows. And there she is: Jimin sits on one of the low leather couches, her posture slightly hunched, her hands folded in her lap. She's wearing a baseball cap pulled low and a face mask that covers half her features, the standard idol disguise that fools absolutely no one. On the couch beside her sits Yoon-a.
Oh no.
You move closer, and fragments of conversation reach you: "Are you Karina?" Yoon-a is asking, leaning in with that curiosity she gets when she thinks she's discovered something interesting. "From aespa? You look exactly like her."
"No." Jimin's reply is quiet, muffled by the mask. "I get that a lot, though."
"The resemblance is insane. Like, identical. Are you sure you're not her?"
"I'm sure."
Yoon-a tilts her head, studies Jimin for another moment, then seems to accept the answer. "Well, whoever you are, your hair is gorgeous. What products do you use?"
"Um. Thank you. I don't really—"
"Anyway, I have to go. My ex-boyfriend is being dramatic and I need to go post something on Instagram that will make him jealous." Yoon-a stands, adjusts the Pomeranian in her arms, and sweeps away without a backward glance.
Jimin watches her go with visible relief. Then she sees you. She stands quickly, pulling down her mask. Her face is bare of makeup, her hair tucked under the cap. "Hi," she says.
"Hi." A beat of silence. The lobby hums around you, people coming and going, phones ringing, the distant chime of elevators. "I thought I’d never see you again," you say. "Honestly. I thought you'd written me off as some weirdo who talks to crying strangers."
"You are a weirdo who talks to crying strangers."
"Fair point."
She shifts her weight, uncertain. "Is this a bad time? I should have called first. I didn't have your number, so I just showed up, which is probably weird, I know, I can leave if you're busy—"
"Any time is a bad time right now." You shrug. "My entire life is a bad time. So it doesn't really matter."
That seems to relax her slightly. She reaches into the bag slung over her shoulder and pulls out something familiar. Your blazer, folded neatly. "I came to return this," she says. "And also... I don't know. I've been thinking about that conversation we had. About you. About everything you said." She pauses, searching for words. "I thought it might be nice to see you again. If that's okay."
You take the blazer from her hands. The fabric still smells faintly of her perfume. "It's okay," you say.
Her gaze drops to the overnight bag slung over your shoulder, the coat draped over your arm. "Are you going somewhere?"
"Yeah. I'm..." You hesitate. "I'm taking a trip. Getting out of the city for a few days. Clear my head."
"Oh.” Her eyes flick down for a moment. “Then I should let you go. I didn't mean to interrupt your plans."
You should probably just let her go. Say goodbye, wish her well, catch your flight solo like you'd originally planned. Be a normal, sensible person about this. That's what you're supposed to do here. That's the appropriate move.
But you're looking at her standing there, and you're thinking about two weeks of radio silence. You're thinking about how she smiled at you that night. Just once. Just barely. But she did. "Come with me," you say.
"What?"
"Come with me. On the trip."
"I—what? I can't just—you're not serious."
"I'm going to my family's lake house. A few hours outside the city. I'll be the only one there. Totally empty. Totally quiet." You pause. "Company would be nice. If you want."
She stares at you like you've lost your mind. Which, to be fair, you might have. "Don't you have a girlfriend or something?" she asks.
"The girl who was talking to you a minute ago, she was almost my girlfriend. Emphasis on was and almost." You sigh. "Pretty sure I ruined that. Again. It's becoming a pattern."
"She was beautiful."
"Yeah. In another universe, she's probably an idol. Could give you a run for your money." You tilt your head, considering. "In this universe, she's just a kind of ditzy rich girl. Good heart, though. Deep down." Jimin doesn't seem to know how to respond to that. "The offer stands," you continue. "Private jet. Lake house. Fresh air. It might be my last trip on that plane, actually. I'll probably have to sell it soon to cover some debts. Might as well enjoy it while I can."
"I'm not ready," she says. "I don't have a suitcase. I don't have clothes. I didn't plan for this."
You check your watch. "You have an hour and a half. Go home, pack a bag, get your documents and meet me at Gimpo airfield. I'll text you the details."
"This is insane. I shouldn't be traveling alone with someone I barely know."
"Definitely not. Objectively, this is one of the stupidest things anyone could do."
She crosses her arms. Narrows her eyes at you. "How do I know you're not going to murder me or something?"
"I don't like blood." You hold up your hand, showing her the healing scars across your knuckles. "When I punched that mirror and saw it bleeding, I almost passed out. Had to sit down for ten minutes. My secretary had to bring me juice."
Her expression softens slightly. "How is it? Your hand?"
"Better. See? All healed up. No lasting damage."
"Good."
"So no murders," you say. "I'd honestly prefer to keep all your blood and organs exactly where they are. Inside your body. Where they belong."
Jimin just looks at you. For a while. Long enough that you're starting to wonder if she heard you correctly. She's clearly thinking it over. You can see it on her face. The mental math she's doing: how bad could this go versus how bad is everything already? Scary unknown versus scary known. Taking a chance versus playing it safe. "Okay," she says finally. "I'll come."
You grin. "It's going to be great," you tell her. "Sun. Water. Peace and quiet. You should bring a bikini.”
"A bikini."
"For swimming. In the lake. It's very refreshing."
"Uh huh... You realize you sound completely deranged right now, right? 'Come to my isolated lake house, strange woman I met while she was crying. Bring a bikini.'"
"When you say it like that—"
"How else should I say it?"
"More... optimistically?"
She laughs. "You're crazy. Like, genuinely crazy. I should probably run."
"But you're not going to."
"No," she admits. "I'm apparently just as crazy as you are."
—
By the time you and Jimin make it from the car to the front door, you're both soaked from the knees down despite your best efforts. The wind keeps changing direction, driving sheets of water sideways, and the umbrella is basically decorative at this point. You fumble with the keys. Drop them once. Curse under your breath. Finally get the door open and practically shove Jimin inside before following her, slamming the door shut against the storm.
The house is dark. Quiet. You find the light switch and the entryway floods with warm yellow glow, illuminating hardwood floors and cream-colored walls and the faint layer of dust on the decorative table by the door. Jimin sets two small suitcases in the corner. You drop your bag beside it. Water drips from both of you, pooling on the floor.
"So," you say, before she can say anything. "Yeah. I know. I said there would be sun. I specifically mentioned sun. And a lake. And bikinis." She looks at you. Doesn't say anything. Just looks. "This is climate change," you continue, gesturing at the windows where rain lashes against the glass. "The weather's completely unpredictable now. Changes overnight. There's literally no way I could have known this was going to happen. It was sunny when we left Seoul." Still nothing. Just that steady gaze. "But hey." You move further into the house, hitting more light switches as you go. "At least the power works. See? Fully functional. Lights, electricity, the whole deal. Modern amenities."
To prove your point, you grab the remote from the coffee table and turn on the television mounted above the fireplace. The screen flickers to life, and a news anchor's face fills the frame. "—unprecedented storm system that meteorologists have been tracking for weeks now," the anchor is saying. "Residents in the affected areas have been advised to stay indoors and avoid unnecessary travel. The storm is expected to continue through the weekend, with rainfall totals potentially reaching—"
You become very aware of Jimin standing behind you. "Okay." You clear your throat. "So apparently they have been talking about this. For weeks. Allegedly."
"Allegedly."
"I don't watch the news. Who watches the news anymore? It's all doom and gloom. Very bad for mental health." You turn to face her, attempting something like an apologetic expression. "I'm sorry. You must be upset."
Jimin shrugs. Pulls off her damp jacket and drapes it over the back of a chair. "It's fine."
"It's not fine. I promised you sun and delivered a monsoon."
"I wasn't really in the mood for sun anyway." She looks around the living room, taking in the leather couches, the stone fireplace, the floor-to-ceiling windows that currently showcase nothing but grey sheets of rain. "This is better, actually."
"See?" You point at her triumphantly. "I manage to get things right even when I completely screw up. It's a gift."
"—still no word on the whereabouts of Yu Jimin, known professionally as Karina of the K-pop group aespa. The idol, who mysteriously disappeared earlier this week, has not been seen publicly since—" You watch Jimin's expression freeze. "—sources close to the group suggest she may be traveling alone, though her exact location remains unknown. Fans and media alike have expressed growing concern following her abrupt departure from the group's final tour concert last month. SM Entertainment has declined to comment on the situation, releasing only a brief statement asking for privacy during this difficult time—"
You turn off the TV. "Did you tell anyone where you were going?" you ask.
Jimin moves to the window. Stares out at the storm. "I told them I was traveling. That I was fine. That I needed some time."
"But not where."
"No. Not where."
"People are going to be worried. Your members. Your family."
"I know." Her breath fogs the glass. "But it's better this way. If they knew where I was, they'd come. They'd try to help. And I can't... I don't want that right now.” You don't push. Don't ask why. "So." Jimin turns away from the window. "What are we going to do here?"
You scratch the back of your neck. "Honestly? I have no idea."
"You didn't plan anything?"
"The whole trip was impulsive. I wasn't thinking past 'get out of Seoul before I lose my mind.' And now..." You gesture at the rain. "There's not much we can do in this weather anyway."
Another silence. You both avoid looking directly at each other, which is ridiculous, because you're adults and this is just a house and there's nothing weird about any of this except for the part where everything about this is incredibly weird. You're a businessman on the verge of bankruptcy. She's a global pop star who just disappeared from the public eye. You're standing in your family's lake house in the middle of nowhere while a storm rages outside, and neither of you has any idea what you're doing here.
"Do you want to see the lake?" you ask suddenly.
"In this?"
"There should be raincoats somewhere. My family used to keep outdoor stuff in the mudroom." You pause. "But first, let me show you the house. So you know where everything is." She nods. Follows you as you move through the ground floor.
The lake house is two stories of weathered wood and large windows. The ground floor is mostly open plan, the living area flowing into a kitchen that hasn't been updated since the early 2000s but still works fine. A dining table that seats eight people who no longer gather here. A fireplace that you should probably light later, assuming you remember how. Sliding glass doors that lead to a deck overlooking the water, currently being pelted by rain so hard you can barely see the lake beyond. You flip on lights as you go, chasing away the gloom. "This is all very nice," Jimin observes, running her fingers along the edge of the kitchen island. "Your family has money." She opens the refrigerator. Stares at the contents. "There's food in here."
"Yeah, I called ahead. There's a company that does this, stocks up vacation homes before people arrive. Groceries, supplies, fresh linens. Very convenient when you're rich." You lean against the counter. "Or when you used to be rich..."
"That's very... prepared of you."
"I have my moments."
She closes the refrigerator and you continue the tour, showing her the small bathroom off the hallway, the laundry room with its industrial-sized washer and dryer, the study lined with bookshelves that your father never actually read.
The stairs creak as you climb to the second floor. The sound is familiar. Kind of comforting, in a strange way. "Master bedroom is at the end of the hall," you say, pointing. "That one's mine when I'm here. There are two guest rooms. This one—" You open a door on the left. "Has the better view."
Jimin steps inside. The room is simple but comfortable. Queen-sized bed with a white duvet, wooden dresser, soft carpet underfoot. But the window takes up most of the far wall, and even through the rain, you can see the lake stretching out beyond the property line, grey water merging with grey sky. "It's beautiful," she says softly. "Even with the storm."
"Yeah." You lean against the doorframe, watching her watch the view. "It's a peaceful place. Was, anyway."
"Was?"
"My family's been thinking about selling it. The whole area used to be full of families who came for the summers. Kids running around, barbecues on the weekends, boats on the lake. But over the last few years..." You shrug. "People started leaving. Selling their houses. The economy changed, people's priorities changed. Now half the homes around here are empty. The ones that aren't belong to people who only show up once or twice a year."
Jimin turns from the window. "That's sad."
"It is what it is." You examine a scratch on the doorframe, remembering when you put it there. You were twelve. A hockey stick. Your mother had been furious. "I told my father I'd buy the place myself if he tried to sell. He laughed at me. Said I was being sentimental."
"Were you?"
"Probably. But I don't care." You look around the room, at the walls that have witnessed more of your life than most people. "My family stopped coming here years ago. Now it's just... a graveyard of memories, I guess. A place where ghosts of who we used to be hang out."
"That sounds lonely."
"It is. But it's also one of the few places where I can pretend my problems can't reach me." You meet her eyes. "It's not true, obviously. They're still there. Waiting. But here, I can ignore them for a while. Act like they don't exist."
Jimin is quiet for a moment. Processing. "Then we'll pretend together," she says. "Both of us. For however long we're here. No problems. No expectations. No outside world."
You smile. Actually smile, not the sarcastic smirk you usually default to, but something genuine.
"Yeah," you say. "That sounds like a good plan. Come on, let's grab our raincoats.”
The raincoat is bright yellow and two sizes too big, clearly designed for someone with broader shoulders and longer arms than you possess. The sleeves hang past your wrists and the hood keeps slipping forward into your eyes. Jimin's raincoat is green, equally oversized, and she looks like she's being slowly consumed by a plastic tarp. Neither of you comments on how ridiculous you both look.
The wind hits you the moment you step off the porch, sharp and wet and insistent, pushing against your chest. You shove your hands into the raincoat's pockets and start walking, and Jimin falls into step beside you without a word. The path to the lake is overgrown. Weeds push through the gravel, and the bushes on either side have grown wild. Your family used to keep this place immaculate. Hired groundskeepers, regular maintenance, the whole thing. Now it's slowly returning to nature, one missed appointment at a time.
Rain drums against your hood in a constant, rhythmic patter. Your sneakers (you'd changed out of the dress shoes, thankfully) squelch in the mud. The air smells like wet earth and pine. You don't talk. Neither does Jimin. The trees thin out and suddenly the lake is in front of you, stretching gray and vast and choppy under the assault of the storm. Waves roll across the surface, small but persistent, breaking against the rocky shore with soft, repetitive sounds. The far side of the lake is barely visible through the rain, just a smudge of green that might be forest.Jimin stops at the edge of the water. Stands there. Watches.
You watch her watch the lake for a moment, then your attention drifts downward. Stones. The shoreline is littered with them. You bend down, pick one up, test its weight in your palm. Your arm snaps forward. The stone hits the surface at an angle and skips once, twice, three times before sinking.
"Not bad," you mutter to yourself. You find another stone. Skip it. This one gets four jumps before disappearing. Jimin still hasn't moved.
"What's your favorite memory of this place?" You pause mid-throw, stone in hand, and actually think about it.
"Fishing," you say finally. "With my grandfather."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." You let the stone fly. Three skips. "He used to take me out on this little rowboat he kept tied up by the dock. Every summer, without fail. We'd go out early in the morning, before anyone else was awake, and just sit there on the water with our lines in."
Jimin turns to look at you. The rain runs down her face, dripping off her chin, but she doesn't to care. "Did you catch anything?"
"Never." You laugh. "Not once. My grandfather said the fish in this lake were too smart for us. I think he just didn't know what he was doing, honestly. But it didn't matter. We'd sit there for hours anyway, talking about nothing, watching the sun come up. He'd tell me stories about when he was young. I'd complain about school. It was nice."
"That sounds nice."
"It was." You find another stone. Don't throw it. Just turn it over in your fingers, feeling the smooth surface. "I've never fished since he died. Haven't been on that boat either. I don't even know if it's still there."
"You should check."
"Maybe."
Jimin is quiet for a moment. Then: "I've never been fishing."
"No?"
"No. I grew up in the city. The closest I ever got to nature was the park near my apartment, and that was just grass and pigeons."
"You should try it sometime. Fishing, I mean. It's boring as hell, but in a good way."
"Would you teach me?"
You laugh again. "I would, but I don't actually know how. My grandfather died before he finished teaching me everything." You pause. Shrug. "At least I know how to bait a hook. That's something."
"I'm sorry," Jimin says softly. "About your grandfather."
"It's okay. It was a long time ago." You throw the stone. It skips five times. Your best one yet. "He was old. Sick. It was expected. Doesn't mean it didn't suck, but... you know. Life." Jimin nods. Doesn't offer any platitudes, any empty comforts. Just accepts the statement for what it is. You throw a few more stones. The rain keeps falling. The lake keeps churning. "How are you feeling?" you ask eventually. "Inside, I mean. Not just the wet and cold part."
Jimin doesn't answer immediately. She wraps her arms around herself and stares out at the water. "Tired," she says. "Really tired. Which doesn't make sense, because I'm not doing anything. I haven't been doing anything for weeks. But I wake up exhausted and I go to bed exhausted and the sleep in between doesn't help."
"Are you sleeping?"
"Not well. A few hours here and there. My brain won't shut up." She kicks at a stone near her foot, sending it tumbling into the water with a plop. "It's like there's this constant noise in my head. Thoughts that won't stop. Worries that won't go away. And the more I try to quiet them, the louder they get."
"Yeah," you say. "I know what that's like."
"At the same time..." She trails off. Takes a breath. "At the same time, I feel like I want to scream. Just open my mouth and let everything out. All the frustration and the fear and the anger and whatever else is stuck inside me. I want to scream until my throat is raw and my lungs are empty and there's nothing left."
You pick up another stone. Hold it. Don't throw. "So scream," you say.
Jimin looks at you. “What do you mean?"
"Scream. If you want to scream, scream."
"I can't just... scream. In the middle of nowhere. That's crazy."
"Why not? There's no one here to hear you. Just me, and I don't care." You gesture at the lake, at the rain, at the empty expanse of wilderness surrounding you. "This is literally the perfect place to scream. No neighbors. No fans. No cameras. Just water and trees and a storm that's loud enough to drown out anything." She's looking at you like she's trying to figure out if you're serious. You get that look a lot. "I want to scream too," you admit. "I've wanted to scream for weeks. Maybe months. Maybe years, honestly. There's a lot of stuff in here—" you tap your chest "—that needs to come out. And I figure if I'm going to do it, might as well do it now. Might as well do it here." Jimin still looks uncertain. Skeptical.
So you turn toward the lake. Plant your feet. Fill your lungs with wet, cold air. And you scream. It's not a word. Not a name. Not anything coherent. Just sound, raw and loud, ripping out of your throat and hurling itself across the water. You scream until your lungs are empty, until your voice cracks, until the sound dissolves into the rain and the wind and the endless grey. Then you stop. Breathe. Your throat burns slightly.
Jimin is staring at you with wide eyes. "Your turn," you say.
She hesitates. Looks at the lake. Looks back at you. Then she screams.
It starts small, tentative, like she's testing the waters. But then something breaks loose inside her, something that's been building for god knows how long, and the scream grows. It gets louder, longer, more desperate. Her whole body tenses with the effort of it, hands clenched into fists at her sides, face tilted toward the sky. She screams like she's trying to empty herself out. Like she's trying to purge every bad thought, every fear, every moment of doubt and pain and exhaustion that's been weighing her down.
When she finally stops, she's breathing hard. Her eyes are wet, and you can't tell if it's rain or tears. "That was great," you say. "Really solid scream. Eight out of ten."
She lets out a shaky laugh. "Only eight?"
"Room for improvement. Here, let's do it together. On three."
"This is ridiculous."
"One."
"I'm not doing this."
"Two."
"You're insane."
"Three." You both scream. Together. Two voices rising over the lake, tangling with the wind and the rain, filling the empty space with something loud and alive. You scream until you can't anymore, until you're both bent over with your hands on your knees, gasping for air, throats raw. Jimin starts laughing. It's a small sound at first, barely audible over the storm, but it grows. She laughs until she's clutching her stomach, until she has to sit down on a wet rock because her legs won't hold her anymore.
You sit down next to her. Don't say anything. Just let her laugh. Eventually, she calms down. Wipes her face with the back of her hand, which doesn't help because her hand is just as wet as her face.
"How do you feel?" you ask.
"A little better," she admits. "Not fixed. But... lighter, maybe.”
"That's the magic of screaming into the void," you say. "I should start charging for this."
Jimin snorts. "Please don't."
"Fine. Free screaming sessions for you. Special discount." You stand up. Offer her your hand. "Come on," you say. "Let's walk around the lake. The path goes all the way around if you follow it. Takes about an hour." She takes your hand. Lets you pull her to her feet. Doesn't let go immediately, and neither do you.
"An hour in this rain?" she asks.
"We're already soaked. Can't get any wetter."
"That's not technically true."
"Are you always this pedantic?"
"Are you always this impulsive?"
"Yes," you say. "You better get used to it.” You start walking. She falls into step beside you, close enough that your shoulders almost brush. The rain keeps falling. The wind keeps blowing. Neither of you talks much. Just walks. Breathes. Exists in the same space.
The path curves around the eastern edge of the lake, narrowing where the trees press closer, their branches heavy with rain. Your sneakers make obscene squelching sounds with every step, and you've given up trying to keep your socks dry. That battle was lost about twenty minutes ago. "Have you thought about what you'll do?" Jimin asks suddenly. "If things don't work out?"
You glance at her. "What do you mean?"
"I mean..." She hesitates. Kicks at a pebble on the path. "I know it's going to work out. Everything will be fine. But hypothetically. If it doesn't. Have you thought about it?" She pauses again. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."
You consider deflecting. Making a joke. Changing the subject. That's what you usually do when conversations get too close to the things you don't want to look at. But you don’t.
"There's a very good chance I'm going to end up completely screwed," you say. "Like, financially devastated. Career over. Reputation destroyed. The whole thing. I still have my family, technically. My father would probably let me crawl back. He'd love that, actually. His disappointing son finally admitting defeat. Finally proving that he was right all along, that I was too young, too arrogant, too stupid to run a company… That's the worst part, honestly. Not the money. Not the failure. The thought of looking him in the eye and seeing that smug expression. That 'I told you so' face he's been waiting years to make."
"Would you go back? To your family?"
"I don't know. Maybe. Probably." You shrug. "Or maybe I'd just do what rich guys who lose everything always do in this situation." Jimin's head snaps toward you. Her eyes narrow. "I'm kidding," you say quickly. "That was a joke. Dark humor. Bad timing." She keeps staring at you. "Mostly kidding," you murmur under your breath.
"That's not funny."
"I know. Sorry." You clear your throat. "Okay, real answer. Plan B. If everything falls apart and I can't face my father and I don't want to do anything... dramatic. I move into this house permanently. Live off the land. Become one with nature."
Jimin's expression shifts from concern to skepticism. "You?"
"Me."
"Living off nature?"
"Why not?"
"You don't seem like the type who could survive out here for more than a week. You probably don't even know how to start a fire without a lighter."
"I absolutely do. I watched a YouTube video once. Have you seen that movie? Into the Wild? About a guy who gives up everything and goes to live in the wilderness. That could be me. I'm basically the same. Trust fund baby, disillusioned with society, seeking meaning in the natural world."
"Didn't he die at the end?"
"Yeah, but that's not the point."
Jimin snorts. "I think that's exactly the point."
"The point is that I would adapt. I'm very adaptable. Give me a few months out here and I'd be hunting my own food, building my own shelter, communing with the wildlife." You gesture grandly at the surrounding forest. "In a few years, I'd be able to take on a bear. Hand-to-hand combat. Mano a mano."
"You'd be mincemeat," Jimin says flatly. "A bear would destroy you in about three seconds."
"Three seconds is a bit of an exaggeration."
"It's realistic. You'd see a bear up close and you'd wet your pants before it even touched you."
"Excuse me?” Resting your palm over your heart, you arch an offended brow. “You clearly don't know who you're talking to. I'm incredibly brave. Fearless, even. Ask anyone."
"I'm asking you, and you're lying."
"I am not lying. I have faced many dangerous situations in my life and emerged victorious every single time."
Jimin rolls her eyes. "Name one."
"I once killed a spider in my apartment that was the size of my hand."
"That doesn't count."
"It absolutely counts. That spider was a monster. It looked at me with malice in its eyes. I had to use a shoe and everything."
"You're proving my point."
"I am not. The point is that when properly prepared, mentally and physically, there is no animal on this earth that could scare me. I am a fortress of courage. An unshakeable pillar of—"
Something leaps out of the underbrush. It happens fast. A blur of movement, a flash of wet green, something small and quick launching itself toward your legs. You scream. It's high-pitched and utterly devoid of the courage you were just bragging about. Your body reacts before your brain can catch up, jerking backward, feet scrambling for purchase on the muddy path. Your left foot slides. Your right foot tries to compensate. Neither succeeds. You go down hard, ass-first into the mud with a wet, squelching thud.
The frog that caused this catastrophe hops away into the grass, completely unbothered. For a moment, you just sit there. Stunned. Covered in mud from the waist down, rain pouring onto your face, trying to process what just happened. Then Jimin starts laughing.
Not a polite chuckle. Not a restrained giggle. Full-body, doubled-over, tears-streaming laughter that shakes her entire frame. She's pointing at you, like a child who just witnessed the funniest thing in the history of comedy. "I was caught off guard, by the way," you say, trying to salvage some shred of dignity. "That's not fair. That doesn't count." She laughs harder, completely at your expense. “It could have been anything. A snake. A raccoon. A small bear." Jimin is wheezing now, bent over with her hands on her knees, struggling to breathe through the laughter. "This is a serious situation. I could have been badly hurt. I could have broken a leg. An arm. My spine.”
"Your face," she gasps out between laughs. "You should have seen your face."
"What about my face?"
"The fear." She straightens up slightly, mimics an exaggerated expression of horror. "Like you'd seen death itself."
"It was a large frog."
"It was a tiny frog."
"Size is relative." She dissolves into laughter again. You sit there in the mud, rain soaking through the seat of your pants, watching Yu Jimin, Karina of aespa, international superstar, laugh at you like you're the funniest thing she's ever seen. You should be annoyed. But you're smiling. You can't help it. Because she looks alive right now, alive in a way she hasn't since you met her."This is incredibly rude," you say. "I'm injured and traumatized and you're mocking me in Dolby Atmos. You're creating psychological damage in real time. Karina, my favorite idol, the woman I have supported since debut, is actively ridiculing me in my moment of weakness."
"I'm sorry," she says, still laughing. "I'm so sorry, it's just—it was so funny—you screamed like—"
"I did not scream."
"You absolutely screamed."
"I'm filing a complaint with your company."
She wipes tears from her eyes, still grinning. "I really am sorry. But I can't stop picturing it. The frog jumping and you just—" She mimes falling backward, makes a ridiculous sound effect.
"Are you done?" you ask. "Are you finished mocking me? Because I'm sitting in a puddle of mud and my dignity is hanging by a thread."
"I'm done." She takes a breath, tries to compose herself. "I'm done. I promise."
"Good." You extend your hand toward her. "Help me up." Jimin steps closer, reaching down. Her fingers wrap around yours.
You pull.
She yelps as her feet slide out from under her, balance completely gone, and then she's falling, landing in the mud beside you with a splat that sends brown water splattering across both of you. For a moment, she just stares at you. Mouth open. Eyes wide. Absolutely covered in mud.
You grin. “Guess the fun’s over, huh?”
"You did not just do that."
"I absolutely did."
"I was trying to help you!"
"Never trust strangers, that’s what they say.”
A slow narrowing of her eyes pins you in place; Okay, maybe you made a big mistake. "You shouldn't have done that," she says quietly.
"What are you going to—"
A handful of mud hits you square in the face. You sputter. Spit out grit. Wipe your eyes.
Jimin is already scooping up another handful, a wicked smile spreading across her face. "Oh no," you say. "No no no. You should not have done that. You have no idea what you've just started." You grab your own handful of mud. Cold and wet and absolutely disgusting. "This is war," you declare.
"Bring it on." She throws. You dodge (mostly). You throw back. She shrieks and retaliates.
And suddenly you're both scrambling in the mud, slipping and sliding and hurling handfuls of wet earth at each other like children. Jimin gets you in the chest. You get her in the shoulder. She tries to run and falls again, and you try to capitalize on her weakness but slip and go down beside her. You're laughing. She's laughing. The rain keeps falling and the mud keeps flying and somewhere in the chaos you lose track of who's winning because it doesn't matter anymore.
Jimin smears mud across your cheek with her palm. You retaliate by dumping a handful directly on top of her head. She gasps in outrage and tackles you, both of you rolling in the mud until you're completely unrecognizable, two brown figures wrestling on the shore of a grey lake while the storm rages overhead.
—
The towel is damp and your hair is still dripping slightly when you emerge from your bedroom, but you've given up on achieving actual dryness. Some battles aren't worth fighting. You're wearing sweatpants and a hoodie. Jimin is in the living room. She's standing by the couch with her own towel draped around her shoulders, running her fingers through wet hair that hangs in dark strands past her collarbone. She's changed into leggings and an oversized sweater. "That was a terrible idea," you say.
She looks up. Nods emphatically. "The worst idea. I spent thirty minutes in the shower trying to get mud out of places mud should never be."
"I found some in my ear. My ear. How does that even happen?"
"You fell face-first into a puddle at one point."
"I was pushed."
"You tripped over your own feet."
"Semantics." You toss your towel over the back of a chair and stretch your arms above your head, feeling your spine pop. "At least we've upgraded our immune systems. All that bacteria exposure has to be good for something."
"That's not how immune systems work."
"Are you a doctor?"
"No."
"Then how would you know?" Jimin rolls her eyes. She finishes squeezing water from her hair and drapes her own towel beside yours. "Are you hungry?" you ask.
"Starving."
"Great. Let's cook something." You head toward the kitchen with purpose, like a man who knows what he's doing. You do not, in fact, know what you're doing. The kitchen is a foreign country and you are an undocumented immigrant with no language skills. Jimin follows you, watching as you open the refrigerator and stare at its contents like they might spontaneously arrange themselves into a meal.
"What are you thinking?" she asks. "Pasta? Stir fry? There's chicken in there, we could do something with that."
"Yes," you say. "One of those. Whichever one requires the least... cooking."
She tilts her head. "Have you ever cooked before?"
"Define 'cooked.'"
"Prepared food using heat and ingredients."
"Then no."
Jimin stares at you. "You've never cooked anything? Ever? In your entire life?"
"I've made toast. Does that count?"
"Toast is not cooking."
"It involves heat. And bread. That's basically the same thing."
"It's really not." She moves past you, gently but firmly shouldering you aside to access the refrigerator. "Okay. I'll cook. You just... stay out of the way."
"I can help."
"No."
"I'm very capable. I run a company. I manage hundreds of employees."
"Can any of those skills fry an egg?"
"I could learn."
"Not tonight." She pulls out chicken, vegetables, a carton of eggs, various bottles and containers whose purposes you can only guess at. "Tonight you sit over there and let me handle this."
You retreat to the kitchen island, hoisting yourself onto one of the stools. "This feels emasculating."
"Good."
"What if I just hand you things? I can be your sous chef. I saw that on a cooking show once."
"You don't know what anything is called."
"I know some things. That's a pan." You point. "That's a spatula. That's..." You squint at a utensil she's holding. "Some kind of... stabbing implement?"
"It's a whisk."
"I was close."
Jimin sets the whisk down and begins organizing ingredients on the counter with efficiency. You watch her work, the way her hands move with confidence, the way she seems to know instinctively where everything should go. "Where did you learn to cook?" you ask.
"My mom. And necessity." She cracks eggs into a bowl, one-handed, smooth. "When I was a trainee, we didn't have money for delivery every night. If you wanted to eat something that wasn't instant ramen, you had to make it yourself."
"That sounds rough."
"It was fine. I like cooking, actually. It's relaxing." She glances at you. "When I'm not being watched by someone who doesn't know what a whisk is."
"I know what a whisk is now. You just told me."
"Do you want to try?"
"Try what?"
She holds out the whisk. "Beating the eggs. It's simple. Even you can't mess it up." You slide off the stool and take the whisk from her hand. The bowl of cracked eggs sits on the counter, yellow yolks floating in clear viscous liquid. You stick the whisk in and start moving it around. "Not like that," Jimin says immediately.
"What's wrong with this?"
"You're stirring. You need to beat. Like this." She steps closer, her hand closing over yours on the whisk handle. Her fingers are warm. "Faster. In a circular motion. You're incorporating air, not just mixing." You try to follow her guidance. The eggs slosh around in the bowl, looking more or less the same as before. "You're hopeless," she says, but she's smiling.
"I told you. I'm a businessman, not a chef."
"Most businessmen can still feed themselves."
"You’re so cruel sometimes."
She takes the whisk back, bumping you out of the way with her hip. "Go sit down. You're a hazard."
You return to your stool, watching as she takes over the egg-beating with movements that are quick and sure. Within seconds, the eggs are transformed into a uniform yellow mixture. "Show-off," you mutter.
"Competence isn't showing off."
"It is when you do it that fast."
The cooking continues. Jimin moves around the kitchen like she owns it, heating pans, chopping vegetables, seasoning things with pinches of this and dashes of that. You try to help twice more. The first time, you're assigned to wash vegetables and somehow manage to spray water all over the counter and yourself. The second time, you're asked to stir something on the stove and immediately turn the heat up too high, nearly burning the contents. "Out," Jimin says after the second incident. "Get out of my kitchen."
"Hey, it's technically my kitchen."
"Not anymore. I'm annexing it. This is my territory now."
You raise your hands in surrender and retreat to the living room, collapsing onto the couch. The rain continues outside while the house feels warm and enclosed. Forty minutes later, Jimin emerges with two plates. Some kind of rice dish with vegetables and chicken, topped with a fried egg. It smells incredible.
"This looks amazing," you say, accepting your plate.
"Don't sound so surprised."
"I'm not surprised. I'm impressed." You eat on the couch, plates balanced on your laps, the rain providing ambient soundtrack. The food is good. Really good. Possibly the best thing you've eaten in weeks, though that might be the hunger talking. "This is incredible," you say around a mouthful.
"Chew first. Compliment later."
"I can do both."
Jimin snorts and focuses on her own plate. After dinner (you handle dishes, since it's the one task you can manage without supervision), the evening stretches out ahead with nothing particular to fill it. The storm shows no signs of stopping. Your MacBook sits on the coffee table where you left it earlier, the screen dark, full of emails you don't want to read and spreadsheets you don't want to look at.
"Movie?" you suggest.
"Sure."
You scroll through the streaming options, arguing amiably about genres (she wants something light; you suggest a psychological thriller just to see her reaction) before settling on a comedy neither of you has seen. It's mediocre. You spend half of it making sarcastic commentary and the other half distracted by work, pulling the MacBook onto your lap to respond to emails that can't wait while Jimin curls up on the other end of the couch with a blanket she found in the closet. At some point, you look up from a particularly frustrating spreadsheet and realize two hours have passed. The movie is over. The credits are rolling. Jimin is fighting to keep her eyes open, head tilting dangerously toward the armrest.
"Hey." You close the laptop. "Bedtime."
She blinks. Straightens. "I wasn't sleeping."
"You were about to."
"I was resting my eyes."
"Sure." You both stand. Stretch. The house has grown quiet around you, just the rain and the occasional creak of old wood settling. The hallway to the bedrooms is dim, lit only by the light spilling from the living room behind you. You stop at your door. She stops at hers. Directly across the hall, maybe six feet apart. "I should warn you," you say, keeping your expression completely neutral. "There was a murder in this house."
Jimin's hand freezes on her door handle. "What?"
"Years ago. A whole family. They say the killer was never caught."
Her eyes narrow. "You're lying."
"I'm completely serious. So if you hear footsteps in the night, or see shadows moving, or feel something cold touch your shoulder while you're sleeping..."
"Stop."
"Just stay in your room. Don't investigate. That's how people die in horror movies. They hear a noise and they go toward it instead of away from it."
Jimin points at you. "If I can't sleep tonight because of this, I'm blaming you."
"Blame me all you want. I'll be in my room. Behind a locked door. Safe from the vengeful spirits that roam these halls."
"There are no vengeful spirits."
"That's what they want you to think."
She opens her door, shaking her head. "You're the worst."
"I know." You lean against your own doorframe. "Hey. Jimin." She pauses. Looks back at you. "I'm happy you're here," you say. "Today was strange. And wet. And I'm probably going to find mud in weird places for the next week. But it was also... nice. Really nice."
"Yeah," she says quietly. "It was."
"So. Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
You both just stand there for a second. Across the hall from each other, maybe six feet of space that feels like more. Neither of you moves. Then you step inside. Close the door. Lean back against it and just... breathe. The room's dark. Quiet. Empty. And you're thinking about today. About laughter and mud flying everywhere and screaming at a fucking lake until your throat hurt. About all of it.
You fall asleep easier than you have in months. No nightmares about board meetings or bankruptcy or watching everything crumble. Just sleep. Real sleep.
—
Morning takes its sweet time arriving, dragging itself through that grey half-light that seeps past the curtains. The rain's still going. Actually, scratch that, it's gotten worse overnight, upgraded from steady downpour to something that sounds like the lake house is under siege. The idea of leaving this bed, of exposing yourself to the cold air outside these blankets? That's asking a lot. That's asking for genuine courage. You stay put for a while. Just lying there with eyes tracing invisible patterns on the ceiling, letting the sound of the storm fill the space where thoughts should be.
Eventually, hunger wins out over laziness.
The kitchen smells like coffee when you shuffle in, still wearing the sweatpants and hoodie you slept in. Jimin is already there, perched on one of the stools at the island, both hands wrapped around a steaming mug. She's cocooned in blankets, layers of them draped over her shoulders and pooling around her on the stool, so only her face and fingers are visible. She looks ridiculous. She looks cozy. She looks unfairly cute for someone who's essentially transformed herself into a human burrito.
You grab a mug from the cabinet, pour yourself coffee from the pot she's already made, and lean against the counter. "Good morning."
"Morning." Her response is muffled, half-swallowed by a yawn.
"How'd you sleep?"
She takes a sip of coffee. Doesn't meet your eyes. "Not great."
Guilt flickers through you. "Look, I'm sorry about the murderer thing. I was just messing around. I didn't think it would actually keep you up."
"It wasn't that."
"No?"
"No."
You wait for her to elaborate. She doesn't. "Okay," you say, letting it go. Pushing won't help. You've learned that much about her in the short time you've known each other. "So what do you want to do today? I was thinking we could walk through the woods when the rain lets up. There are some trails behind the house that go pretty deep."
Jimin nods slowly. "That sounds good."
"Cool." You take a long drink of coffee, feeling the warmth spread through your chest. "What do you want for breakfast?"
She looks up at you. "You're not cooking."
"I could try."
"You'd burn the house down."
"That's a slight exaggeration."
"Is it? You almost set fire to the stove last night stirring vegetables."
"That was a learning experience."
"For everyone involved." She slides off the stool, blankets still wrapped around her like a cape, and starts moving toward the refrigerator. "I'll cook. Just tell me what you want."
"You don't have to. I can figure something out. There's probably cereal or something."
Jimin fixes you with a look. "If I don't cook for you, you'll starve. You literally cannot feed yourself. I've seen the evidence."
There's no arguing with that. You sigh. "Fine. Eggs? And toast. Whatever's easiest."
"Eggs and toast it is." She cooks. You stay out of her way, nursing your coffee and watching from a safe distance. The kitchen fills with the smell of butter and browning bread, domestic and warm, and you think about how strange this is. How comfortable. How much it feels like something that's been happening for years instead of hours. After breakfast, you head to the bathroom to clean up. You're standing at the sink, face covered in shaving foam, razor in hand, when Jimin appears in the doorway.
"I found new raincoats," she says, holding up two plastic-wrapped packages. "These ones actually look like they might fit. They were in the hall closet, buried under a bunch of—" She stops. Stares at your face. "You look like Santa Claus."
You glance at yourself in the mirror. The white foam does cover most of your lower face, spreading from cheek to cheek and down your neck. "Ho ho ho."
"That's disturbing. Never do that again."
"What, shave? I'll just grow a beard. Become a mountain man. Really commit to the living-off-the-land thing."
"Please don't." She steps into the bathroom, setting the raincoats on the counter. "Do you want help?"
You pause mid-stroke. "With shaving?"
"There are spots you can't see. The angle's weird." She holds out her hand. "Give me the razor."
"Have you ever done this before?"
"No."
"That's incredibly reassuring. Thank you. I feel very safe."
"Shut up and give me the razor." You hand it over. She moves closer, positioning herself in front of you, one hand coming up to tilt your chin toward the light. "Stay still," she instructs.
"If you cut my throat, I'm going to haunt you forever."
"Then don't move and you'll be fine." She brings the razor to your cheek. Draws it down in a slow, careful stroke, leaving smooth skin in its wake. Rinses the blade. Repeats. You hold very still.
It's strange, having someone this close to your face. Strange having someone else's hands on you like this, performing such an ordinary task with such focused attention. Jimin's brow is furrowed in concentration, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she navigates the curve of your jaw. "Tilt your head back," she says softly. You comply. She works on your neck, the blade gliding over your Adam's apple, and you're acutely aware of how much trust this requires. How vulnerable you are right now. One wrong move and she could open your jugular.
She doesn't make any wrong moves. "Turn this way." She guides your chin to the left. "I'm getting the sideburns."
"I didn't ask for sideburn maintenance."
"You're getting it anyway. They were uneven."
"They were not."
"They absolutely were. The left one was at least a centimeter longer than the right. It was bothering me."
"You were analyzing my sideburns?"
"I was trying not to stare at the Santa Claus foam beard. The sideburns were the only safe place to look." She finishes the left side, moves to the right. Her face is very close to yours now, close enough that you can see the faint freckle near her left eyebrow. "There." She steps back, surveying her work. "Done."
You turn to the mirror. Your face is smooth, cleanly shaved, better than you usually manage on your own. She got the spots you always miss, the tricky angles under your jaw, the patch near your ear that always gives you trouble. "Not bad," you admit.
"Not bad? That's perfect. I should quit being an idol and become a barber."
"The pay's probably worse."
"But the hours are better."
You splash water on your face, rinse away the last traces of foam. When you straighten up, Jimin is still there, watching you in the mirror. It's the most intimate thing you've experienced in a long time. A girl shaving your face. It shouldn't feel like much. But it does. "Thanks," you say.
She smiles. Just a little. "You're welcome."
The rain tapers off around noon, fading from downpour to drizzle to a fine mist. Good enough. You grab a small backpack from the hall closet, throw in a flashlight (the woods get dark even on bright days, and today is anything but), some bottles of water and some food (snacks). Jimin wears one of the new raincoats, forest green this time, properly fitted. You take the other one, navy blue.
The trail starts behind the house, a narrow dirt path that winds into the trees. Your footsteps are muffled by fallen leaves, soft sounds that disappear into the vastness of the forest. For a while, neither of you speaks. Just walks. The silence is comfortable, companionable, broken only by birdsong and the drip of water from branches overhead. "This is absurd," you say eventually.
Jimin glances at you. "What is?"
"This. Us. Two strangers walking through a forest in the middle of nowhere. Alone. And it feels... normal. Like we've been doing this for years."
She's quiet for a moment. Considering. "I feel really comfortable," she admits. "Being here. With you."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." She steps over a fallen branch, her raincoat rustling. "You don't ask questions."
"I ask plenty of questions."
"Not the ones I don't want to answer." She looks at you sideways. "I like that about you. You let me have my silence. You don't push."
"I push sometimes."
"Not really. Not about the important things." She pulls her hood up against the mist. "Most people, when they find out someone's struggling, they want to fix it. They want to give advice, offer solutions, tell you it's going to be okay. They mean well, but it's exhausting. It makes you feel like your pain is a problem to be solved instead of just... experienced."
You nod slowly. "I get that."
"Do you?"
"Yeah." You kick a pinecone off the trail, watch it roll into the underbrush. "I understand you completely. We're alike, you and me."
Jimin raises an eyebrow. "We're nothing alike."
"We're very alike. I don't have hair as beautiful as yours, obviously. That's unfair. Genetics failed me there. But inside..." You tap your chest. "In here. We're similar. Same kind of broken. Same kind of lost."
She doesn't respond immediately. The trail curves ahead, winding between two massive oaks whose branches interlock overhead like fingers. "You say you know what I'm going through," she says finally. "How? How could you know?"
"Because I've seen it before."
"Seen what?"
"Someone losing themselves. Forgetting who they are underneath everything else. Getting so caught up in what everyone expects them to be that they can't remember what they actually want."
Jimin stops walking. Turns to face you fully. "Who? Who did you see that with?"
You study her face. The curiosity there, the hunger for understanding. She wants to know. Needs to know, maybe, because she's hoping your answer will tell her something about herself.
You smile. "I'll answer that."
"Okay."
"If you can catch me."
Her expression shifts. Confusion first, then realization. "What do you mean?"
You point ahead, where the trail opens into a small clearing and, beyond it, the dark mouth of a cave carved into a rocky hillside. "There's a cave over there. If you get there before me, I'll tell you everything."
"That's not fair. You have longer legs."
"Then you'd better start running." You take off down the trail.
"Wait!" Jimin shouts. "That's cheating! You didn't even count down!"
You don't wait. You just bolt.
Behind you, Jimin curses, and then you hear her footsteps pounding after you. She's fast. Way faster than you expected for someone having an existential crisis. The forest blurs into streaks of green, brown and grey, mist hitting your face, and you're laughing. Actually fucking laughing, breathless and stupid, running through the woods like you're ten years old again.
She's gaining on you. You can hear her breathing, hear her laughing too. "I'm catching you!" she yells. "And then you're telling me everything!"
"Gotta earn it first!"
The cave's getting closer. Trees thinning out. Your legs are burning but you push harder.
You run. Then a duck happens. A goddamn duck.
It explodes out of the bushes with this aggressive-ass quack, wings flapping everywhere, and you stumble sideways. Your foot catches a root. Your momentum dies instantly. By the time you catch yourself, Jimin's already blown past you at a speed that would make Olympic sprinters jealous.
She touches the rock face with her palm, spins around, and throws her arms up in victory. "I won!"
You stagger up behind her, hands on your knees, gasping for air. "That doesn't count. There was a duck."
"A duck?"
"It attacked me."
"It quacked at you. From ten feet away."
"Aggressively. It quacked aggressively." You straighten up, pressing a hand to your side where a stitch is forming. “You’d be surprised how many people get killed by ducks every year. Absolute menaces. Anyway, I demand a rematch."
"No way. I won fair and square." She's breathing hard too, cheeks flushed from the run. "You owe me answers now."
"Fine." You gesture toward the cave mouth: a dark opening in the hillside about eight feet wide and maybe six feet tall. "But let's go inside first. I want to show you something." You click on the flashlight and lead the way in. The cave isn't deep, maybe thirty feet before it narrows to nothing, but the ceiling is high enough to stand comfortably, and the walls are dry despite the rain outside. "I used to play here with my cousins," you say, sweeping the flashlight beam across the walls. "When we were kids. We'd pretend it was a fortress. A pirate hideout. A secret base for our spy operations."
The light catches something on the far wall. Scribbles. Crude drawings scratched into the rock with sharp stones. Stick figures with oversized heads. A wobbly boat on wavy lines that might be water. Names and initials surrounded by hearts, the kind of thing kids carve when they're young enough to think love is simple.
"Cave paintings," Jimin says softly.
"Our contribution to human artistic history." You trace the flashlight over a terrible rendition of what might be a dog or possibly a horse. "I made that one. I was seven. I thought it was a masterpiece."
"What is it supposed to be?"
"A dragon."
She squints at it. "I don't see it."
"Yeah, nobody ever did."
You set the backpack down near the wall and lower yourself to the ground, your back against the stone. The floor is cold through your pants, but not unbearably so. You unzip the bag and start pulling out its contents. Snacks. Lots of them. Chips in various flavors, chocolate bars, gummy candies, dried fruit, the honey butter cookies she mentioned loving during some variety show you watched. You spread them out between you like a picnic.
Jimin settles down across from you, cross-legged, eyes widening as she takes in the selection. "You packed all of this?"
"I figured we might get hungry."
"These are all my favorites."
"Are they? Weird coincidence."
She gives you a look that says she knows exactly what you did, but she doesn't call you out on it. Just reaches for the honey butter cookies and tears open the package. "Okay," she says, chewing. "I won. Tell me everything."
You pick up a chocolate bar. Unwrap it slowly. Take a bite, letting the silence stretch.
"You've been an idol since you were young," you say. "Trainee years, debut, all of it. You were, what, sixteen when you started? Seventeen?"
"Around there."
"No one that young is prepared for what you went through. What you're still going through." You break off another piece of chocolate. "I'm not saying this to be mean. I'm saying it because it's true. If I had been in your position at that age, I would have cracked a lot sooner than you did. The routine. The pressure. The cameras, the fans, the expectations. And on top of all that, there's this persona you have to maintain. Karina. This perfect, polished version of yourself that exists for public consumption. But that's not really you, is it? That's a character. A role you play." She's very still now. The cookie in her hand forgotten. "And then there's Jimin. The real you. The person underneath the makeup and the choreography and the carefully managed public image. The girl who likes honey butter cookies and doesn't know how to fish and laughs until she cries when someone falls in mud."
A tiny smile flickers at the corner of her mouth. Gone almost immediately.
"The problem is, you have to switch between them constantly. Jimin at home, Karina on stage, Jimin with friends, Karina in interviews. Back and forth, over and over, every single day. And I can imagine..." You pause, choosing your words carefully. "I can imagine there comes a point where the switching gets exhausting. Where it starts to feel pointless. Why bother going back to being Jimin if tomorrow you'll just have to be Karina again? Why not just stay Karina all the time? It's easier. It's simpler. It's what everyone wants anyway." Jimin's hands have tightened around the cookie package. The plastic crinkles. "So you do that. You stay Karina. For days, weeks, months. You let Jimin fade into the background because it's just too hard to keep pulling her back. And then one day, you need her. Something happens and you need to be yourself, really yourself, and you reach for Jimin and she's not there." You meet her eyes. "You can't find your way back. You look in the mirror and you don't recognize the person staring at you. You don't know who you are anymore. What you want. What you're supposed to be."
"How do you know all that?" Jimin whispers.
"Because I've been there. I've watched it happen." You take another bite of chocolate, chew slowly. "To myself."
"You?"
"Me. Different circumstances, same result." You lean your head back against the stone. "My job requires me to be someone I'm not. All the time. I deal with people I can't stand, people who are shallow and greedy and only care about money. And I smile at them. I shake their hands, I laugh at their jokes, I pretend to be one of them because that's what the job demands. That's how you survive in my world."
"That sounds awful."
"It is. But I got good at it. Too good. I wore the mask so often that I forgot what my real face looked like underneath." You pause. "There was a period, maybe two years ago, where I genuinely couldn't tell the difference anymore. Between the person I was pretending to be and the person I actually was. I'd lost myself completely. But that's what I am… Underneath all the pretending. I'm just a guy who likes going into caves to eat snacks with strangers." You gesture at the space around you, at her. "A stranger who happens to be the it girl of Korea. Which is kind of surreal, honestly. But here we are."
You reach over and tap her shoulder gently with your knuckles.
"You'll find your way back to who you are. I know you will. But here's the thing." You hold her gaze. "You're the one who creates it. You're the one who decides who Jimin is. Not SM, not the fans, not the media. You. And if you don't know who that is right now, that's okay. You get to figure it out. You get to make it up as you go."
"How?" She asks with evident desperation. "I'm so lost. Every day I feel less and less like a real person. Like I'm fading away and no one notices because Karina is still there, performing, smiling, doing all the things she's supposed to do. But inside there's just... nothing."
"Then start with nothing." You open a bag of jelly beans and offer it to her. "What do you want right now? In this exact moment?"
"I don't know."
"Do you want to be on stage?"
"No."
"Do you want to be in Seoul?"
"No."
"Do you want to be anywhere other than this cave, eating snacks with a guy you barely know?"
She hesitates. Thinks about it. "No."
"Then you already have what you want. Right now, in this moment, you want nothing. You want to just... exist. Without expectations. Without pressure. And look." You spread your arms. "You're in a cave in the middle of nowhere. That's pretty close to nothing. That's about as far from Karina as you can get." She takes a jelly bean. Red one. Pops it in her mouth. "Tomorrow you might want something different," you continue. "The day after that, something else. And that's fine. That's how it's supposed to work. You don't have to figure out your entire identity in one afternoon. You just have to find the will to keep looking. To keep hoping that the pieces will eventually fit together." You shrug. "That's how we survive. One day at a time. One want at a time."
Jimin chews slowly. Swallows. Reaches for another jelly bean.
"But here's the important part," you say, and your tone shifts, becomes more serious. "Don't go alone. You have people who love you. Family, friends, the other members. People who care about Jimin, not just Karina. Let them help you."
"They wouldn't understand."
"Maybe not perfectly. But they'd try." You pause. "And if you really can't bring yourself to turn to them, then turn to me. I'm just a stranger. A shadow that passed through your life at some random point. Sometimes that's all we need. Someone with no expectations, no history, no stake in who you're supposed to be."
She looks at you. "A shadow?"
"Yeah." You pick at the wrapper of your chocolate bar. "That's what I am. Empty. No form of my own. I just darken the people around me. Cast gloom wherever I go."
"That's not true."
"It's a little true. Ask anyone who works for me." You smile, but it's thin. "But with you... I want to be different. I want to be the kind of shadow you can hide behind. A place where nothing can reach you. Where no one can touch you or demand anything from you." You meet her eyes. "For as long as you want. However long you need. You can stay hidden behind me, and I'll keep everything else out."
Jimin doesn't say anything for a long time. Processing. You let her have that moment. Until finally she asks: "What am I to you? If you're a shadow, what does that make me?"
You think about it. The question deserves a real answer.
"The moon," you say.
"The moon?"
"Right now, you feel distant. Untouchable. Like you're a million miles away from everyone, even from yourself. And maybe you feel like your light has gone out. Like whatever used to make you shine has faded. But you're still shining. Even if you don't realize it. It's softer now, yeah. Quieter. But it's there. I can see it." You gesture at her. "And I like it. I like this glow better, honestly. It's not blinding. It's not overwhelming. It's the kind of light that enhances things. That makes the darkness easier to bear... The night we met, you were like a girl sitting on the moon. So far away. So alone. But even then, you were beautiful. Even crying on that bench, you were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen." You laugh quietly. "And after that, I went back to that same bench every night for a week. Just sat there by myself, hoping you'd appear again. Like a complete idiot."
When you look at Jimin, there are tears in her eyes. "Hey." You lean forward, concerned. "Are you okay? Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry, I talk too much when I'm nervous, I didn't mean to—"
"How can you be so stupid and so intelligent at the same time?" she interrupts.
You pause. "I... don't know if I should be flattered or offended by that."
"Both." A tear spills over, tracking down her cheek. She wipes it away impatiently with the back of her hand. "Be both."
"Okay. I'll work on that."
She laughs, wet and shaky, and takes another handful of jelly beans. "Thank you. For saying all of that. I liked it. Even if it made me cry like an idiot."
"Crying doesn't make you an idiot. Punching mirrors makes you an idiot. You're fine." She laughs. A real one this time, not that sad half-laugh from before, and reaches for the honey butter cookies. So here's the thing about dumping all your feelings in a cave: afterward, it just gets quiet. Not weird quiet. Just regular quiet. You're sitting there with the flashlight between you, surrounded by empty chip bags and candy wrappers, staring at the dumb drawings you scratched into the rock as a kid. Neither of you says anything. Neither of you needs to.
But you can't sit here forever. At some point, you start cleaning up. Grabbing wrappers, shoving empty bags into the backpack. You're kind of obsessive about it, actually - checking every corner, making sure you get every piece of trash, every crumb.
"You're very thorough," Jimin observes, watching you hunt down a stray chocolate wrapper that's trying to escape into a crevice.
"Mother Nature and I have an understanding. I don't pollute her forests, she doesn't send bears to maul me in my sleep."
"I don't think that's how ecology works."
"I prefer not to test the theory."
The backpack zipped, you stand and stretch, feeling your spine crack in several places that probably shouldn't crack. The cave has gotten colder, or maybe you've just noticed it now that you're not distracted by existential conversations about identity and moonlight. "We should head back," you say. "I fancy some hot chocolate."
Jimin rises to her feet, brushing dirt from her raincoat. "By that, you mean you want me to make you hot chocolate."
"What? No. I can make hot chocolate myself. I'm not completely helpless."
She tilts her head and studies you… Yeah, she's definitely reviewing the evidence of the past thirty-six hours. "I find myself unfortunately skeptical," she says.
The honest truth is that she's probably right. Hot chocolate involves heating milk, which involves using the stove, which involves not setting things on fire. Your track record in that department is not encouraging. "Well," you say, with as much dignity as you can muster, "perhaps I'll supervise while you demonstrate the proper technique."
"Supervise."
"Offer moral support. Quality control. That sort of thing."
The corner of her mouth twitches. She doesn't argue further. You're about to head toward the cave entrance when Jimin goes still. Her eyes fix on something just past your shoulder. Then she steps toward you. Close. Very close.
Your heart immediately races. Your brain, helpful as ever, immediately begins cataloguing the distance between your mouth and hers (approximately four inches), the angle of her face (tilted slightly upward), and the probable softness of her lips (considerable, based on visual evidence). She's going to kiss you, you think. Or possibly you're going to kiss her. Someone is going to kiss someone, that much seems certain, and you should probably—
Her hand reaches past your shoulder and taps you lightly on the back.
"Spider," she says.
You nearly leave your skin.
What emerges from your mouth is not a word, exactly. More of a strangled yelp. You jerk away from her, spinning around, your hands doing that frantic brushing motion that accomplishes nothing except making you look like you're having some sort of episode. "Where?! Where is it?! Is it on me?! Is it still on me?!"
"It's gone," she says, giggling. "I flicked it off. Relax, it was just a small one."
"Small spiders are the most dangerous ones. Everyone knows that. The smaller the spider, the more concentrated the venom."
"That's not scientifically accurate."
"I don't care about accuracy, I care about not dying."
She's properly laughing now, the same bright unrestrained sound you heard during the mud fight. It's a good sound. You'd be enjoying it more if you weren't still vibrating with residual panic. "You're like a frightened kitten," she says. "So tough about bears, but one tiny spider and you completely fall apart."
"I am not a frightened kitten. A spider the size of a frisbee would scare anyone."
"It was the size of my fingernail."
"Size is irrelevant. Deadliness is what matters."
She eyes you with amusement, smiling. "Why are you so red?"
Ah. Yes. That would be the blood that rushed to your face approximately thirty seconds ago when you thought you were about to be kissed. The blood that's still there, betraying you, making your cheeks feel like they're radiating heat. "Allergic reaction," you say immediately. "To the spider. My skin is extremely sensitive. Delicate, really. Like a Victorian-era duchess. I've always had this condition."
Jimin's eyebrow rises slowly. She doesn't look even slightly convinced. "A Victorian-era duchess, huh?"
"Yes. It's genetic." You rub your hands together, partly because they actually are cold and partly because you need something to do that isn't looking directly at her face while lying badly about the source of your blush. "It's colder than I expected," you say, desperate to change the subject. "I'm genuinely surprised neither of us got hypothermia yesterday. All that rolling around in the mud. Very irresponsible, in retrospect."
Jimin watches you fumble for another moment. Then, without ceremony, she reaches out and takes your hand. Her fingers interlock with yours. Palm to palm. A simple gesture, completely natural. At least, that’s how Jimin makes it look. "Come on," she says. "Let's go back. I'll warm your hand on the way." A pause. "No running this time."
What needs to be understood about this moment is that you are, fundamentally, not a person who holds hands. You're not a person who does casual physical intimacy. In your experience, touch is either transactional (handshakes, back-pats) or romantic (which requires intention and buildup and usually alcohol). This middle ground, this easy, uncomplicated contact, is foreign territory.
And yet… "Okay," you murmur.
Her hand is small in yours. Delicate in a way that makes you hyperaware of your own roughness, the calluses on your palm from gym equipment you barely use anymore, the healing scars across your knuckles from your ill-advised confrontation with interior glass. Her fingers are cool at first, but they warm quickly, or maybe your hand warms them, or maybe the warmth is coming from somewhere else entirely. You walk out of the cave together. The rain has stopped completely now, leaving the forest dripping and fresh, every surface gleaming with moisture. The path back to the house stretches through the trees, dappled with grey light, and you follow it slowly. No running. No racing. Just walking, side by side, hands clasped between you.
Neither of you says much. There's nothing that needs saying.
—
Later that night, the house has settled into that particular brand of quiet that only exists in remote places. No traffic noise, no neighbours, no ambient hum of civilization. Just the creak of old wood, the whisper of wind against windows, and the distant rumble of thunder from a storm that's circling somewhere beyond the mountains. Jimin is yawning in the hallway, dressed in pajamas that are somehow both sensible and unfairly attractive. Soft cotton, pale blue, slightly too long in the sleeves. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, still slightly damp from whatever evening routine she's completed, and she looks like someone who's ready to surrender to unconsciousness.
"Goodnight," she says, her hand on her bedroom door.
"Goodnight," you reply.
She opens the door. Steps inside. You follow her. She turns, eyebrow rising in that way you're beginning to recognize as her default expression of mild incredulity. "What are you doing?"
"Coming in."
"I can see that. Why?"
You move past her into the room, which is tidier than you expected. Her suitcase sits in the corner, mostly unpacked. A sweater draped over the chair. The bed turned down, waiting.
"I thought I'd keep you company," you say. "Until you fall asleep."
"I'm not a child."
"I never said you were."
"Then why do you think I need someone to tuck me in?"
You're not looking at her. You're scanning the bookshelf built into the wall near the window, running your fingers along spines that haven't been touched in years. Children's books, mostly. Relics from a time when this room hosted cousins and nieces and nephews, when the house was full of noise and laughter instead of dust and silence. "You said you didn't sleep well last night," you say, still searching. "And you wouldn't tell me why." Jimin is silent. "I'm not asking you to tell me now, either. But I thought..." You find what you're looking for and pull it from the shelf. "I thought this might help."
She stares at the book in your hands. It's thin, the cover worn soft with age, illustrated with a girl in a blue dress and three bears of varying sizes. "Goldilocks," she says flatly.
"A classic of Western literature."
"You want to read me Goldilocks."
"My grandmother used to read it to me when I was small. When I couldn't sleep. When things felt too big and too scary." You turn the book over in your hands, tracing the faded illustration on the back. "I'm not saying it'll work for you. But it can't hurt to try."
Thunder rumbles outside. The windows rattle faintly in their frames. "This is absurd," she says.
"Probably."
"You're going to sit there and read me a children's story."
"That's the plan."
"Like I'm five years old."
"I won't judge your age. I'm barely functional myself."
She hesitates for another moment. Then, with a sigh that suggests she's humoring you against her better judgment, she climbs into bed. The covers come up to her chin, white duvet swallowing her small frame. You settle onto the edge of the mattress, back against the headboard, book in hand. The lamp on the nightstand casts a warm circle of light, leaving the rest of the room in comfortable shadow.
"Once upon a time," you begin, "there was a little girl named Goldilocks."
"Original name."
"Hush. I'm reading." You clear your throat. "She went for a walk in the forest. Pretty soon, she came upon a house. She knocked and, when no one answered, she walked right in."
"Breaking and entering."
"It was a different time. Less security-conscious." You turn the page. "At the table in the kitchen, there were three bowls of porridge. Goldilocks was hungry. She tasted the porridge from the first bowl. 'This porridge is too hot!' she exclaimed." Jimin's eyes are on your face now, watching you read with an expression you can't quite decode. "So she tasted the porridge from the second bowl. 'This porridge is too cold,' she said. So she tasted the last bowl of porridge. 'Ahhh, this porridge is just right,' she said happily, and she ate it all up."
You pause. Lower the book slightly.
"Now, here's what I don't understand."
Jimin groans. "Oh no."
"Three bowls of porridge. Same batch, presumably. Made at the same time, served at the same table. How is it possible that one is too hot, one is too cold, and one is just right? They should all be the same temperature."
"It's a children's story."
"I understand that. But the physics don't make sense. Unless—" You hold up a finger. "Unless the bowls are made of different materials with different heat retention properties. Papa Bear's bowl is ceramic, holds heat longer. Mama Bear's bowl is metal, conducts heat away faster. Baby Bear's bowl is wood, perfect insulation."
"You're overthinking this."
You grin and continue reading. The three chairs, the three beds, Goldilocks's continued disregard for personal property. But you can't help yourself. Every few paragraphs, another observation emerges. "Why is Baby Bear's chair so small that it breaks under a child's weight? That's a safety hazard. Someone should report the manufacturer." Jimin pulls the covers over her face. "And another thing. The bears come home and immediately notice the porridge has been disturbed. But they don't smell a human intruder in their house? Bears have exceptional olfactory senses. They should have detected Goldilocks from the moment they walked through the door."
"Please stop."
"I'm just saying, the internal logic—"
"The internal logic is that it's a story for children who don't care about porridge thermodynamics or bear olfaction." Jimin pulls the covers down just enough to glare at you. "Just finish the story. Without commentary. I'm begging you."
"Fine," you say. "No more interruptions."
"Promise?"
"Cross my heart." As promised, you finish the story without any more interruptions. Then you flip to a different book. Little Red Riding Hood. Another classic. "Once upon a time," you begin again, "there lived in a certain village a little country girl..."
This time, you don't interrupt. You read the story the way it's meant to be read, letting the words flow without commentary, without analysis. The girl in the red hood. The path through the woods. The wolf with his clever tongue and hungry eyes. The grandmother's cottage with its strange occupant in the bed.
What big eyes you have. What big ears you have. What big teeth you have.
Jimin's breathing slows. Her body relaxes into the mattress, tension bleeding out of her shoulders. Her eyes grow heavy, then heavier, then finally close. You finish the story anyway. The huntsman, the rescue, the happily ever after. You're not sure if she hears the ending or if she's already drifted too far into sleep to catch it.
You finish the story and close the book. Gentle, so you don't wake her. Set it on the nightstand.
You look at her face in the lamplight. She's out. Her face is completely relaxed. Peaceful. You haven't seen her look like this since you met her.
The rain keeps going outside, but she's dead to the world.
You reach over and turn off the lamp.
—
Morning arrives with the same grey light as yesterday. The same rain. The same cold. Not that you're complaining, really. You’re starting to get used to the place’s melancholic, desolate atmosphere. There’s a bleak, nihilistic charm to it that’s hard to ignore.
Jimin is in the living room when you emerge, curled into the corner of the sofa with a mug clasped between her palms. She's wrapped in that same blanket from yesterday.
You pour yourself coffee from the pot she's made. Take a sip. Let the warmth spread through your chest. "Good morning."
"Morning." She shifts slightly, making room on the sofa, though there's plenty of space already.
"How'd you sleep?" And here's where you expect the usual deflection. The vague answer, the change of subject, the careful maintenance of boundaries. But instead, Jimin tilts her head and actually considers the question.
"Well, actually," she says. "Really well. I didn't wake up exhausted for once."
You settle onto the opposite end of the sofa, mirroring her position. Feet tucked up, body angled toward the centre, a careful distance maintained between.
"The Goldilocks technique," you say. "Scientifically proven to induce restful sleep."
"Or the fact that you read it so slowly I passed out from boredom."
"My pacing was deliberate. It's called dramatic tension."
"It's called you don't know how to read without stopping to argue with the text." You concede the point with a shrug and drink more coffee. The rain continues its assault on the windows. Inside, the house feels warm and enclosed, a bubble of safety floating in an ocean of grey. The fire you lit last night has burned down to embers, casting a faint orange glow that doesn't quite reach the corners of the room.
"What's the situation with work?" Jimin asks, nodding toward the MacBook sitting closed on the coffee table.
You follow her gaze. The laptop looks deceptively innocent sitting there, like it isn't a portal to your slowly imploding professional life. "Still a mess," you say. "The numbers haven't magically improved overnight. The investors are still pulling out, you know, the usual." You take another sip of coffee. "But I've decided not to look at it until after the meeting. Whatever's going to happen is going to happen whether I obsess over spreadsheets or not."
"That's very zen of you."
"I'm trying something new. It's called 'strategic denial.'"
Jimin smiles into her mug. "What about today?" she asks. "Any plans?"
You consider the question. Outside, the rain shows no sign of letting up. The lake will be churning, the paths muddy, the woods unwelcoming. Not exactly ideal conditions for outdoor activities. "I wanted to make a campfire," you admit. "Roast some marshmallows. But in this weather… Not really feasible."
"Can you even make a campfire?"
"Theoretically. I understand the basic principles. Wood, fire, not dying."
"That's not very specific."
"I contain multitudes of vague competencies."
You shift position, tucking your feet further under you, and find yourself talking without quite meaning to. "Did you know I fell into a bonfire when I was a child?"
"My God. Where did this happen?"
"At a family gathering. I was maybe six or seven. Someone had built this big fire on the beach, and I was running around not paying attention, and I just..." You mime tripping. "Went right in. Second-degree burns on my hands and knees. My mother nearly had a heart attack."
"That's horrifying."
"It was mostly embarrassing, honestly. Everyone made a huge fuss, and I had to wear bandages for weeks, and my cousins called me 'fireball' for the rest of the summer.” You pause. “I also almost drowned once. At a pool party when I was twelve. Jumped into the deep end without knowing how to swim properly. Had to be rescued by a lifeguard in front of everyone." Jimin stares at you. "Sometimes I'm genuinely surprised I survived to adulthood. The odds were not in my favour."
She's looking at you weird. Or not weird, exactly, but you can't quite figure out what the expression is. Her eyes are bright, almost shiny, and there's this thing happening with her mouth. The corners are turning up.
She's smiling. And it's a smile you've never seen on her before.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" you ask.
"Like what?"
"Like... that." You gesture at her face. "With the smiling."
"Am I not allowed to smile anymore?" She raises an eyebrow. "Does it bother you?"
"Yes, actually. A bit."
"My smile bothers you."
"I can't look at you when you're doing that." You find yourself staring at your coffee mug instead. "It's distracting. You're easier to deal with when you're crying. All pathetic, with snot coming out of your nose."
The pillow hits you square in the face. "I did not have snot coming out of my nose."
"You absolutely did." You catch the pillow before it can fall, hold it against your chest. "That first night, on the bench. There was definitely nasal discharge. Very attractive.”
"I'm going to kill you."
"See, this is what I mean. Murderous anger is much easier to handle than whatever that smile was."
She's moving before you realize what's happening. One moment she's at her end of the sofa, the next she's crossing the distance between you, blanket abandoned, and you don't know what she's going to do. Hit you, maybe. Smother you with another pillow, who knows.
But what Jimin does is completely different from what you might expect: her knees settle on either side of your hips, her hands bracing against your shoulders, and suddenly you're lying back against the sofa cushions with Yu Jimin straddling your body, looking down at you with an expression that's no longer angry at all.
"We don't have to do anything today," she says quietly. You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. Your hands hover uselessly in the air, unsure where to land, unsure what's allowed. "I just want to be with you," she continues. "Like this. Is that okay?"
And then she kisses you. The barest press of her lips against yours, tentative and questioning and achingly sweet. She tastes like coffee, and your hands finally find their place on her waist, settling against the curve of her body. The kiss ends. She pulls back just far enough to look at you with her hair falling around both your faces.
"You just kissed a stranger," you murmur.
"I know." She's smiling again, that same smile that you couldn't look at before, except now it's inches from your face and impossible to avoid. "It was very good."
She settles against you, her head finds the curve of your shoulder. Your arms wrap around her automatically, pulling her closer, and she makes a small sound of contentment. "You said I could hide behind you," she murmurs against your neck. "But I think I prefer this. Hiding in your arms."
"That works too."
You lie there together, tangled on the sofa, rain drumming against the windows, and for a long moment, neither of you speaks. There's nothing that needs saying. Just the warmth of her body, the rhythm of her breathing, the impossible fact of this moment existing at all. But the thought surfaces anyway. The one you've been pushing down since the cave, since the forest, since the moment she took your hand and started walking.
"You know none of this is real," you say quietly, and Jimin goes still against you. "You're an idol. One of the most famous women in the country. And I'm… I'm a businessman on the verge of bankruptcy. This can't exist. Outside of here. In the real world."
She lifts her head. Looks at you. "I know," she says. "Nothing this good could be real."
"Then why—"
"Because we're here to pretend." She kisses you again and your hands tighten on her waist involuntarily. "Remember? That's what you said. We'd pretend together. That our problems can't reach us. That the outside world doesn't exist."
"I remember."
"So let's pretend this is real too." Her forehead rests against yours. "Just for now. Just while we're here. Let me have this."
You don’t resist. You know better, but you still don’t argue "Okay," you say. "We'll pretend." She smiles. Settles back against your chest. Your arms tighten around her, and she sighs, and the sound is the closest thing to peace you've heard in months.
Here's something you've never told anyone: you don't actually know what love feels like. You've had relationships. Girlfriends who lasted months or years, who shared your bed and your time and eventually your boredom. But love? That consuming, transformative thing that poets write about? You've always assumed it was exaggeration. Metaphor. A beautiful lie people tell themselves to make the mundane feel meaningful.
But lying here with Jimin's heartbeat pressed against your ribs and her breath warm on your neck, something changes. It's not dramatic. No fireworks, no movie moment. It's just... you can't tell where your body ends and hers starts anymore. Her breathing matches yours. Her heartbeat syncs up with the rhythm in your chest. You're this close, this tangled up together, and for the first time in your life you understand what people mean when they talk about feeling complete.
This is probably what love feels like
—
Yes, what you're thinking eventually happened.
You and Jimin spent the day together. All of it. The cooking lessons she insisted on giving you, standing at the stove with her arms around you from behind, guiding your hands through the motions of chopping and stirring and not setting things on fire. You made a spectacular mess. Flour on the counters, sauce splattered across the backsplash, something that might have been an egg but ended up more on the floor than in the bowl. But you also made progress. Actual, measurable progress. By evening, you'd produced something edible. Not good, exactly. But edible. Jimin ate it anyway, and the look on her face when she swallowed was only slightly pained.
And then there was the rest of it. The parts that don't need narrating. The parts you can probably imagine if you've been paying attention to the story. The parts that happened after dinner, and then again after midnight, and then once more in the grey hours before dawn.
Which brings us here. The next morning.
You're in bed together, sheets tangled around your legs. The storm hasn't stopped. You're beginning to think it never will. That you've been transported to some alternate dimension where the sun is a myth and the only weather that exists is this endless, drumming wet.
Jimin is lying beside you, wearing nothing but white cotton panties and a thin tank top. Her nipples press against the fabric, visible outlines that draw your eye every time you try to look elsewhere. Her hair is spread across the pillow in dark waves, messy from sleep and from everything that came before sleep, and there's a mark on her collarbone that you don't remember making but are reasonably certain is your fault.
Your finger traces a slow line along her bare thigh. From knee to hip and back again. Her skin so soft, warm from the cocoon of blankets, and she shivers slightly when your touch skirts too close to the edge of her underwear. "I wish I knew how to draw," you say.
Jimin turns her head on the pillow, looking at you through half-lidded eyes. "Why?"
"So I could draw you. Right now. Like this." Your finger continues its lazy path, up and down, up and down. "That would be romantic, wouldn't it? The tortured artist capturing his muse in charcoal and shadow."
"You'd probably draw me with three arms and a head shaped like a potato."
She's not wrong. You've never had any talent for visual arts. Your handwriting looks like a seismograph reading during an earthquake, and the one time you tried to sketch something in college, your girlfriend at the time asked if it was supposed to be a horse or a pile of laundry. “Babe, you’ve gotta trust me a little more,” you say. “Still… you’re not wrong.”
"Is there anything you actually know how to do with your hands?" Jimin asks, light, teasing. "Cooking, no. Drawing, apparently not. What skills do you possess?"
You shift closer to her, your hand sliding higher on her thigh, fingers dipping beneath the hem of her tank top to trace along her hip bone. "I don't want to brag," you say, "but you seemed to enjoy what I did with my hands yesterday. And last night. And this morning, around three a.m."
Her breath catches slightly. Just a small hitch, barely noticeable, but you're paying attention. "Conceited," she murmurs.
"Confident."
She rolls toward you, her body pressing against yours, and then she's climbing on top of you, knees settling on either side of your hips, hands bracing against your chest. The tank top rides up, exposing the flat plane of her stomach, the delicate curve of her waist. And when she leans down to kiss you, you taste sleep and warmth. "Conceited," Jimin repeats against your lips. She tilts her head, searching your face. "What do you think of me?" she asks quietly. "After everything I told you last night?"
And there it is. The things she said in the dark, when the barriers were down and the words came easier. Things you won't repeat, not here, not now. They belong to her, those truths. You're just the vessel she chose to pour them into. "I think..." You reach up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, letting your hand linger against her cheek. "I think there are more questions in the answers. I think you're more complicated than you let anyone see. I think you've been carrying weight that no one person should have to carry alone."
Your hand slides down, tracing the line of her jaw, her neck, her shoulder. Down her arm and back up again, mapping the geography of her body. "I wish I could do more for you," you say. "Fix things. Make it better. Be more than just..." She knows what you mean. The room, the rain, the strange, unlikely bubble you ended up creating together. "This."
"What is this?"
"One last day,” and it tastes bitter saying it. True, but still bitter. "That's all I can give you. Tomorrow I have to go back. The meeting. The board. The slow-motion car crash of my professional life."
"That's all I want," she says, tracing random patterns on your chest, a hint of heat moving across your skin. "One more day. With you. Here. Where nothing outside can reach us."
She shifts on top of you, adjusting her position, and the movement drags her hips across yours in a way that makes your breath catch. You're hard already. Have been since she climbed on top of you, probably. Her body pressing against yours through thin layers of cotton, the heat of her seeping through the fabric. Jimin feels it. Her lips curve into something knowing.
"Someone wants another round," she observes.
“That honestly wasn’t even on my mind, I swear.”
She smiles and leans down to kiss you. You feel her tongue sliding against yours as her hips begin to move. A lazy grind that drags the thin cotton of her panties across your length, creating friction that makes you grip her waist involuntarily. Her hand slides between your bodies. Fingers hooking into the waistband of your underwear, tugging downward, working the fabric past your hips. Your cock springs free, hard and aching, and she wraps her fingers around it immediately. A light grip at first, her thumb sweeping across the head in a teasing circle.
"Better?" she asks against your mouth.
Your hips jerk involuntarily. "Getting there.”
She continues stroking you, her grip finding a rhythm that's maddeningly unhurried, and her mouth never leaves yours. Kissing you slow and deep while her hand works your cock with the same patience. Then she shifts, adjusting her position, and suddenly the head of your cock is pressed against the thin cotton barrier of her panties. Right there. Right against her cunt, where the fabric is already damp, where you can feel the heat of her radiating through the material like she's burning from the inside out.
Your hand finds her ass. Squeezes. And god, the way it fills your palm, the perfect yield of soft flesh under your fingers, the way she gasps quietly into your mouth when you grip harder. She has the kind of ass that makes you want to spend hours just touching it, mapping every curve, learning exactly how much pressure makes her breath catch. Jimin lifts her hips slightly. Her free hand reaches down between her legs, fingers hooking into the cotton of her panties and pulling them aside, and then she's lowering herself back down and you feel it. The wet heat of her pressing against your bare cock, no barrier anymore, nothing between you but skin and slick warmth.
She takes you in slowly. Her body opens around you, her walls gripping you tight as she sinks down. Your hands tighten on her hips involuntarily, fingers digging into soft flesh. "Fuck," you breathe. She bottoms out. Takes all of you, her hips flush against yours, and for a moment she just stays there. Adjusting. Letting her body accommodate the stretch. Her eyes are closed, lips parted, and you can see the flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat.
Then she starts to move. Slow at first. A gentle roll of her hips, circular and smooth, grinding down against you in a way that creates friction without urgency. Her pussy is perfect. Tight and wet and hot, clinging to your cock with every movement, and you have to remind yourself to breathe because the sensation is overwhelming in the best possible way.
Her breasts sway gently inside her tank top with each roll of her hips. The thin fabric does nothing to conceal their shape, the way they move, the outline of her nipples pressing against the cotton. You want to push the shirt up, expose her completely, take those breasts in your hands and feel their weight. But there's something almost more erotic about this. The hint of concealment. The suggestion of skin without the full reveal.
And speaking of which: Jimin's pale skin glows in the grey morning light. She looks ethereal, otherworldly, something you dreamed up in a fever. Her dark hair cascades over her shoulders, brushing against her collarbones, and when she opens her eyes to look down at you, it knocks the breath out of you.
"You feel good," she murmurs, low, breathy, slightly unsteady.
"You feel incredible."
She smiles at that. Leans down to kiss you again, her breasts pressing against your chest through the thin fabric, and her hips never stop moving. That slow, sinuous rhythm that's driving you slowly insane. Your hands slide from her hips to her ass, palming both cheeks, guiding her movements even as she sets the pace. She feels unbelievably good. Every roll of her hips drags your cock through her slick heat, you can feel how wet she is, the evidence of her arousal coating your length, making every movement smooth and easy.
"I like watching you," you say. "Like this. On top of me."
Jimin's rhythm falters slightly. A flush spreads across her cheeks, down her neck, disappearing beneath the collar of her tank top. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Your hands squeeze her ass, pulling her down harder on the next stroke. "You're beautiful."
She kisses you instead of responding, and her pace increases. Still not fast, not urgent, but more intentional now. Rising up until you're almost slipping out of her, then sinking back down in one smooth motion that makes both of you gasp. Her breasts bounce more noticeably with the increased movement, and you can't help but slide one hand up from her ass, up the curve of her waist, until your palm cups her breast through the tank top.
Her nipple is hard against your palm. You roll it between your fingers, and Jimin moans. A real sound, unguarded, and her hips stutter in their rhythm. "Don't stop," you tell her.
Her pace settles back into something steady, a little faster than before, her thighs flexing with each rise and fall. Your cock slides in and out of her perfect pussy, slick and hot and so fucking tight around you. The sound of it fills the room. Wet and rhythmic, obscene in the quiet morning, and somehow that makes it better. Knowing what you sound like together. Knowing you're making those sounds.
Jimin braces her hands on your chest, using the leverage to ride you deeper. Her head tips back, exposing the long column of her throat, and you watch her move on top of you with something approaching reverence. The way her body undulates. The way her breasts sway beneath the cotton. The way her lips part around soft sounds of pleasure. "God," she breathes. "You feel so good inside me."
You thrust up to meet her on the next stroke, and she cries out. A sharp, surprised sound that dissolves into a moan as you do it again. And again. You're timing it now, driving up when she comes down, and the rhythm locks in. You're both moving together, perfectly synced, like you've been doing this for years instead of minutes.
The pace builds gradually. Her eyes are closed. Head tipped back. Lost somewhere inside herself, inside the sensation, inside the place where pleasure builds and builds until it becomes impossible to contain. You can feel it in her body. The way her pussy grips you tighter with each stroke. The way her rhythm becomes less controlled, more instinctive. The way her whole frame trembles with the effort of chasing something that's just out of reach.
"Oh god," she breathes, shaky and desperate. "Oh god, oh god—" Her pace becomes erratic. Faster, harder, grinding down against you. Her breasts bounce beneath the rumpled tank top, nipples dragging against the fabric, and the sounds she makes are the sweetest thing you've ever heard. Soft, broken moans that spill from her lips without permission. Little gasps and whimpers that she can't seem to control. "I'm close," she manages. "I'm so close, I'm going to—"
"Cum on my cock,” you say, guiding her hips. “I want to feel you cum, Jimin. Let go."
She cries out. Her rhythm shatters completely, hips jerking in uncoordinated movements as she chases the edge. You thrust up into her, faster, giving her what she needs, and you watch her face as she breaks apart. The orgasm finally hits her. Her whole body goes taut, spine arching, mouth falling open in a silent cry that finally releases as a long, trembling moan. Her pussy clenches around you in rhythmic pulses, squeezing your cock so tight it almost hurts, and you can feel the rush of wetness as she comes undone.
She's beautiful when she cums. The way her face transforms, all the tension and control stripped away, nothing left but pure, unfiltered pleasure. The way her body moves through it, riding the aftershocks, her hips still twitching against yours even as the peak begins to fade. Her moans taper off into soft, breathless sounds. Little whimpers of oversensitivity as her body comes down from the high. She's trembling, her thighs shaking on either side of your hips, and when she finally opens her eyes, they're glazed. Unfocused. Lost in the aftermath.
She collapses against you. Her full weight settles onto your chest, warm and boneless, and you catch her automatically. Wrap your arms around her. Hold her close while she breathes against your neck with her heart hammering so hard you can feel it through her ribs. "That was..." she starts, but doesn't finish. Doesn't need to. You turn your head and she lifts hers and then you're kissing, deep and tender, lips soft against yours, her tongue sliding lazily against your own, and you could stay like this forever. Wrapped up in her, surrounded by her, still buried inside her.
But your cock is still hard. Still aching. Still desperate for release. Slowly you roll her over. She makes a small sound of surprise as her back hits the mattress, as your weight settles over her. Her dark hair fans across the pillow, and she looks up at you with eyes that are still hazy with pleasure but beginning to sharpen with interest. You pull out of her.
First things first. Your underwear is still tangled around your legs, shoved down but not removed. You kick free of them impatiently, finally bare, finally unrestricted. Then her panties. The white cotton that she'd only pushed aside, that's still clinging to her hips, damp with her arousal. You hook your fingers into the waistband and draw them down slowly. Over her hips. Down her thighs. Past her knees, her calves, her ankles, until they're gone and she's completely naked beneath you except for that thin tank top.
You settle between her legs. Spread her thighs wider with your hands, making room for yourself, and she lets you. Opens for you willingly, eagerly, her breath quickening again as you position yourself.
Your cock brushes against her entrance and you both shudder. She's soaked. Absolutely drenched, her arousal smeared across her inner thighs, and when you look down at where your bodies almost meet, you can see it. The cream forming at her opening, thick and white, evidence of how thoroughly she came on your cock just moments ago.
"Look at you," you murmur, dragging the head of your cock through her folds, coating yourself in her wetness. "So fucking wet for me."
Jimin's hips twitch, trying to chase the contact. "Please."
"Please what?"
"Please fuck me again. I want to feel you inside me."
You rub your cock against her entrance one more time, teasing, watching the way her cream clings to your shaft. Then you push forward. She takes you easily this time, her pussy still loose and slick from her orgasm, and you slide into her in one smooth stroke that makes both of you groan. She's even wetter inside than before, hot and welcoming, and you can feel her walls flutter around you as her body adjusts to being filled again. You start slow. Long, deep strokes that pull almost all the way out before pushing back in. Taking your time now that the first desperate edge has been taken off, savoring the sensation of her body wrapped around yours. The bed creaks softly beneath you, a rhythmic accompaniment to the wet sounds of your cock moving inside her.
Jimin's hands find your shoulders, her nails digging in lightly, and her legs wrap around your waist to pull you deeper. Her eyes are locked on yours, and there's an intimacy to this position that wasn't there when she was on top. Face to face. Breath mingling. Nowhere to hide.
"You feel so good," she whispers. "So fucking good inside me."
You lean down and kiss her, swallowing her next moan as you sink deep and hold there, grinding against her, feeling every inch of her pussy clenching around your cock. You fuck her slowly at first, savoring every sensation, committing every detail to memory because you know this can't last. The wet heat of her pussy wrapped around your cock. The way her body yields beneath yours, soft and welcoming. The small sounds she makes with each thrust, breathy little gasps that escape her parted lips.
But your hips find a rhythm eventually. Pulling back until just the head of your cock remains inside her, then sliding forward in one long stroke that buries you to the hilt.
"Harder," she whispers. You comply. The pace increases incrementally, your hips snapping forward with more force, driving deeper into her slick heat.
Then Jimin's hands leave your shoulders. They travel down her own body, fingers trailing over her collarbones, her chest, until they reach the hem of her tank top. She grips the fabric and pulls it up in one fluid motion, bunching it above her breasts, exposing herself completely. And god. Her tits.
They're perfect. Large and full, pale as cream against the grey sheets, capped with nipples that are flushed pink and hard. They bounce with each thrust, a rhythm that matches the movement of your hips. Soft flesh rippling with every impact, swaying gently when you pull back, jiggling when you slam forward. "You like watching them?" Jimin asks.
"I fucking love watching them."
She smiles. Her hands come up to cup her own breasts, fingers spreading to contain the soft weight. She squeezes them together, lifts them slightly, presents them to you, then her fingers find her nipples, pinching lightly, rolling the hard peaks between thumb and forefinger.
The sound she makes is devastating. A low, throaty moan that vibrates through her chest as she touches herself while you fuck her. Her eyes flutter closed, lips parting, and she plays with her nipples like she's putting on a show just for you. Tugging at them, circling them, pressing down and releasing to watch them spring back.
Your pace increases again. The sight of her touching herself, combined with the tight grip of her pussy around your cock, is driving you toward an edge you're not ready to reach. You need to make her cum again first. Need to feel her fall apart beneath you one more time.
Your hand leaves its position beside her head, travels down her body, over the soft curve of her stomach, until your fingers find the place where your bodies meet. You can feel your own cock sliding in and out of her, can feel the stretch of her pussy around your shaft. And just above that junction, her clit waits. Swollen and sensitive, peeking out from its hood, begging to be touched.
You press your thumb against it. Jimin's reaction is immediate and violent. Her back arches off the bed and her pussy clamps down on your cock so hard you see stars. Her hands abandon her nipples to grip the sheets instead.
"Oh fuck," she gasps. "Oh fuck, right there, keep going, don't stop—"
Your thumb circles her clit in tight movements, matching the rhythm of your thrusts. Pressure and friction and the relentless slide of your cock inside her, all working together to push her toward the edge. Her breasts bounce freely now, no longer contained by her hands.
"That's it," you murmur, watching her face contort with pleasure. "That's it, let me feel you cum again."
Her moans become more urgent. Higher pitched, more desperate. Her hips buck against yours, meeting your thrusts with movements of her own, fucking herself on your cock while your thumb works her clit without mercy. The wet sounds grow louder, wetter, her arousal practically flooding out of her with each stroke.
"I'm gonna—" she starts, but can't finish. Her whole body is trembling, muscles tensing, pussy fluttering around your cock in a way that tells you she's right on the edge.
You press harder on her clit. Fuck her deeper. Give her everything you have. She shatters.
The orgasm rips through her with enough force to make her scream. Her spine curves impossibly, her head thrown back against the pillow, and her pussy clamps down on your cock in rhythmic pulses that threaten to drag you over with her. But that's not all.
A sudden rush of wetness, a pressure releasing, and then she's squirting. A clear stream of fluid spurts from where your bodies meet, soaking your stomach, coating your cock, splashing against your thighs. Not a lot, but unmistakable. Evidence of just how thoroughly you've wrecked her.
"Holy shit," you breathe, but you don't stop. You keep fucking her through it, keep rubbing her clit, and her orgasm seems to go on forever. Waves and waves of pleasure crashing through her, her pussy spasming around you, her whole body shaking with the force of it. And every time you thrust back in, another small squirt accompanies it. Like her body can't contain everything you're making her feel. Like she's overflowing with pleasure and it has nowhere to go but out.
"Oh my god," she's babbling, "oh my god, oh my god—"
You're relentless now. Fucking her through the aftershocks, feeling her squirt around your cock with each stroke, watching the mess spread beneath you both. The sheets are soaked. Your thighs are dripping. And still you don't stop.
You can feel your orgasm gathering, inevitable, and you know you need to make a decision about where you're going to finish.
One last long thrust. You bury yourself inside her as deep as you can go, hold there for a moment, feeling her pussy pulse around you, feeling the last tremors of her orgasm ripple through her walls. Then you pull out.
Your cock emerges glistening wet, coated in her cum and her squirt and your own precum. You shift position, moving up her body until you're kneeling over her chest, your cock positioned directly above her breasts. She knows what you want without being told.
Her hands come up immediately, cupping those perfect pale tits and pressing them together, creating a valley of soft flesh for you. She looks up at you with dark eyes, lips curved in invitation. "Cum on me," she says, seductive and utterly filthy. "I want to feel it. I want to see it."
You wrap your hand around your cock and start stroking. It only takes seconds. You're too wound up, too desperate, too overwhelmed by everything that's happened. The first spurt hits her chest with enough force to reach her collarbone, a thick rope of white against her pale skin. "Yes," Jimin breathes, squeezing her tits tighter together. "Keep going. Cum on me. Give me everything."
The second spurt lands between her breasts, pooling in the valley she's created. The third stripes across her left nipple. You groan, hand working your shaft, and you can't stop cumming. It just keeps coming, wave after wave of release, painting her chest white.
"That's it," she encourages. "Cum for me. Every last drop. I want it all." Her words drag another spurt out of you, splashing across her right breast. Your hand keeps moving, milking your cock, drawing out every last bit of cum until you're finally, completely empty.
You look down at the mess you've made. Her perfect pale tits, covered in streaks and pools of your cum. Some of it sliding down toward her stomach. Some of it caught around her hard nipples. Some of it still sitting in the valley between her breasts, warm and thick.
Jimin smiles up at you. Pleased. Satisfied. Looking at the cum on her chest like it's a gift she's been waiting for. "Come here," she says.
You shift forward, and she guides your softening cock toward her mouth. Her lips part and she takes just the tip inside. Her eyes close as she wraps her lips around you, sucking gently, her tongue swirling to clean away the remaining traces of cum. The sensation is too much on your sensitive flesh, but you don't pull away. You watch her. The way her cheeks hollow slightly with each gentle suck. The way her lashes rest against her cheeks. The way she hums contentedly around your cock like she's savoring something delicious.
When she finally releases you, there's a single drop of cum clinging to the corner of her lip. You reach down, brush it away with your thumb. Before you can pull back, her mouth opens and she takes your thumb inside, sucking it clean with the same attention she gave your cock.
Her eyes open, finding yours. "I love your taste," she says quietly, releasing your thumb.
You lean down and kiss her, tasting yourself on her tongue, and you think that this might be the closest thing to perfect you've ever experienced.
—
The morning unfolds in this weird, borrowed way. Like you've stepped into someone else's life for a bit. Domestic and quiet and strangely... normal? Jimin makes breakfast. You're planted at the kitchen island just watching her move around. You're memorizing this. The angle of her shoulders, the way she reaches for things, how natural it all looks. Filing it away in that part of your brain where you keep shit you know you'll want to remember later.
She notices you watching. The look she gives you is knowing, maybe a little amused.
You accept the plate she offers and make some comment about your inevitable starvation back in Seoul. She points out you could learn to cook. You counter that this has been definitively proven impossible. She mentions yesterday's attempt. You clarify that successfully cracking a single egg without shell contamination doesn't qualify as progress; it's barely basic human function. That gets a smile out of her. She grabs her own plate and settles in next to you. You eat together without talking. Outside, the rain keeps doing its thing.
Later, you bundle yourselves in raincoats and venture outside.
The storm's died down to a drizzle. You grab two umbrellas before heading out, even though you're both already wearing raincoats. It feels like the right thing to do. Jimin takes your hand without asking. Just reaches over and laces her fingers through yours, natural as breathing, and you start walking down the overgrown path that connects all the lake properties.
"These were all occupied when I was a kid," you say, pointing at the first house. Two-story cabin, wood siding, completely empty now. The garden's a mess: bushes everywhere, grass up to your knees. "The Choi family lived there. Three kids my age. We played together every summer."
"What happened to them?"
"Moved to Busan, I think. Dad got a job there. They sold it to some development company that bought it and then... nothing. Just left it to rot." You keep walking. More houses, all the same story. Families moved away, companies bought them, promised they'd fix them up and never did. The whole neighborhood's just sitting here empty and falling apart.
"It's sad," Jimin says, looking at one house where the roof's caved in on one side. "All these empty places."
"Everything ends eventually." You squeeze her hand. "Not always a bad thing. Sometimes it just is what it is." She doesn't say anything, but her grip gets tighter. Makes you wonder if she's thinking about endings too.
Then the lightning hits. One second you're fine, pointing out the old dock where you used to fish with your grandfather. The next second there's this massive crack of thunder and a flash so bright you can't see anything. The bolt strikes somewhere across the lake, close enough that you both freeze.
Jimin gasps and presses into you. "That was close," she says.
"Not that close. Maybe a kilometer."
"It felt close."
You pull her under a big oak tree. Yeah, you know you're not supposed to stand under trees during lightning storms. You know that's literally the worst place to be. But her hand's shaking in yours and you need to hold her for a second.
"We should go back," you say. She nods against your chest.
You walk back way faster than you came out. The umbrellas are basically useless now anyway - the wind's picked up and you're getting soaked from every direction. By the time you get to the house, you're both completely drenched and laughing about it.
—
Night hits different out here. No city lights means when the sun goes down, it really goes down. Total darkness.
You're in your bedroom changing clothes when your phone lights up on the nightstand. Honestly, you'd kind of forgotten you had a phone. Since getting here, you've basically only used the laptop for work stuff. The phone's just been sitting there, ignored. But now the screen's going crazy. One notification. Two. Three. They keep coming. Missed calls, texts, voicemails. All from the same person: Yoon-a.
Over a hundred missed calls. A hundred. Who the fuck calls someone a hundred times? Like, what level of panic or obsession even drives that? You pick up the phone anyway. Stare at the screen. From the living room, you can hear Jimin doing something. Cabinet doors opening and closing. She's looking for something.
You call her back. She answers on the first ring.
"Oh my god!” she exclaims. "Oh my god, you're alive. Where have you been? Why haven't you answered? I've been calling for days. Days. I thought something happened to you. I thought you were dead. I thought—"
"I'm fine," you say. "Yoon-a. I'm fine. Calm down."
"Calm down? Calm down?! You disappear without telling anyone, you don't answer your phone, you don't respond to texts, and you want me to calm down?"
"I just needed some time. To clear my head. Get away from everything."
"Get away from—" She stops. You can hear her breathing hard on the other end. "I watched this movie last night. This stupid movie, I don't even know why I watched it. About this businessman who loses everything. All his money, his company, his reputation. And at the end he… He shoots himself in the head."
"That's dark."
"I thought of you. Immediately. I couldn't stop thinking about you. Alone somewhere. Going through everything you're going through. And I kept calling and calling and you never answered."
"I'm flattered you think I'm that dramatic."
"This isn't funny." She's crying now, you can hear it. Small, hiccuping sobs that she's trying to suppress. "This isn't a joke. I was terrified. I am terrified. You're out there alone, not talking to anyone, dealing with all of this by yourself—"
"I'm at the lake house. My family's place. I'm fine. Completely fine."
"The lake house?"
"Yeah. I just needed to get away. I should have told you. I should have answered. I'm sorry."
There's a pause. A long, shaky exhale. "I'm sorry too," she says. "About the fight. In the elevator. I was being ridiculous. Clingy, like you said. I shouldn't have pushed you about dinner with my parents when you had so much going on. I shouldn't have made everything about me. I was an idiot."
"No." You sit down on the edge of the bed. "It's not your fault. I'm the one who should apologize. I've been distant. Distracted. I've been treating you badly for weeks, and you didn't deserve any of it."
"You've been stressed. I should have understood that. I should have given you space instead of demanding things."
"You shouldn't have had to. I should have talked to you. Explained what I was going through instead of just... disappearing."
"I love you," she confesses. "I love you, okay? And I know things are hard right now. I know the company is falling apart and everyone's giving you shit and you feel like the whole world is against you. But I'm not against you. I'm with you. No matter what happens." You close your eyes. Take a deep breath. "Come back to me," she continues. "Please. Come home. I'll take care of you. We'll figure this out together. I don't care if you lose the company. I don't care if you lose all your money. I mean—" A wet laugh. "I'd prefer if you stayed super rich, obviously. The lifestyle is very comfortable. But if you become poor, that's fine. I'll adapt. I'll support you. I'll love you anyway."
"Yoon-a—"
"Our son misses you. He's been moping around the apartment, looking for you. He keeps sleeping on your side of the bed." The dog isn't yours in any way... but you don't feel the need to correct her this time. "Are you lonely?" she asks. "There by yourself?"
You think about Jimin. In the living room right now, probably curled up on the sofa, surrounded by blankets, waiting for you to come watch a movie with her. Jimin, who kissed you this morning. Who rode you until she came. Who walked through the rain holding your hand. "No," you say. "I'm fine."
"Are you sure? Because I could come. I could catch a flight tonight—"
"I'm coming back tomorrow. The board meeting. I have to be there." You rub your forehead with your free hand. "We can talk properly then. Figure things out."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
"Okay." She sniffles. Takes a breath. "Okay. Tomorrow. I'll be waiting."
"Don't cry," you say. "Not for me. I don't deserve it."
"That's not how emotions work, dummy. You don't get to decide what other people feel about you."
"Goodnight, Yoon-a."
"Goodnight." A pause. "I love you." The words hang there, waiting for a response. Three simple syllables that should be easy to say. That would be easy, probably, if you hadn't spent the last three days falling into something with someone else.
"Goodnight," you say again. "Sleep well." You end the call. The phone sits in your hand, screen dimming, then going dark. You stare at it for a long time.
Look, being a shitty person isn't like the movies. You don't sit there twirling a villain mustache or cackling while you kick puppies. You're not Darth Vader. You're not even a recognizable bad guy. You're just... you. A regular person making regular choices that happen to hurt people. You took a trip without telling your almost-girlfriend. You invited a stranger along. Held her hand. Kissed her. Fucked her until she came so hard she squirted all over you.
None of it felt villainous while it was happening. All of it was, in its own way, beautiful.
But beautiful things can leave ugly messes behind. And the people you hurt don't give a shit about your good intentions. Damage is damage, regardless of whether you meant it. So you sit there on the edge of the bed and just... feel it. The guilt. The self-loathing. That growing certainty that you've fucked up in ways you won't even understand until later.
Then you breathe. Stand up. Run your fingers through your hair and Just say "fuck it.”
You're not dealing with this now. There'll be plenty of time for beating yourself up later, back in Seoul, when everything comes crashing down. Right now? You've still got a few hours left. A few more hours in this bubble. A few more hours with Jimin.
You walk back to the living room. She's on the sofa, exactly where you pictured her, except there's a massive bowl of popcorn balanced on her lap. She looks up when you enter, and her face breaks into a smile. "I made popcorn," she announces proudly. "And before you say anything, yes, I used the stove. No, I didn't burn down the kitchen. Some of us have basic survival skills." You force a smile back. It feels stiff on your face, but she doesn't seem to notice. "Impressive," you say. She shifts to make room for you on the sofa, and that's when you notice what she's wearing.
Your shirt. The Oxford button-down, light blue, slightly too big on her. The sleeves are rolled up to her elbows and the hem falls to mid-thigh, and she looks impossibly good in it. Cozy and rumpled and unreasonably attractive. Your brain helpfully reminds you that Yoon-a loves this shirt. Used to steal it constantly, wear it on lazy Sunday mornings, always threatening to keep it for good.
The timing of that memory is really fucking inconvenient.
"You okay?" Jimin's watching your face now. "You seem kinda weird."
You shake it off. Plaster on a better smile. "I'm fine," you say. "Just tired." You drop onto the sofa next to her, close enough that your legs touch, and pull her into your side. Your arm settles around her shoulders naturally and she leans into you without hesitation. The popcorn bowl balances between you both.
For now, you're fine. You can deal with everything else later.
—
The last morning arrives with an unexpected guest: the sun. Jimin finds you in the kitchen, already dressed, already packed, already holding a cup of coffee that you made yourself. Her eyes widen slightly at the sight. "You're awake."
"I'm awake."
"You made coffee."
"I did."
She approaches the counter slowly. "How?"
"YouTube tutorial. How to Use a Coffee Maker: Tutorial for Beginners. Fourteen minutes long. Very thorough. I now understand the concept of water reservoirs and filter placement."
"You've never used a coffee maker before?"
"I've never had to. That's what staff are for." You pour her a cup, slide it across the counter. "Apparently regular people just make their own coffee every morning. Wild concept."
She takes a sip. Her eyebrows rise. "It's good."
"Don't sound so surprised. I'm a quick learner when properly motivated."
The last few hours unspool in a series of small, practical tasks. Packing bags, making calls to confirm arrangements, to coordinate schedules, to begin the process of reintegrating into a world that's been waiting impatiently for your return. Your pilot answers on the second ring. Yes, the jet is ready. Yes, everything is prepared. Yes, he'll be waiting at the scheduled time. His voice is professionally neutral, giving no indication of what he thinks about his employer disappearing for days without explanation.
Through the windows, you watch the sun climb higher, burning off the last traces of mist that cling to the lake. The water is blue now, no longer the churning grey it's been since you arrived. It looks like a postcard.
Jimin makes her own calls. You try not to listen, but the house isn't big enough for real privacy, and fragments drift toward you anyway. Words like "schedule" and "statement" and "the members are worried." She responds in tones you haven't heard from her before. More certain.
There's still food in the kitchen. More than you could possibly eat, more than made sense to order in the first place. You make a mental note to call someone, have them come clear it out, donate it somewhere useful. It seems wasteful to just leave it here to rot in an empty house.
The drive to the airfield is quiet. The jet trip is quieter still. You sit across from each other in leather seats, Seoul approaches through oval windows, and neither of you says much of anything. There's nothing left to say, really. Everything important has already been communicated in other ways. In touches and silences and the space between words. Jimin wears her disguise again. Baseball cap pulled low, face mask covering everything below her eyes.
Your car's waiting at the private terminal. You toss her suitcases in the back, hold the door open for her, then get behind the wheel. Seoul hits you immediately. Traffic everywhere. Buildings stacked on top of buildings. Twelve million people all doing their thing at once. After the quiet of the lake house, it's a lot. Too much, actually. Too loud. Too crowded. Your brain doesn't know what to do with all the stimulus.
She tells you the address and you start driving. Neither of you talks. You just navigate the same streets you've been driving for years, except everything feels off now. Like you left for a weekend trip and came back to find the city rearranged. Or maybe it's the same and you're what changed. Hard to tell.
Her building's in Gangnam. Naturally. Big glass tower with lobby security and doormen and cameras everywhere that'll definitely catch her getting out of your car. You pull up to the entrance. Put the car in park. Sit there for a moment, hands on the wheel, staring straight ahead. "I don't know what to say," you admit. "I've never been through anything like this before. There's no template. No script."
Jimin pulls her mask down to her chin, and you can see her face properly for the first time since you left the lake house. "You don't need to say anything," she tells you.
"That feels wrong somehow. Like we should mark the moment. Acknowledge it."
"We are acknowledging it. This is what acknowledgment looks like when there's nothing left to add."
You drum your fingers on the steering wheel. Outside, a man walks past with a dog. A taxi honks in the distance. The city continues, indifferent. "Will we keep talking?" you ask. "After this?"
Jimin is quiet for a moment. Considering. "I don't know," she says finally. "Let's see what happens over time."
"That's very noncommittal."
"It's honest. I don't know what I want yet. I don't know what's possible." She shrugs, a small movement. "Right now, all I know is that I need to go back to my life and figure out what that looks like. Everything else is... uncertain."
"Fair enough."
You stare out the windshield, watching a delivery truck navigate the narrow street. "It's a shame," you say. "That things can't work out. Between us."
"I'm an idol. You know how it works. Dating scandals, public scrutiny, sasaeng fans digging through every aspect of my personal life. Even if we wanted to try, the logistics would be impossible."
"I know."
"And you have a girl who likes you."
You turn to look at her. "She was never my girlfriend."
"I know. But she cares about you. That call... she was really worried."
"Did you hear—"
"Yes." She cuts you off gently. "I heard it. The walls aren't that thick."
A beat of silence. The engine hums. "I'm going to talk to her," you say. "When I get back. I'm going to be honest about what happened. About everything." You pause, meeting her eyes. "I won't mention you. I won't say who I was with. That's not my secret to tell. But I can't lie to her about the fact that something happened."
Jimin nods slowly. "That's fair."
"I don't know how she'll take it. She might hate me. She probably should."
"Maybe." Jimin's gaze drifts to the window, to the building waiting to reclaim her, to the life she's about to step back into. "But you should do what you think is right. Whatever that looks like for you."
"What I think is right," you repeat. "That's a terrifying amount of freedom."
"Welcome to being an adult. It's mostly just making decisions and hoping you don't fuck everything up."
"You're very wise for someone who was crying on a park bench two weeks ago."
"Growth happens fast when you're forced into it." Her lips curve slightly. "Besides, I learned from the best. Some random guy who talks too much and can't operate a coffee maker."
You both laugh, and it feels good. Easy. Like maybe this doesn't have to be the end of everything, even if it's the end of this particular chapter. She reaches between the seats and retrieves her suitcases from the back. Two small bags, barely enough for a weekend, containing everything she brought to a trip she never planned to take. She opens the door, but she doesn't get out. "Sometime," she says, "we should get coffee. You and me."
"Coffee."
"We're still strangers, technically. Two people who met once in a park and then spent a few days in a bubble that doesn't count as real life. But I'd like to be your friend. If that's something you'd want."
"That would be cool," you say. "Yeah. I'd like that."
"Good." She pauses, glances at the door. Then back at you. "You're a good person," she says. "I know you don't believe that. But I do."
Before you can respond, she leans across and presses her lips to your cheek. A soft, brief contact, there and gone. Then she pulls her mask back up, hiding the lower half of her face, becoming Karina again before your eyes. "Good luck," she says. "With the meeting. With everything. It'll work out for you. I know it will." And then she's gone. Out of the car, through the building entrance, swallowed by the elevator and the security guards and the life that's been waiting to reclaim her.
You sit there for a while. Engine idling. Watching the space where she used to be. Good person.
You don't know how true that is. The evidence suggests otherwise, honestly. The choices you've made. The way you've hurt people without meaning to, without even fully understanding the damage until it was already done. Nothing is fixed. Not your company. Not your relationships. Not who you are or who you could become. Everything is still in motion, still being decided, still waiting for you to make the next choice.
Your phone buzzes. A text from your assistant. Thirty minutes until the meeting starts. You look at the message. Look at the building where Jimin disappeared. Look at the road ahead.
If you can save your company (and you're going to try, you're going to fight like hell), then maybe other impossible things aren't so impossible either. Maybe the logistics that seem insurmountable right now will look different in six months. A year. Maybe being an idol and being with someone doesn't have to be mutually exclusive. Maybe you just need to prove to yourself that you can actually fix something before you try to build something new.
One problem at a time. That's how you survive.
You put the car in drive. Pull away from the curb. Merge into traffic, becoming just another vehicle in the endless flow of the city. The meeting is in thirty minutes. The board wants your head. The investors have lost faith. Everyone is waiting for you to fail.
But you're not going to fail. Not today. Not if you have anything to say about it. And when you've saved the company - when, not if - you're going to call Jimin. You're going to take her up on that coffee. And you're going to see what's possible when two people stop pretending and start trying for real.
“Um, well, I don’t know how to say this. I might as well just come out with it. We slept together, and it was good. Actually, it was great. The best I’ve ever had. I know you’d be ecstatic, since in your words, it was always a long time coming. And get this, he’s in love with me too? I don’t know if I believe him because of how he told me time and time again that he was in love with you.
“Something you always knew, but chalked it up to confusion on his end. He seemed genuine, like he meant it, which scared me. So…” Karina trails off, staring out the window as the buildings pass by, “I did what I do best. I ran away. I left. With a note, saying it was a mistake and it shouldn’t have happened. I know, I know. You’d be shaking your head, calling me an idiot, but I can’t change what I did.
“I miss you, Minjeong. I do, I really fucking do. I don’t know how to handle this without you. I have Yeji and Aeri and Ryujin, but they aren’t you. I don’t know what to do. Miss you. Love you always.”
Karina’s voice cracks, ending the voicemail before she could fully break down. She didn’t want to cry, but the tears kept from falling. She has no one to blame but herself.
It could’ve all been easy. She has loved you for as long as she could remember. It seemed too good to be true that you loved her too.
The car door suddenly opens, the driver giving a polite smile, “Miss Yu, we’ve arrived at the airport.”
Karina forces a smile, grabbing her things and thanking the man as she steps out. She was too wrapped in her thoughts. She didn’t even notice she was already at her destination.
Her phone vibrates in her hand. Your name pops up on the screen. You must have finally woken up and read the note. She ignores the call, but within a minute, it goes off again. She has half the mind to pick up, to apologize for leaving abruptly, to explain she’s scared, but she won’t. Her ego can’t handle your reaction, even if her heart screams to hear your voice.
You call a third time. Karina waits until she sees the missed calls on her screen. She holds her breath for another one but there isn’t. Her finger hovers over your name, ultimately deciding not to call back.
It’s what Karina expected. She leaves a mess. You deal with it.
She can’t bring herself to face you right now.
She doesn’t know if she ever will.
--
On the other side of Seoul, there’s a whirlwind of things happening. How frantic you are trying to get a hold of her. How you resort to calling Yeji asking for her flight information—which the woman asks what the hell is going on once she gives it to you, but there is no time to explain. How you rush out of the apartment and pray that traffic is minimal.
But much to your luck, there’s an accident as soon as you get on the highway.
You give up.
There’s no way you could make it. You decide, then and there, that you’ll call Karina later when she lands. It’ll be a few hours, so it’ll give you time to figure things out and wonder why the hell she left.
Unfortunately, hours later, Karina doesn’t pick up the calls, from you or Yeji—even though your gut says that Yeji knows something, but won’t tell. She doesn’t respond to your texts either. You don’t want to be crazy, but you need answers as to why she left.
“Give her some time…” Yeji says carefully, watching you pace across your living room. Ryujin’s there too, but she’s eating the leftover snacks from last night. She hasn’t said much. “It’s a delicate situation.”
“I told her I was in love with her. We had sex. She leaves before I wake up to a note saying it’s a mistake.” You cross your arms over your chest. “How much fucking time does she need? It seemed pretty straightforward last night.”
“Well,” Ryujin says, wiping her fingers on a napkin, “You’ve told her for years you were in love with Minjeong. How can anyone be sure that you actually are in love with her and it wasn’t your mutual grief over Minjeong?”
“I know what I’m feeling.” You huff, eyes narrowing at the two women on your couch.
“And you have to also understand she might not believe you so easily,” Ryujin argues, eyes rolling at your stubbornness. “As unnie said, give her time.”
You want to press the issue, but there’s a knock on your door. You rush to answer, hopeful that by some chance it’s Karina. It’s Aeri. “Oh hey,” You greet flatly, stepping aside. “Why are you here…?” You didn’t invite her, but that was the least of your problems.
“Yeji told me to come over,” Aeri shrugs, kicking off her shoes. “I’d say finally, but that seems pointless since Karina’s not here.”
“Whatever,” You pout like a petulant child as you follow her back to the living room. “Ryujin’s telling me to give her time.”
“And you should,” Aeri nods as she hugs Yeji then Ryujin, settling in between them. The latter offers her some of the snacks. “She’ll come around.”
“When?” These women were testing your patience. They know Karina personally. Not that you didn’t, but navigating this seemed out of your realm. You’re close to them, but the trio didn’t have the same effect as Minjeong, who would know exactly what to say and what to do.
“However long you’re willing to wait,” Aeri says simply, popping a jelly into her mouth. “She’s probably confused. Hell, I am too. As much as I’d love the play by play, which, by the way, if Minjeong were still here, she’d owe me the most premium Wagyu from Japan, I'm just happy whatever weird-completely-obvious tension you two have had finally broke.”
“And if I don’t wait?”
“Then Karina’s an idiot,” Yeji says bluntly, shaking her head. “We’ve been telling her for years to say something, and when something finally happens, she runs away. She always self-sabotages, but I never thought she would do that with you.”
Your head hurts and you sit on the ground, sprawling out on the hardwood. This should’ve been simple, easy, because there was no other way for it to be. You love Karina and she loves you.
Is that not enough?
You wanted it to be, but the effort had to be reciprocated. You were willing to do whatever it took. You were defeated, beaten down, heart on the verge of breaking again.
Just a thousand times worse.
-- --
It’s been four months.
You haven’t seen nor spoken to Karina since that night.
It wasn’t without trying. You called for a month straight, day and night. You texted sporadically through all hours of the day, hoping for a response.
Yet, nothing.
It affected you to the point where it bled into other parts of your life.
Your work suffered. Your boss told you to take a couple weeks off to figure things out (nothing was solved, much to his dismay when you returned). You were able to leave the issue at the door and increased your productivity because the way you saw it, it was something to keep your mind off her for at least eight hours of the day. Sometimes a little more depending on how you felt.
Your friends were concerned. They tried getting you out of the house, inviting you to dinner or happy hour. They even set you up on blind dates, going as far to suggest sleeping with these women to get over Karina. That made things worse because that wasn’t what you wanted. They gave up with that avenue, letting you ride out whatever you were feeling. They still checked on you to make sure you didn’t go off the deep end.
You were close a couple times, but what actually pushed you over the proverbial edge was when Yeji accidentally slipped that Karina called her one night, asking to get dinner since she was in town. The regret evident on her face was that she was not supposed to say anything.
Apparently, Karina speaks to Yeji and Ryujin and Aeri and literally everyone else.
So you decided after that, you needed a break. You weren’t giving up, per say. Temporarily until your ego, which was nonexistent at this point, recovered.
Ironically, fate has a funny way of playing its hand.
You were standing in line for a cup of coffee when someone tapped your shoulder. You hadn’t been sleeping well, and the caffeine was the only thing keeping you sane and relatively functional.
“What the fuck are—” You stopped mid-sentence when you turned around to see who it was.
“Hi.”
Jennie.
You were met with a soft smile before the cashier called for the next customer. Jennie stepped around you, ordering her drink along with yours. Touched that she remembered your order, you couldn’t let her pay. When you reached for your wallet, she shook her head, silent saying this is on me.
It was odd to be sitting across from your ex-girlfriend of two years, having a cup of coffee. Jennie acted as if you were old friends, updating you on her life since you broke up. You listened, but you weren’t exactly engaged. She could tell something was off, leading her to ask, “Are you okay?”
“No.” You answered honestly because there was no point in lying. She would see right through you if you were.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Jennie’s tone was gentle. The same one she used whenever something bothered you. She learned early on that anything else would lead the conversation nowhere, resulting in a petty argument.
“I don’t think I should talk about it with you.” It came out harsh, but it was the truth. If you spoke to Jennie about Karina, she would have every reason to tell you that she was right, that she knew it, that she wasn’t ’delusional’ as you called her.
It didn’t faze her. She remained unbothered, sipping her coffee idly before asking, “Is it about Karina?”
Your jaw must have dropped because how did she know?
“We have a lot more friends in common than you’d think.” Jennie went on to explain that her friend, Lisa, heard from Jihyo that Karina was avoiding Seoul like the plague. She didn’t prod, listening as her friends conversed about the woman in question when your name was brought up. “It was mostly speculation on their end. They don’t know the actual reason. Jihyo mentioned you and it somewhat clicked, which later Nayeon and her big mouth confirmed. And, the expression on your face confirms it even more.”
“Look, Jen—” She raised her hand, effectively stopping you from a long winded defense.
“I’m not going to say anything about what was said in the past. I won’t sit here and say I was right because what’s that going to do? You look like a wreck and just need someone that’s not involved.”
You hated to admit that Jennie was right. Your friends were great in supporting you. The issue was that they were Karina’s friends too, putting them in an awkward position. They spoke to her regularly. She acted as if you didn’t exist.
“Thank you,” You gave a bashful smile, which she giggled. “It’s been hard since Minjeong died. I have Yeji and a couple other friends who know our history in-depth, but they’re her friend more.”
“No yeah,” Jennie nodded reassuringly, “Girls tend to side with each other, but the one thing I always admired was how close you are to your friends. Maybe a little too close for comfort.” She teased, giggling when you rolled your eyes. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry that she left.”
You smiled sadly, throat tightening that you still hadn’t been able to talk things out. “It’s fine. I’ve just been drowning myself in work and occasionally going out with the guys. They’re trying their best to get me to move on, but I’m not exactly in the right state of mind for that.”
“Makes sense,” Jennie pursed her lips, checking her watch before standing up. “Oh shit, I’m going to be late. I’d love to stay, but Alison will kill me.” You could tell she meant it. She walked to your side of the table, bending forward for a brief kiss on the cheek. “If you ever need someone to talk to or just hang out, you have my number!” She rushed out, quickly bidding her goodbye.
You couldn’t help the smile forming on your face as you watched Jennie walk out. You didn’t know if you’d take her up on the offer, but it comforted you nonetheless.
That was how Jennie came back into your life.
More as a friend than anything. It took some time getting used to since you knew her as a ‘girlfriend’ and you had to hold yourself back from the chemistry you had. It slipped at times where you’d reach out to carry her things or fix a stray hair on her face. She didn’t stop you as she’d do the same—straightening the collar on your dress shirts or holding onto you when you rode the train.
You hadn’t thought about your romantic relationship with Jennie at any point. She seemed not to either. Things happened naturally with no awkwardness, even when her friends teased her. She would ignore those remarks, dismissing them while you sat there, blushing.
Jennie took your mind off Karina while also easing the pain of the loss of Minjeong. You had a lot to thank her for.
It wasn’t until after Jennie’s birthday, a couple weeks before Valentine’s Day, that she asked if you wanted to spend the holiday together.
“Isn’t that supposed to be, I don’t know, for couples?” You asked, dipping the mandu into soy sauce as Jennie rolled her eyes.
“It can be, but why can’t two friends spend it together? You’re not dating anyone as far as I know,” You nodded because you weren’t. You didn’t have the emotional capacity to date. “And I’m not with anyone. All of my girl friends have boyfriends so I’d rather not spend it alone.”
“So I’m your last option?” You raised an eyebrow.
“I never said that,” Jennie scoffed, shaking her head. “It doesn’t have to be a whole ordeal. We could make dinner or something. We already do that anyway. What difference does it make?”
You agreed, offering your place since Jennie’s house was in the process of being remodeled. You found her reasoning logical and practical. The day didn’t matter. It wasn’t like you had plans or someone to spend it with.
“For the record,” You smirked, “I won’t be putting out that night. Don’t get your hopes up.”
The dinner napkin was thrown in your face followed by a huff that had you chuckling.
-- --
You’re human.
You’re still attracted to Jennie.
That doesn’t just disappear.
-- --
You take out the ingredients Jennie brought as she’s in the living room, messing with your stereo system to ‘set the mood’. There’s a couple premium meats along with side dishes and a bottle of wine. Your eyes narrow as you realize you’ll be the one mostly cooking, which is fine except there’s something different about tonight you can’t quite place.
Maybe a part of it has to do with Jennie showing up to your apartment in a black form-fitting strapless dress with an oversized leather jacket draped over her shoulders. You, on the other hand, opened the door wearing a white t-shirt and grey sweats.
“Uh? We’re not going anywhere right?” Your eyes took in her outfit, self-conscious about your own clothing.
“No,” Jennie chuckled, shaking her head. “Can I just not look nice? And yah,” She slapped you lightly on the arm as she stepped inside, “Where’d your manners go? A girl gets dressed up and you don’t compliment her? I taught you better than this.”
Mumbling, “You look great,” as you avoided her gaze, taking the bags from her as she took off her heels. She huffed out a thanks before shrinking to her actual height.
You shook whatever that was, calling it a fluke since you and Jennie were friends and this was not a date. You had established what this was—two friends making dinner together on Valentine’s Day.
Jennie queues up a slow song, one you have never heard, before joining you in the kitchen. “What can I help with?” She asks as she flicks her hair up in a loose bun. A few didn’t make it, but it perfectly framed her face.
It distracts you with the passing thought of pretty as you clear your throat. “Just pour us a glass of wine. I’ll cook for us.”
“It’s supposed to be both of us cooking,” Jennie glares, accepting the wine bottle when you hand it to her.
“You hate cooking steaks.”
“I’ve learned!”
“I don’t want mine well done,” You roll your eyes, walking around the kitchen island and pulling out the chair. “Sit.”
“I’m not a dog,” Jennie huffs, but sits anyway.
“Good girl,” You say off-handedly as you search for the bottle opener. However, you miss the way Jennie tenses at the two simple words. “You okay?” You notice her body stiffened.
“Yeah,” Jennie nods, giving you a small smile before fidgeting with the wine bottle.
You fall into an easy conversation as you get a few more things out, handing Jennie the wine opener. She tells you about the projects she’s been working on. She mentions an upcoming photoshoot with Prada or YSL or something. The fashion brands always went over your head. The key piece of information is that whatever brand it is, is one she’s not signed with.
“So why?” You ask as you season the meat.
“No idea. It’s technically against the contracts with my brands, but Alison said it’s okay.” Jennie shrugs, taking a sip of wine. “It’s in Gangnam, so it’s one of the rare times I’m in Seoul for these.”
“Cool,” Is all you can really add to the conversation. It’s not that you didn’t care, but like Karina, Jennie’s job kept her out of the country often. She spent a lot of her free time with you, and if you worked from home, she’d be lounging around until you were finished. “That’ll be fun. Hand me the cast iron?” You point to the cabinet behind her.
Jennie nearly drops the cast iron on her foot, shrieking as the heavy metal hits the floor. You stop what you’re doing and make your way to her side. You easily lift her onto the marble counter, chuckling softly as she buries her face into the crook of your neck.
“Why is that thing so heavy?!” Jennie mumbles, her breath tickling your skin. You ignore the shiver down your spine, hands trailing down until they’re flat on the counter.
“Are you okay?” You ask teasingly as you naturally slot yourself in between her legs. Her dress slightly hikes up, and you bend at the hips, creating some space.
“Yeah,” Jennie huffs adorably, tightening her arms around your neck, negating your previous action. “I don’t get why you can’t use a non-stick pan. They’re much lighter.”
You laugh, shaking your head at her absurd comment. “Just sit here and look pretty while I cook.”
“I can be useful!” Jennie scoffs, pinching your side. It causes you to pull away because being this close to her in a compromising position might give her—and your body—the wrong idea.
Jennie ends up being useful. Well, if you count putting the side dishes onto plates. Other than that, she hovers, poking you on random spots and keeping you well distracted as the steak sizzles on the cast iron. You even teach her how to baste. She freaks out because the cast iron is still ‘too heavy’, which you improvise by holding it for her.
“Thanks for cooking.” Jennie beams, a gummy smile forming as her eyes turn into crescents.
Dinner proceeds as usual. You discuss other things going in between bites and sips. There’s a few insults thrown around, but it’s typical. It’s easy falling into a rhythm like this with Jennie, like all the other days you’ve spent with her these past few months.
You feed off each other’s energy. Slight digs that turn into compliments. Compliments that tow the line of flirty banter. Flirty banter that has the potential for endless innuendos.
A line you cannot cross, even though Jennie doesn’t make it easy.
“What did you want to do now?” Jennie asks. The slight tilt of her head has you on guard. You’re familiar with that look.
“What did you have in mind?” There’s a hidden gleam in her eyes. You play along. She knows what she wants to do. You didn’t care because you enjoyed her company.
“There’s this new cooking reality show that Rosie’s been talking to me about, so…” Jennie trails off, waiting for your reaction. You roll your eyes, nodding as she claps excitedly. She thought she’d have to convince you more.
You stand, gathering your empty dish. Jennie mirrors your movements, reaching for yours that you shake her off. “You cook. I wash the dishes. It’s only fair,” Jennie pouts with an outreached hand. Reluctantly, you hand over the plate, not wanting to argue. She tells you to set up the show while she cleans.
You check your messages as you wait on the couch for Jennie to finish. It doesn’t take much longer and she appears in your line of sight. You catch the slight wince as she stretches.
“You alright?” You lock your phone to no new messages from Karina.
“Just sore. The flight from Paris was a little rough,” Jennie explains, hand rubbing her neck as she rolls her head side to side.
“Do you want me to give you a massage?” You offer, sitting straight. Her face lights up, nodding enthusiastically as she walks over to you.
“Where do you want me?”
Spreading your legs a little wider than shoulder width, you point in between, “Sit on the floor.” Jennie follows instructions without complaint, plopping her body against the couch while resting her arms casually over your thighs. You hand her a blanket to cover herself, not trusting your gaze from drifting to her legs. She’s still wearing a dress.
You stop yourself from thinking about other times Jennie was in between your legs. Different circumstances, of course. This is a completely non-sexual act and you’re doing this because you don’t want her to feel tense. The moment you touch her body, you realize how tense she is. You tell her so, earning a light slap before she melts into your touch, sighing contentedly as you slowly knead out the muscles.
You hit play at some point. Both your eyes are focused on the screen as the show plays. Neither of you are talking much except for you asking is the pressure okay? or Jennie saying this feels so nice.
“God, I forgot how good you are with your hands,” Jennie sighs dreamily, the knots slowly unraveling as you continue massaging the area.
Without thinking, and you really should have a filter, you say, “Don’t remember using them much here, but if you say so.” Her body stiffens in your hands, prompting you to stop what you were doing. “Oh uh, shit. Sorry.”
Jennie’s head tilts backwards, eyes peering at you. She raises an eyebrow, curious at the statement. “Oh?” The slight tilt in her voice spells trouble with a capital T. “Jog my memory then.”
“Jen,” You give her a pointed look, hopefully conveying that there’s a line neither of you can afford to cross.
“I meant it in a useful way, like you cook and you have a pretty strong grip by the way you held the cast iron earlier. I seem to have forgotten where else you’ve used them on me.”
“Jennie, what the hell are you doing?” You cut to the chase. There’s something on her mind and it’s clearly transferring over to you.
Jennie shrugs, lifting her head back to neutral, as her gaze falls back to the television. “I’ve been thinking,” She starts, eyes still straight ahead, “Maybe we should help each other out.”
What?
“In what way?” Your hands resume their motions, kneading with the right amount of pressure that her body relaxes once again.
“In a fun way,” Jennie chuckles softly, scratching her nose. “I know we dated not too long ago and what we have right now is great…” She trails off, head tilting slightly, “But I don’t have the patience for anything serious right now.”
Maybe it was the bit of wine you had with dinner. It should be glaringly obvious what Jennie’s implying, but your mind can’t process it.
“I also know that it wouldn’t work out long term,” Jennie continues when you don’t respond. “Karina will come back into your life sooner or later, so why not capitalize on it until then?”
The name snaps you out of any confusion. “How could you say that?” You say flatly, suddenly annoyed with Jennie for bringing her into this. “She hasn’t returned any of my calls or messages. I’m starting to lose what little hope I have that she will.”
“Call it a woman’s intuition,” Jennie says casually. You aren’t a woman, so you don’t have any idea what she’s referring to. “She’s dealing with a lot, but I’m sure she’ll come around.” She scoots forward, leaving space between her and the couch, which drops your hands from her shoulders. Patting the area with her hand, “Sit.”
You follow her directions obediently, mind still reeling with what she said. You slide down the couch, settling your body behind hers as your legs spread wider. It gives Jennie the chance to lay her back against your chest, hands automatically resting above her hips.
“I, for one, know that if we were to do this,” Jennie sinks further into your chest, pressing her butt against your crotch, “It would have an expiration date.”
“When?” You ask, distracted by the way her body shifts against yours. It’s subtle, but Jennie is quite versed on what turns you on.
“Whenever Karina makes up her mind,” Jennie’s voice drops an octave, turning her head slightly to kiss the bottom of your jaw. Her lips ghost over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “It’s her loss until then.”
You don’t want to admit Jennie has a point, a very tempting point. The aftermath of Karina left you a mess and Jennie has been an amazing support. You can’t rationalize doing anything that could leave one of you hurt.
“I don’t know if this would be a good idea,” You say slowly, watching as Jennie’s hands cover yours, dragging one over her thigh.
“We won’t know until it happens, right?” She brushes your fingertips along the hem of her dress, slipping them underneath the fabric. “It would be,” She breathes out as your hand goes up more, “We had fun together, didn’t we?” Vivid memories with the woman laying against you flash through your mind.
There were some wild ones. Jennie’s breath hitches when she swipes your finger against her, and you feel just how wet she is through her underwear. “Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it.”
You’d be lying if you said you haven’t.
Of course you have.
There are days where Jennie’s dressed to the nines, coming straight from a photoshoot to have dinner. There are other days where Jennie’s dressed down in baggy sweats and an oversized sweater. She never has a bad day in your eyes. She’s pretty, gorgeous, fuckable and it’s not like you haven’t had your way with her before.
So yes, you’ve thought about it.
You try not to, but she makes it hard. Makes you hard.
“Nothing will change?” You reign in some control, placing the pads of your fingers on the elastic, rubbing the spots as her body struggles against you.
“The only thing that’ll change—oh,” Jennie moans softly when you apply the slightest bit of pressure, “Is you’ll be seeing me naked a lot more.”
You couldn’t argue with that.
–
It’s almost comedic how the night unfolds.
One moment you’re watching a reality show with Jennie, giving her a massage.
The next you’re laying Jennie on the couch, legs spread as you swipe your tongue through her folds. Her hips roll against your face as her hands fist your hair tightly, chasing whatever you’ll give her.
“God, your mouth,” Jennie groans, hands gripping harder. You moan against her slick, the slight pain adding more pleasure as you continue moving your tongue over and around and through her. “Oh right there,” She inhales sharply when your nose brushes against her clit.
“You’re so fucking wet,” You say a little recklessly, a little drunk on the taste of Jennie on your tongue. “You’re so fucking hot.” You raise your chin just enough for your tongue to press on her clit, and she screams the moment you flick rapidly back and forth on the bundle of nerves.
“I’m going to cum,” Jennie chants, hands letting go as her back arches up, pushing your face deeper into her. “Please, please let me.” You pull away, smirking at the exasperated sigh Jennie lets out. Her eyes snap to you, glaring like daggers as you know she was close. “What the fuck?”
“Ask me again,” You simply respond, peering up at her through your eyelashes. “Ask me properly.”
“Can I cum?” Jennie whines, rolling her hips up to get your mouth back on her pussy. “Please. I’ve been so good.”
“Do you deserve to come?” You blow gently over her clit, her body shivering.
“Yes,” Jennie moans, rolling backwards once you taste her again. In a shaky breath, she lets out ever so softly, “Daddy.”
There she goes.
“Say it again,” You start to move, jaw pressing against her as you stick your tongue in between her folds.
It’s nothing new between you and Jennie. It’s a dynamic you both fit into very well. She may come across as in charge, commanding any room she walks into, and she does. You’ve had the luxury of knowing that she’s anything but. It took a few months into your relationship to learn, but she enjoys submitting herself to someone, drowning in the pleasure.
“Daddy, please I’ve been good!” Jennie squeals when you briefly suck on her clit. “Please. I want to cum. I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Whatever?” You raise an eyebrow as your lips nip at her clit, her body jolting from the stimulation.
“Yes, yes, oh god,” Jennie pants as her gaze bores into you, nodding aggressively as she tries to hold it in. She’s holding on to whatever little strength she has left.
And she gushes the moment you slip a finger inside her, screaming your name and daddy through the apartment.
You growl as her body spasms, grounding her pussy against your face. You’re drowning in her, but you don’t care. Her warmth tightens around your finger, sucking you in deeper.
“I—fuck, you’re doing so well baby,” You praise gently, flicking your tongue over her clit without stopping. “So fucking well.”
Jennie wails, hand shooting to your hair as her thighs squeeze. You can barely breathe, but you push through, drawing out her orgasm for as long as possible.
It could’ve been minutes or hours, but Jennie’s body goes slack into the couch, knees falling open like a book. You catch your breath, sweetly kissing her inner thigh, before sitting up straight, slowly pulling your finger out. Her body trembles, too overstimulated with pleasure that she lets out a soft gasp.
“Daddy,” Jennie whines in a cute voice. You chuckle as the wetness drips down your face. You rise up and her eyes widen at the tent formed in your sweats. “I almost forgot how big you are. Almost.”
You roll your eyes, shaking your head. “Well, let me remind you, yeah?” You lift her pliant body with minimal effort, carrying her until you sit where she was. Keeping Jennie on your lap, she squirms before melting into the embrace. “Let’s see how long you can last.” The sharp inhale and the squeeze on your forearms has you thinking of all the things you want to do with her.
Whether it’s all tonight or not, it doesn’t matter.
There’s still that promise of later.
--
You watch the contestants prepare the food, mouth slightly salivating because it’s a natural reaction. Your view is partially obstructed, but it isn’t the worst thing.
You were always taller than Jennie anyways.
Said woman is still on your lap sans the dress she walked in with and the lingerie she precariously chose to wear underneath. If you didn’t know her, you’d think she had expensive taste—and she does—and the thing is, you do know her. She had every intention to show you it. Spending one of the ‘most romantic’ days together as friends was a load of bullshit because she had to have been planning this from the moment the words left her mouth.
“Ca-can I move?” You hear Jennie stutter the question out, shifting your attention from the screen. Your fingers ghost over her skin, starting from the base of her spine all the way to her neck. Her body shivers, leaning into your touch. “Please.” She moans softly, breath shallow as you rest your chin on her shoulder.
Jennie is lasting a lot longer than you expected. The thing is, you’ve been nestled in her pussy for the duration of this episode. She’s essentially been keeping your cock warm, thanks to your bright idea.
“No,” You say simply, lightly rolling your hips up that Jennie pants at the movement.
“But… but,” Her head lulls backwards, exposing her neck. “I’ve been good.” She trembles, eyes shutting as your hand slips down her abdomen.
Your finger grazes her clit, eliciting a small jolt that has Jennie’s hand shooting to your thigh, gripping tightly. It matches how her inner walls squeeze your cock, squirming for more friction, more anything than you were not doing.
You tend to use condoms because you’re responsible and having a mini version of you is not what you want right now. That tendency has some exceptions, especially if it’s someone you’re dating, or in this case—dated.
Jennie hated them, especially since you were already together for months and she swore up and down that it was safe. It took some convincing. You relented.
“Has there been anyone since?” You ask out of the blue, a thought striking you based on a technicality. You weren’t dating Jennie right now, which makes you irresponsible for being inside her like this. Any woman between then and now, you used a condom. When she doesn’t immediately reply, you repeat the question, teeth grazing the space between her ear and neck. She shivers, and you can’t help the smirk forming.
“No,” Jennie forces out, shaking her head, “I’ve been way too busy.”
You click your tongue, adjusting your position, effectively taking Jennie with you that she moans. “Just say you missed me.”
“Not that fucker,” Breath heavy followed by a forced sigh, “I was getting busier when we’re dating and there was something else holding us back—more like someone.”
You snap your hips up, jolting her body forward as she lets out a throaty moan. “Fuck you.”
“I want you to,” Jennie says, a little delirious, a little fucked out, as her elbows harshly land on the coffee table. Arching her back, her head turns as her eyes lock onto yours, “So fuck me.”
You do.
Letting whatever restraint you had left go, you fuck her hard and fast. Your hands grip her hips, pulling her body onto your cock. She isn’t making sense, incoherent words falling from her lips. It sounds like she’s thanking you, or praising you, which only spurs you on more.
Your orgasm approaches faster than you’re expecting. It probably didn’t help that you had her wrapped around your length for an extended period. It felt fucking good though.
You were too caught up on the pleasure you were experiencing that Jennie’s orgasm comes faster. Her walls clamp along your cock, breaking your rhythm that her body shoots upright. You fall back against the couch cushion, watching as she fucks herself on top of you. Her ass smacks against your pelvis, doing everything she can to get you deeper.
“God, fuck, I’m cumming daddy,” Jennie wails, head tilting backwards.
“Good girl,” You groan as her pussy rhythmically pulses.
Your eyes roll back the moment Jennie snaps her hips down, impaling herself on your cock. You couldn’t help it, but you blew your load. You don’t have time to pull out, and you’re in no position to, as you paint her walls. Her body arches into a perfect bow before she lets out the hottest moan as she feels thick ropes fill her.
Jennie can’t stop her body from trembling and your mind blanks out. The sensation overwhelms your body that you almost can’t discern reality and whatever she’s doing to you.
You don’t know how long it goes on, but you’re along for the ride. You appreciate the effort women put when they’re on top, and you’re just someone reaping the benefits.
Jennie’s breathing slows, her body slumping as she comes down from the high. Your own body regulates itself back to normal as a wave of exhaustion washes over you.
You lazily reach your hand out, lightly tracing over the dip of Jennie’s back. Her body shivers at your touch, causing you to grin. “Well, happy Valentine’s Day.”
“I thought you weren’t putting out,” Jennie says, chuckling as you roll your eyes.
“I’m easily persuaded if someone intentionally seduces me.”
“Unintentionally,” Jennie corrects you, a shy smile forming on her face. “I wore what I thought looked nice and you did the rest.”
You have no response because she’s right. You wouldn’t admit that to her or you wouldn’t hear the end of it. A sense of dread crosses your mind, remembering what she said before your little tryst. “Did you mean it?” You ask suddenly.
“Mean what?” Jennie asks, softly letting out a moan as her body shifts. Your cock is still buried in her, and you wince slightly. “Oh sorry, let me—” Your hand gently stops her from moving.
“You’re fine. It feels comforting,” You say honestly, adding, “It’s hot too.”
Jennie shakes her head all too well. She knew from the first time (and every time after that) you fucked her raw that you loved staying inside a little longer. She deemed it one of your kinks. “Mean what?” Jennie repeats, tilting her head curiously.
“That this isn’t anything serious.”
Jennie nods, certainty furrowing her eyebrows, “Yeah. Karina will come around and we’ll go back to being friends who don’t have sex anymore.”
You have an inkling that she had something planned. By the way she spoke, she knew something you didn’t. It would be a matter of time before you found out.
-- --
You yawn, scratching your eyes as the world goes back into focus. There’s a lot going on around you, and you’re a bystander in all of it. You literally have no purpose being here. You were promised a free meal at a restaurant that had no reservations available for a year after, so you weren’t complaining.
The only complaint you have was Jennie rudely waking you up and telling you to dress up because she had a photoshoot to go to. She was hellbent on taking you with her, that you relented the moment she said Alison would kill you if she was late.
(Jennie’s manager is great, but for someone tinier than her boss, she sure knew how to instill fear. Said tiny boss tries to be intimidating, but you can’t take her seriously.)
You questioned why you had to accompany her. She’s done multiple shoots when you were dating and not once had she forced you. Even with your little arrangement, she’s had a few projects here and there, which you wouldn’t see her for a day or so, but she seemed adamant today.
“Hey,” Jennie’s voice has your head turning in her direction. “I need to tell you something.”
You walk over to where she is. You don’t know what else she has to say. She talked your ear off in the car. It annoyed you at best. At worst? You would’ve loved nothing more for Alison to yell at you for breathing.
The past month and a half has been easier. You’ve hardly thought about Karina since Jennie was the perfect distraction. You might’ve been sleeping together here and there, but you genuinely enjoyed the time you spent together. It reminded you a lot of your friendship with Minjeong. The comfort. The security.
Granted, you never slept with Minjeong, so that was a big difference. You digress.
“What’s up?” You ask, standing in front of her.
“I don’t think we should sleep together anymore.” The sentence comes out without warning. “For two reasons. One I can tell you, and the other one, you’ll have to wait.”
You’re not surprised. Jennie’s been a little off the past few days as you think about it. Distant wouldn’t describe it, but you had a feeling she was seeing someone.
“Who is he?” You smile as her face relaxes, relief flooding her features that you’re not upset. You always knew this would end at some point. The timing of it is strange since she dragged you to be with her.
“She is someone that I’m not telling you yet.” Jennie says in a sassy tone. “You may or may not know her, and that’s all I’m giving.”
You hold your hands up in surrender, knowing that Jennie will tell you when she’s ready. You briefly wonder who, but she starts speaking again.
“And the other thing is, don’t hate me.”
You’re about to ask why when a voice you haven’t heard in months says your name behind you. A chill goes down your spine. You don’t want to turn around, but every nerve in your body is firing to face her.
Your eyes narrow at Jennie, unbothered by your glare. “I told you I had a photoshoot with Prada.” She gently places her hands on your shoulder, glancing past you to make sure the woman in question hasn’t left. “Just… trust me.”
You put two and two together, realizing Jennie had this planned from the start. You should’ve paid more attention to what she was saying at the time because she blatantly told you. It slipped your mind that Karina had a brand deal with Prada.
Fate forced its hand again, and you weren’t prepared.
Your expression softens while your body still tenses. You give a small nod before putting on a brave face, turning to see the woman who left you a mess.
And the air leaves your lungs the second your eyes lock.
Karina is still beautiful. You’d like to believe that’s not changing anytime soon. She hasn’t gotten ready yet based on her bare face and outfit choice—which, she’s wearing one of your hoodies that you hadn’t seen in years.
“Hi.” Karina’s tone is soft, careful, with the slightest trace of uncertainty that has you reeling.
“Hi.” You muster with as much composure as you find within yourself. You reflexively reach for Jennie’s hand, taking her palm in yours. “Nice seeing you. She has to finish getting ready, so we’ll see you around.”
You don’t give her time to respond, pulling Jennie away. She huffs, but doesn’t say anything until you make it down the hallway.
“What was that?” Jennie tears her hand from yours, crossing her arms over her chest. “Why are you being such a dick?”
“You know,” You draw out, leaning against the wall when a staff member walks by, “A heads up would’ve been nice.”
“You wouldn’t have come if I told you.”
True, but to be blindsided like this throws everything off. All the progress you made not thinking about Karina these past few months came rushing back. You weren’t over her by any means, but you were trying your best to cope.
“That’s not the point,” You say sharply. With your patience running thin, you can’t regulate your emotions well.
“You wanted to see her, I gave you the opportunity.” Jennie states simply. “Regardless of how, she’s here and you’re here. So,” She shrugs without adding anymore.
Jennie leaves as people continue passing you as if you didn’t exist.
You almost wished you didn’t.
--
The photoshoot went well. There were little to no issues, except for the minor wardrobe malfunction of Jennie’s dress. You observed how Jennie and Karina interacted. They were professional. The former kept things light, trying to engage with the latter in between takes, but you could tell from where Alison kept you that a lot was going through Karina’s mind.
(You might not have seen her for a few months, but you could still read her.)
An elbow digs into your side, prompting you to look away from Karina and turn your attention to Alison. You raise an eyebrow, wondering where the aggression came from. “She’s pretty, a bit out of your league if you ask me.”
“I didn’t,” You mutter, averting your gaze back to where the staff are staging the women from the next concept.
Alison isn’t fazed by your remark. “Jennie really loves you. Maybe not in the romantic way anymore, but she does want you to be happy. She’s not used to being second to anyone, so it was a shock when I found out you were seeing each other again.” You remain quiet, letting her speak as her boss says something that Karina cracks a smile. “I don’t know the extent of what’s going on between you and her,” She tilts her head in Karina's direction, “But it must be complicated for Jennie to get involved.”
You nod, unsure of what to say. You were never Alison’s favorite person. She made it clear the first time you met that if you hurt Jennie, she would make your life hell. You did your best, but things inevitably end.
(Thankfully she never followed through on her threat.)
Alison gets called over, saying nice talk before she walks away. You don’t see how since you said less than five words, but you’ll take it. When you look up, Karina’s eyes widen, gaze averting to the director. You couldn’t pinpoint if she was staring at you, and maybe it’s the lighting, but her cheeks look a little red.
Jennie’s in your line of sight, smiling cheekily as you frown. “What? You don’t think I look pretty?”
You roll your eyes, “You know I do.”
“You probably think Karina looks prettier, which I’d agree with if it wasn’t for the fact that she wants to rip my head off.” Your eyes widen as Jennie chuckles at your expression. “She didn’t exactly say that, but it’s obvious.” Stepping closer, she slides her finger through your jeans belt loop, “Should we see how far we can push her?”
“Jennie,” You deadpan. “I’m also trying to live.” The suggestion sounds fun, entertaining, to fuel some battle you know you’ll end up losing. Jennie tugs in the slightest, pressing her body against yours. “What’re you—”
The forced sound of someone clearing their throat goes off behind you. You flinch away from Jennie, ignoring the quiet giggle she lets out, to turn around to Karina.
If looks could kill, you’d already be dead.
“We have one more scene to shoot,” Karina says flatly, arms crossing over her chest. “Since we’re waiting to set up, I came over to invite you and Jennie to the after party. My team’s hosting and it’s sort of my birthday party too.”
Karina’s birthday isn’t something you’d forget. It’s a few days early, but there’s probably a reason for it.
“Oh really? We’d love to go!” Jennie answers for you before you can. You shoot her a pointed look because you were promised dinner. “Am I allowed to bring another person?” You don’t hide your annoyance, scoffing at her question.
“Yeah that’s fine,” Karina shrugs, “I’ll have my manager give yours the info.” She spares you a glance. “Aeri and the others will be there.” You sense a trace of guilt in her voice. You haven't spoken to them much, Yeji more than anyone. It hurt to know they spoke with Karina regularly, but they wouldn’t tell you anything. You respected their loyalty, but they saw the pain you were in. When you don’t respond, she adds sympathetically, “They’d want to see you.”
Jennie pinches your side when your lack thereof response draws out longer. “Sure, sounds fun.” You try to sound casual, but you’re not. Your nerves spike at the idea of this situation.
The director’s assistant approaches where you were, informing both women that they’re ready. Karina forces a smile while Jennie sticks out her tongue as she follows.
This wasn’t how you expected to spend your day.
--
“Yah!” Lisa whines, slapping your arm harder than she probably intended. Your drink almost spills out of your hand. “Why are you still sitting next to us? Go talk to your friends!”
Lisa, or Lalisa Manoban, happens to be Jennie’s new love interest. You knew of her through friends, but you had never met her. She’s polite, funny, charming, and you could see why your ex-girlfriend was serious about her. You didn’t need to give a ‘shovel talk’ because she easily disarmed you with how genuine she seemed. Her intentions with Jennie were pure and that’s all you could want.
“I already said hello,” You place the glass on the table, wiping your hand on your pants. “There isn’t much else to say.”
“Lisa wants you to leave,” Jennie cuts from the other side of said woman. “She won’t outright say it, but I will.”
A sheepish smile forms on Lisa’s face, avoiding your gaze as Jennie leans forward, “These are your friends for your best friend. Spend time with them. I know you’ve been avoiding them like the plague.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” You huff, crossing your arms. “They have their own lives.”
“Yeah and you’d show me every time they’d text you to hang out,” Jennie retorts, shaking her head. “Now go. I want to spend time with Lisa alone without you hovering.”
“Fine,” You relent as you stand, adding petulantly, “I know when I’m not wanted.”
Jennie dismisses you with a hand wave, which irks you, but it’s not the best time to make a scene. You finish your drink, nodding to the bartender that you’re done, as you psych yourself up. As Jennie said, your friends who did nothing wrong. They just got caught in the crossfire between you and Karina.
When you arrived, the party was in full swing. It took a moment to weave through the crowd as Jennie and Lisa seemed to know everyone. You saw Karina before she saw you, and of course, Yeji and Aeri were by her side. You didn’t see Ryujin right away. She had a tendency to wander off. Jennie practically dragged you over, greeting Karina politely while introducing herself and Lisa to your friends. You gave a half-assed wave with a mumbled hey. Aeri tried to make a joke, but it fell flat, effectively giving you an excuse to get a drink (or four) at the bar.
You ignored Jennie calling out to you, figuring once you had a couple drinks in, you’d be more receptive to conversation.
You’ve had four drinks already by the time you make your way to Karina and the girls sitting at their table. Ryujin’s there, and she sees you first, excitedly waving as she stands to greet you.
“Oppa!” Ryujin smiles as she nearly throws herself at you, wrapping her arms around your neck that makes you lose your footing. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in a while!” You could tell she’s drunk. She usually wasn’t affectionate with you, so her sudden gesture garners a few raised eyebrows from the table occupants. You try not to look at Karina.
“Been busy,” You answer once Ryujin pulls away, but she doesn’t immediately let go. She makes a face as if she doesn’t believe you, but she doesn’t press for more information. “How’s it going?” You ask the three women seated.
“Hey,” Yeji greets, scooting into Aeri to make more room on the bench. Karina’s seated in the chair, sipping her drink. “Come sit. We were just catching up.” She pats the space next to her.
You glance at Karina before accepting the offer, watching as her shoulders slightly tense, hand gripping the wine class slightly tighter. “Is this okay?” The question is directed at her. She nods, forcing an awkward smile as you slide in, which leaves you right next to Karina.
“Unnie was telling us about her trips these past few months,” Ryujin blurts out, earning her a slap on the arm from Aeri.
“Ryujin,” Aeri hisses, glaring at the youngest.
“Ow, what was that for?” Ryujin rubs the spot Aeri hit, “She was!”
“It’s fine,” You say with an easy smile. You’re trying not to let it affect you. “Don’t stop on my behalf. Tell us about it,” You say earnestly, hoping it doesn’t sound too forced or too sarcastic. As much as Karina leaving hurt, you want to know how things have been.
You still care about her.
Karina hesitates, but she picks up where she left off. She talks about how she was in New York for a fashion show and Paris for another. She keeps it brief, without going into too much detail, but you’d remark it’s for your expense. She generally shares more.
“Were there any cute boys, unnie?” Ryujin asks. Aeri swats the back of her head. “Why do you keep hitting me?” She glares.
“You’re being ridiculous right now,” Aeri’s eyes paint a warning.
“It’s an honest question?” Ryujin’s eyebrows furrow. “She was overseas for months. You’re telling me she found no one was attractive?”
“Ryujin, bar now,” Yeji says sharply. It seems to sober Ryujin up. She quickly gets up without looking back. Aeri and Yeji follow in her wake, which leaves you at the table, alone, with Karina.
You almost join them, but that would make things awkward. As if it wasn’t already awkward.
Your eyes meet Karina’s, shyly averting her gaze away and bowing her head. There were so many things you wanted to say, but you’re speechless. It’s like how you forgot to talk to her.
Or maybe you’re scared to.
“How are you?” Karina’s voice cuts through your thoughts.
“Fine,” You answer automatically. You couldn’t tell her how broken you were and how you still haven’t picked up all the pieces. You didn’t have enough drinks for that confession.
“You and Jennie…”
“Are friends.” You finish her sentence. You may not be drunk, but you are buzzed, so the words slip out without you realizing, “Though we had been sleeping together for the past couple months.” You’re too absorbed in staring at your drink that you miss the way Karina’s face falters. “She ended that part though. She’s focusing on Lisa.” You continue as if it’s not a big deal.
“Oh,” Is all Karina says.
You nod, glancing at the couple across the room. Jennie appears to be laughing as Lisa gestures animatedly. “We’re better off as friends anyways,” You say fondly, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.
Karina hums in response as an uncomfortable silence settles between you. There’s a lot left unsaid, but it seemed neither of you wanted to broach the topics first. You absolutely didn’t want to, and if you did, it definitely shouldn’t be discussed with your friends around.
“I’m going to go outside,” You say once Yeji appears behind her with Aeri and Ryujin in tow, drinks in hand. “I’ll be back.”
You leave without waiting for a response as Aeri tilts her head curiously. Yeji looks concerned while Ryujin’s oblivious to the tension.
When you get outside, the cool air of the spring night relaxes you. The nerves melt away as your hand slips into your pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. It’s a nasty habit, one you picked up again a month or so after Karina left. Jennie hated that you smoked, berating you on how you’re slowly killing yourself with every inhale, which was why you didn’t do it as often once she came back into your life.
“You know…” An unfamiliar voice says as you pull out a stick. “That’s not good for you.”
Your eyes narrow at the woman standing a few feet away. You don’t recognize her, but you feel like you know her, like you met her somewhere before. You couldn’t place where. She reminded you of a hamster, or hell, a shiba inu the more you looked at her.
“And you’re exactly who to tell me something obvious?” Sarcasm drips from your voice and she laughs, the infectious kind that melts away your irritation.
“Of course you don’t remember me,” The woman shakes her, smiling to herself. “I’m Sana, one of Mina’s best friends. We met years ago.” She’s right. You’ve met her before when she and another one of Mina’s friends, Momo, came to Seoul for a visit. It was brief. You didn’t hover too much, letting the friends spend their time together, but did join them for dinner on their last night.
“What’re you doing here?” You ask curiously, tucking the cigarette back into its box.
“Here for work, but one of my friends texted me about coming once I was done, and I figured why not,” Sana shrugs, taking a step forward. “Nayeon or Jihyo ring a bell?”
You nod, remembering earlier in the night when Lisa introduced you to them. It was a really small world, or you just forgot that Nayeon and Jihyo were Mina’s friends too. Though she didn’t spend as much time with them. “Well I’ll walk in with you.”
“Don’t you have something to do?” Sana teases, glancing at the contents in your hand. “I don’t mind. I was just giving you a hard time.”
You sheepishly tuck them back into your pocket, “It’s fine, it’s probably for the best.”
Sana rolls her eyes, giggling when you open the door. She’s prettier than you remembered, and there was something about her that you found charming. She seems like a natural born flirt, and it wouldn’t hurt to have a distraction tonight.
You follow Sana in, staying close behind as she walks through the small crowd. Your eyes fall on your friend’s table and notice Jennie standing next to Karina with her arms crossed. There’s a devious glint in her eyes that spells trouble, and based on how you can see how tense Karina’s jaw is from across the room, you have to divert your attention.
Reaching out for Sana’s wrist, she stops, “I have to take care of something. I’ll see you later?” She tilts her head, nodding as you let her go. You don’t know what Jennie’s saying, but you have a feeling it has to do with you.
Just as you reach the table, Karina abruptly stands, arm winding backwards before a loud slap rings through your ears.
A few things happen at once. The sound causes a few people to stop their conversation and look over at the commotion. Yeji’s on her feet, trying to pull Karina away. Lisa’s eyes widen as she yanks Jennie backwards, all the while Jennie has a smile on her face.
And you?
You’re in between the two women before it could escalate any further.
“Jimin, what the hell are you doing!?” You snap, shielding Jennie away from any more damage.
“Stay out of it,” Karina says lowly, eyes fixated on the ground.
“Absolutely not. You just hit her!” You slightly turn to Lisa examining Jennie’s face, who keeps pushing her away, as if the spot wasn’t red. “What did she possibly say that caused you to go do that?”
“Tell him,” Jennie says from behind you, mockingly as she adds more fuel to a fire you’re desperately trying to put out.
“Oh fuck off,” Karina retorts, winding her free arm back but you grab it before she can do it again. “Let fucking go of me.”
“No,” You say firmly, pulling her body flushed against yours. “We’re leaving.”
“It’s my fucking party,” Karina seethes as she tries to get out of your hold. It’s futile because she may be above average height, you’re still taller and stronger. “I’m not going anywhere, and especially not with you.”
“Don’t make this anymore embarrassing or I’ll literally carry your ass out of here,” You warn, patience close to snapping.
“You wouldn’t.” Karina rolls her eyes, knowing you long enough that you wouldn’t actually do that.
Well, things are slightly different. You’re different now. You let go of her, which she huffs, but immediately yelps the moment your arms wrap around her legs, throwing her over your shoulders. She repeatedly hits your back, but it doesn’t faze you as you stalk toward the exit.
Naturally it gains the attention of everyone you pass by, since you are taking the birthday girl away. She’s being difficult. None of your friends would dare to step in between. You’re the only one that could tame her in this state.
You’re outside again, but this time with Karina using every curse word known to humans in Korean and English.
“Why the fuck—”
You interject because Karina’s been going off on you longer than you anticipated, not wanting to attract more attention, “Are you done? Can you just tell me why you assaulted Jennie?”
“Go fucking ask her.” Her attitude’s at an all-time high that this conversation wasn’t going to go anywhere.
“And I will,” You nod in agreement, which seems to irk her more. “But I want to hear it from you first.”
The pointed glare she gives you would historically have you bending at her will, but you’re tired and the effects of those drinks are catching up. You don’t have the energy, when it was all drained having to be in the same room as her.
“You really want to know?” Karina asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Humor me.”
“Fine, but this wasn’t my fault. She did this to herself,” Karina shrugs before telling you exactly what set her off.
It started a few minutes after you left that Jennie and Lisa came by their table. They were on their way out, wanting to know where you were, but Jennie being the perceptive person she was, picked up on the shift in the air as soon as the question left her mouth.
You knew Jennie would get off on baiting Karina, and well, she took it. Hook. Line. Sinker.
Karina described it as calculated, the way Jennie looked at all of them on the table. Jennie would call it intuition, or just being a shit stirrer, that she asked, unprompted, if anyone at the table slept with you. You held yourself back from rolling your eyes because of course Jennie knew exactly who you slept with at that table.
“Yeji stupidly raised her hand,” Karina explains, crossing her arms, “And then she looked at me as if it was public knowledge.”
“Well…”
Karina hits your arm, “I’m not done talking, which yeah I figured you would’ve told her.”
Jennie then asked if you did your thing with her. Karina didn’t know what the hell she meant by that, which pissed her off more when Jennie acted all coy, avoiding any explanation. When she demanded Jennie to say what she wanted, Jennie leaned forward, whispering so only she could hear, “Did he, you know, finish inside you? That’s like one thing to really sets him off.”
Karina was speechless, mouth opening and closing, but no words came out. She was under the impression that you were vehemently against unprotected sex, but her face said it all, which gave Jennie room for her final move.
“Oh well I guess he only does that with people he’s serious about.”
Then you came back and that’s how you ended up here.
“Karina—”
“It’s fine. Really.” It was not fine. She’s hurt. You had to be blind to not see it. “It gave me reassurance that I made the right choice, you know? That it was just a one-time thing between us.”
What?
“Are you fucking kidding me?” You snap, shaking your head in frustration. “How the fuck does that translate?”
Karina’s shoulders sag, as if she’s tired too, as if she wanted this to pass so things would go back to normal.
As if, like she said, it never happened.
“Is it not obvious? Do I really have to explain further?” Karina challenges, stepping into your space. You catch a whiff of her perfume and it has your head spinning.
“Jimin,” You gulp, watching her carefully as she seems closer than she was a second ago. You swear you could feel her breath against your lips as she looks up.
“You fuck girls with a condom if it doesn’t mean anything,” Karina whispers. You barely hear anything shens saying because this whole situation is fucked. “I’m assuming what your fucking kink is, but I guess you only do that with girls your serious about. Jennie must’ve been one of them.”
Her vulgarity pisses you off, but… it also turns you on. In your drunken haziness, the thought of that with her comes rushing forward. You’ve had that fantasy in your head since that night, and you were a fool for not taking her offer.
You were serious about Karina, and you still are. All the feelings you’ve been bottling up since she left comes bursting out.
“You don’t get to fucking say who I’m serious about.” Karina steps backward as you step forward, slightly cowering as you tower over her. “If you want me to be honest, I am fucking serious about you. I meant every word that night. Every. Single. One.” You say emphatically.
“How could I believe you? You led me to believe that you were in love with Minjeong for years, and suddenly, you tell me you’re in love with me? Get fucking real.” She snaps back and everything she’s been feeling comes out too. “That’s fucking delusional on both our ends.”
“Ask Yeji or Aeri or Ryujin how the fuck I’ve been since you left. They saw how much of a mess I was, more than Minjeong dying—”
You don’t see Karina’s hand wind back, but the sting on your cheek was enough for you to step backwards.
You crossed a line.
“Don’t fucking bring her into this,” Karina growls, eyes shimmering with unshed tears under the streetlight. “I don’t—” Your hands going up in defeat stops her.
“I get it,” You say dejectedly. “You don’t believe me. It’s fine. I still meant what I said. You still are the only person I’ve lost my mind for, but I think I just have to let this go. Nothing I do or say will change your mind.” When Karina doesn’t say anything, your head nods in acceptance. A sad smile forms as you bow slightly, quietly announcing that this was it. She won’t give you a chance and you lost her before you even had her. “I’m sorry.”
You turn your back on her, unable to stay any longer. As you start to walk away, you hear Karina call out your name, but you keep the distance growing.
You don’t bother going back inside, deciding that you’ll call Jennie in the morning. You have some words for her on her tactics, but it showed you that Karina didn’t trust you.
And that probably hurt the most.
-- --
It isn’t until a couple days later that there’s a knock on your door. You finish sending your last email before walking over. It was probably Jennie and Lisa again so you don’t bother to put on a shirt. Things seemed to be going well with them. You’ve gained a new friend.
When you open the door, your hand drops from the knob, surprised at who stood in your hallway.
“What’re you doing here?” You ask without much thought. Your eyes rake over Karina’s appearance and the warning bells go off. She’s dressed simply with a brown crop top and a matching skirt. You hadn’t spoken to Karina since her birthday party, even though she’s called and messaged.
“Can I come in?” You open the door wider, stepping aside as she walks through. You shouldn’t let her in, but you’re still powerless to say no.
Once it’s shut, you make no move and neither does she, awkwardly standing in front of each other. You had nothing else to say, but Karina wouldn’t show up without a reason.
“Yeji told me something,” Karina says softly, breaking the silence. You wait, unsure of what exactly was said. “She told me what happened the day after.”
“Okay and?” Your voice is void of any emotion. You didn’t need to hear it again. You lived through it.
“I just didn’t know. She told me that you left to chase after me, but didn’t make it.” Karina says quietly, the words laced with regret.
“Again, and?” You repeat, wanting her to get to the point. You had some work to do, and as much as you’d love to rehash all of this again, you wanted a break. You’ve thrown yourself into keeping yourself busy, which wasn't a healthy way to cope, but it kept your mind off things.
“I’m sorry,” Karina sweeps a lock of hair behind her ear. “I… I handled everything wrong.”
“If you talked to me instead of running away,” You say bitterly, shaking your head at the nerve she has, especially coming into your space. “Can you just leave, please?”
“You’re seriously being an ass right now,” Karina rolls her eyes.
In any other circumstance, Karina calling you an ass wouldn’t get to you, but in this case, it pisses you off.
“You’re seriously acting like an entitled bitch, thinking you could waltz in here and everything would be fine and dandy,” You say out of spite. You haven’t been sleeping well since Karina’s party. You’re running on fumes.
Karina’s gaze falters at your outburst, regret slowly paints her features. She grabs your wrist, tugging you to look at her, and you can’t avoid it. It’s hard for you when she’s dressed like this. She’s still hot. You’re not immune to her.
As much as you act like you are.
Karina says your name softly, enough for your resolve to break. You shake your head, more at yourself than her, “Jimin, we should give each other space.” If anything she steps closer to you, pressing herself against you. Your body heats up at the contact, flinching as a soft hand places itself on your chest.
Karina stands on her tiptoes, whispering in your ear as your hands steady her body, “Let me make it up to you.” A perfectly manicured finger lightly traces over your skin, settling on the waistband of your sweats.
“Jimin.” It’s supposed to sound like a warning, that you shouldn’t be doing this, but it comes out weak, pathetic, because you’re powerless against her. You groan when she slowly drops to her knees. The point of view of Karina like that has your cock twitching, and she smirks.
“Your body seems to want me to,” Karina’s voice sounds huskier. Her hand slips lower, palming your cock over the fabric. The pressure surprises you, eliciting a small squeal that has her grinning. “So,” Her other hand makes an appearance, tugging at the waistband, “Can I make it up to you?”
You’re a pushover. You’ve always been one when it involves Karina. If she told you to jump out of a plane, you’d do it without a parachute.
Though there’s something about the way that she looks at you that has you wanting to resist. Even if it’s only for a little.
You shake your head, coming to the decision easily, as Karina’s expression falters. It’s ironic how she reacts when she doesn’t get your way if you’re involved. Minjeong and Yeji would tease her whenever you’d say no to whatever she asked.
There was a time when the latest Shin-Chan movie was released and Karina wanted you to take her. In hindsight, it was an excuse to spend time together. You couldn’t go because you had already made plans with the boys for a day trip to the beach. She was aware of your plans, and you promised you’d watch it with her the following day. She never replied, only to find out she watched it with Minjeong.
(She also didn’t talk to you for a whole day, which at that point felt like forever.)
You want to prove a point before she does. “Let me.”
--
Karina didn’t know what you meant by let me. She came over to apologize for everything, but with your attire, or lack thereof, was something she wasn’t prepared for.
You didn’t say anything other than that, but you did, however, easily lift her. She squealed as her feet left the ground, but that didn’t stop you. She ends up flat on her back, laid out on your bed.
“What—” The words get caught in her throat when she watches you drop to your knees, pulling her body to the edge with ease. There’s a dark look in your eyes she had never seen. Not even the first (and only) time you spent together.
“If you want me to stop, tell me now,” Your hands roam her body freely, sliding underneath the shirt she carefully chose to wear. A shiver runs through her spine as one hand cups her breast, eliciting a quiet moan when you slowly, deliberately, massage the muscle. Your head drops the slightest as her legs spread without any preamble. “It doesn’t seem like you want me to,” You fucking smirk.
“Shut the fuck up,” Karina sucks in a breath when you dip even further in between her legs, breath ghosting over her skin as you push up her skirt. You ever so softly press your lips against her thigh, smirking as her body trembles. “Either do something or–” The words get caught in her throat the moment you press your nose into the apex of her thighs, inhaling deeply that she moans.
“You didn’t let me do this last time,” You mumble, but Karina hears you loud and clear as you kiss through her panties.
“You’re a fucking tease,” Karina breathes out when a finger slips the fabric to the side, sliding along her folds. It’s embarrassing how wet she is, especially with how fast her body reacts.
“Maybe. Probably. If it’s you,” You say simply, as if what you’re doing was an everyday thing. Your other hand slips underneath, tugging her closer that she’s almost off the bed. “Am I supposed to fuck you like you’re my girlfriend?”
Karina lets out a dark chuckle, rolling her eyes. She wants to say yes, but she has too much pride. She’s not willing to give because she won’t know when to stop. You have to work for something, even though it’s her fault to begin with. “It's a little presumptuous to call me your girlfriend.”
“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You came over to apologize.” Your movement’s controlled, slipping a loose finger under the waistband, dragging the cloth down her thighs over her feet until you toss it somewhere behind you. Mouth watering at the sight of her and her slick puts you in a trance. “And…,” The intensity of your stare leaves Karina vulnerable, shy at the desire from your eyes alone, “Be mine.”
A shiver runs up Karina’s spine at the possessiveness, but the gasp comes when you bury your face in her cunt. The sensation throws her off, knocking her off whatever high horse she came on, as your tongue slips in between. She doesn’t know what to do, but one hand grips the bed, fisting the sheet, while the other shoots to your head, fingers threading locks.
“Am I wrong?” Karina barely hears the question, distracted at the god’s work of your tongue. You pause, earning a frustrated groan from the woman. She sends you a death glare, but she falters underneath your hooded eyes. Head meekly shaking, you smile before getting back to the task at hand.
Her stomach tenses as your tongue laps over her cunt, breath hot, while she’s embarrassed at how wet she is. She’d rather die than give you the satisfaction of knowing how well you please her. She lets go of your hair, resting her arm over her mouth, muffling miserably, that she swears you’re grinning.
“Admit you want to be mine,” You murmur without stopping, tongue flicking lightly over her clit that her hips buck against your face. “You already know I’m yours.”
Karina can’t stop grinding herself, digging you deeper into her that your nose brushes harshly over her clit once again. Your composure shakes, moaning into her heat, that it goes straight to her head. You were on a mission to make her lose her mind, and she’s about there.
“Fuck, fuck,” Karina pants, body moving fluidly over your tongue, selfishly using you towards an orgasm. When you suddenly pull away, her neck snaps down, breathless, as the obvious mess on your face is because of her. “Stop teasing,” She forces out through gritted teeth.
“Say it,” You taunt, raising an eyebrow. “Or I could leave—”
“Fuck you,” Karina grabs your hair roughly, succumbing to answer your stupid question that you stupidly know the answer to. “I’m yours.”
“Was that so hard?” She wants nothing more than to wipe that stupid smirk off your face, but it all goes out the window when you’re back on her cunt, eating her out as if your life depended on it. At this point, Karina’s life was at your mercy.
You give her no time to relax, all pressure settling at the pit of her stomach. Karina knows that if you keep going at it the way you are, she’ll make an even bigger mess. She’s too lost in the pleasure that she doesn’t notice your hand move from her hip until a finger slips inside.
Karina couldn’t stop her orgasm as her back arches off the bed the moment she feels you hit that one spot inside her that has her screaming your name out into the room. She can’t control how her muscles tighten around your finger, hips grounding to get you deeper into her.
“God, you’re so fucking hot,” You mutter as you drink in everything her body has to offer. Karina’s too fucked out, but moans when another finger joins, adding to the pressure inside her that she lets go of you to tear the sheets off the bed.
Once Karina’s orgasm subsides, her body shivers as your tongue gently moves through her folds, cleaning up the mess you made in between her legs with such care and attention. It over-stimulates her, nerves firing all over her body, that she physically yanks you so you’re laying on top of her. You let out a surprised oof before carefully placing your arms around her head. She doesn’t give you anymore time to think as her lips meet yours in a heated kiss, moaning as she tastes herself on your lips.
“You’re still wearing too much clothes,” Karina whines, mind singularly focused on getting you out of your sweats and into her. She feels you poking through the fabric, eagerly slipping a hand in between. “You’re, like, really hard.”
You lightly rut into her, groaning softly, that Karina smirks. She wants to return the favor. The last—only—time she was too eager to get you inside of her that she couldn’t.
In a coordinated move, Karina musters up enough strength to switch positions. She’s on top, straddling your hips, trailing her lips down your neck. She smiles as goosebumps form, body shivering with each kiss. She wants to mark you, sucking lightly on the skin that you moan softly. It spurs her on, pressing deeper as your hands find her waist.
“Jimin,” You pull her closer, but she moves swiftly, dropping to her knees as your legs spread to give room. “Fuck,” Head tilting back as you moan. “You’re kind of killing me.”
“Isn’t that the point?” Karina chuckles darkly as she wraps her hand around your cock. You can’t help the pathetic gasp falling from your lips when she begins to move up and down. “If you want me to stop…” The sentence trails off, realizing that she’s using your words against you.
You scoff, rolling your eyes. Your hand falls to the top of her head, nudging her down. She complies, a seductive grin forming before her tongue slips out, brushing over the tip. You nearly lose yourself when she does it again, moaning as your back hits the bed.
Karina isn’t any better, eyes filled with lust as she watches you fall apart. She doesn’t know what comes over, but she wants to make it happen.
She will.
She starts kissing you all over, from head to base, leaving no part untouched. It spurs her on when your breath hitches, hands fisting the sheets. She licks the underside back to the top, knowing all too well she’s making you lose your mind.
“Baby,” You breathe out when Karina’s mouth wraps around the tip, the muscles in your neck tightening to watch her slowly take you in. “You’re so good.”
That statement has Karina dripping more than she already has. She lets off for a moment, her lips coming off with a resounding pop, as her hand continues stroking. “Really? Am I a good girl?” The seductive tilt in her voice has your abdomen flexing, pushing your cock back to her face.
“Yes,” You eagerly nod. Your hand reaches out, caressing her cheek. She leans into your touch, resting as you stare. “Show me how much of a good girl you are.”
In a bold move, Karina taps the tip of your cock against her lips—once, twice, thrice. The motion has you grunting followed by a gasp once her mouth engulfs your length. She bobs her head, taking more of you in with each downward movement. She gets off on your gaze, eyes peering through long lashes, filled with a desire she had never seen before.
“Jimin,” You whimper, hand resting on top of her head. Your palm twitches, controlling the urge to force deeper down her throat.
Karina’s dangerous to your sanity. This didn’t happen last time, and if it did, you would’ve chased her across the world. You can’t help your head from tilting back, fingers threading through her hair as you hit the back of her throat. A gasp falls from her lips, forcing her to recoil.
“Relax, baby,” She says teasingly before she’s all over you again. It gives you no time to breathe as you feel her throat relax.
The warmth of her mouth is too much, too soon that the moment she swallows, your orgasm catches you both by surprise. You tug at her roots, hips thrusting deeper into her and the worst—or best—part is she takes all of it with no resistance. Her head drops lower, pressing her nose against your pubic bone.
You unload everything into her, soul included, as her soft lips suck lightly. You might’ve thrusted too hard because Karina chokes, palms slapping your thighs. Once you let go, her throat relaxes around your cock quickly as the rest of you releases on her face.
Karina’s eyes are closed, chest heaving the air, but it’s a sight you’ve never been in awe of until now. You wish your phone was nearby to take a picture because this is definitely something you’d want in your memory. Her face is a mess, a small bit of drool along her jaw, and the cum spread across her face awakens a more primal side of you.
“How are you still hard?” Her voice snaps you out of the post-orgasmic fog.
“Because you’re hot,” You say automatically, unashamed as she pushes herself up, standing. “Where are you going?”
“As much as I enjoy doing the act, it’s not my favorite thing to have it on my face,” Karina shrugs, turning towards the bathroom. “I would rather have it somewhere else.” She winks as she walks away.
You groan at the sight, still in a daze at what transpired between you two. It seemed like a warm-up, especially with the way she took you. Desire radiated off her.
You were in for a long night.
Karina appears next to the bed. You didn’t hear her footsteps, but your mind was imagining what was going to happen next. She has a small towel slung over her shoulder, shaking her head. “You seem lost.”
“Just eager,” You murmur, arm reaching for her. She giggles as you tug her down, falling onto the bed. You pull her in closer, briefly kissing the top of her head. She swings a leg over yours, your thigh pressing right in between hers. “Seems like you are too.”
Her lips press against your jaw, sending a shiver down your spine. You shift your leg, pressing deeper into her that she moans softly against your skin. “You know I want you,” She pants, grinding shamelessly against you. You feel how wet she is, groaning as you roll her on your back, slotting yourself in between her legs.
Karina’s hand slips in between, wrapping gently around your cock. She taps the tip against her folds, her slick coating your length. She guides you in, slowly, carefully as her body adjusts to the intrusion.
You aren’t fairing any better. It’s too much, her pussy wrapping around you—raw, bare, nothing separating you from her, her from you. “This is, fuck, too much,” You groan, hips driving forward.
“You feel so good,” Karina moans, arms wrapping around your back, pulling you even further. You bend forward, hands falling onto the bed, framing her face. “You’re, like, everywhere.”
Karina’s right.
You can’t help yourself. Your lips crash into hers, swallowing the moan. It’s a frenzied kiss, breathing heavily against each other. Her body rolls, eager to take more of you in. You bite her lip hard when you sink deeper, her walls stretching around your cock.
You’ve had your fair share of lovers. You know what it feels like. Sure, it’s different with each person. Some good. Some bad. Some definitely one for the books.
But this with her is a feeling you’ve never had.
You thought that the first time (and only time you think about constantly) was mind blowing, but this is limitless.
There was no way sex had ever felt this good.
You’re too lost in your thoughts, mind melting at the warm, tight pussy wrapped around your cock. Correction. Karina’s warm, tight pussy. You don’t realize you’re fully sheathed inside until she starts squirming.
“Baby,” Karina nearly squeals, arms falling on the bed. Neck tilting back, fingers threading through her hair, “I need you to move. I’m losing my fucking mind.”
“I don’t think I should,” You say through gritted teeth, forehead pressing into her chest. You’re embarrassingly close. One thrust and you’re ninety-nine percent certain, you’ll bust. Inside. The thought crosses your mind, making it more difficult to control yourself.
“And why the fuck not?” Karina snaps. Her legs wrap around your waist, and you had no idea you could get deeper. “You’re already going to cum?”
“Yes.” It sounded like a whimper. A pathetic one.
Karina tugs your head, forcing you to open your eyes. You had no idea they were closed to begin with. “Come here.” She gently pulls you to eye level, kissing you sweetly on the lips. A stark contrast to the one moments ago. “You know,” She says in between pecks. “You can, right?” Kiss. “There’s no condom.” Kiss. “Nothing separating us.” Kiss. “Nothing stopping you from cumming inside me, right?”
Whatever control you had, snaps. Your orgasm hits like a freight train. Karina moans the moment your release floods her walls, tightening, draining you for everything you had.
“I’m—fuck.” She buries her face into your neck. Her pussy pulses along your cock. She grunts, nails digging into your back, that you’re sure the marks will be there for a while.
You don’t move.
You can’t move.
You’re in a headspace you’ve never been in before.
Dazed and drunk on the woman under you.
All you’re thinking about is her.
All you’re feeling is her.
You don’t know how much time passed. You don't know where you ended and Karina started. What you do know is you want her, only her.
Your cock slips out of her pussy, whining at the loss, the air’s a cold contrast. It stings. You vaguely hear her chuckle, before you’re somehow on your back. One leg swings over your waist. Her weight rests on top of you. The slightest shift down has her very wet pussy graze over your cock.
“You’re cute,” Karina smirks, grabbing the hem of her shirt. She smoothly slips it over her head and you nearly collapse.
It’s overstimulating, and it gets to a point you’ve never been.
First, she’s shamelessly rubbing her folds over your cock. You’re still sensitive from your orgasm, but she doesn’t seem to care.
Then, which in your haste must’ve forgotten to do, she takes her shirt off. The black lace is a stark contrast to the pale expanse of her skin. You deemed yourself as a respectful person, especially when it came to her and Minjeong. But every thought crossing your mind is as disrespectful as it could be.
Lastly, she unhooks the bra.
You’d be lying if you said you’ve never noticed. Of course you have. You’ve been best friends with her since childhood. You’ve seen each other grow up through every phase, and she happened to be well-endowed in that area.
Your mouth waters at the sight of her bare chest. You want to taste the dusty rose colored nipples. They’re hard as soon as they release from the offending piece of fabric. It had no right to hide them from you.
“Typical,” Karina scoffs, hand slipping below her. You hiss when she wraps around your cock, guiding you through her folds. “Watch them.”
She sinks down once the tip finds the hole, her lower lips spreading to accommodate your girth.
Karina’s buried to the hilt, walls easily taking you in. She’s snug, pussy forming a mold to your shape. She gasps at the fullness, hands steadying on your chest. It squeezes her breasts together. They move in sync with her breath, shallow and quick. You reach to cop a feel, but she leans back before you can. Her hips snap down so hard that your eyes shift down. You groan at the sight of where you two are joined. With your cock swallowed whole, your hips thrust upwards. You catch her breasts bouncing slightly in your periphery.
Your eyes don’t know where to look. It’s a visual overload. You can’t help but throw your head back. Karina’s hands enclose around your wrists, lifting them above your head. Her face is suddenly in front of yours, breath hot against your lips.
“I’m going to fuck you and you’re going to cum inside me until I decide we’re done.” A statement filled with promise that you’re going to lose your mind again.
Karina starts slow, rocking her hips over you. The friction of her walls rubbing with every sway. She experiments, moving side to side, hitting any and every spot within her. Then, your tip hits one spot in particular, and she tightens.
“Oh fuck.” Her hips lift involuntarily, dropping directly where she wants you to. She glides easily, taking you in and out without losing rhythm. Her breath staccatoes with every bounce, rock, dip, swivel.
It’s mind-numbingly hot, watching the sexiest woman you’ve ever known ride you into oblivion. You can’t even move, too lost in the sensation of her making a mess. The grip on your wrists loosens, strength overpowering her as your hands fly to her hips.
“I’m supposed to be fucking you,” Karina’s arms slide underneath your neck, hugging you tighter into her chest. A pleasurable moan escapes her when you suck on her skin.
“You are.” Your lips find her nipple, sucking lightly that she hisses. Her pussy contracts, hips stuttering. Her breathing quickens as you guide her hips up and down, smooth with every drop.
You moan loudly when she suddenly tightens, slamming hard onto you. She stalls, pussy fluttering along your cock, her orgasm surprising you both. It wracks through, firing every nerve as she shakes, vibrates, that you follow. Your hands grip her waist roughly, thrusting your hips brutally upward twice before coming deep inside her.
“Fuck, fuck, yes—god,” Karina screams, body grounding against yours. Her thighs tremble as she continues to take you. “It feels so good. I want more.”
Her body doesn’t stop using your cock, fully at her disposal. You don’t know how you stay inside her, but you do. You begin and end in her, lost in her.
Karina starts saying all these things, these nasty, filthy, debauched things. She wants to make up, too much time lost between them when they could’ve been together. She has years of pent up sexual tension towards you, that she needs to let it out. She whispers sweetly about how she spent the time apart, thinking of you. Sometimes late at night with her fingers buried deep inside.
You black out, delirious with pleasure. You thought you had decent stamina, but Karina’s stamina is next level. She moves like she has something to prove, something to claim–more like someone.
You are hers.
You are certain she’s not going to let you slip through her fingers again.
At the end, after however many orgasms were drained from you, Karina stays on top of you. WIth her head resting underneath your chin, lips lazily kissing you all over as your hands gently rest on her low back. She practically growls when you try to move her, “No.” Her inner muscles squeeze your cock.
“I should clean us up…” You pant, still trying to catch your breath, eyes unfocused on the ceiling.
“That’s sweet, but let’s stay like this a little longer,” Karina mumbles, voice laced with sleep. “You feel nice.”
“You’re going to fall asleep,” You warn, one hand trailing up and down her back. It is nice. You’re scared if you fall asleep inside her, you’ll wake up still inside her. It wouldn’t be something you’re opposed to, but your dick can’t handle it.
“I don’t care.” She huffs. You don’t need to see her face to know she’s pouting.
“Will you still be here when I wake up?”
The question is asked before you realize what you said. Her body tenses, slowly pushing herself up. She’s in your face, blocking everything else. You have no choice but to look at her.
“Yes,” Karina says quietly, gaze unwavering. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“But—” Her index finger presses against your lips.
“I’m not making the same mistake twice.” You hear the deeper meaning behind her words. She means it.
Three words spill out softly from your mouth, and she breaks out into a huge smile.
-- --
You wanted to go home.
The club was the last place you wanted to be.
How could you say no to the woman seated on your lap as she talks animatedly with Aeri about some dinosaur discovery she learned about? You’re too exhausted to fully pay attention.
An elbow digs into your side, prompting you to redirect your gaze, finding Jinwoo rolling his eyes. A mumbled, what, falls from your lips, lifting your hand off Karina’s thighs to rub your eyes.
“You know a lot of girls have been looking at you,” Jinwoo tilts his head to the crowd.
You don’t bother looking. You don’t care. “Okay and?”
Jinwoo chuckles, explaining that as soon as Karina gets up, someone is going to shoot their shot. You didn’t see how, when Karina’s been next to you the entire time. His girlfriend, Haein, walks up, greeting everyone sweetly. The woman in your lap stands, hugging her before Jinwoo. One of them mentions something about needing to pee, which Jinwoo volunteers to walk with them.
“Save our table, okay?” Karina says over the music, kissing you on the cheek. “One more drink,” She mumbles, a smile forming against your skin.
Karina’s the reason why you’re exhausted.
You’ve been together since that night. She asked you to be her boyfriend the moment you woke up. It wasn’t so much a question, more like a statement, a law that you only have eyes for her.
You’ve also been having a lot more sex. Multiple times throughout a 24-hour window too. Karina has a high sex drive. She seemed addicted to you, and you couldn’t get enough. Not that you were complaining, but there were times you had to ask for a break. Your dick could only take so much.
The evening prior just so happened to be a night where the three-day ban ended. Karina pounced on you the moment you walked through the door. It was mind blowing, but you were exhausted. It didn’t help that you had an early meeting this morning. She almost didn’t let you leave, but you could not afford to lose your job. As much as it pained you to leave her.
You barely grunt out an acknowledgement before the trio walks away. Your eyes follow Karina through the crowd, watching her disappear behind the woman’s restroom door. You rest your head on the seat, stretching your arms out over the booth. You don’t even realize your eyes are closed until a weight falls onto your lap–literally.
“What the hell, get off,” You say sharply as a woman you don’t know sits on your lap.
The woman introduces herself as Chaewon, leaning forward too close that her perfume invades your senses. Your nose wrinkles at the scent. It’s a tad much, but she seems oblivious that you’re not interested. Aeri’s in your periphery, and you see her typing on her phone. Great, you think to yourself. If you don’t get this Chaewon off you before Karina gets back, it’s not going to end well.
You should push her off, but your arms feel too heavy to move. She continues talking, shifting slightly in your lap until she presses against you. “Did you need help with that?” She whispers, slipping a hand brazenly between you. She cups you through your slacks. She mistakes the painful groan as interest.
You’re about to stand when your eyes lock with Karina’s. She’s holding two drinks in her hands, one most likely for you, and a stare that spells trouble.
For Chaewon and you.
Karina clears her throat, forcing Chaewon to look in her direction. She doesn’t stand, instead sinking deeper into you. “Can I help you?”
“He’s my boyfriend,” Karina says slowly, placing the drinks on the table. You swear Aeri has her phone pointed in your direction. “You have three options.”
You gulp, knowing that this isn’t good for anyone involved. It may not seem like it, except to those that know Karina, but she’s insanely possessive of you. She gets jealous at the smallest things when other women are involved, even if it’s just a simple thank you for retrieving your drinks from the cafe worker. Aeri and Ningning live for the drama, and at times, you do too. There’s a sick part of you that gets off on it, especially with how she reminds you shortly after who you belonged to.
“One, you get off on your own and you don’t show your face here ever again.” Karina knows the owner of the club. One call and this woman would be blacklisted from all night clubs in Seoul.
“Two, I pull you off and you pray I don’t feel like fighting.” She does. You can see her jaw tensing from your seat.
“And three–” Chaewon abruptly stands when Karina takes a step forward, nearly sprinting away from your table before she finishes the sentence.
“Oh come on,” Aeri throws her hands up in despair. “We almost had another fight recorded.”
“Thanks for that,” You stretch your arms overhead, signaling Karina to take her seat. She rolls her eyes, huffing before reluctantly sitting on your lap again. “You know I didn’t do anything.”
“She was literally all over you,” Karina says sharply, adding, “You didn’t do anything to get her off.”
“I’m exhausted.”
“Whose fault is that?”
You retort, reaching for one of the drinks. “You know exactly whose fault it is.”
Karina leans forward, just enough for you to hear what she says next. “And remember,” She murmurs, biting her lip, “It’s your fault on why you’ll be exhausted again.”
