#karina fluff

When she pulls back, her eyes drop to the cup in your other hand.

"That much caffeine isn't good for you either." She takes it right out of your grip before you can protest.

"It's my first cup of the day."

Jimin gives you this look. The kind that says she knows you're full of shit.

"Okay, second."

She doesn't break eye contact.

You sigh. "Third. But in my defense, I couldn't sleep last night. This whole... everything is driving me fucking crazy."

"Yeah." Her fingers trace the rim of your coffee cup. "Me neither. Especially after they called us in."

You hand her phone back and she stares at it for a moment before shoving it in her pocket. The SM building today feels much more oppressive than it normally does. Too bright, too sterile. White walls and uncomfortable chairs and that generic corporate smell of air conditioning.

Jimin moves to the wall and leans against it, arms crossed over her chest. "How did this even happen?" Her head tilts back, eyes on the ceiling. "This is my fault. I shouldn't have kissed you."

"Stop."

"I mean it. If I hadn't—"

"Jimin." You step closer. "It's not your fault. You kissed me, and I dared you to do it again. So technically it's both our faults, but really? It's neither. It's whoever the fuck leaked that footage."

She shakes her head, and there's this lost quality to how she's looking at nothing in particular. "It feels like everything's falling apart. Two days ago, everything was perfect. I was the happiest I've ever been. And now..."

The sentence just dies there.

You pull her into a hug and she melts into it, face buried against your chest. "The bright side," you say into her hair, "is that if we make it through this shitstorm, we won't have to hide anymore. No more sneaking around. No more pretending we're just friends. It's a necessary hell."

"Necessary hell." She laughs weakly. "That's one way to put it."

"I'm serious though. After this, it's done. The worst will be over."

She pulls back just enough to look at you. "Thank you. For being here. For not..." She doesn't finish but you know what she means. For not running.

"I'm with you until the end. I know what's at stake for you." You're trying so hard to be her anchor right now, to be the steady thing she can hold onto. But the truth is you're just as terrified as she is. Maybe more. Because she's Karina, she's survived scandals and hate and the brutal machinery of the industry. You're just some guy who accidentally became the center of a media shitstorm.

But then you remember the hotel room two days ago. How she held you when you were the one falling apart, how she fought through your insecurities and showed you exactly what you mean to her. This is your turn. Time to be strong for her.

The door opens and a woman in a sleek black blazer appears. Mid-thirties, clipboard in hand, expression professionally neutral.

"They're ready for you now."

You and Jimin exchange a look. Her hand finds yours and you hold tight as you walk down the hallway. The secretary's heels click in front of you. When you reach the door, you both stop. Your hands separate slowly, reluctantly.

Jimin turns to face you fully. "No matter what happens in there," she says, "I'm not staying away from you. Whatever they say, whatever they want. I won't."

You smile despite everything. "I know."

You push the door open together.

The office, as you already expected, is big and imposing. Floor to ceiling windows overlooking Seoul, expensive furniture, and behind a massive desk sits Lee Soo-man's successor as the real power at SM Entertainment: Vice Chairman Kim Youngmin. Late forties, silver starting to thread through his hair, wearing a suit that probably cost as much as a small car. He built half of SM's current roster and has a reputation for being brilliant and absolutely ruthless.

"Please, sit." He gestures to the two chairs across from his desk.

You and Jimin sit. The chairs are less comfortable than they look.

"We know," you both say, almost in unison.

Kim Youngmin leans back in his chair, fingers steepled. "Let me lay out where we are. The footage has been circulating for approximately eighteen hours. Major news outlets picked it up within four. Trending on every platform. Twitter, Instagram, Naver, Weibo. The comments sections are..." He pauses. "Volatile."

"This conversation shouldn't even be happening," Jimin says. "We're not criminals."

"No, you're not." Kim Youngmin's expression doesn't change. "But you are under contract, Jimin. Section 7, subsection C. Public image and conduct clauses. I'm sure you remember signing it. The situation is delicate," he continues, pulling out a tablet and sliding it across the desk. You can see metrics, graphs, social media analytics. "Your individual brand value dropped 23% overnight. aespa's group endorsements are being reviewed by three major sponsors. We've had calls from luxury brands reconsidering their ambassador contracts. Your upcoming comeback promotion schedule is in jeopardy."

Jimin opens her mouth but you touch her arm lightly. A signal. Stay calm. She glances at you and takes a breath.

Kim Youngmin isn't done. "I need you both to understand the scope of what we're dealing with. This isn't just about you two having a... personal relationship. This impacts your group members, their careers, the company's stock price, investor confidence. There are hundreds of people whose livelihoods depend on aespa's success. The timing couldn't be worse with your world tour announcement scheduled for next month."

He's being professional about it, clinical even, but every word makes it sound like your relationship is a catastrophic mistake. Like you're the problem that needs to be solved.

"What about whoever leaked the footage?" Jimin's hands are balled into fists on her lap. "That's who you should be going after. We're sitting here like we did something wrong when someone invaded our privacy and weaponized it. That's the actual crime here."

"We are working on it," Kim Youngmin says smoothly. "Legal is coordinating with the police, IT is tracing the source. But that investigation will take weeks, possibly months. Right now, we have more pressing concerns. Damage control. Public perception. Your career."

"My career," Jimin repeats flatly.

"Yes." He pulls the tablet back, swipes a few times. "Which brings us to the response options. We need to make a decision within the next twelve hours. The longer we wait, the more the narrative spirals out of our control."

You feel your heart rate pick up. Here it comes.

"Option one." Kim Youngmin looks directly at Jimin. "We deny the relationship entirely. Claim the footage is a deepfake. AI-generated. There are precedents for this approach in the industry. We'd bring in digital forensics experts, release statements questioning the video's authenticity, suggest anti-fan sabotage."

"But it's not a deepfake.” you point out.

"Obviously. Which makes it difficult to prove. We'd be playing a long game, counting on public doubt and the media cycle moving on. It's risky. If the denial falls apart, the backlash would be worse than the original scandal. Trust issues, accusations of lying to fans."

Jimin is staring at the desk, processing.

"Option two," he continues. "We acknowledge the video is real but deny the romantic relationship. You and—" he glances at you, "—have known each other since childhood. The kiss was a moment of platonic affection between old friends. Perhaps celebratory, perhaps taken out of context. Young people today are more socially open to hugs and kisses than older generations used to be. We could frame it as conservative fans misunderstanding cultural norms."

"That's bullshit," Jimin says quietly.

"It's a narrative. Will everyone believe it? No. But it gives your hardcore fans something to defend you with. It provides plausible deniability. The challenge here is consistency. You'd both need to maintain that story indefinitely. Any slip, any future photo or rumor, and the whole thing collapses. And frankly, the way you two were kissing..." He trails off meaningfully. "It would be a difficult sell. But not impossible."

Jimin lets out a long sigh. The mood in the office feels like a full-on funeral - for her career and for your job.

"Option three." Kim Youngmin sets the tablet down. "You confirm the relationship. Full transparency. Release a statement that yes, you're dating. Emphasize the longevity of your connection, childhood friends who reunited, a natural progression. Make it romantic, not scandalous. Paint it as a fairy tale rather than a scandal."

"That's the one," Jimin says immediately.

"It's also the riskiest." His tone is grave. "You would be the first active female idol at your level to publicly confirm a relationship in nearly a decade. The precedent is not encouraging. Several idols faced massive backlash and career impacts despite their groups' success. Male idols have slightly more leeway, but for women? The parasocial relationship with fans is different. Harsher. You'd lose a significant portion of your fanbase. Possibly majority. The hate would be relentless."

"I don't care," Jimin says.

"You should care. We're talking potential group disbandment. Your members would suffer the consequences of your choice. Ning, Giselle, Winter… their careers would be affected. Comeback sales could tank. Concert attendance. Everything."

You feel sick. He's not wrong about the potential fallout. You've seen it happen to other idols.

"And there would be conditions," Kim Youngmin continues. "If you go public, we control the narrative completely. Approved photos, statements, interview responses. Your relationship becomes part of your public brand, which means it's subject to company management. And should things end..." He lets that hang. "The breakup would also be public. Messy. Another news cycle."

Jimin's looking at you now, and you can see the calculation happening behind her eyes. The weight of choosing between her truth and everyone else's careers.

"There's also the matter of your position," Kim Youngmin says, turning his attention to you. "You're an employee. Dating a talent you work with directly violates company policy. Regardless of which option we choose regarding the public narrative, internally there would need to be consequences."

"Consequences,” you repeat.

"Termination, most likely. Or at minimum, reassignment far from any projects involving aespa. We can't have the appearance of impropriety or conflict of interest."

Jimin's hand finds yours between the chairs where he can't see. Her grip is tight.

"So those are the options," Kim Youngmin says. "Think carefully. This decision will define both of your futures.”

"This is unacceptable,” Jimin protests. "He didn't do anything wrong. You want to talk about professionals? Ask anyone who's worked with him. Anyone on the team. He's never once crossed a line, never behaved inappropriately, never let our relationship affect his work. He's been nothing but competent since day one."

Kim Youngmin regards her calmly. "I'm not questioning his competency."

"Then why punish him?" She leans forward. "My boyfriend doesn't deserve to lose his job because someone leaked private footage of us."

"The optics—"

"Fuck the optics!"

There's a pause. You've never heard Jimin talk to a superior like this.

Kim Youngmin adjusts his tie. "The most we can do in the current situation is reassignment. Different department, different projects. You would no longer work with the aespa team in any capacity. No direct contact during work hours. It's either that or termination."

"But that's not even guaranteed," you say, finding your voice. "Right?"

"Correct. It still needs to be discussed with HR and upper management. But if I advocate for it, there's a strong chance they'll approve the transfer rather than dismissal."

You take a breath. The alternative is unemployment in the middle of a scandal with your face plastered everywhere. "Okay. I could accept that."

Jimin's head whips toward you. "What—"

"You both have until tomorrow morning to decide which route to take regarding the public response," Kim Youngmin says, standing. "Ten AM. We'll need your answer then so we can coordinate with PR and legal. Until that time, I strongly suggest you avoid drawing attention to yourselves. No social media, no public appearances. Stay low."

"We need to talk about this more," Jimin argues, almost getting up from her chair. "There has to be another way. You can't just—"

"Jimin." You touch her shoulder and she looks at you. You shake your head slightly.

"But—"

"There's nothing more to discuss right now. This is the scenario we're in."

She stares at you like you've betrayed her somehow, but she also knows you're right. Arguing won't change the options on the table. You both stand. Kim Youngmin walks you to the door, all professional courtesy now that the hard part is over.

"Tomorrow. Ten AM," he repeats.

The hallway feels longer on the way out.

—

You push open the door to your apartment and immediately spot her silhouette by the window. Jimin hasn't moved from that spot since you left forty minutes ago, just standing there watching the city lights blur into the night. You set the grocery bag on the kitchen table, pull off your mask and baseball cap, and walk over to her.

She turns when she hears your footsteps. "Did anyone recognize you?"

"No. I was careful."

"Good."

"It's weird though," you say, coming to stand beside her. "Walking around with this feeling that someone could spot me at any second. Like I'm being hunted. Your face is everywhere but mine's spreading too now. I get it now, how you feel all the time."

That gets a weak chuckle out of her. "Normally it doesn't feel like I'm some kind of outlaw on the run, but yeah. Welcome to my world."

You lean against the window frame. "My mom called while I was out."

Jimin's expression shifts immediately. "What did she say?"

"At first she was super happy. Like, 'I always knew you two would end up together' happy. Going on about how she could tell we had something special even when we were kids, how she was rooting for us this whole time." You smile at the memory of your mom's excited rambling. "Then she got worried. Asked if we were okay, if we needed anything, told me to take care of you. The usual mom stuff."

"I miss her," Jimin says softly. "She's amazing."

"She asked about you too. Wanted to make sure you were holding up."

"What'd you tell her?"

"That we're managing. That we've got each other."

Jimin nods but doesn't say anything. You can see the weight settling back over her shoulders, that thing that's been there since you walked out of Kim Youngmin's office.

You move to the couch and she follows automatically, arranging herself on your lap like she's done a hundred times before. Her legs drape over yours, body tucked into your chest. This close, you can feel how tense she is despite the casual positioning.

"The protest trucks in front of SM today," she says quietly. "Did you see them?"

"I saw photos online."

"The things they wrote..." Her voice trails off and you can fill in the blanks. You've seen enough of the comments, the trending hashtags, the coordinated hate campaigns.

"Don't think about it."

"How can I not? They're calling me every name you can imagine. Saying I betrayed them, that I'm selfish, that I don't deserve to be an idol. Some of them are sending funeral wreaths to the company. Funeral wreaths. Like I died."

You tilt her chin up and kiss her, trying to pour reassurance into it. When you pull back, you keep your forehead pressed to hers. "This will all pass. I promise."

"You don't know that."

"Think about it like getting really sick. You know that feeling? When you're lying in bed with the flu or food poisoning and you're convinced you're dying? It feels like the end of the world. Like you'll never feel normal again. But you do. Eventually it passes, your body heals, and you forget what it felt like to be that miserable. We're sick right now. The whole situation is sick. But we'll get better. You and I, we'll get better from this."

She searches your face and there's something like hope starting to break through the despair. "Since when do you use metaphors?"

"I'm training. Figure after SM fires me, I can start my writing career. Become a novelist or something."

That actually makes her laugh, a real one this time. "How are you being funny right now? At a moment like this?"

You shrug, lips quirking. "What else can I do? Our fate is in someone else's hands now. Might as well laugh while we wait for them to decide what happens to us."

She shakes her head but she's smiling, and you count that as a win. You slowly lie back on the couch, bringing her down with you. She settles fully on top of your chest, her weight grounding and familiar. You start petting her hair, running your fingers through the dark strands, and her eyes flutter closed.

"I don't care about losing the job if I still have you," you say into the quiet. "That's the truth. They can transfer me, fire me, whatever. As long as you're still here, I can handle anything else."

Her arms tighten around you, face pressing harder into your chest. "I love you," she whispers.

"I love you too."

"I mean it. I really love you. More than..." She takes a shaky breath. "More than I thought I could love anyone."

You keep stroking her hair, feeling her slowly start to relax into your touch. "I don't care about losing my career if it means I get to keep you," Jimin says suddenly. "If tomorrow Kim Youngmin says I have to choose between being Karina or being with you, I choose you. Every time. I'll choose you every time."

You weren't expecting that. Not really. You knew she loved you, knew she was serious about this relationship, but hearing her say she'd walk away from everything she's worked for since she was a teenager? That she'd give up aespa and the fame and the dream she's been chasing her whole life?

"Jimin—"

"I mean it." She props herself up to look at you directly and there are tears in her eyes. "I know what that sounds like. I know it's crazy. But these past few weeks with you have been the happiest I've ever been, and that includes every award, every sold-out show, every milestone. None of it means anything if I can't share it with you. If I have to pretend you don't exist or hide what we have or lose you completely? Then what's the point?"

You reach up and wipe the tear that's tracking down her cheek. "You really mean that."

"Yes." No hesitation. "I really mean it."

And you believe her. You can see it in her eyes, hear it in the way her voice doesn't waver. She would actually do it. She would walk away from Karina, from aespa, from the entire life she's built, if it meant keeping what you have together.

The weight of that kind of love is almost unbearable.

You pull her down and kiss her like you're trying to merge your souls, like you can somehow show her through this kiss what you can't find words for. She kisses back just as desperately, and when you finally break apart, you're both breathing hard.

"Tomorrow," you say. "We'll face whatever comes tomorrow. But right now, right here, we're okay. We have each other. That's enough."

She nods against your chest, and you hold her tighter as the night deepens around you. Whatever Kim Youngmin says, whatever options get chosen, whatever consequences rain down; you'll face it together. And that makes even the impossible seem survivable.

—

The next morning, you're both wearing your most professional outfits. Jimin in a black blazer and slacks that make her look like she means business, you in the nicest suit you own. It feels weird, getting dressed up for what's essentially a firing squad, but appearances matter. Especially now.

The conference room on the executive floor is bigger than the one yesterday, with a long table that could seat twenty people. You and Jimin take seats on one side. Across from you sits Kim Youngmin, flanked by two other executives you recognize from company events but have never actually spoken to. A woman in her fifties with severe glasses, head of PR. A younger guy, maybe early forties, from the legal department.

The door opens again and Winter walks in first, followed by Ning and Giselle. They look worried, eyes immediately finding Jimin. Winter sits next to her and squeezes her hand under the table. Ningning takes the seat on Jimin's other side. Giselle sits next to you, giving you a small encouraging nod.

"Thank you all for coming," Kim Youngmin says once everyone's settled. "I know this is an unusual situation, having the full group present for what is essentially a personal matter. But given the circumstances and the impact on aespa as a whole, we felt it was necessary for everyone to be informed and involved in the decision."

The PR head adjusts her glasses. "As you're all aware, footage of Jimin and—" she glances at you, "—was leaked two days ago. The response has been significant and largely negative. We've been monitoring the situation closely."

"Largely negative is putting it mildly," Giselle mutters.

The woman ignores that. "We presented two options to Jimin yesterday. After taking time to consider, we need their final decision on how to proceed. This will determine our response strategy, PR approach, and the immediate future of aespa's scheduled activities."

Kim Youngmin looks directly at Jimin. "So. What have you decided?"

You and Jimin exchange a look. You saw the fear in her eyes last night, but also the determination. You talked until almost three in the morning, weighing everything, playing out scenarios. In the end, it came down to one question: could you live with lying? Could she?

The answer was no.

Jimin sits up straighter, and when she speaks, there’s a firmness in her voice that almost makes it seem like she isn’t scared inside: "We want to confirm the relationship. No denials, no deepfake claims, no pretending we're just friends. The truth."

Winter, Ning, and Giselle immediately break into relieved smiles. Ningning actually does a little fist pump under the table.

The executives, on the other hand, look at each other with these grim expressions that say they were hoping you'd pick literally any other option.

"You understand the risks," the PR head says. It's not a question.

"Yes."

"The potential career impact. The fan backlash. The—"

"I understand," Jimin says firmly. "This is our final decision."

Kim Youngmin leans back in his chair. "Alright then. Here's what happens now. SM will begin preparing an official statement. It will be released tomorrow afternoon through all official channels; website, social media, press release to major outlets. The statement will confirm the relationship, emphasize the long-term friendship foundation, and request respect for your privacy going forward."

"aespa's activities will be temporarily paused," the legal guy adds, pulling out a folder of documents. "Scheduled appearances are being canceled or postponed. The photo shoot for Elle next week is off. The variety show filming is off. Radio interviews, all off."

"Wait," Ningning says, leaning forward. "Everything?"

"Anything that involves public promotion or group appearances, yes. Previous commitments that are already completed will still be released as planned. The makeup campaign you filmed last month will still air, the photoshoot from two weeks ago will still be published. But new activities are suspended indefinitely."

Winter's face has gone pale. "For how long?"

"Until we can properly assess the situation and gauge public sentiment. Could be a few weeks, could be months."

"What about the international tour?" Giselle asks. "The official announcement will be next month.”

The PR head exchanges a look with Kim Youngmin. "That's still being decided. We need to see how Western fans react to the news. If the response is as hostile as it is domestically, it might be better to cancel and issue refunds. If there's more support internationally, we may proceed as planned but with modified promotion."

The girls look gutted. You know how much they were looking forward to that tour. The LA stop. New York. London. It was supposed to be huge for them.

Jimin's grip on Winter's hand tightens but she keeps her expression neutral. "And what about him?" She tilts her head toward you. "Is he getting fired?"

"We will attempt to reassign him to a different management team," Kim Youngmin says. "Another group, ideally one with no connection to aespa. If HR approves the transfer, we'll notify him by next week. If they don't..." He doesn't need to finish that sentence.

"That's bullshit," Giselle says bluntly. "He's good at his job. This has nothing to do with his competency."

"It's a conflict of interest situation. We have to maintain certain standards."

"Whose standards?" Winter asks, and wow, you've never heard her sound angry before. She's usually the sweet one. "You're punishing them for being happy."

"We're managing a crisis," the PR head snaps. "One that could have been avoided if proper boundaries had been maintained."

"Okay," you say, because this is getting heated and the last thing Jimin needs is her members getting in trouble on your behalf. "Okay. I accept the terms. The reassignment or whatever happens. Let's just move forward."

Kim Youngmin nods like he appreciates you defusing the situation. "One more thing, Jimin. Do not post anything on social media during this period. No statements, no photos, no Instagram stories. Nothing. All communication goes through official SM channels. Understood?"

"Understood."

"Alright then." He closes his folder. "We'll be in touch with updates as the situation develops. For now, I suggest you all go home and prepare for the statement release tomorrow. It's going to be a media circus."

The meeting ends with a weird formal feeling, everyone standing and gathering their things in stiff silence. The executives leave first. Once they're gone, the atmosphere shifts immediately.

Ningning throws her arms around Jimin. "I'm so proud of you."

"Me too," Winter says, joining the hug. "That took guts."

Giselle wraps her arms around all of them, creating this group huddle thing. You stand awkwardly to the side until Giselle reaches out and yanks you into it.

"You too," she says. "You're part of this now."

When they finally break apart, Jimin has tears in her eyes but she's smiling. "Thank you. God, thank you guys so much. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You'd probably make terrible decisions," Ningning teases. "Good thing you have us."

"Seriously though," Winter says, "we're here. Whatever you need, whenever you need it. We're sisters. This doesn't change that."

"If anything, it makes us stronger," Giselle adds. "Fuck the haters. We're aespa. We've been through worse."

"Have we though?" Ningning asks.

"Okay, maybe not worse. But we'll get through this too."

They migrate into the hallway, instinctively forming this protective circle around Jimin. You hang back slightly, giving them space, but Jimin reaches for your hand and pulls you into the group.

"There's nothing we can do right now except wait," Winter says. "You guys did what you could. Made your choice. Now it's out of your hands."

"Use this time to rest," Ningning suggests. "Get away from the internet. Don't read the comments, don't check Twitter, just... exist for a while without all the noise."

"She's right," Giselle says. "The next few weeks are going to be hell. Take care of each other. Sleep. Eat actual food. Watch stupid movies. Do normal people things."

Jimin nods, wiping at her eyes. "I love you guys. So much."

"We love you too," they say in unison, and then they're hugging again.

You watch them and smile proudly at this group. Whatever happens, Jimin has this. She has people who love her unconditionally, who'll stand by her even when the world turns hostile. That matters more than any tour or commercial deal. Then, eventually they have to go. Ning has a vocal lesson, Winter has a meeting with her personal trainer, Giselle has a photoshoot for a magazine. They extract themselves reluctantly, making Jimin promise to text them later, to let them know she's okay.

Once they're gone, Jimin turns to you in the quiet hallway. "What are we going to do now?"

You've been thinking about this since last night. About what she needs, what you both need. How to get through the storm that's about to hit.

"I have something in mind," you say.

She looks up at you, curious. "Yeah?"

"Trust me?"

"Always.”

—

The bus drops you off at the main intersection and from there it's a fifteen minute walk. Gapyeong is exactly what you remembered, this small quiet city about an hour outside Seoul where time moves differently. Slower. The air smells cleaner here, pine trees and fresh water from the nearby river instead of exhaust fumes and convenience store kimchi. It's a beautiful afternoon, the kind where the sun hits everything at this perfect golden angle that makes even ordinary things look special.

You and Jimin are both hauling suitcases and backpacks, dressed down in hoodies and masks and baseball caps. Incognito mode. Nobody's recognized you yet, which feels like a small miracle considering your faces have been plastered across every news site in Korea for the past two days.

"It's this street," you say, checking your phone one last time before you shut it off completely. "Should be the fourth house on the left."

Jimin adjusts her backpack strap. "I can't believe we're actually doing this. Just disappearing."

"For a week. Then we'll face reality again."

"A week sounds perfect."

You find the house and stop in front of it. It's exactly how you remember it from your childhood visits, a small traditional hanok with modern renovations. White walls and dark wood beams, a tiled roof that curves at the edges. There's a small garden in front that's slightly overgrown but charming in that wild way.

"This is it," you say.

Jimin pulls down her mask to get a better look. "Whose place is this?"

"My late grandmother's house. She left it to my cousin when she passed. He's traveling for work right now, some engineering project in Singapore, so the place is empty. I ran into him in Seoul a few days ago, so I asked if you and I could stay at the house for a while. He was actually happy about it. Said as long as we water the plants, we'd be doing him a favor."

You pull out the key from your pocket and unlock the front door. When it swings open you're hit with that smell, the one that's pure nostalgia. Wood and aged paper and the subtle scent of flowers in the backyard. The interior is clean and well maintained despite being empty. Your cousin clearly takes care of the place even when he's not living here.

Jimin steps inside and immediately does this slow spin, taking everything in. The wooden floors, the traditional sliding doors, the low table in the living room, the small kitchen visible through an archway. "Oh my god. This is beautiful."

"I knew you'd like it."

"Like it? I love it." She sets her suitcase down and walks further in, fingers trailing along the wall. "It feels so... I don't know. Peaceful? Like the outside world doesn't exist here."

"That's kind of the point."

She turns back to you and there's this lightness in her expression that you haven't seen since before the leak. "Show me around?"

You give her the tour. It's not a big house but every room has character. The main bedroom with its floor mattress and the window that overlooks the backyard garden. The second smaller bedroom that your cousin uses as an office. The bathroom with its traditional tub. The kitchen with the ancient rice cooker your grandmother refused to replace because it made the best rice.

"We can stay in the main room," you say. "It's got the most space and the best view."

Jimin nods, already pulling clothes out of her suitcase. "I need to change. I've been in these jeans for like six hours."

"Yeah, me too."

You both change into more comfortable clothes. You swap your jeans for sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. Jimin emerges from the bathroom wearing this floral dress, white background with small blue flowers scattered across it. It's simple and summery and makes her look like she belongs in a painting.

"Wow," you say before you can stop yourself.

She does a little twirl. "Too much?"

"Perfect. You look perfect."

She grins and sits down on the edge of the floor mattress, tucking her legs under her. "Okay, so what's the plan? You said you had something in mind. I trust you, obviously. You always come up with the best ideas."

You smile but also feel the pressure of that statement. "Alright, so. I'll admit this one's not as elaborate as the camping trip. Actually, it's simpler. But I think that's what we need right now."

"I'm listening."

You dig into your backpack and pull out something wrapped in brown paper. Jimin watches curiously as you unwrap it to reveal a leather-bound photo album, the kind with blank pages where you manually insert photos. Old school.

She looks confused. "Is that... a notebook?"

"Photo album. And since we're going to be offline for a bit, disconnected from everything digital, I thought we could do something more manual. A special little project." You hold it up. "There's an analog camera here somewhere, my grandfather's old one. The idea is that you and I spend this week walking around the city, taking pictures, filling this album. Real physical photos that we develop and then put them in here.”

Jimin's eyes are getting wider.

"And in the future," you continue, "when we look back on this time in our lives, we won't remember the scandal or the hate or the fear. We'll remember this album. These photos. The memories we made together when everything else was falling apart."

"YES!" Jimin literally shouts it, jumping up from the mattress. "Oh my god, yes! That's brilliant! That's so romantic!"

She throws herself at you, nearly knocking you over. Her arms wrap around your neck and she's kissing you, fast excited kisses all over your face.

"This is perfect," she says between kisses. "This is the most beautiful thing anyone's ever planned for me. We're going to fill that whole album. Every single page."

"I was hoping you'd be into it."

"Into it? I'm obsessed with it. Come on, let's go right now." She grabs your hand and starts pulling you toward the door.

You laugh, holding her back. "Wait, wait. We need the camera first. And the film rolls. And we also need to water the plants in the backyard before we leave. My cousin specifically asked about the plants."

She stops, composing herself. "Right. You're right. Okay. Camera first. Where is it?"

"Honestly? No idea. I haven't been here in years. We'll have to search for it."

You both start looking through the house. Jimin takes the office room, going through drawers and closets. You check the main bedroom, looking in the wardrobe and under the bed. Nothing. You move to the living room, checking the cabinets built into the walls. Still nothing.

"Found film!" Jimin calls from the office. "There's like, a whole box of unused rolls."

"Nice. Keep looking for the camera."

Ten minutes later, you're starting to worry your grandfather's camera got lost or donated when Jimin calls out from the kitchen.

"Got it!"

You rush in and find her holding up a vintage Canon AE-1, the black body a little worn but clearly well cared for. There's a lens attached and a brown leather strap.

"Where was it?"

"In the cabinet above the fridge. There's a whole shelf of random stuff up there."

You take the camera from her, feeling the weight of it. It's heavier than modern cameras, solid and real in your hands. You pop open the back to check the mechanisms and everything looks functional.

"This was my grandfather's," you say, running your thumb over the grip. "He developed this little hobby for photography when he got older. Started taking tons of photos. He loved photographing my grandmother especially. Just candid shots of her cooking or reading or tending the garden. She'd always complain about it but you could tell she secretly loved the attention."

Jimin moves closer, looking at the camera with new appreciation.

"When he got sick," you continue, "near the end, he told me he wanted me to have this. Made me promise I'd take care of it, use it, keep taking pictures. But I never came back here to pick it up after he passed. Life got busy, I went to study abroad, and I just... forgot. I don't know. It's a strange feeling. But now feels like the right time, you know? Like maybe he was waiting for this moment."

Jimin's hand finds yours. "I remember when you'd come here on weekends. You'd come back with all these funny stories about your grandparents. Your grandmother teaching you to make kimchi, your grandfather showing you his garden. I always wanted to come with you so badly."

"You did?"

"Yeah. I'd ask my parents all the time if I could tag along, but they never let me. Said it was family time and I shouldn't intrude." She looks around the house again, this wistful expression on her face. "I used to imagine what it was like here. Built this whole fantasy version in my head."

"And now you're here," you say. "With me."

She smiles, that real genuine smile that makes her whole face light up. "Yeah. Now I'm finally here. With you."

You load the film into the camera, the mechanical click satisfying as it catches. "Alright. Camera's ready. We've got film. We just need to water those plants and then we can start our photography adventure."

"Lead the way."

The backyard is a lush, slightly wild patch of green. There are raised beds overflowing with herbs and vegetables you can't name, and a line of clay pots with blooming flowers sits along the stone wall. A hose is coiled up near the back door, but you also spot a vintage-looking metal watering can hanging from a hook on the wall.

"I'll get the plants," Jimin says, taking the watering can.

"Are you sure? I can do it."

"No, I want to. I haven't done anything like this since... ever, probably." She fills the can from the spigot and starts methodically watering the tomato plants.

You watch her for a moment, the afternoon sun filtering through the leaves of a large persimmon tree, catching the highlights in her hair. She's completely absorbed in her task. An idea sparks. You quietly lift your grandfather's camera, holding it up to your eye, pretending it's a full-blown documentary camera.

"And here we are," you say in your best David Attenborough voice, low and serious. "Witnessing something truly rare. The elusive K-pop idol, Yoo Jimin, also known as Karina, spotted far from her natural habitat of sold-out stadiums and blinding camera flashes."

Jimin looks up, a confused smile on her face. "What are you doing?"

"Shhh," you whisper loudly. "We're documenting. Here she is, engaging in... is that manual labor? Yes, it appears to be. Watering plants like an ordinary, common woman. What a historical record for future generations. Notice the technique, the focus. She shows a surprising aptitude for it."

She sighs but can't hide the wide grin spreading across her face. "Oh my god, stop. You're ridiculous." She turns her back to you, pretending to be focused on a pot of basil, but you can see her shoulders shaking with laughter.

"C'mon, don't be camera shy," you continue, circling her. "The world needs to see this. The 'real' Karina. Unplugged. Unfiltered. One with the earth."

She finally turns back, trying and failing to look annoyed. "Don't you have something better to film?"

"Nope. This is the most interesting thing happening in the world right now." You zoom in on her face. "Okay, okay, documentary's over." You pull the camera away from her for a moment. "But seriously, stay right there. Just... smile for me. A real one."

And that's how it starts. The mini photoshoot in the backyard. She doesn't even have to try. Every angle is her best angle. You tell her to lean against the old wooden fence, and she does, looking off into the distance like she's on the cover of some indie folk album. You have her sit on the stone steps of the back porch, and she pulls her knees to her chest, laughing as you tell a joke. She picks a small wildflower and tucks it behind her ear, her expression turning dreamy. She makes you look like some genius photographer, but you know the truth: the camera just loves her. It's impossible to take a bad picture of Yoo Jimin.

At the end of it all, she stands up, brushing her hands on her dress. "Okay, I think my modeling career is officially over. My hands are filthy."

She walks over to the hose to wash them, turning the spigot just enough for a gentle stream. The water splashes over her hands, washing away the dark soil. Her hair, which was perfectly styled this morning, is now loose and a little wild from the breeze and her movements. A smudge of dirt has found its way onto her floral dress, just above the hem. And as she looks up at you, pushing a stray strand of hair from her face, she looks absolutely perfect. Not idol perfect, with the flawless makeup and designer clothes. Just... her. Real and beautiful and standing in your grandmother's backyard.

You raise the camera one last time. The shutter clicks.

You know you've just captured something true.

"What was that one for?" she asks, drying her hands on her dress.

"That," you say, "was the first official photo for our album."

Her face lights up. "We did it! We started!" She runs over and jumps into your arms, wrapping her legs around your waist. "We already have photos! This is going to be the best album ever."

You hold her tight. “It’s going to go down in history as the best amateur photography album,” you say, laughing as you kiss the top of her head.

Finally, after finishing watering the plants, you and Jimin step out of the house. She has the camera strap slung over her shoulder this time. She looks like a tourist, an adventurer, anything but a global superstar on the run from a career-ending scandal.

"Okay," she says, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Where to first, Mr. Photographer?"

"I was thinking we'd just... walk. See where the city takes us." You shrug. "No plan. Just moments."

She loves that. Her smile is so wide it makes her eyes crinkle at the corners. "This feels like a movie."

"Which one?"

"I don't know yet. We're writing it as we go."

Your first stop is an old bridge that arches over the Bukhan River. The water flows lazily below, sparkling in the sun. A few fishermen are dotted along the banks, their lines cast out in patient silence. It’s a world away from the frantic energy of Seoul.

"Okay, go stand in the middle," you instruct, already lifting the camera to your eye.

Jimin walks to the center of the bridge and leans against the railing, looking out over the water. The wind gently plays with her hair, and the floral dress flutters around her legs. She’s not posing, not really. She's just being. And it’s breathtaking.

"Did you get it?" she calls out.

"I think so. We'll find out in a few weeks"

She laughs. "The suspense is killing me. My turn."

She runs over, takes the camera from you, and shoves you gently toward the railing. "Your turn to look pensive and handsome."

You feel awkward, unsure what to do with your hands. "I'm not the model here."

"Bullshit. You're my model." She circles you, looking through the viewfinder. "Okay, just… think about something. Something good."

You think about her. About waking up next to her this morning, about the way she laughed when you pretended to be a documentary filmmaker, about how right it feels to be here with her.

"Got it!" she says, looking pleased with herself.

As you wander deeper into the town, you fall into an easy rhythm. You take pictures of her admiring a display of colorful pottery outside a shop. She takes a picture of you buying two ice cream cones from a street vendor. You capture the way she closes her eyes in bliss with her first bite of the strawberry cone. She captures the smear of chocolate you have on your nose. Each click of the shutter feels like you're bottling a little piece of this perfect day.

You find a quiet side street lined with old bookstores and small, independent cafes. The walls are covered in layers of faded murals and peeling paint, a collage of history and art.

"Oh, this is beautiful," Jimin says, running her hand over a painting of a giant koi fish. "This reminds me of that movie. You know the one."

"Which one?"

"Before Sunrise." she answers softly. "Two people, just walking and talking through a beautiful city, falling in love. That's us right now. Except we're already in love."

"I think that makes it the sequel," you say, leaning against the wall next to her. "Before Sunset."

"The one where they find each other again after years apart? Oh my god, that's even more us!" She looks at you, her eyes shining. "This whole day feels like a scene from it. Just… us against the world, making our own little bubble."

You reach out and tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "I'd walk through a thousand cities with you."

"Good. Because I'd want you to."

She raises the camera and snaps a picture of you, so close you can hear the whir of the film advancing. Then she hands the camera back.

"We need one together," she says. "For the first page of the album."

"A selfie with this thing is going to be tricky." You hold the heavy camera at arm's length, trying to angle it so you're both in the frame. It’s awkward and heavy.

"Here, let me." Jimin squeezes in next to you, her cheek pressing against yours. She wraps her arm around your back, her other hand helping you support the camera. You're tangled up together, laughing as you try to find the shutter button without looking.

"Okay, on three," you say. "Smile."

"One… two…"

She turns at the last second and kisses your cheek.

"Did we get it?" she asks, pulling back with a grin.

"No idea," you laugh. "But if we did, it's a good one."

You can feel the moment solidifying into a memory even as it's happening. The warmth of her body pressed against yours, the scent of her perfume, the feeling of her lips on your skin. This picture, whether it turns out blurry or perfectly in focus, will always be this feeling.

She takes your hand as you continue walking, her fingers laced through yours. "This is the best plan you've ever had," Jimin says quietly, leaning her head on your shoulder as you walk. "Even better than camping."

"I told you it was simpler."

"It's not simple," she counters. "It's… essential. It's real. Just us."

You squeeze her hand. The scandal feels like a bad dream you’re slowly waking up from. It's still out there, waiting for you. But for now, in this quiet city, under the golden afternoon sun, it can’t touch you. So, like this, you two continue, without any clear direction, you wander down the main street until you spot a small family-run restaurant with paper lanterns hanging in the window. The kind of place that's been there for decades, where the menu is handwritten and laminated, slightly faded from years of use.

"You hungry?" you ask.

Jimin nods enthusiastically. "Starving. All this walking and picture taking has me ready to eat everything."

The interior is cozy, maybe six tables total. An older woman greets you with a warm smile and gestures to a table by the window. You slide into the booth across from Jimin, the camera carefully placed on the seat beside you. The menu is simple. Comfort food. Jjigae, bibimbap, various banchan. Perfect.

After you both order bibimbap, Jimin leans forward on her elbows, chin resting in her hands. "You know, I just realized I never asked you about your student exchange. How was it? You were in London, right?"

"Yeah, London. It was really cool, actually. Different from what I expected but in a good way."

"Would you ever want to go back? Like, work there or something?"

You take a sip of the barley tea the woman brought over. The question sits heavier than it should. "Funny you should ask that."

"Why?"

"I've never told anyone this, but..." You pause, tracing the rim of your glass with your finger. "I actually got a job offer there. After I finished the exchange program. A good one too, PR firm, international clients, the whole package."

Jimin's eyebrows shoot up. "Wait, seriously? Why didn't you take it?"

"It was around the time my grandparents passed away. Both of them, same year. Three months apart. My grandmother first, then my grandfather just... gave up, I think. Didn't want to be here without her."

"Oh," Jimin says softly.

"And I was sitting in this tiny London apartment, staring at the job offer email, and I just... couldn't do it. Something about losing them made me realize I didn't want to be far away from the people I love. From family. From home." You meet her eyes. "Something told me I needed to come back, to stay close. And then eventually I ran into you again. Maybe it was a sign, you know? Like I was supposed to find you again."

Jimin's expression has shifted, something tender and aching in it.

"So I'm glad I turned it down," you continue. "My parents don't know about the offer. They'd probably think I was insane for rejecting it. But I don't regret it at all."

You find yourself getting lost in the thought, your gaze drifting to the window where people pass by on the street, living their ordinary lives. "Time passes too quickly to not spend it close to the people you love. That would be too great a sacrifice, you know? I'm probably built wrong for this world." You laugh a little. "Modern capitalism, the current model of society, all of it tells you to chase opportunities, climb ladders, sacrifice everything for career advancement. The way I acted wasn't conventional. Most people would think it's stupid, actually. Objectively stupid."

The food arrives but you barely notice, still caught in your own thoughts.

"And maybe I'll be unemployed now after all this," you say, gesturing vaguely at the situation you're both in. "But at least I found love. At least I have—"

You finally look at Jimin's face to tell her that the only right thing you did was choose to be with her, and you freeze. She's crying. Not sobbing, but tears are streaming down her cheeks, her eyes red and glassy.

"Whoa, hey, why are you crying?" You reach across the table instinctively.

"That's so sad," she says, sniffling. "I didn't know any of that. About your grandparents, both of them in the same year. God."

"Jimin—"

"You must have felt so much pressure at the time." She grabs your hand with both of hers, holding tight. "And you were alone in London dealing with all of it. I wish I'd been there to hug you. To help you through it."

You give a small laugh, squeezing her hands. "It's okay now, baby. You don't need to worry. It was hard, yeah, but it's okay now. Really. You don't need to cry."

"I'm sorry." She wipes at her face with the back of her hand, smudging her minimal makeup. "I just feel so sorry for what you went through. And you never told anyone about the job offer, you've been carrying that alone this whole time."

Without thinking, you reach for the camera and lift it to your eye.

Jimin blinks, startled. "Why did you just take a picture of me like this? I'm a mess."

"I don't know." You set the camera down gently. "It just seemed real. You, right now, caring about something that happened to me years ago. Getting emotional over it. That's real. Genuine, I guess.”

She sniffles, trying to compose herself. "You're so weird, babe."

"You love it."

"I do." A watery smile breaks through. "I love you."

"I love you too.

The restaurant owner brings extra napkins without commenting on Jimin's tears, just gives a knowing, grandmotherly smile before retreating. You finally start eating, the conversation shifting to lighter things, but something has deepened between you. Another layer peeled back, another piece of yourselves shared and held sacred.

You clear your throat, gesturing to the steaming bowls in front of you both. "Come on, let's eat before it gets cold. This looks too good to waste."

Jimin nods, wiping the last traces of tears from her cheeks with the napkin. She picks up her chopsticks and takes her first bite of the bibimbap, mixing the vegetables and rice together. Almost immediately, her expression shifts from emotional vulnerability to pure contentment. Her eyes close and she makes this small sound of satisfaction that makes you smile despite everything. There's something about watching her eat, the way she loses herself in simple pleasures, that makes your chest feel full. She's beautiful like this. Just Jimin, your Jimin, sitting across from you in a small-town restaurant with slightly red eyes, completely absorbed in a bowl of rice and vegetables.

You dig into your own food. The two of you eat in comfortable silence for a while. It's domestic and easy, the kind of moment that doesn't need words to be perfect. At one point she looks up at you mid-bite and just smiles, this soft genuine thing that reaches her eyes, and you think about how you'd give up a thousand job offers in London just to have more moments exactly like this one.

When you're both finished, you flag down the owner and pay the bill despite Jimin's half-hearted protest that she should pay since she's the one with the idol money. You remind her that you're technically still employed for at least another week, so you're taking advantage while you can. That makes her laugh as you both stand and gather your things. Your stomach is full and happy, that pleasant heaviness that comes from a good meal shared with someone you love.

Outside, the late afternoon sun has started its descent, painting everything in shades of gold and amber. Jimin stretches her arms above her head, her dress riding up slightly before she smooths it back down. "Where to now?" she asks, linking her arm through yours. "It's going to get dark soon."

"I've got a few ideas," you start to say, already thinking about the small park you remember from childhood visits, the one with the old pavilion that overlooks the valley. "There's this place I used to go with my grandfather, up on the hill where—"

"Oh my god!"

The sudden shriek cuts you off mid-sentence. You both turn to find a group of four girls, probably late teens or early twenties, frozen on the sidewalk about ten feet away. Their eyes are wide, phones already halfway out of their pockets, staring at Jimin like they've just witnessed a miracle.

"It's Karina!" one of them says with disbelief. "It's actually Karina!"

They rush over in a flurry of excitement. "Hi! Hello! Oh my god, we're such huge fans!" They glance at you briefly, a quick polite nod and a "hello" in your direction, but their focus immediately returns to Jimin, who looks momentarily caught off guard, her body tensing slightly against yours before she smooths her expression into something warm and polite. The switch is so fast you almost miss it, the way she shifts from girlfriend to idol in the span of a heartbeat. "Hi," she says, genuinely kind despite the surprise. "How are you guys?"

"We're amazing! Even better now!" The tallest one of the group, wearing a denim jacket covered in enamel pins, gestures wildly. "You're so much more beautiful in person. Like, you don't even seem real."

Another girl, shorter with glasses, nods enthusiastically. "Seriously, you're like... glowing. How do you even look like this without all the stage makeup?"

Jimin laughs, a little embarrassed. "You guys are too sweet. Really."

"Can we take a picture with you?" the third girl asks, already pulling out her phone. "Please? We'll literally die if we don't."

"Of course," Jimin says without hesitation.

They take turns, each girl getting their individual selfie with her. Jimin knows exactly how to angle herself, which poses look best, where the light hits. She's done this thousands of times and it shows. Each girl looks absolutely euphoric when they check their photo, already probably planning which filter to use and what caption to write. You stand off to the side, holding the analog camera and watching. A couple of them glance at you with knowing looks, probably putting two and two together about who you are, but they don't say anything directly. There's this moment where the girl with the denim jacket meets your eyes and gives you this small nod, almost approving, before turning back to Jimin.

"We just want you to know," the girl with glasses says, "we're so sorry about what you're going through right now. The whole controversy thing. It's so unfair."

The others murmur in agreement. "We're totally on your side," another adds. "We've been supporting you online, fighting with all the haters."

The tall one grins proudly. "I wrote this whole thread defending you on Twitter and it got like fifteen thousand likes. People are with you, Karina. Real fans understand."

Something in Jimin's expression cracks, just for a second, and you see genuine gratitude flood her features. "Thank you," she says, smiling. "That means more than you know. Really. Thank you so much for supporting me."

"Is aespa going to end?" one of them asks quietly, almost afraid of the answer.

Jimin takes a breath. "I don't have clear answers right now," she admits. "Everything is really confusing and uncertain. But aespa isn't going to end. We're stronger than this."

"Good," the girl in the denim jacket says firmly. "Because true fans will be with you and the other girls until the end. No matter what. We're not going anywhere."

The conviction in her voice, the way all four of them nod in agreement, it's like watching a small army pledge their loyalty. Jimin's eyes get glassy again and she reaches out to squeeze the nearest girl's hand. "Thank you. All of you. For being here, for caring. It helps more than you know."

They eventually say their goodbyes, walking away in an animated cluster of excited whispers and phone checking. You watch them go before turning back to Jimin.

"That was nice," you say. "Seeing a little support every now and then. Reminds you it's not all terrible."

Jimin nods, still looking a bit emotional. "Yeah. It really does."

"Those are your true fans," you continue, "People who actually care about you, who want to see you well and happy. Not those other jerks who think they can control your life like you're some kind of puppet they own."

Jimin's eyebrows rise. "Oh, wow. Someone's a little sour now."

"I've got nothing left to lose at this point. Might as well say what I think. I'm done being the good guy. I'm the bad boy now."

That makes her laugh, loudly, the sound bright and clear in the quiet street. "You? A bad boy? Babe, you couldn't pull that off even if you tried. You're a little angel. All well-behaved and sweet. A total good boy."

You feel your cheeks heat up, laughing despite yourself. "I have layers, okay? I'm complex. Multifaceted."

"You have layers," she agrees, reaching up to pat your cheek affectionately. "And they're all adorable and cute."

"Alright, alright," you concede, "I can see you're not going to let me win this one."

She grins triumphantly, taking your hand again. "Never. Now come on, show me this place you were talking about before we were so wonderfully interrupted."

—

After a full day of wandering through Gapyeong's quiet streets, snapping photos and stealing moments that feel like they belong in a different, simpler world, you both finally make it back to the house. You set the plastic bag containing your dinner on the kitchen table, and both of you collapse onto the couch with synchronized groans of exhaustion and satisfaction.

"That was a great day," Jimin says, letting her head fall back against the cushions, eyes closed.

"Yeah," you agree, carefully placing your grandfather's camera on the coffee table. "We used up the whole roll."

She opens one eye to look at the camera. "All of it?"

"Every single shot. Thirty-six pictures of the best day."

"It's kind of crazy to think about, you know? My career is under threat. Everything I've built since I was a teenager is on the verge of collapsing. The entire world is probably talking about me right now, tearing me apart online. And yet..." She gestures around the quiet living room, at the two of you sprawled on this old couch in the middle of nowhere. "Everything feels so peaceful right now. Like none of that exists."

She shifts closer, cupping your face with one hand, her thumb tracing the line of your cheekbone. Her eyes search yours, dark and deep and full of love. Then she leans in and kisses you, slow and soft, tasting faintly of the honey candy she'd been sucking on during the walk home. When she pulls back, her forehead rests against yours.

"Thank you," she whispers. "For this. For today, for this week, for this moment. Things don't seem so bad when I'm by your side."

You catch her hand and bring it to your lips, kissing her palm, her wrist, the delicate inside of her forearm. "Always," you murmur against her skin.

She sighs, content, then reluctantly pulls away. "I should take a shower. Get cleaned up. Then we can have dinner, maybe watch a movie together?" She stretches, her dress riding up slightly on her thighs before she tugs it back down. "Something mindless and fun. No thinking allowed."

"Sounds perfect," you say, but you don't move. An idea has been forming in the back of your mind all day, watching her laugh and pose and exist so freely in that floral dress that catches the light just right. "But first, there's something I want to do for you. To help you relax."

Her eyebrow arches, curious. "Oh?"

You slide off the couch and kneel on the floor between her legs, your hands coming to rest on her knees. She watches you with growing interest, her breath already changing rhythm. You let your palms slide slowly up her thighs, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her dress.

"You look so beautiful in this dress," you tell her, leaning in to press a kiss to her inner thigh, just above her knee. "Been thinking about this all day."

She makes a soft sound, her legs parting slightly. "Have you?"

"Mm-hmm." You kiss higher, your hands following the path of your mouth, gradually pushing the hem of her dress up inch by inch. Her skin is soft and warm, and you can feel the fine tremor running through her muscles as you work your way up. Another kiss, then another, trailing a slow line toward the apex of her thighs.

"Okay," she breathes, her hand coming to rest in your hair. "Don't stop."

You have no intention of stopping. Your lips continue their journey, reverent and unhurried, as your hands push her dress higher until it's bunched around her hips. She's wearing simple cotton panties, already damp, and the sight makes heat coil low in your belly. Her legs open wider for you, her head falling back against the couch as a sigh escapes her lips.

"God," she murmurs, eyes fluttering closed. "That feels good."

You hook your fingers into the waistband of her panties and slowly drag them down her thighs, over her knees, off completely. She's gorgeous like this, spread out before you, her pussy pink and glistening in the dim lamplight. You look up at her face, flushed and wanting, and can't help but smile.

"You know," you say, your breath ghosting over her skin, "the good side of this exile is that we can have sex whenever we want. No sneaking around, no worrying about who might walk in."

Jimin laughs breathlessly, starting to respond. "True, we can just… Just… Oh fuck!’

Her words dissolve into a moan as your mouth finally makes contact, your tongue dragging slowly through her folds. She tastes like perfection, and the sound she makes,high and needy, goes straight to your cock. Your hands grip her thighs, holding her open as you work your tongue against her clit, circling and teasing until her hips start to roll against your face.

"Yes," she gasps, her fingers tightening in your head. "Just like that. Don't stop, please don't stop."

And you don't. You settle into a rhythm, your tongue working against her clit in slow, deliberate circles that have her gasping and squirming on the couch. Her taste fills your senses, sweet and musky and entirely addictive. You can feel her thighs trembling on either side of your head, the muscles tensing and releasing with each stroke of your tongue. Her hand is still tangled in your hair, not quite pulling but holding you there like she's afraid you might stop.

"Fuck," she breathes, her hips rolling up to meet your mouth. "That's so good. Your tongue feels so good."

You pull back just enough to speak, your lips still brushing against her wet heat. "You taste incredible. I could do this for hours." And you mean it. There's something intoxicating about having her like this, spread open and vulnerable and completely at your mercy. You drag your tongue through her folds again, slower this time, savoring every inch of her.

Jimin whimpers, her free hand clutching at the couch cushion beside her. "You're teasing me."

"Maybe a little," you admit, grinning against her pussy. You place an open-mouthed kiss directly on her clit and she jerks, a sharp gasp escaping her. "But you like it when I tease you, don't you baby?"

"Yes," she admits breathlessly. "God, yes. But I also like it when you make me come."

"Patience," you murmur, and then you're back to work, your tongue flat and broad as you lick her from entrance to clit in one long, slow stroke. She moans, low and needy, and you do it again. And again. Building a steady rhythm that has her panting above you.

You can feel her getting wetter, her arousal coating your chin and lips. The sounds she's making are obscene, these breathy little moans and whimpers that make your cock strain painfully against your pants. You shift slightly, trying to relieve some of the pressure, but your focus stays entirely on her. On the way her body responds to every touch, every lick, every deliberate stroke of your tongue.

"Talk to me," you say between kisses to her inner thigh. "Tell me how it feels."

Jimin's head is thrown back, her neck arched beautifully, and it takes her a moment to find words. "It feels... fuck, it feels amazing. Like I'm going to lose my mind. Your mouth is so fucking perfect."

You hum against her clit in approval and she cries out, her hips bucking. "Sensitive?" you ask, even though you know the answer.

"Very," she gasps. "Everything feels so intense right now. Like every nerve is on fire."

You love that you can do this to her, reduce her to this trembling, desperate thing. Karina, the untouchable idol who commands stages and captivates millions, completely undone by your tongue. There's power in that, and tenderness too. You press a soft kiss to her clit before taking it gently between your lips and sucking.

"Oh god, oh fuck—" Her words dissolve into a moan, her fingers tightening almost painfully in your hair. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

But you do stop, pulling back to look up at her. Her face is flushed, lips parted as she pants, eyes full of arousal and a hint of frustration at the loss of contact. "Look at me," you tell her.

She does, her gaze finding yours, and the sight of you between her legs, chin wet with her arousal, makes her whimper. "You're cruel."

"I just want to see you," you say, your hands stroking soothingly up and down her thighs. "Want to watch your face while I make you feel good." You lean in again, your tongue flicking quickly over her clit. Her mouth opens on a silent gasp. "You're so beautiful like this. So fucking perfect."

"I'm a mess," she protests weakly.

"Yeah," you agree, grinning. "My mess." You dive back in with enthusiasm, alternating between broad strokes of your tongue and focused attention on her clit. You can feel her getting closer, the tension building in her body, the way her breathing becomes more erratic.

"That's it," she encourages. "Right there, fuck, right there."

You maintain the exact rhythm and pressure she needs, your hands gripping her hips to hold her steady as she starts to rock against your face. Her thighs are trembling violently now, squeezing around your head, and you know she's close. So close. You can feel it in the way her muscles are tensing, hear it in the pitch of her moans climbing higher and higher.

But then you slow down, easing off just enough to keep her on the edge without pushing her over.

"No," she whines. "Why did you… I was so close."

You pull back again, placing soft kisses along her inner thigh while she catches her breath. "I know. I want to take my time with you. We're not in a rush, remember? No one's going to interrupt us. No schedules to keep. Just you and me."

She makes a sound that's something between a laugh and a groan. "You're going to kill me."

"Never," you promise. You want to worship her, to spend hours between her thighs learning every sound she makes, every spot that makes her gasp. "Besides, you love it when I draw it out. When I make you wait for it."

"I do," she admits, her hand gentle in your hair now, stroking rather than gripping. "But I also love when you make me come so hard I can't think straight."

"We'll get there," you assure her. "I promise. But first..." You lean in and run your tongue through her folds again, gathering her wetness. "I want to enjoy this. Enjoy you."

She shivers at your words, at the sensation of your mouth on her again. "You're such a tease."

"Only because you're so fun to tease." You focus your attention on her clit again, circling it with the tip of your tongue in a pattern that has her moaning within seconds. "And because you get so wet when I take my time. Look at you, baby. You're dripping."

"That's your fault," she gasps, her hips rolling seeking more pressure.

"Mm, I'll take responsibility for that." You slide one finger through her entrance, not pushing in yet, just gathering the slickness there. "You feel so good. So soft and wet and perfect."

"Please," she breathes. "I need more."

"More of this?" You circle her clit with your tongue, firm and steady.

"Yes, fuck, yes."

"Or more of this?" You slowly slide one finger inside her, feeling her clench around you immediately.

Her back arches off the couch. "Both. Everything. I need everything."

You add a second finger, curling them to find that spot inside her that makes her see stars, while your mouth continues its relentless assault on her clit. The combination has her crying out, her hands scrambling for purchase on the couch, on your shoulders, anywhere she can reach. She's close again, you can tell from the way her walls are fluttering around your fingers, from the increasingly desperate sounds falling from her lips.

But you're not ready to let her come yet. You want to keep her here, suspended in this perfect moment of pleasure and need, for just a little longer. So you ease up again, your movements becoming gentler, more teasing. Maintaining just enough stimulation to keep her desperate but not enough to push her over the edge.

"Baby," she pleads. "Please. I'm so close."

"I know," you murmur against her skin. "I can feel it. You're squeezing my fingers so tight."

"Then let me come," she begs. "Please, I need it."

You decide it's time to stop teasing, to give her what she's been begging for. “Okay, then,” you say. Your fingers curl inside her with renewed purpose, finding that rough patch of nerves that makes her entire body tense, while your mouth latches onto her clit with focused intensity. No more pulling back, no more easing off. Just relentless, deliberate pleasure designed to take her apart completely.

"Oh fuck," Jimin gasps, her whole body going rigid. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, that's—"

Her words cut off into a strangled moan as you increase the pressure, your fingers stroking that spot inside her in firm, steady strokes while your tongue works her clit in tight circles. She's writhing on the couch now, her hips grinding against your face, chasing the orgasm that's building like a storm inside her. One of her hands flies to her breast, squeezing through the fabric of her dress, while the other stays tangled in your hair, holding you exactly where she needs you.

"Don't stop," she chants. "Don't stop, don't stop, I'm so close, I'm—"

You can feel it building, the way her walls are clenching rhythmically around your fingers, the way her thighs are shaking so hard she can barely hold them open. She's right there, balanced on that knife's edge between pleasure and release, and you're determined to push her over. You double down, your fingers pumping faster, curling harder against that spot, your mouth unrelenting on her swollen clit.

"Yes, yes, yes—" Her back arches completely off the couch, her whole body going taut as a bowstring. "I'm gonna… oh god, I'm gonna—"

That's when you adjust the angle of your fingers just slightly, pressing firmly against that special spot deep inside her, and everything changes. Her eyes fly open wide and then she's coming with a force that takes both of you by surprise. Clear fluid suddenly gushes from her, spraying across your hand, your chest, soaking the couch cushion beneath her as her entire body convulses.

"Oh my god!" she cries out high and desperate as the orgasm crashes through her. "Oh my god, oh my god—"

You keep your fingers moving, working her through it, feeling her walls clamping down so hard it's almost difficult to maintain the rhythm. More fluid pulses out with each stroke, her body completely out of her control as wave after wave of pleasure rocks through her. She's squirting, really squirting, and it's the hottest thing you've ever witnessed. Her hand is still squeezing her breast desperately, her other hand has abandoned your hair to clutch at the couch, and her face is twisted in an expression of pure ecstasy.

"That's it, baby," you encourage. "Let it all out. You're so fucking beautiful like this."

She's making these broken, sobbing sounds, her hips jerking with each pulse, and you can feel the wet heat of her release coating your hand, your forearm, dripping down onto the floor. It seems to go on forever, her body wringing every last drop of pleasure from the orgasm until finally, finally, she collapses back against the couch, trembling and gasping for air.

You carefully withdraw your fingers and she whimpers at the sensitivity, her whole body twitching. You climb up her body, capturing her mouth in a deep, hungry kiss, letting her taste herself on your lips and tongue. She kisses back weakly, still trying to catch her breath, her hands coming up to frame your face.

When you pull back, she's staring at you with dazed, unfocused eyes. Then awareness starts to creep back in, and her gaze drifts down to survey the damage. Her hand slowly moves to cover her mouth as the full scope of what just happened registers.

"Oh my god," she says, voice muffled behind her hand. "Oh my god, I just—" She looks at the couch cushion beneath her, which is absolutely soaked through, dark with wetness. Then at your shirt, which is splattered and damp. Then at the floor, where there are visible puddles. "I squirted everywhere. I squirted all over your cousin's couch!"

You fall down beside her, careful to avoid the wet spots, and you start laughing, eventually she does too, these breathless giggles that shake both your bodies.

"Holy shit," you manage between laughs. "That was so hot but also—"

"Your cousin's couch!" she repeats, dissolving into another fit of giggles. "How are we going to explain this?"

"I mean, we could just... not tell him?" you suggest, which makes her laugh even harder.

"There's a literal puddle on the floor!" She gestures wildly. "Multiple puddles! It looks like we had a water fight in here!"

You're both laughing so hard your sides hurt, the post-orgasm endorphins mixing with the ridiculousness of the situation. Jimin rolls toward you, burying her face in your shoulder, her body still shaking with laughter.

"I can't believe that just happened," she mumbles against your shirt. "I've never... I didn't know I could do that."

"I didn't know you could either," you admit, running your hand through her hair. "But fuck, that was the hottest thing I've ever seen."

She lifts her head to look at you, her face still flushed, hair a complete mess, and she's grinning despite her embarrassment. "Yeah?"

"Absolutely. Ten out of ten, would make you squirt all over my cousin's furniture again."

That sets her off into another round of giggles. "Stop! We need to figure out how to clean this before it stains!" But she makes no move to get up, just lies there against you, still catching her breath.

"Okay, okay," you say, trying to be serious but failing as another laugh escapes. "We need a plan. First, we find towels. Lots of towels. Then maybe some kind of upholstery cleaner? Do we have that?"

"I have no idea what's under the sink," Jimin says. "But we better find something because I am not explaining this to your cousin."

"'Hey, thanks for letting us stay, by the way your couch had a really good time,'" you say in a mock-serious tone, and she smacks your chest, laughing.

"You're terrible!"

"You love me.

"I do," she agrees, her laughter finally subsiding into soft giggles. "Even though you just ruined your cousin's couch with your magical fingers."

"Excuse me, we ruined the couch. Team effort."

She snorts, then pushes herself up to sitting, putting her panties back in place as surveying the damage with a more critical eye. "Okay. Towels first. Then we figure out the cleaning situation. Then maybe we just… keep this a secret until the end of our lives?"

"Sounds like a good plan," you agree, sitting up beside her.

She looks at you, at the wet patch on your shirt, at the absolute mess surrounding you both, and shakes her head with a smile. "This week just keeps getting weirder."

"Weird good or weird bad?"

"Weird perfect," she says, leaning in to kiss you softly. "Even with the property damage.”

—

The week unfolds like a carefully constructed dream, each day following a gentle rhythm that feels almost meditative in its simplicity. What you'd hoped would happen is actually working: the routine, the distraction, the deliberate choice to exist in this small bubble removed from the chaos of Seoul and the internet and the career crisis hanging over both your heads like a sword. Every morning starts the same way: you and Jimin stumbling out of bed, still tangled in each other, making your way to the backyard with the watering can. It's become a ritual, this quiet act of tending to your cousin's plants while the morning sun filters through the persimmon tree and birds chirp in the distance. Jimin always insists on doing most of the watering herself, saying it's therapeutic, and you're content to watch her move through the garden in whatever oversized t-shirt she stole from your suitcase the night before.

Breakfast is simple, usually whatever you can scrounge from the local market; fresh eggs, rice, kimchi that the elderly woman next door makes and keeps bringing over in endless supply. Then you're out the door, your grandfather's camera slung around your neck, ready to explore another corner of Gapyeong. You've been showing Jimin all the places you frequented as a child during those weekend visits: the bridge where you used to catch tadpoles, the hiking trail that leads to a stunning overlook of the valley, the tiny bookstore run by an old man who still remembers you and your fascination with comic books. Each location comes with stories, memories you'd almost forgotten until you're standing there with her, pointing out where you fell and scraped your knee or where your grandfather taught you to skip stones across the river.

And of course, there are the photographs. So many photographs. You went through all four rolls of film by Thursday afternoon, clicking away at everything: Jimin laughing at a street market, the way sunset hits the mountains, her profile as she examines pottery in a shop window, selfies where you're both grinning like idiots, candid shots of her just existing in the world. Yesterday you took everything to a specialized photography shop an hour away, the kind of place that still develops analog film with care. The owner looked through your order and whistled low. "That's a lot of memories," he said, and you agreed. He told you it would take two weeks and a half, maybe three depending on the backlog, and you left the shop feeling like you'd entrusted something precious to a stranger.

The surprising part is how little recognition Jimin has gotten while walking around. You'd expected it to be constant, overwhelming, but Gapyeong isn't Seoul. People here move slower, pay less attention to celebrity gossip. Sure, she's been spotted a few times (there was the group of girls that first day, and a couple other instances where fans approached shyly asking for photos), but everyone has been kind. Supportive, even. Telling her to stay strong, that they're on her side. It's allowed her to move through the world without the suffocating weight of a mask and hat obscuring her face, and you can see what that freedom does to her. The way her shoulders relax, the way she smiles more easily.

During this entire period, you've made a silent pact not to talk about the future. No discussions about what SM might decide, what the public thinks, whether aespa will survive this. Just the present. Just the two of you in this house, in this city, in these moments. The TV stays off except for when you watch movies at night (stupid comedies and action films that require zero emotional investment). No news. No updates. Just existing.

And it's working. Jimin looks lighter than you've seen her in weeks, maybe months. There's color in her cheeks, genuine laughter that reaches her eyes, a looseness to her movements that wasn't there before. She's sleeping better too, no longer waking up in the middle of the night with anxiety attacks or reaching for her phone with shaking hands. She's just... Jimin. Your Jimin. Not Karina the idol, not the center of a scandal, just a woman spending time with someone she loves.

Friday arrives and you barely notice until you're marking off another day on the mental calendar you've been keeping. A week ago you were sitting in Kim Youngmin's office being presented with impossible options. Now you're here, and it feels like a lifetime has passed.

But of course, you can't completely disconnect. You're not built that way, and neither is the situation. Someone needs to stay alert, to monitor what's happening in the world you've temporarily left behind. You need to know what Jimin’s and aespa’s reputations are like after SM’s official statement confirming your relationship. It’s been a few days since it was published; enough time to get a sense of the situation. So this afternoon, when Jimin mentions she's going next door to help Mrs. Kim with a cake recipe, you see an opportunity.

"I'll hold down the fort here," you tell her, kissing her forehead.

"Don't get into trouble," she warns playfully, already halfway out the door with an apron borrowed from the kitchen.

Once she's gone and the house settles into silence, you retrieve your MacBook from where it's been buried at the bottom of your suitcase all week. You make yourself a cup of coffee; strong and black, because you need the caffeine hit for what you're about to subject yourself to, and settle at the kitchen table. The laptop hums to life, the screen glowing bright in the afternoon dimness, and you take a fortifying sip before opening a browser.

The first thing you check is Twitter, because that's always where things explode first. Your timeline is a mess of Korean and English, fan accounts and news aggregators and opinion pieces. Things are still unstable, the discourse as vicious as you expected, but as you scroll deeper, you start to notice shifts. Cracks in the wall of hate.

Several idols have been speaking out. Not overtly (that would be career suicide in an industry built on unspoken rules), but discreetly. Taeyeon posted a cryptic Instagram story with lyrics about living authentically. Wheein liked a tweet defending Jimin's right to date. Moonbyul shared an article about the toxicity of parasocial relationships. Small acts of rebellion from people who understand the cost of this kind of scandal because they've navigated the same brutal system.

And then there's Yuna, who apparently missed the memo about subtlety entirely. Her Instagram story from fifteen hours ago is still up, a screenshot of an article about the controversy with her own text overlaid: "Let people live their lives. Love is love. 💕" It's been shared thousands of times, dissected and praised and criticized in equal measure. You have to laugh. Of course she'd be the least discreet.

There's also a text from her sitting in your messages, sent yesterday: "How are you guys holding up? Saw the news. This is bullshit. Rooting for you both 🙏"

It's funny. The girl who almost derailed your relationship through her flirting, who served as the catalyst for Jimin's jealousy and your first big fight, is now one of your most vocal supporters. She's really something else.

You shift your attention to the fan discourse, which is where the real battle is being waged. Korean netizens are predictably divided: a vocal segment screaming betrayal and demanding Jimin leave aespa, another contingent defending her right to happiness, most people somewhere in the muddled middle. But Western fans, the international audience that's become increasingly important to K-pop's global expansion, are overwhelmingly on Jimin's side. Tweets with tens of thousands of likes arguing that idols are human beings, that the industry's dating bans are archaic and cruel, that fans who can't support their favorites' happiness were never real fans to begin with.

"This is so fucked up. Karina deserves to be happy. Leave her alone." - 27K likes.

"If you're sending hate to Karina for dating, you're not a MY, you're just a toxic person." - 33K likes.

"The idol industry needs to change. This is 2025, not 1995. Let people LIVE." - 19K likes.

There's a coordinated hashtag campaign - #StandWithKarina - that's been trending globally for three days straight. Fan projects raising money for billboards in support. Video compilations of aespa's achievements set to emotional music with captions about unconditional love. It's not universal support, not even close, but it's something. Maybe enough of something to tip the scales.

You're so absorbed in scrolling, in cataloging every piece of evidence that might indicate this isn't a complete catastrophe, that you don't hear the door open until Jimin's voice breaks through your concentration.

"I'm back!" she announces, and you nearly jump out of your skin. "The cake turned out amazing, look."

She sets down a plate with several generous slices of what appears to be a honey castella cake, golden and fluffy and still slightly warm. Then her eyes land on the MacBook open in front of you.

"Why are you using the MacBook?" She asks, not in an accusatory way, just curiosity. "You weren't even supposed to bring it."

"I was just looking at a few things," you say, which is both true and a massive understatement. "Research. Mindless scrolling. You know how it is… chronically online and all that."

"Hmm." She eyes you skeptically, then her gaze drops to your mug. "Is that coffee?"

"Tea," you lie smoothly, taking a deliberate sip.

She leans closer, sniffing. "It smells like coffee."

You make a show of sniffing the cup yourself, your expression perfectly confused. "Really? I didn't even notice. Weird."

Jimin just laughs before looking at you like you're a kid eating candy before dinner. "I'm never going to be able to separate you from caffeine, am I? It's like a dependency. A medical condition."

"I can stop whenever I want," you protest.

"Sure you can, baby." She pulls out the chair next to you and sits down, stealing your mug for a sip and making a face when it's definitely coffee and not tea. "The week's almost over."

"Yeah," you say. "It is."

"What did you think?" She's looking at you now, studying your face. "Of all this. Was it boring? Was the countryside exile everything you hoped it would be?"

"Boring? No. It was..." You search for the right word. "Necessary. Good. Really good."

"It's been a while since I felt so..." She pauses, considering. "Normal. Like I was just a person doing person things. Walking around, taking pictures, making friends with the neighbor lady who keeps feeding us. No performances, no cameras, no expectations. Just existing." She's quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing patterns on the table. "If I lost my career, I think having a normal life wouldn't be so bad. I could handle it. I'd have you anyway."

"Don't be pessimistic," you say automatically.

"I'm being realistic,” she counters gently. "You know there's a chance. A big chance. We both know that."

You can't argue with that. The possibility has been sitting in the back of your mind all week, a shadow you've been deliberately ignoring. "SM would never give up aespa," you say, trying for confidence. "It's one of their most profitable groups at the moment. The numbers don't lie."

She raises an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "So you just see my group as a product to be marketed? Pure capitalism?"

"Not me. The company. I think what you and the girls do is incredible, you know that. But from SM's perspective, yeah, you're an investment. A successful one."

"Okay, so you said SM would never give up on aespa." She's still smiling but there's something more bitter underneath now. "But... would they give up on me? Specifically me?"

It's a delicate question, you find yourself unable to immediately answer because the truth is yes, it's absolutely a possibility. Companies have done it before: sacrificed one member to save a group, calculated that the PR hit of removing someone is less damaging than keeping them. They're trying to save her image now, but if the metrics don't improve, if the sponsor deals keep falling through, if the comeback underperforms...

"They'd be crazy to do that," you finally say. "It would be the biggest mistake that company ever made."

"But they could," she presses.

"They could," you admit. "But they won't. You're too valuable. Too talented. Too—"

Her phone starts ringing, cutting you off. She glances at the screen and her whole face lights up. "It's the girls!" She accepts the video call and immediately three faces fill the screen; Giselle, Winter, and Ningning all crammed together on what looks like a couch in someone's apartment.

"Jimin!" they chorus in unison.

"Hi!" Jimin stands up, moving away from the table toward the living room for better light. "Oh my god, I miss you guys so much!"

"We miss you too," Winter says. "How's the countryside? Are you surviving without Instagram?"

"Barely," Jimin laughs. "But actually it's been amazing. We've been taking all these photos - analog, with an actual film camera - and we're making this whole album of memories. And I made friends with the neighbor, this sweet old lady who's been teaching me to bake. And we went hiking and—"

She's off, words tumbling out in an excited rush as she gives them a virtual tour of the house, showing them the backyard garden and the traditional architecture and the view from the bedroom window. You can hear them oohing and ahhing, asking questions, sharing their own updates about what's been happening in Seoul. Someone's been teaching Ningning guitar. Giselle booked a solo magazine shoot. Winter's been stress-baking and has made approximately fifteen batches of cookies in the past week.

Their conversation becomes background noise as your attention drifts back to the MacBook screen, to the tabs still open showing Twitter and news articles and fan forums. The support is there, tangible and growing, but so is the hate. The calls for Jimin to leave the group, to apologize, to sacrifice her happiness for the sake of her career. The industry think pieces about whether female idols can survive dating scandals in 2025. The endless speculation about SM's next move.

You think about what Jimin said. About them potentially giving her up. And you realize with creeping dread that she's not wrong to worry. The company will do whatever protects their bottom line, their other investments, their reputation. If keeping Jimin becomes more costly than letting her go, the choice becomes obvious from their perspective.

Behind you, Jimin's laugh rings out as Ningning apparently makes a face at the camera. They're talking about the tour now, whether it'll still happen, and you can hear the hope and fear mingled in their voices. These four women who've become sisters through shared dreams and brutal training and the unforgiving spotlight of fame, trying to hold onto something that's threatening to slip through their fingers.

You close the MacBook quietly. Whatever happens, you'll face it together. That's the only certainty you have right now.

—

You push through the apartment door with your shoulder, arms full of packages and your work bag sliding down toward your elbow. It's been another long day, your third since returning from Gapyeong, and the strange new reality of being back in Seoul is still settling into your body. The only sound inside the apartment is the low hum of the TV playing some drama Jimin's only half-watching. She's sprawled on the couch in one of your hoodies and shorts, hair piled messily on top of her head, and the sight of her makes the tension in your shoulders ease just a little.

"Hey," you say, dropping your bag and crossing to the couch. You lean down and kiss her, soft and lingering, tasting the cherry chapstick she's been obsessively applying all week.

She smiles against your lips before pulling back. "How was work?"

"It was okay." You straighten up, rolling your neck to work out the kinks. "Still weird being the main target of office gossip. Like, I can feel people staring and whispering whenever I walk past. But honestly? It's good to be back. Feels productive, you know? Like I'm doing something instead of just waiting."

"That's good," she says, and you can hear the genuine happiness in her voice even as something else flickers across her face (something that looks uncomfortably like envy or longing).

The fact that you're still working with aespa at all is nothing short of miraculous. Your direct superior, Ms. Park, the woman who's managed the team for three years and has always been fair and professional, went to bat for you hard. Apparently she gave this impassioned speech to the executives about your competency, your work ethic, how you've never once let personal matters interfere with your professional responsibilities. She convinced them that firing you would be a mistake, that you're too valuable an asset to lose over something that had nothing to do with your actual job performance. So instead of termination, you got reassigned within the same sphere: handling individual activities for Ningning, Giselle, and Winter. Nothing related to aespa as a group for now, nothing that would put you in direct proximity to Jimin during work hours, but still within the ecosystem you know and understand.

You know Jimin is happy for you. She told you as much when you came home on that first day, throwing her arms around you and saying how proud she was, how relieved. But you can also see the frustration eating at her, the way her jaw tightens when she talks about being stuck in this limbo. It's been fifteen days since SM's official statement, and since then, nothing. Radio silence from the company. No updates about comeback schedules, no clarity on the international tour, no word on when or if aespa's activities will resume. They're gauging reactions, running analytics, monitoring social media sentiment across different markets to determine their next move. And Jimin is stuck on the sidelines, watching her career hang in the balance while everyone else moves forward.

"Oh!" You remember suddenly, adjusting the package tucked under your arm. "These came today."

Her eyes immediately lock onto the parcel, curiosity sparking. "What is it?"

"The photos. From Gapyeong. They finally finished developing them."

The transformation is instantaneous. Jimin sits bolt upright, the lethargy that's been clinging to her all week evaporating. "Are you serious? They're here? The actual photos?"

"All of them." You grin at her reaction. "They sent it to me by mail. I just picked it up as soon as I got to the building.”

You set the package on the coffee table and head to the bedroom, returning with the leather-bound photo album you've been keeping on the nightstand. When you come back, Jimin has already migrated from the couch to the floor, sitting cross-legged in front of the coffee table like a kid on Christmas morning. You join her, settling down beside her as you carefully begin unwrapping the package. The shop wrapped everything in brown paper and twine and you have to cut through several layers before you finally reach the photos themselves.

They're organized in four separate envelopes, one for each roll of film, and the weight of them in your hands feels significant. Substantial. These aren't digital files that can be deleted or lost to a corrupted hard drive. These are physical objects, tangible proof that those days happened.

"It's like opening Pokémon cards," Jimin says breathlessly, watching you slide the first envelope open.

You pause, considering. "That's not a very accurate comparison, babe.”

"You know what I mean! The anticipation. Not knowing what you're going to get."

"Except we do know. We took these photos."

"But we don't know how they turned out! If they're blurry or perfectly clear or if we accidentally captured something magical. That's the whole point of analog." She reaches for the envelope eagerly. "Come on, let me see."

You hand it over and she pulls out the stack of photos with reverent care. The first one makes her gasp: it's from that very first day, in the backyard, when you caught her watering the plants. The late afternoon light is golden and perfect, and she's laughing at something, her head thrown back, completely unguarded. The floral dress, the messy hair, the smudge of dirt on her cheek. It's beautiful in a way that has nothing to do with professional styling or perfect angles.

"Oh my god," she whispers. "Look at this. I look so... happy."

"You were happy."

She stares at the photo for another moment before carefully setting it aside and moving to the next one. This one is the selfie you took together on the bridge, except she turned at the last second to kiss your cheek. The framing is slightly off, your thumb visible in the corner, but your expression (surprised and delighted) makes it perfect. Imperfect in the best way.

"I love this one," she says, tracing the edge with her finger. "This is definitely going in the album."

You open the photo album to the first page, blank and waiting. Together, you place the photo carefully in the corner slot, and just like that, the project becomes real. No longer an abstract idea but something you're building together, memory by memory.

The next envelope yields photos from the market; Jimin examining pottery with intense concentration, you holding up a ridiculous hat that neither of you ended up buying, candid shots of elderly vendors and colorful produce displays. Each one brings back the moment in vivid detail, the smell of fresh fish and roasted chestnuts, the sound of vendors calling out their prices, the way Jimin's hand felt in yours as you navigated the crowded aisles.

"I remember this," Jimin says, holding up a photo of herself biting into a hotteok, her eyes closed in bliss, sugar dusted across her lips. "That was the best thing I'd eaten in months. I wanted to go back and buy ten more."

"Why didn't we?"

"Because you said I'd get a stomach ache."

"I was being responsible."

"You were being a killjoy." But she's smiling as she says it, already placing the photo in the album.

The third envelope contains photos from the hike you took to the overlook. The trail winding through the forest, Jimin posed dramatically on a large boulder, the sweeping vista of the valley below with mountains layered in the distance like watercolor washes. There's one of you that she insisted on taking, sitting on a fallen log with your elbows on your knees, looking off to the side at something she'd pointed out. You barely remember the moment, but in the photo you look contemplative, peaceful.

"You're very photogenic when you're not trying," Jimin observes, studying the image. "When you're just existing."

"Thanks, I think?"

"It's a compliment. You're real. Not posed or manufactured. Just you." She looks at you then. "That's what I fell in love with, you know. How real you are. How you never pretend to be anything other than exactly who you are."

You just lean over and kiss her temple, letting the gesture say what words can't.

The fourth envelope is the most eclectic; photos from various days all mixed together. Jimin in the bookstore, reading the back of a novel. You at the restaurant table, mid-laugh at something she said. The sunset over the river, all oranges and purples and pinks. Her feet next to yours on the wooden porch of the house. A stray cat you befriended one afternoon. Jimin asleep on the couch with a book on her chest. Each image is a fragment of those days, and together they form a complete picture of what you shared.

You work in silence for a while, sorting through the photos and deciding which ones go where. Some are immediate favorites that you both agree on instantly. Others require debate (Jimin wants to include a blurry photo of you making a ridiculous face, and you veto it until she promises to include an equally unflattering one of herself). Compromise is reached.

As you place a photo of the two of you at sunset, silhouetted against the sky with your arms around each other, Jimin's eyes start to glisten. She blinks rapidly, trying to hold it back, but a single tear escapes and trails down her cheek.

"Hey," you say softly, wiping it away with your thumb. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I'm just... that week was so perfect. Looking at these, reliving it all, I just wish we could go back. Stay there forever."

"Me too."

"Everything was so simple there. No pressure, no expectations, no one judging us. Just you and me and all the time in the world." She picks up another photo, this one of her laughing at something, completely unaware of the camera. "I forgot what it felt like to just be Jimin. Not Karina, not an idol, just... me."

You set down the photo you were holding and turn to face her fully, taking both her hands in yours. "You're always just Jimin to me. Always have been, always will be. The rest is just what you do, not who you are."

She nods, squeezing your hands. "I know. And that's why this—" she gestures to the album, to the scattered photos, to the two of you sitting on the floor surrounded by memories, "—matters so much. You see me. The real me. And you're documenting it, preserving it. When I'm eighty years old and can barely remember my own name, I'll have this album. I'll look at these pictures and remember that once upon a time, when my whole world was falling apart, someone loved me enough to capture what it looked like when I was whole."

Now you're the one getting emotional, your throat tight with feelings too big for words. You pull her into your arms and she comes willingly, burying her face in your shoulder. Her body shakes slightly with suppressed sobs, and you just hold her, one hand stroking her back, the other cradling her head.

"We're going to be okay," you murmur into her hair. "Whatever happens with SM, with aespa, with all of it. We're going to be okay because we have this. These memories, these moments. They can't take that away from us."

She nods against your shoulder, her arms tightening around you. When she finally pulls back, her eyes are red but she's smiling. "Sorry. I didn't mean to get all emotional."

"Don't apologize. This is emotional. It's supposed to be."

She wipes her face and picks up the album, flipping through what you've completed so far. About a third of the pages are filled now, photos carefully arranged and placed. "We should add captions. Write little notes about what we were doing or what we were thinking."

"That's a good idea."

She finds a pen and starts writing in small, neat handwriting next to one of the photos. "Our first day. You made me laugh so hard I snorted." She looks up at you. "I did snort. You remember?"

"I remember. It was adorable."

"It was embarrassing."

"Adorably embarrassing."

You continue working, adding more photos and writing captions. Some are simple: dates and locations. Others are more elaborate like inside jokes and confessions and things you want your future selves to remember. Jimin's handwriting mingles with yours on the pages, creating something that belongs to both of you equally.

By the time you're done, it's past midnight and you've made significant progress. The album isn't complete yet (you still have dozens of photos to sort through and place) but it's taken shape. It exists. This tangible record of a week that saved you both in different ways.

Jimin yawns, stretching her arms above her head. "We should sleep."

"Probably."

Then the sudden trill of Jimin's phone cuts through the apartment, you both freeze, looking at each other with matching expressions of confusion. It's almost one in the morning - who the hell would be calling at this hour? Jimin reaches for her phone on the coffee table, and when she sees the caller ID, her eyebrows shoot up.

"It's from SM," she murmurs.

Late night calls from the company are never good news. At least, they haven't been lately. You watch as she accepts the call, bringing the phone to her ear.

"Hello? Yes, this is Jimin." Her face is carefully neutral, impossible to read. "Yes. Okay. I understand." A pause, and then something shifts in her expression; her eyes widen slightly, her lips part. "Really? Are you sure? When?" Another pause. "Okay. Yes, I'll be there. Thank you. Thank you so much."

She ends the call and just stares at the phone for a moment, like she's not entirely sure what just happened. You're practically vibrating with the need to know what that was about, but you force yourself to wait, to let her process whatever she just heard.

Finally, she looks up at you, and there are tears in her eyes. But this time, they're not sad tears.

"That was SM," she says. "A last-minute meeting just ended. aespa is resuming activities. The international tour is officially on."

For a second, you can't quite comprehend what she's saying. The words don't make sense, or maybe your brain is refusing to accept them because the alternative - the fear and uncertainty and worst-case scenarios - has been your default setting for so long that hope feels dangerous.

"Wait, what?"

"The tour!" She's suddenly on her feet, the photo album tumbling off her lap forgotten. "We're doing it! They said the Western markets responded positively enough that they're moving forward. The shows are confirmed. We're back!"

Then she's throwing herself into your arms with such force that you nearly topple backward. She's laughing and crying at the same time, her whole body shaking as she clings to you. You wrap your arms around her, holding her tight, and feel something that's been coiled tense in your chest for weeks finally start to unwind.

"You did it," you say into her hair. "You fucking did it."

"We did it," she corrects, pulling back to look at you. Her face is a mess: tears streaming, nose running, smile so wide it must hurt, and she's never looked more beautiful. "We survived. Together."

"Jesus. It really feels like it was all just a bad dream, doesn't it? Like none of it actually happened."

"Except it did happen," she says, wiping at her face. "But we made it through. And now—" Her phone starts buzzing repeatedly, notification after notification lighting up the screen. She grabs it and laughs. "It's the girls. Winter, Giselle, Ning. They got the news too. Look at this group chat."

She shows you the screen and it's complete chaos. All caps messages, strings of emojis, voice notes of screaming. The kind of unbridled joy that can only come from people who thought they'd lost everything and just got it back.

"They want me at SM tomorrow morning to discuss logistics and scheduling," Jimin says, scrolling through her messages. "Oh god, there's so much to do. Rehearsals, promotional schedules, wardrobe fittings—" She's spiraling into work mode, her brain already shifting gears, and you can see both the excitement and the exhaustion that comes with it.

"Hey," you say, touching her arm gently. "One thing at a time. Tonight, we celebrate. Tomorrow, you conquer the world."

She nods, taking a deep breath. "You're right. One thing at a time." She looks at the photo album on the floor, at the scattered pictures still waiting to be placed. "We still need to finish this."

"We will. We have time now."

—

The next day, you're on your coffee break (no pretense that it's tea this time) standing in the small break room on the third floor. The view overlooks a busy intersection, people and cars flowing past in their endless urban dance. You're thinking about last night, about the look on Jimin's face when she got the news, when a hand claps down hard on your shoulder, making you jump and nearly spill your coffee.

"Yo!" Jae grins at you, his energy way too high for 11 AM. "I heard aespa is back, man. Congratulations!"

"Yeah," you say, unable to suppress your own smile. "The nightmare is over. Or at least, part of it."

"Part of it? Dude, you're literally the luckiest guy in the world." He leans against the counter. "You're dating an idol. Not just any idol by the way; It's Karina! Like, she's objectively one of the most beautiful women on the planet. I mean, I'm more of a Yuna guy myself, but still. You've got serious bragging rights."

"I don't know about being the luckiest," you say dryly. "My life almost ended because of this relationship. The stress alone probably took years off my lifespan."

Jae waves this off. "You're being dramatic."

"I received death threats. Actual death threats. People telling me they'd find me and—"

"Okay, okay," he interrupts, wincing. "That's actually pretty fucked up. I'll give you that. But now it's all good, right? The company backed you, the tour is happening, everything worked out."

"It's far from 'all good,'" you correct him. "It's just better than it was. There are still people who hate my existence. Still sponsors who dropped aespa because of me. Still this cloud hanging over everything. And they still haven't found the bastard who actually caused all this. But yeah, it's better than before."

"For what it's worth, I'm glad you're okay. Both of you. But I gotta say, I'm kind of sad you didn't tell me about the relationship. I thought we were friends. That you trusted me."

"I do trust you, man. I really do. It's just… it was all still so new and uncertain. We were figuring things out ourselves. And with the secrecy requirements from the company… I hope you understand. It wasn't personal."

"Yeah, I get it." He seems to accept this, his usual grin returning. "But seriously, what was the deal with Yuna? Because I could've sworn something was going on there. The way she was looking at you, I was convinced you two had something."

"In her head, we definitely did," you say, laughing despite yourself. "Reality didn't quite match up with her intentions."

"Jesus Christ." Jae runs a hand through his hair, looking genuinely frustrated. "I can't believe two idols were hitting on you. Two! You're like a fucking protagonist in some fanfic super well written. How does that even happen?"

"Can we please change the subject?" you plead. "Are you getting the new Pokémon game when it—"

Movement in your peripheral vision makes you stop mid-sentence. Through the break room's glass door, you can see Jimin in the hallway, and she's making eye contact with you. She gestures subtly with her head, a clear signal that she wants to talk. Your heart starts beating a little faster, the way it always does when you see her unexpectedly.

"Sorry, I gotta go," you say to Jae, already moving toward the door. "We'll talk later, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah, go to your superstar girlfriend," he teases, but he's smiling.

You slip out into the hallway and walk toward where Jimin is standing near a quiet alcove by the emergency stairwell. She's dressed professionally (black slacks and a cream blouse, her hair pulled back in a ponytail) and she looks every bit the successful idol ready to reclaim her career. But when you get close, you can see the slight nervousness in her eyes, the way she's worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Hey," you say quietly, glancing around. "Is it safe for us to be seen together here? I thought the whole point was keeping distance at work."

She shrugs, and there's something defiant in the gesture. "We're not doing anything wrong. And besides, everyone already knows now. The statement went out, the world didn't end. Fuck it."

You can't help but smile at that. "Okay then. How did things go with the meeting?"

"Good. Really good, actually." She's practically bouncing on her toes. "The tour is definitely happening. All fourteen shows over thirty days. They're finalizing the setlist today and rehearsals start next week. And they said I can get back on social media. Carefully, they emphasized carefully. But I can post again. Interact with fans. Be visible."

"That's amazing."

"They also said we should continue to not draw attention to ourselves," she continues. "No public dates, no paparazzi photos, keep things low-key for a while until everything fully settles."

"That's on you," you joke. "I've already exceeded my attention quota for my entire life. I'm good staying invisible."

She laughs, but then her expression turns more serious. "We haven't really talked about the tour yet. About what it means."

You lean against the wall, crossing your arms. "I've been avoiding thinking about it, honestly. But there's not much to discuss, is there? It's your job. It's what you've been working toward. I'll be here, cheering you on from Seoul."

"I wish you could come with us," she says quietly. "I know that's selfish, but I do. Having you there would make everything easier."

"It'll be better this way," you assure her, even though the thought of being apart for a month makes you actively sad. "You need to focus on the performances, on reconnecting with your fans, on being Karina. You don't need me there being a distraction or causing problems."

"You're never a problem."

"Fourteen shows in thirty days," you continue, "that's brutal. Promise me you'll take care of yourself? Eat properly, sleep when you can, don't push yourself too hard."

"I'll be fine," she says with more confidence than the situation probably warrants. "I've got redoubled energy now that the worst is over. I can handle anything."

From somewhere down the hall, a voice calls out. "Jimin! They need you in Studio B!"

It's one of the managers, a woman in her forties with a tablet and the perpetually harried expression of someone managing too many moving pieces.

"Coming!" Jimin calls back. She turns to you, and for a moment you see her hand twitch like she's about to reach for you, to pull you in for a kiss. But you're in a public hallway, in the company building, surrounded by potential witnesses and cameras. So instead she just steps a tiny bit closer, close enough that you can smell her perfume, and whispers low enough that only you can hear.

"I love you."

Three words, soft as a breath, yet they hit you like it’s the first time you’ve ever heard them. You want to kiss her senseless right here in this corporate hallway, consequences be damned, but you settle for holding her gaze and letting her see everything you feel reflected in your eyes.

"I love you too, babe,” you say, just for her to hear. “Later. At the apartment."

"Special dinner?" she asks, a smile tugging at her lips.

"The most special. I'll even attempt cooking something that isn't instant ramen."

"Now I'm really excited." She's backing away now, still looking at you, and there's this lightness to her that hasn't been there in weeks. "See you tonight."

"See you tonight."

You watch her walk away, watch her rejoin the manager and disappear into the maze of hallways and studios that make up SM Entertainment. And you think about how close you came to losing this; losing her, losing the future you're building together, losing everything that matters. The universe gave you a second chance, somehow, against all odds.

You're not going to waste it.

—

You finish plating the spaghetti at the exact right moment, al dente pasta twirled into perfect nests, homemade marinara sauce with fresh basil on top, parmesan shaved over everything. The kitchen smells incredible, garlic and tomato and herbs filling the small apartment. You step back to admire your work, feeling stupidly proud of yourself for pulling off something more ambitious than your usual repertoire of instant ramen and fried rice.

It reminds you of that first real date with Jimin, back when everything was new and terrifying and exciting. She'd invited you to her apartment and cooked for you and you'd felt so cared for, so seen. Now it's your turn to return that gesture, to show her through actions what words sometimes fail to capture.

The doorbell rings. You wipe your hands on a kitchen towel and head to the door, and when you open it, wow. Jimin stands there looking absolutely devastating in a black wrap dress that hugs every curve, the neckline just low enough to be suggestive without being obvious. The fabric is some kind of silky material that catches the hallway light. Her hair is down in soft waves, makeup subtle but expertly done, and she's wearing strappy heels that make her legs. Sexy but discreet.

"Hi," she says, and her smile is warm and immediate.

You pull her in for a kiss, one hand on her waist, feeling the silk slide under your palm. She tastes like cherry lip gloss and possibility. "Hi yourself. You look incredible."

"Thank you." She steps inside, her heels clicking on the hardwood, and immediately her nose lifts as she takes in the smell of dinner. "Oh my god, what is that? It smells amazing."

"Spaghetti from scratch," you say proudly, leading her toward the kitchen. "Well, mostly from scratch. I didn't make the pasta itself, but the sauce is all me. And there's garlic bread and salad and—"

"You really went all out," she says, looking genuinely touched as she surveys the table you set, complete with candles and actual cloth napkins you had to go buy specifically for this occasion.

"You deserve it." You move to the counter where you've set up a modest bar - wine, beer, some juice. "What would you like to drink? I've got red wine, white wine, that beer you like, or—"

You don't get to finish the sentence because suddenly there are hands wrapping around your waist from behind, Jimin's body pressing against your back. Her lips find your neck, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses that make your breath catch for a moment.

"I think we can skip the drinks for now," she murmurs against your skin, her breath warm.

You turn in her arms, finding her eyes shining with intent, and capture her mouth in a deeper kiss. "Someone seems hungry," you manage between kisses.

"Mmm, yes." Her hands are already roaming, sliding under your shirt to find bare skin. "But hungry for something else."

Her palm presses against the front of your jeans, feeling you already half-hard just from that look in her eyes. You groan into her mouth, your hips involuntarily pushing forward into her touch.

"What about dinner?" you ask, even though you already know the answer, already know you'd abandon a five-course meal if she asked. "I worked really hard on it."

"Dinner can wait," she says firmly, taking your hand and pulling you toward the bedroom. "I have other priorities right now."

You let her lead you, pausing only to blow out the candles so the apartment doesn't burn down while you're otherwise occupied. The bedroom is dim, just the ambient light from the city filtering through the curtains, and it paints everything in shades of blue and gold. You're both kissing again, hands grabbing and pulling, that desperate energy of two people who've been apart all day and need to reconnect in the most fundamental way.

When you finally separate to breathe, you sit on the edge of the bed, taking off your shoes and you can't help but laugh. "If I knew we were going to take our clothes off this fast, I wouldn't have bothered dressing up so much."

Jimin stands in front of you, and the look she gives you is pure heat. "I'm glad you did. Makes it more fun to undress you." She reaches for the tie of her wrap dress, but pauses. "Though I have to admit, I'm kind of sorry to take this off. It cost a fortune."

"It's beautiful," you agree, already working on your belt. "You're beautiful."

She holds your gaze as her hands move to the straps at her shoulders. Then, in one smooth motion, she pulls both straps down simultaneously. The dress slides down her body like water, pooling at her feet in a puddle of black silk, and underneath—

"Fuck," you breathe.

She's wearing red lingerie, and not just any lingerie. A matching set in deep crimson lace that looks like it was designed specifically to destroy you. The bra pushes her breasts up and the panties are this barely-there scrap of lace that somehow manages to be more provocative than complete nudity. The color against her skin is obscene, beautiful, absolutely perfect.

"Changed your mind about dinner?"

"Changed my mind about a lot of things." You're shedding your pants now, desperate to have less fabric between you. "Mainly about how much I need you right now."

She climbs onto the bed, straddling your lap in just that red lace, and the weight of her is perfect. Her hands frame your face as she kisses you deeply, thoroughly, her hips already starting to move in slow rolls against you. You can feel the heat of her even through the remaining layers of clothing, and it's driving you insane.

The feeling of being in your own bed again, in your own space, is almost overwhelming. At your cousin's house, everything had this edge of wrongness to it; the unfamiliar mattress, the knowledge that you were in someone else's home, and oh god, that incident with the couch that you've been trying not to think about. But here, this is your territory. Your bed, your rules, and Jimin spread out above you like the best kind of gift.

Your hands find her ass, squeezing the firm flesh through the lace, and she makes this breathy sound that goes straight to your cock. You pull her closer and bury your face between her breasts, just breathing her in - her perfume mixed with her natural scent, the warmth of her skin, the rapid beat of her heart. You kiss the swell of her cleavage, the spot where the lace meets flesh, tracing patterns with your tongue that make her gasp and arch into you.

"Bed," she manages. "Lie back."

You do as instructed, letting her push you down until your back hits the mattress. She's above you, straddling your hips, her hair falling around both your faces as she leans down to kiss you. It's slower now, more deliberate, like she wants to savor every second. Your hands roam her body, mapping territory you're becoming intimately familiar with; the curve of her waist, the dip of her spine, the way her muscles shift under your palms.

Then she's moving, repositioning herself, and you realize what she's doing. She turns around so her back is facing you, still straddling but now giving you the most incredible view. Her ass in those red panties, the elegant line of her spine, the way her hair falls over one shoulder.

"Do you like the view?" she asks, looking back at you over her shoulder with a wicked smile.

You run your hands over her ass, squeezing appreciatively. "I really, really do."

"Good." She's shifting again, moving lower, her hands sliding up your thighs. "Because I really want to feel your mouth on my pussy again. Like last time."

The memory of that night in Gapyeong floods back, her taste, her sounds, the way she came apart under your tongue. Your cock twitches with interest.

"But this time," she continues, her fingers finding the waistband of your boxer briefs, "you won't be left out." She starts pulling them down slowly, teasingly, and when your cock springs free, already hard and leaking, she makes this satisfied hum. "I think that's only fair, don't you?"

"Very fair," you agree.

You hook your fingers into her panties and pull them to the side, revealing her pussy glistening in the low light of your bedroom. She's already wet, arousal coating her inner thighs. The perfect 69 position, both of you about to pleasure each other simultaneously, and you can't wait another second. You pull her hips back toward your face as she leans forward to take you in her mouth, your tongue makes first contact with her pussy and she gasps around your cock. She tastes exactly how you remember and you can't help the groan that escapes as you drag your tongue through her folds slowly, deliberately, savoring every inch. Her hips roll back against your face, seeking more pressure, more friction, and you're happy to give it to her.

At the same time, her mouth envelops you, hot and wet and perfect. She starts with just the tip, her tongue swirling around the head and catching the precum that's already leaking, and the sensation makes your thighs tense. She hums in appreciation at the taste, and then she's taking you deeper, inch by inch, until you can feel yourself hitting the back of her throat.

"Fuck, Jimin," you breathe against her pussy, pausing your own ministrations for just a second to process how good her mouth feels. "That's so good."

She pulls off, her hand wrapping around your shaft to stroke what her mouth isn't covering. "Then don't stop what you're doing," she says, already breathy. "I want to feel your tongue on my clit."

You obey immediately, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves and circling it with the tip of your tongue. Her reaction is instantaneous: her back arches, pushing her pussy harder against your face, and she lets out this desperate little whimper that makes you want to wreck her completely. You establish a rhythm, alternating between broad flat strokes through her folds and focused attention on her clit, listening to the sounds she makes to guide you to what feels best.

She returns her attention to your cock with renewed determination, and suddenly this feels less like mutual pleasure and more like a competition. Who can make the other lose control first. The realization seems to hit both of you at the same time because she increases her pace, taking you deeper, adding suction that makes your vision blur, while you double down on your efforts, sealing your lips around her clit and sucking.

"Oh god," she moans, her hips grinding against your face now. "That's… fuck, that's not fair."

You pull back just enough to speak, your breath hot against her wet flesh. "You started it. Taking me so deep like that."

"Because I want you to come for me," she says, pumping your cock with her hand while her tongue traces the vein running along the underside. "I want to taste it. Want to swallow every drop."

Her words send heat flooding through you, your cock pulsing in her grip. "Keep talking like that and you're going to get what you want really fast."

"Good." She takes you back in her mouth, and this time she's relentless, bobbing her head in a steady rhythm while her hand works what she can't fit. Her other hand cups your balls, rolling them gently.

You try to maintain your focus on her pleasure, your tongue working her clit in tight circles while you slide two fingers inside her, curling them to find that spot that makes her shake. She's so wet that they slip in easily, her walls clenching around you immediately.

"You're so wet," you murmur against her, punctuating your words with a long lick from her entrance to her clit. "Dripping all over my face. You love having my mouth on you, don't you?"

"Yes," she gasps, her movements on your cock faltering slightly as pleasure overtakes her concentration. "Love it so much. Your tongue feels amazing."

"And your mouth," you continue as she takes you particularly deep, "your mouth is fucking perfect. So hot and tight. I could come just from this."

"Then do it," she challenges, pulling off to look back at you over her shoulder. Her lips are swollen and slick. "Come for me. I want it."

She dives back down, and this time there's no teasing, no building. She's sucking you hard and fast, her hand twisting on every upstroke, and you know you're not going to last much longer. You increase your own pace to match, your tongue flicking rapidly over her clit while your fingers pump in and out of her.

"Fuck, Jimin, I'm close," you warn, your thighs trembling with the effort of holding back. "If you keep doing that—"

She just hums in acknowledgment and somehow takes you even deeper, and that's it. That's all it takes. Your orgasm hits you hard, pleasure exploding from your core and radiating outward. You groan against her pussy, your hips bucking up involuntarily as you come, spilling into her mouth in hot pulses. She doesn't pull away, doesn't hesitate, she takes everything you give her, swallowing around you, her throat working, and the sensation prolongs your orgasm until you're shaking beneath her.

Even as you're coming down, aftershocks still rolling through you, you don't stop working her pussy. If anything, you become more focused, determined to push her over that edge right behind you. Your fingers curl harder against her g-spot while your tongue assaults her clit with renewed purpose, and within seconds you feel her start to tense.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck," she chants, her thighs trembling on either side of your head. "Don't stop, please don't stop, I'm gonna—"

She doesn't finish the sentence because she's coming, her whole body going rigid as the orgasm crashes through her. You feel her pussy clench rhythmically around your fingers, more wetness flooding your mouth as you lap at her through it, extending her pleasure for as long as possible. She's making these broken, desperate sounds above you, her hand still loosely holding your softening cock.

Finally, she collapses forward, boneless and panting, and you have to gently guide her off you so neither of you suffocates. She ends up sprawled beside you on the bed, both of you catching your breath, skin flushed and sweaty.

"Holy shit," she manages after a minute, turning her head to look at you. "That was—"

"Intense," you finish for her.

"I was going to say incredible, but intense works too." She shifts closer, draping herself across your chest. "Though for the record, I totally made you come first."

"You did," you concede. "But it was close."

"Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades." She's grinning now, clearly pleased with herself. "I win."

"What do you win?"

"The satisfaction of knowing I can reduce you to a whimpering mess with just my mouth."

You laugh, wrapping an arm around her. "Fair enough. Though in my defense, you were literally swallowing my cock while simultaneously looking like every wet dream I've ever had in that lingerie. The odds were stacked against me."

"Excuses, excuses." But she's still smiling, nuzzling into your neck. "For what it's worth, you almost had me. That thing you do with your fingers while your tongue—"

You capture her mouth in a deep kiss, silencing whatever she was about to say. When you pull back, your eyes lock with hers. "It's not over yet," you murmur against her lips.

She makes a questioning sound, but you're already moving, your hands sliding up her back to find the clasp of her bra. Your fingers work the hooks with more confidence than you probably should have, and within seconds the red lace falls away, revealing her breasts, full and pale, her nipples already hard from arousal and the cool air of the bedroom. You've seen them before, touched them before, but every time feels like the first time, this sense of awe that she's here with you, that this is real.

"I'll never get tired of telling you how beautiful you are," you whisper, your hands coming up to cup the weight of her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples and making her gasp.

"Then don't stop," she says breathlessly, arching into your touch.

You kiss her again, your tongue sliding against hers while your hands continue their exploration. Her skin is so soft, warm and responsive to every touch, and you can feel her heart racing under your palms. She makes these small sounds of pleasure into your mouth, little gasps and sighs that drive you crazy, that make you want to catalog every single thing that brings her pleasure.

After a moment, she breaks the kiss and gently pushes at your shoulder. "Move to the edge of the bed," she instructs.

You obey without question, shifting until you're sitting on the edge of the mattress, feet on the floor. Jimin stands before you, and the sight is something out of a fantasy: her breasts bare and flushed, the red panties still pushed to the side from earlier, revealing the slick pink of her pussy. Her hair is messy from your hands, her lips swollen from kissing, and she looks thoroughly debauched in the best possible way.

She turns around slowly, deliberately, giving you her back. The elegant line of her spine, the curve of her ass in those panties, the way her hair falls between her shoulder blades, every detail is designed to torment you. She looks over her shoulder with a smile that's equal parts sweet and wicked.

"Just relax," she says, reaching between her legs to wrap her hand around your cock. You're already starting to harden again despite having just come, because apparently your body has decided that Jimin touching you overrides any normal refractory period.

She strokes you a few times, her grip firm and confident, and you can feel yourself getting harder with each pass of her hand. When she's satisfied with your state, she positions herself above you, the head of your cock pressing against her entrance. The heat of her is incredible even through that first point of contact, and you have to grip the edge of the mattress to keep from just pulling her down onto you.

"Ready?" she asks.

"Always," you manage.

She sinks down slowly, so slowly, taking you inch by inch into her tight heat. Unprotected sex has become familiar to you two lately, but the feeling of sliding into Jimin raw still hits like the very first time - always otherworldly. You both groan at the sensation, her walls stretching to accommodate you, the way she's still so wet and sensitive from her earlier orgasm, the perfect friction as she sheathes you completely. When she's fully seated in your lap, your cock buried to the hilt inside her, she pauses, just breathing, adjusting to the fullness.

"Fuck," she breathes. "You feel so good like this."

"So do you," you say, your hands coming up to rest on her hips, feeling the way her muscles shift as she starts to move.

She begins with small movements, just rolling her hips in slow circles, getting used to the angle. Then she lifts up slightly and drops back down. She establishes a rhythm, bouncing on your cock from behind, and the view is absolutely perfect; her ass moving up and down, the way you disappear into her pussy with each downward stroke, the way her body moves with this fluid grace.

Your hands slide from her hips up to her breasts, cupping them from behind. They fill your palms perfectly, soft and heavy, and you squeeze gently, feeling her nipples harden further against your skin. She leans back slightly, pressing her back against your chest, and the new angle makes you slide even deeper inside her.

"Yes," she sighs, her head falling back onto your shoulder. "Just like that."

You take advantage of her position to trail kisses along her shoulder, her neck, the sensitive spot behind her ear that makes her shiver. Your lips map the landscape of her skin, tasting salt and perfume and Jimin, while your hands continue to play with her breasts. You roll her nipples between your fingers, alternating between gentle touches and firmer pinches, learning what makes her breath hitch and her pussy clench around you.

"Your hands," she gasps, still riding you with those slow, deliberate movements. "God, your hands feel so good."

"Yeah?" You kiss the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, letting your teeth graze the skin. "Tell me what you like."

"Everything," she admits breathlessly. "The way you touch me, like you can't get enough. Like you want to memorize every inch of me."

"I do want that," you confess against her skin. "Want to know your body better than my own."

She makes this broken sound, a moan and a laugh at the same time, and her movements become slightly less controlled. You can feel her thighs trembling with the effort of maintaining the rhythm, can feel the way her pussy is fluttering around your cock in a way that suggests she's building toward something again already.

Your left hand stays on her breast, continuing its ministrations, while your right slides down her stomach, tracing the defined muscles there. She works so hard for this body, hours of dance practice and training, and you want to worship every result of that dedication. Your fingers trail lower until you find her clit.

"Oh fuck," she gasps when you make contact, her hips stuttering in their rhythm.

"Keep moving," you encourage, your fingers starting to circle that sensitive bud in time with her bouncing. "Don't stop. You look so beautiful like this, taking my cock, using me for your pleasure."

"It's not just for me," she manages. "You're you're hitting so deep like this."

"Good." You kiss her shoulder again, then her neck, working your way up to that spot just below her ear. "I want you to feel me everywhere. Want you to remember this tomorrow when you're in those meetings, when you're rehearsing. Want you thinking about how good this feels."

She moans at your words, her movements becoming more erratic, more desperate. She's no longer bouncing in that controlled rhythm but grinding down onto you, seeking friction against her clit from your hand while keeping you deep inside her. Her back is pressed fully against your chest now, her head turned to the side so you can kiss the corner of her jaw, her neck, anywhere you can reach.

"You're so tight," you murmur against her skin. "So wet. Can you feel how hard you make me? How much I want you?"

"Yes," she breathes. "I can feel everything."

Your hand on her breast squeezes a little harder, and your fingers on her clit increase their pressure slightly, and she makes this sound: high and desperate and absolutely beautiful. Her pussy clenches around you rhythmically, and you know she's getting close again, her body still sensitive from the first orgasm and building rapidly toward another.

But you don't want to rush this. Don't want it to end too quickly. So you deliberately slow your movements, your fingers easing off her clit, and she makes a sound of frustration.

"Don't stop," she pleads.

"Not stopping," you assure her. "Just slowing down. Want to make this last."

She takes a shuddering breath and nods, understanding. Her own movements slow to match yours, these long, languid rolls of her hips that keep you deep inside her while providing this steady, building pleasure that's intense without being overwhelming. It's intimate like this, her back pressed to your chest, your hands on her body, both of you moving together in this perfect synchronization.

"I love you," she says suddenly, quietly.

"I love you too," you respond, kissing her shoulder. "So much."

She turns her head, seeking your mouth, and you meet her in an awkward but passionate kiss, your neck craning to reach her. When you break apart, she's smiling.

"This is perfect," she says. "Right here, right now. Everything is perfect."

And she's right. It is.

The slow, languid rhythm continues for a few more moments, both of you savoring the intimacy and connection. But then something shifts in the air between you. Jimin's breathing becomes more ragged, her movements slightly more urgent, and you can feel the tension building in her body again.

"I need more," she says. "Please."

"Tell me what you need," you murmur against her shoulder, even though you already know.

"Faster. Harder. I need you to make me come."

Your fingers on her clit begin moving faster, applying more pressure, while your hand on her breast squeezes harder. Jimin responds immediately, her hips lifting and dropping with increased urgency, bouncing on your cock with real purpose now.

"Yes," she gasps, her back arching. "Just like that. Don't stop."

You have no intention of stopping. Your fingers work her clit in tight, rapid circles, matching the pace of her bouncing, and you can feel how swollen and sensitive she is under your touch. Every pass makes her pussy clench around your cock, makes her movements stutter slightly before she regains her rhythm. She's chasing her orgasm now with single-minded determination, using your body to get herself there.

"You're so close, aren't you?" you say against her ear. "I can feel it. Feel how tight you're getting around me."

"So close," she confirms breathlessly. "Keep touching me, don't stop touching me."

Your left hand releases her breast and slides up to her throat, not squeezing, just resting there possessively while your right hand continues its relentless assault on her clit. Her movements are becoming erratic now, her thighs trembling with exertion, but she doesn't slow down. Actually, she speeds up, bouncing harder, taking you deeper. You can feel her wet pussy squeezing tighter, the sight and sound and feel of her falling apart overwhelming every sense.

"Come for me," you encourage, your fingers pressing harder against her clit. "Want to feel you come on my cock. Want to feel you squeeze me."

"I'm—fuck, I'm—" She can't finish the sentence because she's coming, her entire body going rigid in your arms as the orgasm crashes through her. Her pussy clamps down on you like a vice, rhythmic pulses that milk your cock, and she's making these high, desperate sounds that go straight to your dick. You keep your fingers moving through it, drawing out her pleasure until she's shaking and pushing your hand away because it's too much, too sensitive.

She collapses back against you, boneless and gasping, and you wrap both arms around her waist to keep her upright. Your cock is still hard inside her, still buried deep, and even though she just came, you can feel her pussy still fluttering with aftershocks. You press kisses to her shoulder, her neck, her cheek, wherever you can reach, murmuring praise against her skin.

"That was incredible," you tell her. "You're incredible."

She makes a sound that might be agreement or just acknowledgment, still too wrung out to form words. After a moment, she lifts herself off you with a wince, and you slip out of her with a wet sound that makes you both groan for different reasons. She stands on shaky legs, turning to face you.

"Bed," she manages. "Need to lie down."

You stand with her, guiding her the few steps to the center of the mattress. She lies down on her side facing away from you, and you immediately understand what she wants. You lie down behind her, your body curving to fit against hers, your chest pressed to her back. This position is intimate in a different way, quieter, and you take a moment to just breathe with her, your hand stroking her hip. "You okay?" you ask softly.

"More than okay," she says. "But I'm not done with you yet."

She reaches back between your bodies and wraps her hand around your cock, still hard and slick with her arousal. She guides you to her entrance, lifting her top leg slightly to give you better access, and you slide inside her easily. The angle is different like this, tighter somehow.

"Fuck, Jimin," you breathe against her neck.

"I know," she agrees. "Feels so good like this."

You start moving slowly, shallow thrusts that keep you deep inside her while providing this constant, building friction. Your hand slides from her hip to her stomach, holding her against you, while your other arm is tucked under her neck, wrapped around her shoulders. She's completely enveloped in you like this, surrounded, and from the way her breathing is already starting to quicken, she loves it.

"This okay?" you ask, your lips brushing her ear.

"Perfect," she sighs, her hand covering yours on her stomach. "Everything about this is perfect.”

You establish a rhythm that's deliberate and deep, each thrust slow and measured as you pull almost completely out before sliding back in to the hilt. The position lets you reach places inside her that make her gasp every time you bottom out, your hips flush against her ass. There's something incredibly intimate about this: the way you're wrapped around her, the way she's completely open and vulnerable to you, the way every breath she takes you can feel against your chest.

"God, you're so deep like this," Jimin moans, her hand gripping yours tighter on her stomach. "I can feel every inch of you."

"Yeah?" You kiss the spot where her neck meets her shoulder, your lips trailing over the marks you left earlier. "You like feeling me this deep?"

"Love it," she breathes, her hips pushing back to meet your thrusts. "Love how full you make me feel."

You maintain that slow, deep pace, focusing on the sensation of her tight heat enveloping you, the way her walls grip your cock on every stroke. Your hand on her stomach can feel the slight bulge when you thrust in particularly deep, and the knowledge that she can feel you that intensely makes your head spin. She's so wet that every movement creates these obscene sounds, the slide of your cock through her slick pussy loud in the quiet bedroom.

"You feel amazing," you murmur against her ear. "So tight and wet for me. Could stay inside you forever."

Jimin moans sweetly and her free hand reaches back to tangle in your hair. The position pulls her body even tighter against yours, and you adjust your angle slightly, hitting a spot inside her that makes her cry out.

"There," she gasps. "Right there, please."

You file that information away, making sure to hit that same spot with every thrust. It requires a slight shift of your hips, a different angle, but the sounds she makes are worth it. Her breathing becomes more ragged, these soft moans escaping with every exhale that drive you crazy. You can feel her heart racing where your chest presses against her back, can feel the way her whole body responds to what you're doing to her.

"You're shaking," you observe, your hand sliding from her stomach up to cup her breast. Her nipple is hard against your palm, and you roll it between your fingers, adding another layer of sensation. "Sensitive baby?"

"Very," she admits. "Everything feels so intense. You're everywhere - inside me, around me, touching me. It's overwhelming."

"In a good way?"

"In the best way." She turns her head slightly, seeking your mouth, and you meet her in an awkward kiss over her shoulder. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."

You obey, your thrusts remain deep and steady, each one deliberate, letting her feel the full length of you as you withdraw and then fill her completely again. The hand on her breast continues to play with her nipple while your other arm holds her close, your fingers splayed across her ribcage. You can feel every breath she takes, every tremor that runs through her body, every response to your touch.

"Talk to me," you encourage between thrusts. "Tell me how it feels."

"It feels..." She pauses, moaning as you hit that spot again. "It feels like you're claiming me. Like you're marking me inside and out. Like my body was made for this, made for you."

Her words send heat rushing through you, your cock pulsing inside her. "You are made for me," you agree. "This perfect pussy, these beautiful tits, this gorgeous body… all mine."

"All yours," she confirms breathlessly. "Only yours. Nobody else gets to have me like this, gets to see me like this."

The possessiveness in her words is undeniable, matches your own, and it does something to you. You increase the force of your thrusts slightly, still maintaining that deep penetration but adding more power behind each movement. The sound of your bodies meeting becomes louder, your hips slapping against her ass with each thrust, and Jimin's moans increase in volume to match.

"Yes," she encourages, her nails digging into your forearm. "Just like that. Harder."

You oblige, your hips snapping forward with more force, driving into her with purpose. The position gives you incredible leverage, and you use it, each thrust pushing her forward slightly before your arm around her waist pulls her back onto you. She’s taking you to the hilt, her pussy stretched tight around your cock, slick cream gathering where you meet, making every thrust glide deeper, wetter, easier.

"You take me so well," you praise. "Like your body knows exactly what to do with my cock."

"Because it does," she gasps. "We fit perfectly. You fill me perfectly. Everything about this is perfect."

Your hand leaves her breast and trails down her stomach, over her hip, to her ass. You squeeze the firm flesh, spreading her slightly to watch your cock disappear into her pussy with each thrust. The sight is mesmerizing, the way she stretches around you, the way her arousal coats your shaft, the way her body accepts you so completely.

"I love watching myself fuck you," you admit. "Love seeing how well you take me, how wet you get for me."

She whimpers at your words, her pussy clenching around you in response. "Keep talking. Love hearing you like this, hearing you lose control."

"Not losing control yet," you say, though your breathing is definitely more labored now. "Still focused on making you feel good. Still focused on every sound you make, every way your body responds to me."

You shift slightly, adjusting the angle again, and this time when you thrust in, Jimin nearly screams. Her whole body jerks, her back arching, and you know you've found something particularly sensitive.

"Oh my god," she pants. "What was that? How did you—"

"This?" You repeat the motion, hitting that same spot, and she makes that sound again. "Like this?"

"Yes, fuck, yes." Her hand scrambles behind her, trying to grab your hip, your ass, anything to pull you closer, deeper. "Don't stop doing that. Please don't stop."

You maintain that exact angle, that exact depth, each thrust calculated to hit that spot that makes her lose her mind. Your pace is still relatively controlled, still focused on depth over speed, but the power behind each movement increases. You can feel sweat starting to bead on your skin, can feel the exertion in your muscles, but you don't care. All that matters is the woman in your arms, the sounds she's making, the way her body is responding to yours.

"You're incredible like this," you tell her, your hand moving from her ass back to her breast. "So responsive, so perfect. Could fuck you like this for hours and never get tired of it."

"I wouldn't complain," she manages. "Could let you fuck me forever. Would let you do anything to me."

"I'll take care of you," you promise, your lips tracing the shell of her ear. "Always. In bed and out of it. You're mine to protect, mine to pleasure, mine to love."

You continue the deep, steady thrusts, your bodies moving together in perfect synchronization. Every time you push in, she pushes back, meeting you halfway. Every time you withdraw, she makes this small sound of protest, like even that brief separation is too much. It's intoxicating, this dance you're doing, this perfect rhythm you've found together.

"More," Jimin pleads, though you're not sure what more she wants. "I need more of you."

"You have all of me," you assure her, but you understand what she means. You increase your pace slightly, the thrusts coming faster now while maintaining that same depth. Your hand on her breast squeezes harder, your teeth find her shoulder and bite down gently, adding more sensations, more stimulation, more everything. She cries out, her body trembling in your arms, and you can feel how close she is again despite having already come twice tonight. You decide it's time to give her what she needs. "Ready?" you ask.

"God, yes," she breathes. "Please. I need to come so badly."

You shift your angle to find that spot again (the one that made her nearly scream earlier) and when you thrust in and hit it perfectly, her entire body goes rigid. "There," she gasps. "Right there, don't stop, please don't stop!"

You focus all your attention on hitting that exact spot with every thrust, increasing your pace gradually but maintaining that precision. Your hand slides from her breast down between her legs, fingers finding her clit and beginning to rub in tight circles. The dual stimulation makes her cry out, her hand flying back to grab your hip, urging you on.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she chants. "I'm so close. Don't stop, please don't stop."

"Not stopping, babe,” you promise. "Want to feel you come on my cock. Want to feel you lose control."

Your thrusts become harder, faster, each one calculated to hit that spot deep inside her while your fingers work her clit relentlessly. You can feel the tension coiling in her body, the way her muscles are going taut, the way her breathing has become these short, desperate gasps. She's right on the edge, teetering, and you know exactly what will push her over.

"Come for me, baby," you murmur against her neck. "Let go. Make a mess for me."

That's all it takes. Jimin screams, actually screams, as the orgasm hits her with a sudden force. Her whole body convulsions in your arms, her back arching violently, and you feel it: the sudden gush of fluid as she squirts, soaking your cock, your thighs, the sheets beneath you. It's even more intense than that time in Gapyeong, her pussy clamping down so hard on your cock that you can barely move, rhythmic pulses that seem to go on forever.

"That's it," you encourage, your fingers still working her clit, drawing out every last drop of pleasure. "So good, baby. You're doing so good. Keep going, make a mess. Don't hold back."

And she doesn't. More fluid pulses out with each wave of her orgasm, her body completely out of her control as pleasure overwhelms every sense. She's making these broken, sobbing sounds, her hand gripping your forearm so tight it might leave bruises, and you've never seen anything more beautiful than Jimin completely lost in ecstasy.

You keep moving through it, slower now but still hitting that spot, prolonging her orgasm until she's trembling so hard she can barely breathe. Finally, she pushes weakly at your hand on her clit, oversensitive, and you immediately stop, your fingers moving to rest gently on her hip instead.

"Holy shit," she gasps when she can finally speak. "That was… I can't even—"

"Incredible," you finish for her, pressing soft kisses to her shoulder. "You were incredible."

She's still trembling with aftershocks, her pussy fluttering around your cock, which is still hard inside her despite how close you are to your own edge. The sheets beneath you are soaked through, a wet patch spreading across the mattress, and there's something deeply satisfying about the visual evidence of her pleasure.

"I made such a mess," she says weakly, though there's satisfaction in her words rather than embarrassment.

"You did," you agree, grinning against her skin. "It's perfect. You're perfect."

She makes a contented sound, but after a moment she shifts, and you understand she needs to move. You slip out of her carefully, both of you groaning at the loss of connection, and help her roll onto her back. She lies there for a moment, chest heaving, skin flushed and glowing with sweat, and you take a second just to admire her. Thoroughly fucked, completely satisfied, absolutely gorgeous. But you're not done yet. Your cock is still achingly hard, slick with her arousal, and you need release. Jimin seems to realize this at the same time, her eyes focusing on your erection with new interest.

"Come here," she says. She shifts slightly on the bed, moving to lie more fully on her back in the center, and pats her chest. "I want to try something."

You move to straddle her waist, understanding immediately what she's suggesting. Your cock rests in the valley between her breasts, and just the sight of it, your length against her pale skin, makes you throb with need. You shift forward, guiding your cock to her mouth first, the head pressing against her lips. "Taste yourself first," you say. "Want you to taste how wet you got for me."

Jimin opens immediately, her tongue darting out to lick the head before she takes you into her mouth. You push in deep, not quite hitting the back of her throat but close, and she moans around you at the taste of her own arousal coating your shaft. She sucks enthusiastically, her eyes fluttering closed as she savors the flavor, her tongue swirling around you to gather every drop.

"Fuck, that's hot," you groan, watching her lips stretch around your girth. "You like tasting yourself on my cock?"

She nods as much as she can with her mouth full, humming in affirmation, and the vibration makes you throb. After a few more seconds, you reluctantly pull out, a string of saliva connecting her lips to your cock before it breaks.

"Now the tits," you say, repositioning yourself to straddle her chest again. Your cock, now wet from her mouth, slides easily into the valley between her breasts.

Jimin immediately pushes her breasts together with both hands, creating that perfect tight channel, and you start thrusting. The sensation is insane; the softness of her skin, the pressure she's creating, the way the head of your cock appears between her breasts with every forward thrust. It's different from anything else, this unique pleasure that has your thighs trembling already.

"God, your tits feel amazing," you breathe, your pace increasing. "So soft and perfect wrapped around my cock."

"Yeah?" She looks up at you with those eyes: big and dark and pleading, innocent and dirty all at once. "You like fucking my tits?"

"Love it," you confirm, your hips snapping forward harder. "Love watching my cock disappear between them. Love how you're squeezing them for me."

She adjusts her grip, pushing them together even tighter, and the increased pressure makes you gasp. "Like this? Is this good?"

"So good, baby. So fucking good."

Your pace becomes more urgent, more desperate, and you're fucking her breasts with real force now, your hips pistoning as you chase your release. Jimin watches your face intently, reading every expression, every sign that you're getting closer, and then she starts talking.

"Come for me," she says. "Please, baby. Want to feel your cum all over me."

"Fuck," you grunt, your movements becoming erratic.

"Want you to cover me," she continues, squeezing her breasts rhythmically in time with your thrusts. "Mark me with your cum. Show me how good I make you feel."

"Jimin—"

"Please," she begs, and her voice is so sweet, so eager, so genuinely desperate for it. "Need your cum, baby. Need you to give it to me. Be a good boy and come for me. Come all over my tits."

"Going to come," you warn. "Fuck, Jimin, I'm going to—"

"Yes," she encourages, squeezing her breasts even tighter. "Give it to me. Want all of it."

The orgasm hits you hard, intense and overwhelming after being held back for so long. The first spurt is powerful, shooting up between her breasts with such force that it lands across her face, a thick rope of cum that splashes across her cheek, her nose, her parted lips. She gasps at the impact, her eyes widening, and then she moans, this deep sound of pure satisfaction as she feels your hot release marking her skin.

"Yes, baby, yes," she encourages breathlessly, watching your face contort with pleasure.

The subsequent spurts paint her breasts in thick white stripes, covering the pale skin, pooling in her cleavage. She squeezes her breasts tighter, milking your cock for every last drop, and you keep coming, more than you thought possible, coating her chest thoroughly. It seems to go on forever, each pulse wringing more pleasure from you until you're shaking and gasping, completely spent.

When you finally finish, you're bracing yourself on the headboard with both hands, breathing hard, your entire body trembling with the aftermath. Jimin is a mess beneath you - cum dripping down her face, coating her breasts, pooling in her cleavage - and she looks absolutely delighted about it.

"That was so much," she says, full of wonder and satisfaction. Then, maintaining eye contact with you, she sticks out her tongue and licks the cum from her lips, from her cheek, gathering as much as she can reach. The sight is simultaneously cute and obscene, her expression almost innocent despite the absolutely filthy nature of what she's doing.

"You're incredible," you manage.

"Mm, and you taste amazing," she responds, using her fingers to wipe more cum from her face and bringing them to her mouth to suck clean. Then she does something that nearly makes you hard again despite having just come: she cups her own breasts, lifting them toward her mouth, and proceeds to lick them clean. Her tongue traces patterns through the cum covering her skin, gathering it, savoring it, all while making these little satisfied sounds.

"I love the taste of your cum," she says between licks, completely unselfconscious about it. "Could lick it off myself all day."

"Jesus Christ, Jimin," you breathe, watching her continue her thorough cleaning. "You're going to kill me."

She grins up at you, cum still visible on her chin. "But what a way to go, right?"

You can't argue with that logic. You carefully move off her, collapsing onto the bed beside her, and she immediately curls into your side, apparently unbothered by the mess still covering her. Your hand finds hers, fingers intertwining, and you both just lie there catching your breath, hearts slowly returning to normal rhythm.

"We should probably shower," she says eventually, though she makes no move to get up.

"Probably," you agree, equally unmotivated to leave the warmth of the bed.

"And change the sheets. I definitely ruined these."

"Worth it."

She laughs, happy, and turns her head to kiss your shoulder. "Definitely worth it."

You lie there in comfortable silence for a few more minutes, just existing together in the aftermath, before reality starts creeping back in. Dinner is probably cold. You both definitely need showers. The bed is a disaster. But none of that seems important right now, not when Jimin is wrapped around you, safe and satisfied and yours.

—

You wake up to sunlight streaming through the bedroom window, the kind of warm golden light that only happens on lazy weekend mornings. For a moment you just lie there, listening to Jimin's soft breathing beside you, watching the way her face looks peaceful in sleep. Saturday. your day off, and Jimin only has appointments scheduled for later in the afternoon. No rush, no urgency, just time stretching out ahead of you like a reward after everything you two have been through.

Carefully, so as not to wake her, you slip out of bed. She stirs slightly, making a small sound of protest before burrowing deeper into the pillows you left behind. You pull on sweatpants and pad quietly to the kitchen, deciding to make her breakfast. Nothing fancy, just scrambled eggs, toast, some fruit you bought earlier in the week, but made with care. You brew coffee for yourself and tea for her, the kind she likes with honey and lemon, and by the time everything's ready, you hear movement from the bedroom.

Jimin appears a few minutes later wearing one of her pajama sets that she left here weeks ago, soft pink cotton shorts and a matching tank top that rides up slightly when she stretches. Her hair is messy from sleep, no makeup, and she looks absolutely perfect in that effortless way that always takes your breath away.

"Morning," she says, and you notice she's still sleepy as she walks over and wraps her arms around you from behind.

"Good morning, beautiful." You turn in her embrace to kiss her properly, soft and unhurried. "I made you breakfast."

"I can see that." She eyes the plate on the counter appreciatively. "And smell it. You're spoiling me."

"You deserve to be spoiled." You pat her ass affectionately. "Go eat. I'll meet you in the living room."

She steals one more kiss before grabbing her plate and tea, padding into the living room. You follow with your own coffee, settling onto the couch as she curls up beside you, tucking her feet under her. You grab the remote and turn on the TV to some morning news program, just background noise while you eat.

"We have a few hours before you need to leave," you observe, glancing at the clock. "Any ideas how you want to spend them?"

Jimin gives you this look: the one where her eyes go soft and warm and a little bit wicked all at once. "Well," she says, setting her plate down on the coffee table and shifting closer. "I was thinking maybe some cuddling. And possibly more sex. That sounds like a pretty good way to spend a Saturday morning."

"I more than agree with that plan," you say, grinning.

She's about to say something else when a news anchor's voice cuts through your attention. "—SM Entertainment has identified and is taking legal action against the individual responsible for leaking private security footage—"

Your hand reaches for the remote, ready to change the channel, but Jimin stops you. "Wait. I want to hear this.”

"The footage, which showed idol Karina of the group aespa in a private moment with a staff member, sparked controversy when it was leaked online three weeks ago. SM Entertainment announced today that they have identified the perpetrator, a former IT contractor with access to the company's security systems, and are pursuing both criminal charges and a civil lawsuit has been charged with unauthorized access to computer systems, violation of privacy laws, and corporate espionage. SM's legal team stated that they will be seeking maximum penalties, including substantial financial damages. The company's CEO released a statement saying, 'We take the privacy and safety of our artists extremely seriously. This violation will not be tolerated, and we will pursue justice to the fullest extent of the law.'"

The camera cuts to footage of SM's building, then back to the anchor who's already moving on to the next story. You mute the TV and turn to look at Jimin, who's staring at the screen with wide eyes.

"They found him," she murmurs. "They actually found who did it."

"They found him," you confirm, and then you're both moving at once, pulling each other into a tight embrace. "Finally. It's about fucking time."

"I can't believe it." She pulls back to look at you. "They're actually holding him accountable. Suing him. Pressing charges."

"He's going to pay for what he did," you say firmly. "For what he put you through. Put us through."

She nods, wiping a lone tear from her eye. "It feels like everything's being resolved now. Like all the pieces are finally falling into place. The tour is back on, the company's supporting us, and now this? Now they're going after the person who actually caused all of this?"

"Maybe things are finally returning to normal," you suggest. "Or at least whatever our version of normal is."

"I hope so." She takes a shaky breath, her smile growing more genuine. "I really hope so. That we can just... move forward from all of this."

You pull her onto your lap, and she comes willingly, straddling you and wrapping her arms around your neck. "There's nothing left for you to do now except focus on your work," you tell her. "Let SM's legal team handle this asshole. You just concentrate on the tour, on performing, on doing what you love."

"And on you," she adds, kissing your nose. "Focusing on you too."

"I'll accept that." You run your hands up and down her back soothingly. "But seriously, this is good news. Great news. Justice is finally being served."

She rests her forehead against yours, just breathing with you for a moment. "I'm so glad we faced this together," she says quietly. "I don't think I could have survived it without you. Having you there, supporting me, believing in me when it felt like the whole world was against us… that made all the difference."

"We're a team," you remind her. "Always have been, always will be. You and me against whatever bullshit the universe throws at us."

"You and me," she echoes, smiling. "I like the sound of that."

"This was a really fucked up chapter in our relationship," you admit, thinking back over the past few weeks: the fear, the uncertainty, the moments where it felt like everything was falling apart. "But every story has trials, right? Every relationship goes through hard times. Ours just happened to involve a leaked video and national media attention."

She laughs at that, the sound a little watery but genuine. "When you put it like that, we sound very dramatic."

"We are dramatic. Look at us: childhood best friends who lost touch, reunited by chance, fell in love, had to hide it, got exposed, and somehow survived. That's prime K-drama material right there."

"Don't give them ideas," she jokes. "The last thing we need is someone making a show about us."

"Too late. I'm already writing the screenplay in my head." You grin at her expression. "What comes next though? That's the real question."

She tilts her head, considering. "What do you think comes next?"

"Honestly? I have no idea." You trace patterns on her back absently. "But I have a feeling it's going to be good things. The worst is behind us. The tour is happening, your career is safe, they found the guy who leaked the footage. From here, things can only get better."

"You sound very optimistic for someone who was stress-drinking three cups of coffee every morning three weeks ago."

"What can I say? Good news puts me in a good mood." You lean back against the couch, pulling her with you. "Plus, I have you on my lap on a Saturday morning with nowhere to be for hours. Life is pretty good right now."

She kisses you then, slow and sweet. When she pulls back, her eyes are bright with unshed tears but she's smiling. "So what's the plan for these few hours we have? Still interested in that cuddling and sex combination I mentioned?"

"Absolutely," you confirm. "Though maybe we could add 'celebrating good news' to that list."

"Celebratory sex?" Her eyebrows raise playfully. "I can work with that."

"Thought you might. Breakfast, then bedroom.”

She gets off your lap and sits next to you, reaching for her plate. "You know what the best part of all this is?" she asks between bites of eggs.

"What's that?"

"We don't have to hide anymore. No more sneaking around, no more secret meetings. When I leave here later, I can just... leave. Normal goodbye. Maybe even a kiss at the door like regular couples do."

"Revolutionary," you tease, but you understand what she means. The freedom of not having to constantly look over your shoulder, to just exist as a couple without the weight of secrecy.

"It is revolutionary," she insists. "For us, anyway. After everything we went through to keep this secret, then everything we went through when it became public - to finally just be together openly? That's huge. Of course we’re not going around showing off our relationship for everyone to see, but you know what I mean.”

She's right. It is huge. And as you sit there on the couch with her, the TV playing quietly in the background, Saturday morning light spilling through the windows, you realize that this is what you fought for. Not the grand gestures or dramatic moments, but this: simple, quiet contentment. The ability to just be together without fear.

"I love you," you tell her, because it feels important to say it in this moment.

"I love you too," she responds immediately, leaning against your shoulder. "So much. More than I knew I could love anyone."

you had always been karina’s puppy.

except for some time, people thought wonyoung had you on a leash.

because one second, wonyoung was the one giggling and grabbing your arm at parties, dragging you around as if you were her own personal assistant. and the next?

next, it was karina.

no transition, no explanation.

just a sudden switch.

one day, you were wonyoung’s little plaything, and the next, karina had her claws in you so deep that even wonyoung didn’t bother fighting it.

which is why the sorority girls were still confused.

until this morning.

you rubbed at your eyes as you walked into the kitchen, still half-asleep, dressed in nothing but sweats and a loose shirt, your hair an absolute mess. you had crashed at the house last night because, of course, karina didn’t let you leave.

the smell of coffee pulled you toward the counter, and as you lazily grabbed a mug, you heard a familiar voice pipe up.

“wonyoung, your girl toy is out here.”

you blinked.

yeji, sitting at the kitchen table, was scrolling through her phone, barely looking up as she addressed wonyoung, who was fixing herself a smoothie.

wonyoung turned, took one look at you standing in front of the coffee machine, and let out an unimpressed hum.

“not mine,” she said casually, sipping her drink.

that made yeji pause. she finally glanced up from her phone, raising a brow.

“really?”

“yeah,” wonyoung sighed, as if it was a mild inconvenience rather than a fact of life. “cuz, karina like...obsessed with her.”

you turned, blinking at the two of them, still groggy.

“…good morning?” you mumbled.

yeji looked you up and down, then shook her head with a small laugh.

karina chose that exact moment to walk in, dressed in one of your hoodies, her long black hair slightly messy from sleep. she didn’t even spare the other two a glance—her only focus was you.

she walked right up to you, stealing the coffee you had just made and taking a slow sip before pressing it back into your hands.

you just took it, unfazed.

wonyoung and yeji exchanged looks.

karina didn’t even acknowledge them as she pulled you in by your shirt, standing on her toes to press a lazy, lingering kiss to your jaw.

"why’d you leave bed?" she mumbled.

you scratched the back of your head, suddenly a little nervous with the way the other two were staring. "just wanted coffee…"

karina huffed, tugging you closer, leaning her head against your shoulder like she was still too sleepy to care about anything else.

"you’re so annoying," she murmured.

yeji let out a low whistle.

“yeah, okay,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief. “i'm lost.”

wonyoung sighed, taking another sip of her smoothie.

karina ignored her, instead focusing on you, her arms wrapping around your waist. "come back to bed," she mumbled, kissing your neck.

"i just woke up, though—"

"come back to bed," she repeated, this time biting your skin to punctuate her words.

you didn't have much choice after that.

as karina pulled you back toward the bedroom, yeji couldn’t hold in her disbelief anymore. she blinked a few times, clearly still processing everything she’d just witnessed.

"wait, hold on," she finally said, staring at karina’s back. "so, you two—are you guys sharing the poor girl?"

karina, still holding you close, didn't miss a beat. she glanced over her shoulder with a lazy smile. "no, i’m not sharing my girlfriend. she’s mine. always has been, always will be."

with that, she shut the door behind her, leaving the other two girls completely confused.

"girlfriend?" yeji said, eyes wide. "since when did you date? i didn't know you two were dating!"

the frat that had a long-standing history with the sorority girls had thrown a party tonight, and they begged for the sorority’s help in throwing it. honestly, it was a little ridiculous how much they had pleaded for karina, ning, winter, and giselle to pull strings and help get the party off the ground. the frats always counted on the sorority to make their parties stand out, and the sisters? well, they didn’t mind—especially since they got to be in charge of the guest list.

karina, as the president of the sorority, had a lot of attention on her. she was the one everyone wanted to talk to, the one everyone wanted to impress—and naturally, she didn’t give a damn about it. but one frat guy? one frat guy had been way too persistent to get her attention.

"so, karina," he said, sidling up to her like he thought he was all that. "you don’t have to be all president-y and in charge tonight. how about we get away from all this, huh? maybe somewhere more… private?"

if it wasn't for her role, she would've slapped the smug look right off his face.

instead, karina forced a sweet, controlled smile, puckering out her lips like she was thinking it over for a second, then just nodded. "yeah, i bet you think that’s a good idea," she said with a polite smile. "but i’m actually taken."

he laughed, like he didn’t believe her. "come on," he said, "you? you don’t date. i’ve seen you at these parties—you’re always hanging out with your sisters. you’re telling me you’re in a relationship?"

karina raised an eyebrow, not missing a beat. "yeah," she said. "with my girlfriend."

the guy just rolled his eyes. "i’m just saying… if you were really with someone, why are you still standing here talking to me?"

karina tilted her head, looking him dead in the eyes. "because i'm the president of the sorority, and i have to be nice," she said, not even trying to hide the sarcasm. "but it’s not like i want to be standing here with you."

before he could protest, karina took a step back, her attention immediately shifting when she saw you walking by with winter. without a second thought, she reached out, casually pulling you back by the arm, her fingers slipping down your wrist until her hand was in yours.

you turned to her with a smile.

"karina," you greeted. "what's up?"

without missing a beat, she stood up a little straighter and reached out, gently pulling you back by the arm. "wait, let me fix your hair," she said, as she lightly ran her fingers through your hair, brushing a few stray strands from your face.

"you're so cute," she said, and when her gaze met yours, you felt your face go hot. "it makes me want to kiss you."

you blinked. “oh.”

she cupped your face, leaning forward to connect your lips in a kiss. she kissed you once, twice, and a third time for good measure, just to prove a point. when she finally pulled back, karina tugged you along, glancing over her shoulder and finally acknowledging the guy, who had been watching the whole exchange with an open mouth.

"see? taken," she said. "not a chance."

the guy could only watch as you let karina drag you away, completely bewildered.

winter, who had also been watching from the side, shook her head.

"now i have to third wheel the two of them the whole night," she complained, crossing her arms.

the five of you were hanging out in the house after rehersals.

ningning was scrolling through tiktok, giselle was sitting on the floor, winter was stealing snacks from everybody, and karina was trying to watch a drama but nobody would shut up long enough for her to hear it.

you were sitting on the couch looking at your phone with a smile that immediately made giselle suspicious.

"why do you look like that?"

you looked up. "like what?"

"like you're about to start something."

"i'm not."

"yes you are."

everyone looked over.

you sat up a little. "okay, but don't freak out."

"that sentence never ends well," karina said.

you ignored her.

"i found one of you on tinder."

the room went completely silent.

winter looked up from her chips. "what?"

"i found one of you on tinder."

"who?" ningning asked immediately.

"i'm not saying."

"show us."

"no."

giselle pointed at winter. "it's her."

winter looked offended. "why me?"

"i don't know. it feels right."

"what does that even mean?"

"it just does."

"it's not me."

"that's exactly what someone with tinder would say."

"i don't even have tinder!"

you were trying so hard not to laugh.

karina narrowed her eyes. "wait, is it actually one of us?"

"maybe."

"that's not an answer."

"exactly."

now everyone was trying to look at your phone.

you pulled it away.

"no cheating."

"just show us," winter complained.

"guess."

ningning immediately pointed at giselle.

"it's definitely giselle."

"why am i always the first suspect?"

"because i said so."

"that's not a reason."

"it's enough of a reason."

giselle rolled her eyes.

while they argued, winter suddenly lunged for your phone.

"hey!"

she grabbed it before you could move away.

"got it."

"winter!"

everyone crowded around her.

winter looked at the screen.

then she blinked.

then she looked at you.

"...seriously?"

ningning was already laughing.

"what is it?"

winter turned the phone around.

on the screen was a tinder profile named winter.

except it wasn't winter.

it was literally a golden retriever.

a golden retriever wearing sunglasses.

giselle lost it immediately.

karina nearly dropped her phone laughing.

ningning fell backwards onto the floor.

winter stared at all of you.

"that's not funny."

"that's literally you," ningning said.

"how?"

"look at the picture."

"it's a dog."

"exactly."

winter threw a chip at her.

ningning laughed even harder.

you were crying from laughing at this point.

"read the bio."

karina cleared her throat dramatically.

"'likes food, attention, and bothering people for no reason.'"

the room exploded again.

winter covered her face.

"you all suck."

"look me in the eye and tell me that isn't accurate," giselle said.

winter opened her mouth.

then closed it.

"okay, maybe a little."

"a little?" karina repeated.

"a lot," ningning corrected.

winter grabbed a pillow and threw it at all of you.

it missed completely.

if you’d have asked your childhood self where you’d be in your twenties, you never in a million years would have expected this.

your knee bounced up and down, restless against the pleated fabric of the le sserafim dorm couch. across from you, chaewon watched in silence, her stare steady and unreadable. it wasn’t disappointment. it wasn’t frustration. it wasn’t pity either. whatever it was sat heavy between the two of you, stretching out the quiet until it felt suffocating. she stood with her arms crossed over her chest, unmoving behind the coffee table, her lips pressed into a thin line as if holding back words she didn’t want to say yet. her voice cut through the stillness, sharp and persistent.

"when did it all start?"

the question echoed inside your head like a bell that refused to stop ringing. you knew exactly what she meant, but the weight sitting in your chest made it impossible to speak the truth. shame curled in your stomach, anchoring you to the couch.

"i don’t know what you’re talking about." you lied, eyes darting anywhere but at her. the words came out dry and sharp, like something sour you had no choice but to swallow.

chaewon shook her head, a quiet sigh slipping past her lips before she finally stepped around the coffee table and lowered herself onto the couch beside you. with the distance gone, you had no choice but to meet her eyes. her face was drawn tight with concern, but beneath it was something softer, something like confusion that she couldn’t quite mask. she didn’t let up.

"y/n, don’t play stupid with me now. why are you so reluctant to talk to me?" her voice dropped, softer this time, almost unsure. "when have i ever made you feel like you can’t?" 

the vulnerability in her voice was all it took for everything to finally crack open. the frustration that had been building inside you surged forward, breaking free as sobs shook through your body. you lurched forward and felt her arms wrap tightly around you, pulling you into the safety of her shoulder. you cried harder than you had in years, not since you were fourteen and your parents sat you down to tell you your beloved pet was gone. but this sadness was different. it felt like grief that hollowed you out, like something inside you had splintered and left you struggling to hold the pieces together. part of you was thankful the dorm was empty, the other members busy preparing for the upcoming ‘different’ comeback. you weren’t sure you could handle their quiet concern or the weight of their sympathetic stares.

"i’m sorry, chae," you mumbled through your sobs, your arms tightening around her waist as if afraid to let go.

"hey, no, no, why are you apologizing to me?" chaewon’s brows pulled together in concern, her voice soft and steady as she instinctively began to rock you back and forth. her hand found the small of your back, drawing slow, soothing circles, trying to ease the tremors still rolling through your body.

"i made a mistake," you choked out, barely louder than a whisper. the words clung to your throat like they didn’t want to leave, heavy and sharp, weighed down by the shame you could no longer suppress.

chaewon’s arms tightened around you, anchoring you to her warmth. she didn’t say anything right away, giving you space to breathe, to find your footing. when she finally spoke, her voice was even softer than before. 

“talk to me," she coaxed, patient and careful, like she was afraid to push too hard but needed you to know she was right there, ready to catch whatever you couldn’t hold on to anymore.

you took a deep breath, letting it rattle through your lungs as you tried to gather the courage. the words sat heavy in your chest, but there was no turning back now. finally, you spoke.

“it started when we met.”

__

past

the energy backstage hummed like a slow building current, thick with hairspray, heat, and the collective nerves of idols pacing polished floors in their stage outfits. someone from the sound crew was yelling into a walkie, his voice half swallowed by the bass leaking from the main stage monitors. across the corridor, makeup artists huddled near mirrors, adjusting stray strands and patting down foreheads, while stylists crouched on the floor, arms filled with lint rollers and spare in-ears. you were standing with the rest of le sserafim near the waiting area, makeup carved sharp to match the mood of the performance and a dark brown trench coat tight around your frame to combat the arena's cold conditioned air. you were set to go on after txt and just before illit, the kind of lineup that kept your stomach in knots no matter how many stages you’d done.

no matter how many times you’d been here before, performing in front of fans at music bank, the nerves never seemed to completely fray. 

you’d rehearsed ‘hot’ until your joints felt fused with muscle memory, the choreography living in your spine even when the music wasn’t playing. still, the thought of the audience made your breath catch in the back of your throat. fans, seniors, label staff, cameras broadcasting to god knows how many countries. it was so numbingly daunting. especially considering it was your first performance back from a hiatus.

chaewon was beside you, quietly mouthing the chorus under her breath, hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket like she was trying to keep every last ounce of warmth close. kazuha stood a little apart from the group, leaning against the wall with one heel pressed to the baseboard, head tilted like she was listening to something no one else could hear. yunjin adjusted her belt with a short sigh, chewing at the inside of her cheek. eunchae held her water bottle like a lifeline, wide-eyed as she stared at the screen above the hallway showing the live feed from inside the venue.

you stayed still. part of you wanted to stretch again, or check your reflection in one of the handheld mirrors scattered across the benches, but your body didn’t move. the adrenaline had started to creep in already, making your pulse feel a beat too fast under your skin.

chaewon leaned in just slightly, her shoulder brushing yours as she glanced down the hallway.

“you okay?” she asked under her breath, voice low enough to disappear under the buzz of staff calls and monitor feedback. she didn’t look at you directly when she said it, but you could feel her watching anyway.

you nodded once, too fast to be convincing. “yeah. just cold.”

she huffed a soft laugh, barely audible. “you always say that when you're about to freak out.”

you cracked a smile, or tried to. your face didn’t quite cooperate.

“how’s your leg?” she added, quieter now.

you shifted your weight subtly, the movement instinctive. it didn’t hurt, not exactly. not anymore. not in the way it did when you first fell wrong during rehearsal, when the whole room had gone sideways with pain and panic, or in the weeks after when even watching the others practice felt like swallowing glass. but you still felt it, like a ghost in the muscle.

“it’s fine,” you said. “tight. but fine.”

chaewon finally looked at you then, head tilting the slightest bit. “don’t push it.”

you nodded again, this time slower. “i won’t.”

the injury had pulled you off the last cycle of promotions, and even though everyone was supportive, there was a quiet pressure in your chest that hadn't gone away. something about being away too long, about having to prove you still belonged here. you’d come back in time for end-of-year rehearsals, cleared for stage just weeks ago, and every performance since had felt like walking on a wire.

chaewon’s hand brushed yours for a second, nothing more than a touch, and then she stepped back into place as the call came through the earpieces.

“le sserafim, standby.”

you felt your body move before your brain could catch up, following the rest of the group toward the stage entrance. only, before you could step too far, you’re stopped at the feeling of a lean body knocking into you. your shoulder jerked slightly from the contact, slightly dazed. it wasn’t hard. more of a fleeting bump, the kind that happened constantly backstage with too many bodies moving through tight hallways. still, something about it snapped you out of your thoughts like cold water poured down the back of your neck.

“sorry,” came a voice, low and smooth, so casual it almost didn’t register.

you turned, expecting a rushed bow from a staff member or maybe one of the rookie groups shuffling into their next camera queue. instead, your gaze landed on her.

not framed by a screen. not softened by filters or distant from across a press conference room. she was right there, close enough that you could make out every detail. her presence hit you before your brain even had time to register it properly.  

karina. there was something absurd about seeing her in person. she wasn’t supposed to look like that up close. flawless skin, lashes casting shadows on her cheeks, that slight smirk playing on her lips like she knew exactly what kind of effect she had. you’d seen her before, who hadn’t? her pretty face was almost everywhere you looked. but this was different.

her outfit clung to her like it was built around her frame. the black crop top, bold with white lettering, sat sharp above her waist. her camouflage jacket hung from her shoulders in a way that looked effortless but deliberate, like it was meant to fall just so. she wore a belt low on her hips, her entire look edged in something that felt like danger wrapped in gloss. gold hoops caught the light as she turned slightly, and the chain around her neck only made the entire picture feel more untouchable. her makeup was heavy but immaculate. smoky eyes that gave her an almost feline sharpness, lips painted in a soft gradient that contrasted the fierceness of everything else. her hair was loose and wild in the best way, falling in soft waves that framed her face with a kind of studied mess. and her face—god, her face. she looked like a portrait. so symmetrical it almost hurt to look at her for too long. so composed it made you forget how to stand.

her eyes flicked toward you, cool and unreadable, and in that moment it felt like the world around you fell silent. the chaos of backstage, the pounding of your own pulse, even the call in your earpiece faded into nothing. 

you didn’t mean to stare, but the moment stretched longer than it should have. your gaze locked onto her as if your body had forgotten how to look away.

“it’s– karina– i’m– you’re—” you stuttered, the words tangling before they even left your mouth, your brain scrambling to catch up with what was happening.

you weren’t the type to get rattled. years in the industry had taught you how to keep your expression measured, how to stay centered even under the weight of bright lights and louder voices. you’d stood beside artists who had ruled charts before you’d even auditioned, and still managed to hold your ground. but there was something different about this– about her. she didn’t feel like just another idol.

karina tilted her head, just slightly, like she was watching a familiar reaction play out for the hundredth time. the look on her face wasn’t smug, but it was clear she knew exactly what effect her presence had.

she took a small step back, almost unnoticeable, and let the light from the stage hallway catch the side of her face. it brought out the shimmer along her temple, the warm gleam of her earrings, the perfect stillness of someone who didn’t need to say much to own the space around her. her smile curved, a subtle upward tilt that said she wasn’t surprised by your reaction in the slightest.

“i know who you are, too,” she said, voice low but steady, with none of the awkwardness you were currently drowning in. “you’re the one coming back from hiatus, right?”

you blinked, caught between confusion and disbelief. “wha–?”

“you’re hard to forget,” she said, her tone steady, neither flirtatious nor performative. there was no pause for effect, no expectation in her eyes. it was just something she believed, something she thought you should know. “it’s good to see you again.”

she didn’t linger, didn’t wait to see how you’d react. her voice had already landed, leaving you to stand in the echo of it.

her manager approached from the side, moving with the kind of quiet urgency that only came from years of shepherding someone through back hallways and call times. they said something under their breath, too low to make out, and karina nodded in response, already shifting forward. the moment ended as easily as it had begun, her silhouette gliding back into the tide of backstage traffic, the space where she’d stood still warm in your memory.

you hadn’t even noticed you’d stopped breathing until your lungs drew in sharp, like surfacing after too long underwater.

“hey,” chaewon said softly, reappearing at your side, her hand wrapping around your wrist with a gentleness that steadied you. “you good?”

you nodded, slower this time, like your body had finally caught up to itself.

“yeah,” you swallowed. “i’m good.”

the voice in your in-ear sounded again, a warning you were running out of time. chaewon practically dragged you up the stairs leading to the main stage. the bass from the opening bars was already humming through the soles of your boots, the kind of low thrum you felt more than heard.

you took a breath and stepped forward, coat shifting around your frame as you moved into position. but even as the adrenaline surged, even as you slipped back into the choreography that had been burned into your bones, one thing refused to quiet.

the place where her shoulder brushed yours still tingled beneath your coat, like her presence had branded itself into your skin.

no matter how sharp your lines were on stage, no matter how many cameras found your face, the imprint of her gaze clung to the back of your mind like it had nowhere else to be.

__

the practice room was quiet except for the low hum of the heater in the corner, a steady, almost soothing sound against the silence. you sat cross-legged on the floor, your hands resting loosely on your knees, absentmindedly stretching your fingers and wrists while your mind drifted somewhere else entirely. two full days had passed since the performance, but karina’s presence refused to fade. it kept replaying in your mind, like a song stuck on repeat, subtle but impossible to ignore.

her face slipped into your thoughts at odd moments. when you were tying your shoes, when you caught your reflection in the mirror, even during quiet moments when nothing was demanding your attention. it wasn’t just the fact that she was famous, or how every detail of her appearance was sharp and flawless under those unforgiving stage lights. it was something deeper than that. you could still hear the tone of her voice, calm and steady, without any hint of performance or pretense. the way she spoke to you was simple and straightforward, but it carried a weight that suggested she meant every word. her certainty had caught you off guard, and you couldn’t stop replaying it in your mind. it was strange how something so small could linger like this, how the memory of her had settled quietly inside you, pulling at your thoughts in a way you hadn’t expected.

you found yourself replaying the moment she brushed past you backstage, how her shoulder had lightly touched yours for just a second, but it left a strange warmth that lingered longer than it should have. even now, you could almost feel it, like a quiet spark beneath your skin.

chaewon settled against the mirror, her back resting lightly on the cool glass as she glanced your way from the corner of her eye. there was a quiet patience in her gaze, like she was giving you space but still keeping track of you. across the room, yunjin was half sprawled on the floor like she’d been poured there. she looped a hair tie around her fingers with the slow boredom of someone who was pretending she wasn’t waiting for a cue to speak. the silence hung for another beat before she cracked it open.

"so," yunjin said, twirling the elastic. "are we just gonna sit here breathing at each other like a lofi-girl youtube live stream?"

"don’t encourage her," chaewon replied under her breath, a habitual comment whenever the younger girl would stir the pot. 

"i’m just saying," yunjin went on, ignoring the warning like she always did, "if i wanted to watch two people avoid talking, i’d go back to my last situationship."

you didn’t say anything. you weren’t even sure what mood you were in. just the dull ache of overstimulation and not knowing what to do with yourself. practice had ended, no one was filming, and you were just left with too much of your own brain.

“you’ve been kind of quiet lately,” chaewon said softly, ignoring yunjin’s comments with a subtle eye roll as she turned her full attention your way, curiosity embedded in her soft gaze. “everything okay?”

you forced a small smile, trying to sound casual. “yeah, just tired i guess. being back on stage, it’s a lot.”

yunjin nodded. “we get it. it’s a lot for all of us sometimes.”

chaewon gave you a look that said she wasn’t convinced. “you’re not telling us everything.”

you hesitated, the weight of keeping your thoughts to yourself pressing down. “it’s nothing. just nerves. i’m still getting used to stuff again.”

chaewon’s eyes narrowed just slightly, but she didn’t press. instead, she leaned her head back against the mirror, watching you like she was waiting for the right moment to push a little further. yunjin stayed quiet for once, her usual teasing energy simmering down as the room settled into a softer, quieter kind of tension. it wasn’t uncomfortable, but it felt fragile.

you shifted your weight, letting your fingers fidget against the fabric of your sweatpants. the truth sat heavy in your chest, but you weren’t sure how to shape it into words that didn’t sound ridiculous. how could you explain that it wasn’t the comeback, or the pressure, or even the exhaustion that had you tangled up like this. it was one moment, one person, one look that kept resurfacing no matter how many times you tried to push it aside.

“you know,” yunjin finally said, her voice lighter now, as if trying to ease the edge of the silence, “it’s okay to admit when something’s got you in your head. we’ve all been there.”

"or someone," chaewon added softly, like she was testing the waters, her eyes still fixed on you, steady and patient.

your stomach twisted, the words clawing at your throat. you stared down at your hands, thumbs pressing into each other in a nervous rhythm. the name hovered at the edge of your tongue, ready to tumble out before you could stop it. you hated how easily she occupied your mind, how quickly her name wanted to surface.

only, before you could say anything, the sharp click of the practice room door opening cut through the moment. you all turned as your manager stepped inside, his head poking through the doorway, eyes scanning the room before landing squarely on you.

"y/n. company meeting."

"now?" your voice came out confused, your brows pulling together. no one had mentioned any meeting to you.

"yes. let’s get moving," he said with a quick nod, already stepping back into the hallway, expecting you to follow.

you rose to your feet automatically, your body moving before your brain had the chance to catch up. behind you, you could feel chaewon and yunjin exchanging glances, their confused stares following you as you trailed after your manager and disappeared down the corridor.

every time you opened your mouth to ask your manager what the meeting was for, something held you back. maybe it was the way he walked ahead without looking back, or the tension in his shoulders that made you think twice. the words sat heavy on your tongue, but never quite made it out. you told yourself you’d ask at the elevator, then in the hallway, then right before the door. but each time the moment slipped past.

by the time you finally worked up the courage to speak, you were already standing outside the meeting room. the door loomed in front of you, quiet and familiar. you had been in that room more times than you could count, but something about it felt different now. the lights inside were already on, shadows shifting through the frosted glass, and your heart began to thud with a dull, uneasy rhythm. inside were the other managers, already seated and waiting. at the forefront of them was a familiar face, sumin. his eyes met yours the moment you stepped through the door, a small smile tugging at his lips.

his face was weathered in a way that spoke of long nights and too many years in the industry. though still young by most standards, he was clearly older than your own manager, who barely looked past his twenties. sumin had to be in his mid-thirties, if not a little older. there was something steady about him, something that made the room feel more serious the moment he looked your way.

he was already seated when you walked in, scrolling through something on his tablet, a half drunk coffee sweating on the table beside him. you barely had time to sit before he spoke.

“we’ve been reached out to,” he said, tapping once on the screen without looking up. “sm wants you to participate in a special stage.”

your brows lifted slightly, but you didn’t say anything right away. special stages came up all the time, especially with award season approaching. sometimes it was a group number, sometimes backup for a bigger act. but rarely did the spotlight land on you, and definitely not like this.

you settled in slowly, your voice cautious. “okay... what kind of stage?”

he tapped the screen once more before finally lifting his gaze to meet yours. his expression was calm, but there was something unreadable in his eyes, something that made your stomach tighten just a little.

“they want a duet with karina from aespa.”

you blinked. the name settles over you like a quiet shift in atmosphere, not loud or dramatic, but enough to stop your thoughts in their tracks for just a moment. karina. the same girl who had been circling your mind without pause for the past two days, refusing to leave no matter how many times you tried to shake her off. you could still see her face clearly in your memory, almost annoyingly so. delicate features sharpened by confidence, eyes that held your gaze a little too long, and lips that moved with a softness that made everything she said feel like it was meant only for you.

“me and karina?” you asked, trying to keep your tone even. “just us?”

he nodded once. “just the two of you. high profile. one performance only.”

you sat back in your chair, the weight of it starting to settle. it wasn’t just any special stage. it was the kind people talked about before and after. clips that trended. gifs that never stopped circulating. and now, for some reason, they wanted you in it. 

“the team said you match well, in contrast and intensity. they want a dance stage, so there won’t be any singing. something dark and gritty.” he paused, then added, “they asked for you, specifically.”

you stared at the floor for a second. your reflection blinked back at you from the mirror wall. tired, slightly hollowed out from the week’s rehearsals. not someone who seemed particularly suited for a ‘concept-heavy duet.’

but still, you said “okay.” 

he didn’t look surprised. just gave a short nod and went back to his tablet.

you weren’t sure what you’d just agreed to. not really. but her name echoed in the back of your mind like a half-formed thought you couldn’t shake.

__

current day

“it started then? y/n, it’s been months.” chaewon’s voice was soft but edged with disbelief, like she was trying to process the weight of what you were finally admitting.

you exhaled, your fingers curling into the fabric of your sleeves. “yeah. time flew by, i guess.”

she shook her head slowly, her eyes never leaving yours. “when did everything get complicated?”

you paused, searching for the words, feeling your chest tighten with the memory. “after a few practices together. i don’t know exactly when. it wasn’t one moment. things just... shifted.”

chaewon arched a brow, her arms folding across her chest as she leaned in a little closer. “things don’t just shift without a reason. run me through it. from the beginning.”

you nodded, your throat dry as the scenes unfolded in your mind. “it was awkward at first. not in a bad way, just... careful. we were both professional. polite. she was warm, but reserved, like she was holding back a version of herself until she figured me out. and i was trying not to read into anything.”

chaewon’s gaze softened, but she stayed silent, letting you keep going.

“the first few rehearsals were strictly business. we went through the choreography, fixed timing, adjusted spacing. every move was so precise, so close. i kept thinking about how close we had to get for some of those lifts, how her hands felt steady on my waist, how her breath would catch for just a second after a hard set.”

you swallowed, the words catching a little as you spoke them out loud. “and then little things started happening. small stuff. she'd linger after practice to chat. offer to go over a part one more time even when we didn’t need to. she’d compliment me, not in a forced way, but like she genuinely meant it. and every time, it got a little harder to stay neutral.”

chaewon hummed under her breath, her expression unreadable now.

“sometimes i’d catch her looking at me when we weren’t even dancing. like she was studying me. like she was waiting for me to say something first. and i kept pretending not to notice because i didn’t want to ruin whatever... whatever was building.”

you trailed off for a moment, the weight of it thick in the air.

“and eventually it wasn’t just practice anymore. we started texting. we’d stay late to talk. sometimes she’d show up early just to see me before anyone else got there. i tried to convince myself it was just friendship, but every time she smiled at me like that, i felt it. like my chest would tighten and i’d forget how to breathe for a second.”

chaewon let out a quiet sigh. “so you let yourself fall.”

you looked at her, the vulnerability raw in your voice. “i didn’t even realize i was falling until it was too late.”

__

past

anticipation buzzed through hybe the moment word spread that you would be performing with karina. the excitement was immediate. you, arguably the strongest dancer in le sserafim, maybe even one of the most skilled female dancers in the entire company, set to share the stage with the industry’s untouchable ace. karina wasn’t just popular. she was the kind of idol other idols admired, the one who turned heads without trying, who carried a presence that seemed almost unfair. her reputation spoke for itself. an idol’s idol.

“that’s so exciting!” eunchae practically bounced up and down when you got back to the dorm after sumin informed you of the stage. she clasped her hands together and grinned widely.

and it was exciting. even through the nerves crackling under your skin like static, you couldn’t deny the rush of it. the thought of seeing karina’s pretty face again, of spending real time together, stirred something light and breathless in your chest. maybe you’d become friends. maybe you’d exchange numbers, share advice, trade stories only idols understood. maybe, if you were lucky, this wouldn’t be the last time you worked together.

if only you’d known at the time that you’d be getting more than you bargained for. 

the practice room smelled faintly of pine cleaner and sweat, the kind of lived-in scent that clung to wood floors and mirrored walls no matter how many times they scrubbed it down. it was your first time ever stepping foot into the sm building. the room was practically filled to the brim already with choreographers as you pushed the door open slowly, half expecting to be alone.

karina was already there, too. 

she stood near the center, arms crossed loosely over her chest as she watched her own reflection, quietly shifting her weight from one foot to the other. her cropped hoodie clung just above the waistband of her track pants, rising slightly every time she moved. her hair was down, the strands falling past her shoulders in a way that looked entirely accidental but probably wasn’t. a familiar choreographer stood on her side, regailing information off a clipboard held firmly in her hands. but through it all, the noise and chatter, karina’s eyes glanced up at you through the mirror when you entered. 

maybe you imagined it in your daze, starstruck by her sharp eyes and pretty lips, but you could’ve sworn her eyes lit up when they landed on you. it felt almost cinematic. like a slow motion scene in real time where your breath knocked clean from your lungs. only, before you could sit in the moment a second longer, the choreographer followed karina’s gaze and turned to face you. you recognised her. 

“oh, y/n!” lee yejin bowed ninety degrees, clipboard tugging under her armpit. 

you bowed back, relief coursing through you. truth be told, in a space as unfamiliar as this sm building, you were happy to see a familiar face. yejin was one of the choreographers to work with you on ‘hot’, a kind and creative woman you got along with through the entire comeback process. something told you this was your managers doing. 

the corners of your lips quirked up into a small smile. “yejin.”

“it’s so good to see you again! i’m so excited to work with you both. so, we have a vision here, and i think it’s going to be absolutely groundbreaking. if there’s anything you-“ 

yejin’s voice fell on deaf ears. you nodded along with her words, blips of them registering when you needed to give half measured ‘yes’ or ‘no’s’. but your attention kept drifting off to the girl behind her. 

you watch her stretch in silence. her movements were clean, intentional, grounded. there was a stillness to her that made you feel like any sudden motion might shatter something delicate. if only you noticed that she was sparing you glances, too. that you were both stealing glances when you thought the other wasn’t looking. 

yejin clapped her hands once, snapping your attention back. “okay! before we get started, let’s officially introduce you two.”

you blinked, suddenly aware of how fast your pulse was thudding in your ears. as if you didn’t already know who was standing in front of you.

“y/n, this is karina. karina, this is y/n,” yejin said with a bright smile, like the formality wasn’t a little ridiculous.

karina turned fully to face you now, her expression softening into something warmer. “it’s really nice to meet you properly,” she said, voice even, steady, but with a gentle edge of sincerity that landed heavier than it should have.

you dipped into a short bow, your hands clasped politely in front of you. “nice to meet you, too. i’ve… heard a lot about you.”

“same,” she replied, and there was the faintest hint of something playful behind her eyes. “looking forward to working together.”

her gaze lingered a second longer than it needed to, holding you there. you tried not to read into it, but your skin prickled anyway.

“alright!” yejin said, cutting the tension before it could swell. “let’s walk through the choreography. we’ve got a rough draft set, but i want to see how you both move together before we finalize spacing and transitions.”

the word together hung in your head as you followed yejin to the center of the room. karina moved alongside you, close but not too close, and for a brief second, your shoulders nearly brushed.

you couldn’t help but wonder if she noticed the space narrowing, too.

they pressed play. take me to mars poured into the room, the bass low and deliberate, crawling across the floor like something alive. your bodies moved in sync, mirrored but not matching, each beat pulling you closer. the choreography was sharp but sensual, built on tension. every step narrowed the space between you, like an invisible thread pulling tighter with each count.

yejin and the other choreographers moved fluidly around you, watching with practiced eyes. you could feel their gazes tracking your frames, adjusting angles in real time, but none of it seemed to reach you fully. your focus stayed locked on the girl across from you.

karina danced with a kind of contained energy, every movement precise but loose, like she was barely holding back a stronger current beneath the surface. her gaze flicked up every few counts, meeting yours in quick flashes before dropping back into the steps. it made your stomach flip every time. the first contact came fast. on the turn of the next eight count, your arms swept into an intertwined movement, palms grazing as your bodies shifted past each other. the warmth of her skin against yours was brief, but enough to spike your pulse. her fingertips brushed yours like she was reading you, testing the weight of the space between you.

your breath hitched, but you didn’t miss a beat. if she felt it too, she didn’t show it. her face stayed composed, but her eyes flicked to yours again, just for a second. a glance that didn’t need words.

when the moment came, the one where your hand hovered near her waist, where your face came just shy of touching, you felt it. the falter. it was barely anything. a pause no longer than a breath, but enough to notice. her fingers hesitated before landing on your collarbone, a little too soft, a little too late.

after a few run-throughs, yejin clapped once. “that’s good for today. we’ll refine the arm transitions next time. don’t overthink it. the more you do it, the more natural it’ll feel.” they scribbled something onto the clipboard, glanced between the two of you, and added, “great work, both of you.”

then the choreographers, lead by yejin left, pulling the studio door shut behind them with a soft click.

the silence that followed was almost jarring. no music. no directions. just the sound of your own breathing, fast and uneven, as the adrenaline started to fade. karina was still standing at center, arms back at her sides now, her expression unreadable.

you let the quiet stretch a little longer, both of you standing there in the center of the studio, caught in something that didn’t quite have a name yet. after a moment you took a slow step toward her, pulling the words from the space between you like they’d been hanging there the whole time.

“so,” you finally say, your voice soft but steady, “what do you think about all this? the choreography, the concept... everything?”

karina lets out a slow breath, her eyes flicking down briefly before returning to you. “it’s different,” she admits. “i wasn’t sure at first. it feels raw, kind of vulnerable. but i like that. it’s honest.”

“did i make you uncomfortable?”

her eyes widened slightly, like she hadn’t expected the question to be so direct. she opened her mouth, then closed it again. finally, she let out a breath, not quite a sigh.

“no,” she said, shaking her head. “not really.”

you tilted yours, not buying it. “but something was off. i could feel it.”

she looked down for a second, her fingers brushing against the hem of her hoodie. “it’s just…” she paused, her voice quiet. “i didn’t expect to be doing a choreo like this with a girl.”

you nodded slowly, letting the honesty settle between you. “yeah. me neither.”

karina glanced up again, meeting your gaze for the first time since the song ended. her voice stayed soft. “i thought it would feel different.”

“and did it?” you asked.

she hesitated. “yeah. but not in a bad way. just… surprising.”

karina shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her arms folding loosely across her chest. she looked over at you, her expression curious but careful, as if she was testing the waters, trying to figure out how much to say and how much to hold back.

you swallow, feeling the weight of her gaze as it lingers on you, steady and unreadable. the air between you shifts, growing dense with something unspoken, something just beneath the surface. it hums quietly, tension curling around the edges of the moment like smoke. after a pause that stretches longer than it should, karina finally speaks, her voice low, almost hesitant.

"do you want to run through it again? just us this time."

you nod, maybe too quickly, grateful for the excuse to move, to shake off the stillness pressing against your skin. the room suddenly feels different. quieter. more private. the kind of quiet that makes your heartbeat sound too loud in your own ears. without the others, without the eyes and voices and pressure, the space closes in. not suffocating, but intimate. familiar in a way that makes you uneasy and excited at once.

karina steps to the side and taps the speaker. the low, deliberate pulse of the bass rolls out across the floor like a slow wave. you both move into position, muscle memory taking over. the choreography returns easily, but now it carries a different weight. a sharper edge. it’s not just movement anymore. it’s something else.

there’s no one to count the beats. no one to correct your lines. just your body and hers, responding to rhythm and instinct. to each other. every movement is charged. every glance feels like a question. every brush of her fingers sends heat crawling beneath your skin. the air vibrates with it. something electric, something fragile.

your eyes lock again, mid turn, and you realize there’s a conversation unfolding between you with no need for words. it lives in every shift, every breath, every mirrored motion. your bodies speak in silences, in touches that last just a second too long, in the way she watches you like she’s waiting for something. at first, it was just about the routine. the shape of the steps. the mechanics. but now, something else threads through it. you move when she moves, catch her rhythm without needing to think. you dip when she dips. you spin when she spins. her fingers graze your waist, trail along your jaw, and even though she doesn’t say a word, it’s all there. unspoken but loud.

"you learn fast," she murmurs, her gaze flicking toward the mirror, not quite meeting yours.

"so do you," you reply, but your voice is softer now. like you’re both trying not to break whatever this is. whatever it might become.

the moment passed, but something in it stayed with you, clinging to your skin like static. it wasn’t loud or obvious, but it pulsed quietly beneath the surface, impossible to ignore. later that night, as your manager drove you back to the dorm, the city lights blurring past the window, your thoughts refused to settle. they circled around one thing. or rather, one person. karina.

you kept replaying it all in your head. the way her body moved, precise and fluid, like every beat was something she was born to feel. the way she looked at you during that final run, eyes locked, unreadable and intense. it had made your chest tighten, your breath catch, like your body had picked up on something your mind couldn’t yet name.

you told yourself it was the routine. the high of dancing well. the natural chemistry that comes with hours of practice. but even as you stared out the window, pretending to listen to whatever song your manager had playing, you knew that explanation wasn’t enough. it wasn’t just the steps. it wasn’t just muscle memory or partnership.

something about her had shifted something in you. and now, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shift it back.

before you knew it, several sessions had come and gone. each one bled into the next until time stopped feeling separate from movement. you grew attuned to her, how her body flowed with the rhythm, how she anticipated changes in tempo before they even landed. instinctively, you adjusted your own movements to match, to compliment her lines with your own. and she did the same. without words, you learned each other’s timing, each other’s weight and pace, until it all clicked into something seamless. but it wasn’t just your bodies falling into sync. somewhere in between the stretches, the water breaks, and the long hours under dim studio lights, you started learning the smaller things too. how she liked her coffee, the songs she played when no one else was around, the way her laugh softened when she was tired. she asked questions that lingered in your mind long after practice ended, listened closely when you answered.

you learned that she hated the cold but always carried a hoodie in her bag, just in case. that she cracked her knuckles when she was thinking too hard, and that she danced even when there was no music playing. she told you about the time she sprained her ankle during a middle school performance and still finished the routine with tears in her eyes and a smile plastered on her face. in return, you told her things you didn’t usually say out loud. how you got stage fright right before every show, how you used to practice in your bedroom with the door locked and the lights off.

you fell into rhythm, not just with the music but with her. the choreography smoothed out, every transition clean, every beat hit with intention. there were still details to polish, still corrections and notes, but you could feel it coming together. the routine lived in your limbs now, familiar and natural, like muscle memory laced with electricity. not quite stage-ready, but close. so close you could taste it.

today was the fifth session. the bass echoed low through the studio floor, reverberating up your spine as the track looped for the third time. you exhaled, rolling your shoulders back as you caught your breath. sweat clung to your skin, strands of hair sticking to your neck. you were tired. just yesterday you were singing and dancing across the stage at mcountdown performing ‘hot’, running between shoots and interviews, and just narrowly making it on time for a company dinner. today, you wanted nothing more than to collapse on the cold floor.  

across from you, karina stood with her hands on her hips, chest rising and falling in sync with the beat still playing from the speakers. her expression was unreadable.

“again?” you asked, grabbing your water bottle off the ledge beneath the mirror.

“mm,” she nodded, wiping the side of her neck with a towel. “you were a little early on that last transition.”

you raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “i think that was you.”

karina’s mouth twitched, something dangerously close to a smile ghosting over her lips. but she didn’t argue. instead, she walked toward the speaker to restart the track, her silhouette backlit by the soft overhead light. the air in the studio was warm and thick with the scent of sweat, fabric softener, and whatever expensive perfume she always wore that clung to the inside of your lungs.

you moved back into position, eyes meeting hers in the mirror.

“from the chorus?” she asked.

“yeah.”

the music swelled, and you both dropped into motion. each step, each beat, choreographed to bring you closer. your movements mirrored one another, bodies shifting with practiced ease. but the closer you got, the harder it was to ignore the electricity simmering just beneath the surface. it had been building all week. maybe longer. the brush of her arm when she passed too close. the way her gaze lingered too long when you weren’t looking. the deliberate softness in her voice when she said your name.

karina stepped into you for the partner moment, hands on your hips, her body sliding just barely against yours. her touch was firm, professional. but her breath hitched. just for a second, and her hands stayed there too long. you held her gaze in the mirror.

“your count’s off,” she said, but her voice was lower now, less sure.

“no, it’s not.”

only silence followed when the music ended, fading into static and stillness. you didn’t move and neither did she. your reflection looked back at you.  two figures standing too close, eyes locked, tension drawn taut between you like a wire about to snap.

karina stepped back a half inch, but it was pointless. the charge in the air didn’t go anywhere.

“why do you keep looking at me like that?” you asked, voice calmly measured.

she blinked, caught off guard by the sudden question. her pretty features twisted up into a small confused frown. “like what?”

“like you’re trying not to.”

her expression cracked, just slightly. she sighed, shaking her head dismissively. “don’t do that.”

“do what?”

karina didn’t answer. her eyes were on your mouth now, flicking back and forth between your collarbone and eyes like she was searching for an out to the conversation. lowe and behold, she found one. 

“we should go again,” she said finally, retreating behind something safe and professional as she hit play on the record for the nth time that session.

only when the music started, she didn’t move right away. she stepped behind you instead. slowly, deliberately. her hands found your waist like muscle memory. 

“fix your posture,” she said, but her voice was hoarse now.

your stomach tightened. 

she stood close, so close you could feel the rise and fall of her breath brushing softly against your neck, just beneath your ear. the air between you was thin, heavy. her chest, warm and steady, pressed lightly into your back, and your body tensed without meaning to. the contrast was jarring. her hands were cold, fingertips like little jolts of static as they slid down your sides, slow and deliberate.

goosebumps bloomed in her wake, a shiver chasing the trail she left behind. she didn’t rush. her fingers paused at your waist, then tightened, just enough for you to feel her there, claiming that space. her breath hitched. maybe yours did too.

the room felt suddenly smaller, the silence stretched and loaded with everything neither of you was saying. the weight of her touch, the heat of her body, the sharp sting of her cold hands. it all sank into your skin like a question waiting to be answered.

you watched her through the mirror, the way she studied you with that same quiet intensity she always wore. eyes dark, lips drawn into a firm line, her expression unreadable. she didn’t blink much. just let her gaze roam over you, slow and deliberate, like she was cataloguing every inch. 

you weren’t naive. you knew she didn’t need to touch you like this. she didn’t need to correct your stance, there was absolutely nothing wrong with it. she especially didn’t need to do it with both hands. not this slowly. she knew it, too. that knowledge hung between you like a thread, neither of you acknowledging it but both of you feeling the weight of it in every careful motion, every inch of space that no longer existed.

she touched you carefully, as if the wrong move would have you crumbling in her grip. her touch was cautious, curious. 

karina wasn’t sure what it was about you that made her so confused. every carefully crafted belief she had was tested the very minute you stumbled into her life. every religious idea embedded into her mind, every self deprecative whisper that told her she was wrong for finding beauty in another woman. with your waist between her hands, your body reacting, your stomach clenching taut and your head tilting slightly so her breath hit your neck— she decided then and there that you were like a drug. 

she tried to tell herself to step away, she really did. she tried to push her attraction to you into the deepest depths of her mind, forced herself to think about the allure she found in tall men like jaewook with coy smiles and handsome features. each and every time, she failed. the intoxication smell of your perfume permeated her senses. the intoxicating way your breath hitched when her right hand drifted up from your hip, nails lightly grazing your back beneath your shirt, lived in her mind like a memory she would never be able to shake. everything about you, she craved. no amount of gospel would ever equal the way she knew she’d commit to you like you were holy. 

whatever guilt she felt in that fleeting moment immediately evaporated when her body reacted on instinct. karina gently turned you around so you were facing her, closed in between her arms. the second you were face to face, she suddenly pushed you against the mirror she ogled you down through only seconds before. a quiet gasp slipped past your lips when your back met the cold surface, but it was her eyes that undid you. 

“this is wrong,” karina whispered, her voice low and wrecked, almost like she was pleading with herself more than with you. her hands still rested at your waist, but there was a tremble in them now, like she was on the edge of something she wasn’t sure she should fall into.

your eyes searched hers, the reflection of the two of you in the mirror blurring behind her. you didn’t look away. “does it feel wrong?” you asked, barely above a breath. your tone wasn’t challenging. it  was gentle, honest, like you were offering her a lifeline instead of an excuse.

she blinked, slow, as if the question hit something deep in her. her jaw clenched, the war playing out across her face in full view. “i don’t know what i’m doing,” she admitted, and it cracked something open in you.

“then stop thinking,” you said, voice soft but certain, and that was all it took.

karina surged forward, her mouth crashing into yours with a desperation that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long. it wasn’t tentative. it wasn’t careful. her kiss was messy, searing, the kind that stole the breath from your lungs and left no room for second thoughts. her hands slid up your sides, fingers curling under the hem of your shirt, clutching like she needed to ground herself in your skin.

you kissed her back just as hungrily, your hands finding her jaw, her hair, anything you could hold on to. there was heat everywhere. between you, around you, pulsing through every inch of your bodies as they pressed together. your back arched slightly against the mirror, the cold glass a sharp contrast to the fever in your blood.

karina groaned softly into your mouth, her fingers digging in just a little deeper, her lips parting like she wanted to drink you in, like she didn’t know how to stop now that she’d started.

whatever guilt she thought she’d feel was drowned beneath the tide of want, swept away by the way you kissed her like you’d been waiting for this moment just as long. her mouth trailed from your lips to your jaw, then your neck, pressing open mouthed kisses that left your skin burning.

“tell me to stop,” she whispered against your throat, breath hot and shaky.

you didn’t. you tilted your head back and pulled her closer. her fingers curled against your waist, possessive, desperate, like she thought you might disappear.

“you have no idea what you do to me,” she breathed, the words so quiet you barely caught them, but the weight of them slammed into you like a wave.

her voice was raw, frayed at the edges, like the feeling had clawed its way out of her chest. she pulled back just enough to look at you, her eyes dark and blown wide with something far past want. it was too much, too fast, and not nearly enough.

“i think about you all the time,” she continued, barely pausing for air. “when i shouldn’t. when i’m alone. when i’m with other people. and i hate it. i hate that i want you like this.”

you stared at her, stunned by the intensity pouring out of her like it couldn’t be stopped, like she’d cracked open and spilled everything she was too scared to say until now.

“but i do,” she whispered. “god, i do. and right now, i don’t think i can pretend i don’t.”

she trailed kisses down your throat again, each one slower than the last, lips parting just enough to taste. her hands traveled with her mouth. up your sides, around your ribs. not quite touching, but close enough to make your breath catch.

“you drive me crazy,” she murmured, lips barely grazing your collarbone. “i’ve tried so hard not to want this.”

“then don’t try,” you whispered back, voice trembling.

that was all the encouragement she needed. she tugged your shirt over your head in one fluid motion, eyes devouring you like she couldn’t believe you were real. her touch followed, fingertips dragging down your torso, lingering in reverent, slow passes like she wasn’t in a hurry. like she wanted this to last.

you reached for her, fingers sliding beneath her hoodie, needing to feel her just as bare, just as close. her skin was warm, soft under your touch, muscles tense as if holding back. she helped you pull her top off, and suddenly you were chest to chest, skin to skin, heat rolling off her in waves.

her mouth was back on yours in an instant, hands framing your face now, like you were something delicate, something sacred. she kissed you like prayer, like apology, like surrender.

nothing had ever felt more like heaven than it did coming apart in karina’s arms. 

__

current day

at some point, the others came home. you heard them before you saw them. shoes kicked off by the door, the rustle of jackets, the low hum of familiar voices echoing down the hall. normally, you would have greeted them, maybe even joined in on the quiet chaos of winding down after a long day. but tonight, you stayed curled on the couch, chaewon’s arm around your shoulders, your body still trembling in the aftermath of everything that had come undone.

they paused in the entryway. you could feel the weight of their curiosity before they even stepped into the room. yunjin was the first to cross the threshold, all teasing grin and raised brows. until she saw your face. the moment she caught sight of your tear-streaked cheeks and red eyes, the expression melted off her like ice in warm water. all that was left was quiet concern. her mouth opened, like she was about to ask something, but sakura shot her a warning look sharp enough to cut glass.

whatever question was on yunjin’s tongue died instantly.

the rest of the girls lingered for only a moment. kazuha gave you a gentle nod, eunchae hovered like she wanted to come closer but didn’t know if she should, and then, one by one, they dispersed down the hallway without a word. no one asked. no one pried. not yet.

the silence they left behind felt heavier than the noise.

chaewon didn’t speak right away. her arm was still around you, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder, grounding you. the silence stretched for a few moments more, just long enough to make you wonder if she was waiting for you to say something first. but then, quietly, she broke it.

“do they know?” her voice was soft, but steady.

you shook your head. “no. just you.”

chaewon nodded slowly, her fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face with a kind of gentle care that made your throat tighten.

“do you… want them to?” she asked.

you hesitated, staring at the space where the others had just been. your voice came out small. “i don’t know.”

chaewon’s brows pulled together. not judgmental, just thoughtful. “you don’t have to tell them. not if you’re not ready. but you can’t keep letting this eat you alive.”

“i thought i could handle it,” you whispered, blinking hard. “i thought keeping it quiet was the right thing.”

“maybe it was. at first,” she said gently. “but things change.”

you nodded, eyes burning again. “i didn’t think it would get this far.”

chaewon leaned back a little so she could see you better, her expression quiet but fierce in its protectiveness. “y/n… are you in love with her?”

the question knocked the breath from your lungs. you didn’t answer right away. you couldn’t. but she saw the way your jaw clenched, the way your eyes dropped, the way silence folded in around you again.

chaewon let the silence settle again, but only for a breath. she looked at you closely, the kind of look that felt like it could see past your skin, straight into the mess you were trying to hide. her voice was quiet when she asked, but there was no mistaking the weight behind the question.

“when did things start to go south?”

your lips parted, but nothing came out at first. your fingers curled tightly into the hem of your sleeve, knuckles pale. you weren’t sure which moment to name. when the first lie slipped from your mouth? when she started pulling away? when you realized her idea of safety didn’t include you?

“i think…” you started, swallowing hard, “i think it was always heading this way. but i didn’t want to see it.”

chaewon’s gaze didn’t waver. “tell me.”

you took a deep breath.

__

past

you knew what you were getting into. you truly did. in moments of silence, your mind subconsciously drifts back and forth between all of the stolen moments and the late nights where you felt like you were the center of her world. but of course, you remember her warning. a warning laced in sweetness and compassion, but one that you should’ve known would keep her from ever truly being yours; wholly and completely.  

you swallow when you remember a particular time in one of the many hotel rooms of daegu. she’d just snuck in with her face mask pulled up over her mouth, but still you were rocked by her beauty. you don’t think you could ever truly get used to the absurdity of how gorgeous she was. 

the minute you let karina in and shut the door firm behind her, she practically raced to take you into her arms. discarding her face mask haphazardly, she pulled you in close and towards the bed. she wanted so badly to be close to you that it physically hurt her. she pushed her face into your neck as she held you tight, her breath warm against your neck, her nose cold from the trekk she’d made through the cold hotel elevators. but you didn’t mind. not when she held you like you were the one and only thing she needed. 

her fingers traced idle patterns over the fabric of your sleeve, but you could feel the tension underneath her soft touch. she had been quieter than usual all night, and even now, curled into you like she never wanted to move again, her mind felt far away.

“you okay?” you asked softly.

her hand stilled for a moment. “mm-hm.”

you waited. you knew her well enough to know that when she got quiet like this, it wasn’t nothing. she was trying to find the words, but the words scared her.

“you don’t have to pretend with me,” you whispered, brushing your hand gently through her hair.

another beat of silence. her breath hitched slightly. “it’s not you,” she said finally, her voice barely audible. “you know that, right? it’s never been you.”

“i know,” you whispered, but your chest tightened anyway.

she shifted, sitting up just enough to meet your gaze. her eyes were glassy, wide, full of something heavy she’d been carrying for too long. “it’s just… this isn’t like other places,” she said softly. “it’s korea. you know how it is here. you know what happens.”

you swallowed, nodding. “yeah.”

“it’s not just the fans,” she continued, her voice trembling slightly now, words starting to rush like she was afraid she might lose the courage to say them if she didn’t spill them all at once. “it’s the companies. the sponsors. the media. even my own family. it’s not just about me being happy. it’s about all the people who depend on me. all the people watching. waiting for me to slip. and if this ever got out—” she broke off, biting her lip. “we’ve seen what happens to people here. to idols who don’t fit what they’re supposed to be.”

you reached for her hand, holding it tightly. “i know. i’ve seen it too.”

“they ruin you.” her voice cracked. “the headlines. the rumors. the fake stories. the comments. people get blacklisted, abandoned by their own companies. brands drop them overnight. fans turn on them like they never loved them to begin with. even if it’s not true, even if it’s just speculation, it’s enough to destroy someone’s career. to destroy their life.”

her fingers tightened around yours. “sometimes i think about what they would say. about you. about me. what they would write. how fast it would all unravel.”

you stayed quiet, letting her speak, not wanting to interrupt the dam finally breaking.

“i’ve worked so hard for this,” she whispered. “i’ve built everything on being perfect. being who they want me to be. i know it’s stupid, but i’m scared. i’m scared of losing it all. of losing you, even. if it all fell apart, i don’t know how i would survive it.”

your heart ached. “you wouldn’t lose me,” you said softly. “not ever.”

you meant it. with every fiber of your being, you spoke your words and committed to them like gospel. you knew as well as she did that keeping your situation private was the best for your careers. still, when your mind then drifted between all of the instances it felt like more, the tug in your chest sweltered into a sharp ache. 

another hotel room in busan. the room was quiet, wrapped in the kind of stillness that only came late at night, when the world outside slowed down just enough for you to breathe. thin streaks of city lights slipped through the gaps in the heavy curtains, casting faint reflections on the walls. everything felt distant. the traffic below, the cameras, the eyes always watching. here, inside this small bubble, it was just you and her.

the door opened with a gentle click, barely louder than a breath. she slipped inside, her movements careful, deliberate, as if even the air might be listening. the moment her eyes met yours across the dimly lit room, her shoulders relaxed, her entire frame softening as though she had been waiting all day for this exact moment.

you sat on the bed, legs folded beneath you, watching her with a small, involuntary smile pulling at your lips. “hey,” you whispered.

“hi,” she breathed, her voice a quiet exhale as she crossed the room to you. her bag slid from her shoulder, forgotten on the floor as she climbed onto the bed beside you, immediately curling into your side like muscle memory. her head rested against your chest, one arm slung across your waist, her fingers lightly brushing your ribs. the weight of her pressed into you in a way that felt grounding, like you were anchoring her.

your hand found her hair, fingers slipping through the soft strands, tracing lazy paths over her scalp. you felt the tension leaving her body piece by piece with every stroke. she let out a long, quiet sigh, like she had been holding her breath all day and could finally let it go.

the two of you stayed like that for a while, wrapped in silence, not because there was nothing to say but because neither of you needed words to fill the space. outside these walls, everything was complicated. endless obligations, careful glances, coded answers. but here, where no one could see, it was easy. you could be soft with each other. you could be real.

“i missed you,” she whispered eventually, her voice barely more than a breath against your skin.

your chest ached, the words both sweet and heavy. “i missed you too.”

her fingers traced idle patterns on your side, drawing invisible shapes as her breath slowed. “sometimes i wish i could just stay here,” she said quietly. “never leave. never have to pretend again.”

you kissed the top of her head gently, feeling the familiar sting behind your ribs, the one that always came when you thought too hard about all the ways you had to stay invisible. “me too.”

her voice grew softer, more fragile. “it’s scary, you know. how badly i want this. how badly i want you.”

you held her closer, your hand smoothing down her back in long, soothing strokes. “i know,” you whispered. “i know.”

she exhaled again, and for a few precious seconds, it felt like the world outside didn’t exist. just her breath, warm against your collarbone. just your fingers in her hair. just the steady thrum of both your hearts, tangled up in something that felt impossibly tender, impossibly dangerous, and impossibly good.

you remembered the stolen moments at award shows and group stages, the ones where she would find you between the noise. 

the music still throbbed faintly through the walls, distant now, like a heartbeat fading into the background. backstage was a maze of shadows and hurried footsteps, voices calling out instructions as crew members darted back and forth. but for a brief moment, tucked away behind a heavy curtain, there was a pocket of quiet that belonged only to the two of you.

karina slipped through the gap, moving quickly, her eyes darting once over her shoulder before they landed on you. the moment they did, the tension in her shoulders softened, replaced by that familiar look that always made your stomach flutter. like you were gravity, and she was helpless against it.

“there you are,” she whispered, already closing the distance.

her hand reached for yours, fingers slipping between yours with practiced ease. the warmth of her palm sent a tiny spark up your arm. you smiled as she tugged you gently back into the narrow space behind one of the stage drapes where no one could see.

her skin still glowed under the remnants of stage lights, faint glitter clinging to her collarbone and neck, her lips still painted perfectly from earlier. you watched her for a moment, taking in every detail, the adrenaline still humming softly beneath her skin.

“you looked…” you started, but couldn’t find the words fast enough.

her lips curved into a knowing smile. “i know.” she leaned in, voice dropping slightly, playful. “but i want to hear you say it.”

you exhaled a quiet laugh, your free hand sliding up to rest lightly on her waist. “you looked incredible.”

she hummed softly, her body swaying closer to yours, her eyes sparkling under the dim lights. “it’s the outfit, isn’t it?” her voice was teasing, but her gaze dipped to your lips for the briefest second before returning to your eyes. “the way you were looking at me during the performance was very… distracting.”

“was i that obvious?” you whispered.

“completely.” her smile deepened, her fingers tightening around yours. “i could feel your eyes on me the whole time. i liked it.”

the air between you grew warmer, heavier, not uncomfortable but charged in a way that made your breath catch slightly. the press of her body was subtle but deliberate, her fingers brushing lightly over the inside of your wrist, tracing gentle circles like she couldn’t bear to stop touching you.

“you’re really playing with fire,” you murmured, voice low, the smallest edge of teasing creeping into your tone.

“maybe i like playing with fire,” she whispered back, her voice silk-soft but charged. her face was close now, close enough that you could see the faint shimmer on her lips, smell the faint trace of her perfume, feel the ghost of her breath against your mouth. “it’s only dangerous if someone catches us.”

“they’re everywhere,” you breathed, but neither of you made any move to pull apart.

“i know.” she smiled, biting her lip. “but you’re standing so close. you’re making it very hard to behave.”

your hand slid up her waist, fingers splaying gently across the small of her back, drawing her closer until there was barely a sliver of air between your bodies. her breathing quickened just slightly, her eyes never leaving yours, pupils dark and wide.

“then don’t,” you whispered.

for a moment, it felt like the entire world shrank to the space between your mouths. but just before your lips could meet, voices rose from the other side of the curtain, snapping you both back into the reality waiting just beyond this sliver of stolen time.

she laughed quietly, soft and breathless, forehead falling against yours. “one of these days, i’m going to get us into so much trouble.”

you smiled, savoring the warmth of her so close. “i’ll take my chances.”

she squeezed your hand one last time, reluctant but already starting to pull away, her smile still lingering like the echo of a kiss that almost happened. “later,” she promised softly.

and then she was gone again, slipping back into the noise and lights, leaving behind only the memory of her breath on your skin and the electric hum still sparking through your veins.

of course, your mind drifted to those moments. moments where she touched you like you were some kind of delicate scripture she so badly wanted to commit to memory. 

her room was quiet, wrapped in the soft glow of a single lamp that pushed back the darkness just enough. the light was warm and low, curling into the corners and leaving gentle shadows in its wake. shoes were scattered by the door, left where they had fallen. her makeup was gone, wiped away to reveal bare skin that caught the dim light and made her look almost unreal. she sat on the edge of the bed, her legs drawn up slightly, wrapped in loose sweatpants and a simple camisole. she looked tired. but she was beautiful in a way that made your chest tighten. beautiful in a way that felt too fragile to name. it made your breath hitch.

you closed the door behind you, the quiet click echoing like a secret between you. neither of you spoke.

she moved first. she stood slowly, her movements smooth but deliberate. she crossed the small space between you with a quiet kind of confidence, stopping just close enough that you could feel the heat of her skin. her eyes lifted to meet yours, wide and searching. there was something raw in them. something she had been holding back.

“does this mean something to you?” her voice was quiet. steady, but careful, like she was afraid of what the answer might be.

you looked at her. you felt the weight of her question settle heavy in your chest. “does it to you?”

her hands rested on your arms, then climbed to your face, then tangled in your hair as her body pressed against yours. the kiss deepened, pulled, turned rough. she backed you into the wall, her breath hot against your neck. you didn’t know how it turned into the bed, or when your shirt came off, only that when her fingers traced the skin above your waistband, you let her.

it was fast and breathless and intense, like everything unspoken between you poured out through touch.

you swallowed, a feeling of bile rising to the back of your throat. some part of you felt almost guilty. you knew the conditions. hell, you may as well have wrote half of them. still, somewhere along the way, the hotel rooms lost their meanings. the pit stops between shows made you feel like more of an afterthought. 

you just didn’t expect it to come to a collapse just three days before the special stage during a shared interview. 

the studio was too warm, the kind of warmth that made the skin feel tight and the breath shallow, like the air itself was trying to press you down. above, the lights buzzed softly, casting a false glow over everything, as though the moment could be softened by something as simple as studio lighting. between takes, the silence had stretched unnaturally long, not heavy enough to feel like tension to anyone else, but sharp enough that every second vibrated beneath your skin. you hadn’t seen her since that night. not in a way that mattered. not in a way that left you pretending you didn’t still carry her fingerprints on your body.

she entered just before filming began, her arrival quiet but impossible to miss. her hair had been cut, dark waves now framing her face perfectly, falling just below her shoulders in soft, deliberate layers. the light makeup made her features look delicate, almost impossibly so under the brightness of the cameras, and the dark blazer draped over her cropped top hugged her frame with an effortlessness that made your stomach twist. she looked beautiful. too beautiful. like nothing had ever happened, like the late nights and the trembling hands and the whispered confessions had been nothing more than some fever dream you had failed to wake from.

the host’s voice, bright and unrelenting, filled the air almost immediately, eager to direct the scene, to keep things light and marketable. they asked the usual questions, the rehearsed ones, the ones meant to make the viewers at home smile and feel as though they were seeing something candid and sweet. promotions were mentioned, schedules were discussed, jokes about long working hours and friendly banter exchanged. and through all of it, you sat beside her, close enough for your knees to brush, the contact igniting a strange ache inside you, an ache that made you resent your own body for still wanting to be near hers.

the conversation shifted, as you both knew it eventually would, to the dynamic between you. the chemistry. the playful teasing your fans adored. the host grinned widely, their excitement almost palpable as they leaned into the question. "so," they said with a sparkle in their eye, "what’s it like working together? there’s clearly some amazing chemistry here."

karina answered with the ease of someone who had perfected this performance long ago. her smile was flawless, the kind that looked natural to anyone who hadn’t seen the version of her that came apart beneath you. "we clicked quickly," she said, her voice light, her tone effortless, "very professional."

the word professional struck you with a force you hadn’t braced for. as though the stolen glances and secret rendezvous in the quiet hours had been some kind of contract fulfillment. as though the nights where she had whispered your name like a prayer, where you had held her as she cried because she was so afraid of what this all meant, had simply been part of the job. like the trembling in her hands when she first kissed you hadn’t meant anything at all.

and then came the question that you had felt looming in the air, inevitable and cruel in its timing. the host grinned again, voice lilting with playful curiosity. "last question," they said with a theatrical pause, "ideal types?"

karina didn’t hesitate. not even for a moment. her answer was as smooth as it was devastating. "i like someone dependable," she said with a soft laugh that made your skin crawl, "funny, strong. like… a guy who’s confident. someone who knows what he wants."

for a moment, it was like your heart forgot how to beat altogether. you had never expected her to speak your name into this space. you knew better than to think she would take that risk. you hadn’t wanted her to confess you, not here, not like this. but the ease with which she had erased you, the casual way she made you invisible, carved into you with a quiet brutality you hadn’t prepared for.

the host leaned forward, emboldened by her answer. "oh, very specific," they teased. "tall? handsome? does he work in the industry?"

karina’s gaze drifted somewhere distant, not meeting anyone’s eyes as she added, "maybe. someone who can handle the spotlight. someone my parents would approve of. someone stable. safe."

the word safe echoed through your mind, splintering into every corner of your memory. safe. was it safe when she had pulled you into her arms after long days, when her voice broke as she told you she didn’t know how to want you and still fear you at the same time? was it safe when she had whispered that no one had ever made her feel like you did, that she had never wanted anything like she wanted you? was it safe when her body had trembled beneath your hands, when her lips had found yours in the darkness where no one could see? nothing about what you had shared had been safe. it had been terrifying and thrilling and raw, but never safe.

the host chuckled, still completely unaware of the quiet devastation unfolding between you both. "ah, you have high standards! love that."

the noise around you blurred, the studio shrinking into a narrow tunnel of light and heat. your heartbeat pulsed painfully in your ears, the air growing thinner with each breath you tried to take. but she kept smiling, as though her words hadn’t just gutted you in front of the entire world. she smiled because that was what she was trained to do. the perfect answer. the perfect idol. the perfect fiction. the one who could never claim you. not here. not now. and maybe not ever.

the host, still entirely too cheerful, finally turned to you. "and y/n? what about you?"

you smiled. it was slow, deliberate, and held together by sheer will, even though your entire chest felt like it might collapse inward. you could feel her answer hovering in the space between you, still thick in the air, suffocating and heavy. your voice came out steady, but every word scraped against something raw inside you. "i think i like someone who’s not afraid."

the host blinked, leaning forward slightly, as though sensing the shift but unable to comprehend it.

"someone who isn’t scared to claim me," you continued, your voice quieter now but impossible to mistake. "publicly. fully. not just when it’s easy."

the silence that followed was not soft. it was jagged and brutal, cutting through every false smile in the room. you didn’t need to look at her to feel her shift beside you, but you turned anyway. you met her eyes, wide and full of something that looked like panic, or maybe shame, or maybe the sharp realization of what she had just done. she opened her mouth slightly, as though words might come, but nothing did.

the host gave a small, nervous laugh, desperately trying to break the tension that now choked the air. "oh—mysterious! sounds like there’s a story there!"

but you weren’t listening. not to the host. not to anyone. you stared ahead, your gaze fixed somewhere distant beyond the cameras and the lights, beyond the stage where you had been reduced to a secret that no one would ever be allowed to know. your words hovered, irreversible and final, hanging like an open wound between you both. unapologetic. and for the first time, you felt your heart begin to fracture in a way you knew you wouldn’t be able to mend. she was afraid. she had always been afraid. and maybe, no matter how much you had given her, no matter how much you had held her trembling hands in the dark, she always would be.

that wasn’t something you could carry for her anymore.

you felt your heart rip in two.

__

current day

when you finally finish regaling chaewon with the story, you see it in her face. not right away. she stays quiet at first, her expression still, eyes fixed on some invisible point just past you. the room feels too quiet, like even the air is holding its breath. but then her brows pull in slightly, her mouth presses into a thin line, and her fingers curl tighter where they rest against the fabric of the couch. it’s not anger exactly. it’s something quieter. deeper.

frustration. secondhand hurt. the kind that doesn’t explode, but settles heavy in her chest, in her shoulders, in the way she blinks like she’s trying to process too many things at once. her silence isn’t cold. it’s protective.

“you didn’t deserve that,” she says finally, her voice low and steady, but there’s a sharpness to it now. “any of it.”

you don’t answer right away. there’s a lump in your throat, thick and unmoving. you’re not sure what response would even be fair. you’re not blameless. you knew what you were getting into. still, hearing it out loud, from someone who’s always been a step outside the storm, makes it feel real in a way you weren’t ready for.

“i told myself it was worth it,” you murmur, eyes locked on your hands. “that it didn’t matter if it hurt, as long as it meant something.”

chaewon shakes her head slowly, a breath leaving her like it’s been sitting there too long. “but it did matter. it does. you can’t keep setting yourself on fire just to keep something warm that won’t stay.”

your throat tightens. “i know.”

she shifts beside you, reaching out to gently touch your wrist. her hand is warm. grounding. “you love her,” she says, and it isn’t a question. it’s just the truth, spoken softly enough not to break you.

you nod, eyes burning.

“but love isn’t supposed to feel like this all the time.”

you don’t say anything, because you know she’s right. because deep down, you’ve known it for a while.

chaewon squeezes your wrist, just once. “whatever happens next, you don’t have to go through it alone. even if she’s not there... i am.”

your chest tightens and you nod, afraid that saying anything will split you open. chaewon doesn’t speak. she just stays beside you, quiet and solid, like she’s holding the space steady so you don’t have to. still, your mind drifts.

you think of karina. the way she held you like you were hers, kissed you like it meant something, then acted like none of it ever happened. how she made you feel seen, then vanished into silence. how she smiled through that interview and said she liked confident men, like you weren’t sitting right there.

to make matters worse, you still had to see her again. the special stage was in three days. you ignored your managers calls when you hauled yourself home and into chaewon’s arms, her comfort the only tether you had keeping yourself to reality. truthfully, you didn’t think you could face her again.

still, chaewon held you.

warnings: kitten kitten kitten, rough sex, use of strap, bulge?, sex in bathtub

a/n: gosh i should really keep track of what i wrote for the warnings😓 also not proofread but there'll be part 2 after i finished my exams🤟😎 special tag btw!! @intermixforyou

the door clicks shut gently—well past midnight—karina went straight to her room with her body ached from back-to-back meetings. the only thing she wants to do is run a warm bath and change into a more comfortable clothes after running on caffeine and impatience.

she took off her coat and throws it somewhere, did the same with her heels. she reaches for the beer in her fridge while unbuttoning her crinkled shirt. she took a deep breath and releases it full of stress as she walk towards her room when she find a pleasant surprise on her bed.

you, all dolled up in one of her lingerie (that's a little too big for you, especially the chest area), snoring softly. you were waiting for her to come home but sleep got the best of you. still, karina chuckled as she made her way to kneel beside the bed you are sleeping on.

”kitten, wake up,” she puts down her beer on the nightstand and tucks a few strands of your hair behind your ear to expose the soft line of your cleavage. no answer. you are still snoring softly and only snuggles to karina's cold hands as a response. karina lets out a low hum, lips twitching into a fond, amused smile.

”mm, look at you,” she murmurs, thumb grazing the corner of your mouth. ”you really put this on for me, didn't you, baby?”

you haven't yet respond, of course, still lost in a dream. you just breathe deeper, lashes fluttering a little as her cold fingers trace down your jaw, then lower—skimming down your neck and over the silk strap that's fallen off your shoulder.

”you’re such a good girl,” she whispers, voice just above a breath now. ”waiting for mommy like this... in my favorite set, no less.”

her hand slides under the loose cup of the lingerie, cupping your breast, thumb stroking slow circles around your nipple. your body shivers, but you’re still not awake—not really.

karina leans in, kissing just below your ear. ”don't worry, kitten. i'll be gentle—just enough to take the edge off... for both of us.” her other hand trails down your stomach, slipping past the hem of the lace.

”you're warm,” she mutters against your skin, eyes dark with something feral. ”so soft, so ready for me even in your sleep.” she flips you gently to lay on your back, uncovering your thighs and slowly trails kisses from your ankle to your inner thigh.

”mmh...” you let out a soft whimper, slowly waking up when karina finally kisses the top of your mound, ”m-mommy?” karina lets out a soft sigh.

”aww, i was just having fun,” she coos, gently helps you to sit, ”had a nice nap?”

”mmhm… missed you…” you mumble, voice hoarse and small. cheeks still flushed, eyes barely open as you lean into her touch like a kitten seeking warmth.

karina smiles, brushing your hair back and kissing your temple. ”i missed you too, baby. you looked so pretty—how could i not touch you a little?”

you squirm in her lap, immediately getting sensitive from her teasing earlier, your thighs pressing together instinctively. she notices, of course.

”shh,” she soothes, cupping your cheek, ”want to join me in the bath?” before you can answer, she's already picking you up, one arm under your knees and the other behind your back. you hide your face in her shoulder, letting her carry you like you weigh nothing.

***

the bathroom is warm with steam, lit only by the soft golden glow of the vanity light. the tub is being filled, karina sets you down on the bath mat and strips what little is left between you two, eyes never leaving your flushed face.

”get in first, sweetheart,” she murmurs, placing a sweet kiss on your forehead, ”i'll join you in a sec,” you step in, the water hugging your skin like silk. when she finally sinks in behind you, her short hair dampening at the tips, you instinctively scoot back to her, letting her craddle you.

for a while, it's quiet—her hands rubbing innocent circles on your hips underwater, her lips brushing your shoulder as the scent of lavender swirls around you both.

then she sits up slightly, handing you a soft sponge.

”baby,” she says softly, ”be good and help mommy wash her back?” you blink up at her, dazed and pliant, ”okay...” you shift behind her as she leans forward, baring the elegant curve of her back to you. you run the sponge along her spine, slowly—up, then down again—watching the way her muscles move beneath her skin. her sighs are soft, content.

but your hands get greedy. they stray lower, from her waist to the side of her ribs... then forward—just a little. you glance at her face in the mirror. she doesn't stop you.

so you keep going.

your hands sneak over her stomach, then up to cup her breasts under the water, the sponge floats, long forgotten. her breath hitches.

”kitten,” she warns gently, a teasing note in her voice, ”that's not my back.”

”but you feel so good...” you murmur, fingers brushing over her nipples, watching them harden under your touch. ”wanna make mommy feel good.” she chuckles, low and dangerous, tilting her head to the side.

”such a naughty little thing, i was trying to behave tonight. you got classes tomorrow right?” instead of nodding, you lean in, kissing the nape of her neck.

”you started it.” you whisper, getting more and more brazen, as your hands knead softly at her chest, thumbs rubbing gentle circles over her nipples until she exhales a shaky breath.

karina chuckles, head falling back slightly to rest against your shoulder, ”God, you're such a little brat.” but she doesn't stop you.

the water sloshes quietly as you shift closer behind her, pressing soft kisses down her neck, your bare chest flush against her slick back. you can feel her heartbeat—steady, strong—but quickening under your touch.

”does it feel good, mommy?” you ask, voice syrupy and teasing.

”mmh,” she hums, rolling her hips just slightly under the water, ”feels like my baby's trying to take care of me.”

your hands slide lower, ghosting down her stomach until your fingertips slip between her legs. she parts them for you without a word.

”just like that,” she whispers, breath catching as your fingers explore slow, gentle circles against her folds.

”fuck, kitten...” you smile into her skin. she's so warm, so soft, so wet—maybe not just from the bath.

”want you to relax,” you murmur, slipping a finger inside her, earning a low, chocked moan, ”mommy worked so hard today... let me help.”

she turns her face slightly, just enough to capture your lips in a slow, open-mouthed kiss—messy and deep like she's trying to breathe you in.

”don't stop,” she pants against your mouth, ”don't you dare stop.” she breathes, voice already threadbare—but you don't respon. just give her that soft, sinful smirk and dip under the water, letting it rise over your shoulders as you sink between her thighs.

karina lets out a breath, chest rising with a gasp as your tongue drags slow and deliberate up her folds. you taste her—really taste her—and fuck, it's addicting. sweet and heavy on your tongue, warm even through the bathwater.

you grip her thighs tighter after lifting karina up to make her sit at the edge of the tub, spreading her just enough to bury your mouth deeper, and that's when karina loses it.

”fuck—baby—” her voice breaks, eyes fluttering shut as her hips jerk up, trying to chase the pressure of your mouth. ”just like that, yes—right there, oh god—”

you moan into her, the sound vibrating against her clit. she feelts it, sharp and electric, and you feel her clench around nothing. she's trying so hard to hold still, but her thighs tremble as you suck her swollen clit into your mouth and roll your tongue around it in tight, wet circles.

her hand slaps weakly against the side of the tub, ”you're gonna—fuck—make me come, baby, you want that? want mommy to come all over that pretty mouth?”

you hum again, hungrier now, tilting your head to get even closer—diving in like you've been starving for days, tongue lapping at her with an obscene slurp. she tastes like salt and lavender and her, and you want every last drop.

karina tries to move herself, but your grip pins her down.

”oh my god,” she whispers, her whole body shaking, ”you're fucking insatiable—”

then she breaks.

her thighs clamps around your head, a chocked sob tearing from her throat as her hips grind helplessly into your face. her orgasm crashes down hard and fast, her body shuddering as her slick coats your tongue, thick and hot, mixing with bathwater as she writhes against you.

you stay kneeling, licking her through it—slow, worshipful strokes, like you're savoring dessert. only when she slips back inside the tub, twitching and breathless, do you finally let her go, lips swollen and chin dripping with her.

she stares at you with glassy eyes, cheeks flushed, breath still shallow.

”you—” her voice cracks, ”you filthy, perfect little thing.”

you blink up at her, eyes innocent and lips parted, ”did i do good, mommy?”

she just laughs—wrecked, loving, feral.

”get over here, mommy's not done with you.”

***

oh, and she really mean it.

”c'mere,” she murmurs, tugging you into her lap. the water sloshes as you straddle her thighs, hands pressed to her chest for balance. her skin is flushed and warm, breast slick and rising with each breath.

”sit still,” she whispers, and you do. obediently. perfectly. thighs parted just enough as her hands slips between them. the first touch of her fingers against your folds makes you whimper. your hips jerk, eyes fluttering shut. she chuckles darkly and kisses your neck.

”so soaked...” her fingers slip through your folds again, slow and teasing, parting you open. your breath catches as one finger dips inside, then two—pressing in with that practiced curl that has your thighs quacking.

”shhh,” she coos against your shoulder. ”let mommy take care of you. just sit there and feel me, okay?” you choke on a moan when she starts moving—slow but deep, knuckles brushing your walls, palm nudging your clit with every stroke.

”such a needy little thing,” she murmurs, lips brushing your ears as her fingers thrust deeper.

”look at you, grinding on my hand like a slutty little doll.” you can't help it—your hips move on their own, chasing the pressure, chasing the edge. her other hand grips your waist, keeping you grounded while she fucks you open.

”mmph—m-mommy, please—” you cry, burying your face in her neck.

”please what, baby?” ”please don't stop. need it. wanna cum for you—wanna make you proud—”

karina moans softly at that, her own thighs clenching, ”you always make me proud, kitten,” and just like that—she speeds up. fingers pumping fast, slick and loud in the water, your moans echoing against the bathroom tiles. her thumb finds your clit and rubs tight circles, fast and relentless. your body arches. toes curling, mouth falling open, voice breaking.

”m-mommy—i'm—i'm gonna—” ”cum for me.” she growls against your throat, ”be good, cum all over mommy's fingers.”

and you do—shattering in her arms, body jerking and crying out as your orgasm crashes down hard and wet. her hand never stops moving until you're twitching and boneless, clinging to her like a lifeline.

”good girl, my perfect little angel,” after your orgasm, karina lifts you out of the tub with steady arms, wrapping you in one of her plush towels. your body's limp against her chest—shaky and warm, cheeks flushed, eyes barely open. she kisses your temple as she carries you out, water dripping down both your bodies.

”you did so well,” she lays you down gently on the bed and kneels beside you, drying your skin with slow, careful hands. you hum sleepily, nuzzling into her touch. your lashes flutter, barely awake, and you reach out—fingers curling around her wrist like you don't want her to leave.

”mommy,” you whisper, voice hoarse.

”m'sorry...” ”sorry for what, kitten?” karina stills. your eyes blink open, watery and hazy, lips trembling, ”for making you tired. you had a long day and i—i wanted to make you feel good but i... i'm so selfish-”

”hey, no,” she cuts in softly, brushing damp hair from your face, ”you made me feel amazing. don't ever say that.” you nod, but your hips roll-just a little—just enough to press yourself against her palm as she cups your cheek.

”baby...” she warns, though her voice is more fond than firm.

”i can't help it,” you breathe, rubbing your thighs together, desperate but still sleepy ”i'm still... still so empty, mommy. want you again, but you're tired. i'm sorry, i'll be good-just a little, please?” and before she can answer, your body moves on instinct—grinding into her hand like a kitten in heat. soft little whines escape your lips with every rut, your face scrunched with guilt and need and desperation.

karina watches you, entranced. you're warm and flushed, pupils blown, still glistening between your thighs. even like this—fuzzy and limp in her arms—you're insatiable.

”fuck, baby...” she groans, gently pushing your legs apart with her knee. ”you're gonna be the death of me.”

”want mommy to use me. just use me until you're not tired anymore,” you nod eagerly, barely catching her words. karina slides her fingers back between your folds, feeling just how wet you still are. your hips jolt. your lips part with a needy moan.

”you wanna make it up to me?” she purrs leaning down until her breath fans across your lips.

”then lie back and let mommy fuck the apology out of you.” your breath hitches as she rises off the bed, towel slipping from her hips. she walks—slow, deliberate—to the drawer by the closet. you watch her through half-lidded eyes, dazed and soaked, thighs clenching at the anticipation.

when she turns around, she's holding it—the strap. black. thick. intimidating. the one she rarely uses. the one that leaves you wrecked for days. your lips part, a soft gasp catching in your throat. ”m-mommy..”

karina smiles, slow and sinful. ”what? too much?” she climbs back onto the bed, looming over you like a god.

”but i thought you wanted to make mommy feel better. don't tell me you're backing out now, kitten.” you shake your head, biting your lip as you spread your legs wider.

”want it. want all of you, mommy. please...” she growls-low and approving—and presses a knee between your thighs dragging the tip of the strap through your folds. your whole body twitches, breath caught, hands fisting the sheets.

”so fucking wet already,” she huffs, lining up with your entrance. ”all that whining and grinding—this what you were begging for, hm? to be split open on mommy's biggest cock like a needy little toy?”

you let out a broken moan, head tossing back.

”use me mommy. please.. want to feel full. want you to ruin me...” ”atta girl.”

and then she pushes in.

inch by inch, slow and relentless. the stretch burns—delicious, overwhelming, perfect. your mouth falls open, eyes wide and glassy as she fills you up, deeper than ever before.

”that's it,” karina breathes, gripping your thighs, and forcing them wider. ”take it all, i know you can—my greedy baby, always begging for more.”

your back arches. your nails dig into her arms. every breath you take is a whimper, a sob, a plea. once she's fully inside, she pauses—just to watch you tremble around her, cunt clenching, mouth babbling nonsense.

”look at you,” she murmurs, brushing your tears away with her thumb. ”already crying and i haven't even fucked you yet.”

”f-fuck me, mommy,” you gasp, ”need it so bad—need you to break me, please...”

”then hold on, kitten.” she pulls back, slow and sinful—then slams back in, hard enough to make the headboard crack.

you scream.

and karina just laughs, low and breathless, already setting a brutal pace—fucking into you like it's the only thing keeping her sane, like you belong to her (which you do).

she fucks you into the mattress, her grip unrelenting—hands planted on either side of your head, driving her hips down into yours with brutal, punishing thrusts. the strap's so deep inside you, every stroke punching gasps out of your lungs, making your legs twitch and your stomach flutter.

you're not even forming real words anymore—just sobs, cries, moans of mommy and please and so good all tangled up in your throat.

”you wanted this, didn't you?” karina growls, lips grazing your ear. ”wanted mommy to ruin your cute little hole? stretch you out until you can't take anything else?”

you nod—frantic. tears spill from your lashes as you paw at her back, trying to pull her even closer, bury her deeper.

”yes, yes, yes—fuck, mommy—don't stop-i'm gonna—”

she doesn't slow. she can't. your body clings to her, soaking, sloppy, walls fluttering like you're seconds from snapping again. she leans back just enough to watch the strap disappear into you, your tummy bulging slightly from the pressure, her jaw tightening at the sight.

”look at you,” she pants, grabbing your thighs and pushing them up toward your chest, folding you in half. ”taking me so fucking well. this hole was made for mommy's cock, wasn't it?”

”yes—yes, please—m'so close—mommy please let me-”

”then cum, baby,” she whispers, droppingher lips to yours in a bruising kiss. ”make a mess on mommy's cock. show me how much you love being used.”

and just like that—you break.

your back arches off the bed, a raw cry leaving your throat as you cum hard, soaking her, soaking the sheets, entire body trembling. karina doesn't stop—dragging it out, fucking you through every twitch and jolt until your limbs go limp, mouth parted, eyes glassy.

but even then-especially then—you keep whispering it, barely there, barely conscious: ”m'sorry, mommy... sorry for being needy... just love you so much... want to make you feel good...”

karina's heart aches.

she leans down, brushing hair from your sweat-slicked forehead, her thrusts finally slowing down.