kyakpack

[kyakpack]

yeah id slap the shit outta karina once i heard she kissed yuna and if i didn't do it then i would've done it when she said it wasn't the first time she had a girl messy at a photoshoot?? Bitch

MAKE IT TO THE HIGH FASHION ──── yu jimin.

── ( 📸 ) as two of prada’s most coveted faces, you and karina, former lovers torn apart by a whirlwind of rumors and a devastating lack of trust, are unexpectedly thrust back into each other’s orbit for a high–stakes photoshoot, and as the camera flashes capture not only the clothes but also the raw emotions simmering beneath the surface, karina seizes the opportunity to finally explain the truth behind the infamous dispatch scandal, leaving you to decide if forgiveness and a second chance are worth risking your heart all over again.

pairing. dom!toxic ex girlfriend!karina x sub!ex girlfriend!fem reader

warning(s). angst (kinda), cheating, cunnilingus, degradation, fingering, making out, pet names, squirting.

word count. 10,8k

requested? yes.

the flashing lights of the stage are blinding, but you navigate them with a practiced ease. your movements are sharp, your gaze intense, and the roar of the crowd fuels you. another performance done, another wave of deafening cheers washing over you.

being an idol was everything you’d ever dreamed of, the culmination of years of grueling training and unwavering dedication. being an idol is a whirlwind of constant performances, relentless practice, and the ever–present scrutiny of millions.

but it came with a price. a price you were currently paying with a knot of anxiety tightening in your stomach.

the unspoken rule looms over you: romantic relationships are a liability. fans, in their adoration, often see their idols as belonging to them, their fantasies woven into the perfect image projected on stage. to shatter that image with the reality of a partner is to risk their ire, their disappointment, and ultimately, their support. and beyond that, dating someone within the industry is akin to walking a tightrope, a constant balancing act between public perception, competitive pressures, and genuine affection.

being an idol meant living under a microscope. wvery move you made, every word you spoke, was scrutinized and dissected by millions. maintaining a squeaky–clean image was paramount. and that meant keeping secrets. especially secrets like the one you shared with karina.

karina. the leader of aespa. your rival group. and, impossibly, the woman who held your heart.

you remembered the early days, the awkward interactions backstage at music shows. you were both rookies then, navigating the treacherous waters of the industry, trying to make a name for yourselves. aespa and your group often found yourselves promoting at the same time, leading to a whirlwind of shared stages and fleeting conversations. you always found yourself drawn to karina’s quiet confidence, her sharp wit hidden beneath a cool exterior.

you’d make silly faces at each other across the stage during encore performances, earning a playful glare from your manager later. during music show wins, you’d subtly angle your phone during a group shot to get karina in the frame, much to the amusement (and knowing smirks) of your members. you meticulously learned the choreography of “girls” just so you could tease her with it backstage. these interactions were small, seemingly insignificant to the outside world. but to you, they were everything. they were a lifeline in a world that often felt isolating and manufactured.

until finally you two had a decent interaction, meaning you had the balls to approach her without getting cold feet in the process; when your group and hers had overlapping promotion cycles, you’d make sure to seek her out. a quick hug backstage, a shared compliment about each other’s stage outfits, a genuine smile for the cameras. you remember one instance vividly: uour group had just finished performing your latest title track on a music show. exhausted but exhilarated, you spotted karina across the backstage chaos. she was radiant in a shimmering silver dress, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she laughed with her members. you approached her, offering a playful bow.

“karina–ssi, your performance was amazing today! that high note gave me chills.” you said, loud enough to be heard over the din.

she returned the bow, her cheeks flushing slightly. ��ah, (y/n)–ssi, you were incredible too! that break dance was killer.”

fans, of course, noticed. they speculated. they shipped. they created elaborate fanfiction scenarios, fueling the flames of their own fantasies. “le sserafim x aespa crumbs!” they’d squeal in the comments sections. little did they know, the “crumbs” they were seeing were just the tip of a very carefully concealed iceberg.

little did they know, those fleeting moments were lifelines, secret signals in a world that demanded you keep your true feelings hidden.

but the stolen glances, the brief touches, the whispered phone calls late at night, were never enough. griendship evolved into something deeper, something undeniable. you fell in love, slowly and irrevocably, her strength and kindness drawing you in like a moth to a flame. the joy you found in her presence was intoxicating, a stark contrast to the manufactured smiles and rehearsed interactions that often characterized your public life.

keeping your relationship a secret wasn’t easy. you navigated crowded events with coded glances, orchestrated meet–ups under the cover of darkness, and perfected the art of communicating volumes with a single squeeze of the hand. but the fear of exposure was a constant companion, a nagging voice whispering in the back of your mind.

the industry thrived on these manufactured interactions. inter–group friendships were good for publicity, harmless fodder for variety shows and social media engagement. what wasn’t good for publicity was a genuine romantic relationship, especially not one between two female idols from competing companies.

you and karina knew the risks. you knew the potential backlash. but you couldn’t deny the connection that had blossomed between you. late–night phone calls stretched into hours, filled with whispered confessions and shared dreams. secret meetings in secluded cafes, faces hidden behind masks and oversized hoodies. the thrill of the forbidden, the electricity of stolen moments, only intensified your feelings.

but secrecy was a heavy burden. the constant fear of discovery hung over you like a sword. you had to be careful, always meticulously planning your rendezvous, scrubbing your digital footprint, and carefully curating your public persona. it was exhausting.

then came the fateful night. you and karina, desperate for a few hours of normalcy, had planned a late–night dinner at a small, tucked–away restaurant. you meticulously planned every detail; you’d chosen a restaurant tucked away on a quiet side street, far from the bustling city center. you both donned your best incognito outfits — baseball caps pulled low, dark sunglasses, and layers of clothing designed to obscure your identities. karina, ever cautious, had even suggested wearing masks, but you’d argued against it, fearing it would draw more attention.

the evening was perfect. you laughed, you talked, you forgot, for a few precious hours, the weight of the world and the expectations of millions. you held her hand across the table, her touch sending a familiar shiver down your spine. for a moment, you let yourself believe that you could have it all — your career, your love, your happiness.

that illusion shattered with the flash of a camera.

as you left the restaurant, a flash of light erupted from the darkness. a paparazzi, lurking in the shadows, had captured the moment. the grainy photo, capturing you and karina holding hands, faces partially obscured, was splashed across the internet the next morning.

your world imploded.

the next morning, your phone exploded. notifications flooded your screen, a torrent of comments, messages, and articles screaming the same thing: you and karina. a grainy photo circulated online — you, holding hands with a woman who was undeniably karina, bathed in the harsh glare of a flashbulb.

the world went into meltdown.

your phone became a weapon of mass destruction, buzzing incessantly with notifications. fans, stans, haters, news outlets — everyone had an opinion. the comments ranged from outright vitriol to tentative support, but the overwhelming sentiment was shock and disbelief.

“OMG! is this real?”

“unbelievable! they’re dating?!”

“my ship has sailed! i knew it!”

“(y/n) is cancelled! how dare she keep this from us?”

“leave them alone! it’s their life!”

the outrage, the speculation, the sheer volume of noise was deafening. you felt sick to your stomach, a cold dread creeping into your bones.

your company scrambled to contain the damage, issuing a statement that confirmed the rumors. karina’s agency followed suit. but the language was vague, both statements were carefully worded, emphasizing the “close friendship” that had “unexpectedly blossomed” into something more. the language was sterile, devoid of the warmth and passion that characterized your relationship. it felt like a betrayal, a public dissection of something so private and precious.

then came the dreaded request: the handwritten letter. you were instructed to write a letter to your fans, a heartfelt apology for “keeping this secret” and a plea for understanding. the words felt hollow, disingenuous. you wanted to scream, to defend your right to privacy, to express the pure, unadulterated joy that karina brought into your life. but you knew you couldn’t. you were an idol, a product, and your image was carefully controlled.

you stared at the blank page, the weight of expectation crushing you. how could you possibly explain the complexities of your heart to millions of strangers? how could you apologize for loving someone, for finding happiness in a world that so often seemed determined to deny it to you?

but you knew you had no choice. you were an idol, and your fans were the lifeblood of your career. you owed them an explanation, even if it felt like a violation.

you sat at your desk, the blank document on your laptop mocking you. you typed, deleted, and retyped, trying to find the right words, the words that would appease your fans without sacrificing your integrity. it felt like an impossible task.

finally, you settled on something carefully crafted, something that acknowledged the situation without revealing too much.

you wrote, pouring out your heart in carefully chosen words. you apologized for keeping the relationship a secret, explaining that you had only wanted to protect your fans and preserve the image they held dear. you apologized for not being more open, you thanked your fans for their unwavering support, and you promised to continue working hard to earn their love and respect. you carefully avoided mentioning the word “love” in relation to karina, you only spoke of your respect for karina, your admiration for her talent, and your gratitude for her unwavering support.

posting the letter felt like a betrayal. a betrayal of yourself, a betrayal of karina, a betrayal of the truth. but you knew it was necessary. it was the price you had to pay.

the response was… mixed. some fans were supportive, offering words of encouragement and understanding. they celebrated your courage and wished you both happiness. others were devastated, feeling betrayed and heartbroken. they accused you of lying, of manipulating them, of shattering their dreams. the hate was vicious, personal, and relentless.

the initial backlash was fierce. hordes of fans felt betrayed, accusing you of lying and manipulating them. they flooded your social media with hateful comments, demanding your resignation. other fans rallied to your defense, praising your courage and supporting your right to love. the fandom was fractured, divided.

the weeks that followed were a blur of damage control. you and karina faced a barrage of criticism, scrutiny, and speculation. every move you made was analyzed, every word you spoke dissected. the media feasted on the drama, churning out endless articles and videos dissecting your relationship.

the online world became a battleground, a toxic landscape of love and hate. fan wars erupted, fueled by jealousy, insecurity, and the insatiable hunger for gossip. you watched in horror as people you’d never met tore each other apart over something so deeply personal.

and then there were the whispers, the insidious rumors that threatened to undermine everything you’d worked for. accusations flew — that you were using karina for fame, that she was manipulating you to boost her own career, that your relationship was nothing more than a publicity stunt.

the hate was relentless, particularly aimed at karina. she was branded as a homewrecker, a fame��seeker, a talentless hack. the comments were cruel, vicious, and deeply personal. you wanted to shield her from the storm, to protect her from the ugliness of it all. but you couldn’t, you weren’t the emotionally strong one in the relationship; if just reading the negative comments about karina made you shed tears, how are you supposed to console her without breaking down? karina was the leader of her group and therefore always had to appear serious and mature to the public, and you knew that she cried easily, so you didn’t see yourself capable of comforting her if she felt affected by the criticism because seeing her sad would hurt you and that would end with you crying and karina consoling you.

the weeks that followed were a blur of anxiety and uncertainty. you canceled public appearances, retreated into the safety of your dorm, and tried to avoid the relentless media attention. you felt isolated, vulnerable, and utterly powerless.

you had stopped uploading photos to your social networks since the comments started to be only about the public asking about karina and leading to debates in the comments section, it hurt you to see people having opinions about things without knowing about them and having a rather questionable point of view but reading your fans defending you even without knowing if the rumors were real was like a cute bandage on a deep wound.

but no matter how much you stopped being active on social media and stopped talking on weverse, the comments didn’t stop; logging off your public social media was a relief for you, but by using your private accounts that only your members followed, even then there was content talking about you and the controversy appeared in content recommended for you — at this point, smashing your phone against the wall seemed to be the only option left.

despite the chaos, you and karina clung to each other. you found solace in her embrace, her unwavering belief in you a beacon in the storm. you reminded each other of the love you shared, the strength you drew from each other, and the dreams you still held dear.

the pressure was immense, but you refused to break. you knew that your relationship was worth fighting for, and you were determined to weather the storm, no matter how fierce. you looked at karina and saw not a rival, but a partner. you saw not a risk, but a reason to be brave. and you knew, with a certainty that defied all the noise and negativity, that you would face whatever came next, together.

karina, strong and resilient as always, became your rock. she reminded you of your worth, of your talent, and of the unwavering love that you shared. she encouraged you to focus on the positive, to ignore the noise, and to trust in the power of your bond.

the initial storm was a blur of frantic calls, hushed meetings, and the constant, gnawing anxiety of what was to come. you remember the hollow feeling in your chest as you typed out the apology, each word a carefully constructed lie of omission. you hadn’t intentionally kept it a secret to deceive anyone, but to protect something precious in a world that often felt determined to tear it apart.

the backlash was ferocious, predictable, yet still somehow shocking. the usual suspects emerged: the shippers furious that their carefully constructed narratives were shattered, the possessive fans feeling betrayed that you belonged to someone other than them, and the vultures who thrived on drama, dissecting every interaction, every lyric, searching for hidden meanings and ammunition.

you watched the news reports, read the comments, felt the weight of the world crushing you. your groupmates offered their support, but their words felt distant, muffled by the roar in your ears. the company’s damage control team worked overtime, trying to stem the tide of negativity. you threw yourself into work, rehearsals becoming a refuge, the music a momentary escape from the chaos outside.

karina, ever the stoic, seemed to weather the storm with a grace you envied. she addressed the situation with a calm, measured statement, emphasizing the importance of respect and understanding. you admired her strength, but also worried about the toll it was taking on her. you found solace in her presence, a shared understanding that transcended the noise.

slowly, painstakingly, the tide began to turn. some fans, initially hurt and confused, started to see the sincerity in your relationship. they realized that your happiness was ultimately what mattered. supportive comments started to outweigh the hateful ones. fan projects emerged, celebrating your love and advocating for acceptance. you and karina began to incorporate small, subtle gestures into your performances, a knowing glance, a matching bracelet, a shared smile, acknowledging your bond without being overtly performative.

you started doing small, public acts of support. like attending karina’s group performances and screaming your lungs out from the crowd. or karina appearing backstage at your concert, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand. these little things, these small victories, slowly chipped away at the wall of negativity. you started noticing a shift in the atmosphere at fan meets, the questions becoming less accusatory and more curious. more fans were asking about your favorite memories with karina or her favorite qualities. you and karina were both careful, never revealing too much, carefully curating your image.

over time, the initial frenzy subsided, replaced by a cautious, grudging acceptance. you and karina had proven that you could navigate the treacherous waters of the industry while staying true to yourselves and each other. you had shown that love could, in fact, conquer all, or at least, most. you felt a sense of accomplishment, a quiet pride in having weathered the storm and emerged stronger, together. you had even started to feel comfortable with some of the public displays of affection, hand–holding during award shows or subtle winks at each other during interviews.

then came the bomb.

it started subtly, a whisper in the dark corners of the internet. a blind item on a gossip site, hinting at a member of a popular girl group being seen with another female artist. you dismissed it as just another baseless rumor, another attempt to stir the pot. but then came the picture.

a grainy, blurry image, supposedly taken late at night. it showed a figure resembling karina holding hands with another woman. the woman’s face was obscured, but her build and the style of her clothing were vaguely familiar to a karina’s acquaintance. the post that came with the picture claimed the unnamed woman was a popular idol from fourth–generation girl group.

your blood ran cold. you stared at the picture, your mind racing, trying to make sense of what you were seeing. doubts, long suppressed, resurfaced with a vengeance. you tried to rationalize it away. it could be a body double. it could be photoshopped. it could be anything but what it seemed to be.

you called karina, your voice trembling. she answered on the third ring, her voice sounding strained. “hey.” she said, her tone wary.

“have you seen the picture?” you asked, skipping any pleasantries.

there was a long pause. “yes.” she said quietly.

“what is it?” you demanded, your voice rising. “tell me it’s not what it looks like.”

another pause. “it’s... complicated.” she finally said.

that was all you needed to hear. the fragile peace you had built shattered into a million pieces. all the pain, all the sacrifices, all the struggles, suddenly felt meaningless. you felt betrayed, humiliated, and utterly heartbroken.

“who is she?” you choked out, the words catching in your throat.

“it doesn’t matter.” karina said, her voice pleading. “it’s not what you think.”

“then what is it?” you screamed into the phone. “tell me what it is, karina!”

she hesitated, then began to explain, her voice a jumble of excuses and half–sruths. she claimed it was a misunderstanding, a harmless encounter blown out of proportion. she said she was just being friendly, that the other woman was going through a hard time and needed support. but her words rang hollow, and you couldn't bring yourself to believe her.

the fight that followed was a blur of accusations, tears, and recriminations. you confronted her with your fears and insecurities, the doubts that had been gnawing at you for months. she denied everything, but her eyes betrayed her. you saw the guilt, the regret, the unspoken truth that lay between you.

in the end, there was nothing left to say. the trust was broken, the foundation of your relationship crumbled. you hung up the phone, your hands shaking, your heart aching with a pain you had never known before.

the breakup was messy and public. both companies released carefully worded statements, citing “irreconcilable differences” and asking for privacy. but the media frenzy was relentless. every detail of your relationship was dissected and analyzed. you felt like you were living your worst nightmare on repeat.

you retreated into yourself, isolating yourself from friends and family. you stopped promoting with your group, unable to face the constant scrutiny and speculation. you spent days in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the events in your head, searching for answers, for some way to make sense of it all.

one day, your groupmates came to your apartment, unannounced. they sat with you in silence, offering their support without judgment. they reminded you of your strength, your talent, your resilience. they encouraged you to focus on yourself, to heal, to move on.

slowly, you started to listen. you started writing music again, pouring your pain and heartache into your lyrics; fans loved it when you participated in composing your group’s songs since you and yunjin always managed to write the best songs on the albums, whether it was something powerful like self–love and a response to criticism or something more basic and common like a lyric about love.

it wasn’t easy. there were days when you felt like you were drowning in sorrow, when the memories of Karina were too much to bear. but you kept pushing forward, one step at a time. you realized that you were stronger than you thought, that you could survive this, that you could even emerge from it a better, more resilient person.

you eventually returned to work, your voice stronger, your spirit renewed. your fans welcomed you back with open arms, their love and support unwavering. you continued to make music, to perform, to inspire. you never forgot karina, but you learned to live without her. you learned that love could be both beautiful and painful, that it could lift you up and tear you down. and you learned that even after the most devastating heartbreak, you could still find your way back to yourself.

until that day arrived.

the flashing lights assault your vision as you step onto the pristine white set. the air crackles with a controlled energy, the kind that always precedes high–profile shoots. you force a smile, the practiced one you’ve perfected over years in the industry, and greet the waiting team. they return your greeting with enthusiastic nods and bows, their faces a mixture of respect and anticipation. you’re used to this. you’re an idol, a performer, a brand. your emotions, raw and real, are secondary to the image you project.

“ready to work your magic, ms. (y/n)?” the photographer, a renowned name in the industry, asks with a charming smirk.

“always.” you reply, the word feeling hollow even to your own ears.

you move towards the rack of clothes, a carefully curated selection of prada’s latest collection. the vibrant colors and intricate designs usually excite you, fill you with inspiration for future performances and personal style choices. today, they feel like meaningless fabric, just another layer of armor you have to don.

the flash of the camera is almost blinding, but you’ve learned to navigate it. pose, smile, angle. repeat. the prada backdrop stares back at you, its stark minimalism a stark contrast to the whirlwind in your head. you force yourself to embody the spirit of the brand: sophisticated, aloof, powerful. it’s a mask you’ve perfected over the years, one that hides the raw, pulsating ache beneath your skin.

the news broke like a damn, a tidal wave of speculation and judgment. the breakup. it’s been a couple of months, but the wound feels fresh, a raw scrape constantly being rubbed with salt. the news spread like wildfire, fueled by speculation and fueled by the insatiable hunger of the public. every detail of your relationship with karina, every whispered secret and stolen glance, was dissected and analyzed. you retreated, focusing on your work, burying yourself in rehearsals and promotions. you refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing you break, of validating their opinions with your pain.

your manager had warned you about this photoshoot, mentioned karina’s involvement almost casually, as if it were just another detail in a long list of engagements. you had dismissed it then, telling yourself you could handle it. you are, after all, a professional. but now, standing in the sterile environment of the studio, the reality of facing her again hits you with full force, a wave of nausea washing over you.

you quickly change into the first outfit, a sleek, minimalist dress that clings to your curves. the stylist fusses with your hair and makeup, smoothing stray strands and applying a layer of flawless foundation. you stare back at your reflection, barely recognizing the composed, confident woman staring back. where is the girl who laughed with karina until her stomach hurt? where is the girl who could spend hours just talking about nothing?

the stylist steps back, satisfied. “perfect. you look stunning, ms. (y/n).”

“thank you.” you murmur, the words feeling like a lie.

you walk onto the set, striking a pose you've struck countless times before. the photographer calls out instructions, guiding you with meticulous precision. you move and pose, a puppet on a string, your mind a million miles away.

“excellent, (y/n)! now, let’s try something with a little more… emotion.”

emotion. that’s the last thing you want to tap into right now. you force yourself to focus on the music playing softly in the background, letting the rhythm guide your movements. you imagine yourself on stage, lost in the performance, the energy of the crowd fueling your passion.

“just a little more intensity in the eyes.” the photographer instructs, his voice echoing in the vast studio. you nod, focusing on a point just beyond the lens. Intensity. you know intensity. you feel it simmering in your chest, a potent cocktail of anger, sadness, and a terrifying vulnerability.

the shoot progresses in a blur. you change outfits, adjust your expression, and follow directions with robotic precision. each pose feels like a performance, a carefully constructed illusion designed to shield you from the prying eyes of the world.

during a brief break, your stylist offers you a bottle of water. you take a grateful sip, trying to calm the frantic rhythm of your heart. you scan the studio, a cavernous space buzzing with activity. assistants scurry, lighting technicians adjust equipment, and makeup artists touch up faces. but your eyes are drawn to one figure in particular, standing near a rack of clothes, her back to you.

karina.

even from this distance, you can recognize her. the elegant curve of her spine, the way her dark hair cascades down her back, the effortless grace that permeates her every movement. a wave of conflicting emotions washes over you: longing, resentment, and a desperate, childish urge to run.

she walks onto the set with an effortless grace that always captivated you. karina. she’s wearing a sharp, tailored suit, the fabric shimmering under the studio lights. her hair is styled in a sleek, modern cut, framing her face perfectly. she looks breathtaking, undeniably beautiful.

your heart clenches, a painful reminder of what you’ve lost.

you force yourself to breathe, to regain control. this is work. you are a professional. you can handle this.

but your carefully constructed facade begins to crumble as she turns around. her eyes meet yours, and for a fleeting moment, the world shrinks, the studio fades away, and it’s just you and her, standing in the wreckage of what used to be.

her eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the world seems to stop. there’s a flicker of something in her gaze, a mixture of sadness and… something else you can’t quite decipher. jer eyes are different, you notice. there’s a weariness there, a vulnerability that you haven’t seen before. Is she wearing the same mask as you? is she hurting too?

even though months passed, you could never stop worrying about her. first hate for dating you and then hate for her apparently cheating on you; the opinions of fans and internet users on it were varied, and with good reason. no one knew the true story, not even you knew it, you only knew the little that karina wanted you to know. however, every day you thought about how she was, if she was receiving love from her fans when her group had a new hit and extended its popularity or there were still people who hated her and attacked her for things they saw on social media — but you didn’t dare search for her name on social media, you couldn't even look at a photo of karina without wanting to turn off your phone instantly.

then, she schools her expression, a professional mask sliding into place.

“hello, (y/n).” she says, her voice cool and composed.

your throat constricts. “karina.” you manage to croak out, the sound rough and unfamiliar.

an awkward silence descends, thick and heavy with unspoken words. you want to say something, anything, to break the tension, but the words catch in your throat, trapped by a labyrinth of pain and regret.

“you look good.” she finally says, her gaze flickering over your outfit. it’s a standard compliment, the kind exchanged between acquaintances, but in this context, it feels hollow, almost cruel.

“you too.” you reply automatically, hating yourself for the banality of the exchange.

another silence stretches between you, punctuated only by the distant click of a camera shutter. you feel exposed, vulnerable, as if she can see through your carefully constructed defenses and into the mess that you’ve become.

“so,” she says, breaking the silence again, “this is... awkward, isn’t it?”

you let out a humorless chuckle. “that’s one word for it.”

“i... i wanted to say," she hesitates, her eyes searching yours. “i’m sorry. sorry for...”

the apology hangs in the air, heavy with implications. sorry for what? for the argument that ignited the firestorm? for the public scrutiny that ripped you apart? for the broken promises and shattered dreams?

“sorry for what, karina?” you ask, the words sharper than you intended.

she flinches, her eyes clouding with pain. “for everything.” she whispers.

“everything?” you repeat, a bitter taste rising in your throat. “that’s a pretty broad apology, don’t you think?”

“i know.” she says, her voice barely audible. “but i don’t know what else to say.”

“maybe you should have thought about that before you–” you stop yourself, biting back the words that threaten to spill out. before you what? before you agreed to the photoshoot? before you let the media tear us apart? before you broke my heart?

you take a deep breath, trying to regain control. this isn’t the time. this isn’t the place. you can’t afford to fall apart here, in front of everyone.

“it doesn’t matter.” you say, forcing a casual tone. “it’'s over. we both need to move on.”

she looks at you, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and disbelief. “is that what you really want, (y/n)?”

the question hangs in the air, a challenge, a plea. do you really want to move on? do you really want to let go of everything you shared?

the truth is, you don’t know. you’re torn between the desire to protect yourself, to build walls around your heart, and the desperate longing to reach out to her, to try to salvage something from the wreckage.

but the fear is too strong. the fear of being hurt again, of being exposed, of being vulnerable. you can't afford to let your guard down, not even for a moment.

“yes.” you say, the lie tasting like ash in your mouth. “that’s what i want.”

she nods slowly, her expression unreadable. “okay.” she says softly. “if that’s what you want.”

the moment stretches, taut and unbearable. you want to say something more, to confess your doubts, to beg her to stay. but the words remain trapped inside you, unspoken, lost in the noise of the studio.

the tension in the room is palpable. the crew shifts uneasily, their eyes darting between you and karina. the photographer clears his throat, breaking the silence.

“alright, ladies, let’s get started. we’re thinking a few shots together, a little bit of playful competition, a sense of… camaraderie.”

camaraderie? you almost laugh, a bitter sound that catches in your throat.

you and karina are positioned side–by–side, the photographer directing your poses. he wants you to look like friends, like rivals, like two powerful women supporting each other. it’s a cruel irony, a twisted caricature of what you once were.

you can feel karina’s presence beside you, a magnetic pull that you desperately try to resist. you can smell her signature perfume, a subtle blend of jasmine and vanilla, a scent that used to fill you with comfort and desire. now, it just reminds you of everything you’ve lost.

the photographer snaps away, capturing every calculated smile, every carefully choreographed movement. you’re both experts at this, masters of deception. you can project any image, any emotion, no matter how false.

but as you stand there, shoulder–to–shoulder with karina, you can’t help but feel a pang of longing. you remember the way her hand used to fit perfectly in yours, the way she would trace patterns on your skin when you were falling asleep, the way her eyes would light up when you surprised her with her favorite flower.

those memories are like shards of glass, sharp and painful. you try to push them away, to focus on the task at hand. but it’s impossible. the weight of your shared history hangs heavy in the air, suffocating you.

“okay, ladies, let’s try something a little more intimate.” the photographer says, his voice booming through the studio. “i want you two to look… close. like you’re sharing a secret.”

your stomach drops. this is it. this is the moment you break.

you glance at karina, your eyes pleading. but her expression is unreadable, her mask firmly in place.

the photographer positions you so that you’re facing each other, your bodies almost touching. he wants you to lean in, to whisper something in each other’s ear.

you hesitate, your heart pounding in your chest. you can feel karina’s breath on your face, warm and familiar.

“just relax, ladies. pretend you’re the only two people in the world.” the photographer coaxes.

the only two people in the world. that’s what it used to feel like, when you were together. the rest of the world faded away, and all that mattered was karina.

you close your eyes, taking a deep breath. you try to remember that feeling, that sense of intimacy and connection.

and then, you open your eyes.

you look at karina, really look at her. you see the sadness hidden behind her professional facade, the vulnerability she’s trying so hard to conceal.

and in that moment, you realize something. you’re not the only one who’s hurting. you’re not the only one who’s lost something.

you catch glimpses of karina throughout the day, standing in the shadows, her eyes following you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl. you try to avoid her gaze, to focus on the task at hand, but it's impossible. she’s a constant presence, a reminder of everything you’ve lost.

as the day draws to a close, you find yourself standing near the exit, waiting for your manager. you see karina approaching, her expression serious.

“(y/n),” she says, stopping in front of you. “can we talk? just for a few minutes?”

you hesitate. “i don’t know, karina. is there really anything left to say?"

“please.” she says, her voice pleading. “just give me a chance.”

you look at her, really look at her, and you see the vulnerability in her eyes, the pain that she’s been trying to hide. you see a reflection of your own broken heart.

against your better judgment, you nod. “okay.” you say. “a few minutes.”

she leads you to a quiet corner of the studio, away from the prying eyes of the crew. the air is thick with anticipation, with the weight of unspoken words.

“what do you want to talk about, karina?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

she takes a deep breath, her eyes searching yours. “i want to talk about us.” she says. “i want to talk about what happened.”

and in that moment, you know that you can’t run away anymore. you can’t hide behind the mask of indifference, the facade of strength. you have to face the truth, no matter how painful it may be.

you brace yourself, ready to confront the past, ready to confront karina, ready to confront yourself. the chaos may not be over, but maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance for something new to emerge from the wreckage. the path ahead is uncertain, but for the first time in a long time, you feel a flicker of hope.

“but not here. come with me.”

before you could form a coherent question, a protest against her abrupt departure, or even just a simple “where are we going?” karina tugged you forward. her grip was surprisingly firm, her usually playful eyes holding a glint of urgency you hadn’t seen in a long time. she navigated the throng of exquisitely dressed guests with practiced ease, a sleek black panther moving through a jungle of sequins and stilettos.

the click of the door closing behind you echoed in the small space, a definitive sound that amplified the tension crackling in the air. you found yourself trapped, not physically threatened, but emotionally cornered. karina stood between you and the cold, unforgiving wall, her gaze locked on yours. the familiar scent of her perfume, a subtle blend of jasmine and sandalwood, both comforted and disoriented you.

the air hung thick with unspoken words, with the weight of weeks of distance and carefully constructed silences. you could see the conflict raging in her eyes, the vulnerability she usually kept so carefully hidden.

“karina.” you began, your voice barely a whisper. the name felt foreign on your tongue after so long, a word you used to utter with such ease and affection. “what’s going on?”

she didn’t answer immediately. instead, she took a shallow breath, her chest rising and falling beneath the silk of her designer dress. finally, she spoke, her voice low and laced with a tremor you could feel resonate within you.

“we need to talk.” she said, the words hanging in the air like a fragile ornament.

you knew what she meant, of course. “talk” wasn’t just a conversation; it was a confrontation with the elephant that had taken up residence in the room, the elephant that had been stomping all over your relationship for weeks.

it had started subtly, almost imperceptibly. a shift in her usual radiant smile, a slight hesitation before reaching for your hand, a growing distance in her usually all–consuming gaze. then came the late nights at the studio, the canceled dates, the vague explanations. you’d tried to ignore it, to chalk it up to the pressures of her demanding career, to tell yourself that you were being paranoid.

but the whispers had started, those insidious little rumors that spread like wildfire through the interconnected world of k–pop and its surrounding entertainment industry. whispers that had finally culminated in the gut–wrenching article splashed across dispatch, the infamous gossip site known for its relentless pursuit of celebrity scandals.

the headline screamed accusations: “karina caught in romantic entanglement?” the accompanying pictures were grainy and taken from a distance, but they were undeniable. karina, laughing and holding hands with another woman, a rising starlet named yuna, after a late–night dinner.

you knew yuna. you’d met her a few times at industry events. she was talented, beautiful, and charming. and, according to dispatch, she was also the reason your relationship with karina was crumbling.

the article was a carefully constructed narrative, a tapestry woven with half–truths and suggestive speculation. it didnt explicitly accuse karina of cheating, but it didn’t have to. the implication was clear: karina was having an affair with yuna while still dating you.

the fallout had been immediate and devastating. your phone exploded with messages from concerned friends, frantic family members, and opportunistic journalists. your social media was flooded with hateful comments, accusations of being naive, and gleeful pronouncements of your impending doom.

you’d tried to talk to karina then, but she’d been elusive, distant. she’d denied the accusations outright, but her voice had lacked its usual conviction. “it’s just a misunderstanding,” she’d said, her eyes avoiding yours. “the company is handling it. don’t worry, everything will be fine.”

but everything wasn’t fine. the seed of doubt had been planted, and it had taken root, poisoning the foundation of your relationship. the dispatch article had not only exposed your personal life to the harsh glare of public scrutiny, but it had also driven a wedge between you and the woman you loved.

now, standing in this sterile dressing room, with karina so close yet feeling so far away, you finally understood. the “misunderstanding” wasn’t going to magically resolve itself. your relationship wasn’t going to survive on platitudes and empty reassurances. you needed the truth, no matter how painful.

“karina.” you said again, your voice stronger this time. “tell me what happened. tell me about yuna. tell me everything. i don’t want secrets this time, i don’t want you to hide from me the things you’re afraid to tell me because you don't know how i’ll react. i need you to tell me things as they are, no matter how harsh the truth is..”

she closed her eyes for a moment, as if gathering her strength. when she opened them, they were filled with a raw honesty that pierced through your defenses.

“it’s… complicated,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “yuna and i… we were working on a collaboration, you know, sometimes artists have group performances with members of other groups. we spent a lot of time together, late nights in the studio, brainstorming sessions… it was intense, creatively fulfilling. and… and she made me laugh. she understood the pressures i was under, the isolation of being in the public eye. she was… supportive.”

she paused, searching for the right words. “it started as friendship, a genuine connection. but… there was an undeniable attraction. something… electric between us.”

your heart clenched. you knew it was coming, but hearing the words spoken aloud was like a physical blow.

“did… did anything happen?” you asked, the question scraping against your throat.

karina looked away, her gaze fixed on some invisible point beyond your shoulder. “we kissed.” she admitted, the word barely audible. “once. maybe twice. it didn’t go further than that. i swear. it was just a moment in the moment, when we were left alone without the choreographer and backup dancers… we only kissed because we finished the night practice exhausted and at one point we just stopped talking and– there was some tension. i can’t help it, she looked very beautiful and i just had the urge to kiss her.”

the world tilted slightly. you felt a wave of nausea wash over you. just a kiss. twice. but that was enough, wasn’t it? enough to shatter the trust you had placed in her, enough to make you question everything you thought you knew about your relationship.

“and what about me?” you asked, the question laced with a bitterness you couldn't suppress. “what about us? were you just going to pretend nothing happened? Were you just going to let the company handle it, let dispatch write the narrative, and hope i would just… disappear? would you have even informed me of this if dispatch hadn't found out about all this before i did?”

tears welled in her eyes, blurring the perfectly applied eyeliner. “no!” she said, her voice cracking. “that’s not what i wanted. i was terrified. i didn’t know what to do. i was afraid of hurting you, of losing you. i still am.”

she stepped closer, reaching out to cup your face in her hands. her touch was gentle, tentative, as if she were afraid you would recoil. “i love you.” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “i do. and i’m so, so sorry. i messed up. i made a mistake. olease… tell me what i can do to fix this. tell me what i can do to earn back your trust.”

the desperation in her eyes was palpable. you saw the years of shared laughter, whispered secrets, and unwavering support reflected in her tearful gaze. u saw the vulnerability she usually kept hidden behind a carefully constructed facade.

you also saw the doubt, the fear, the uncertainty that had been eating away at your own heart for weeks. the dispatch article had been a catalyst, but the underlying issues, the unspoken anxieties, had been there all along.

you wanted to believe her. you wanted to forgive her. you wanted to erase the image of her kissing another woman from your mind. but could you? could you ever truly trust her again? you wanted to do it, but you weren’t entirely sure.

the answer, you realized, wasn’t going to come easily. it wasn’t going to be found in a sterile dressing room in the middle of a chaotic after–party. it was going to require honesty, vulnerability, and a willingness to confront the uncomfortable truths that had been lurking beneath the surface of your relationship for far too long.

“we have a lot to talk about.” you said, finally meeting her gaze. “but not here. not now. we need to go somewhere quiet, somewhere private. somewhere we can be completely honest with each other, without the pressure and the expectations of the world watching us.”

you reached for her hand, your fingers intertwining with hers. her grip was firm, reassuring.

“and karina.” you added, your voice firm but laced with a hint of hope. “if we’re going to fix this, we need to be honest about everything. no more secrets, no more half–truths. just us, facing the truth, together.”

the words hung in the air, laden with unspoken expectations and a fragile hope. the honesty in your voice seemed to give her strength. she took a shaky breath, her eyes searching yours.

“okay,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but filled with a newfound determination. “okay, let’s do that. let’s be honest. let’s fix this.’

the tension in the room was still thick, but now it was mixed with a flicker of hope. you squeezed her hand, offering silent encouragement. she looked down at your intertwined hands for a moment, a small, sad smile gracing her lips. then, she lifted her gaze back to yours, her eyes filled with a raw vulnerability that made your heart ache.

and then, she did something unexpected.

she leaned in, her eyes never leaving yours, and gently pressed her lips against yours. it wasn’t a passionate, fiery kiss like you might expect after such a confession. it was soft, tentative, a plea for forgiveness, a silent promise of honesty.

your initial reaction was one of shock. you had braced yourself for tears, for arguments, for a long and difficult conversation. but this… this was something else entirely.

but as her lips lingered on yours, a slow warmth began to spread through you. it was a familiar warmth, the warmth of her touch, the warmth of her love. it was a reminder of all the good times you had shared, of all the reasons you had fallen in love with her in the first place.

you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to sink into the kiss, to savor the delicate brush of her lips against yours. the kiss deepened slightly, her hand moving from yours to cradle the back of your neck, her fingers tangling in your hair. you responded in kind, your own hands moving to her waist, pulling her closer.

the kiss wasn’t just an apology; it was a reawakening. it was a reminder of the intense connection you shared, the unspoken language you spoke with your bodies. it was a promise of more, of deeper intimacy, of rediscovering the passion that had perhaps been overshadowed by the pressures of her career and the anxieties of public life.

as the kiss intensified, the world around you seemed to fade away. the sterile dressing room, the chaotic after–party, the prying eyes of the media – none of it mattered anymore. all that mattered was karina, her lips on yours, her body pressed against yours, her heart beating in sync with your own.

you parted slightly, gasping for breath, your foreheads touching. her eyes were dark with desire, her lips swollen from the kiss.

“i…” she started, her voice husky. “i want you. i need you to know that. yuna... it was a mistake. a stupid, awful mistake. but you, you are everything to me."

her words were like a balm to your wounded heart. you knew that there was still a long road ahead, that rebuilding trust would take time and effort. but in that moment, with her arms wrapped around you and her lips whispering promises against your skin, you knew that it was possible.

you leaned in and kissed her again, this time with more passion, more urgency. it was a kiss that spoke of forgiveness, of hope, of a future where you could both be honest and vulnerable with each other, free from the secrets and the lies.

her hands roamed your body, tracing the curves of your hips, the line of your spine. you moaned softly, the sound lost in her mouth. you felt her smile against your lips, a genuine, heartfelt smile that reached her eyes.

“i missed you so much, i missed being with you so much, having your body against mine… i really missed you a lot, your absence was noticeable and every day that passed i felt it more than the last. and you have no idea how much i fantasized about you every time i missed you and needed to settle just thinking about you.”

her fingers found the hem of your skirt, gently pulling iupwards. you didn’t resist. the need to feel her, to be close to her, was overwhelming. the touch of her skin against yours sent shivers down your spine.

once you give her a nod of confirmation, karina pushes you gently but firmly against the brick wall, her hands roaming over your curves possessively. she captured your lips in a searing kiss, her tongue delving into your mouth to claim you thoroughly.

her hands slid down to grope your ass, squeezing the firm globes as she ground her hips against yours. you could feel the heat of her core even through her clothes, the evidence of her intense arousal.

karina broke the kiss to trail her lips down the column of your throat, her teeth grazing your pulse point. she sucked on your skin, nibbling the flesh between her teeth, leaving a reddish bite mark that would soon turn purple and darken a couple of shades, letting you know that it would be noticeable for a couple of days and would probably take around a week or so to fade completely — but you didn’t care about that, in fact, that was what you longed for. being back with karina felt like heaven, and you wouldn’t complain at all if she felt the need to mark you,

after all this was what you wanted: although you had missed her so much in the loving and emotional sense, you also missed her so much in the... physical and intimate sense. you were so used to her touch on your body and how good she made you feel that at the time of the breakup it was a pain having to satisfy your needs yourself, but the past is over! and now, karina is here, ready to fuck you.

she murmured huskily against your skin. “fuck, i want to devour every inch of you, (y/n). i want to taste your essence, feel you quiver and shake with pleasure as i take you to heights you’ve never experienced before… i need to make up for my absence and all my mistakes. show you how sorry i am.”

her hands slid under your skirt to caress the smooth skin of your thighs, inching higher and higher until her fingers brushed against the damp fabric of your panties. she rubbed you through the material, feeling the growing wetness that slowly wet your underwear.

karina’s voice was a low, lustful growl as she panted softly against your neck. “spread your legs for me, baby. let me feel that sweet little cunt that’s just begging to be filled. i’m going to make you come so hard, you’ll forget your own name.”

“what if someone hears us?” fear and anxiety were evident in your tone. well, of course, you were locked with your ex in a room and about to fuck at your workplace, while your stylist was probably looking for you all over the building. being found out was something you were terrified of because it put you in danger of losing your job and leaving a bad image in front of the public, and they would have the right to be so in that case! but in this case, maybe you could have fun properly and have a good time just by knowing how to be stealthy…

karina smirked wickedly at your nervously spoken words, a devilish glint in her eye. “mmmh, what if someone does hear us? wouldn’t that be so hot, having an audience listen to you scream in ecstasy as i fuck you senseless? when i say i miss you, i mean it, and i want everyone to know that. everyone knew how much i loved you and i was never afraid to make it clear, so what’s the difference now? is my love language.”

she punctuated her words by slipping a hand into your panties, her fingers finding your slick folds and stroking them teasingly. her thumb circled your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your hips buck involuntarily.

“but don’t worry, baby, no one’s going to interrupt us. everyone here is busy: the other models are on the sets in the middle of photo shoots and the staff is with them to make sure everything goes perfectly. no one will walk near here, this little hideaway is our secret spot.”

she murmured under her breath, giving you a suggestive look from under her eyelashes, along with a glint of mischief that seemed similar to that of a animal watching its prey in detail. karina brings her face closer to yours, nibbling on your earlobe, making you sigh and unconsciously move towards her touch. “besides, i want to hear you moan, to cry out my name until the whole city knows who’s making you feel this good.”

karina slid two fingers deep into your tight channel, pumping them in and out at a steady pace. her palm pressed against your clit with each thrust, stimulating the sensitive bundle of nerves until your walls fluttered around her invading digits.

“that’s it, baby, let me hear those sweet sounds. fuck, your cunt feels incredible, it’s gripping my fingers so tightly.” she praised, her voice ragged with lust. “i can’t wait to feel it squeezing my tongue, my lips, while my fingers fucking you hard and deep until you’re sobbing with pleasure.”

karina scissored her fingers inside you, stretching you open as her thumb continued its relentless assault on your throbbing clit. she could feel your juices dripping down her hand, coating her fingers with your arousal.

“come for me, love.” she urged, her voice a low, seductive purr. “let me feel you come on my fingers like the dirty girl i know you are. drench my hand in your cum, baby, show me how much you need it.”

karina could feel your body tensing, your walls clenching around her plunging fingers as your orgasm rapidly approached. she curled her digits just right, rubbing that special spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyelids.

“that’s it, baby, give in to it. let it happen.” she coaxed, her voice a low, encouraging rumble. “i want to feel you shake and tremble, want to hear those beautiful sounds falling from your lips as i make you cum so fucking hard.”

she captured your mouth in a fierce, passionate kiss, swallowing your moans and cries of ecstasy. her thumb rubbed tight circles on your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of oblivion.

with a final, hard thrust and press of her thumb, she sent you hurtling over, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave. your cunt clenched and spasmed around her fingers, gushing your release all over her hand and wrist.

karina groaned into the kiss, feeling your essence coat her fingers and drip down to her palm. she worked you through your climax, her fingers pumping and stroking until the last aftershock faded away.

finally, she pulled back to look at you, her eyes dark and hungry as she brought her soaked fingers to her mouth. she licked them clean, savoring your taste with a low, appreciative moan.

“i need your mouth on me.”

you don’t know where that came from. you don’t know where you got the courage to talk to karina like that without blushing in the process. not even when you were dating karina were you so daring, because you were always embarrassed when you got intimate with her, blushing at the simple fact of having to take off your clothes in front of her even though you had already done it multiple times before, leading karina to be the one who takes the situation into her own hands — but it’s not like it was something that bothered karina, on the contrary, she loved being the one who took control. maybe it was the position of leader that made her love being the one to take the lead, but karina just loves to take charge and let you lie in bed while she takes care of the situation.

karina’s eyes flashed with intense lust at your desperate plea, a wicked grin spreading across her face. she wasted no time in giving you what you needed, what you craved.

“mmmh, as you wish, my naughty little minx.” she purred, dropping to her knees before you. she hitched your skirt up around your waist, exposing your dripping panties to the cool air.

with a wicked smirk, karina leaned in and pressed her mouth against the soaked fabric, her tongue delving between your folds to lap at your essence. she groaned at the taste, her fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties and tugging them down your legs.

“fuck, you’re absolutely drenched.” she murmured appreciatively, tossing your panties aside carelessly. she pushed your thighs further apart, making room for herself as she settled between your legs.

karina’s hands gripped your ass, pulling you flush against her eager mouth. she dove in, her tongue parting your glistening folds to seek out your aching clit. she circled the sensitive nub teasingly, flicking and stroking it until your hips bucked against her face.

“oh fuck yes, ride my face, baby.” karina encouraged, her voice muffled against your cunt. “grind that sweet pussy against my mouth, use me for your pleasure.”

she sealed her lips around your clit and sucked hard, her tongue flicking rapidly over the throbbing bud. at the same time, she thrust two fingers deep into your dripping channel, pumping them in and out at a steady, relentless pace.

the combination of sensations was almost too much to bear, and you could feel another orgasm building rapidly deep in your core. your walls clenched and fluttered around karina’s plunging fingers, drawing them in deeper.

karina could feel your body tensing, your thighs trembling on either side of her head as she brought you closer and closer to the edge. she doubled her efforts, sucking and licking and fucking you with wild abandon, determined to make you come undone.

karina could feel your body shaking, your thighs quivering with the force of your impending climax. she could sense that you were right on the cusp, teetering on the brink of a mind–blowing orgasm.

she pulled back just slightly, her heated gaze locking with yours. her lips and chin glistened with your juices, a few stray drops dripping down her chin. she licked her lips slowly, savoring your taste.

“come for me, babe.” she commanded, her voice low and thick with lust. “i want to feel you come all over my face, drench me in your sweet nectar. give me what i need, baby girl. give me one more.”

with that, she dove back in, her mouth latching onto your clit as she sucked hard. her fingers pumped furiously in and out of your clenching cunt, curling to rub that perfect spot inside you with each thrust.

the combination of sensations, combined with her filthy words, pushed you over the edge. your orgasm crashed through you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing and shaking as you cried out your ecstasy.

“oh fuck karina–!” you screamed, not caring who might hear your cries of pleasure. your cunt clenched and spasmed around her fingers, gushing your release all over her hand and face.

karina moaned against your core as she felt your essence flooding her mouth and dripping down her chin. she greedily lapped it up, swallowing every last drop of your offering.

she worked you through your climax, her fingers and tongue never stopping their relentless assault until the last aftershock faded away. finally, she pulled back, her face a mess of your juices.

shit, you had cum on her face. you had ruined her makeup. in another context it wouldn’t have bothered you too much, but first of all, you guys were in the middle of work things, to be more specific, a photoshoot with a prestigious brand that doesn’t allow things like this during work hours and you were more than sure that your contract would be terminated and your career ruined if some worker discovered that you were fucking your ex girlfriend in one of the locker rooms — and secondly, you had just cum on your ex girlfriend’s face.

karina laughed, a deep, sultry sound that sent shivers down your spine. she swiped at her face with the back of her hand, smearing your essence across her cheek. her lipstick was smudged, her eyeliner slightly smeared, but she looked utterly debauched and gorgeous.

“don’t apologize, baby. it’s just a little makeup, it’ll wash off.” she assured you with a playful wink. “don’t worry about my makeup, baby. It's not like it's the first time I've gotten messy for a pretty girl like you, and i think the just–fucked look suits me, don't you? besides, seeing you come undone like that, so fucking sexy and uninhibited... it was totally worth it.”

she leaned in and captured your lips in a searing kiss, her tongue delving into your mouth. you could taste yourself on her lips and tongue, the musky essence of your arousal mingling with the lingering flavor of her lip gloss.

karina pulled back after a moment, a satisfied smirk playing on her kiss-swollen lips. she gestured to your skirt, still bunched up around your waist. “but don’t think we’re done yet, gorgeous. that was just the appetizer.”

“i’ve got so much more in store for you tonight. so many dirty, nasty, utterly fucking amazing things i’m going to do to this sexy body of yours…” she purred, her hand sliding possessively over the curve of your ass, squeezing the firm globes as she grinded her hips against yours. even through your skirt and her jeans, you could feel the hard, insistent press of her arousal — karina needed to let you know how much she needed you and the effect you had on her body, the type of reactions that your body generated every time it reacted to her touch and the actions that she had on your body, regardless of whether it was something minimal and mild or something more obscene and daring.

karina’s voice was a low, lustful rumble in your ear. “i’m going to take you back to my place, to my bedroom. and there, i’m going to worship this sexy body of yours all... night... long. Ii need to make up for all the lost time.”

she punctuated each word with a sharp nip to your earlobe, sending jolts of pleasure–pain racing down your spine. her hands slid under your sweater, caressing the smooth skin of your back before dipping lower to unhook your bra with deft fingers.

karina’s eyes glinted wickedly as she gazed down at you, a devilish smirk playing on her lips. “what do you say, baby? ready for the main course? we can still have one more before your stylist starts looking for you.”

[kyakpack]

Me: yeah we're tying the knot next week

Werewolf fiance who's never heard that phrase: we're going to what

[kyakpack]

guys what the fuck.

[kyakpack]

im drinking that bath water up like id just been stranded in a desert and i was finally able to quench my thirst

i felt some kind of carnal desire when i first saw that image like why would she send that does she know how down i am like. Did she have any clothes on when she took that picture