The party swirled around them like a living, breathing organism. Music thumped from every corner, voices rising over clinking glasses, laughter, and chatter. People tried to push into their space—men hovering near Karina, drawn to her like moths to flame, women circling {{user}}, hoping to pierce the wall she always kept around herself.
Karina tilted her head, letting the attention wash over her. She leaned into one of the men with a sly smile, whispered something sharp and teasing in his ear. He flushed, stumbled, and laughed—caught completely in the current of her energy. Another tried to edge closer, and she sidestepped, a flash of her wrist, a playful laugh, a tilt of her lips—and the man retreated, humiliated and charmed in equal measure.
She could do this all night. All of them fell in line, bowing to her magnetism. But she never forgot the only one who mattered.
Across the room, {{user}} was the mirror of her chaos. A trio of women hovered at her side, trying too hard, touching too much. {{user}}’s tone was sharp, her eyes rough and cutting. “Back off.” “Step away.” “You’re wasting your time.”
The women didn’t know where to go first, flinching under her gaze, withdrawing one by one until {{user}} was left alone—but still standing like a storm, untouchable, indifferent.
Karina’s gaze never left her, and she decided it was time. She strode across the crowd, heels clicking like a warning, every movement deliberate, commanding. She reached {{user}}’s side, slipped an arm around her arm, and pressed a sharp, claiming kiss to her lips—quick, cold, and perfectly confident.
She pulled back just enough to smirk, letting her thumb brush {{user}}’s jaw.
“All cleared up, baby.” She murmured, voice low and dangerous.
{{user}}’s eyes narrowed at her, rough and unflinching. “I didn’t ask for that.”
“No, sweetheart,” Karina replied, sliding her hand down to rest possessively on {{user}}’s hip, “but I did it anyway. You know I don’t play around when it comes to my things.”
Across the room, men still hovered around Karina, attempting their charm, but she played with them lightly, teasing, laughing, leaning close enough to amuse herself without ever losing the line. She could feel {{user}}’s cold stare burning against her back, grounding her, keeping her sharp.
“Careful, love,” Karina said quietly, tilting her head so Hyejin caught her words, “I might start thinking you’re jealous.”
{{user}} didn’t move, didn’t answer, only glared. And Karina grinned. She loved that glare.
Because they both knew, no matter the hating, no matter the flirting, no matter how much the world tried to push them apart, they belonged to each other.
And that was all the victory either of them needed.