#Marketing Spring Break | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tonycries · 10 months ago

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You'll Taste Me Too! - G.S.

Synopsis. How do you last three days on a work trip with the man you hate the most in the office? You don’t - you end up pinned underneath him, instead.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, office AU, enemies to lovers, jealousy (Gojo’s side), FAKE DATING, PAST Naoya x reader, creampíes, breéding, oraI (fem receiving), spítting, hot springs, cúmplay, DOWN BAD Satoru, tensíon, he’s a bit mean, revenge on your ex, ambiguous office work, exhíbitionísm, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 11.9k (this was supposed to be HALF that)

A/N. This type of annoying Gojo is always so fun to write, hope y’all have a great week <3

In all your three years as head of the marketing department, it wasn’t any of the tight deadlines or the nervous interns that drove you crazy. Hell, it wasn’t even the fact that the coffee maker in the break room only made tea.

No, the one thing you couldn’t stand - the one thing that had you contemplating whether your transfer was really worth it - came in the form of the 6’3, cloudy-haired manchild who headed the sales department.

The one person who’d made it his personal mission to toy with your sanity as soon as you’d stepped foot into the cleancut office of Jujutsu Enterprises.

The bane of your existence.

“Gojo Satoru.”

“Huh?” you gape stupidly, and if this was any other time you’d have smacked yourself for the unprofessionalism.

Yaga nods gravely - almost sympathetic - as if he honestly couldn’t fault you for your reaction. “Yes, since this upcoming contract relies heavily on collaboration between the marketing and sales departments, Satoru here-” He nods at the tangle of long limbs that’d been draped dramatically over the seat right next to you. “-will be accompanying you on your trip to Kyoto…unfortunately.”

“What do you mean ‘accompanying’-”

“The fuck do you mean ‘unfortunately’-”

Your supervisor heaves out a tired sigh over your flurry of protests, rubbing his temples, “Look, I wouldn’t have picked out your ah- duo either. But as heads of department, you two are the best and brightest we have. And the board believes we can snag the infamous Gakuganji and his protegé easily as clients with the combination of you both.”

“But-” you sputter out. “Can’t I go with Nanami like I usually do? Surely he’s a better option than a pompous, no-good nepo-”

“And I’d rather go alone.” Gojo cuts through smoothly, flashing a cocky wink your way. “Sorry, sweetheart, but even my charm won’t be enough to stop you from scaring that client off.”

Fuck unprofessionalism. If looks could kill, the leveled glare you shoot the man at your side is enough to bury him six feet and have you dancing on his grave already.

You scowl, crossing your arms over your chest. Now fully facing Gojo for the first time since you’d first entered Yaga’s stuffy office, “Oh yeah, and aren’t you the one that got reprimanded for sleeping through the last company meeting we had?”

“D-did not.” his cheeks tinge with a delicate strawberry pink.

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.” you scoff, brows furrowing when you realize you’ve inched just a bit closer than appropriate. Your knees knocking against his, yet you don’t pull away out of stubborness. “What? Too embarrassed to admit your oh-so-great ‘charm’ was in the pillows?”

Almost mockingly, he’s copying your posture, tight white shirt straining over those biceps he didn’t hesitate to infuriatingly flex any time you came around. Minty breath wafting over your cheeks when he leans in to murmur lowly - just loud enough that Yaga won’t question, “No, but you would be happy to know that it is in the sheets.”

You blink, though, you can’t really be too surprised - of course, Gojo turns the conversation into something so filthy. He always does.

But before you can spit out a few venomous expletives you really would regret saying in front of Yaga, the man himself interrupts your argument with a pointed cough. “Since the chemistry is as lively as ever,” he’s deadpanning dryly. “I take it you both will be on your best behavior for these three days, and come back with a signed contract.”

Chemistry your ass.

And though he’s addressing you both, you feel a stab of smug satisfaction when Yaga’s gaze lock with an amused Gojo’s.

“Mhm, of course we’ll come back successful - how could you not with the star employee on this trip.” he motions airily in your direction. You stiffen, not expecting the compliment when- “And of course our cute resident hardass will be there, too.”

“You little fu-”

“Great!” Yaga claps his hands, a signal you knew meant to get the hell out of his office before he assigns more overtime. “It’s settled then, your tickets have been booked for tomorrow and I assume you both have been emailed the appropriate information?”

Nodding, you make your way to leave - and find that Gojo is waiting, glass door to the office held open for you. With a sharp click of your tongue, you bite down on whatever words come to your throat, barely out of the office before you hear a tired warning behind you, “And please don’t try to kill each other, our insurance doesn’t cover it.”

When you’re both out in the hallway, Gojo flashes you a cocky smirk and an even cockier “You heard the man.” Pointing at his unfairly pretty features - not that you’d admit that in a million years. “After all, my face is insured but who’d want to hurt this handsome-”

“I could.” You interrupt, rolling your eyes. “Easily. And I would, too, if it wasn’t for the fact that this job pays well.” Something you say every time he prances around in your department during breaks, bragging about how you’re “all bark but no bite.”

Satoru only chuckles, raising his hands up in surrender when you continue, “Let’s just get through these three days, ace the contract, and never speak of this again. Okay?”

To your surprise, he’s grabbing one of your hands with his much larger ones - soft, you gulp, noting involuntarily. “I like what goes on in that pretty lil’ brain of yours, silly girl. Then, let’s charm the asses off that dumbass client and the board of elders~”

Everyone in the office knew of the strange little dynamic between you two - found it to be the utmost entertainment they got in the workday. But you were damned if you let it mess up this contract.

If you two survived the entire three days, that is.

---

You two were not surviving the entire three days - or the contract deal, for that matter. Hell, you couldn’t even survive this first day.

“Gojo I told you.” you squint at the glossy paper. “It says platform eight. I know you can’t see without those ugly sunglasses of yours but-”

A big arm comes up suddenly behind your shoulders, snatching the train ticket clean out of your hands. Gojo lets it rest there as he exclaims, “Let me see. Now, y’know if this was me, I’d have chosen Gran class. Ichiji in finances really skimped out buying these second class seats, gonna hafta have a word with him when we get back…”

You narrow your eyes, frantically trying to push back that strange part of you that almost wanted to lean in closer to the hit of his piney, expensive cologne. “Have fun bullying him, you leech.”

To which he only responds with a syrupy giggle, “Oh, don’t worry.” And you let out a tiny gasp when he flicks your forehead softly. “You’ll be right there in first class with me. Even with that bratty attitude of yours, the ladies love those Gojo perks.”

“Mhm explains why you’ve been single for all three years I've had the misfortune of knowing you.” you hiss, eyes desperately darting about for directions to platform eight. You were going to get on this train - with or without him. Preferably without him.

So absorbed in your mission that if you didn’t know any better, you’d have said that Gojo’s words were a pitch higher than normal when he retorts with a strangled, “S-so what? Keepin’ an eye on me, sweetheart?”

And you knew the two of you definitely looked like a peculiar sight - Gojo’s dangling off of you like a ragdoll, surrounded by the few comically large suitcases that were mainly his. So much for a three-day work trip. Your face burns at the few weary salary workers that gave the two of you a very wide berth while going about their daily commutes. Fuck, you couldn’t even ask anyone for help at this point if you both looked at like some safety hazard.

“Did you find it?” You huff when the silence lingers a bit too long - jumping when you raise your head up to find his burning stare already inches away from you. “God- I take it back, please keep those glasses on.”

“Hey!”

You’re digging your elbow into his side now, words stumbling over the other in a heated hurry, “And get- get off we’re gonna miss this-”

“It really is you, huh?”

All at once, you’re reminded that strangely it isn’t just the two of you causing ruckus in the middle of the Shinjuku station. Unfortunately.

Any and all previous irritation at Gojo wipes away, flooding back as full, unbridled rage when you’re tearing your eyes away from the nuisance beside you to look up and-

Oh.

Dammit, you knew you’d recognize that grating voice anywhere - and for the first time, it wasn’t Gojo’s.

“Naoya.”

“You.”

Still didn’t even have the decency to address you properly, huh? You bite your lower lip, unaware what to say next. But luckily you didn’t have to - because Gojo is standing up straighter, features smoothing into a mask of cool appraisal when he sweeps his eyes down at the other man.

Finally, Naoya seems to notice him. Flickering quickly between the arm still firmly around your shoulder and his darkened stare. “And who are you?”

“Could ask ya the same thing, two-tone.” he smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. And you swear you could feel the soft pads of his fingers tightening, digging in through your silky work shirt. “What business do you have with us?”

Us - you didn’t miss the emphasis.

Evidently, Naoya didn’t either, because his tone turns into a low, dangerous simper as he continues. “What? Can’t a man come up just to catch up with a fling?”

Gojo’s jaw clenches as he watches you register the word. Fling. Sure, after about a year of dating, the two of you didn’t have the cleanest break up - with the constant fights and him wanting to uproot your life and dream career with his new job transfer. But still.

“Of course, he can.” Gojo raises a snowy brow, buttons on his shirt straining when he puffs his chest out ever-so-slightly. You can’t help but notice that he has much more than a few inches on your ex. Gruffing out, “But not when she’s with her new boyfriend.”

Boyfriend?

You freeze the word running around over and over in your hazy mind - boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend-

“And trust me, she’s long forgotten your sorry ass.” You’re jolting back to reality only when you feel the slow, soothing glide of Gojo’s thumb at the exposed skin of your shoulder. He looks down at you with that familiar mirthful smile to say, “Isn’t that right, my girl?”

“Ah uh-” you’re mentally kicking yourself for not choosing to attend those acting lessons in college for extra credit. Coughing out what you hope to be a believable, “Yeah, this is G-Satoru, my- my boyfriend.”

But your coworker takes it all in concerning stride, pulling you flush against his toned chest, rumbling with the muse of “Mhm, and we’re very happy together.” You honestly feel like you’re about to fall weakly to your knees right then and there in the station when you feel the distinct pressure of two soft, plump lips grazing fleetingly at your forehead. Murmuring into your hairline, “Going on a couples’ trip to Kyoto this very moment, in fact.”

“I see.” Naoya levels out, and by the sharp glint in his eyes you already knew the gears on his head were turning. But before you could question him any further, the melodic voice of the railway announcer cuts through the tense air. “Ah- that’s me. And as pleasant as this reunion was, Kurama onsen doesn’t wait.” Before clapping a hand on the shoulder of the uncharacteristically silent Gojo stood by your side, “I wish you the best with your relationship, she’s only good the first few times after all.” His next words are cold and directed at you. “I’ll text ya, if you still don’t have me blocked, that is.”

Saved by the train - and your fist gripping onto Gojo’s button-up, Naoya saunters to climb aboard the train currently entering the nearby platform.

Leaving the both of you in that whirling, unfamiliar silence. Gojo’s arm is still burning around your shoulder, your muscles still aching from stopping him from powerfully lunging after the other man.

You break first.

“Why…why did you do that.” you mutter over the bustling crowds - more to yourself than him, so you’re surprised when he responds just as hastily.

“It’s just- Because he was a dick.” Gojo’s lips form a petulant pout. He decidedly avoids your probing eyes while he plows on, “And I should be the only one allowed to be a dick to you so don’t get it twisted, silly girl.”

You scoff, before your eyes widen at where Noaya was boarding through the doors of the sleek bullet train, “Wait- Gojo-”

“Satoru, think I deserve to be called ‘Satoru’ after that.” he grins irritatingly. “Consider it a payment since it’ll kill ya to say it every time.”

“Yes yes, S-Satoru-” you wave off, but you can’t deny how easily the name rolls off your tongue. And distinctly, you wondered why you called most of your coworkers by first name, but never him before. “He’s going to Kurama onsen.”

Gojo tilts his head, nose scrunching in confusion. “And?”

“We’re going to Kurama onsen.”

---

For all the disaster the first day had wrecked upon your sanity, you were thankful enough that neither of you were sat in the same area as Naoya. Barely even settling into your cushioned seat before putting on your headphones - and a sleeping mask for good measure so you couldn’t be riled up by your coworker again.

Surprisingly he didn’t try either. Only bothering you to share his snacks occasionally, and hog the arm space on your chair, electricity running down your skin every time he brushed up against you.

It was quiet, somehow neither of you minded.

“Hah- are we- woah.” you gasp out after the short walk from the Kyoto station to your destination, an intricate wooden sign coming into view. Lugging your baggage with you - Gojo had insisted he carry it too as a show of strength, but you were sure it’s because he just wanted to give up halfway through and take a taxi instead. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah yeah I get that a lot.” Gojo comes up behind you without warning, a sultry trickle of sweat trailing down his forehead to the forbidden depths of where he’d unbuttoned his shirt a few times. “But usually it’s ‘gorgeous’ or ‘hot as hell’ or-”

“Oh, shut up.” you breathe, ripping your eyes away and towards the reception. “Get your ass moving now, we’ve gotta get checked in and form a game plan for the meeting.”

“That eager to get me in a bed? Always knew ya had it in you, sweetheart.” Oh, he lets out a shiver at your blazingly dirty look. “I mean- yes, ma’am.”

There aren’t too many visitors, and you choose to do the talking when you walk up to the sweet older lady at the reception, having decided that Gojo has done way too much of that for today. Humming, “Hi there, we’re here for two rooms reserved under the name ‘Yaga’?”

A few taps of her keyboard and she’s flashing you a megawatt smile, “Oh yes, you’re right on time!” Before getting up from her seat, “I’ll be the one escorting the young couple to their honeymoon suite. Just this way-”

And while Gojo breezes past you without a single complaint, you stand frozen in the middle of the cozy wooden room. Reaching out a hand to sputter, “W-wait, surely there must be some mistake? Honeymoon suite?”

Gojo is close enough that he whispers something in her ear, and you already know it doesn’t bode well for you at all.

“Oh honey don’t worry.” she flutters a flustered hand at you. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with having your dear boyfriend here spend a bit extra on a comfy suite. Either way, it has been booked for a while now and unfortunately nothing can be changed…”

Forgetting yourself, you sneak a glance over at where she had left her desktop on. The tiny letters on screen confirming that yes, this reservation was under the name Yaga. And no, it wasn’t a mistake that the room you were given was a honeymoon suite.

“Get your ass movin’ now.” Gojo’s voice snaps you out of your little reverie, sounding as if he was on the verge of bursting into laughter while he mocks your earlier words. He grins, “When life gives you lemons- or when Yaga gives you a honeymoon suite…”

---

“Dibs not on the couch.”

“Dibs not on the- wait, no.” Gojo huffs when you’re finally led to your sprawling room, and for all the scandal of it being a honeymoon suite, you have to admit that Yaga had great taste. “Shouldn’t you treat your boyfriend better?”

You’re splaying yourself out on the plush mattress of the bed - the only bed, because of course the universe doesn’t bestow you with a normal work trip. But god none of those cheap motels at the trips you’d gone on with Nanami or Shoko could ever compare to this.

Mindfully, you push away the rose petals decorating the silken sheets. “Not my problem.” Jutting a thumb towards the small private hot spring allocated for your room outside, “Sleep in the onsen. Might wanna hurry though, it’s getting dark.”

“Please?”

“I’m kicking you out of this room altogether.”

“Pretty please.”

You feel a rush of begrudging endearment at the way he’s batting his long lashes at you. Suddenly, you’re wondering whether this is why so many at the office can’t get enough of Gojo - why everyone flocks to him as soon as he waltzes into your department for no apparent reason. Struggling to stand firm. “Hasn’t Nanami told you before that adding ‘pretty’ doesn’t work?”

Grumbling, he sets down the bags, swiftly turning around to call out, “Fine, but m’takin’ a shower first, so you better keep any expensive shampoos away or m’stealing with no regrets.”

Mind dizzy with everything from today, it’s all you can do to shuffle through your bag for your laptop. Trembling fingers deciding that if you weren’t going to think too deeply about this, might as well get some work done.

It’s what you do for a while - to partial success - until you’re pulled out of your spiels of presentations and trying to keep Gojo’s script on subject by the sound of the running water stopping, and the bathroom door clicking open.

And lo and behold - there stood Gojo. Shirtless.

The very same asshole that would throw paper clips at you during meetings, and always finished off the last muffin in the break room he knew you’d been eyeing all day. Here he stood - all sharp hip bones and smooth curves of muscle that were always poorly covered by his work clothes.

Covering almost all of the bathroom doorway with his broad shoulders, speckled with glistening droplets of water that danced tauntingly down, down, down the sharp planes of his collarbones. Down his abs, and onto a trail of white, hidden by a fluffy white towel you have to force your eyes away from.

“Put some- put some clothes on. You- you-” you’re scrambling urgently for something near you, which unfortunately happened to be a soft cotton you’d pulled out from your bag earlier. “-you lecher.”

Wordlessly, Gojo’s stunned surprise breaks into a brilliant grin when he unfolds the canon of cloth you’d thrown his way. Humming, “You call me a lecher, but you’re the one that wants to see me in your clothes, huh?”

And sure enough - it was. It was as if the universe was playing a practical joke on you because it was your favorite t-shirt, in fact, that ragged Bleach graphic held gently between Gojo’s long, pale fingers.

You choke out, hastily getting off the bed. “Wait- I take it back.”

“I don’t know.” Gojo teases, holding the t-shirt well over your head. And all you can do is frantically reach and swerve for it, each attempt dodged with a shit-eating grin. “You get the bed, I get this ratty t-shirt, seems like a fair trade to me, no?”

“No.”

Gojo’s face is hovering so close above yours, though, he still keeps the t-shirt safely away from you. “Then I guess this is f’me, silly girl.”

You groan, appreciating the way his breath catches in his throat when you hook an arm around his neck. Reeling him in so close while you still swipe, “No, but what you are going to get is-”

What Gojo was going to get, he never finds out. Because in your frantic effort to steal back the t-shirt you so desperately didn’t want in the hands of the bastard from sales, you don’t pay attention to that slippery pool of water forming around you two from his half-assed attempts at drying off.

And before you know it, you’re lurching to the floor - you wince, arms held out to break your fall and-

It never happens.

Blinking your eyes open, the first thing you’re met with is what seems like miles upon miles of milky, smooth skin. Breathing in such a heady scent, it’s probably what makes your mind so melty when the realization hits you - a little too late - that you’re being held against Gojo’s chest.

His painfully bare chest.

“Satoru?” you breathe. Pawing at where you could feel his racing heartbeat, thumping so painfully against one of his pecs. “Are- are you okay?”

That gets you a hot laugh into your neck, followed by a long, drawn-out shudder that sends shivers down your spine. Through laughs, he manages to grit out, “You’re asking me that?”

He sounds surprised - relieved almost. Such a tender note in his tone at the lack of usual taunting in your words.

Gojo lets you go - barely, still keeping two strong arms locked around your waist like he was afraid even the slightest distance could have you in danger all over again. “You can take the t-shirt.” He breathes, picking up the damp fabric now fallen onto the floor and pressing it into your palms. “I’m more of a Naruto guy anyway. And you can take the bed, I was jok-”

“You can take it.”

“What? No-”

“You can.” you cut him off, giving a sidelong glance at the cramped couch tucked into a corner of your suite. Again, you’re drinking in all of him, how tall he was. How warm. How he’d probably have half his body dangling off the side of the cushions, “We can- I mean we can share. We’re adults, right? Wouldn’t want you complaining about a sore back during the contract talks anyway.”

“Worrying about me, sweetheart?”

“No.” you scowl, pushing him away. “Now excuse you, but I have to use the bathroom since someone was hogging it earlier.”

And if you’d waited just a moment longer - maybe peaked your head out instead of scurrying inside as fast as your legs carried you - you’d have noticed that Gojo was still standing there. A fist clenched at where his heart was, face as pink as those blooming sakura outside.

---

You didn’t sleep that night. Not one bit.

It might partially have to do with the fact that your bed was invaded by one very gangly asshole sprawling himself all over the pillow wall you’d constructed. Or maybe to do with the aching discomfort in your joints after moving to sleep on the hard couch after only a few minutes of him getting knocking out.

“Good morning~” Gojo’s sing-song voice rings through your verging murderous thoughts on the second day. “The sun is shining, my skin is glowing and-” His bleary eyes lock on your hunched figure across the room, looking genuinely confused as to how you got here. “-you’re on the couch?”

“Yeah. Considered taking ya out in your sleep but then I realized the contract would be in jeopardy.”

He whines, “I’ve- I’ve never had anyone complain before.”

“They probably ran away before that.” you nod solemnly over his sputtering complaints. Stretching, content with the pop of your bones. “Don’t look at me like that, it wasn’t that bad.”

You look away when Gojo mimics your actions, sleep shirt lifting to reveal a sliver of white tufts at the hem of his boxers. He pouts, sulky eyes still locked on you, “But still, should’ve kicked me out. I would’ve expected you to instead of taking that shitty couch. Seems like something that guy would do.”

Your heart pangs - just a bit - and you let out a sharp laugh, “Fine, I’ll kick you out tonight. Maybe.” It’s genuine, it really is, and in the growing silence all Gojo can manage to do is fall back into your little familiar dance of teasing.

“Going soft on me? Y’know it’s usually the ladies crawling into my bed not out of it-”

“Oh fuck you. I take it back, I will kick you out of the room itself. Have fun sleeping in the onsen, you smug bastard.”

He squawks in protest when you throw a cushion at him. Several, actually, just for good measure. “Mercy, woman! I’m delicate!”

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

When Gojo falls back into the comfort of the silky soft sheets, you heave out a sigh. Making your way to the sliding doors, still fully expecting a flustered employee telling you that this was all a mistake and of course, you two weren’t booked for the honeymoon suite.

“Yes?” you answer, eyes widening when you spot that familiar man in front of you. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh god, it’s you.” Naoya spits, gaze heating up. “Of course, I should’ve known it’s you and that idiot boyfriend of yours makin’ so much noise next door.”

Great. Perfect. Wonderful. As if this trip couldn’t get any better.

You pinch your nose, echoing hollowly, “What do you want?”

“Exactly that. Don’t make so much noise, neighbor. I don’t care what limp dick he’s giving you-”

“Is that all?” you ask dryly, fully knowing there’s more he’s just aching to hurl at you. Before tucking yourself further behind the door, “If that’s all then I hafta go back to that ‘limp dick’.”

“What’s this about limp dick?” Goosebumps run along your arms when you feel something soft - hot - push up from behind you. From the corner of your eye, you spy a long milky hand flex as Gojo - shirtless - cages you in the doorway, “Because it sure can’t be mine then. Won’t you agree, my girl?”

Your face burns at the knowing wink Gojo throws your way, barely managing to hasten, “Uh- yeah.”

“She doesn’t sound very convinced.” Naoya narrows his eyes at your minute expressions, knowing you uncomfortably well after so long. “Guess she’s been missing a real man, huh?”

He scoffs, and you gulp heavily when soft lips kiss a gentle trail up the side of your neck, “Well who’s the one that’s been makin’ her scream all mornin’?” Gojo tilts his head innocently, blatantly showing off a ruddy splotch from where you’d attacked him with a cushion earlier, the zipper leaving a suspicious mark. “Like I said at the train station, she can make her own choices and she’s long forgotten your sorry ass so don’t even try it, you two-toned little bastard.”

Wrapping a possessive arm around your waist, you’re easily tugged back into the safety of your suite - and into Gojo’s sculpted front. You don’t push him away as your immediate thought was to, the feeling was right - too right.

“Satoru?” you hiss once the door is slammed shut.

“Hm?” he whispers hotly into the crook of your neck.

Still pressed up so close that you can feel the surge and dip of his chest when he breathes you in deeply. “Why are you shirtless?”

“Uh- did I ever tell you I was a method actor, sweetheart?”

---

Unfortunately, despite being in one of the most picturesque hotspots that Kyoto had to offer, a work trip - especially one with such a high profile client and his protegé - meant that the two of you spent most of the day cooped up in your room, typing away on your laptops.

“Ugh, this sucks.” Gojo groans for about the seventh time this hour. Running a hand tiredly through his hair, “Are you always such a hardass about contracts like this? Honestly, I can’t even feel my legs and it is not in the good way-”

“You pussy.” you grumble as you chug down another can of coffee, eyes flickering to the clock at the end of the room reading 11:00PM. “You don’t see me complaining.”

He only scoffs, “Of course ya wouldn’t complain, this shit probably gets you off. But unfortunately for those of us that have lives-”

You click your tongue, rubbing the oncoming headache that always seems to appear when you’re near Gojo. “Yeah, because talkin’ out of your ass and being a public nuisance is such a great life.”

“C’mon now, I see you picking at that blanket - my blanket, by the way - like it insulted your entire bloodline. You’re not slick, you wanna get outta here too.” At your pointed silence, he’s kicking his legs in the air, very much the toddler you knew him to be. “That’s- that’s it I can’t-”

Before you can react, Gojo is barrelling through the sliding doors of your suite. Long legs carrying up the short pathway that led to that private hot spring.

You’re following him before you realize it, “What- what are you- oh!”

You couldn’t cover your eyes fast enough. Being gifted with a brief, obscene eyeful of pale skin - leading all the way down his naked back, and even further when he cannonballs straight into the pool of water.

Shit, maybe this was why the others at the office loved him so much.

And it was hard not to understand it when Gojo’s drenched head poked out from under the hot water. White strands plastered to his forehead, a blush creeping down his skin at the head, looking at you with slightly-red, damp eyes that only seemed bluer through the steam.

“Yeah yeah I know I didn’t rinse before and I know I didn’t finish our project yet but-” he grins a grin that you don’t think you could ever forget. And you don’t know whether how hot you feel is from the onsen or him. Reaching out a soaked, strong arm towards you. “-won’t you help me get out?”

You startle, clearly not having expected this request. Narrowing your eyes suspiciously as you inch closer, “Get out?” He nods eagerly, fingers intertwining softly with yours. “Fine but-”

Whatever scream you might’ve let out is swallowed up by water- then air.

Then more very deserved yelling, of course. “Satoru what the fuck-” Your nails dig into his deltoids, sure to leave some very questionable marks but you didn’t care at this moment. Wiping away the water in your face while he holds you up easily, “I’m gonna kill you.”

“Yeah yeah, can’t kill me when you’re clinging to me like this, sweetheart.” Gojo rolls his eyes, but he makes no move to push you off. In fact, he only tightens the arm around your hips. “You looked like you needed that, the 8 hours of straight working like Yaga was havin’ you act like him.”

Somehow, you don’t feel strange about the fact that you’re being pushed up against a very painfully naked Gojo. Living out what is probably the wet dream for about half the office.

He notices, of course he does.

“Trynna take a peek?” Gojo wiggles his brows. And when you’re trying to hide away behind your hands, he nuzzles them away, arms a bit too occupied holding you captive. Sighing dramatically, “No need to be shy, many people do. I don’t mind of course, ah the woes of being fucking hot.”

Gasping, “Fuck you.” Unbeknownst as to why, you’re laughing. Contemplating whether you should really give him a good kick down below when you choke out, “You’re an asshole, y’know?”

“I know.” he smiles. “N’ yet you still haven’t drowned me.”

“I really fuckin’ hate you.”

Why could you really fucking kiss him right now?

“I know.”

The moment is broken only a few seconds later by some ungodly screeching you recognize to be none other than your beloved ex’s from next door. Yelling about “Shut the fuck up, if you’re gonna have onsen sex I’m calling the front lobby.”

“What? Can’t a man fuck his girl in peace?” Gojo shouts back. “Shut up just because your puny dick can’t get some, two-tone.”

That broke whatever magical spell was put on the two of you, obviously. And you were the first to run back to the suite - leaving Gojo and his nakedness alone. Very, very alone.

He takes a bit longer to follow you, and you’re already freshened up and in bed by the time he makes his way to the bathroom - with clothes this time, fortunately for your sanity.

Only a few minutes later, he’s nestling right next to you on the bed. You gasp in a sharp inhale at the heat of his proximity, mere millimeters away from you now.

“Good work today, by the way.” Gojo gruffs out to your turned back, quiet words carrying over that ridiculous extra-vaulted wall of pillows, padded up with ones from the couch, too. Silver tongue stumbling over his words slightly, “For how much I complained I didn’t get to tell ya. You and I - mainly I - are gonna ace that contract tomorrow.”

There’s no taunting in his tone, not one bit. And you surprise the both of you when you murmur out shakily, “I’m worried.”

“Huh?” he chokes in disbelief. “Listen, I know I slept through that meeting one time, but I swear it was only one time. I’m a…somewhat changed man, I promise I won’t-”

“Not that.”

He pauses at your interruption. All is quiet - only the chirping of crickets outside, and the steamy buzz of nearby hot springs.

And for the first time in the twenty-something years Gojo Satoru has wreaked havoc upon this Earth, he is rendered speechless. Wordlessly picking apart your wall of pillows - one by one, as if to give you more than enough time to stop him - to loop two strong arms around you.

“Shut up.” he breathes. “You’ll do brilliant, silly girl.”

---

Gojo remembers the exact date he met you - probably the exact time, too. Honestly, even three whole years after that initial meeting, he can’t remember anything but that, if you asked him to recall a single meeting held that week then Gojo honestly wouldn’t have been able to tell you.

It was a regular day spent driving poor Nanami over in the marketing department dangerously close to his fifth migraine of the day.

“You know I know I’m a valuable asset to this company Nanamin.” he chuckles, looking over where the other man was readying a sparkly Welcome! banner. “But this is all too much even for me~”

“It’s not for you.” Nanami spits, curtly. Barely sparing Gojo a glance before readying the welcome muffins, “It’s for the new head of department arriving soon today.”

And oh that piqued his interest like never before. That had all thoughts of the meeting he was currently missing flying out the window as he wondered what you would be like. Swiping away a few of those tempting muffins right out of Ichiji’s hands, he wonders. Would you be another Ichiji? Would you try and keep him under your thumb like Yaga? Hah, you could try but-

“Look I don’t know if the sales department doesn’t have food but, really?”

What?

A shudder wracks through the oh-so-great Gojo’s body at the sound of your cool, firm tone turning to meet the source and-

Oh. Oh wow. So that’s what it’s like to have your soul impaled and buried six feet under.

It was sort of addicting.

And if Gojo thought his knees were weak at just a gorgeous glare from you - well, he was completely and utterly unprepared for when he leaned in closer to where you stood firmly. Shielding a pale, trembling Ichiji. And, honestly, with a death stare like that you couldn’t blame a guy for getting nervous! It’s all he could do to hum out a cocky, “What? Want some, sweetheart?”

“Sweetheart? What I want is you out of my department.” you furrow your brows. “Now.”

It’s all that’s said before you’re dragging him by his hand out - and, shit Gojo is so riveted by how soft your hands are that he almost forgets to be offended by the way the entire marketing department just watches and giggles at the scene playing out before them. Traitors.

You push him out of the door, “I better not see you coming back to toy with my new employees-” Heavy gaze flickering down to his name tag. “-Gojo.”

Ah, truly a woman of his dreams.

And it honestly still felt like a dream even now - especially now - when you’re stood in front of him on the third day in Kyoto. Fingers messing meticulously with your hair as you check your reflection in the mirror, smoothing down your new red dress. “God, I hope it isn’t too much. How do I look?”

Perfect, he wants to say.

But instead he nudges your shoulder in the booth of your seat, settling for an obnoxious, “Alright, not as good as me, though.” Gojo takes delight in the way you give his arm a punch, smile a lot easier than before now.

“As if, you can’t even tie this properly. Here-” your fingers fiddle deftly with his slightly crooked tie. “Fixed it, you big baby.”

He grins, “If you wanted to get your hands on me then you should’ve- oh wait you already have, haven’t you? I remember that someone bypassed her own lil’ pillow wall last night.”

“Shut up.” you give him a tight warning. “They’re here.”

Honestly, there was only one thing worse than seeing old Gakuganji - that is, the sight of his sniveling protegé following him right after. Except-

“Two-tone?”

“Y-you!”

There’s a tense silence between the three of you in the exquisite onsen dining hall, one that almost makes you want to jump up and bolt back to your room because this can’t be real. Surely, this can’t be-

“I see the three of you are already acquainted?” Gakuganji’s strained, aged voice cuts through your whirlwind of thoughts. “Sit, sit, Naoya. That only makes things easier.”

As a fuming Naoya and an oblivious Gakuganji take their seats in front of the two of you, you feel the undeniable pressure of long, warm fingers squeezing your own. Reassuring. And it makes you flash the two men your best, most polished business smile, “So, about the contract.”

---

“I’m going to throw up.”

“Satoru.”

“No, I will throw up. And that will not be good for my reputation.”

“Satoru, if you throw up I’m beating your ass.”

He narrows his eyes at your heated whisper, matching you with a low, “Damn keep it for the bedroom sweetheart. We still hafta wait till Gakuganji comes back with his decision.”

“Ahem!”

It’s that annoyed, grating faux cough that drags you and Gojo out of your little world - back to reality in which no, unfortunately while your primary client has gone off to take an important business call regarding your contract, you were left to babysit his protegé.

“Yes, Naoya.” you give him a dry grin. It was nearing well into late night at this point, and most of the other visitors had cleared out except for the reserved table you were sitting in. “Do you want to be beat up, too?”

He only points an accusing finger at the two of you, “Don’t play games with me you hear. I’ve already got you figured out, coming here on a business trip and dating your coworker all the same-” Both you and Gojo raise a brow at this, what an idiot. “-you two will be fired for this.”

You catch Gojo’s eye and try not to burst out laughing, “As if. And trust me, I wouldn’t be here if I knew that you were Gakuganji’s new protegé.”

“Not because the guy you have to be here with is the same one you told me you hated back then?” he spits. “Honestly, you’d have been better off with me than this ‘pompous, no-good nepo baby asshole’ as you loved to put it.”

And you knew that Gojo was aware of your little rivalry - hell, he was an active participant, more than happy to rile you up every time. But that still didn’t stop you from tensing up when you spared a glance at the man beside you.

Surprised to see that unapologetic smirk on his face, “Of course she did.” Looking down at you with what you swore was such unimaginably deep fondness in his eyes. “I probably imagine she told you all the funny ways she wanted to get back at me, too? Banning me from the marketing department? Holding an anti-Gojo campaign? Strangling?” Gojo takes Naoya’s shocked silence as enough of an answer, “Guess what, she did hate me, probably still can’t stand me. Very understandably so, because she’s hot as fuck when she’s mad.”

Despite his furrowed brow and the angry slash of his mouth, Naoya can’t stop himself from blurting out, “W-well how did you-”

“We fuck it out, of course.”

And perhaps for the one time on this entire trip, the universe smiles down at you. You find yourself sighing in relief at the sight of Gakuganji nearing your table, evidently done with his phone call. Thank fuck, you weren’t ready for a fight to break out and this dress was too expensive to ruin.

“Seems you three are getting along well.” the old man drones out, and by the tone of his voice you genuinely can’t tell whether he was joking or not. Turning towards you and Gojo, “Well, after that very thorough presentation and careful consideration with the board at our Kyoto branch, we have all come to a unanimous decision.” You wait with bated breath for his next few words, “Where do we sign?”

Naoya stands in his seat, “But- but, sir.” He cringes, as furious as the last time you’d seen him a year ago. “You can’t sign off on this deal- not with these scumming, absolute little shits.”

“Naoya.” Gakuganji’s voice carries a warning. “You are dismissed.”

Ah, Gojo chuckles inwardly, exactly where he wanted him.

It seemed like a blur after that - a blur of signed contracts and Gojo making faces at an ashen-faced Naoya behind Gakuganji’s back, of being told that the two of you simply “must visit” their offices in Kyoto one day - much to your exes absolute torture. To which Gojo had replied with a smug, “Of course, my girlfriend and I will. Won’t we, sweetheart?” Just loud enough that Naoya - who’d been banned to a nearby table - could fume over.

And it’s how you found yourself pulling a giggly Gojo by his lapels back to your suite, hasty and desperate. Tripping over one another as you stumble in.

“Easy there on the merchandise, sweetheart.” he jests, but it sounds so strained even to him. “Can’t break our streak and kill each other on the last day now, can we?”

Your laughter dies down, “Hey, Satoru?”

“Oh no…”

“Why did you call me your girlfriend even at the end back then?”

His brows scrunch up, pleading almost. He chokes out, “Just- you- I just-” Flicking a calculated finger right in the middle of your forehead, “You think too much, did you know that? Hate to see this pretty face like this, did you see his reaction?”

“Oh my god yes did you see his face, Satoru?” you’re pressing him against the wall to steady yourselves. Feeling so drunk off the evening and him. “Naoya looked like he was going to explode right then and there. We did so good.”

“What did I tell, ya? I always know everything, silly girl.” Two big arms wrap around yours in a congratulatory hug - or, at least, what you think is a congratulatory hug. And if his palms dip just a bit lower than your waist - if this was just a bit inappropriate - neither of you say anything. “Mhm. Don’t even know what you dated that fool in the first place, he’s not even in your league.”

You scoff, “Gee thanks.”

“No no, not in that way, don’t ever think in that way, stupid.” A long index comes up to tilt your chin up to meet his greedy gaze. “You’re too gorgeous for him. Besides, he spoke like a man who couldn’t even find the clit.”

“Well- he did find it.” you relish in that deepening furrow of Gojo’s brow, the way the muscles in his jaw tick just right. “But wanna hear a secret?” Those soft baby hair at the nape of his neck raise when you’re whispering in his ear, barely even waiting for his dazed nod. “He still never made me cum.”

“...Never?”

“Never.”

There’s a beat of silence, one. Two.

Shit.

You’d long expected Gojo’s smart mouth to make some kind of insulting joke by now. And you’re halfway through wondering whether you’d overshared too much, untangling your arms from his vice-like embrace before-

“I would.” he rasps, breaths ragged. You’re tilting your head in confusion when he repeats cockily, “I would’ve made you cum, y’know. How could I not?”

There’s a snarky little part of you that makes you quick a brow, a sultry smirk playing on your lips. “Is that an offer?”

Gojo’s arms loop around you tight - almost too tight, you could almost hear your poor bones popping in protest. “It’s a promise.”

Oh that’s all you wanted to hear right about now. And he can fucking see the goosebumps that make their way down your exposed shoulders, he can practically hear that syrupy sweet tone that was really not good for his sanity.

“Prove it, Satoru.”

His lips are crashing against yours like they’re magnetized - and it’s nothing like what you’d imagine kissing Gojo Satoru would’ve been like. Nothing suave, shallow. It’s sloppy, a mess of teeth and lips and his tongue tasting every inch of your candied lips like he couldn’t get enough. Like he didn’t even want to breathe for fear of losing out on your pretty mouth.

“Fuck-” Gojo hisses, delicate strings of spit snapping as he pulls away ever-so-slightly to take in the delicious sight of you all glossy eyed with swollen lips. “Fuck you’re so beautiful. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.”

Kissing you over and over like he couldn’t get enough. Like he didn’t want to get enough, you’re moaning when Gojo slips his tongue past the seam of your lips. Addicted to the distinct taste of him and those cheap cherry lollipops you always caught him sucking on in the break room.

He’s drawing back in a way that has him drinking in your soft noises, big palms kneading your body over your dress.

“Sa- Sato-” you’re gasping out when he flips you over to press you up against the wall. Assaulting your bruised lips with heated peck after peck. “What do you- mean-”

He groans, lips moving to kiss down the quivering column of your throat, “Shut up- Just shut up and kiss me. God, for how much I love that mouth of yours, you talk way too much, sweetheart.”

And that was really rich coming from him - but you don’t get to snark back at him. Because no sooner are the words out of your mouth that Gojo decides he’s had enough of playing nice - that is, if he was in the first place.

Immediately fiddling towards that cold metal zipper in the back, gliding down the red fabric right along with your bra- shit, when did he even unclip it?

“You-” you sputter, the cool chill of the bedroom pebbles your sensitive nipples. The dawning feeling that this absolute thorn at your side might be much more than just talk has your thighs pressing together. Leveling him with a narrow look, “You are such a whore, aren’t you?”

He flashes you a sheepish grin, large palms groping your tits. “Would ya believe me if I told you it was from how many times I’d imagined this before?”

“Absolutely not.”

This earns you a sharp smack! gifted onto the fat of your ass, the five pads of Gojo’s fingers burning onto where your dress was hiking up.

“Always need to talk back, don’t you?” he spits, shoving a knee between your two legs. Such an innocently handsome grin splashing across his face at the soft moan you let out, grinding purposefully against that damp mound of your needy cunt. “Why won’t you ever hah- believe me?” He has one hand shoving your dress down, down, down. The other dragging your sloppy hips down his muscled thigh, “You wanna hear a secret? Stick your tongue out f’me like a good girl now, sweetheart.”

And oh you wanted to fight back. To outright refuse to comply so brattily, but it’s all you can do to nod blearily, feeling so fucking dirty with the way you’re letting your tongue loll out. Whining when Gojo smushes your cheeks together into an obscene pucker, into the perfect target for him to spit once. Twice.

“Yeah, take it- that’s my girl. A secret for a secret, right?” Gojo smiles so darkly, swiping away that thick splatter of syrupy saliva dredged up on the corner of your mouth. Intentional, of course. His words are low but clear, unable to have you mistaking them for anything else when he says, “That time I slept through the whole meeting? Wasn’t sleepin’.” He bites down on your earlobe, licking lightly. “S’just, I happened to see that cute new skirt you were wearing that day, it was so short- so fuckin’ tight. Couldn’t bear to show my face, not after I’d just spent the past few hours with my hand wrapped around my cock, wondering all the sweet things I could do to you in it.”

You’re gasping, “You’re so fucking filthy.”

“Yeah yeah.” he purrs, toying with the hem of your now dress, the red cloth now dangling somewhere at your thighs. “And don’t pretend you’re not just as dirty, hardass. Actin’ all prudish when ya dress like this underneath.”

As if to prove his point, the back of one of his fingers is gliding across where your lacy black panties were peeking out. Groaning at the sopping wet fabric, “Yeah, just as dirty as I thought.”

With his little hypothesis confirmed, it’s all that Gojo has to do to pick you up with one arm hooking under your already trembly thighs. You’re keening when he plants another solid smack on the fat of your ass, “Satoru!”

“Ohh, I love that. Say it again.” he murmurs, walking slowly to the edge of your shared bed. Savoring that feeling of your drooling cunt seeping through to paint a small dark patch on his suit. “I said, say it again.”

All it takes is another harsh slap against your ass, and a honeyed drag of Gojo’s name for him to splay you out like some slut on the soft silken sheets. You find yourself pulling him back by his broad shoulders when he takes the moment to admire just how gorgeous you looked. Even better than any daydream that mind of his could think of.

“Sa-toru-” you mewl, and he only licks his lips as if in a daze. Not knowing where to look - at that needy, already-cockdrunk glaze over your eyes, at the way your flimsy dress wrapped around the plush of your thighs, at that glistening little patch on the plump mound of your cunt. So mouthwatering. “Satoru- Sa- Toru!”

That makes him snap out of his little hypnosis. “What did you call me?” he breathes.

You bat your lashes deceivingly innocently up at him, “Sato-”

“No.” he’s cutting you off, Adam’s apple bobbing with the heavy gulp he takes. Thumbing at your puffy lips as if to drag the same words out of you - have them going straight to his achy cock once more. “That other one. Don’t play stupid with me, silly girl, you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Oh, you did.

And you’re feeling the way your dripping pussy clenches with anticipation when you whine out that little nickname once more. “Toru, please.” Adding a little flair to have Gojo’s rosy lips fall into a soft oh! choking on a ragged low hiss when a hand of his subconsciously goes down to squeeze his bulging erection.

“Oh yes, m’name sounds so fuckin’ cute on your lips.” he groans. The sheets below you two rustling with movement when he shuffles urgently downwards, “Sounds so fucking good it makes me wanna-”

RIP!

“-know if she sounds it out just as pretty as you.”

You’re still reeling from the tatters of what remained of your favorite red dress being thrown unapologetically onto the tatami mats below. Huffing in irritation, “Satoru, if you’re ngh- dead if you don’t replace that-”

He’s shutting you up with another quiet smack onto your heated skin - this time at your shamefully spread inner thighs, the edges of his padded fingers just barely touching on your swollen folds. “Yeah yeah, I’ll buy ya the whole fuckin’ store if I have to.” Before hovering so close you could feel every hitch of his hot breath on your beading cunt, “And m’gonna make it so you don’t dare call me that again.”

You don’t have a response to that - and anything you might’ve taunted back is being knocked out of your mouth. The only thing leaving it being slurred little whimpers of Gojo’s name when he licks a long, languid stripe up your puffy slit.

“Oh, look at that.” he chuckles. Pushing apart your thighs to get a nice greedy look at every drop of your sweet sweet juices glistening in the dim lighting. “Think she’s more mouthy than you, if tha’s even possible, heh.”

His long, eager tongue is slurping up every syrupy drop of your slick. Again. And again. And again and again and-

“Fuck- Toru.” your fingers find their way weaving into his soft strands when the very tip of his soft tongue finds its way just past your folds. Arching your spine off the plush bed needily like some slut, “Need you to- hngh- go deeper.”

The only response you’re getting is a sultry, smug grin being spread across your pussy lips. Feeling everything from the quirk of his cupid’s bow, to that dimple at the edge of Gojo’s smirk, “Knew you were needy, but this- this is fucking amazing.”

“Guess you’re all bark no bite, huh?” you pout, voice teetering into teasingly whiny. And oh how you love the way that wipes all the cockiness from Gojo’s face. “Even Naoya was able to actually eat me out the way I-”

It’s like it killed him to hear those goading words from you - and something snaps before he’s shoving that pretty face of his back nose-deep into your addictive pussy.

Slotting his tongue up and down your hot slit. Up and down up and down up and-

“F-fuck, oh Toru-” you squeal when he wastes no time pushing past that snug little ring of resistance to reach deep into your gummy walls. Barely even giving you any warning - Gojo’s eyes roll to the back of his head at how sinfully tight you were squeezing him. “Shit how are you in so deep-”

And that petty, petty little part of him doesn’t answer, instead gliding up a determined thumb up to draw methodical circles on your throbbing clit. Fast. So so sloppy with the way he was letting your juices dribble past his knuckles, his wrist, forming a glossy sheen all the way down to the sheets. Matching the ruthless cadence of the way he was fucking your ravaged cunt the way he wished he could do with his rock-hard cock right now.

“Ah!” you gasp, when one swipe of his tongue sends jolts of pure white-hot pleasure running up your spine. And that’s all Gojo has to hear before he’s attacking your hidden sweet spot over and over. “F-fuck s’too good. Fuckin’ hate how your big mouth is- ngh- so good at this-”

That causes a husky rasp of laughter to bubble its way out of Gojo’s throat, and he’s pinning your wildly bucking hips down with one arm. “Don’t you dare run away now. You’re so cute when you’re cockdrunk and truthful like this, silly girl.”

The vibrations have you moaning out a feverish Toru! Toru! Toru! louder than ever, wrenching out of you with every crash of his soft tongue against your sensitive spots. Every harsh swivel on your clit, just harder on the tip, softer at the curve.

“Yeah- yeah yeah yeah, say my name like that.” he gasps, spitting out hissy profanities into your velvety walls. You were squeezing him so tight it was almost difficult to bully his tongue into your plushy walls. To keep up his mean staccato - but fuck, it didn’t matter if his fingers were cramping up, it didn’t matter if his tongue was getting tired. Because Gojo Satoru was one stubborn man. “Louder-”

“T-Toru!”

“No no,” you’re jolting at the feeling of something cool and glossy hitting your cunt in a harsh glob. Gojo barely wastes any time thumbing his spit in to mix with the mess made down below, letting your ears ring with such obscene squelches that have your cheeks burning. “Hear this, sweetheart?” As if there’s anything else you could hear, he’s pulling out those sultry sounds from you. “She’s louder than you, n’ that makes me so sad-” You fuck up further and further into Gojo’s tongue, eyes locked with his down in his favorite position between your legs. “-my girl can be ah- loud f’me, right? Say my name, say it so the whole fuckin’ onsen hears.”

“Toru—”

He’s taunting you in that same honeyed tone, “Louder.” Murmuring even deeper into your cunt, “C’mon, louder. Tell it to me.”

“Toru! Fuck- m-close-” It’s probably the last understandable sentence you’re managing to moan out before you finally cum. Wave after wave of such filthy pleasure hitting you, it’s all you can do to tighten your grip on his hair. Angling and using leverage to grind your hips down deeper, jolting with every flick of his tongue sending stars behind your eyelids. And Gojo, satisfied, shuts up to let you ride his face through your high. Using him, just dragging your sloppy pussy all over his tongue, his mouth. Over and over.

“Jus’ a bit more-” you hear him whisper out so sweetly over your ringing ears. Suddenly, your limp hands fall to the sides of that drenched pool you’ve made. And yet Gojo is still going, still meshing his bruised lips so messily against your own, making out with your cunt in a way that has him so depraved. “Just some more, pretty girl- you taste so addictive.”

Big fat tears of overstimulation prick at your eyes, and you’re sobbing out, “W-wait- fuck m’too sensitive for that.”

“You can handle it, you’re a big- fuck- a big girl, aren’t ya?” he groans, eyes rolling to the back of his head with every taste of your pussy. Surging forwards despite the hold you have on his hair, “Hold on- just want a bit more- you don’t know how long-”

The pout he’s giving you once you have to just drag him away like a man starved, fighting against the grip you have on him.

But oh Gojo looks so pretty, cloudy bangs pulled back to reveal his delicately blushing face, lips painted in a glossy sheen of your slick. Slobbering down, down, down to glisten across the bottom half of his face. Looking so bruised with how greedy he was, almost the same color as those cherry lollipops he loved so much. And his eyes - fuck, his eyes - glassy and half-lidded, hazy with a sheen that told you he was already completely and utterly pussydrunk out of his sanity.

“Toru…” you start, unable to tear your eyes away from the way he moans at the mere sound of your voice. “Your turn.”

It’s a long endeavor to get rid of Gojo’s pants - or, at least that’s what it feels like.

Hooking a still-shaky leg over his toned waist, you’re slamming his muscular frame down onto the mattress. Buttons hitting the floor when you all but tear his overpriced button-up off - because, really, it’s not you two if one of you doesn’t get your revenge somehow.

“These- these damn belts.” you scoff, too-eager fingers fumbling with the metal latches of Gojo’s belt. “Why does it have to have so many-”

“You’re so cute when you’re eager this way, silly girl.” he’s cupping the side of your face. Free hand easily unbuckling his belt, and the heady metallic sounds are enough to have your cunt so needy. “Like this-”

You’re gasping when he finally takes his formal dress pants off - along with those uselessly precum-soaked boxers. Sticky and leaving a lewd trail of glossy down his milky, sculpted thighs.

And oh if you thought Gojo was pretty before then he was a fucking masterpiece right now. All tall, lean muscle that rippled with every minute movement. Curves and dips of sculpted skin being accentuated so perfectly against the dim lightning in your suite.

So infuriating at how that couldn’t give you a better look at his massive, swollen length. So long and girthy, hefty where his fat head was leaking silky precum all over his abs. Such a delicate pink matching his lips at the head, dancing down, down his thick, prominent veins to those tufts of soaked white at his sharp pelvis. Fuck, he was so big - could you actually take him?

Wrapping your soft palm around Gojo’s furiously throbbing fast, you’re letting him coat you hand in a sinful sheen. And you can’t help but wonder what he’d taste like, too-

“Hold on right there, my dirty girl.” your slowly dipping head is tilted firmly by Gojo. “As much as hngh- fuck you’re squeezing me so tight- as much as this has been fuck- all I’d dreamt of since that office ice cream party. I just know m’gonna cum as soon as you put that smart mouth on me, sweetheart.” He’s kissing gently at your lips, sucking on your lower lip. “And I just know you’re never gonna fuck– let me live that down.”

You smirk, “Not gonna live that ice cream party thing, either, Toru.”

“He flashes you such a devilish smile, steadying your hips to straddle him messily. Spreading your legs on either side of his weepy tip. “Oh, fuck off.”

You hiss when you’re feeling the hot kiss his head is planting on your sensitive pussy lips, “Fuck you.”

“No.” Gojo chuckles, powerful thighs curling up to plant his feet on the mattress. Waiting. Anticipating. “I’m fucking you-”

It’s barely even a warning - laughable, really - how that’s all he’s gifting you with before bullying the very tip of his fat cock into your snug cunt in a sloppy hit.

He groans, eyes fighting to roll to the back of his head but caught so so greedily on the way you swollen pussy lips are being spread so obscenely to swallow every single inch after fucking inch. Disappearing down into your gooey walls, Gojo’s breath hitches at the first sign of resistance from your too-tight entrance.

“C’mon now.” he moans gutturally. Hips fucking up in a jagged, slow grind, trying so desperately to plunge himself in deeper. “C’mon c’mon come- on-”

“Toru!” you’re gasping when he slides his soaked length even deeper. Feeding in to the way your gummy walls want more more more more- “You’re so fuckin’ hngh- impatient.”

“Me?” he’s asking, voice a few octaves higher and dripping with the audacity to sound so genuinely in disbelief. “You’re- you’re saying that I’m impatient. Oh, sweetheart-” you blink back the lusty haze in your eyes to look down at Gojo fully, spying that upwards curl of his lips that you knew didn’t mean well for you right now. “-look down.”

Your eyes widening as you’re whirling downwards to spy the way he’s not even halfway in yet. But that’s not all, no, your poor pussy is just absolutely bulging around his girthy shaft, struggling, stretched to their limits - yet still quivering with the effort to try and milk something delicious out of him.

And the moment that tiny, shaky gasp leaves your mouth, his sharp hip bones are just crashing into yours. Toned hips lifting off of the bed to drive his achy cock into your drooling cunt. One hand kneads and gropes the flesh of your ass to steady you down, down, down-

“Toru-” you’re moaning, like a mantra, once his angry tip is gliding across the spongy wall of your cervix. The stretch too much, Gojo’s cock so thick in his girth that you could feel each and every sweet spot of yours being dragged down his length. “F-fuck, Toru!”

He chuckles, gritting out through those long, determined grinds. Having himself now fully stuffed inside your cunt, heavy balls kissing at the curve of your ass, pubic hair scratching up against your needy clit. “Can’t hah- keep quiet, can you? Fuckin’ love how needy she is- how needy you are.”

“Sh-shut up-” you mewl, narrowing your eyes.

“Hah- I would.” Gojo grins out so smugly. Tilting you precariously on top of him like some ragdoll to easily give your g-spot a mean crash of his greedy head. “But you can’t.”

And of course, he’s proving his own point by bouncing you in a heady, fast tandem, abs burning with the ache to fuck you so rude. Gojo spits once on two of his long, slender fingers, letting this lewd coating smear down to his knuckles before dipping them down to spread your puffy folds even farther.

“Fuuuck, jus’ look at you.” he rasps, the deep baritone of his voice having your gummy walls mold even harder onto the shape of his cock. Gojo throws his had back, twitching balls squeezing harder with every increasing smack against your ass. “Shit shit shit- how that bastard had you hngh- all to himself and didn’t make th-this pretty pussy come everyday I’ll never understand.” He’s pulling you down with a hand to the back of your neck, tightening, “So don’t we hah- rub it in his ugly face?”

Shit, the thought has you grinding and stuttering your hips down to meet Gojo’s unforgiving cadence, arching your body into him like you couldn’t get enough.

“You just got- hngh- so impossibly harder at that.” you push his bucking shoulders down onto the mattress. Now fully riding him just as much as he was fucking you into the mattress so animalistically. “And you call me needy.”

He scoffs, “I’m not the only one.” The fingers still lingering on your cunt moving to toy with your pulsing sensitive nub, teasing and toying your clit between two fingers. “Can you just h-hear how loud this pussy of yours is? Bet he can hear too.”

And it was true, the wet smacks were only getting louder. Sloppier. Squelching with the push and pull of Gojo’s pounding cock in the same maddening staccato.

But still - you weren’t going to be compliant that easily. Feeling the familiar tingles of your high edging closer, you wanted to break him just one more time. “Nah- I don’t think he can.”

“Oh you’re gonna regret that, silly girl.”

In all of two seconds - maybe even less than - Gojo’s using his immense strength to his advantage. Flipping the two of you over so your back is hitting the soaked sheets, droopy legs thrown over your shoulder to plow into you in such a mean mating press he has you folded into.

The new change in angle makes it even easier for him to be kissing your g-spot. Bruising. Branding his name onto your sweet spots - your cervix - so you wouldn’t forget. So you can’t forget.

“F-fuck, Toru-” you’re letting out staggered gasps every time he rams his hefty cock into you. Fingers still relentless on your clit - playing around with it as much as he was playing with your sanity. “I’m so-”

“What was that?” he interrupts through sloppy, stuttering thrusts. Free hand cupping his ear so goadingly, ‘Can’t hear you, sweetheart.“

“Toru-” you’re squealing over his rapidly accelerating movements. Fighting to babble out coherently, “Toru m’close-”

“Louder.” he’s grinning meanly. Hips burning with slowly fatiguing effort because he’s so close, your slick walls are massaging him so tight. But where’s the fun if there’s no teasing? “Still can’t hear ya.”

Your voice is shot at this point, “Toru, m’gonna cum-”

“Louder or m’not gonna let you.”

“Toru! Fuck fuck fuck m’cumming.” It hits him before those loud moans are even leaving your mouth, because your velvety walls are clamping down so snug. Molding to the shape of him, your heels digging even deeper on his shoulder, nails raking red red patterns down the pale skin of his biceps. “M’cumming- ngh-”

And fuck each and every slam of his hips sends electricity up your spine, bullying you through your high. Dragging it out till you think you could go insane.

“God- fuck you’re so-” It’s the only hoarse grunt leaving Gojo’s lips before he’s spilling thick rope after rope of seed into the awaiting channel of your pussy. “So perfect f’me.”

Two hands of his lace above your head, pushing you so impossibly deep down his thick hilt. He’s cumming and cumming so hard like he never has in his life, body out of control with the way he’s stuffing you with every drop of seed.

He shivers at the overspill, gushing out of the corners of your ravaged cunt, painting a creamy ring around his tired base. Too much. And yet mindlessly thrusting even sloppier, catching your lips in a lazy, passionate kiss. “At least we didn’t fuckin’ kill each other, hm?”

You smile into it, slotting your hips languidly, “Didn’t do hgnh- the neighbors any favors, either.”

“It’s Naoya, who fucking cares? ‘Limp dick’ my ass.” And oh how Gojo loved that sweet sweet smile gracing your lips, the way your eyes light up all because of him. He can’t help but drawl out, “Y’know…since we were locked up in this room for all three days, and have most of the day tomorrow, how about you and I actually do some sightseeing here before we leave?”

You nod eagerly, tightening your legs around his waist and shit, this might just be heaven. “We need a break after that contract, s’gonna be so fun.”

He’s connecting his sticky forehead with yours, “Of course it will be, I’ll be there.” Babbling deliriously, drunk off the way you’re leveling him with another one of your familiar glares, “And we can use Yaga’s care, too, he never checks-”

“Toru…” you warn when Gojo cuts himself off with a gasp. Quirking an irritated brow - as you usually did when you’re with him, “Don’t tell me you’ve been dipping into Yaga’s card, he’ll kill you if he finds out. That’s if I don’t kill you first.”

“...”

“...Toru…”

“Is this a bad time to tell you that I booked us this suite with it too?”

A/N. My red flag is making Naoya the shitty ex in every piece of writing I do (or is that a green flag hmmm?)

Plagiarism not authorized.

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #tonywrites

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jupiterpilgrim · 2 months ago

Text

Tropic Getaway

Hanni x Danielle x Minji x male reader

word count: 20k

The downstairs study lounge is just heavy.

It was supposed to be another night of studying, but, along the way, things went wrong. Or rather, they went wrong. Now papers and books are just everywhere, a mess of good intentions gone bad. Danielle's basically become one with the couch, kinda slumped over, doomscrolling on her phone or just staring blankly at the ceiling, looking totally over it. Opposite her, Minji is full-on face-down in her textbook on the table, like she's trying to absorb the knowledge through her forehead or just taking a very still, very desperate nap. And then there's Hanni, loaded with restless energy, pacing back and forth across the worn-out carpet, basically the only thing moving in the whole room besides Danielle’s thumb.

It doesn't take a genius to know that the keyword of the day is burnout.

"I can't," Minji mumbles, words muffled by the textbook cover. "I physically cannot read another sentence about market equilibrium. My brain has turned into actual sludge."

Danielle lets out a noise that is halfway between a laugh and a groan. "Tell me about it. I spend six hours debugging that stupid short film edit for the Media Club showcase. Six. Hours. Just to fix a two-second audio sync issue." She tosses her phone onto the cushion beside her. "My eyes feel like they're full of sand, I feel like I'm going to spontaneously combust at any moment." She stretches, her joints popping audibly. "Spring break can't come fast enough. Seriously. If I don't get out of here, away from deadlines and group projects and early morning lectures, I'm going to short-circuit."

Hanni stops pacing and leans against the wall, crossing her arms. "Okay, so we're all in agreement. We're burnt the fuck out." Her gaze sweeps over her friends. "Which means we need this break. Like, medically need it. Forget staying here and 'catching up on sleep' or whatever bullshit people pretend they're going to do. We need an escape. A real one."

Minji pushes the textbook away with a sigh. "Okay, fine. Escape. Where?" She slumps back in her chair. "My parents suggest I come home. Help them clean out the garage." The look on her face makes it clear this is less appealing than facing 'market equilibrium’.

"Garage cleaning? Yeah, hard pass," Danielle says. "My mom wants me to visit my aunt in the countryside. Which, you know, love my aunt, but her idea of excitement is watching cows graze."

Hanni makes a face. "Okay, those are both nightmare fuel options. We need... sunshine. Something completely different." She pushes off the wall, starting to pace again, but this time with more purpose. "Think. No parental obligations, no academic pressure, no weird relatives. Just... decompression." She snaps her fingers. "Europe?"

Danielle considers it, tilting her head. "Europe's cool... but doesn't that feel like... a lot of effort right now? All the sightseeing, the museums, the walking... My feet already hurt just thinking about it. And figuring out trains and hostels while my brain is fried? I don't know."

"Yeah, Dani's got a point," Minji chimes in, pulling her legs up onto her chair. "I love the idea of Paris or Rome, but I think I need somewhere I can just... shut down. Like, minimal brain activity required. Maximum relaxation."

"Okay, okay, fair," Hanni concedes. "Effort is bad. Brain activity is bad." She pauses, tapping a finger against her chin. "How about a paradise place? Like, Mexico? Cancun?"

"Spring break in Cancun?" Danielle wrinkles her nose. "Isn't that just... wall-to-wall drunk frat guys trying to get you to do body shots? Feels like trading one kind of stress for another. A louder, potentially stickier kind."

Minji nods vigorously. "Definitely not the vibe. I want peace, Dani wants low-effort, I want... heat. Real heat. Not this pathetic excuse for spring weather we're having."

Hanni stops pacing again, a slow smile spreading across her face. It starts small, just a twitch at the corner of her lips, but grows as the idea takes hold. "Okay. Heat. Low effort. No frat guys, or at least, easily avoidable ones. Maximum relaxation." Her eyes light up. "What about the Caribbean?"

Silence falls for a moment as the image settles in their minds. Crystal clear turquoise water. White sand beaches. Palm trees swaying gently. Colorful drinks with little umbrellas. No textbooks. No editing suites. No Professors.

Danielle sits up straighter, the listlessness fading from her expression. "Okay... Caribbean. Like... where?"

"Doesn't even matter, does it?" Minji asks. "Barbados, St. Lucia, Turks and Caicos... They're all beaches and sun and rum punch, right?"

"Exactly!" Hanni grins, walking over and perching on the edge of the table near Minji. "Pick an island, any island. Somewhere with stupidly blue water, amazing food, maybe some snorkeling or just lying on the beach like lizards, soaking up the sun until our brains reset." She pulls out her own phone, fingers already flying across the screen. "There’s gotta be some great resorts over there."

Danielle picks her phone back up from the cushion. "Okay, I'm looking up flights. Let's see... non-stop options preferred, obviously."

Minji leans over Hanni's shoulder, peering at her screen. "Look at that resort... Jesus, that pool looks insane. Is that a swim-up bar? We could spend an entire day just migrating from the beach chair to the pool chair to the swim-up bar stool.”

"It looks... luxuriously expensive, Han," Minji says.

"Oh, yeah, sure, focus on reality! Let's see what we found on Airbnb."

And just like that the miserable study lounge totally disappears. Forget the textbooks, forget the debugging nightmares, forget the professors. Minji, Danielle, and Hanni are heads-down, phones out, completely lost in scrolling through pictures of ridiculously blue water and white sandy beaches. For these few minutes, market equilibrium and audio sync issues are ancient history. It's all about infinity pools, debating the merits of St. Lucia versus Barbados, and imagining days spent doing absolutely nothing but soaking up the sun until their brains finally feel less like scrambled eggs. School's out—mentally, at least—and the Caribbean dream is officially in.

—

You’re pacing the cramped little room—your dorm, technically, though it’s more of a closet with a bed and a desk shoved against the wall—waiting for her, trying to control a little the nervousness that always appears when you know she's coming. It’s not full-on nerves, just this antsy buzz under your skin, like you’re jonesing for a fix, and in a way, you are. Hanni’s been your hookup for months now, this casual thing that’s not really casual anymore, not with how bad you want her every time she’s near, and with her blatant possessiveness over you—not that you're complaining. The clock ticks past 4 p.m., and you’re wiping your palms on your jeans when the door swings open; no knock, no warning, just her. Hanni steps in, and fuck, she’s a knockout, same as always.

She’s got a college girl vibe dialed up, rocking this tiny plaid skirt, barely long enough to count as clothing, hugging her hips and showing off those legs—thick, smooth, the kind you wanna sink your teeth into. Her top’s a cropped hoodie, loose enough to flash a strip of her stomach when she moves. Her bangs are just adorable, a contrast to the look she's giving you.

Hanni doesn’t even say hi, just drops her bag by the door, crosses the three steps it takes to reach you, and crashes her mouth into yours. It’s hungry, sloppy, her lips soft, tasting faintly of cherry lip balm and whatever Monster she chugged on the way over. Her hands are already fisting your shirt, tugging you back toward the desk chair while she mutters against your teeth, “We gotta be quick—gotta meet the girls in, like, twenty.” You’re too busy kissing her back to argue, letting her pull you down into the seat, your hands sliding up her thighs, feeling the heat radiating off her skin.

She’s got you pinned there, straddling your lap before you can blink, and she’s yanking at your belt, fingers fumbling but determined. “Fuck, c’mon,” she huffs, and you help her out, unbuttoning your jeans, shoving them down just enough to free your cock, already hard, because how could it not be with her like this? She hikes her skirt up, flashing these lacy black panties she doesn’t even bother taking off—just shoves them to the side, and you catch a glimpse of how soaked she is, glistening in the dorm light.

Then she’s on you, sinking down slow at first, and you both let out this ragged, “Ohhh,” like you’ve been holding your breath for it all day. Her pussy’s tight, warm, so wet it’s obscene, and she’s clenching around you before she even starts moving. She leans in, breath hot against your ear, muttering, “Goddamn, I’ve been horny as shit all day—couldn’t stop thinking about this.” You groan, hands gripping her hips, feeling the way her skirt bunches up higher as she starts rocking against you. It’s fast, messy, her bouncing on your lap, the chair creaking under you like it’s about to give up.

Her tits are pressed against your chest, hoodie riding up, and you slide your hands under it, palming her through her bra, feeling her nipples harden under your thumbs. She’s panting, little gasps breaking up her words, “Can’t believe this is the last time ‘til—fuck—spring break. Gonna miss this dick so bad.” You thrust up into her, meeting her halfway, and she yelps, nails digging into your shoulders. “What you doing for break?” she asks, voice hitching as she grinds down hard, taking you deeper.

You’re trying to focus, but it’s a losing battle with her pussy squeezing you like that, slick and hot, dragging you to the edge already. “Dunno,” you manage, “haven’t figured it out yet—what about you?” She’s bouncing faster now, thighs flexing, skirt flapping, and she tosses her head back, laughing through a moan. “Me, Minji, Danielle—we’re fuckin’ off to St Lucia. Beaches, booze, everything we could ask for. Gonna be dope.” Her words are punctuated by the slap of her skin against yours, wet and loud in the tiny room, and you grin, thrusting harder just to hear her gasp again. “St Lucia? That’s sick,” you say, and she nods, eyes half-lidded, lips parted as she rides you. “Yeah, right? No classes, no campus—just us and some random-ass fun.” She clenches around you on purpose, smirking when you groan, and adds, “What you gonna do without me, huh? Jerk off to my texts all week?” You laugh, hands sliding to her ass, squeezing hard enough to leave marks. “Maybe. Gonna miss this—fucking you here, sneaking around. Best stress relief I’ve got.”

She’s grinning too, but it’s wobbly now, her rhythm faltering as she gets closer—you can feel it in how she’s tightening up, her breaths turning into these needy little whines. “Same,” she says, voice softer for a sec, almost sweet, before she catches herself and slams down harder, chasing it. “Fuck! I’m gonna miss this—your cock, this room, all of it.” The chair’s scraping the floor now, probably pissing off whoever’s below you, but you don’t care, she’s riding you like it’s the last time, and maybe it is for a while. Her skirt’s a crumpled mess around her waist, panties stretched to the side, and her hoodie’s slipping off one shoulder, giving you a peek at the sweat beading on her collarbone. You’re both loud—grunts, moans, the occasional “shit” or “fuck” slipping out between whatever half-assed conversation you’re trying to have. She’s soaked, dripping down your thighs, and you’re so close you can barely think straight, just thrusting up into her, letting her take what she wants.

“Fuck, Hanni,” you groan, “cum on my dick—c’mon, I wanna feel it.” She whines, head tipping back, and her bounces get sloppier, harder, the chair squeaking like it’s about to snap. Her moans kick up a notch, too loud, way too loud for this thin-walled dump, and you hiss, “Shit, keep it down, someone’s gonna hear us.” She gasps, tries to stifle it, but it’s no use. “I—I can’t, fuck, it’s too good,” she stammers, and then she’s done holding back—she slams down one more time, hard, and chokes out, “I’m gonna cum, oh fuck, I’m cumming!”

Her pussy clamps down on you like a vice, pulsing hot and wet, and she’s bouncing fast now, riding out the wave, her thighs trembling against your hips. You can feel her shaking, her whole body seizing up as she cums, a shudder ripping through her that makes her gasp and whimper your name—soft at first, then loud again, like she can’t help it. You pull her down, crash your mouth into hers, kissing her deep, swallowing those sounds as she grinds through it. Her lips are slick, desperate, and you break off just long enough to mutter, “You’re so fucking hot… Jesus, Hanni,” before diving back in, biting her bottom lip hard enough to make her hiss. She’s still twitching around you, aftershocks making her shudder, and then she slides off, slow, leaving you aching and hard, your cock slick with her. She drops to her knees between your legs, no hesitation, wrapping her fingers around you; small hands, chipped red nails, and gives you a couple lazy strokes.

“Gimme your cum,” she says, and then she’s on you, mouth closing over the tip, sucking hard. Her tongue flicks the underside, wet and warm, and she’s staring up at you, dark eyes locked on yours, unblinking, fucking devastating. It’s too much, the way she hollows her cheeks, bobs her head, hand twisting at the base while her lips slide down further, taking you deep. “C’mon,” she mumbles around you, muffled, “want it so bad—give it to me.” You’re gone, head tipping back against the chair, groaning low in your throat as she works you, relentless, slurping loud enough to make your face heat up. Her free hand’s on your thigh, nails digging in, and she’s begging with her eyes, her mouth, not stopping ‘til you’re right there. You feel it hit, this tight, hot rush, and you cum hard—ropes of it, thick and messy, spilling into her mouth. She doesn’t pull off, just takes it, swallowing as you go, and you mutter, “Fuck, I love watching you swallow me like this,” She pops off, licks her lips slow, deliberate, and grins. “Love the taste—salty, you, all of it,” she says, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand like it’s nothing.

You two don't waste any time, you’re tugging your jeans up, she’s smoothing her skirt down, but her panties are still crooked, and she doesn’t bother fixing them. Hanni climbs back onto your lap, not to fuck again, just to sit there, legs dangling over yours, catching her breath. It’s quiet for a sec, just the hum of the mini fridge in the corner, and then she leans her head against your shoulder, hair tickling your neck. “Thanks, y’know,” she says, soft, almost shy for once. “You’ve been a fucking lifesaver these past few months—keeping me sane after all the college bullshit.”

You wrap an arm around her, lazy, resting your hand on her hip. “Same here. You’re the only thing that’s kept me from losing my mind some days.” She laughs, quiet, nudging you with her elbow. “We're an eccentric duo, huh? But it works.” You nod, staring at the ceiling, feeling her warmth seep into you, this weird, comfortable closeness that’s snuck up on you both.

She shifts, sits up straighter, and you think she’s about to bounce out the door, she’s got that meeting with the girls soon, but she turns to you instead, skirt riding up again, flashing the edge of those wrecked panties. “So, what d’you think of the Caribbean?” She ask.

You shrug, still fuzzy from the orgasm, wiping a hand over your face. “Looks dope—beaches, food, all that. Why?” She grins and leans in close. “Come with us. Me, Danielle, Minji—we’re going, and you’d be great company. Keep things lively.” You blink, caught off guard, brain still half-fried. “Wait, what? You serious?” She nods, biting her lip, and it’s not just a throwaway invite, she’s deadass. “Yeah, dude. You’re fun as hell, and, I mean…” She trails off, smirks, lets the implication hang there. You picture it: Hanni, Danielle, Minji, you stuck in the middle of that trio, St Lucia sun beating down. It’s insane, but it’s perfect, too good to pass up. “Fuck it, I’m in,” you say, grinning back, and she lights up—full-on Hanni energy, clapping her hands once, loud. “Hell yeah! I’ll tell the girls—gonna text you details later. This is gonna be epic.” She hops off your lap, grabs her bag, but not before leaning down to kiss you quick. Then she’s out the door, skirt swishing, leaving you dazed and already counting down the days.

—

The cheap tequila is doing its job, loosening tension. The girls are crammed into a booth at the pub near the college. They ditched the library hours ago for lime wedges, salt, and rounds of golden liquor. The pub’s loud playlist thumps overhead, a backdrop to the chatter and clinking glasses. Empty shot glasses clutter the table between them, next to a rapidly disappearing basket of fries.

Minji leans back against the cracked vinyl booth seat, laughing loudly at something Danielle said, her cheeks flushed. Danielle leans forward over the table, an easy grin on her face, kicking a foot rhythmically against the booth base. Hanni leans back against the cushions, swirling the remaining tequila in her glass, watching her friends with warm, fuzzy fondness.

The relief is notorious: the trip is booked, flights confirmed, Airbnb secured. This weekend celebration feels earned, necessary. They've survived the academic trenches, and paradise awaits. Their corner of the pub hums with shared excitement as they shout slightly over the music, debating outfits, sunscreen SPFs, and foods to try when they arrived in St. Lucia.

Hanni takes another sip, the tequila warming her, making her feel bold. She needs this courage because, well, she has already invited you on the trip. Now she just has to pluck up the nerve to tell Minji and Danielle.

Mentally, she justifies it: The whole point of the trip is maximum relaxation, right? And she knows exactly who excels at top-tier stress relief. You. Just thinking about you, the heat that always sparks between you even during boring club meetings, sends a familiar warmth coiling through her, entirely separate from the tequila.

The hookups are casual, intense, and usually kept separate from her friendships, but the Caribbean feels like the perfect place to... integrate resources. Maximum relaxation needs maximum release, and honestly, no one delivers quite like you do. Your confidence, the way you look at her, how thorough you are... Yeah, a '10/10 wienering,' her brain helpfully supplies.

So, inviting you isn't selfish, she insists to herself. It's practical. A vital contribution to the mission objective: total fucking decompression. Now, to break the news…

"So," Hanni begins, setting her glass down on the sticky table with deliberate care, cutting through Minji's detailed description of the perfect beach towel. Both Danielle and Minji pause, turning their slightly glazed eyes towards her over the rims of their own glasses. "Speaking of... maximizing relaxation..." She lets the phrase hang there for a second, enjoying the tiny flicker of confusion on their faces. "I might have, uh... extended the invitation. To one more person."

Minji frowns slightly, leaning forward. "Wait, what? I think we agree... just us? Girls' trip? No distractions?"

Hanni waves a dismissive hand, trying to project breezy confidence over the pub noise. "Totally still a girls' trip! Mostly. But, like, think of this as... adding a vital resource. For stress management." She grins, letting a little of the mischief leak through. "I have invited him." She doesn't even need to say your name. The way she says 'him', the slight emphasis, the context, it hangs there in the noisy air.

Silence descends just between them. Danielle and Minji exchange a look across the table, a rapid-fire communication passing between them that Hanni can't quite decipher through her own buzz. She sees the gears turning, the slow dawning of comprehension. You. The guy from the Innovation Club. The one who sometimes joins their club when Hanni is there, the one Hanni occasionally disappears with after club meetings or social events, returning later looking flushed and rumpled but ridiculously happy. The one they maybe tease her about once or twice, getting only evasive smiles in return.

Danielle is the first to break the silence, her initial confusion melting into something else; curiosity, maybe even amusement. "Wait. Him him? From the club? The one with the..." She tilts her head, searching for a non-crude descriptor, "...charming smile?" A slow smirk spreads across her face. "Okay. Interesting. Very... resourceful, Hanni." She remembers those times Hanni texts vague excuses about 'running late' or 'working on the project' only to show up an hour later practically glowing, her hair slightly messy, biting back a smile. She recalls catching Hanni sneaking back into the dorm super early one morning after supposedly pulling an all-nighter at the Study Room, looking less exhausted and more thoroughly satisfied.

Suddenly, Hanni's 'stress management' comment clicks into sharp, vivid focus. "So that's where you disappear to," Danielle teases, leaning forward conspiratorially across the table. "Gotta admit, I always figure there is something going on there. You get this specific... smug look after you've supposedly been 'collaborating'." She laughs. "Okay, you know what? I'm not mad. He's hot, not gonna lie. And if he's gonna be focused on... de-stressing you… Maybe the ambient heat will benefit us all? Like relaxation by proxy?"

Minji is slower to come around, her expression more guarded. She takes another sip of her drink, considering. "Hold on," she says, her voice needing to rise slightly above the pub noise. "So, the plan is just us. Relaxing. Peace and quiet." She looks at Hanni across the table. "And now you've invited... your hookup? Doesn't that complicate things? What if it gets weird?" She remembers Hanni's occasional zoned-out bliss, the dreamy sighs after checking her phone, the sudden bursts of inexplicable euphoria. It makes sense now, annoyingly so. You are clearly effective. Still, the logistics... "It is supposed to be our escape, Han."

"It still is!" Hanni insists. "Think about it! He's super chill, you know he is. He helped us debug that presentation software last semester, remember? He's not gonna be some annoying dude trying to take over. He can handle himself. And yeah, okay, fine. He's... exceptionally good at the stress relief part. Like, really good. Which means I'll be less stressed, more relaxed, and way more fun to be around." She looks between them. "Isn't that contributing to the overall vibe? Plus," she adds, playing her trump card, "he has already booked his flight. Non-refundable."

That last part is a lie, but it sounds convincing.

Minji chews on her lip. Danielle is already nodding along, seemingly sold on the 'ambient heat' theory and your general attractiveness. Minji sighs, swirling her drink on the table. She can't deny Hanni's logic entirely. A happy, thoroughly de-stressed Hanni is definitely preferable. And she has to admit, you aren't hard on the eyes, and you've always been perfectly nice, even helpful, during those club interactions. Not the typical frat-bro type Danielle fears finding in Cancun. Maybe... maybe it won't be so bad. Maybe Danielle is right, maybe there are fringe benefits. A little extra eye candy, a different dynamic... It isn't the original plan, but the tequila is making her feel more flexible. "Fine," Minji concedes, trying to sound practical rather than intrigued, though a tiny smile plays on her lips despite herself. "Fine, he can come. But logistics. The Airbnb only has three bedrooms. So, just to be clear, he's rooming with you. No arguments."

Hanni beams, relief washing over her. "Obviously! Wouldn't have it any other way." She winks, picking up her shot glass from the table again. "See? Perfect plan. Maximum relaxation guaranteed. For everyone." She raises her glass. "To the Caribbean! And... vital resources."

Danielle laughs, clinking her glass against Hanni's across the table. "To vital resources!"

Minji sighs but clinks her glass too. "To not having to hear Hanni complain about being stressed, I guess." The noise of the pub, the tequila, the sheer giddy prospect of the trip, now with an unexpected, potentially spicy addition, settles over them, pushing aside the last vestiges of resistance. The 'girls' trip' has just taken a detour, and nobody seems truly upset about it anymore.

—

Spring break finally hits, washing away the hell that was midterms, late-night cramming, weeks of caffeine-fueled meltdowns, profs who clearly don't give a fuck and the club’s endless deadlines. It’s been a brutal stretch, but now it’s over, and the relief is practically physical.

Hanni’s been blowing up your phone since the invite, hyping this Caribbean trip like crazy, and you’re just as hyped, buzzing to ditch the gray campus grind for some actual sun. The girls have been prepping hard—Hanni sending packing pics—half her suitcase is bikinis and crop tops— Danielle dropping Insta stories of her shopping for “tropical fits,” and Minji being the quiet, practical one, texting Hanni about flight times and visa stuff like the group's unofficial mom.

You don’t actually see them ‘til the airport, though. When you roll up with your beat-up duffel slung over your shoulder, Hanni spots you first, sprinting across the terminal like she’s mainlining sugar, slamming into you with a hug that almost takes you out. “You made it!” she yells, arms locked around your neck, totally beaming. Her bangs bounces as she pulls back to look at you, eyes sparkling.

You return the hug. "Wouldn't miss it. Someone's gotta help manage all that stress, right?" You give her a squeeze before gently disentangling yourself enough to greet the others, though Hanni immediately links her arm through yours, leaning against your side possessively. Minji offers a small, polite smile, still looking a little tired but definitely less stressed than the last time you saw her surrounded by textbooks. "Hey," she says, adjusting the strap of her carry-on. "Glad you could make it. Try not to lose Hanni before we even board."

Then your eyes land on Danielle, and you do a slight double-take. Gone are the usual worn-out jeans and practical hoodie she practically lived in during that last disastrous Media Club budget meeting where you helped by analyzing some spreadsheets and trying to bring some light even though you are not a member. Instead, she’s wearing a long, flowing maxi dress alive with bright tropical flowers, paired with strappy sandals totally impractical for airport trekking but perfect for the destination. It catches the eye amidst the drab airport surroundings, making her look relaxed, almost like a different person. She grins, giving the flowy dress a little swish. "What do you think?" she asks, striking a mock pose. "Vacation Dani. Decided jeans are not the vibe for palm trees.”

"It looks awesome, Dani. Seriously suits you. Vacation Dani is gonna kill it." Her grin widens. "Thanks! That's the plan." Hanni tugs at your arm, reclaiming your attention. "Okay, okay, compliments later. Bags need dropping, security needs conquering, tropical drinks need acquiring." She practically drags you towards the check-in line, keeping up a running commentary about the questionable fashion choices of fellow passengers and her detailed plans for claiming the best beach chair upon arrival.

The check-in and security process is the usual purgatory of modern travel: shuffling lines, unpacking electronics, the mild humiliation of the full-body scanner, but the shared anticipation keeps spirits relatively high. Even Minji seems to be loosening up, pointing out a ridiculously oversized inflatable flamingo someone is trying to argue is a valid carry-on item. Danielle and Hanni dissolve into giggles. Finally, you're through, settling into the slightly less chaotic departure gate area. Hanni immediately claims the seat next to you, her thigh pressed against yours, occasionally resting her head on your shoulder while scrolling through pictures of St. Lucia on her phone, narrating potential activities. Danielle and Minji chat opposite you, Danielle already scouting the duty-free shops for bargain sunglasses. The flight itself is uneventful; cramped seats, a mediocre movie you watch half-heartedly with shared earbuds with Hanni, the strange sensation of hurtling through the sky miles above the earth. Hanni dozes off for a bit, her head heavy on your shoulder, soft breaths puffing against your neck. You look out the small window, watching the clouds drift below, the feeling of escape slowly starting to sink in.

Landing in St. Lucia is like stepping into a different world. The moment the plane doors hiss open, you're hit by a wall of warm, humid air thick with the scent of salt, tropical flowers, and something earthy and unfamiliar. It's a welcome shock after the recycled, chilled air of the plane and the lingering damp chill of back home. Sunlight streams through the airport windows, brighter and more intense than you're used to. The sounds are different too, the rhythm of Creole chatter, distant reggae music, birds calling outside. Everyone's skin seems kissed by the sun. Danielle practically skips down the air stairs, tilting her face up to the sun. Minji takes a deep breath. Hanni squeezes your hand, her eyes wide with wonder. "Okay, yeah," she breathes. "This was a good idea."

Clearing customs and grabbing your luggage feels less like a chore and more like the final hurdle before freedom. You pile into a slightly battered taxi van, the driver greeting you with a warm smile and launching into recommendations for local food spots. The drive to the Airbnb is a vibrant assault on the senses, winding roads curving through lush green hillsides dotted with brightly painted houses, glimpses of impossibly turquoise water flashing between palm trees, roadside fruit stands overflowing with colourful produce. The air rushing through the open windows carries the soundtrack of the island: laughter, music, an occasional bleating goat.

The Airbnb turns out to be pretty damn good. It's a spacious villa tucked away on a hillside, painted a cheerful coral colour. Inside, cool tile floors offer relief from the heat. There's a decent-sized living area with comfy-looking furniture, a functional kitchen, and best of all, a wide balcony overlooking a stretch of jungle that slopes down towards a distant slice of blue ocean. It might not be the five-star luxury of some resorts, but it feels authentic, private, and definitely relaxing. There are indeed three bedrooms, as planned. Danielle and Minji quickly claim the two smaller ones, leaving the largest, the one with the slightly better view from its window, for you and Hanni. Bags are dropped unceremoniously, shoes kicked off. The initial adrenaline rush of arrival starts to fade, replaced by the bone-deep weariness of travel.

Danielle yawns hugely, collapsing onto one of the sofas. "Okay, naptime," she declares. "My brain is officially offline until further notice." Minji nods in agreement, already heading towards her room. "Wake me if there's food. Or never." You follow Hanni into your designated room. It's simple but clean, with a big queen-sized bed dominating the space. Hanni wastes no time, unbuttoning her pants and taking them off hurriedly, rummaging through her bag until she finally finds her comfortable shorts and puts them on, then she flops face-down onto the mattress with a groan of pure exhaustion. "Bed," she mumbles into the comforter. "Sweet, stationary bed." You drop your bag and stretch, feeling the kinks in your back from the long flight. Kicking off your own shoes, you lie down on the bed next to her, the coolness of the sheets a small blessing. The sounds of the island drift in through the open window; cicadas buzzing, distant surf, unfamiliar bird calls.

It's peaceful, a world away from campus life.

Hanni rolls over to face you, propping her head up on her hand. Even exhausted, her eyes are sparkling. "So," she whispers. "Excited to be here? Finally?" You smile back, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Definitely. Place is amazing. You picked well." Her smile widens. "We picked well," she corrects, then scoots a little closer. "And... you know Dani thinks you're hot, right? She literally said it when we were drunk in the pub talking about bringing you here. And Minji... she was trying to play it cool, but I saw her checking you out at the gate." A familiar warmth sparks in your belly despite the fatigue. Hanni's eyes flick down to your lips for a second, then back up. "Just... possibilities, you know? For maximizing the stress relief." Her fingers trace a light pattern on your arm.

You lean in slightly. "And you'd be okay with... sharing the stress relief?"

Her gaze holds yours. "As long as I get first dibs," she murmurs, her lips brushing yours for a fleeting moment. "And second dibs. And probably thirds. And as long as I get to join in whenever I feel like it." She yawns then, a wide, jaw-cracking yawn that breaks the spell slightly. "But mostly," she adds, her eyes fluttering closed, "right now I need sleep." You chuckle, pulling the light sheet over both of you. "Sleep sounds good." The exhaustion finally wins, pulling you both down into the welcome darkness, the teasing possibilities left hanging, waiting for the Caribbean sun and rested bodies to bring them to life.

—

The first thing you register is warmth, a comfortable weight pressing down on your chest, and the soft, rhythmic sound of breathing near your ear. You crack open an eye, the afternoon sun filtering through the slats of the blinds, painting stripes of gold across the simple room. Your body feels amazing: deeply rested, completely unwound from the cramped flight and the lingering stress of campus life. The nap wasn't just a nap; it was a full system reboot. Beneath you, the mattress feels solid, stationary, a welcome contrast to the hours spent hurtling through the sky. You shift slightly, and the weight on you stirs. Hanni mumbles something incoherent into your t-shirt, nuzzling closer like a cat seeking heat. Her dark hair tickles your chin, smelling faintly of coconut shampoo and airplane air. One of her legs is hooked over yours, her arm slung possessively across your ribs. Even in sleep, she’s staked her claim. You carefully lift a hand, gently brushing strands of hair away from her face. She looks peaceful, younger somehow without the usual spark of manic energy animating her features. The exhaustion is gone from her face too, replaced by the soft flush of deep sleep. It’s nice, seeing this quiet side of her, but a bigger part of you is already buzzing, eager to get out there and actually experience this place. St. Lucia is waiting just outside that window.

Hanni stirs again, blinking slowly. Her eyes focus on you, still clouded with sleep for a second before recognition dawns, followed swiftly by a lazy, satisfied smile that makes something warm curl in your stomach. "Mmm, morning," she murmurs. "Or... afternoon? Whatever. You feel comfy." She stretches languidly, her body arching against yours. The thin sheet barely conceals the curves you know are hiding underneath, curves she apparently might be willing to share later, according to her sleepy pre-nap proposition.

"Best nap ever," she adds, yawning wide. "Did I drool on you? Sorry if I drooled." You chuckle, shaking your head. "Nah, you're good. Slept like the dead." You gently nudge her. "But I think the island's calling. Pretty sure I heard a palm tree whispering my name." Hanni giggles, finally rolling off you, though she immediately props herself up on an elbow, her gaze tracing the line of your jaw. "Okay, okay, I'm up. Mostly." She swings her legs over the side of the bed, stretching again, this time showing off the curve of her spine and the slight swell of her hips in the sleep shorts.

"Food first? I think my stomach digested itself while we were out." You nod, already swinging your own legs out. "Food sounds essential. Then maybe figure out what Dani and Minji are up to." You glance towards your bag, thinking about clothes. The heat radiating from outside the window demands something light. You pull out a pair of comfortable shorts and a thin linen shirt, definitely more tropical than the jeans you flew in. As you start changing, Hanni rummages through her own bag, pulling out a brightly colored sundress. Underneath, you glimpse the strap of a bikini top. Seems everyone had the same idea about being beach-ready at a moment's notice. "Think they survived the nap?" Hanni asks, slipping the dress over her head. "Dani looked like she was about to hibernate for a week. And Minji... well, Minji always looks like she needs more sleep."

You find Danielle and Minji already in the living area, looking significantly more human than when you last saw them. Dani’s wearing denim shorts and a loose tank top, tapping away on her phone. Minji, dressed in light linen pants and a simple white top, is peering into the fridge. "Morning, sunshine," Danielle chirps without looking up. "Or, you know, afternoon sunshine. Find anything edible in there, Minj?" Minji shakes her head, closing the fridge door with a sigh. "Snacks from the flight and half a bottle of water. We definitely need provisions. Or, ideally, someone else making us breakfast." Hanni bounces into the room, radiating recovered energy. "Breakfast out! My treat. Consider it a 'thank you for letting me bring my favorite stress-reliever' brunch." She winks broadly at you, then loops her arm through yours again.

Danielle finally looks up, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. "Oooh, a thank-you brunch? I accept. Especially if the stress-reliever is buying coffee." You laugh, raising your hands in mock surrender. "Coffee, food, whatever you guys want. Lead the way." Minji grabs her sunglasses from the table. "Okay, but somewhere with actual shade, please? My eyes are still adjusting to not staring at a screen."

Finding a breakfast spot isn't hard. You wander down the winding road from the villa, the casual pace feels alien after the usual campus rush. You end up at a small, open-air cafe overlooking a marina filled with bobbing sailboats. Brightly colored fishing boats chug past further out, leaving white wakes on the impossibly blue water. The vibe is incredibly chill. You order fresh juices, strong coffee, and plates piled high with eggs, local fruit, and something called 'bake'; a fried bread that's ridiculously tasty. Conversation flows easily, mostly rehashing the horrors of midterms now that they're safely in the rearview mirror, speculating about the expensive resort Hanni initially found, and Danielle telling—first time for you, thousandth time for the girls—the story of the day she bleached and cut her hair.

"Seriously," she says, gesturing emphatically with her fork, "the stylist kept saying 'are you sure?' like I was asking her to tattoo her name on my forehead. It's just hair! It grows back!"

Minji chuckles, sipping her mango juice. "That was an amazing transformation, Dani. Really. Very... un-academic." Hanni nods vigorously. "Totally! You looked like you belonged on that yacht over there." She points towards a sleek white vessel gliding into the marina. You lean back in your chair, sipping your coffee, just listening to them banter. It feels good, normal, surprisingly easy to just be here with them. Hanni keeps leaning into your space, her shoulder brushing yours, her hand occasionally finding yours under the table for a quick squeeze. It’s comfortable, familiar, but you also catch Danielle watching the interaction with open amusement, while Minji glances over occasionally with an expression that’s harder to read… maybe curiosity, maybe just observation.

After breakfast, fueled by caffeine and carbs, the consensus is to explore a bit before hitting the beach. You wander through the nearby town, a vibrant collection of pastel-painted buildings, bustling markets selling spices and woven baskets, and locals calling out friendly greetings. You duck into a few shops selling touristy trinkets, laughing at the ridiculous t-shirts. Danielle buys a pair of cheap, oversized sunglasses shaped like pineapples, declaring them essential for "Vacation Dani's aesthetic". Minji seems genuinely interested in a stall selling handmade jewelry, carefully examining delicate shell necklaces. Hanni drags you over to look at bright pareos, holding a turquoise one up against you. "This color would look amazing on you," she insists. "Matches your eyes... almost." You deflect, laughing, but the easy intimacy of the gesture isn't lost on you, or on the other two who watch with matching smiles.

You grab some bottles of water and eventually find yourselves near one of the island’s famous landmarks: the Pitons, two majestic volcanic peaks rising almost cinematically from the sea. You don't hike them, opting instead for a viewpoint that offers stunning panoramic views. The sheer scale of them is breathtaking, green slopes plunging down to the sparkling blue water. Naturally, this calls for photos. Danielle immediately takes charge, directing poses. "Okay, group shot! Squeeze in! Hanni, stop trying to climb onto his back." More laughter. You snap pictures of the girls with the Pitons as a backdrop, individual shots, selfies. Danielle insists on taking several of you and Hanni together, positioning you close, making Hanni wrap her arms around your waist from behind. "Perfect!" she declares, reviewing the shot on her phone. "Look how cute you two are. Disgustingly cute." Hanni beams, pressing a quick kiss to your shoulder blade before pulling away. You feel a flush creep up your neck, partly from the heat, partly from the casual display in front of the others. Minji watches, leaning against the railing, sunglasses hiding her eyes, but the corner of her mouth is tilted up in a small smile.

Finally, the call of the ocean becomes too strong to ignore. You find a stretch of beach recommended by the cafe owner—a crescent of soft, pale sand fringed by swaying palm trees. It’s definitely popular; colorful umbrellas dot the sand, families splash in the shallows, and couples stroll along the water's edge. It's lively, but not overwhelmingly crowded like you feared Cancun might be. Music drifts from a nearby beach bar. This is exactly what everyone needed. Without much ceremony, the girls start shedding their outer layers. Hanni’s sundress comes off to reveal a vibrant orange bikini, the top simple triangles, the bottoms cut high on her hips, emphasizing their curve. She might be the shortest, but her body is compact and seriously juicy, and seeing those curves again, now in a new light, is refreshing; those slightly wide hips, the soft curve of her belly above the bikini bottom, all perfectly proportioned. She shakes her hair out, grinning at you cheekily.

Danielle ditches her shorts and tank top for a sleek black bikini. It’s more athletic in style, but holy shit. The top has intricate straps across the back, and the bottoms sit low, showcasing a defined abs that ripple as she moves. She’s leaner than Hanni, but all tight curves and toned muscle. She catches you looking and strikes another playful pose, hand on her hip. "Eyes up here, buddy," she teases, though her own gaze flickers down your torso for a split second.

Then Minji unfolds from her linen layers. Her choice is a deep emerald green two-piece. The top is minimalist, barely there, highlighting the elegant line of her collarbones and, yeah, confirming Hanni’s assessment—definitely small, a little bigger than Dani's, which you happen to appreciate. But the bottoms... they’re cut perfectly to showcase what is undeniably a spectacular ass. She’s taller than the others, with a thicker build, unpretentiously hot in a way that’s incredibly appealing. She turns to grab her towel, giving you an unimpeded view that makes your mouth go slightly dry.

Damn. The three of them together, bathed in the Caribbean sun, shedding the last vestiges of their student identities, are a fucking revelation.

Feeling the heat yourself, and suddenly very aware of being the only one still fully clothed, you pull your linen shirt off over your head, tossing it onto the growing pile of discarded clothes and towels. Hanni lets out an appreciative little hum. Danielle whistles softly. Minji just raises an eyebrow before she turns towards the water. "Last one in buys the first round of rum punch!" Danielle yells, already sprinting towards the turquoise waves. Hanni shrieks with laughter and takes off after her, splashing loudly as she hits the shallows. You exchange a quick glance with Minji. A silent challenge passes between you. You both break into a run, pounding across the warm sand, the sheer joy of the moment infectious.

You hit the water just behind Danielle, the cool rush a welcome shock against your hot skin. Hanni surfaces beside you, spluttering and laughing, immediately splashing you in the face. An impromptu water fight breaks out, devolving quickly into dunking attempts and general chaos. You find yourself wrestling playfully with Hanni, easily overpowering her small frame until Danielle teams up with her, both of them trying to drag you under while Minji watches from a few feet away, a genuine, wide smile finally gracing her face as she ducks a stray splash. You surrender, laughing, letting them dunk you before coming up sputtering. The water is crystal clear, the perfect temperature. Floating on your back, looking up at the vast blue sky, the stress feels like a distant memory, something that happened to someone else in another life.

Later, you all buy coconut water from a vendor walking the beach, sipping the cool liquid straight from the shells. You find some lounge chairs under a palm tree, settling in to dry off and just soak it all in. The conversation is relaxed, interspersed with comfortable silences. You talk about music, shitty campus jobs, travel dreams. Hanni leans against your chair, tracing patterns on your knee. Danielle scrolls through the photos she took earlier, narrating potential Instagram captions. Minji surprises you by asking about your work in the Innovation Club, showing genuine interest in the projects you mentioned offhand. You find yourself talking easily, sharing stories, laughing at their anecdotes. Every so often, your gaze drifts—to the curve of Hanni’s hip as she shifts, the way the sun glints off Danielle’s damp dark hair, the smooth expanse of Minji’s back as she reapplies sunscreen. And sometimes, you catch them looking back—Hanni’s gaze possessive and warm, Danielle’s open and appraising, Minji’s quick and thoughtful before flicking away. It’s not awkward, not yet anyway. It just... is. A current of awareness underneath the easy camaraderie. You feel yourself relaxing into the group, not just as Hanni’s plus-one, but as part of this specific configuration, here on this island.

The walk back to the villa is slower, limbs heavy with sun and salt water fatigue, but spirits are high. Sand seems to have infiltrated every possible crevice. You carry a bag heavy with takeout containers from a local spot the beach vendor recommended—grilled fish, rice and peas, fried plantains—the smell mingling with the lingering scent of sunscreen on your skin. Back inside the cool tiled haven of the Airbnb, it's a synchronized operation born of shared exhaustion. Food is dumped on the kitchen counter, bags are dropped, and a silent agreement is reached: showers first, then sustenance. You take turns, the spray washing away the grit and salt, leaving your skin tingling and refreshed. You change into fresh clothes; comfortable shorts and a clean t-shirt. When you emerge, the girls are gradually doing the same.

Hanni appears in a short, flowy white dress that leaves her shoulders bare, her damp hair slicked back. Danielle rocks a pair of ripped black jeans and a fitted band tee. Minji opts for a simple, dark purple maxi dress that emphasizes her height and clings subtly to her curves; she’s added a touch of dark lipstick that makes her mouth look incredibly plush. They all look fantastic, relaxed and glowing from the day in the sun, the weariness replaced by a comfortable, post-beach languor. You gather around the table, tearing into the takeout containers with minimal ceremony, conversation punctuated by satisfied groans and the clinking of forks.

Later, showered, fed, and buzzing with a pleasant tiredness, the energy shifts again. The quiet relaxation of the villa feels too contained for the lingering holiday buzz. "Okay," Hanni announces, pushing her empty container away. "Food coma is setting in. We need libations. And music that isn't just cicadas." Danielle nods eagerly. "Beach bar? I saw one on the walk back that looked like it had potential. Fairy lights and everything." Minji shrugs. "Sounds good. As long as they have something other than rum punch. I think I'm still tasting coconut from this afternoon." So, you head out again, walking down the now-darkening road towards the sound of faint music and the rhythmic crash of waves.

The seaside bar is exactly as Danielle described: strings of fairy lights draped between palm trees, low wooden tables scattered across a sandy floor just yards from the water's edge, a gentle breeze carrying the salt spray. Reggae music drifts from speakers, loud enough to feel but not so loud you have to shout. It’s perfect. You find a table slightly away from the main bar area, offering a bit more privacy and a clear view of the moonlit ocean. The first round of drinks arrives quickly, potent cocktails in various shades of pink and orange for the girls, a cold beer for you. The alcohol hits faster this time, layering nicely onto the residual relaxation from the sun and the satisfying meal. Laughter comes easier, conversation flows looser. Hanni kicks off her sandals under the table, her bare foot brushing against your calf. Danielle leans back, surveying the scene with a satisfied grin. Minji seems more animated, joining the banter more readily.

Another round arrives. The initial chatter about the day's adventures starts to fade, replaced by a more intimate, charged energy fueled by the booze and the proximity under the dim lights. Hanni, never one to shy away, leans forward, resting her chin on her hands, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she looks directly at you. "Okay, serious question time," she suddenly announces, drawing the others' attention. She gestures vaguely between Danielle and Minji. "Them. Hot, right?" The question hangs there, blunt and direct. Danielle raises an eyebrow, a slow, amused smirk spreading across her face. Minji freezes for a split second, her eyes widening almost imperceptibly before she quickly looks down into her drink, though you see a faint blush creep up her neck.

You feel your own cheeks warm slightly, caught off guard but also weirdly pleased by Hanni’s boldness. You take a slow sip of your beer, meeting Hanni's challenging gaze. "Uh, yeah," you manage. "Obviously. They're both gorgeous." Hanni beams, clearly satisfied with phase one.

"Obviously," she echoes. "But details, details! What do you like most?" She leans in closer, conspiratorial. "Come on, don't be shy. We're all friends here... very good friends." Danielle leans forward too, her expression purely curious, maybe a little flattered. Minji keeps her eyes fixed on her drink, but she’s definitely listening, the blush deepening slightly. You feel put on the spot, but the alcohol buzz makes you bolder than usual. You glance at Danielle first. "Okay, uh... Dani?" You meet her amused gaze. "Your smile. Seriously. It’s like... super bright? Lights up your whole face. It’s really charming."

Danielle's smirk softens into a genuine, pleased grin. "Aww, thanks!" she says, actually looking a little bashful for a moment. Then you turn your attention to Minji, who still isn’t looking up. "And Minji..." You pause, gathering your thoughts. "Your lips." Her head snaps up at that, her eyes meeting yours. "They’re... really nice," you continue, feeling a bit awkward but pushing on. "Like, really plump. It gives a special touch to your face. And that lipstick you've got on tonight? Looks amazing." Minji’s blush flares again, reaching her ears this time, but she doesn’t look away. A tiny, almost imperceptible smile touches the lips you just complimented.

Hanni claps her hands together softly. "See? Knew you had good taste! And her lips aren't just nice to look at," she adds, leaning towards you again. "They're super soft too." You frown slightly, playing along, though Hanni’s earlier hints are clicking into place. "Oh yeah? And how would you know that?" Hanni grins wickedly, her eyes flicking towards Minji, who quickly looks away again, though the small smile lingers. "Because I've kissed them, obviously!" she declares matter-of-factly, like it's the most normal thing in the world.

Danielle bursts out laughing. "Oh my god, Han! Just drop it on him like that!" She turns to you, shaking her head. "No subtlety, this one." Hanni shrugs nonchalantly. "What? It's true. Right, Minj?" Minji mumbles something into her drink that sounds vaguely affirmative, still blushing furiously but not denying it.

"Wait, really?" you ask, genuinely surprised by the casual confirmation. Hanni nods. "Uh-huh. Long story. Involved too much cheap wine and a really bad rom-com marathon sophomore year." Danielle pipes up. "Ooh! You know what? Minji should give him a little demo! Just a peek!" Hanni grins. "Yeah, Minj! Show him how soft they are!" Minji looks horrified, her eyes darting between Hanni and Danielle. "No! Guys, stop!" she protests, but there's no real heat behind it, mostly flustered embarrassment.

"Come on," you coax gently, leaning slightly towards her across the table, emboldened by the alcohol and the sheer unexpectedness of the situation. "Just a quick one? For science?" She hesitates, biting her lip, the one you just complimented, then lets out a tiny sigh of defeat, glancing quickly at Hanni and Danielle's encouraging faces. "Okay, fine," she whispers, sounding resigned but maybe a tiny bit intrigued too. "Just... fast." You both lean forward across the small table, the space between you suddenly charged. Her eyes meet yours for a fraction of second before fluttering closed. You press your lips gently against hers. Hanni was right. They are incredibly soft, plush, tasting faintly of her fruity cocktail and that dark lipstick. It’s barely a kiss, just a soft, brief pressure, over almost as soon as it begins. You both pull back simultaneously, Minji immediately grabbing her drink and taking a large gulp, refusing to meet anyone's eyes, though the blush on her cheeks is now practically neon. Danielle and Hanni are practically vibrating with glee. "See?!" Hanni exclaims triumphantly. "Told you!"

The brief kiss seems to break some kind of barrier. Danielle leans forward, her expression shifting from amusement to genuine curiosity. "Okay, so now that we're all being honest... dish. You and Hanni." She gestures between you. "What's the deal? Like, what's she really like?" Minji looks up, her curiosity apparently overcoming her embarrassment. Hanni squirms slightly but looks at you expectantly. The question hangs there. They want the details. You glance at Hanni, who gives you a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. Permission granted.

"She's..." you start, choosing your words carefully, mindful of the audience but wanting to be honest. "She likes to give up control. A lot." You pause, seeing Hanni's cheeks flush slightly but her eyes stay fixed on you. "Definitely submissive. And... needy. Like, really needy sometimes. In a good way," you quickly add. Hanni bites her lip, looking down at the table but not protesting. "Okay, yeah, fine," she mumbles. "That's... true." She looks up, meeting your eyes, a flicker of heat there. "And I like getting my ass slapped," she adds suddenly, defiantly, looking around the table. "Like, really hard sometimes." Danielle nods sagely. "Oh, we know, honey. We've heard the complaints about bruises." Hanni throws a napkin at her. Danielle laughs again, then turns back to you, her gaze sharp. "She's also really good with her mouth, though, right?" Her tone is casual, but the implication is clear. "Best head on campus, probably."

You feel your own face flush this time, but you can't exactly deny it. "Uh... yeah," you confirm, clearing your throat. "Yeah, she definitely is." You look at Danielle, a sudden suspicion dawning. "Wait a minute... how do you know? Have you two...?" Before you can even finish the question, Danielle cuts you off with a nod and a grin. "Yep." Hanni chimes in, waving her hand dismissively like it's old news. "Oh my god, babe, catch up. We've all hooked up. With each other. Multiple times."

You stare at her, then at Danielle, then at Minji, who is suddenly looking intensely interested in a scratch on the tabletop. "Wait. All of you? Even... Minji?" The idea seems incongruous with the shy girl who blushed at a compliment about her lips just moments ago. Danielle bursts out laughing again, louder this time. "Him asking about Minji! That's rich!" Hanni leans towards you again, lowering her voice dramatically. "Don't let the quiet act fool you. Seriously. This one?" She jerks her head towards Minji. "She's the worst of the lot. Total freak." Minji finally looks up, swatting weakly at Hanni's arm. "Hanni! Stop it!" she protests, but she’s giggling now, the blush returning with a vengeance. "It's true!" Danielle insists gleefully. "She's a total gooner! Seriously, if you saw her private Twitter account, you'd lose your mind. It's nothing but porn. Wall-to-wall." You look from Danielle's laughing face to Minji's mortified-but-giggling one.

"No way," you say, shaking your head. "I don't believe you." Hanni's eyes light up. "Oh yeah? Prove it, Minj! Show him!" Danielle chimes in, "Yeah, Minji, show him your shame!" Everyone is definitely several drinks deep now, the teasing fueled by alcohol and the increasingly charged atmosphere. Minji groans, hiding her face in her hands for a second. "Oh my god, you guys are the worst." But then she peeks through her fingers, looking at your skeptical face, then back at her grinning friends. A drunken shrug overtakes her embarrassment. "Ugh, fine! Whatever! Don't judge me!" She fumbles for her phone, unlocks it with slightly unsteady fingers, navigates somewhere, and then pushes the phone across the table towards you, refusing to watch your reaction.

You pick up the phone hesitantly. And holy shit. Danielle wasn't exaggerating. It's an Twitter feed, alright, but the timeline is an endless scroll of hardcore pornography. Just post after post. There's a lot of lesbian content, scenes featuring girls who look vaguely like college students, often involving strap-on use that looks surprisingly intense. There are clips of girls in clearly submissive roles, scenes heavy on BDSM elements—spanking, bondage, orgasm denial. You even scroll past some graphic bukkake clips and numerous retweets from other accounts that were clearly thirsty gooners just like her, It's... a lot. A very specific, surprisingly intense collection. You scroll for a few moments, genuinely taken aback but also undeniably intrigued. This quiet, reserved girl has this bubbling beneath the surface? You slide the phone back across the table to Minji, who snatches it back quickly, her face flaming.

You look at her, seeing her in a completely new light. Hanni leans forward eagerly. "So? What do you think? Pretty wild, right?" You take another swig of beer, your mind racing slightly, trying to reconcile the shy girl from earlier with the curator of that feed. "Yeah," you admit. "Wow. I... I liked it." You meet Minji's wide eyes, then glance at Danielle, then Hanni. "I like all of you," you clarify. Minji, emboldened by alcohol and perhaps the exposure of her secret, takes a deep breath and blurts out, "Okay, all this talk... it's kinda making me really horny." A beat of silence follows her confession, then Hanni and Danielle explode into laughter, not mocking, but relieved, echoing the sentiment. "Girl, same!" Danielle exclaims, fanning herself dramatically. Hanni's foot, which had been playing footsie with your calf, slides higher, pressing deliberately against the inside of your thigh. "Tell me about it," she murmurs, looking straight at you.

Then, subtly, almost imperceptibly to anyone not paying attention, her hand disappears beneath the edge of the table. You feel a sudden warmth brush against your leg, followed by the unmistakable pressure of her fingers closing around you through the fabric of your shorts. You were already semi-hard from the conversation and Minji’s surprising revelation, but Hanni’s direct touch sends a shockwave straight through you. Her grip is firm, knowing, squeezing rhythmically, chasing away any remaining shred of drunken haze, replacing it with focused heat. Your cock leaps against her palm, instantly thick and fully hard, straining against the confinement of your shorts. She lets out a low hum of approval, her thumb stroking slowly over the rigid head through the material. Her eyes don't leave yours as she leans in slightly, her voice a low murmur just for you, though the others are definitely watching now, their own conversations faltering. "Someone else feeling horny too?" she asks. Her fingers tighten again, emphasizing the point. You nod, unable to trust your voice for a second, swallowing hard.

"Yes," you manage, the word rough. "A lot." Her lips curve into a slow, predatory smile. "Good," she whispers. "Think you might want to help us... get some release? We seem to be having a bit of a problem." She glances meaningfully at Danielle and Minji, who are both watching the interaction intently. You look at them, then back at Hanni's hand clamped firmly around your erection. There’s no hesitation. "Yeah," you say. "Yeah, I would."

"All of us, though?" Dani asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "That's a lot of... stress relief needed. Think you can handle the workload?" You meet her gaze squarely, feeling a surge of confidence fueled by the alcohol, the blatant desire from all three girls, and the throbbing hardness currently being expertly manipulated under the table. "Don't worry about me," you assure her, letting a smirk touch your lips. "I can handle it." Danielle studies you for a moment, then a slow grin spreads across her face. She nods once, decisively. "Okay then," she says, pushing her chair back slightly. "Convinced. Let's blow this popsicle stand." Hanni removes her hand, leaving you aching and overly sensitive, and immediately flags down the server. The bill is settled quickly, a blur of crumpled bills and credit cards amidst giddy, slightly slurred instructions.

The walk back to the villa is something else. Hands brush accidentally-on-purpose, glances linger far too long, bursts of nervous laughter bubble up and fade just as quickly. You're hyper-aware of Hanni pressed against your side, Danielle walking slightly ahead but looking back frequently with that challenging grin, and Minji trailing just behind, her eyes fixed on you with an unnerving focus.

—

Inside, the door barely clicks shut before the fragile dam of drunken restraint breaks. It's not a frantic rush, but a magnetic pull. Eyes lock, breaths hitch. Without a word, you all seem to gravitate towards the back of the villa, towards the room you're sharing with Hanni, the one with the bigger bed. Inside the room, the dim light spilling from the hallway casts long shadows. Hanni kicks the door shut. The click echoes in the sudden quiet. Then, they turn to you as one.

"Sit," Danielle commands, pointing towards the large bed dominating the room. You obey, perching on the edge, your heart hammering against your ribs, your cock already aching behind your zipper. They converge on you, a wave of perfume, booze, and female heat. Hands are everywhere, immediately working at the buttons of your shirt, the buckle of your belt. Hanni leans in, her lips finding yours in a demanding kiss, tongue plunging deep, tasting like sweet cocktails and pure need. Simultaneously, Danielle is working on your shorts, her knuckles brushing against your thigh, while Minji’s surprisingly cool fingers are undoing your belt buckle with fumbling but determined movements. Kisses land on your jaw, your neck, interspersed with soft murmurs and pleased little sounds as your shirt comes off, tossed carelessly onto the floor. They pull back slightly to wrestle your shorts and boxers down your legs, clumsy in their eagerness. And then you're naked, sitting on the edge of the bed, fully exposed under their combined gaze.

A collective intake of breath follows. Their eyes drop to your cock, now completely hard and jutting proudly upwards, thick and heavy in the dim light. "Holy shit," Danielle breathes, her eyes wide. Minji just stares, her lips slightly parted, her earlier blush returning. Hanni beams, puffing her chest out slightly, a ridiculous wave of proprietary pride washing over her flushed face. "Told you," she says smugly. She reaches out, her fingers gently cupping your balls, weighing them in her palm before tracing a single finger up the thick, straining shaft. You groan involuntarily at the touch. Then, as quickly as they converged, they pull back, leaving you momentarily alone on the bed, throbbing and exposed.

They exchange glances, a silent, giddy agreement passing between them. And then their clothes start coming off. It’s not a polished performance; it’s a clumsy, drunken, utterly captivating strip tease. Hanni fumbles with the zipper on the back of her white dress, giggling as Danielle reaches over to help her, their fingers brushing, sparking little smiles. The dress pools at her feet, revealing her red panties and bra. Minji pulls her maxi dress over her head in one smooth motion, her dark hair falling across her face for a second before she shakes it back, revealing simple dark underwear beneath. Danielle makes a show of unbuttoning her band tee slowly, teasingly, before peeling it off, then struggling for a comical moment with the button on her tight shorts, hopping slightly. You can't help yourself; the sight is overwhelming. Your hand finds your own cock, slicking unconsciously back and forth, a gentle pressure trying to alleviate the almost painful tightness in your groin as you watch them.

Layer by layer, the clothes disappear. Hanni peels off her bra, revealing familiar, medium, perky breasts, her nipples already tight little buds, a slightly lighter shade of pinkish-brown. Her bottoms follow, showcasing those juicy hips and the soft curve of her stomach. You know her body well, every curve, every freckle, but seeing her reveal herself alongside the others, the anticipation of finally tasting what she’s offered, makes her look brand new, utterly delicious. Danielle steps out of her shorts and removes her bra and panties skillfully, tossing them aside. Her body is exactly as advertised by that bikini—lean, toned muscle, tight curves, that incredibly sculpted stomach, and an ass that’s high, round, and practically begging to be grabbed. Her breasts are small and firm, fitting perfectly with her athletic frame.

Then Minji. She slips off her dark bra and panties with less fanfare but no less impact. Her body is softer than Danielle's, taller, with that amazing thickness that you could glimpse on the beach. Her ass is spectacular, full and round, contrasting beautifully with her narrow waist. And as she turns slightly, you notice it, unlike the others, Minji has a neatly trimmed patch of dark pubic hair, a small, perfect triangle that somehow looks incredibly erotic, drawing your eye right to the juncture of her thighs. Her nipples are puffy like Hanni’s, tight points betraying her arousal, but darker, a deep brown against her paler skin. Naked, flushed, slightly unsteady on their feet but radiating pure heat, they stand before you, a breathtaking trio of distinctly beautiful, completely desirable girls.

The hesitation evaporates. They move towards the bed again, converging on you. This time, the kisses are frantic, hungry. All three mouths descend on yours at once, a confusing, exhilarating tangle of tongues, teeth, and soft lips. You taste Hanni's familiar sweetness, Danielle's minty gum underneath the alcohol, Minji's dark lipstick and fruity cocktail. It’s overwhelming, chaotic, pure sensation. Then, as if by unspoken agreement, they shift, allowing for more individual attention. Danielle kisses you hard, her hand gripping the back of your neck, before pulling away slightly, breathless. Minji follows, her kiss surprisingly bold, her plump lips pressing firmly against yours, her tongue exploring tentatively. Then Hanni takes over again, slower this time, deeper, staking her claim before finally pulling back, leaving you gasping, your lips tingling. Without a word, Minji and Danielle slide off the edge of the bed, kneeling between your legs on the cool tile floor. Their eyes meet yours for a split second—Danielle’s full of playful fire, Minji’s dark and intense, her earlier shyness completely burned away by booze and lust.

Then, they lower their heads. The first touch is electric—Minji’s soft lips closing around the base of your shaft while Danielle flicks her tongue experimentally over the sensitive tip. A wave of heat washes over you, so intense it makes your vision swim for a second. Hanni, meanwhile, clambers onto the bed beside you, straddling your leg, and leans down, her hot mouth closing over one of your nipples, sucking hard. She knows exactly how much you love that, the sharp pleasure radiating through your chest. Below, Minji starts licking slowly up the shaft, her movements deliberate, coating you in saliva, while Danielle focuses on swirling her tongue around the head, occasionally taking the entire glans into her mouth. Watching Minji’s plump, dark-lipstick-smudged lips wrap around your cock is insanely hot, almost surreal after the earlier conversation. She makes a low sound of appreciation in her throat, then shifts her focus, her tongue darting out to lave your balls, taking one into her warm mouth while Danielle takes over the full length of your shaft, her throat working expertly. Hanni keeps sucking, occasionally biting gently, sending sparks down your spine.

Your head is thrown back against the headboard, eyes half-lidded, lost in the onslaught of sensation. Minji’s lips and tongue are working magic on your balls, swirling, sucking gently, driving you insane. Danielle has the entire length of your shaft engulfed, her throat working expertly, bobbing up and down with practiced rhythm. The friction, the wet heat, it’s almost unbearable. Hanni finally releases your nipple, leaving it wet and hypersensitive, and slides down your body to join the others.

"Move over," she murmurs, nudging Minji slightly. "Sharing is caring." Minji glances up, lipstick thoroughly smeared, a dazed, hungry look in her eyes, and shifts slightly, giving Hanni access. Now it's pure lust, three mouths devoted entirely to your cock. Hanni focuses on the base, her tongue mimicking Minji’s earlier attention to your balls while her lips create a tight seal. Minji works the mid-section, her plump lips sliding up and down, while Danielle maintains her relentless assault on the head. You groan, a low, guttural sound torn from your throat, arching off the bed slightly.

"Fuck," Danielle gasps, pulling off for a second, leaving a trail of saliva glistening on your skin. "He tastes so good." Minji nods vigorously, licking her lips slowly as she eyes your still-throbbing shaft. "So good," she agrees. Hanni looks up, grinning, then leans over and captures Minji’s mouth in a deep, sloppy kiss, tongues tangling right there next to your thigh. Minji moans into the kiss, her hand coming up to cup Hanni’s cheek. They break apart, breathless, saliva shining on their lips. Danielle watches them, then leans across your lap and kisses Hanni hard. "My turn," she murmurs against Hanni's lips before pulling back and immediately latching back onto your cock with renewed vigor. Hanni laughs, a throaty sound, then dives back in alongside Minji. They work together now, a tag team of tongues and lips, sometimes bumping heads, sometimes pausing to shoot each other competitive little smirks. At one point, Minji deliberately licks a trail up your shaft right into Danielle's mouth, making Danielle groan and push her head away playfully.

"Bitch," Danielle mumbles, before they both dissolve into muffled giggles against your skin. The sight of them teasing each other, kissing while their mouths are slick with your cum-preview, drives you absolutely wild. Your hips start to buck involuntarily against their mouths. "Easy, tiger," Hanni murmurs, pulling off slightly. "Gotta make you last." But you can feel it, the tight knot coiling deep in your gut, the pressure building relentlessly. You're ready. More than ready. You need to be inside one of them, now.

Danielle seems to sense it too. She pulls off completely, her breathing ragged, eyes blazing with drunken lust. "Okay, okay," she pants, looking up at you, determination etched on her face. "Me first. I called dibs, right? Kinda?" She glances at the others for confirmation, though it’s clearly a statement, not a question. Hanni shrugs, still lazily licking the underside of your shaft. "Technically I had first dibs," she points out nonchalantly, referencing her sleepy pre-nap claim. "But whatever. You look like you need it more right now." Minji nods, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Go for it, Dani." Danielle grins, a triumphant, feral look.

She starts to climb onto the bed, clearly intending to mount you. "Uh-uh," you interrupt, your voice coming out rougher, more commanding than you intended, fueled by the overwhelming need to take control. She freezes, looking at you with wide, surprised eyes. "Get on your hands and knees," you order, pointing to the middle of the large bed. "Ass up." A slow, wicked smile spreads across her face. "Yes, sir," she purrs, the words dripping with mock obedience that doesn't quite hide the genuine thrill. She turns without another word and crawls onto the bed, positioning herself exactly as you instructed, hands planted firmly, back arched, presenting her tight, perfect ass directly towards you.

The view is fucking incredible.

Minji watches Danielle get into position, then, with a predatory gleam in her own eyes, she climbs onto the bed as well. She doesn't hesitate, crawling forward until she's sitting directly in front of Danielle, facing her, legs spread wide. She leans back on her hands, tilting her hips slightly, offering an explicit, deliberate view of her own slick, swollen folds and that neatly trimmed patch of hair. Her dark, puffy nipples are tight points, her breathing shallow.

Hanni slides off the floor where she’d been kneeling and comes to your side, pressing her naked body against yours, her skin hot. She reaches down, wrapping her hand around your still-aching cock, stroking it slowly, deliberately. "Ready to play?" she whispers, her lips brushing against your ear before she starts kissing your neck, her tongue tracing lazy circles while her hand keeps up its steady rhythm.

You look at the scene arrayed before you: Danielle, arched and waiting, her tight asshole puckering slightly with anticipation; Minji, sprawled open, her wet cunt glistening invitingly just beyond; Hanni, plastered against your side, her hand working you, her lips on your skin. Your cock pulses in her grip, slick and hard as rock.

Fuck yes, you're ready.

You shift forward, moving between Danielle’s waiting legs, Hanni’s hand dropping away as you position the thick head of your cock right at Danielle’s entrance. She whimpers softly, pushing back against you almost imperceptibly.

You grip Danielle's hips firmly, steadying yourself, steadying her. Her skin is hot and slick with a fine sheen of sweat under your palms. She pushes back against the head of your cock again. You don't make her wait. With a low groan, you thrust forward, pushing into her tight cunt. Holy fuck, she's snug. Her muscles clench around you instinctively, gripping you like a velvet fist. Danielle cries out, a sharp gasp that’s half pain, half pure pleasure, her back arching even more. "Oh god... yes! Fuck, you're thick," she pants. You pause for a second, letting her body adjust, letting yourself savor the incredible sensation of being buried deep inside her heat. It’s delicious, just as you imagined—tight, wet, welcoming. Hanni moans softly against your neck, her hand sliding down your stomach, fingers dancing near the base of your cock where it disappears into Danielle. She keeps kissing you, slow, wet, open-mouthed kisses.

Then, Danielle, still impaled on your cock, twists her head around, her hair sticking slightly to her damp forehead. Her eyes land on Minji, who's watching the penetration with wide, dark, fascinated eyes, her own pussy glistening. A wicked grin splits Danielle's face. "Don't think I forgot about you," she murmurs. She leans forward, stretching, until her face is level with Minji's spread legs. Without hesitation, Danielle's tongue darts out, flicking directly against Minji's clit. Minji gasps, her hips jolting off the bed slightly. "Oh! Fuck, Dani..." she breathes out, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. Danielle chuckles, a low, throaty sound, and settles in, her mouth closing over Minji's swollen folds, sucking and licking with obvious expertise while your cock is still buried deep inside her own pussy. The sight is outrageously hot.

The combined stimuli, the incredible tightness surrounding your cock, the sight of Danielle devouring Minji, Hanni’s hot breath and soft lips on your neck, threaten to overload your senses. You need an outlet. As Hanni continues her sensual assault on your neck and shoulders, your free hand drifts down, your hand sliding across her soft skin. She gasps softly against your skin as your fingers probe deeper, easily finding her clit, already hard and slick. She’s soaking wet. You press down, rubbing in slow circles, then faster, mimicking the rhythm of your thrusts into Danielle. Hanni moans louder this time, grinding her hips against your side, pushing herself onto your fingers. "Yes... fuck, right there," she whispers urgently against your ear, her kisses becoming frantic, biting slightly at your earlobe. You start pumping into Danielle again, finding a steady rhythm. She groans with each thrust, her head thrown back now, entirely focused on pleasuring Minji, whose soft whimpers harmonize with Danielle's louder cries. You slide a finger inside Hanni, then two, stretching her slightly.

She gasps, digging her nails into your shoulder, her wetness coating your fingers as you scissor them inside her, hitting her g-spot with deliberate pressure while continuing to fuck Danielle’s tight cunt. It's a great combination of sensations: Danielle’s tight grip around your shaft, the visual feast of her eating Minji out, Hanni’s frantic moans against your ear as your fingers work her magic, the slick slap of skin on skin filling the hot, humid room.

You settle into a driving rhythm, fucking Danielle with deep, steady strokes that make the bed frame groan softly beneath you. Her tight pussy milks you with every plunge, threatening to pull you under completely. "Oh fuck... oh fuck," she chants, head still turned as her tongue works relentlessly between Minji’s legs. Minji is trembling now, whimpers escaping her lips, her hips twitching uncontrollably. Danielle seems to feed off it, her ministrations becoming almost frantic, sucking harder, her fingers finding Minji's clit and rubbing insistently.

Beside you, Hanni is writhing against your hand, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "Deeper," she pants against your neck, her voice strained. "Fuck, yes... finger me harder!" You obey instantly, increasing the speed of your scissoring fingers inside her slick pussy, driving them deeper, hitting that spot again and again. Your thumb finds her clit, rubbing hard circles, mirroring the relentless rhythm of your thrusts into Danielle. Hanni cries out, a high, keening sound, bucking violently against your hand. "Like that! Oh god, don't stop!" Her nails are digging into your back now, leaving trails of fire on your skin. Her wetness coats your hand, slick and hot.

You increase your pace fucking Danielle, slamming into her harder, faster, drawing ragged moans from her throat that mingle with Minji’s higher-pitched cries. Danielle's ass cheeks clench around the base of your cock with each impact. "Jesus Christ," she manages to gasp out between frantic licks against Minji's folds. "You trying to split me in two?" Her voice is breathless, strained, but there’s no complaint in it, only raw, overwhelmed pleasure.

You lean down, grabbing a handful of her sweat-dampened hair, pulling her head back slightly. "You like it rough, don't you?" you growl near her ear. She just groans in response, her eyes rolling back slightly as you pound into her relentlessly, your balls slapping against her wet skin. Minji lets out a choked sob as Danielle’s mouth clamps down hard on her clit. "Dani! Oh fuck... please!" she pleads, though it's unclear if she's begging her to stop or begging for more. Danielle just grunts, seemingly lost in her task, her own body shuddering with the force of your thrusts. The friction inside Danielle is incredible, almost overwhelming. It feels like molten heat, tight and demanding.

Hanni is completely lost to your fingers, her head thrown back, neck arched, moaning your name over and over again, interspersed with incoherent pleas. "Faster... oh god, yes, faster..." You oblige, your fingers blurring inside her, thumb relentless on her clit, feeling the tremors starting deep within her body. She feels so fucking good, so responsive, her wetness seemingly endless. You alternate your attention, one deep thrust into Danielle followed by a faster, harder push of your fingers into Hanni, then she suddenly grabs your wrist, guiding your fingers, pressing them harder against her G-spot. "Right... there! Fuck me with your fingers, goddammit!" she demands. You push harder, deeper, feeling her inner muscles convulse around your digits. Danielle is bucking back against you now with every thrust, meeting your force with her own, her moans becoming deeper, throatier.

She pulls her mouth away from Minji for a second, gasping for air, her face flushed crimson, eyes glazed over. "Fuck... keep going... don't you fucking stop," she pants, looking back at you over her shoulder, her expression pure, unadulterated lust. Minji whimpers at the loss of contact, reaching down blindly as if to pull Danielle back. The room is filled with the sounds of their cries, your own ragged breathing, the wet slap of fucking, the rhythmic creak of the bed. Sweat drips from your forehead, tracing paths down your chest. You keep driving forward, burying yourself in Danielle's heat again and again, while your fingers continue their relentless assault on Hanni, pushing them both higher, deeper into the frenzy.

"Fuck—fuck—your cock’s so deep—" she chokes out, voice cracking around every word, cheek pressed to the mattress as she tries to keep herself steady. But she’s shaking. She’s soaked. Each slam of your hips punches a breath out of her lungs and scrambles the last of her coordination. Her mouth’s right between Minji’s legs, tongue trying to flick and suck at her clit, but she’s sloppy now, moaning too loud, jaw slack, not really able to focus.

"Shit—Danielle," Minji gasps, hips twitching forward, grabbing a fistful of hair, trying to keep her mouth on target. "I need it—don’t stop—" But Danielle just whimpers, licking blindly, overwhelmed, breath hot against Minji’s soaked slit.

To your right, Hanni’s curled beside you, one leg thrown over your thigh, her hips grinding against your fingers like it’s the only thing keeping her sane. Her pussy’s glistening, juices coating your knuckles as you curl two fingers into her, stroking that spot inside her with precision, ruthless in how steady you are. "Fucking—god," she pants, her head thrown back. "You’re gonna make me cum just from your fingers—I’m not kidding—I swear—keep going—don’t stop—don’t fucking stop—"

You don’t stop. You press in deeper, scissoring your fingers slightly, flattening them inside her and rubbing hard. You watch her fall apart. She slaps one hand over her mouth and fails to muffle the scream—"F-fuck, I’m cumming—oh god I’m cumming fuck—fuck—fuck—"—her hips bucking hard, pussy clenching tight around your fingers, gushing down your wrist in hot spurts. She thrashes, thighs squeezing shut around your hand, breath caught in her throat until it breaks into a ragged sob of release.

You pull your hand free, sticky and shining, and slap her ass once, making her whimper and twitch. Then you turn back to Danielle.

"Focus," you growl, hands tightening on her hips, guiding her back down into the mattress. She’s collapsed halfway, elbows shaking under her weight, mouth hanging open, spit dripping from her chin. You slam back into her, cock punching deep, and she lets out a wrecked cry.

"A-ahhh—god—please—fuck me harder—I need it harder—please, please, please—"

"You begging for it now?" you grunt, slapping her ass again, watching it jiggle. "You want it faster, Dani? You wanna be fucked dumb in front of your friends?"

"Yes, yes—fuck—I’m so close—I’m not gonna last—" she whines. You grab a fistful of her hair and tug her head up.

"Then earn it. Don’t ignore your friend," you snap, nodding at Minji, who's watching with parted lips, her legs still open, two fingers slowly rubbing her clit while she watches Dani get railed. "Get back to her pussy. She needs you." Danielle gasps, tears in her eyes, but she listens. Her mouth drops between Minji’s thighs again, tongue sloppily lapping at her folds, one hand fumbling between the friend’s legs as she tries to focus through your brutal pace.

Minji moans, high and breathy. "Fuck—Dani—yes, yes just like that—faster—"

You slam into Danielle harder, angle shifting to hit deep, bottoming out with a filthy slap every time your hips crash into her ass. Her pussy clamps around you, fluttering tight, and she cries out around Minji’s clit, still trying to suck while her body melts. Her hand jerks between Minji’s thighs, fingers frantic now, not coordinated, just desperate. Minji lets out a sob, hips bucking forward into Danielle’s mouth, hand flying up to cover her face.

"Oh—fuck—I’m gonna cum—fuck—keep going—don’t stop—Danielle—yes—!"

And it all goes to hell at once. Danielle screams, back arching hard as her orgasm slams through her. She tries to stay upright, but you keep pounding into her, fucking her through it, and she collapses with her face still buried in Minji’s cunt, fingers still moving. Minji bucks against her, gasping, thighs clamping around Dani’s head as she cries out, cumming in tandem.

"Ahhh—ah—fuck—right there! I'm so fucking horny, shit!" Minji’s whole body tightens, legs shaking, face twisting up with ecstasy as she rides Danielle’s fingers, moaning loud and raw. Her pussy drips down Dani’s wrist as she crashes through her climax, her moans rising with each jerk of her hips.

Danielle’s still moaning too, overwhelmed, ruined, your cock still buried inside her. Her thighs are trembling, cunt milking you, breath ragged.

"Fuck—don’t stop—don’t stop—please keep fucking me—" she begs, almost sobbing, cheek to the sheets, body limp except for her ass pushing back on you.

The bed's a fucking mess, pillows shoved to the floor, sheets half-knotted around legs, heat soaked into every crease like the mattress itself is sweating. Your body’s burning, cock still buried inside Danielle’s fluttering cunt, her hips twitching in aftershocks as she rides the final, ragged edge of her orgasm. Her knees are wide, thighs sticky, her whole frame drooped forward, arms barely keeping her up. You slow down, rolling your hips deep and slow now, just enough to milk every last tremble out of her while her walls squeeze you in these lazy, fading pulses.

“Fuuuck,” Dani groans, slumping down with her cheek pressed into the mattress, face turned just enough for you to see the edge of a dumb, dazed grin. Her eyes are glassy, mouth open, a slick trail of drool stretched from her lip to the bed. “I… I don’t even know what dimension I’m in anymore.” She giggles; light, dizzy, totally lost in that giddy cocktail of post-orgasm high and bar-cocktail drunk. Her whole body shakes as she laughs, then sighs like she’s been deflated.

You slide out of her slow, and she whimpers at the drag, her pussy so sensitive she jerks once on instinct before collapsing flat. You lean in, brushing damp hair away from her cheek, and kiss her, soft, messy, her lips parted, her breath still hiccuping as she giggles into your mouth.

“You’re fucking insane,” she murmurs against your lips, eyes fluttering. “Like. You’ve broken parts of my brain. I think I forgot my major.”

You grin and kiss her again, deeper this time, until she moans, then pull back and look over her shoulder where Hanni’s sprawled out watching you both, her hair a tangle, her inner thighs still glistening with the mess you made earlier. She’s on her side now, hand idly toying with her clit while she watches, all flushed and content and still hungry.

But the moment you turn your attention across the bed, Minji’s already sitting up straighter, brushing hair off her collarbones, eyes locked on you. Her lips are still dark with that same lipstick, slightly smudged now, and her thighs glisten faintly from the earlier action. She raises an eyebrow as you meet her gaze, then tilts her head with a sly little smile.

“My turn,” she says simply, like she’s been waiting with this exact line loaded. “Gonna let me ride you?”

You crawl over the bed, over Dani’s spent body, past Hanni’s grinning mouth, and stop in front of Minji. Her breath catches when you lean in and kiss her slow, letting her taste the linger of Danielle’s moans still on your mouth. She kisses back, firmer, confident, a low sound rumbling in her chest as your hand cups her jaw, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth.

“You sure?” you murmur against her lips.

She laughs under her breath. “I’ve been wet for you since the airport,” she whispers. “You’re gonna let me fuck myself stupid or what?”

You lie back in the middle of the bed, propped on a few bunched pillows, and your cock’s already thick and heavy, slick from Dani’s orgasm, standing tall against your stomach. Minji doesn’t wait for permission, she climbs over you, slow and deliberate, straddling your hips like she’s done it a dozen times in her head already.

Her body’s gorgeous: tall, legs strong and smooth, breasts swaying slightly with each shift. Her pussy looks perfect, soft lips already glistening as she kneels above you and wraps a hand around your cock, guiding the thick head to her slit. She shudders just from that contact, biting her lip, her eyes fluttering half-shut.

“Holy shit,” she whispers, dragging your tip through her folds, hips rocking teasingly. “You're so fucking thick.”

“Minji,” Hanni calls, breathless from the other side of the bed. She’s giggling now too, watching her friend work your cock like it’s a goddamn delicacy. “Wait till he’s inside. That first stretch? Fuuuck.”

Minji shoots her a smirk, then lowers herself slow, her pussy parting around your head with slick, obscene resistance. “Jesus,” she breathes, nails digging into your chest. “Hanni wasn’t kidding. You’re huge. I can feel you in my fucking lungs.”

She sinks further, inch by inch, body tensing every time your cock stretches her wider. Her mouth falls open as she drops her hips that last inch, fully seating herself on you with a stuttering gasp.

“Oh my god,” she moans, rocking forward instinctively, trying to breathe through the sudden full-body shock of being stretched so deep. “No wonder she’s always so smug after hooking up with you.”

Your hands settle on her waist, thumbs stroking her flushed skin as she starts moving—slow, careful rolls of her hips at first, working herself open around your cock. Her brows knit together, jaw slack, riding the edge between discomfort and overwhelming pleasure.

“That’s it,” you murmur, dragging your hands up her sides. “Take what you want, Minji. Fucking use me.”

She moans again, louder this time, starting to ride properly now—bouncing with more rhythm, her thighs flexing, tits jiggling with every downstroke. You groan, letting her set the pace, feeling how tight and warm and wet she is wrapped around you.

Across the mattress, Hanni and Danielle have gravitated toward each other. Hanni climbs into Dani’s lap, straddling her thigh and tugging her into a kiss. Danielle, still fucked out and giggling, moans as Hanni’s mouth crushes against hers. Their bodies grind together slow, Hanni humping Dani’s thigh, both of them breathless, lost in the press of lips and the slippery rub of skin on skin.

“Your pussy still twitching, huh?” Hanni purrs into Danielle’s mouth, licking the corner of her lips.

“Mmhmm,” Dani hums, pulling Hanni tighter against her. “But you’re worse. You’re dripping, babe.”

Their hands disappear between each other’s thighs, working slow and sloppy while Minji rides you harder now, both hands on your chest for leverage.

“Oh—fucking—fuck—” she gasps, voice pitching higher every time she bottoms out. “It’s too good—I can’t— I get it now, I get why she’s obsessed—fuck—this cock’s gonna ruin me—”

And you’re still just lying there, letting her take what she needs, eyes flicking between the two girls grinding against each other and Minji’s flushed, desperate face as she bounces faster, cunt slapping down onto your hips with wet, hungry sounds that echo under the moans. Her thighs tremble, sweat dotting her collarbone, hair clinging to her cheeks as she loses her rhythm for a second and drops down hard, bottoming out and grinding herself there, desperate for more friction. Her eyes roll up slightly, fingers clawing at your chest.

“Don’t stop me,” she begs, voice cracking. “I’m gonna fucking cum like this—I swear—I can’t hold it—”

Hanni and Dani’s moans rise in tandem, their fingers flicking across each other’s clits, messy and fast now, lips locked, hands tangled in hair.

You're surrounded, soaked in it—girls panting and moaning, cunt tightening around your cock, legs shaking. Minji’s voice goes high and breathless as she stutters, hips jerking.

She’s close, you can tell—her body’s right on that trembling edge, cunt spasming tight around your cock every time her hips slam down—but she’s holding herself back, grinding harder like she wants it to hurt a little, like she needs that something more to tip her over. Sweat drips down her spine, her back arched, lips parted around a panting whimper. Her fingers dig into your chest like she’s anchoring herself to reality, and her eyes stay fixed on yours, burning through the low amber light of the fucked-out room.

Her pace shifts. Not slower. Not faster. Just... different. Focused. Controlled. Her thighs flex, bouncing with steady purpose, her rhythm so exact you can feel your cock stretching her perfectly on every single roll of her hips. She’s fucking herself into a stupor, breath coming ragged now, and her voice shakes as she leans forward a little, grinding deeper.

“Choke me,” she breathes, quiet but absolutely clear.

You blink up at her, heart kicking once hard in your chest. And then you’re moving, hands sliding up her arms, over the sweat-slicked plane of her neck. You wrap your fingers around her throat and squeeze—not too hard at first, just enough pressure to make her gasp and rock harder.

Her reaction is instant.

“Oh my god,” she chokes out, eyes fluttering, lips twitching into this crooked, dirty grin. “Fuck—yes. Like that—more—don’t hold back—”

You squeeze again, harder this time, and her pussy clamps down on your cock like a fucking vice. Her whole body jolts forward, hair falling into her face, mouth open in a half-scream, half-moan as she keeps riding you through it. The weight of your grip around her throat sends her spiraling—head tipping back, breath coming in short bursts, cunt dripping down your length. Right beside you, a ripple of giggles breaks out—Hanni and Danielle tangled together like drunk, horny vines. Hanni’s on top, legs locked, slick skin sliding. Dani’s thigh is jammed between Hanni’s, and they’re grinding against each other, messy and frantic, watching you and Minji like it’s the best fucking show they’ve ever seen.

“Look at her,” Hanni laughs, breathless, one arm around Dani’s waist as they rock together. “She’s such a little freak, huh?”

Danielle moans, smiling, her hand gripping Hanni’s ass as she bucks against her. “Fuck, yeah. That’s so hot. Look at her face—look how she takes it—ugh, I love this group.”

Minji’s smiling too now, delirious with it, red in the face from the pressure and the pounding. “They’re watching,” she gasps, like it turns her on even more. “They’re fucking watching me like a porn—fuck!—like a fucking slut—”

You keep one hand around her throat and drag the other down, sliding hard across her cheek. The slap cracks through the room.

Minji jolts, gasping, her eyes wide and shining. She pauses—just for a second—then smiles. It’s crooked and hot and wild, like you just unlocked some part of her she doesn’t show most people.

“Again,” she breathes, biting her lip. “Slap me again.”

You do. This time louder. Her head whips a little with the force, her hair flying loose around her face. Her thighs clamp down tighter around your waist. Her pussy floods your cock.

“Fuuuck,” Danielle moans, grinding harder against Hanni. “God, that’s so hot. Minji, baby, you’re killing me right now.”

“Don’t stop,” Hanni pants, rocking her hips hard against Danielle’s, wet friction loud and shameless. “Fucking wreck her, babe. She loves it—look at her—she’s drooling.”

Minji really is. Her chin’s slick, her mouth open, this desperate, fucked-out expression carved into her features like you’ve turned her into someone else entirely. She’s bouncing harder now, breath knocked out of her with each slap of your hips, moaning louder every time your hand hits her cheek.

“Harder—fuck me harder,” she snarls, voice raw, throat bruised under your grip. “Slap me again—do it—do it!”

Another slap. Another gasp. Another roll of her hips, harder than the last. Your cock is buried deep in her, stretching her open, her clit grinding against your pelvis every time she sinks down. She’s dripping, moaning, riding like a demon, chasing something violent.

You glance over—Hanni’s got Dani on her back now, one leg hooked over her shoulder, both of them flushed and sticky, fingers tangled in hair, lips swollen from kissing. They’re still scissoring, sloppier now, hips rocking, thighs trembling.

“Minji’s the star tonight,” Hanni pants, glancing over at you with that fox-smirk that always means she’s up to no good. “God, look at her ride that cock—like she’s starving.”

“I wanna try it next,” Dani mumbles between kisses. “Like, right after. While it’s still all soaked in her mess.”

Hanni giggles, sliding down Dani’s body and latching onto her nipple, teeth grazing it just enough to make Dani yelp and arch up. “Greedy bitch,” she teases, “but after Minji it's my turn.”

Minji hears all of it. She moans, louder now, her pace going ragged.

“Y-you hear that?” she gasps, hands pressing to your chest for balance as she keeps riding, hair flying in her face. “They want your cock next. Right after I break it.” You squeeze her throat again, watching her eyes roll back, then slap her one more time, hard. She’s moaning with every thrust, every slap, the sound messy, guttural, losing the rhythm of it as pleasure cracks her composure.

She’s grinding hard now, not even bouncing—just trying to mash her clit against your pelvis with these desperate, dragging circles, her pussy squeezing your cock with every motion like her body’s trying to pull you deeper, trying to milk something out of you she hasn’t earned yet. Her eyes catch yours, glazed and raw, and she swallows hard like she can barely keep it together.

“Call me a whore,” she gasps suddenly. “Fuck—say it—call me your little whore.”

Your hands slide up her thighs, over her hips, fingers sinking into the curve of her waist as you thrust up once, hard, just to feel how tight she clutches you when she gasps.

“You’re a fucking whore,” you growl, eyes locked on hers. “A cock-drunk, needy little whore riding like your life depends on it.”

She shudders, moaning loud, mouth dropping open like the words themselves fucked her.

“F-fuck, yes,” she breathes, “that’s it—that’s what I needed—fuck me—break me—”

She leans down, chest pressed to yours, and kisses you, mouth hot and wet and shaking. Her lips move against yours, but she’s still whispering between the kisses, frantic.

“Please make me cum—please—I need it so bad—just fucking take it—”

You sit up under her, strong arms locking around her back, rolling her onto the mattress without pulling out. Your bodies flip, her thighs falling open under you, legs spread wide as you slam back in and start pounding her—deep, fast, merciless.

Minji screams, nails clawing at your back, her body rocking with the force of your thrusts. “Oh my god—oh my fucking god—yes—yes, don’t stop—don’t stop!”

You don’t. You hammer into her, hips slapping against the backs of her thighs, cock spearing into her soaked, swollen pussy until she’s drooling onto her own chin, shaking under you, her moans turning to broken sobs of pleasure.

“Fuck, look at her,” Hanni laughs, breathless, watching with wild eyes from where she’s still wrapped around Dani. “Minji’s such a fucking slut right now—so perfect!”

Danielle’s moaning too, her fingers tangled in Hanni’s hair, one leg hooked around Hanni’s waist. Her eyes are locked on the way your hips crash into Minji’s, the way her pussy’s clenching and dripping around your cock with every brutal thrust.

“I’m gonna cum just watching this,” Dani groans. “God, the way he’s fucking her—fuck—fuck, it’s so hot—”

Then Hanni leans over, and suddenly spit on Minji's chest, you quickly spread the saliva across her breasts.

“Cum for him, you dirty slut,” Hanni growls, breath panting against Dani’s neck. “Show us how much of a whore you really are.”

Minji moans louder as she feels her climax approaching, legs locking around your waist.

“I’m gonna cum—I’m gonna fucking cum—don’t stop—don’t stop—break my pussy!”

“Cum on my cock,” you grunt, one hand fisting in her hair, dragging her head back to stare at you. “Fucking soak me, slut—show them how filthy you are—”

Danielle’s shaking, Hanni clutching her tight. They’re grinding hard, kissing messy, watching with wide eyes, their fingers slick between each other’s legs.

Minji throws her head back, screaming now, her voice raw and shaking.

“i’m—fuck—i’m cumming—cumming on your cock—FUCK—”

Her pussy clamps down so hard it feels like she’s trying to crush your cock, her whole body locking up under you as she cums with a high, shattering scream. Her legs kick, back arching, hips jerking uncontrollably while the orgasm rips through her. She’s gushing, soaking your thighs, her nails digging bloody little half-moons into your back as her climax pulses again and again.

Dani cries out right after, burying her face in Hanni’s neck, trembling violently as she cums from the overload, from watching, from the friction of Hanni’s thigh. Hanni moans with her, shuddering, her fingers a blur on her clit as she tips over too, riding it out pressed tight to Dani’s writhing body.

The room’s just noise and panting now. Bodies twitching. Sheets soaked. Minji clinging to you, shaking, still twitching from the aftershocks as you ease the rhythm, your cock still buried deep.

She blinks up at you, dazed, lips parted in a wrecked little smile.

“Holy fuck,” she breathes. “That was… I’ve never cum like that. That was insane.”

You smile down at her, brushing sweat-slick hair away from her face, and kiss the tip of her nose. “You’re amazing,” you whisper.

She grins back, breathless, totally fucked-out. “No, you’re amazing.”

Then, suddenly, the mattress dips with sudden weight—Hanni and Danielle throw themselves between you two like kids cannonballing into a pillow fort, squealing with laughter, bare skin slapping bare skin, limbs everywhere. The bed bounces, a tangle of heat and sweat and giggles. Minji yelps when Hanni’s ass lands half on her thigh, still sensitive and overstimmed, but she’s laughing too, breathless and glassy-eyed, her body so limp she can barely squirm.

“Fucking hell,” Dani gasps, rolling onto her side and flopping over Minji, one hand resting lazily on your thigh. “I came so hard just watching you get fucked like that.”

Minji whines from under her, flinching a little, but nods hard. “I think I died for a second. Like actual blackout, heart-stopping sex-death.” She exhales sharp through her nose, a breathless chuckle buried in the sound. “Worth it.”

Then Hanni slides up, straddling your hips with zero hesitation, her knees pinning you to the sheets as her still-slick thighs nestle against your waist. Her face is flushed, her whole body glowing, shining under the haze of sweat and soft lamplight. She looks ecstatic, and a little drunk in the most adorable, chaotic way. Her bangs are damp, sticking to her forehead, and she’s got that grin spreading across her face like it’s about to consume the whole room.

“I told you bitches,” Hanni says, proud as hell, glancing down at Minji and Dani with a theatrical flick of her head. “Wasn’t it a great fucking idea to bring him?”

Minji, still flat on her back, groans out a slow “Yes,” dragging the syllable like she’s still processing the concept of words.

Danielle raises a hand like she’s making a toast, except it’s just a floppy little wave. “Seconded. Fuck, I vote he comes on every vacation now.”

“All in favor?” Hanni smirks, her hands already tracing slow circles on your chest.

All three girls mumble some variation of “Yes,” “Fuck yes,” “Holy shit yes,” and “Best decision ever,” their voices tangled with giggles and half-moan whimpers. Hanni laughs, pleased with herself, rocking her hips once against you just to feel your cock press between her thighs.

“Relaxation achieved,” Minji murmurs.

“Ten outta ten stress relief,” Dani adds, now curled sideways into Minji’s body, pressing soft kisses under her jaw, lazy little nuzzles full of leftover lust.

Hanni leans forward and kisses you hard. She tastes like sweat, rum, the faint tang of her own arousal. Her lips are needy, tongue teasing, confident in a way that hits different now, knowing she’s been watching you wreck her friends all night.

“You’ve been saving some for me, right?” she whispers into your mouth, grinding her hips once to feel the drag of your cock against her pussy lips. She’s soaked already, slick enough that even that little motion has your length sliding up between her folds, warm and sticky. She ruts against it like she’s starving. “I better not be last on the rotation every time,” she mutters, her tone teasing, breath quickening.

You grab her hips, flip her onto her back without warning, and she squeals with laughter, legs splaying open instantly. Her pussy’s dripping, lips spread already, folds glistening under the light like she’s been ready for hours. She spreads her legs wider, knees bent up, feet flat on the mattress.

“Fuck,” you murmur, staring down at her, cock twitching. “You’re soaked.”

“Gee,” Hanni laughs breathlessly, reaching between her legs and spreading herself open with two fingers, hips rolling with impatience. “What can I say? Your fingers are magical. And maybe watching my friends get ruined by you for twenty minutes straight made me a little wet too.”

Danielle groans softly at that, and when you glance to the side, she’s leaning over Minji, kissing her slow and deep again. Their bodies are tangled now, legs weaving together, the soft press of tits and lips and sticky thighs. Dani’s hand is already slipping down Minji’s belly, sliding between her legs again.

But your focus is all Hanni. She looks fucking perfect laid out like this: cheeks flushed, eyes wild, mouth curved into that too-clever smirk as her fingers drift down her stomach, stopping just shy of her clit. Her other hand strokes along your abs, playful, lazy, guiding your cock into position.

You don’t slide in. Not yet. You hold your cock by the base, tapping the head lightly against her entrance. Her whole body jolts. She gasps, writhes, shoves her hips up to chase it, but you pull back, smacking it again. Wet, sloppy, loud against her cunt.

“F-fuck,” she stammers. “Don’t tease me, I’ll bite.”

You grin. Do it again. She whines, arching her back now, her chest heaving as the head of your cock slaps against her clit once, then again.

“I want it,” she gasps, needy. “I want your cock, please—I’ve been waiting—fuck, just give it to me—”

“You’re sure?” you murmur, teasing the head just barely inside her now, watching her hole flutter.

“Fuck you,” she laughs breathlessly, grabbing your arms. “Yes. Yes yes yes! shut up and fuck me already!”

You thrust.

She screams.

“Ohh my GOD—” she wails, her legs wrapping tight around your waist as your cock plunges into her. She’s tight and wet and so warm, her walls clenching around you like her pussy’s been sculpted for this exact moment. She grabs your shoulders, nails digging in, eyes wide and unblinking.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she gasps, “Why is it so big—why do you feel so fucking good—”

You start to move, hips rolling deep, then harder, setting a brutal pace that rocks her whole body against the bed. Her tits bounce with every thrust, her arms flailing slightly before settling around your neck, clinging on like she’s holding on for dear life.

“Oh my god, oh my god—don’t stop,” she babbles, her head tipping back into the sheets, voice cracking. “That’s it, that’s it—fuck me just like that— ruin my pussy—break it—”

To your left, Dani’s moaning again, grinding against Minji’s thigh, her lips locked with hers in another sloppy kiss. “She’s so fucking loud,” Minji mutters between kisses, smirking against Dani’s mouth.

“She’s so fucking hot,” Dani whispers back. “You see her tits? Fuck, I’d cum just watching her ride a pillow—look at her take that cock.”

Minji laughs, biting Dani’s lower lip. “Jealous?”

“A little,” Dani admits, shivering. “I wanna eat it after he cums in her. Wanna taste it leaking out.”

Hanni hears them. She fucking hears them.

Her eyes fly open, head snapping toward them, mouth open in shock and lust.

“Y-you bitches,” she moans, “talking about licking my pussy while I’m getting wrecked—what the fuck—”

Minji giggles, still breathless. “You like it?”

“I love it—” Hanni screams, hips bucking up to meet your thrusts. “I love being used—I love being watched—I love this cock—”

You fuck her harder. The whole bed shakes. Her moans turn to sobs.

Hanni's body is shaking beneath you, drenched in sweat, soaked between the thighs, every thrust of your cock squelching loud and obscene inside her dripping cunt. She's gripping the sheets now, knuckles pale, nails curled into the fabric like she's hanging on for her fucking life. Her tits bounce with each brutal drive of your hips, hair clinging to her forehead, lips swollen and spit-slick. Her moans are higher now, sharp and stuttering, her head tossing back against the mattress like she's trying to pull oxygen out of the ceiling.

And then she gasps it out—hoarse, frantic, barely audible over her own breathless cries:

“Choke me.”

Your eyes snap down to hers. She’s flushed and wild-eyed, panting, her legs squeezing around your waist like she’s trying to lock you in.

“Choke me,” she begs again, voice cracking. “Like you did to Minji—don’t stop fucking me—just do it, please.”

You don’t hesitate. You slide your hand up her throat, fingers wrapping snug around her neck, feeling the slick pulse of her heartbeat jump against your palm. You squeeze, not too hard, just enough to tilt her eyes up into that fluttery haze, to make her mouth fall open as her breath catches. You don’t slow your hips for a second. You fuck her through it—hard, deep, fast—your cock pounding into her cunt with relentless, savage rhythm. She's wetter than ever, her pussy creamy now, coating your shaft in a sticky mess that smears across her inner thighs, dripping down to stain the sheets.

Hanni's moaning uncontrollably, every thrust driving a noise out of her throat that’s part whimper, part scream, part this fucked-up little giggle, like she’s drunk off the whole experience. Her pupils are huge, mouth open, body writhing beneath you, and she’s so far gone she doesn’t even notice Dani crawling up beside her until cool fingers brush between her legs.

“Sensitive, huh?” Dani murmurs, breath warm against Hanni’s cheek, her hand sliding casually between her thighs. Two fingers find her clit, swollen, throbbing, and the second Dani touches it, Hanni shrieks.

“Fuuuck—Jesus, Dani—don’t—no wait—yes—”

You don’t let up on her throat. Her eyes roll back as you thrust harder, your hips slapping against hers while Dani circles her clit with slow, deliberate cruelty, watching her best friend unravel with a smirk on her lips.

“She’s losing it,” Minji says from the other side, grinning as she straddles Hanni’s arm. She leans in close. “Open your mouth, Han.”

Hanni’s tongue slips out instantly, lips parted, slack with submission.

Minji spits.

A thick, glistening string lands directly on her tongue, messy and wet. Hanni moans around it, head swimming, throat still tight in your grip, the added weight of saliva pushing her even further into that blissed-out place where everything feels too much and not enough at once.

Minji doesn’t even wait. She grabs Hanni’s face and kisses her, hard, filthy, tongue sliding deep, their moans tangled and breathless. Hanni groans into it, writhing between both girls and your cock like she doesn’t know who to fuck first. She’s a mess, her thighs trembling, clit twitching under Dani’s fingers, and every time your cock slams into her, her pussy gets wetter, creamier, soaking your balls in hot slick.

“She’s gonna cum,” Dani whispers, breath hitching as she teases Hanni’s clit harder now, pressing down just right. “Feel that twitch? She's fucking close.”

“She’s right,” Minji breathes against Hanni’s mouth. “Come on, Han. Let it go. Cum on that cock.”

Hanni's voice is wrecked now, thin and broken and so needy. “Please—please don’t stop—don’t stop—I’m close—I’m fucking cumming—”

You growl into her ear, choking her just a little harder. “Cum on my cock, Hanni. Let me feel that pussy explode. You want that? You wanna cream all over me like a filthy little toy?”

She nods frantically, can’t speak, her mouth open in a wordless sob, Dani’s fingers working her clit with practiced cruelty.

“Cum for him,” Minji hisses. “Be good and fucking cum—”

And Hanni breaks.

Her back arches like she’s being electrocuted, legs clamping around your waist, mouth dropping open in a scream that rips through the whole room. Her pussy clamps down on your cock so hard it’s like her body’s trying to hold you hostage, waves of thick, wet pleasure rolling through her. She cums hard, sobbing out her orgasm, twitching with every thrust as you keep fucking her through it, her cream pouring out of her, mess coating your cock, her thighs and the sheets under her ass.

She doesn't stop trembling. Doesn’t stop moaning. And you don’t stop fucking her.

Hanni’s still pulsing around you when the next wave hits. You haven’t let up, not for a second, driving into her with rhythmic, punishing strokes that slap skin on skin, each one dragging out another broken moan from her wrecked throat. She’s quivering under you, thighs wide open, one hand curled helplessly in the sheets while the other claws at Dani’s wrist where her fingers haven’t stopped circling her clit. Minji’s straddled across Hanni’s chest now, hands massaging her tits, thumbs brushing over her rock-hard nipples, leaning down to whisper filth directly into her ear as the whole bed shakes with the force of your fucking.

“You’re gonna cum again, aren’t you?” Minji teases, breath hot against her cheek. “Gonna squirt all over him this time, huh? Gonna make a goddamn mess, baby.”

The second orgasm hits her like a seizure. Hanni's whole body jolts under you, nails raking down your back as her thighs clamp tight around your waist, hips bucking wildly against your thrusts. Her head snaps back against the pillows, mouth falling open in a ragged, “Oh my fuck—I’m cumming again!” It comes out broken, strangled, voice cracking under the weight of it. She doesn’t even make it halfway through the sentence before she starts squirting, pussy gushing around your cock in warm, wet pulses. You feel the spray splash your stomach, your thighs, her own trembling legs soaked through as the sheets go from damp to absolutely flooded. Her eyes roll up, half-lidded and glassy, lips twitching like she’s trying to form another word but all that comes out is a stuttering,

And you keep fucking her through it. Not slowing down, not backing off, pistoning your hips like you’re chasing the end of her orgasm with your cock, hitting her soaked, clenching walls again and again and again. The way she tightens around you now, fluttering with overstimulation, it’s so wet, so fucking wet, the friction slick and obscene, your skin smacking into hers with loud, slappy sounds that echo off the walls. Her whole body is twitching, like you’ve fried her circuits.

Danielle is still there, hand locked between Hanni’s trembling thighs, rubbing tight little circles on her clit with her middle finger. "That's it baby, let it out—fuck, look at you," she breathes, her face flushed, biting her bottom lip as she watches Hanni writhe under the three of you, caught in some endless high.

Minji’s on the other side, leaned over, one hand cupping Hanni’s tit like it belongs to her, squeezing gently as her mouth latches onto the other. You catch the way her cheeks hollow, tongue flicking over Hanni’s nipple as she sucks and hums, her free hand petting down Hanni’s thigh like she’s trying to soothe her through the intensity. Hanni can’t even form words anymore, she just lets out this strangled, sobbing Hhhhnnnn- as her whole body spasms through another round of squirting.

You barely register the groan that slips out of your throat, deep and thick and right from your gut. Her pussy is squeezing the cum out of you, she’s wringing you dry just by twitching on your dick, and you can feel it boiling up in your spine, your balls drawing up tight, the edge rushing you like a freight train.

“I’m gonna cum—” you grunt, head dropping against Hanni’s shoulder, barely managing to hold yourself up on shaking arms.

Danielle doesn’t even hesitate. “In her,” she says immediately, low and breathless, her fingers never stopping. “Fuck, cum in her, she needs it—just look at her—”

“She’s on the pill,” Minji gasps, licking a line across Hanni’s tit. “She told us. Do it. Fill her the fuck up—”

Hanni nods frantically beneath you, her thighs still locked around you, dragging you deeper. “Please—please cum inside me—fuck—I want it—”

You snap.

The orgasm rips through you so hard your whole body shudders, hips jerking as your cock throbs inside her, buried to the base. You swear out loud as the first spurt of cum floods into her, thick and hot, coating her insides. She gasps like she feels every pulse of it, her pussy clenching greedily around your cock. Another spurt, and another, and another, so much cum you can feel it pooling deep inside her, coating her walls, no resistance at all, just warmth and wetness and her moaning like it’s the best thing she’s ever felt.

“Mmm—yes yes yes—fuck me full,” she babbles, arms wrapped tight around your shoulders, her whole body shaking under you. “God—it’s so warm—you’re cumming so much—feels so good… feels so fucking good, babe.”

You collapse against her for a second, chest heaving, forehead resting in the crook of her neck, cock still twitching inside her. You can feel how full she is. You don’t even need to pull out to know you’ve filled her past capacity.

And when you do ease back, sliding out slow with a wet noise that makes Hanni gasp and twitch, the mess you’ve made is instantly obvious. Your cum spills out of her immediately, a thick, creamy line drooling down the split of her lips, smearing across her inner thighs and the ruined sheets below. She whimpers at the loss of you, hips instinctively lifting like her pussy is begging to stay full.

But Danielle and Minji aren’t letting it go to waste.

“Holy shit,” Danielle mutters, eyes glued to the way your cum leaks from her. “Look at that—fucking flooded her.” She doesn’t wait. She leans down, dragging her tongue from Hanni’s slit all the way up to her clit in one long, slow, filthy lick, groaning around the taste. “Mmmff—fuck, that’s good…”

Minji’s already there beside her, bracing one hand on Hanni’s thigh as she leans in from the opposite side. “Save some for me,” she says, then pushes her face into the mess, licking greedily at the slick between Hanni’s folds, tongue flicking in quick, deliberate strokes that make Hanni squeal, hips jerking helplessly. “Oh my god—I can’t—”

Her pussy’s too sensitive now—every touch makes her flinch and whine, her thighs trembling uncontrollably. But she doesn’t tell them to stop. Her hands are fisted in the sheets, pulling tight as she moans through it, a whimpery, overwhelmed sound. “F-fuck—feels—too good, oh my god—fuck—Minji, Dani—” She writhes as their mouths keep working her, slurping the mixture of cum and slick straight from her pussy.

Danielle’s moaning into it, low and needy, like just tasting it is enough to get her off. Her tongue circles Hanni’s clit with practiced precision while Minji focuses lower, licking at your cum as it seeps out in slow, obscene dribbles. Every now and then they pause to kiss each other, mouths shiny and sticky with the mix, tongues sliding together, moaning softly into each other like they’re drunk on it.

And you? You’re leaning back on your knees, dick still half-hard and twitching as you watch it all. Completely transfixed. The scene in front of you is the filthiest, hottest thing you’ve ever seen. Your cum, their mouths, her pussy still fluttering and leaking, Hanni's body jerking with aftershocks, eyes glassy and half-lidded as she pants like she just ran a marathon. The way Danielle and Minji trade licks and moans like it’s the best dessert they’ve ever tasted.

They kiss again, deeper this time, cum-slick lips meeting with soft sounds, tongues tangled, and then Danielle leans down to kiss Hanni, pressing their mouths together gently, almost sweet despite the filth surrounding them. Minji follows, kissing along Hanni’s jaw, then catching her lips in another soft, slow kiss, her hand stroking Hanni’s side like she’s trying to comfort her back down from the high.

Hanni’s whimpering into their mouths, too overstimulated to return the kisses properly but too wrecked to stop them. Her whole body glows, skin flushed, damp with sweat and sex, her thighs still trembling where they’re spread wide on the soaked mattress. Her lips part against Danielle’s and Minji’s in turn, gasping faint little sounds into each kiss, shivering with every touch like her body’s still vibrating with afterglow.

You slide into the warm space between the tangled pile of girls, fitting yourself into the curve of Danielle's back while Minji is practically draped over Hanni’s front. You're all slick, sticky, and utterly spent. Hanni stirs slightly, letting out a long, contented sigh without opening her eyes. "Mmm," she murmurs drowsily. "This... this is life." Minji makes a soft sound of agreement against Hanni's shoulder. "Best spring break," she mumbles, her words slightly slurred. "Already the best." Danielle shifts slightly and props her head up on her hand to look over at you and Hanni. "Seriously," she whispers, “this is... epic. We totally need to remember this." Suddenly, her eyes light up with a typically Danielle-esque, slightly chaotic idea.

"Wait! Selfie!" Before anyone can protest, she's reaching carefully for her phone, which somehow ended up tangled in the sheets near the edge of the bed. She fumbles with it for a moment, squinting at the screen in the dim light filtering from the hallway. "Okay, everyone look... wrecked!" she instructs, holding the phone at arm's length, angling it to capture the messy, exhausted pile of naked bodies. You manage a weak smile. Hanni cracks open one eye, peering suspiciously at the phone. Minji is barely conscious. Danielle snaps a quick picture, the flash momentarily illuminating flushed faces, tangled limbs, messy hair, and the general beautiful disaster zone of the bed.

"Perfect," Danielle declares, reviewing the shot with a satisfied smirk. "Definitely one for the... private collection." Hanni yawns hugely. "You better not be putting that on your OnlyFans, Dani," she mumbles. Danielle laughs softly. "Chill, Han! God no. This one's just for us. A little souvenir of maximum stress relief achieved."

You blink, processing that. "Wait, you have an OnlyFans?" you ask, genuinely surprised again. Danielle grins, completely unbothered. "Uh, yeah? Started it last year. Pays way better than that shitty campus bookstore job." She shrugs. "It's totally anonymous, though. No face, mostly just artsy body shots, feet pics... you know the drill. Helps pay for tuition. And, uh, ridiculously fun spring break trips." She winks. Hanni lets out another enormous yawn, snuggling closer to you. "Okay, fun talk later," she murmurs, her eyes already closed again. "So tired. Need... shower. Sleep. In that order."

Danielle nods. "Yeah, probably a good call. I feel like I ran a marathon." Minji makes a noise of agreement, already half-asleep again. Slowly, reluctantly, the cuddle pile disbands.

Showers are taken, brief and functional this time, washing away the lingering stickiness. Towels are wrapped, weary goodnights are exchanged, and everyone retreats to their respective rooms (or, in your and Hanni's case, collapses back onto the now slightly less chaotic bed, with new sheets, of course). Sleep claims you almost instantly, pulling you down into a deep, dreamless, and much-needed oblivion.

—

The next morning arrives with the subtlety of a jackhammer inside your skull. Your mouth feels like the bottom of a birdcage, and a vicious migraine is pounding behind your eyes. Fuck, that cheap tequila and those endless cocktails definitely caught up with you. You groan, rolling over carefully, and realize the other side of the bed is empty. Hanni's gone. The sheets beside you are cool. You glance down at yourself; yep, still completely naked. Clearly, exhaustion trumped any thoughts of pajamas last night. Hauling yourself upright feels like a monumental effort. You swing your legs over the side of the bed, your head protesting violently. Clothes. Need clothes. You find your shorts and a t-shirt from yesterday crumpled on the floor and pull them on, feeling a little more human.

Leaving the relative darkness of the bedroom, you venture out into the main living area, squinting against the bright daylight flooding in from the balcony. Danielle is sitting at the kitchen counter, slowly sipping from a large mug, looking surprisingly put-together despite the previous night's debauchery. Her hair is damp, and she’s wearing fresh shorts and a tank top.

"Morning, sunshine," she greets you, her voice quiet, sympathetic. "Rough night?"

You grunt in response, shuffling towards the counter. "Something like that. Migraine from hell."

She pushes a mug towards you. "Figured. Made coffee. Black and strong. Should help."

You take it gratefully, the warmth seeping into your hands, the bitter aroma promising some relief. "Thanks, Dani. You're a lifesaver. Where's, uh... everyone else?" Danielle takes another sip of her coffee. "Hanni and Minji woke up disgustingly early. Said something about wanting to hit that little boutique we saw yesterday before it got crowded. Apparently, Minji spotted a dress she 'absolutely needed'." She rolls her eyes good-naturedly. "I told them they were insane, but you know Hanni when she gets an idea. I was still half-dead, so I stayed."

You nod, taking a cautious sip of the hot coffee. It scalds your tongue but feels necessary. "Makes sense," you manage. You lean against the counter, the events of the previous night slowly filtering back through the hangover haze. "So, uh," you start, feeling slightly awkward bringing it up in the harsh light of day, "OnlyFans, huh? Still kinda surprised." Danielle just shrugs, swirling her coffee. "Hey, gotta pay the bills, right? College ain't cheap, and honestly? It's kinda empowering sometimes. Plus, like I said, totally anonymous. No one I know knows it's me. It's just... content." She gives you a small smile. "Helps pay for fun shit like this trip, too. Worth it."

You finish your coffee, the caffeine slowly starting to chip away at the edges of the migraine. "So, what's the plan for today? Just wait for them to get back?" Danielle sets her mug down. "Actually," she says, turning on her stool to face you fully. "I already have plans. And I kinda need your help." You raise an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? What's up?" She leans forward slightly. "Remember I told you about my OF? Well, I need new content. And while researching stuff to do here, I found this amazing little beach, super secluded, like, you gotta hike a bit to get there? Supposedly the lighting in the late morning is incredible." She pauses, looking at you expectantly. "And?" you prompt. "And," she continues, a slow smirk spreading across her face, "I need a photographer. Someone I trust. Someone who... appreciates the subject matter." She holds your gaze. "Interested in helping a girl out?"

The implication is clear. A secluded beach, just the two of you, and she needs photos for her OnlyFans. You think about it for a second. It sounds incredibly daring, potentially awkward, but also... intriguing. And she did seem pretty convinced last night you could 'handle the workload'. "Okay," you say slowly. "Yeah, okay. I can play photographer. As long as it's really secluded." Danielle beams. "Perfect! Trust me, it is. I'll grab my phone. You can have breakfast on the way. Let's go."

—

True to her word, the hike isn't trivial, involving a winding path down a jungle-covered hillside, but the destination is worth it. It’s a small cove, maybe fifty yards across, bookended by dramatic volcanic rocks, with fine white sand and impossibly clear turquoise water. And most importantly, it's completely empty. Just you, Danielle, and the sound of the gentle waves.

"See?" Danielle says triumphantly, gesturing around. "Told you. Totally private." She drops her beach bag onto the sand. "Okay, so here's the deal," she says, turning back to you, suddenly all business. "These pics are definitely for the site. Which means... no bikini." She meets your eyes, gauging your reaction. "You cool with that? Just shooting me... all natural?" You swallow, feeling a familiar heat stir despite the lingering hangover. It's ballsy as hell, but she seems completely confident, and the setting is undeniably private. "Yeah, Dani," you manage. "I'm cool with it. Whatever you need." Her professional demeanor cracks slightly, replaced by a genuinely pleased smile. "Awesome. Okay then." She reaches for the hem of her tank top. "Let's make some art." She hands you her phone, then, without further ceremony, she pulls off her top, then quickly shimmies out of her shorts and panties, leaving them in a small pile on the sand.

She stands before you completely naked, bathed in the bright Caribbean sun, her toned, athletic body looking even more incredible than it did last night. She runs a hand through her long hair, taking a deep breath, then strikes a pose, looking out towards the ocean. "Okay, photographer," she says, glancing back at you over her shoulder, a playful smirk on her lips. "Do your thing."

You lift the phone, centering Danielle in the frame. Even through the small screen, she looks incredible. The bright Caribbean sun highlights every curve, every plane of her toned body. The turquoise water and white sand create a perfect, almost impossibly vibrant backdrop. "Alright," you call out, trying to sound professional despite the slight tremor in your hand, "Hold that pose. Perfect." Click. The first shot is captured. Danielle flows smoothly into another pose, turning slightly, tilting her head back to catch the sun. Click. She's a natural. Not just comfortable naked, but seemingly energized by it, owning the space, owning her body. You start directing her a little more, moving around to get different angles. "Okay, walk towards the water slowly," you suggest. She obeys, her tight ass flexing with each step as she walks away from you towards the gentle waves lapping at the shore.

You snap several shots of her back, the curve of her spine, the way the sunlight kisses her shoulders. "Stop there," you call out when the water is just swirling around her ankles. "Turn back towards me." She does. The water sparkles around her feet. Click. Click.

"How about by those rocks?" she suggests, pointing towards a cluster of dark volcanic boulders at one end of the cove. "Yeah, good idea." You follow her as she makes her way over, her bare feet sinking slightly into the wet sand. She leans against one of the larger rocks, the dark, rough texture contrasting sharply with her smooth, pale skin. She tries different poses; leaning back casually, arching her back slightly, running a hand slowly down her own flat stomach, tracing the line of her incredible abs. You capture it all, zooming in sometimes to focus on the details, the way a drop of water traces a path down her side, the taut curve of her small, perky breast, the intense look in her eyes. She's ridiculously photogenic; the camera absolutely loves her.

Every angle seems to work, every casual movement looks like a deliberately sexy pose. And yeah, she's hot as absolute hell. Seeing her like this, completely bare, owning her sexuality so confidently for her 'work', is incredibly arousing, hangover be damned. You take shot after shot, finding interesting angles, playing with the light and shadows created by the rocks. She lies down on the warm sand near the water's edge, letting the shallow waves wash over her legs, arching her back, pushing her breasts towards the sun. You get low, capturing the image from just above the sand, her body stretched out, glistening, utterly captivating. This is definitely prime OnlyFans content. You keep shooting, losing track of time, completely absorbed in documenting every stunning inch of Danielle's naked body against the breathtaking backdrop of the secluded St. Lucian beach.

After what feels like an hour, maybe more, under the relentless Caribbean sun, you finally lower the phone. "Okay," you say, wiping a bead of sweat from your brow. "I think... I think we got it. Seriously, Dani, there's some amazing stuff here." You quickly scroll through the gallery, showing her a few highlights: a dramatic shot against the black rocks, a sensual one of her lying in the surf, a playful one where she's laughing, completely unselfconscious. Danielle crowds close, peering at the screen, her naked body brushing against your arm. "Holy shit," she breathes, her eyes widening. "Okay, yeah. These are... wow. Way better than trying to do timer selfies." She grins, looking genuinely pleased. "See? Told you I needed a good photographer." She gives your arm a grateful squeeze. "Thanks. Seriously. You're a lifesaver... and apparently, a pretty decent cameraman.

She starts gathering her clothes. "Gonna take forever to edit these, gotta crop out my face perfectly from every single one, but yeah. Definitely some good material here for the paying customers." She dresses quickly, the easy confidence returning as she pulls her tank top back on. “Okay, now let's get out of here.”

—

Back to villa, the fresh breeze of the forest is a godsend. You push through the door to find Hanni sprawled belly-down across the couch in a striped towel, hair tied up, face buried in the phone, as usual. Minji’s by the kitchen counter, eating sliced mango with a fork straight from the plate, wearing one of those comfortable breezy linen rompers.

“There they are,” Hanni says without looking up. “Did you two fuck on the beach?”

You blink.

Danielle grins and drops the bag on a chair. “Nah. Not this time.”

Minji raises an eyebrow. “So you did something.”

Danielle walks over and steals a piece of mango from her fork. “Only art, babe. Just art.”

You toss your shirt over a chair and drop down beside Hanni on the couch, her legs still damp from a rinse, bare skin sticking to the cushions. She shifts to make room, tucking herself under your arm. The rest of the day? Exactly what vacation should be. Drinks with stupid garnishes. Cheap sunglasses from the tourist shop down the hill. Hanni drags everyone to a food stand she found on Instagram that sells jerk chicken so spicy you end up chugging a full bottle of water before Minji, smug as hell, offers you a frozen guava drink she “accidentally” ordered two of.

You all climb some rocky bluff for photos, Hanni nearly falling off trying to get the angle with the sun behind her, and then hit the beach again—this time, public, packed with bodies, neon umbrellas, inflatable flamingos bobbing in the surf. No one fucks around there, obviously, but you do get to watch Danielle sunbathe topless under the guise of “European energy” while Hanni builds a sand mermaid around Minji’s legs.

By sunset, everyone’s back at the villa, glowing with sunburns and exhaustion, eating too much grilled pineapple from the BBQ stand down the road, and drinking straight from the rum bottle.

And Danielle? She’s been scheming. “Guys,” she says, emerging from her room with a devilish smile and a small, suspiciously plain brown box. “I did a thing.”

Hanni’s stretched across the living room rug in a bikini top and boxers, licking popsicle juice from her wrist. “Oh fuck. What did you buy.”

Danielle drops the box on the table with a thud. “This,” she announces, “is a gift. For Minji.”

Minji looks up, cautious. “That’s never a good sentence.”

Danielle just grins wider. “Trust me. You’ll thank me later.”

She opens the box. Nestled inside is a harness and a thick black strap-on. Smooth. Matte. Very... obvious in intention.

Minji’s eyes go wide. “Dani—”

“You’re always saying you wanna be more adventurous,” Danielle cuts in. “Well. Here’s your chance.”

Hanni perks up immediately. “Wait—wait. Are we doing this? Are we really doing this?”

You just raise an eyebrow. “So, what—four-way? Again?”

Danielle shrugs, already unbuckling her belt. “Obviously.”

—

It only takes one session for Minji to flip the switch.

She doesn’t just “get used” to the strap-on. She fucking thrives with it. Like something dormant inside her wakes up the second she feels the harness hug her hips, the weight of the cock bouncing between her thighs as she moves. At first she still blushes when she straps in—adjusting the buckles, fiddling with the position—but the more she fucks the girls and more she watches you using your cock, the more natural it looks. The way she grips Hanni’s hips now, steady, confident, using slow, grinding thrusts to make her whimper and squirm. The way she plants her feet wide when Danielle sinks down onto her lap, hands clamped hard around Minji’s shoulders, riding the strap until she’s gasping for air.

The first time she makes Hanni cum with it, Minji looks stunned. Hanni's legs are shaking, her body seized up in a full-body tremble, soaking the fake cock and moaning so loud you swear the neighbors heard it. Minji freezes for a second, hands still clutching Hanni's thighs, watching her fall apart.

“I—fuck—did I do that?” Minji stammers, chest heaving.

Danielle, lying sprawled out naked across the bed, just smirks. “You wrecked her, Minji. Fucking legendary.”

Minji starts to grin—huge, uncontrollable—and something settles into her shoulders. After that, there’s no hesitation anymore. She starts owning it, moving with this slow, relentless rhythm that’s honestly almost scarier than being jackhammered—because she knows exactly what she's doing now. How to hit the right angles. How to roll her hips just right so the pressure builds and builds until Hanni's clawing at her back or Danielle’s begging to cum or you're watching in awe, wondering when the fuck she got so dominant.

She talks more too, low and quiet, the kind of dirty talk that makes your dick twitch without needing to shout. Grabbing Hanni by the throat while she’s riding her and murmuring, “Yeah, take it all, baby. Take it deeper. You can take it, I know you can.” Bending Danielle over the kitchen counter and growling, “You’re not done yet. You stay there ‘til I say.”

One afternoon, Minji’s got Hanni pinned against the wall outside the bathroom, towel half-falling off her body, the harness peeking out under the loose shirt Minji never bothered taking off. She's grinding into Hanni’s pussy slow and mean, Hanni’s hands scrabbling at her arms, thighs trembling. You and Danielle just stand there watching like total pervs, fresh out of the shower, dripping wet, unable to look away.

"Fuck, Minji," Danielle says, voice low and breathless, eyes wide. "You're so fucking hot like this."

Minji flashes a shy smile at that—just for a second—before grabbing Hanni’s face in one hand and kissing her hard enough to shut her up mid-whimper. She keeps fucking her against the wall, slow and steady, until Hanni melts into a sobbing orgasm right there, the towel falling to the floor.

Later that night, Minji's sprawled on the bed, sweaty and exhausted, the strap still hanging off her hips, her head turned toward you. "I get it now," she says, voice hoarse. "I fucking love it. Being the one... giving it." She laughs, breathless. "It's... it’s like being drunk on power."

And you grin back, still half-hard just from watching her ruin the girls one by one. "Told you it suits you."

Minji hums, smug now, one hand idly stroking down her own thigh. "Think I'm gonna make this a regular thing."

She does.

It becomes routine, almost. Minji taking the lead, pulling the harness on with slow, confident movements, snapping the straps tight around her waist like armor. Danielle bending over for her without a second thought. Hanni climbing into her lap like it’s her seat. You swapping with Minji sometimes, tag-teaming—her in Hanni’s ass while you fuck her pussy, or you both working Danielle over until she’s crying, too full to move, babbling nonsense.

You and Minji develop this synergy without even having to talk about it. She reads your cues, you read hers. If she pushes in slow, you pound harder. If you slow down to edge one of them, she speeds up, relentless, keeping the pressure high until the girls are shaking and begging to cum again.

One night, you’re double-penetrating Hanni on the couch—Minji behind her with the strap-on buried deep in her ass, you fucking her pussy from the front. She’s sobbing between you, thighs quivering, toes curling into the couch cushions.

"Too much," Hanni whimpers, eyes rolling back.

"You love it," Minji breathes against her neck, thrusting deeper. "You're fucking made for this."

Hanni chokes on a scream when you both bottom out at the same time, the sensation overwhelming her. She squirts hard, drenching both your thighs, her body convulsing violently.

Minji kisses the side of her face, slow and almost tender. "Good girl," she whispers. "Such a good fucking girl."

You pull out after, letting her collapse into a shaking heap, and Minji strokes her hair while you both watch Hanni twitch and whimper through the aftershocks.

Danielle gets it worse the next night—Minji holding her down by the back of her neck, forcing her to stay in position while you fuck her raw. She’s drooling onto the sheets by the time you both finish, legs too weak to even close around you. Minji pulls out first, tugging the dildo free with a wet pop, and you thrust a few more times before cumming inside Dani, filling her pussy with heat and making her moan brokenly into the pillow.

"Fucking ruined," Danielle mumbles, slurred, dazed. "God... best spring break... of my fucking life."

Hanni, half-asleep nearby, giggles and claps weakly. "Praise be... to the stress relief committee..."

Minji just laughs, rolling onto her back, tossing the harness onto the floor like a discarded trophy.

You lie there, muscles sore, cock still twitching faintly, staring at the slow-turning ceiling fan overhead. Listening to the girls’ soft laughter, their satisfied little sighs as they drift closer to sleep.

—

Every single day melts into the next, sharpening your purpose here until it's diamond-hard. You're not just the guy Hanni brought along for stress relief anymore, not just the dude who can fuck them right, though you definitely excel at that. No, you've become something more fundamental to their vacation ecosystem: their favorite tool. Their dedicated service dom. The one who instinctively knows Hanni needs her ass slapped harder without asking, the one who sees Danielle adjusting her position for a better filming angle and holds her steady, the one who helps Minji adjust the strap-on harness until it sits just right across her hips.

You listen; not just to the words, but to the hitches in breath, the clench of muscles, the flicker in their eyes. You read the damn room, anticipating needs, fulfilling fantasies they barely knew they had until you offered them up. You act without needing to be told twice, a silent understanding passing between you, yet you always ask before crossing a new line, checking in with a low murmur, "Like this?", "Harder?", "Tell me what you want." Your entire fucking existence on this island has distilled down to facilitating their pleasure, maximizing their release, ensuring their needs are met above all else. And the crazy part? They’ve leaned into it like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like you were specifically designed and delivered just for them, their perfect, obedient, pleasure-giving machine.

Hanni is, unsurprisingly, the boldest, the most demanding in her casual ownership. She doesn’t really ask for things so much as state facts, her requests delivered with the breezy entitlement of someone ordering room service. She’ll stretch out naked on the sun-drenched sheets after a lazy afternoon nap, legs spread slightly, and just murmur, "Eat me," without even looking up from her phone. And you? You're between her thighs before the words fully register, nose buried in her heat, tongue already tracing patterns against her clit. "Mmm, yeah," she sigh, dropping her phone and tangling her hands in your hair, grinding her hips down against your face. "Just like that, fuck... don't stop." Her tone is always low purr, punctuated by sharp gasps and breathy giggles as you work her over. "God, your tongue is fucking magic... right there..."

She rides your mouth like she owns it, hips bucking, controlling the pressure, whispering filthy encouragements—lick me harder, faster, yeah, suck my clit, make me cum—until she inevitably shatters. She always comes fast and hard when it’s just your mouth, twitching all over, thighs clamping around your head like a vise, hips giving one last desperate jerk before she collapses, panting, demanding you lick her clean until the last aftershock fades. "Good boy," she sigh, patting your head dismissively, already reaching for her phone again.

Danielle, true to her director's eye, is more methodical, more precise in her desires. She knows exactly what she wants, how she wants it, and isn't shy about articulating it. She’ll pause mid-sentence while talking about editing software, catch your eye, then step directly in front of you, blocking your path. "Tits," she state simply, pulling your face towards her bare chest (because clothes are increasingly optional in the villa). "Suck ‘em. Feeling sensitive today, need the pressure." You obey instantly, palming her small, firm breasts, taking a nipple into your mouth, licking, sucking gently at first. She watch your mouth on her skin with unnerving focus, then bite her lip. "Harder," she command, her voice dropping an octave. "Use your teeth a little. Yeah." You adjust immediately, pulling harder, grazing the soft skin with your teeth just enough to make her gasp, her breath catching sharply. "Fuck... yes," she whisper, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

Listening to her is like hearing a porn script being dictated by the star who's also directing—incredibly specific instructions: "Okay, now circle the left one with your tongue, slower... yeah... now bite the right one, just a pinch..." mixed with genuine, breathless reactions "Shit, that feels good... oh fuck, keep doing that...". It's never fake, though; it’s just her being hyper-aware of her own body, meticulously guiding you towards the sensations that make her feel incredible, that get her off exactly the way she wants.

And Minji? Sweet, surprising Minji is all about the exploration, the learning. She watches everything. She observes the way you hold Hanni's hips when you fuck her from behind, the exact pressure Danielle likes when you suck her nipples, the rhythm that makes Hanni scream the loudest. Then, later, when she straps on the harness, and you help her, making sure the straps are snug, applying the lube generously, your fingers slow and firm against her skin as you check the fit—she mimics what she's seen. She’ll look down at you, eyes wide with concentration and a flicker of that newfound dominance, adjusting the thick black cock slightly. "Will you guide me again?" she ask, especially those first few times. You nod, kneeling beside her and Danielle, or her and Hanni, placing your hand over hers on the base of the dildo, coaching her on the angle, the depth. "Slow," you murmur, "Let her take it... yeah, now push deeper... feel how she clenches?" You guide her through the initial thrusts until she finds her confidence, until her hips start moving with a steady, powerful rhythm of her own.

Then you switch, and she watches intently as you take over, pinning Danielle face down, pounding into her just a little rougher than Minji dared, making Danielle shriek and beg for more. Minji studies the angle of your hips, the grip of your hands, the look in Danielle's eyes, absorbing it all. And guaranteed, the next time Minji has Danielle begging beneath her, she'll incorporate that exact move, that specific rhythm, pushing her own boundaries, feeding her appetite for control, the intoxicating power of inflicting overwhelming pleasure.

They ask. You give. Simple as that. Hanni needs a foot massage while Danielle films Minji eating her out? Done. Danielle needs you to hold the camera steady with one hand while fucking her with the other, whispering specific dirty phrases she thinks her subs will like? No problem. Minji wants you to tie her wrists loosely to the headboard with one of Hanni’s discarded bikini tops while she rides you, just to see what it feels like? Absolutely. Your purpose is service, and damn, you're good at it.

And Danielle’s phone camera is practically a fifth member of the group now, always seemingly lurking, always potentially rolling. Her OnlyFans project becomes a collaborative effort, fueled by exhibitionism, alcohol, and a shared desire to capture the raw heat of their vacation. It's her body, her rules, her creative vision directing the shots, but you and the other girls are willing participants on both sides of the lens. One ridiculously lazy afternoon, sunlight streaming into the master bedroom, Danielle drags the big floor mirror from the corner, positioning it carefully near the foot of the bed to capture reflections, different angles. She hands you her phone, already set up on a small, flexible tripod she apparently packed.

"Okay," she says, stripping off her sundress and panties with zero fanfare. "New concept: POV masturbation, but like... make it art." She climbs onto the sheets, positioning herself facing the mirror, legs spread invitingly. "Just film what turns you on," she instructs, meeting your eyes with a challenging grin. "Focus on the details. If it gets you hard watching it, trust me, it'll be hot to them."

So you film. You position the phone on the tripod, focusing tightly. Her fingers, slick with her own wetness, parting her swollen lips. The way her clit peeks out, already hard and glistening. You follow her hand as she starts rubbing, slow circles at first, then faster, more insistent pressure. Her soft gasps, the way her hips begin to tilt rhythmically off the sheets. You pan up slowly, lingering on the taut muscles of her stomach quivering, the rise and fall of her small breasts. You zoom in on her throat as she swallows hard, her neck arched, then her mouth, lips parted, panting softly. Then, needing to be closer, needing to participate, you let the phone carefully on the tripod, ensuring the angle is still good, and kneel on the bed beside her. You reach out, sliding two fingers deep into her wet heat.

She gasps sharply, eyes flying open, locking with yours in the mirror's reflection. "Is this... part of the plan?" she breathes out. A smirk touches your lips. "Say stop if you want me to." She doesn't. Of course, she doesn't. Instead, she arches her hips harder, pushing herself onto your invading fingers. "Fuck..." The shot captures everything, your hand moving rhythmically, her fingers now frantically working her clit, her thighs shaking. "Oh god... yes," she moans, her voice climbing higher. "Keep going... don't stop... fuck, you know exactly what you’re doing—oh yes—right there—" When she finally comes, tipping over the edge with a strangled cry, the phone capture every second. Her whole body clenching, her toes curling, her stomach trembling violently, a final sob escaping her lips before she collapses back onto the sheets, panting, a dazed, blissful smile spreading across her face. Later, showered and wrapped in towels, she watches the raw footage back, legs curled under her on the sofa. "Holy fuck," she whispers finally, looking up at you. "Okay. Yeah. That'll definitely sell."

Minji even overcomes her lingering shyness enough to get properly in front of the camera, albeit usually with Danielle directing and Hanni providing enthusiastic, often obscene, commentary from behind the lens. One night, after way too much rum, Danielle sets the phone up on the nightstand, framing the bed perfectly. She immediately climbs onto her back, pulling Minji down on top of her, hooking her knees over Minji’s shoulders, already wet and giggling. "Okay, Action!" Hanni yells, hitting record with a flourish. "Make her moan loud, Minji! I want everyone on this island to hear her being a whore!" Minji, strapped securely into her harness, hesitates for only a second before fucking down into Danielle, slow and deliberate at first. Dani whimpers instantly, toes curling. "Shit—Minji—already? Fuck—don’t stop—" she gasps out, arching her back, her small breasts bouncing with every deep thrust.

You’re kneeling beside the bed again, playing your assigned support role, one hand stroking Danielle’s trembling thigh, the other finding her clit, rubbing tight little circles, perfectly syncing your rhythm with Minji’s steady pace. Danielle is shaking, completely overwhelmed, by the time she cums, moaning loud enough to satisfy even Hanni, clenching hard around the silicone cock, the whole raw, intimate scene captured perfectly. Danielle edits it later, adding soft filters, cutting just before faces are fully visible, layering some innocuous indie music over the raw audio. The result is surprisingly beautiful: intimate, intensely sensual, undeniably dirty, and utterly compelling.

You even manage to film the DP scene Hanni keeps drunkenly demanding. It takes coordination, lots of lube, and Danielle being incredibly greedy and wrecked on cocktails. She’s face down, ass up, babbling incoherently, drool dampening the pillow beneath her cheek as Minji carefully slides the thick strap-on into her tight ass while you simultaneously fuck her pussy from behind. It’s intense, borderline chaotic. "Easy, easy," you murmur, coaching Minji on the angle while your own cock stretches Danielle’s cunt. Minji leans over Danielle's back from behind, whispering dirty talk directly into her ear, "Such a good girl for us... taking both our cocks... look how stretched out you are..." Your hands grip Danielle’s waist, trying to hold her steady as she bucks and moans beneath the double penetration.

You manage to keep the phone propped on a pillow relatively steady, switching hands when one starts to cramp, capturing the overwhelming sight of Danielle being thoroughly used, completely filled. She begs you both not to stop. You don't. Not until she’s screaming, coming so hard she probably does forget her own name, her body convulsing violently between you. Capturing that raw, uncontrolled release feels like a sacred, filthy duty.

Sunlight slants through the windows in the mornings, illuminating the beautiful wreckage; bite marks blooming on inner thighs, faint scratches down someone's back from frantic gripping, lube streaks drying on bare skin, discarded clothing forming abstract sculptures on the floor. You clean up together, making coffee shirtless, wandering naked onto the balcony to check the surf. Touch is constant, casual, affectionate, possessive. Hanni grabs your ass possessively every time you walk past the sofa where she’s lounging. Minji presses a soft, unexpected kiss to your cheek while you're both reaching for the orange juice. Danielle sits on your lap without warning, and you automatically wrap your arms around her waist.

They don’t just use you. They like you.

You’re part of the group now. Not just Hanni’s secret hookup. Not just a vacation fling.

You’re theirs. Just like they’re yours.

—

The last couple of days in St. Lucia take on a slightly different energy. The frantic exploration and hedonistic frenzy ease into a slower, more savoring pace. There's an unspoken awareness that the bubble is about to burst, that the real world with its deadlines and responsibilities looms just beyond the horizon. You spend the final afternoon on your favorite stretch of beach, not doing much of anything, just floating in the impossibly blue water, sharing a bottle of lukewarm rosé smuggled from the villa, soaking up the last rays of Caribbean sun. Packing later that evening is a subdued affair. Clothes smell faintly of salt, sand, and coconut sunscreen. Souvenirs are carefully wrapped. Danielle meticulously backs up the hundreds of photos (both SFW and very NSFW) from her phone onto a portable drive. Minji stares longingly out the balcony window, while Hanni seems unusually quiet, a thoughtful expression on her face.

You all gather on the balcony for one last sunset, cheap beers in hand. The sky explodes in fiery oranges and purples over the lush green hills. For a while, no one speaks, just watching the spectacle, lost in thought. "Well," Danielle says finally, breaking the comfortable silence, "That didn't suck." Her tone is light, but there's an undercurrent of genuine emotion. Minji nods, leaning her head against Danielle’s shoulder. "It was..." she searches for the word, "...perfect. Even better than I let myself imagine." Hanni sighs dramatically, taking a long swig of her beer. "Best. Idea. Ever," she reiterates, bumping her shoulder against yours. "See? You guys should always listen to me." She looks around at the group, her expression softening. "Seriously though... this was amazing. All of it." You feel a surge of gratitude, mixed with the bittersweet pang of the trip ending. "It really was," you agree, looking at each of them in turn. "Seriously, guys... thanks. For letting me crash your girls' trip. For..." You hesitate, unsure how to articulate the rest; the acceptance, the adventures, the incredible sex, the unexpected connection. "...For everything. It was fucking incredible."

Danielle reaches over and squeezes your knee. "Are you kidding? You surviving us was the incredible part." She laughs. "Couldn't have done it without our resident stress-reliever slash photographer slash obedient dom." Minji smiles warmly. "Yeah. It wouldn't have been the same without you. You just... fit." The easy acceptance in her voice makes something warm settle in your chest. It feels true. Somewhere between the shared drinks, the tourist traps, the tangled sheets, and the drunken confessions, the dynamic shifted irrevocably. Hanni nods, though a familiar possessive glint enters her eyes. "Okay, okay, group hug, whatever," she says, waving a dismissive hand, though she leans closer against you. "But let's be clear," she adds, poking you in the ribs, her tone mostly playful but with an edge of seriousness, "He's still my property, technically. I found him first. First dibs still apply indefinitely."

Danielle and Minji burst out laughing. "Oh my god, Hanni!" Danielle exclaims. "Still calling dibs? After everything?" Hanni shrugs, trying to look nonchalant but failing. "Hey! Finder's keepers. Sharing is fine, but ownership is key."

You chuckle, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Don't worry, Han. I remember the terms and conditions." The implication hangs there; this isn't just the end of a vacation fling. The connection forged here, the complicated, messy, exhilarating dynamic between the four of you, feels like something more permanent. The promise of future moments, future adventures, future tangled nights, hangs unspoken but palpable in this warm twilight air... Yeah, the trio is definitely a foursome now, whether Hanni wants to admit shared ownership or not.

#kpop smut #kpop m!reader #hanni smut #hanni x male reader #minji smut #minji x reader #hanni njz #hanni newjeans #minji njz #minji new jeans smut #kpop male reader #danielle njz #danielle x reader #danielle new jeans #m!reader #kpop gg smut #hanni x reader #hanni pham #kim minji x reader

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rooksamoris · 11 days ago

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𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙈𝙎 𝙊𝙁 𝙀𝙉𝘿𝙀𝘼𝙍𝙈𝙀𝙉𝙏 !!

Leona Kingscholar uses kidege the most. It means little bird in Swahili. Regardless of your height or size in comparison to him, he uses this term of endearment because of a) he still deems himself a protector no matter what, and b) because he thinks your voice is pleasant to listen to, like the birds that fly over the savanna in the spring. You bring color to his skies the way those birds do with their colorful wings. He also uses kidege to tease you whenever you nag him, like an endlessly chirping bird. It is the perfect mix of teasing and yet sweet all the same. Leona would mutter it as he wipes food from the corner of your lips, or as he rolls his eyes lightheartedly whenever you do something kind of clumsy.

“Why so silent, kidege? You’re usually chirping a lot more than this.”

If Jamil Viper is going to use a term of endearment, it will be hayati. Arabic for my life. His life has been marred by the traumas of caste, and you are this bright being completely outside of it. Jamil strives to be worthy of you and your life because you have made his life so bright. He ties his hopes of a better future to you. You became a symbol of what his life could be like, and his choice of endearment reflects that. Jamil says it to you with a sigh as he finally takes a break from his duties, resting his head on your thighs, or he would tell it to himself as you come out to meet him, with that sweet grin on your face.

“I brought you some soup, hayati. It’ll help with the cold.”

Kalim Al-Asim cannot help but call you jawharati, which means my jewel in Arabic. Growing up, the value of items such as jewels and gold was instilled in him, thus it feels like second nature to use it while referring to you as well. The only difference is that you are worth more than all the jewels on the market. The issue that comes is when Kalim wants to spoil you with jewels and none of them seem quite good enough. Instead, he ends up gifting you some knick knacks and treats that he thought you would like. Kalim uses jawharati as he cuddles up to you in the night, or as he laughs while dragging you along some new adventure.

“I hope you like them, jawharati. Ooh! These ones were my favorite as a kid.

Kaveh, light of Kshahrewar, dramatic roommate of Alhaitham, calls you jigaram, meaning my liver in Farsi. The obvious reason for this is that he needs you, just as he needs his liver. You know it must be true when you see the drawings he has made of you in his notes. The word falls from his lips so easily, but that does not make it any less genuine. Jigaram, he calls whenever he sees you down the streets of Sumeru City, jigaram, he pleads whenever you claim you are too busy to spend time with him, and jigaram, he whispers under his breath as he naps away surrounded by books and blueprints.

“I hid a little surprise in the stained glass window I designed for the Akademiya… yes, of course it is related to you, jigaram.”

Alhaitham speaks at least twenty languages, and is familiar with even more, and of the many terms he calls you, the one which pours from his lips most often is 'umri. He says ya ‘umri, meaning my age or my lifetime in Arabic. Saying 'umri is quite easy for Alhaitham when it comes to you. He says it in various tones, of course, but he still means it with love regardless. He will say it in annoyance when you do something foolish, as if reminding himself that you were the silly being he decided he wanted to spend his life with, or he will say it with a quiet affection as you fall asleep with your head on his shoulder after he read some new book to you.

“Ya ‘umri, we should not remain in bed any longer. It’s inefficient.”

Dehya lovingly and teasingly refers to you as bissa, which is a cute way to refer to a cat in Arabic. She mostly calls you it because she thinks it is adorable, but also because you remind her of a cat. The way you tense up all bashfully as she wraps her arms around you, or the way you nuzzle against her whenever she's holding you close as you stroll through the desert, it all seems kitten-like to her. Dehya will call you bissa as you tend to her wounds, nagging her about how she should be more careful, or as she presses affectionate bites to your shoulders in the morning, too comfortable to let you go.

“No need to pout so much, bissa. I’m proud of these new wounds, I got them protecting you, didn’t I?”

©rooksamoris 2025. do not steal or translate my work!

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#💖 — amoris writes #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #jamil viper x reader #jamil viper #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar #kalim al asim x reader #kalim al asim #kaveh #kaveh x reader #alhaitham #alhaitham x reader #dehya #dehya x reader

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ceesimz · 6 months ago

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Lavender

A date that unfortunately doesn't go as planned. (autistic!reader - angst -> fluff)

Reverie series here as always! A verrrry real experience depicted in this one, with some amazing help from @pickledwoso that i am very grateful for, thank youuu <3

“Engel, are you ready to leave?” Alexia sang as she headed out of the bedroom towards where you were at the door rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet, waiting for her.

“Yes, you fool, I've been ready for the past half hour.” You rolled your eyes at her teasingly, laughing when she lightly pawed at your side where she knew you were ticklish. “Come on! You're taking all day.”

“Ay, it is our day-off, I can take my time for once. No rushing, just calm, and me and you.” She gave an alluring smile, sliding her hand down your arm until she intertwined your fingers, then leaned forwards to kiss your forehead. “Are you excited?”

“Very. I love when we do this.” You told her with a squeeze of her hand. The girl grinned, her eyes brimming with excitement and complete happiness seeping from her pores, like the prospect of visiting a farmer's market with her girlfriend was as exciting as a third Ballon d’Or.

“Me too.” She gently knocked your chin up and pecked your lips before brushing back a strand of hair behind your ear. “Now, are we ready, mi vida?”

“For the love of god, yes!”

Any time the club issued some days-off, one of the things highest on the list for yourself and Alexia was visiting the local farmer’s market. You’d buy the best of the best fresh organic products and cook together a dish of food that, combined with the quality time you'd spend with each other, would make for a night-in together that was so much better than going out somewhere.

These days had become somewhat of a tradition, and with it being the penultimate day of the short summer break after the tournament Alexia had gone to, it was absolute perfection. The last day had no plans apart from relaxing and spending time together before the season started again. You couldn't think of a better way to spend the last bit of time off than a date to a familiar, easy place with Alexia that was sure to give way for a fun afternoon and evening.

With it being the height of summer, Barcelona was especially warm, which was perhaps the first warning sign of the day.

“Ale, you really need to get your car in the garage, your AC sucks.” You groaned, the vents on full blast yet hardly doing a thing to cool you down against the 35 degree air outside. Your window was open and your head rested against the door dramatically, Alexia couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight even if she did feel a little bad about it.

“It’s got a service next week, they will fix it then. Sorry.” She winced, hardly breaking a sweat in the weather she was more than acclimated to whilst you seemed to be struggling before the pair of you had even left the car.

You shrugged her off because it's not exactly her fault her car's AC has been faulty since the spring, and focused all your attention on the life-saving breeze hitting your face as Alexia maneuvered through some tame midday traffic. Hot weather wasn't one of your favourite things in the world, as a matter of fact much more comfortable in minus degree weather with tiny icicles on your eyelashes, but a year into living under the blaze of the Barna sun you had no choice but to put up with it.

Though, your patience with the heat wore off quick. And in its wake, a simmering feeling of restlessness, which should have been yet another warning sign. But you were too deep in your determination for this to be a good day for anything to write you off.

The market was only a short drive away, the two of you having opted out of walking because, well, duh, the weather, and just as the sweat that found its place on your nose no more than five minutes after stepping out of your ice cold shower finally began to evaporate, it came crawling right back the second you got out of the car. Alexia was starting to feel uneasy about the day's plans, and, really, so were you, but you were set on pushing through the constrictive feeling that had settled in your bones when the first bit of heat came your way after leaving your flat. There wouldn't be much time in the coming weeks for a day like this with your girlfriend, you weren't about to wreck it for the both of you.

From where the car was parked to the entrance of the market, you walked in silence, hand in hand across slightly worn stone tiles until the rusted old gates of the park stood before you. Over the threshold of the entrance, paved tiles turning to cobble, you knew the chaos the market had in store for you. You didn’t know if you could handle it. The writing on the wall was in the prickly sensation in your skin that was all too familiar, as was the way every nerve in your body screamed in discomfort, almost like your soul was desperately trying to find a way out of your body.

You ignored it, and headed towards the stalls before Alexia could ask how you were.

This place was familiar; you knew the ins and outs of each stall, you knew where to go, you knew how long it took to get around. It shouldn’t be too hard, right?

You loved this place, of course it’d be fine. It beamed with energy, with good vibes, with good people. With its colourful displays of the finest fruit and vegetables, it was more than just a market; it was the heartbeat of the surrounding neigbourhoods.

All kinds of scents and aromas swirled around each corner, weaving themselves into the fabrics of people’s clothes and lingering long after they’d left. They were intoxicatingly good, and it was evident in the looks of wonder on everybody’s face, old or young, experienced shopper or recent newcomer. Vendors positioned at every stall or tattered wagon called out their offerings in a chaotic yet melodic mix of Spanish and Catalan, grabbing the nearest fruit or veg to wave around like an auctioneer with a hammer, the only use for it being to wave off the flies dancing tauntingly around their goods.

Locals haggled over prices with the farmers they’d come to know just as well as their own family; their loud and boisterous back-and-forth banter may have sounded like arguing to unknowing tourists, but to everyone else it was understood as just some good-humoured ribbing that they all delighted in. It was more of a shuffle than a walk throughout the place thanks to the tourists that seemed to stop in the middle of the aisles every second, clearly oblivious to the well-practiced dance of the locals. Elderly ladies pulled their clueless esposos around with one arm whilst they carried their wicker basket in the other, the woven willow groaning under the weight of the countless ingredients to be used in that night’s meal.

For a moment, as you paused off to the side whilst Alexia caught up with one of the stall owners, a fisherman with his catches of the week proudly on display, which you knew your girlfriend would end the conversation by buying enough fish meat to feed the five thousand, you took a moment to breathe. Everybody seemed relieved of their life’s burdens here, gathered closely in one space that was steeped in the essence of the world’s simplest pleasures; flavour, tradition, and community. Only, the smile that was usually imprinted on your face whenever you came was no more than a distant memory.

Despite the fairly shadowed area, considering the park was fenced in by sporadic trees that skimmed the roofs of buildings that showed off the city’s beautiful architecture, it was still insufferably hot. It radiated off of the ground, rebounded off the buildings around, and the flurry of structures meant there was no wind breaking through to give a cool Mediterranean breeze like you had before.

Alexia seemed none the wiser, enraptured by the surroundings like it was her first time there, her head on a swivel and marveling at the mouth-wateringly exceptional variety of things to choose from. You hadn’t really been taking it in, your eyes stuck to the back of her head as you followed her through, waiting on shaking legs whenever she laughed and joked with each worker she bought from.

This labyrinth of every cook’s dream was well and truly alive, but you weren’t. You couldn’t absorb the intense feeling of belonging and sonder you got whenever you came here. It was too much. The thought ate away at you, as with every fly that landed on your skin or every person that brushed against you, you became more and more on edge.

All the different smells, the different sounds, the crowd of people, they didn’t spark those usual feelings of contentment and peace that transpired for you normally. Instead, they felt oppressive, like they were attacking your senses.

The concoction of aromas forced themselves inside your nose and overloaded you completely, the squeamish smell of fish and the fiery linger of hundreds of kinds of herbs and spices bringing on a pounding headache. Every squeak of a wicker basket as the willow was put under more pressure could have been a gunshot for all you knew, the way it echoed around the tunnels of your ears. Anytime someone briefly put a hand on you as they moved past had you flinching, hating the unexpected contact as it was the last thing you needed in such a situation.

You didn’t find any comfort whatsoever in how Alexia’s hand never left yours for more than a minute, when normally it was something that grounded you. Her usually funny comments and little facts and point-outs of detail about her ‘second home’ (the name she had given it as she’d been coming here since she was young) didn’t make you feel any brighter, in fact you were pretty sure you missed most of them.

And as every minute passed, it appeared to get busier and busier, until it started to feel like you were in some kind of mosh pit, people bouncing off of you with every turn only for the next one to come along no more than a second later. You couldn’t hear a word Alexia was speaking, the once calming mix of languages turned into a booming echo of voices that were so close they seemed to be knocking on the bone of your skull, yet too distant for you to make out what anyone was saying, making it all so. much. worse.

Every voice, every footstep, every hearty laughter and every scrape of wood along the floor grated against your ears, all noises around amplified to immeasurable heights. The space was far too loud and far too crowded – each sensation you felt blurred into the next until it became impossible to separate from one another. But you did feel how each individual muscle tensed, from your legs to your shoulders, as Alexia continued to pull you through the market.

You were hyperaware of everything around you and it soon became unbearable. But Alexia was happy, she chatted away like nothing was happening, comfortable and content as her canvas bag brimmed with stuff you didn’t even realise she had bought. You soldiered on, or at least tried to.

Until, your breathing began to quicken, your lungs unable to take in any of the stuffy air you walked through, your chest tightening in a way that only caused you to panic impossibly more. Each piece of fabric from your clothes grazed against your skin like a hundred scratches in a single second, your shirt and shorts beginning to feel like they were getting tighter with each step you took. And when the claustrophobia, the feeling like there was no escape at all, began to really set in, the day was over.

Your resolve had completely eroded. You tried to focus on grounding yourself — reminding yourself this was a safe space, but that was an empty claim to make to your shredded composure. You tried convincing your mind that Alexia’s hand in yours was comforting, when it only felt constrictive, her hand wholly enveloping yours like a snake, leaving no room to breathe. You clenched and unclenched your fist in time with your breaths, but you couldn't even inhale for a second before your mind went into overdrive. All the tools you relied on before were inadequate in that moment. The rational part of your brain slipped away, instead replaced by an instinctive need to escape.

Surges of anger, panic, anxiety, fear, they all rose uncontrollably at once. Your jaw clenched, your free hand curled into a tight fist, and your vision turned hazy as your world dissolved into one indistinct blur.

The snapping point came abruptly. Perhaps it was a shrill laugh nearby, the clatter of a crate being dropped, or an impatient shove from someone trying to pass by. It was the smallest thing, but it tipped the scale far out of anybody’s control. You were alone in that moment. Trapped completely in your mind.

You missed how Alexia called your name over and over, how her hand nudged yours to desperately try to grasp your attention. It was only when her hands grabbed both your forearms that you were brought back down, but only for half a millisecond, before it all went south.

“What?!” You snapped at her, jumping back out of her touch.

As a result, there were about thirty pairs of eyes on you. Everybody around paused, your sharp shout cutting through the buzz of the market, and it went so quiet that every flutter of a fly’s wing and every creek of wood could be heard.

You took another step back when Alexia came towards you, a worrisome look on her face with her hands out in front of her like she was trying to not spook an untrusting animal in front of her. She rushed out some words of reassurance that fell into the background with all the other noises around that had picked up again, the market-goers losing interest in a seemingly harmless situation. They didn’t register within you, nor did her intentions. Your mind was far too good at playing tricks on you, convincing you of things that were far from the truth but in the moment felt like gospel.

There was no way out of where you were, both in the physical and the mental sense, and that was the main factor in the eruption that had just happened. With so many emotions coursing through you, there was an intense itch to find a release from them all. So before you realised, your arms crossed over your chest, hands on your upper arms just above your elbow, and you began to roughly palm, rub, grab at the skin there, needing a distraction from the volume of your mind and the world, whilst also desperately trying to get the movement to act as a release of the crushing press of the feelings inside of you.

If you were alone at that time, god only knows what would have happened. Fortunately you weren’t.

The next time Alexia touched you was the featherlight weight of her hand on your lower back, the minor contact enough to lead you through the winding paths of the market. Your legs ran on autopilot, but you stumbled with every few steps, eyes too blurry to see the bumps and dips in the cobbles underneath your feet. There were probably tears down your face, though you’d reached such a broken point that your body was just… numb. You weren’t in control of anything anymore, hadn’t been for a while, but this was a new extremity. You weren’t even present in your own mind. Just an innocent, unknowing passenger in the car crash that had come out of nowhere.

Somehow, with her own hands trembling from concern, Alexia managed to lead you out of the chaos of the market to those same rusted, paint-chipped gates from earlier— the entrance of the park area. She was lost on what to do or say, but rationally she knew the only thing that would work for you right now was getting you home.

“I will drive us back to your flat, back home, okay?”

You gave her no indication that you heard her, which she was expecting, though you had heard the one word you were in dire need of and it was the first thing so far that managed to break through into your overwhelmed mind. Your hands were still moving roughly against the skin of your arms, sure to leave marks afterwards, but Alexia knew if she attempted to stop you, it’d only make matters worse. She had to get you home. Seeing you like this was breaking her.

It took a concerningly small amount of effort to guide you to the car; you were pliant and mindless, the exhaustion having fully taken over the minute you left the crowded space. She opened the door for you, helped you into the seat, and put the belt on. You leaned your head back against the seat rest and stared straight ahead. Whether it’d help or not, Alexia wasn’t sure. But she had to do one thing, more for the sake of her sanity than yours. With a quiet call of your name, she gently put a hand under your chin and turned you so you faced her.

“I’ll take you home and look after you. You will be okay.” She whispered, tentatively brushing away some of the tears still on your cheeks with her thumb. Her words were a sentiment for her as much as they were for you. “You’ll be okay soon.”

—

Next thing you knew, you were in your bed, lay on your side with your weighted blanket over you and Alexia nowhere to be seen.

It was definitely the calm after the storm. The room was mostly dark apart from the light that bled through the curtains which were closed, you could hear the quiet whir of the AC as well as the dull hum of traffic on the street below, but that was about it. It was a stark contrast to how things were before.

You don’t exactly remember getting home after what happened after the market, but what you did know was that though Alexia wasn’t in the room, she had been at some point, because you felt her love in the way she made sure everything was properly set up for you. The AC hadn’t been on before you left earlier and it only could have come back on by someone turning it on. The curtains were open that morning, whereas now they were drawn. And last time you checked, your blanket was still in the dryer, waiting to be taken out when you got back.

Everything you felt earlier still echoed faintly inside your head and chest, but the weighted blanket over you helped to anchor you back to your life again, rather than the chaos you were drowning in not so long ago. Your mind was convoluted, thoughts jumbled, and you flitted from one shattered fragment of insecurity to the other. You were simply too exhausted to hold onto any of them, emotionally and mentally drained. Though, you still tried to identify what you were feeling— was it anger? Shame? Embarrassment? You couldn’t put a finger on it.

Your hands still shook, your chest still shuddered with every breath. Your clothes still felt scratchy and overbearing, just less so now that you lay in the aftermath of it all. Instead of focusing on that, you drifted your attention to the feeling of the blanket on you; you focused on its texture, its softness, the heaviness of it and how it draped over you and helped to extinguish the flame that was overstimulation and overwhelm. These small but familiar details offered a tiny foothold in the mirror maze of your mind that you were still trying to escape from, only for the ruined reflection of you at the market to be shown back to you.

The longer you spent in that position, a deep, bone-level weariness quietly consumed you, like every aspect of you right down to your soul had been drained. But even still, your mind continued its hyperactive ways, replaying the day’s events over and over like a faulty film reel. The memory of it isn’t the slightest bit cohesive, it was just flashes of moments— the suffocating press of people from every direction, clamour of voices, the overloading mixture of scents. You alternated between frustration and exasperation, wanting to desperately forget what happened whilst not being able to move on from the embarrassment of it.

However, the strain of it slowly began to dissipate with each minute you spent back at home in bed, a safe space where there were no expectations, where time was temporarily unimportant, and where there were no watchful eyes or scathing glares at the disruption you’d caused. And eventually, you felt like you had gained back control of your mind again. It was quieter then; the world felt muted, less aggressive, though you could feel that you were still wary of your surroundings because of how everything ambushed you earlier.

You weren’t fully recovered, you still felt heavy and your body ached due to the tension in your muscles and joints when it all came falling down, and you weren’t sure how much time had passed but the sun sat a little lower on the horizon when you finally felt able to get out of bed. The desire for time alone had gone, you needed something else then, and at this point of the relationship you felt comfortable enough to seek exactly what you needed without giving it a second thought.

The door to your room creaked like it always did when you opened it, your apartment mostly silent save for the occasional huff from the kitchen as the person you were looking for busied herself with any chore she could think of as she waited patiently for you.

You didn’t quite know what to say, but one of the best things about your relationship was that often in times like this, words weren’t a necessity. So you bypassed her and headed straight for the sofa, sitting in the corner and curling your feet underneath you, almost like you were making yourself as small as possible. And, just as you expected, not a minute went by before the blonde headed over, trying to disguise the worry she felt by giving a tight-lipped smile that was more on the amusing side than the reassuring one.

When she sat down, however, she left a gap between you both and perched only on the edge, which wasn’t what you wanted. One shared glance later and Alexia was smiling properly this time, shuffling to sit back against the cushions and beckoning you over with a small wave of her hand. With a sheepish but slightly triumphant look on your face, you moved along the couch and chose to sit sideways on her lap, one of her arms immediately wrapping around your waist as the hand of the other landed just above your knee. She pulled you close to her, and you settled into her with a relieved sigh, indescribably glad to have the final piece of the puzzle to self-regulation in your possession.

For some time, the pair of you didn’t speak, only relishing in the comfort you both needed after the day that had been had. At some point, Alexia noticed the redness to your skin from earlier and subconsciously brought a hand up to one of your arms, her thumb gently tracing over them with a frown on her face. She felt compelled to speak then.

“Please, engel, don’t put yourself through uncomfortable situations just to make me happy. If you asked me to, I would have taken you home earlier in a heartbeat.” The midfielder said carefully, panicking a little when she heard you sigh before calming when you buried your face in her neck.

“I didn’t really know it was going to be uncomfortable until it was already happening.” You told her in a mumbled, downbeat tone that made her hug you tighter against her. She contemplated her next words, wondering whether it was wise to voice them or not, before deciding that you’d hate it if you found out she’d kept her feelings from you.

“I’ve never seen you like that before.” Her fear and sadness was evident when she spoke, matching the frown still on her face and the furrow to her brow. You pressed your lips to the skin of her jaw in a somewhat apologetic gesture, which made her feel a little bad. “We’re both okay though, mi amor. I love you and we’re okay. I’m not mad or anything, this isn’t your fault. I don’t want you to feel guilty. It’s over now, it’s in the past, and we’re here together now.”

It might have been a minor reminder, but it relieved a lot of the remaining anxieties and insecurities you had. Even though she made sure you knew she never judged you for anything, you were only human, and sometimes the devil on your shoulder got the best of you. So, to hear her say she knew it wasn’t your fault and that she wasn’t angry, it was… very needed.

The mix of physical touch and words of affirmation never failed to work wonders for you. The period of time after an event like earlier was a delicate time to say the least, where your mind and your self-esteem was easily swayed by whatever reaction waited for you afterwards. Having Alexia be so welcoming, non-judgemental, caring and adoring even after what she’d witnessed made a world of a difference.

“Better day tomorrow?” You said shyly after moving back to look at her. She shook her head at first, which greatly confused you, before she smiled brightly, softly, reassuringly, and leaned forwards to kiss your temple.

“Better evening tonight after a bad day. And then a very good day tomorrow.” Her words were a little skewed, probably lost in translation, but you understand what she was getting at and it warmed your heart all the same.

It was important to you then, that you voiced your thoughts from just a moment ago. She had to know how important she was to you.

“Thank you, Ale. For everything.” You started, laughing quietly at the puzzled expression on her face. “You always know what to do, what to say. You always make me feel better after a day like this and I don’t know how you do it but… you changed my life.”

Her reaction was the sweetest. Her cheeks blushed red and she turned away for a moment with a tiny disbelieving shake of her head.

“I don’t know about that, cariño.” She murmured, but you weren’t having it. You put a hand on her cheek and turned her face back to you, ensuring she met your gaze before you spoke again.

“You did. I really mean it. I think about it a lot, how you’ve changed me, how I see myself because of you and how you treat me.” You paused for a moment, smiling up at her as her eyes silently urged you to continue. “I… value myself more because of how you value me. I don’t tell you enough how grateful I am for you and what you really mean to me. You’re the greatest person I have ever met.”

The normally sure and confident captain was rendered speechless in that moment, completely caught off guard and lost for words. How she could ever match the gravity and beauty of your words, she didn’t know. But they meant so much more to her than she knew she could ever express.

Ale ducked her head down for a moment as she really took in your words, before she lifted it back up again a moment later, with tears in her eyes.

If only you knew how much you meant to her too.

“You’re my favourite person in the world, you know that?” She said with a pointed look and a raised eyebrow, almost accusing you of foolishly being uncertain about the fact that she stated so definitively. You knew she only did that to deflect the softness of her words a little. So, you just smiled, and tucked your head back into her neck and closed your eyes, completely at peace. “My favourite person in the whole world. You changed my life too.”

—

i really really tried my best to encapsulate the autistic experience of being overstimulated and overwhelmed in such a place here but i have no idea how well it comes across to a large audience. but for me and probably others, this is the reality, no matter how much you can plan and prepare and be excited for something, it can spiral out of your control so quickly and it's definitely a downer when it happens. hope this is somewhat understandable, im gonna go hibernate out of fear now, thank you v much for reading :)

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso #woso community #woso fic

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natalievoncatte · 2 months ago

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It was a very good day, all in all. Nia had spent the day winding through the downtown shops with Lena, who was enjoying the anonymity afforded by dressing down in a hoodie. The spring air was crisp but not cold and they made their way down, eventually, to the waterfront and strolled through the open air markets, to Lena’s favorite food cart, where she bought them both tamales.

They were sitting on high stools around a bar height table and Nia was indulging thoughtfully on her mournful of tamale and sour cream when Lena very casually said, “when did Kara tell you that she’s Supergirl?”

Nia almost choked, grabbing her lemonade in a mad dash to wash down her mouthful of food and breathe again. Lena wasn’t looking at her. The question had come in a cool tone, but with a hard, brittle edge.

It wasn’t some weird joke, or strange passing fancy. Lena’s eyes were hard, a sharpness to her look that often came into her delicate features when she spoke of someone she hated. It made her stunning beauty seem dangerous and vulpine.

“Not long after we met. I told her I was an alien first and about the whole dreaming thing, and then she told me.”

Lena nodded and sipped a bottle of Mexican soda, nudging her half-dismembered tamale with a plastic fork, smearing thin strips of shredded pork angrily across the cardboard bowl.

“When did she tell you?” Nia asked, wincing at the quaver in her voice.

Lena looked up, and met Nia’s gaze. She had her CEO face on- unflappable, a little contemptuous, even arrogant, a kind of distance in the way she looked down her nose. It made her look queenly.

It also made Nia’s bowels turn to water and she had to focus on shoving her lunch back down where it belonged.

Lena said very softly, “she didn’t.”

Nia made a fist and pushed the heel of her hand against the table to hide her shaking.

Oh God, she thought, what have I done?

“How did you…” Nia began, “when…”

There was a bird chirping nearby. The crisp pleasant air carried the salt of the sea. It was a good day, a nice day. The sun was shining and Nia fancied she might look up and see Kara zooming overhead, just to check on them.

To check on Lena. Like she always did.

“My brother told me before I shot him.”

There was a cracking, brittle and qualify to Lena’s half-whispered confession, and Nia instinctively looked around for eavesdroppers.

“W-what do you mean?”

“Lex had an emergency portal device in his suit, set uo to ‘port him out if he was in danger. When he portalled back to his old hideout I was waiting for him.”

Nia licked her lips. “Then what…”

“He showed me. He had surveillance footage- Kara using her powers, not just to protect me but to hide evidence, conceal her secret from me.”

“Oh,” said Nia.

“He wanted me to join him. He expected me to flip out and decide to help him kill her, I guess.”

Lena gave a little shrug.

“And then…”

“Then I killed him. I shot him twice in the chest and then again in his stupid face.”

Nia looked around again. This was a conversation to be had across the path from a food truck selling deep fried fruit pies. Lena’s usually pale face was flushed a deep red and her eyes grew wet.

“You know,” said Lena. “James must. Alex, obviously. Wynn, Wynn must have known. Alex’s boss, other people at the DEO, right? How many people know there?”

Nia thought of Kara’s locker at the DEO and felt a surge of panic, as if she’d been dunked right in the ocean.

“How many times was I in a room with all of you and I was the only one who was wasn’t in on it?”

“Lena,” Nia began.

“What did I do wrong? Why me? Why did I have to be the one kept in the dark? I could have helped her, just like you do, just like Querl does. I could have done so much, but… what? What the fuck did I do wrong? Is it because I’m a Luthor? Is that how you all see me, too? Is that how she sees me?”

“No,” said Nia.

It was burning in her chest, yearning to break free.

You must never tell either of them, Brainy had intoned, you have to swear. The fate of the entire universe depends on you not revealing what I’m about to tell you before it’s time.

It was like an unscratchable itch. The knowledge that Brainy had shared with her, the secret he had whispered in her ear, almost drove her mad. It took her a while to make peace with it, even find comfort in it. She knew, knew with total certainty that things would be alright because something that was supposed to happen hadn’t yet.

Lena was staring at her, silently begging for Nia, for anyone, to make it make sense.

Lena was on the verge of hyperventilating, her hands trembling uncontrollably.

“I had to do it,” Lena whispered.

“Do what?”

“I had to shoot him, Nia. He was never going to stop. He was going to kill her eventually. Do you understand?”

Nia slid off her stool, and gently took Lena’s arm, guiding her down as well.

“I can’t do it,” said Lena. “I can’t keep it in anymore, not after this, nor after what I did. I can’t pretend now I just can’t do it.”

“Pretend what?”

Lena didn’t answer, not directly. “I know why she didn’t tell me. I can see it. It must be obvious, right? I must be so sad and pathetic to all of you.”

“What? No! Why would you think that?”

“Everybody has to see it. I’m such a goddamn cliche. I know why she won’t tell me.”

Nia blinked, shaking her head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“She’ll never want me the way I want her.”

Those words, that tiny little half-confession, rocked Nia to her core. She felt her knees give a little and her own expression go momentarily vacant, and the words were out of her mouth before she could even think to stop herself. Nia Nal was a bad liar. She had no poker face. She was an open book.

“Yes, she does.”

Lena looked up sharply, her eyes almost comically wide with shocked hope.

“What? Nia, what do you mean? Do you understand what I’m saying here?”

Oh.

Oops.

Nia’s gaze searched Lena’s face, trying to find some way to get herself out of this without dropping a timeline-risking truth bomb.

She couldn’t. It wasn’t right. Lena should know. She had a right to know.

“You know all that stuff Brainy says about how the records from the past -the past to people like him way in the future- are gone?”

“What of it?”

Nia swallowed hard. Lena edged closer to her.

“If you know something, please! Nia please.”

“You’re one of the most historically significant people who ever lived,” said Nia. “They still know about you in the future, and Kara is… who she is. There are still some records.”

“What records? Nia what are you saying?”

Nia bit her lip for a moment, then closed her eyes. “Brainy told me that you’re remembered by history as a great inventor, scientist, and explorer… and as Supergirl’s wife. The mother of her children.”

Lena’s mouth actually fell open in an absurdly comical look of shocked disbelief.

“The mother of… me? I’m going to have children? Kara’s children?”

“Yes,” said Nia. “Or you’re supposed to. Hopefully I didn’t just mess up the entire future. Shit, Brainy is going to kill me when he finds out about-“

Lena was staring at nothing, her eyes wide.

“I… I have to get home. I have to get ready for tonight. The Pulitzer gala, to celebrate Kara’s award. I’m meeting her there so I can give the speech before she accepts it.”

“Okay,”‘said Nia.

They discarded their half-eaten tamales and took a Lyft back to Lena’s building on Nia’s account. Nia watched her walk inside and drop her hood so the doorman would escort her in, and then sat in stunned silence as she rode back to her own apartment.

She was sitting on the couch aimlessly scrolling on her phone when there was a knock at the door.

When she opened it, Kara rushed in, dressed and made up for her big party. She stormed across the room and looked around in a wild panic.

“I have to tell Lena tonight,” she said. “I have to. I can’t keep this a secret anymore, it’s eating me alive. I can’t let her go out there and give a speech about how trustworthy and honest I am after I’ve been lying to her this whole time, but I’m scared. I can’t… I can’t lose her, Nia. I can’t. I’m worried it’ll break us. I can’t lose her.”

“You won’t lose her.”

“She’s going to be mad I lied. She’s going to figure out why I couldn’t tell her.”

“Because Alex would blow up at you?”

“No,” said Kara, meeting her gaze. “Because she’ll never want me the way I want her.”

Nia looked at Kara for a moment, and then sighed.

She understood why Alex liked that nasty whiskey she always drank.

Nia could use some too.

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yvaineseleneposts · 2 months ago

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A Rare Off Day

A/N: It's currently spring break which means it's time for me to do things that I never get to. So I thought I would write a little cute story about that.

Requested: no

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Teacher!Reader

Words: under 1k, she's a shorty

Warning(s): none, it's very fluffy

The sun peeked through the window blinds, casting golden streaks across the hardwood floor of your small Hoboken flat. It was 9:12 AM—a miracle. No alarm had gone off. No lesson plans or early practices. Just peace.

You rolled over and found yourself face-to-face with Nico Hischier, whose tousled hair and slow-blinking eyes made him look even more like a dream.

"Good morning," he said in that low, sleepy voice that always gave you butterflies.

You blinked. "Wait… don’t you have morning skate?"

He smiled, eyes crinkling. "Nope. Day off."

You shot up. "What?! Me too! Spring break started today!"

Nico sat up with a smirk, rubbing his hand through his hair. "I may have had a calendar reminder set for that."

You narrowed your eyes playfully. "You’ve been planning something."

He got out of bed and pulled on a hoodie. "Get dressed. Comfy clothes. I’m taking you out."

Half an hour later, you were driving down a scenic route in New Jersey, Nico's hand resting on your thigh while the playlist you made for him played through the speakers. You couldn’t stop smiling.

He eventually pulled up to a quiet little farm outside the city—a spring pop-up market filled with fresh flowers, pastries, and handmade crafts.

You looked over at him. "This is adorable. How did you even find this?"

He shrugged. "Asked some of the wives. Figured we always do my stuff—games, dinners with the team. I wanted today to be your kind of perfect."

You slipped your hand into his as you stepped out of the car, surrounded by blooming cherry blossoms and the soft hum of acoustic guitar from a nearby busker.

The two of you wandered through stalls, trying homemade jams, buying way too many candles, and laughing when Nico tried (and failed) to milk a demo cow at the kids' corner.

Later, he laid out a blanket under a big oak tree. From a basket he’d tucked in the boot, he pulled out sandwiches, chocolate croissants, and your favourite iced tea.

"I feel like I’m in a rom-com," you said, taking a bite of your croissant.

He leaned back on his elbows, watching you. "You deserve one. You put so much of yourself into your students, your job... I wanted to give you a day when you didn’t have to plan or think."

You leaned over and kissed him softly. "Well, mission accomplished, Captain."

He laughed. "Just wait. There's one more thing."

As the sun began to set, Nico drove you to the Devils’ practice facility—empty now, but a single lamp lit up the ice. He led you inside, and there, sitting in the penalty box, was a pair of rental skates and your favourite hoodie of his.

"You said you missed skating since college," he said shyly. "Thought maybe we could have the rink to ourselves."

You blinked at him, touched beyond words. "Are you kidding? This is perfect."

And it was. You skated hand-in-hand, occasionally falling, mostly laughing. You even scored on him once (he might have let you). And when you were too tired to keep going, Nico skated behind you, arms wrapped around your waist as you glided slowly across the ice.

That night, curled up in bed with sore feet and a full heart, you turned to him.

"Thank you for today," you whispered.

He kissed your forehead. "Thank you for letting me be part of your life, even when our schedules are crazy."

You smiled. "I guess we make it work."

And with his arm draped around you and the quiet hum of the city outside, you drifted off—grateful for the rare day when everything finally aligned.

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pippin-katz · 10 months ago

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Hey @netflix,

The earliest tweet about Dead Boy Detectives is from November 11th, 2023. The same goes for the first Instagram post.

The most recent tweet about Dead Boy Detectives is from May 21st, 2024. The most recent Instagram post is from May 11th, 2024.

Today is September 3rd, 2024.

I also counted the tweets/posts from that time span. There are 33 tweets and 28 Instagram posts.

The “marketing” for Dead Boy Detectives is a fucking joke.

I literally didn’t have the time to count all of your posts/tweets for Stranger Things, Avatar, Wednesday, and your other cash cows. Because there are that fucking many. Even during these stretches of time between seasons of some of those shows, you’ve posted more about those than the show you just released.

You also happened to release this show in the end of fucking April, which is the end of the Spring semester for basically all of American schools, and for tons of international schools too. You released a new show during exam time.

So, you released a new show during exam time and barely posted anything about it, and you’re shocked that it didn’t break your records?

You sabotaged this show’s release in every way you could while maintaining the front that you were actually supporting the show. Fourteen days is not enough time to make a judgement call about a fucking TV show, especially one you released during exam time.

Do not cancel Dead Boy Detectives. This show deserves better.

#dead boy detectives #save dead boy detectives #revive dead boy detectives #renew dead boy detectives #netflix

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derinthescarletpescatarian · 1 year ago

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Imagine being a Fig and the Cig Figs fan. The band takes a pause in touring to actually to their schoolwork over spring break and you're like, weird time to be doing school, seems like it's more efficient to go to school during school time and tour your teen band during the holidays when your fans aren't in school, but they do go to that weird adventuring academy. Suddenly, the lead and lead drummer abruptly give away their entire fortunes to charity with no explanation, both at the same time. They then livestream some kind of "shrimp party" that they and their friends are having in a random executive's house (the executive was neither invited nor informed). The house is trashed; by the time they leave there'll be a hole in one wall and a hot tub full of rotten shrimp.

The next day, some kind of weird illusion goes up on their Fantasy Twitter, blue-and-white/black-and-gold dress style, where most people see a still pool and some see a tabaxi woman in it; it immediately goes viral. They then start uploading and streaming random stuff from INSIDE THE FOREST OF THE NIGHTMARE KING like a man in shining gold armour just absolutely tearing apart legions of devils while screaming that he's hurt his penis. No explanation for any part of this is offered at any point. Also, it's probably not immediately obvious, but it's gotta come out eventually that at some point during all of this Fig became a literal archduke of hell.

As a teen punk rock band, these guys are marketing geniuses.

#dimension20 #fantasy high

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saffusthings · 4 months ago

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second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part six: don't blink

word count: 1.7k

warnings: drugs, guns, etc.

five | six | seven

The meeting took place in the dead of night. The warehouse reeked of oil and salt, the kind of place that had seen more quiet deals than loud violence—but only because Lando made sure it stayed that way. The nondescript building sat on the outskirts of the city, just far enough from prying eyes but still close enough to keep the supply chain moving. The docks were always a safe bet for these types of transactions, close enough to escape routes, far enough from prying eyes. It wasn’t the usual spot—Lando never used the same place twice for transactions of this scale — but it served its purpose tonight.

Inside, the heavy industrial lights cast an eerie glow over the concrete floor, highlighting the long steel table in the center. Atop it, neatly packaged in vacuum-sealed pouches, sat the newest product in Lando’s empire—a refined, near-clinical version of what the market had been fumbling toward for years. It was stronger, purer, and unlike anything available right now.

And more importantly, it was safe. Or at least, as safe as a drug could be when it was designed to rewrite the limits of what the human body could handle. Something that, if handled properly, would flood the market with unprecedented demand.

Lando had spent months orchestrating this—choosing the right chemists, ensuring purity, eliminating leaks before they could even think about forming. He wasn’t a fool. He knew power came not from quantity, but from control.

And this? This was control.

Max Fewtrell stood at his right, an ever-watchful shadow, while Max Verstappen lingered a few paces to Lando’s left, arms crossed, looking like he was waiting for someone to make the mistake of pissing him off. Fewtrell looked around, scanning everything, analyzing, making sure no one got ideas. Verstappen stood like a coiled spring, ready to break someone’s skull if necessary.

Lando stood at the head of the table, calm, collected, hands resting idly in the pockets of his suit. Across from him was his contact, a man from overseas — tall, well-dressed, sharp-eyed, but ultimately an opportunist. Someone looking for power more than longevity.

Lando had no interest in short-sighted men. But he did have an interest in control. And control meant making sure this product made it into the right hands at the right time.

As Lando gave him a once over, stormy dark eyes seemingly pulling him apart, their prospective buyer shifted uneasily. He was flanked by two of his own men, the display a blatant attempt at controlling the situation, but they weren’t the ones in control of this meeting.

Lando was. He always was.

One of the men—a middle-aged bastard with a scar cutting across his cheek — nodded to a subordinate, who stepped forward with a case of cash.

Max Fewtrell took a measured step closer, his presence a warning. On Lando’s other side, Max Verstappen cracked his knuckles, a silent promise of what would happen if things went sideways. Lando had to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

Overdramatic idiot, that one.

But above, unseen, Oscar Piastri watched through the scope of his rifle.

Lando never did these deals without oversight. Oscar – Wink, as the underworld called him, was Lando’s insurance. If anything went wrong, if anyone tried to play games, one silent shot from above would be the last thing they ever experienced. The last thing they’d see would be a single eye peering at them through the scope of a sniper.

Well, they don’t call him Wink for nothing.

“I hear impressive things,” the Austrian man said, tapping a knuckle against one of the pouches. His accent was thick but precise, every syllable measured. “But impressive means nothing until I see it work.”

Lando tilted his head, glancing toward Max Fewtrell, who stood just behind him, quiet but ever-watchful. Max understood without a word, stepping forward to grab a small plastic bag filled with an off-white powder – Noxium.

“We tested it in-house,” Lando said smoothly. “With results that exceeded expectations. But I understand your need for proof.” He gestured lightly. “You brought someone, I assume?”

The man snapped his fingers, and from behind him, one of his own men stepped forward—less polished, more desperate.

A junkie, most likely. Someone easy to replace.

Lando despised that kind of recklessness. Still, he made no move to stop it.

Max Fewtrell handed over the packet, and within seconds, the man across from him was watching closely as his disposable lackey took the dose. The reaction was immediate—a sharp inhale, eyes dilating, spine straightening. Then a slow, reverent exhale as the effects settled.

No seizures. No convulsions. No overdose.

Just control.

The businessman, Toto, grinned widely. “Very nice.”

The truth was, this new strain wasn’t just stronger. It was the kind of product that would put every other supplier out of business. It hit hard, but clean. No messy overdoses, no unpredictability. Hard to mimic but easy to use – making it the perfect competitive advantage in a market that Lando Norris technically wasn’t supposed to touch.

But who the hell was going to stop him?

Toto exhaled, considering. “You understand, of course, that something this pure will draw attention.”

“Everything worthwhile does,” Lando replied. “The question is whether you want to be the one profiting from it.”

Toto studied him, weighing his options. He wasn’t stupid, so he knew Lando didn’t ask for business. He chose his partners.

Still, the older man had to push.

“Your rules,” Toto said carefully. “They limit the market.”

Lando didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

“No kids,” he said, voice calm. Absolute. “No collateral.”

Toto tilted his head. “You could make twice as much if you loosened those restrictions.”

Lando’s fingers drummed once against the table before he leaned forward. The shift was subtle, but the air in the room seemed to constrict.

“I could kill you right now,” Lando murmured, voice dangerously light. “And still make twice as much. Yet here we are, hm?”

The silence that stretched suddenly felt a lot cooler. Slowly, carefully, the older man exhaled and sat back. “Understood.”

Lando’s lips barely curved. He already knew the deal was done. “Under my rules then,” he emphasized.

The man blinked. “Excuse me?”

Lando stepped forward, slow and deliberate, voice even but laced with something cold underneath.

“You don’t sell to kids,” he said. “You don’t cut it with your own shit to stretch it. And you don’t move it anywhere I don’t want it going.” He tilted his head, gaze unwavering. “Break one of those, and we have a problem.”

The man’s jaw tightened. “You don’t make it easy, do you?”

Lando smiled, before leaning close to whisper in Toto’s ear. “I don’t have to.”

A tense silence settled.

“I suppose we have a deal, then.”

Lando’s gaze flickered to the case of cash. Max Fewtrell bent down, inspecting it with practiced precision before giving a short nod.

All clear.

But just as Toto was about to extend his hand, another man — young, overeager, stupid—stepped forward.

“We’ll need more,” Antonelli said abruptly. “Bigger shipments. Faster turnaround.”

Lando lifted a brow. “That’s not how I operate.”

The young man, Kimi, scoffed. “We are paying. You work on our timeline.”

The air in the warehouse shifted.

Lando exhaled slowly, then took a single step forward, close enough that the other man realized too late the mistake he had made.

“My business,” Lando said, voice deceptively calm, “runs on my terms. You want my product, you're gonna haf'ta play by my rules.” He tilted his head slightly. “And my first rule?”

A beat of silence.

Then, coolly, “No selling to fucking kids.”

The young man stiffened.

Lando’s expression didn’t change, but there was something dangerous in his eyes. The kind of look that made men rethink their decisions.

“Anyone caught selling to them?” Lando continued. “Well.” He smiled, slow and sharp. “You saw what happened to the last guy.”

Silence. “So you can imagine,” Lando paused, absentmindedly flicking a spec of dirt from underneath his fingernail, “what happens who don’t know their fucking place.”

After a long pause, Toto chuckled, clapping a hand on the young Kimi’s shoulder. “You heard the man. We can do things his way.”

Kimi swallowed hard, and nodded once.

Lando let the tension hang for another second, then stepped back, returning to his usual, composed demeanor.

Max Verstappen leaned in slightly, voice lowered. “That one’s a problem.”

“Not yet,” Lando murmured, before stepping forward to finally seal this deal and get out of here. But before they could shake on it, a sound crackled softly through Lando’s earpiece — an almost imperceptible click.

A warning.

Only one person in the world used that signal.

Oscar Piastri was positioned on the rooftops, hidden beneath the shadows, his scope trained on the situation below. He had been silent the whole night—calm, efficient, watching. If he was speaking now, even in code, it meant something was wrong.

Lando’s expression didn’t change, but his fingers flexed slightly beside his pocket, a miniscule twitch unnoticeable to the untrained eye — his own silent response.

Oscar’s voice crackled in his ear, barely above a whisper.

“Two behind. Not ours.”

Lando didn’t hesitate. His gaze slid to Max Verstappen, who had already straightened, fingers flexing at his side where his gun rested beneath his jacket.

Lando turned back to his guest, expression eerily even, his mouth pressed into a straight line as he tilted his head and glared daggers into them. “Seems we have company.”

The man blinked, then frowned, about to speak—

Thwip.

A muffled thud. A body crumpling behind the foreigner before the sound of the suppressed shot could even settle.

Oscar didn’t miss.

Before the second intruder could react, Max Verstappen was already moving. He didn’t hesitate—just swung around and fired a single, deafening shot. The second man collapsed, and the room fell into stillness.

Lando exhaled slowly, deliberately, before turning back to his guest.

“As I was saying,” he continued smoothly, as if nothing had happened, “control is everything.” He eyed the now pale-faced man across from him. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

A beat.

Toto swallowed thickly and had no choice but to nod. “Y-Yes,” he stammered. “Yes, of course.”

Lando smiled, but it was colder than any smirk could have hoped to have been.

“Good, so we understand each other then!” he said, voice full of faux politeness. Dark brown eyes hardened as his smile turned into a sneer.

Bastards, the lot of them.

“Pleasure doin' business with you.”

#formula 1 fic #formula 1 #saffu's works #lando #lando norris #lando norris fanfiction #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando x reader #lando x you #lando imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fic #lando norris x you #ln4

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luigisbambinaaa · 2 months ago

Text

Soft Spot Pt. 2 ~

summary: spring break trip to cabo, luigi gets wiped out, and you’re sent to help him ;)

content warning: smut, oral (both receiving), p in v, luigi gets bruised

an: hi!! thank you to everyone that liked, shared, and commented on part 1!!!! also thank u to my homie palmersluvr for help with the formatting tho im still figuring it out. idk the word count but this shit is sooo long but i had so much fucking fun writing this so i hope you all enjoy :)! take a shot for every single time i said “rhythm” lol.

part 1

————————

weeks passed, and despite the playful texts shared between you and luigi, he wasn’t able to come back for a second “appointment”.

not because he didn’t want to. but because midterms had everyone busy— especially him.

sleep schedules were fucked up, group chats barely active, and every inch of the library taken over by students running on iced coffee.

luigi had practically disappeared— only proof of his existence being the many students that he tutored making jokes about how their TA had a spot reserved in heaven for all the hard work he’s done for them.

and yet, despite the chaos, there hadn’t been a single mention of back pain from him or his friends.

if anything, everyone noticed he seemed lighter. maybe your hands really had worked some sort of magic.

and eventually you were all able to taste the sweet freedom of spring break. friends of friends all headed to cabo for a well deserved get away.

instagram buzzing with photo dumps of tan lines and tiny bikinis, camera roll full of coconut drinks, beach sunsets, and grainy late-night dinners.

the resort ridiculously beautiful— picked out by luigi and others. shady palm trees stretching over the infinity pool, balconies overlooking the ocean, music a constant hum in the background no matter the hour. every corner full of beauty.

spending mornings with your girls walking the shoreline, tucking cute little seashells into your beach bag. afternoons spent exploring, wandering through colorful local markets, vendors beckoning you over in spanish, taking polaroids of everything. chaotic dinners with messy seafood platters, one too many margaritas, and tables full of friends cramming in every space they could.

and always, luigi was there, lingering just close enough to keep you on your toes. the flirting having been buried under study guides and endless cups of coffee— but not entirely gone.

you felt it in the way his eyes lingered on you in your sundresses, in the way he saved the empty chair next to him for you, in the way your fingers would brush when passing certain items across the table, yet neither of you said anything.

it was the kind of tension that hung in the air without needing to be addressed aloud. sweet, aching, and unbothered— until it wasn’t.

all the boys had decided to go out early that particular morning to catch some waves, lugging huge surfboards down to the beach while you and the rest of the girls stayed behind for some late brunch at the resort cafe.

you were mid-bite into a piece of french toast when someone burst into the outdoor patio, face red and out of breath.

“luigi wiped out bad on a huge wave,” they panted, trying to catch their breath, “board slammed him in the back, he should be okay, but he’s out for the day. they took him back to the room to rest.”

your stomach dropped. you honestly didn’t even realize how much you’d been hoping he’d show up that day, maybe just for lunch or just to sneak a few glances at you.

“can someone go check on him?” one of your friends asked, glancing around the table. “he’s probably fine, just milking it. but still.”

many of them shrugged, too caught up in their delicious breakfast food or downing their drinks to volunteer.

“you’re the nicest one here and have the expertise,” another added, pointing her fork at you with a smile. “can you go make sure he’s still breathing? im sure he won’t bite.”

they didn’t know. shit, nobody knew about you two. and so you nodded, wiping your hands on a napkin and standing slowly.

you headed back to your room first— not wanting to show up empty-handed. grabbing some essentials from your suitcase like some peppermint oil, aloe vera, the same lotion you used on him in your dorm, all thrown into your tote bag.

when you stepped back out into the hallway, one of the guys had caught up to you and handed you a spare key card.

“he’s in one of the oceanfront suites so i figured you might need this since he’s probably bed ridden”

you mutter a thank you and walked a few doors down the hallway. with the door clicking shut behind you, you stood still for a second, just admiring.

everything was nicer, sleek, clean, and expensive. the king sized bed resembling a cloud , a perfect plush comforter thrown over. floor to ceiling windows letting in sunlight that kissed every surface in gold, and a soft sea breeze drifting in through his open balcony door. and then there was a hot tub, massive and polished. half sunk into the floor near the balcony, something out of a dream.

your breath hitched.

“luigi?”

you called out gently, stepping further into his room. and then you saw him.

sprawled out across the bed, shirtless, eyes half closed, with a pillow or two tucked under his lower back.

his swimming trunks were riding low, dangerously low. low enough that your eyes traveled down the faint trail of hair leading down his stomach— the one you didn’t get to appreciate too much before.

your fingers clenched slightly around the strap of your tote bag, heart skipping a beat.

“…hi.” he replies softly and shyly.

you don’t say anything at first, tossing your bag on the dresser and kicking off your sandals without a second thought.

the bed dips slightly under your weight as you carefully climbed up beside him, leaning in slowly, one hand going to cradle the side of his face, your fingers instinctively tangling themselves in his curls, scratching his scalp softly.

“what the hell happened?” you murmured, brushing your thumb over the curve of his cheek. “how bad is it?”

he leaned into your touch just a little, lashes low and heat radiating off of him.

“hurts like a bitch,” he admitted, lips twitching into a tired grin, “but seeing you kind of helps.”

you rolled your eyes, but your thumb still stroked gently over his cheek.

“you’re such a baby,” you muttered, “let me see.”

he blinked up at you, hesitant. you pull back enough to sit on your knees, glancing down at the way his arm was draped over his stomach.

“come on, turn over so i can see, or do i need to do it for you?”

he grumbles something about you being bossy, but shifts anyway to let you get a good look. wincing slightly as he moved his arm, revealing an angry red mark blooming across his lower back and side— already beginning to bruise, dark and raw.

you sucked in a quiet breath.

“jesus, luigi…”

you reached for your tote bag and rummaged through it, pulling out the lotion and peppermint oil, warming it up in your hands.

“this might sting a little,” you warned.

“i trust you,” he murmured, eyes falling closed again.

your hands pressed carefully to his skin in slow, gentle circles at first, barely any pressure. and his breath hitched, not from pain, but from you and how you knew exactly where to touch without asking.

you kept your focus low, jaw clenching and unclenching, pretending not to notice the way his hips twitched slightly when your palms smoothed along the curve of his waist.

“relax,” you whisper, “I’ve got you.”

your fingers moved in slow, practiced motions, the familiar rhythm calming the both of you. he was quiet under your touch, face buried into a pillow, muscles slowly uncoiling under your hands.

“you’re so dumb,” you said gently, a little laugh slipping out. “what were you even trying to do? show off? impress the ocean?”

luigi letting out a small groan and barely lifting his head mumbles, “was tryna ride the wave,” his words slurred with exhaustion and comfort.

you pressed your thumbs in a little deeper to the sides of his bruises, careful but firm.

“and it rode you huh?”

“mhmmm…”

you smiled, shaking your head, continuing— moving a bit lower, tracing along the edges of his blooming bruises. he let out a low whimper, somewhere between a sigh and a moan, his fingers slightly curling into the sheets.

“seriously gi,” you murmured, softer now. “you could’ve really hurt yourself.”

“m’sorry,” he breathed, voice small now. “didn’t mean to.”

you leaned down just a little, hair falling over your shoulder as you whispered near his ear. “you gotta stop being reckless. who’s gonna fix you up next time if i’m not around?”

his only answer being a quiet, needy whine— his head tilting slightly towards you.

and with you leaning over him like that, face being close and hair brushing his skin, he lifted his chin just enough to press his lips to yours. soft and tentative. you froze just for a second, then kissed him back just as gently.

you’re the first one to pull away, giving his hair a light tug. “you better behave,” you whispered, breath warm against his mouth. “or i won’t finish your massage.”

he grinned, lazy and dazed. “im behaving,” he mumbled, already slumping back into the pillow like your kiss was enough to sedate him.

you scooped up a little more oil into your palms and worked quietly for a few more minutes— slow and careful movements over the bruising, his muscles loose now.

and then, a soft murmur:

“i think my back’s good now… think you could get my shoulders?”

…

“…and maybe my chest too?”

you smirked and glanced down at him.

“whatever you want princess”

he began to turn over, shifting on his side with a groan, but as you were about to guide him onto his back—

“wait not like this.”

before you could even reply, his hands slid over your hips and in one quick motion, he brought you right into his lap.

you let out a quiet gasp, straddling him now, palms braced on his bare chest as he looked up at you— eyes dark and blown out.

“like this.” his voice barely above a whisper.

you didn’t say anything, just swallowed hard and nodded once. your fingers dipped back into the oil, rubbing it between your palms to warm it up before sliding your hands over his chest.

he was pretty still beneath you, save for the tiny shifts of his body. sharp inhales when your thumbs pressed into his skin, the subtle twitch of his thighs when you pressed too low.

“shit,” he breathed, voice hitching higher this time, soft and strained. “feels so good…”

your hands moved to his shoulders, thumbs circling into tight knots just beneath his neck. it was a bit of a stretch from your spot in his lap, so you leaned forward, your chest brushing against his, your breath grazing his jaw.

and then his lips found yours again, lazy and slow. he kissed you without urgency, one hand sliding to the small of your back, and the other on your thigh, trying to keep himself grounded.

you kissed him back, just as slow. before pulling away slightly, catching your breath, and going back to his shoulders as if nothing happened.

he groaned again, though not from the massage this time.

“not fair,” he muttered.

you laughed under your breath, going back to press into a particularly tight spot behind his shoulder blade.

“too bad.”

you leaned back down, lips finding his again and this time it gets heavier. his mouth opened beneath yours, teeth dragging your bottom lip between his, and his hips shifting beneath you.

he groaned into your mouth, deeper, and then—

his hips rolled up. just once. slow, instinctual, and desperate.

he sighed, lips parting as he dropped his head back into the pillow, his chest rising and falling fast under your palms.

“fuck…”

you didn’t move at first. just stayed still in his lap, enjoying the rise of fall of his chest. and then softly, you leaned in again.

you kissed the corner of his mouth— a gentle peck, then another, and another. then along his jaw. then that sensitive spot just below his ear, that always makes him shiver.

you worked your way down slowly, kissing along the edge of his throat, his collarbone, your mouth lingering all over as he tilted his head back to give you more access.

“baby…” he whispers, his voice wrecked.

his hands slide up your sides, slow and kinda unsure. when his fingers brushed the hem of your swimsuit coverup, you let your arms fall to your sides, silently giving him the permission he wanted.

he sat up slowly, groaning softly at the movement and peeled the fabric from your body in one slow motion, letting it fall somewhere in the room.

then his fingers reached the tie of your bikini top. he tugged at it gently, watching you the entire time. when you didn’t protest, he undid the knot with shaky fingers and let the top slip away.

his breath hitched.

“fuck, you’re—“

he didn’t even let himself finish before his mouth was already on you. soft kisses at first, then his lips closed around the swell of your breasts, tongue flicking, hands pressing you closer to him as you arched your back.

your quiet gasp became a whimper.

“oh…”

his groan followed instantly. he sucked a little harder, peppering warm, open mouthed kisses near your nipple.

“ you sound so pretty,” he mumbled against your skin. “don’t stop.”

then, without another word, he took your nipple into his mouth, gentle and almost hesitant at first. his tongue swirled around it, his lips closing in a tight, wet seal as he suckled, like you were his favorite lollipop.

you let out a sharp little moan, surprised by how sensitive you were and how good it felt to have him care for you as well. he groaned in return, the sound vibrating through your chest.

his hand slid up your spine, holding you steady as he moved over to your other nipple, showering it with the same attention— his tongue flicking, lips tugging just right to make you whimper again.

you threaded your fingers through his curls, breathing uneven, your thighs tightening around his hips as his mouth latched onto you. each moan that escaped your lips, pulled a groan from his— almost like he couldn’t help it, like your sounds were enough to unravel him.

your hips started to move before you even realized with small, slow rolls against his lap, the friction sending sparks between your thighs with every pass.

luigi’s breath hitched.

his hands gripped your waist tighter, thumbs brushing over your bare skin as he tried to ground himself, his eyes fluttering shut as your bodies rocked together in a lazy rhythm.

“fuck… that feels so good,” he murmured, forehead resting against your chest.

your fingers carded through his curls, your lips brushing over the top of his head, all tender and affectionate while your hips kept working him over.

but then—

a sharp inhale.

“ah- shit-“

he winced, body tensing up beneath you, and you froze instantly.

“your back?” you whispered.

he nodded, jaw clenched, and brows drawn tight.

“just moved a little weird, m’okay,” he exhaled, trying to wave it off.

you shook your head and cupped his cheek.

“nope. lay down babe. let me take care of you.”

he didn’t argue. just sank back into the pillows with a groan, arms falling to his sides like he had no fight left.

you kissed down his chest as you moved, slow and deliberate. letting your mouth explore every inch of his skin, from the curve of his pecs to the soft dips between his abs.

he was already breathing harder by the time you reached for the faint trail of hair leading down— that happy trail you admired earlier.

you licked a slow stripe down it and then another, watching him twitch slightly under you. his hips shifted again, his swimming trunks now tented and clinging low to his hips.

you hooked your fingers into the waistband, tugging them down in one smooth, letting him spring free, the weight of him softly slapping against his lower abdomen. his hissed, not from pain, but from need.

you hovered above him, eyes locked on his face as you leaned down and gave him a single, teasing kitten lick across the tip.

he groaned, loud and frustrated.

you did it again, this time even slower. and then another, barely brushing his sensitive underside.

his hips flexed, but you pulled back just in time, smiling softly.

“be patient,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his thigh.

you kept it at that— delicate little licks of your tongue that barely counted as relief. just enough to make him squirm, to make him whine, to keep him right there on the edge.

“please,” he gasped, hips twitching upwards only for you to press them down.

“please, i can’t— i need—“

but you didn’t give in. instead, your hands held his hips steady, fingers digging into his warm skin, and your tongue tracing lazy circles around his sensitive tip.

another kitten lick, then met with a breathless groan.

he was shaking now, head turned to the side, eyes squeezing shut as he fought to keep his composure. his thighs tensing under your touch and his voice falling into almost incoherent whimpers.

“amore, please— im gonna—“

and then he did.

luigi’s whole body arched beneath you with a strangled moan, hips stuttering as he came hard against his stomach, all hot, messy, and sudden.

you kept going, soft and unrelenting, licking up everything he gave you with gentle care. every flick of your tongue making him twitch and sigh, oversensitive but too far gone to protest.

once you had cleaned him up, you leaned in close and pressed a tender kiss right to his tip. he let out a breathless laugh, eyes glassy and lips parted.

you smiled, resting your head just above his hips as you looked up at him, taking him in. you stayed like that for a bit, fingers tracing light circles on his thigh as he caught his breath.

his chest rose and fell in soft waves, his skin still flushed and forehead a little damp with sweat, lips parted in a dazed smile.

you leaned in again, pressing a kiss to his abdomen, another to his chest before moving upwards to curl into his side. your palms smoothed over his stomach, resting there while your nose brushed his jaw.

“how’s your back?” you whispered.

he chuckled weakly, still breathless, “honestly? im not even worried about it anymore.”

you scoffed and giggled into his neck, letting your fingers shift lower again, brushing over the curve of his hip.

then he turned his head, eyes burning behind the softness they had.

“let me return the favor,” he murmured. “please.”

your heart skipped a beat.

“luigi…”

but he was already moving. hands finding your bikini bottoms, fingers sliding against the strings at your hips as he untied them, tossing the fabric somewhere into the room.

his voice was hoarse, low and pleading.

“wanna taste you. been thinking about it since the day you made me take photos of you in that tiny bikini with your polaroid on the beach.”

you didn’t argue with that and let him guide you up his chest. letting his lips brush your skin the whole way up, until your thighs framed his face and your knees sank into the mattress on either sides of his head.

his hands gripped your hips, eyes looking up to meet yours as he exhaled, “let me take care of you too.”

he barely gave you time to settle above him before he was pulling you down hard. his grip tightening around your thighs, dragging you fully down onto his mouth, his tongue already parting you before you could even exhale.

your gasp nearly hit the ceiling, luigi wasnt soft nor gentle, he was hungry.

he moaned into you like he was starving— like just the taste of you was enough to keep him alive. his mouth moved so recklessly, tongue licking broad, wet stripes before curling into where you needed him most, lips sealing around you in a filthy, perfect kiss.

you tried to lift yourself just slightly, just enough to catch your breath but his arms locked tighter around your thighs, pinning you down against him.

“luigi—“

you barely got his name out before— crack!

his palm landed a sharp slap to your ass. not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to remind you he was in control right now.

your whole body jolted, letting out a surprised moan as you instinctively ground yourself down harder against his mouth and started grinding. slow at first, trying to find the perfect rhythm, and then faster and messier, as he just let you ride him, his pretty nose nudging against your clit.

he sucked, licked, devoured.

“fuck baby— you’re so good.” you moaned, voice shaking as your fingers tangled themselves in his curls, tugging hard.

“you’re making me feel so fucking good— i can’t—“ and he groaned under you, the sound vibrating against your pussy, making your thighs clamp tighter around his head. and still, he didn’t let up.

just kept licking like a man possessed, grip tightening, strong hands digging into your thighs, keeping you locked in place.

your body was trembling, skin flushed, that heat ready to snap— and luigi knew it.

and right when you were teetering, mouth hung open and breath stuttering— his lips latched onto your clit.

not soft or teasing, just purely desperate.

he sucked hard, his tongue flicking mercilessly, drawing fast, tight circles that made your vision go white.

“oh—fuck—luigi!”

the loudest moan tore out of you, sharp, raw, and damn near broken as the pleasure slammed into you. your thighs crammed around him, fingers yanking on his hair, hips jerking uncontrollably as your orgasm hit with a violent force.

and he held you there, through every gasp, twitch, and tremble. sucking, licking, chasing every last drop of your cum like he couldn’t fathom letting any of it going to waste.

even as your body gave out and you tried to pull away— he didn’t let you. he stayed there, moaning into you, drunk on your release.

your body still trembling when he released the tight grip he had on you, letting your thighs relax, pressing soft, tender kisses along the inside of your legs. and when you looked down at him, he was already watching you with wide eyes, swollen lips, and cheeks tinted pink.

“c’mere,” he whispered. barely having the strength to move, but you wanted to be close, needing it. you climbed down slowly and he met you half way— sitting up, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you into his lap.

your chests pressed together and noses brushing as your foreheads touched, “you okay?” he murmured, stroking his thumb over your hip.

“yeah,” you whispered, still trying to catch your breath. “are you?”

he smiled, just a little, “never been better.”

your lips met again, slow as his hands roamed your back, your thighs, and your waist— like he couldn’t get enough of you.

and as your hips instinctively shifted against him, he let out the softest groan against your mouth. you felt him, already hard and ready, pressing against your pussy.

he reached down, lining himself up carefully, and you sank down on him, both of you letting out content sighs. both stilling for a moment, getting adjusted.

and then slowly, you began to move, grinding, rocking, and meeting him half way every time he lifted his hips. his hands held your waist to anchor himself in the moment, just feeling all of you.

your name left his lips like a prayer and your moans soft and breathy as your bodies rocked against each other in perfect rhythm.

your lips brushed over his jaw as your hips rolled against his, “you feel so good,” you whispered against his skin. “So deep…”

luigi groaned, tightening his arms around you, the sound buried in your shoulder, “you’re fucking perfect, pussy’s so fucking tight.” he breathed, voice low and thick.

his hands slid from your waist down to the small of your back, guiding you gently, helping you move just right— until his cock hit that sweet spot inside you that made your body jolt.

“yeah? right there?” he asked, lips brushing the shell of ear.

you nodded, nails lightly digging into his shoulders. “yes—right there, baby.”

he adjusted his angle slightly, and then a slow, precise thrust upward, so deep. and it hit, your whole body clenching around him, and your moan came out softer, higher than before.

he pulled back just enough to get a good look at you, eyes glassy, lips swollen, and tits littered in love bites. your forehead pressed to his, your bodies meeting in such an intimate rhythm.

“you make me feel so good, so full,” you whispered, barely able to speak through the heat pooling low in your stomach.

he kissed you, harder this time and then he took over, just a little. guiding your hips with one hand while the other slid down to hold your thigh as he angled his next thrust perfectly into that soft, sensitive spot inside you.

“there we go,” he rasped, dragging his lips along your neck.

“let me take care of you, baby. let me give you everything.”

his rhythm had started to slow, a bit overwhelmed. from the way your body clung to his, from how tight, how wet, how delicious you felt wrapped around him. his head dipped to your shoulder, breath ragged against your skin, big hands grasping your hips attempting to ground himself.

but you felt ready now, your body humming with energy again—refueled by every groan, every helpless twitch of his hips, and every shaky breath that tumbled from his lips.

so you started to move. a soft bounce at first, just enough to shift the angle, taking in more of him. then another. then faster. luigi gasped, back arching slightly, eyes squeezing shut as you rode him with more control.

your lips hovered near his ear, voice warm and broken in between moans, “you’re so deep inside me, gi...” he let out the quietest whimper, hands trembling against your skin.

“so big… stretching me so good. you feel it, don’t you? how wet you make me?”

he could barely speak, just nodded. barely.

and then—click. the door handle turned.

your bodies froze, just for a second, before luigi pulled you tighter against him, shielding you, even as your hips never faltered.

“yo luigi! how you holding up man?” a familiar voice called through the narrow crack in the door. he hadn’t fully stepped inside, just peeked the door open a few inches, only being able to see the edge of the bed and maybe luigi’s bare shoulder. the rest, being you fully naked and still grinding in his lap, was completely hidden by the angle.

luigi’s eyes blew wide, his breath catching in his throat.

“you—you gotta stop,” he hissed into your neck, biting back groan. “please—“

you leaned in, brushing your mouth against his ear, voice was sweet as candy while your hips rolled again, deep and slow.

“answer him.”

“let him hear how good you’re feeling.”

luigi’s hand flew to your waist, attempting to still you, but it was no use.

“i—uh,” he choked out, voice shaking. “yeah—i’m good man, just resting.”

his friend paused, “cool, just making sure. let us know if you need anything.”

you didn’t let him get a chance to recover. the second the door clicked shut, you pushed him backwards, your palms resting on his chest as you eased him down against the bed, his eyes still wide and wrecked under you.

his head hit the pillow, curls sticking to his forehead, and his chest heaving as you straddled him fully again.

“you’ve been so good,” you whispered, voice shaking with need. “but now i need more.”

and then you started to really move. your thighs burned as you began bouncing harder, hips slapping against his with wet desperate sounds, so intense, overwhelming, and fast. luigi’s hands scrambled to hold you, his fingers digging into your waist like he might slip through the bed if he didn’t anchor himself to you.

“f-fuck baby—“ he gasped, voice breaking. “that’s—too much—“ but he didn’t stop you.

he bent his knees suddenly, feet flat on the mattress and thrusted up. hard. your whole body jolted, a choked moan spilling out of your mouth as he met your bounces with the same fervor. each thrust slammed deeper and harder, matching the way you rode him until all that could be heard was skin slapping and both of you chanting each other’s names over and over.

“yesyesyes—lu, just like that—“ you cried out as he fucked up into you like he was trying to split you open from the inside.

“you feel so fucking good,” he groaned, eyes hazy and voice raw. “such a tight little pussy amore— so perfect, can’t even hold back anymore.”

your movements became sloppier, desperation seeping through, your bodies completely lost in each other. just full of need. just you and him, chasing that sweet finish with matching desperation.

your name tumbled from his mouth in broken gasps, sweat slicking his chest where your bodies met, the heat between you two unbearable in the most delicious way.

and then his voice cracked out, desperate and strained, “i—fuck—i should probably pull out.” but his hips never slowed, because he didn’t really mean it and you both knew it. you leaned forward, pressing your chest to his, mouth by his ear as you wrapped your legs tightly around his waist.

“don’t,” you begged, breath heavy and hot. “i wanna feel you. want you to stay inside me.”

his groan was guttural, almost pained with how badly he had been waiting for that permission.

“fuck—fuck—“

your nails dragged down his back, your body grinding back into every one of his thrusts, and then everything shattered.

you came first, gasping, shaking, clinging to him like you wouldn’t survive without him.

“luigi—oh god baby, don’t stop—don’t—“

he followed instantly, crying out your name into your neck, hips buried to the hilt as he spilled inside you, his body trembling beneath yours as the outside world faded away.

your bodies stayed tangled for a while, skin to skin, limbs loose, and breathing slowly coming back down. the room was quiet now, except for the soft hum of the ocean breeze drifting through the balcony door.

luigi’s heartbeat thudded gently beneath your cheek as you laid against his chest your fingers tracing absentminded shapes against his ribs. eventually, he shifted beneath you, careful and slow, kissing your shoulder as he murmured, “be right back.”

he slid out from the bed with a little wince, his legs shaky and muscles drained. you watched with a sleepy smile as he padded naked across the room, grabbing a small towel from the bathroom and returning a moment later.

“here,” he whispered, eyes soft as he knelt between your legs and cleaned you up. “i got you.”

your heart fluttered.

luigi had already crawled back into bed, arms stretched behind his head, eyes half-lidded and warm as he looked at you with a soft, post-bliss smile.

you sat up slowly, reaching for the bikini top that wads left at the edge of the bed. “i should probably head back to my room,” you murmured, voice gentle. “so you can rest comfortably…”

you didn’t even get to finish your sentence when his arm reached out fast, firm as his fingers curled gently around your wrist to stop you.

“what?” he asked, brown furrowed slightly as he tugged you back down towards him.

“baby no.”

you blinked as he guided you back into his arms, your body slotting effortlessly into the space next to his.

“i wanna rest here,” he whispered, lips brushing your shoulder.

“with you.”

your heart skipped a beat as he tugged the covers up, over both your naked bodies. he nuzzled into your chest, one arm round your waist, the other lazily cupping one of your tits.

“m’tired,” he murmured. “wouldn’t be smart of you to leave your patient alone away.”

your fingers threaded into his curls, your other one rubbing up and down his spine.

“how’s your back?” you asked softly.

“feels perfect,” he mumbled, voice already dying down. “because you’re here with me.”

within seconds, his breath evened out, warm against your skin. and you were left with a sleeping, heavy luigi tangled into your bare body, like his life depended on it.

#luigi mangione smut #luigi mangione thoughts #luigi mangione x reader #luigisbambinaaa #luigi mangione fic #luigi mangione x yn #luigi mangione imagine #luigi mangione fanfiction

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jupiterpilgrim · 4 days ago

Text

New Skin

Irene Bae x male reader

word count: 15K

commissioned fic

It’s mid-afternoon, that point where productivity takes a nosedive and the clock hands seem to wade through treacle. You push back from your desk, time to stretch the legs. And, coincidentally, time to see if Irene Bae actually finished inputting those quarterly projection figures. That’s the official reason, anyway. The one you’d type into a time-tracking app if this place were that anal.

Unofficially? You just want to talk to her.

Irene. She’s been with the company for three or four months now. Casual contract, data entry, the kind of gig that’s meant to be a revolving door. But she’s stuck around. And in that time, she’s cultivated an air of almost complete invisibility. She’s a whisper in the office cacophony, a muted color in a palette of forced corporate brightness. She does her work, meticulously, flawlessly. Never complains, never participates in the break-room bitching sessions or the awkward birthday cake celebrations. Most people probably don’t even know her real name.

But you do. Bae Joohyun. You’d seen it on her initial paperwork. Irene’s the name she goes by here.

She speaks to you. Not much, never initiating, but she responds. There's a politeness there, a guarded stillness that never tips into outright rudeness, which is more than some of the other office drones manage. Maybe it’s because you’re her supervisor, a rung or two up the ladder. Maybe it’s because you’ve made a point of being… well, not a dick. Friendly, even. You try to be, anyway. God knows this place needs a bit less soul-crushing bureaucracy and a bit more basic human decency.

You weave through the maze of cubicles, a landscape of grey fabric and flickering screens. The usual suspects are in their pens: Wendy from accounts scrolling through what definitely isn’t work-related, Seulgi from marketing on yet another clearly personal call, her explanations pitched low and urgent. You offer a vague nod if anyone catches your eye, but your trajectory is set. Irene’s little nook is at the far end, slightly more isolated than the others, a small mercy in this open-plan purgatory.

As you round the last partition, you see her. And fuck, she looks… good. Really good. It’s nothing outrageous, nothing that would breach the unwritten dress code. She’s wearing a simple black top, some kind of soft, clinging material, with three-quarter sleeves. It’s understated, like everything about her, but it hugs the lean lines of her petite frame in a way that makes you notice the toned strength beneath. Her black hair, usually just neatly tied back or falling straight, has a slight wave today, like she maybe didn’t have time to fully straighten it, and it catches the shitty office light, making it gleam. Her head is bent, focused on her screen, one slender hand guiding a mouse, the other resting near the keyboard. Even the line of her neck, exposed where her hair parts, seems delicate, smooth.

You pause for a beat, a couple of feet from her desk, just taking her in. It’s not a leering thing, not really. More like… appreciation. Like noticing a rare, quiet bird in a flock of pigeons. There's a subtle tension around her, even in repose, like a coiled spring. You’ve always sensed it.

You clear your throat, just a little, not wanting to startle her. "Hey, Irene."

She looks up, and for a split second, before the usual mask of polite reserve slides perfectly into place, you see something else. A flicker of… surprise? No, not quite. Vulnerability, maybe? It’s gone before you can properly catalog it. Her dark eyes meet yours, large and surprisingly intense in her small face. No smile, not usually, but the tightening around her eyes isn't hostile.

"Oh. Hi," she replies. Her speaking manner is soft, not quite a whisper, but definitely low, like she’s conserving energy, or maybe just doesn’t want her syllables to travel too far.

"Just doing the rounds," you say, leaning a casual shoulder against the fabric wall of her cubicle. Trying for breezy. "Making sure everyone’s still alive after that marathon budget meeting this morning." You didn’t actually ask her to be in that meeting; her role doesn't require it. Just making conversation.

A tiny, almost imperceptible dip of her chin. "It sounded… long."

"You have no idea. I think a part of my soul shriveled up and died in there." You give a mock shudder. "Anyway, I was wondering how you were getting on with those quarterly figures. The ones for the Anderson account?"

She swivels slightly in her chair, her movements economical and precise. Her gaze drops to her monitor, then back to you. "I finished them about an hour ago. They should be in the shared drive, under 'Q3 Projections - Final'."

Of course, she did. Meticulous. You knew she would be. "Ah, brilliant. Knew I could count on you." You make a mental note to actually check them later, just for form's sake. "No problems with the source data? Sometimes marketing sends it through looking like a dog’s breakfast."

"There were a few inconsistencies in the initial dataset from last Tuesday, but I cross-referenced them with the updated figures from yesterday morning. It should be accurate now."

See? Smart. Doesn’t just blindly input. She actually thinks. Most of the temps just plough through, garbage in, garbage out. You find yourself smiling, a genuine one. "That’s great, Irene. Seriously. Saves me a headache later."

Her eyes flick down, then back up. Is that a hint of… satisfaction? Hard to tell with her. She’s a masterclass in neutral. "I just try to make sure it’s done correctly."

"And you do," you affirm, pushing off the wall slightly, taking a half-step closer, more into her personal space than you usually would, but keeping it open. "So, uh, besides saving the company from numerical chaos, what else is on the agenda for you today? Any exciting plans for… data collation?"

She considers the question, or at least appears to. Her fingers tap once, very lightly, on her desk. The nails are bare, neatly trimmed. No polish. "I have the backlog from the Henderson merger to sort through. It’s… substantial."

"Sounds thrilling," you say, and this time, you think you see the corner of her mouth twitch. A ghost of a smile. Progress. "Well, don't let it swallow you whole. If you hit any major roadblocks, or if the sheer tedium becomes a threat to your sanity, you know where I am."

"Thank you," she says, and her gaze lingers on yours for a fraction of a second longer than usual. There’s an odd sort of directness in her eyes when she properly meets your look, like she’s assessing something deep inside you. It’s unnerving and intriguing as hell. "I appreciate that."

"No worries." You linger for another moment, searching for something else to say, some way to keep this fragile thread of interaction going. You notice a small, potted succulent on the corner of her otherwise bare desk. It’s a tiny, unassuming thing, but it’s green and alive. "New plant?"

She glances at it. "Oh. Um. Yes. My… neighbor was moving and couldn’t take it."

"It’s… resilient looking," you offer, which is a stupid thing to say about a plant, but it’s out there now.

A tiny, almost inaudible huff of air escapes her. It might have been a laugh. It really might have been. "It’s supposed to be hard to kill. That’s what she said."

"Always a good quality in an office plant," you agree. "Or an office worker, for that matter. Well, I’ll let you get back to the thrilling Henderson merger files. Thanks again."

"You’re welcome," she says, her attention already starting to drift back towards her screen, the brief opening in her defenses slowly closing up. But it was there. A little crack.

You find yourself reluctant to leave, to let the usual office drone silence settle back over her. The way that black top clings just so to the curve of her back as she turns slightly, the faint, clean scent that you can only catch when you’re this close (something like fresh laundry and maybe a hint of a very subtle, floral soap). It’s doing things to your concentration that have absolutely nothing to do with quarterly projections. You know you should probably just go, get back to your own mountain of work, but there's a pull, a quiet magnetism she exudes that makes you want to just… stay. See if another tiny piece of the real Irene Bae might surface if you wait long enough, patiently enough.

That faint, almost-laugh, the tiny, fleeting opening… it’s enough. It’s more than enough. Now or never, idiot. Before the professional shell hardens completely again, before she retreats back into that fortress of polite distance.

"So," you begin, trying to make it sound like the most casual afterthought in the world, even as a different, less casual thought hammers in your head, don't fuck this up. "Seeing as it's Monday, and Mondays officially suck by universal decree… I was thinking of grabbing a drink after work. You know, just to sort of… defiantly kickstart the week. Would you, uh, be interested in joining? In case you don't have any other more interesting plan. No big deal if you have, totally get it."

There, it’s out. You hold your breath without meaning to.

Irene’s gaze, which had started to drift back to her monitor, snaps back to you. For a moment, her face is perfectly, utterly blank. Not surprised, not annoyed, just… still. Like a photograph. Then, a slow blink. She looks down at her neatly folded hands in her lap, then back up at you.

"That’s… very kind of you," she says. "But I think I’ll have to pass. I have a few things I need to finish up here."

A polite decline. Of course. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, managing a smile that you hope looks understanding and not like you just got gently punched in the gut. "Hey, no problem at all. Totally understand. Rain check for another lifetime, maybe?" you add, trying to keep it light, to show her it’s genuinely okay.

A tiny, almost imperceptible softening around her eyes. "Maybe." She offers that. "I’ll send through that Henderson merger summary report by end of day."

"Sounds good," you nod, already backing away, giving her space. "Don’t let it bury you alive. And, uh, thanks again for the Anderson stuff."

"You’re welcome."

And just like that, she turns back to her screen, the brief window of interaction decisively closed. You walk away, a familiar mix of mild disappointment and a strange sort of respect for her unbreachable composure settling in. Well, you tried. Can’t say you didn’t try.

The rest of the afternoon crawls by. You actually do your work, or at least a passable imitation of it. Around five-thirty, an email pings into your inbox. Subject: Henderson Merger Summary - Irene Bae. You click it open. The report is attached, and even a cursory glance tells you it’s immaculate. Clear, concise, all the key data points highlighted, potential issues flagged with brief, intelligent notes. Fucking hell, she’s good. Way too good for a casual data entry gig. You fire off a quick reply: "This is perfect, Irene. Seriously, amazing work. Thanks!"

No reply to that. You didn’t expect one.

By six, the office is starting to empty out. The symphony of keyboards has dwindled to a few sporadic taps. You grab your bag, sling your jacket over your shoulder, and head for the elevators. As one slides open with a soft hydraulic sigh, you step in, pressing the button for the ground floor. Just as the doors are about to close, a hand darts out, stopping them.

Irene.

She slips inside, her movements quick and economical as always. She’s got a small, plain handbag over her shoulder, and she looks… tired. There are faint shadows under her eyes that weren’t as noticeable in the brighter office lights. The doors close, encasing you both in the small, brushed-steel box. An awkward silence immediately descends. This is always the worst part of accidental shared elevator rides.

"Hey," you manage, because the silence is starting to feel like a physical weight. "That report you sent? Seriously, top-notch. You made my evening a lot easier."

She looks up at you, a brief flicker in her dark eyes. "I’m glad it was helpful."

Her reply is soft, barely disturbing the canned muzak seeping from a hidden speaker. The silence stretches again, punctuated only by the quiet hum of the elevator descending. One floor. Two. You can feel the seconds ticking by. You want to say something else, anything, but the words just don’t come. Don’t be that guy, you tell yourself. Don’t be the slightly-too-eager supervisor cornering the quiet girl in an elevator.

She probably just wants to get home. Respect that.

The doors slide open onto the ground floor lobby. Freedom.

"Well, have a good night, Irene," you say, stepping out, already turning towards the exit. "See you tomorrow."

You’re halfway to the main glass doors when you hear it.

"You asked… if I had plans."

Her words are so quiet you almost miss them, almost think you imagined them against the backdrop of distant traffic noise and the lobby’s echoing emptiness. You stop. Turn around slowly. Irene is standing just outside the elevator, her bag clutched in front of her, looking at you with an expression you can’t quite decipher.

"Yeah," you say, walking back towards her. "I did."

"I don’t," she states. Just like that. No preamble, no explanation for the earlier refusal. Just: "I don’t have plans."

Holy shit. Your brain seems to short-circuit for a second. Okay. Okay, asshole, she just threw you a goddamn lifeline. Don't drown. You swallow, trying to regain some semblance of composure, to make your next words sound casual and not like you’re about to vibrate out of your skin.

"Oh. Well, in that case," you begin, a slow smile spreading across your face, "the offer for that drink still stands. To, you know, combat the general Monday-ness of things. I know this great little bar not too far from here, actually. Good music, not too loud, and they make a mean old-fashioned, if you’re into that sort of thing." You pause, holding her gaze. "What do you say?"

She looks at you, properly looks, for what feels like a full minute. Her dark eyes search yours, and for a terrifying second, you think she’s going to say no again. Then, the tiniest, almost imperceptible nod. "Okay."

"Okay?" you echo, a grin breaking free. "Yeah, okay. Brilliant. My car’s just in the parkade across the street."

The walk to your car is filled with a slightly giddy, slightly surreal silence. You keep stealing glances at her. Irene Bae, willingly accompanying you somewhere. It feels… momentous. You unlock the car, a slightly battered but reliable sedan, and open the passenger door for her. She murmurs a "thank you" and slides in.

Once you’re both in and you’ve navigated out of the dimly lit parkade into the early evening traffic, the atmosphere in the car feels charged, but not uncomfortably so. It’s the buzz of something new, unexpected.

"So," she says, breaking the silence first, her gaze on the passing cityscape, a blur of office lights and neon signs. "This job. Is it… what you always wanted to do?"

You laugh, a short, surprised sound. "Managing quarterly reports and navigating inter-departmental squabbles? Not exactly the dream I had when I was, like, ten." You glance at her. "It’s alright, though. Pays the bills. I’ve kind of gotten used to it, you know? Found a rhythm. Got a decent team, for the most part. People I actually don’t mind seeing every day. That’s something, right?"

"It is," she agrees, turning her head slightly to look at you. "You’re good at it."

That surprises you. "You think so?"

"Yes," she says, with a quiet certainty that makes you sit up a little straighter. "You don’t… take advantage. Of your position." Her eyes flick to the road, then back to you. "You treat everyone like they matter. Even the casuals." There's a faint emphasis on the last word, a shadow in her tone that makes you wonder.

"Well, that’s just… basic decency, isn’t it?" you say, a little embarrassed by the praise. "Nothing to write home about. Everyone’s just trying to get through their day."

"Not everyone sees it that way," Irene counters, her words flat, devoid of inflection, but carrying a weight nonetheless. "I’ve worked in places… with terrible superiors."

"Ah, the petty tyrants of middle management," you sigh, shaking your head. "People with miserable, unhappy lives who get a tiny sliver of power and suddenly think they’re Genghis Khan in a polyester suit. They try to feel better by making everyone else feel smaller. It’s pitiful, really. Because at the end of the day, they’re still just employees. Same as anyone else. One major screw-up, one too many complaints, and they’re out on their ass just like the next person." You glance at her. "Hope you didn’t have to deal with too many of those."

She doesn’t answer directly, just looks out her window again. "It happens."

A beat of silence. You change the subject, not wanting to dwell on whatever bad experiences she’s clearly had. "So, do you live around here? Or am I kidnapping you to the other side of the city for this drink?"

"No, I live pretty close by, actually. Just a few blocks from the office."

"Oh, good," you say. "Well, after we’ve thoroughly deflated Monday’s ego with a beverage or two, I can drop you off, if you like. Save you the walk."

She turns to you again, and this time, the smile is a little more definite, reaching her eyes. "Thank you. I’d like that."

The bar is that classic thing: dimly lit, exposed brick, a long mahogany counter gleaming under strategically placed spotlights and indie rock plays at a conversational level. It’s busy enough to have a buzz, but not so packed you can’t find a quiet corner. You spot a small, empty table tucked away near a bookshelf filled with mismatched paperbacks. Perfect.

You lead her over, pulling out one of the sturdy wooden chairs for her. "Best seat in the house," you announce with a mock flourish.

She slides into the chair, her handbag placed neatly on her lap. "It’s nice," she says, looking around, taking it all in. "I like it."

"Glad it meets with your approval," you grin. "Now, the crucial question: what are you drinking?"

Her eyes scan the chalkboards behind the bar listing craft beers and cocktails. "Um. Maybe a… gin and tonic? If they have a good gin."

"Consider it done." You head to the counter, weaving through a few small groups. You order her G&T, specifying a decent small-batch gin you know they carry, and an old-fashioned for yourself. Waiting for the bartender to work his magic, you glance back at Irene. She’s watching the other patrons, her expression unreadable but not, you think, uncomfortable. She looks small and almost delicate in the low light, yet there’s that core of resilience you always sense in her.

Drinks secured, you carry them carefully back to the table. You set her tall, clinking glass in front of her and place your own squat tumbler down. Sliding into the chair opposite, you make sure you’re facing her directly. This feels good. Really good.

You pick up your glass. "Well," you say, raising it slightly.

Irene mirrors your action, her dark eyes questioning yours over the rim of her glass. "What are we toasting to?" she asks

A grin spreads across your face. "To new beginnings," you start, then amend it. "No, scratch that. To Monday nights that don’t suck. And, more importantly," you meet her gaze directly, "to the best goddamn casual worker this company has ever had the dumb luck to hire."

A beat of silence. Then, something remarkable happens. Irene laughs. It’s not a loud laugh, not a boisterous one. It’s a soft, breathy sound, genuine and utterly unexpected, crinkling the corners of her eyes and making her whole face light up for a precious, unguarded moment. "Oh my god," she says, still chuckling, shaking her head slightly. "Thank you." She clinks her glass against yours. "I’ll drink to that.”

That shared laugh, her unexpected, genuine amusement: it’s like a key turning in a rusty lock. The air between you shifts, losing some of its earlier, fragile tension, replaced by something warmer, more… possible. You take a slow sip of your old-fashioned, the sharp bite of whiskey and bitters a pleasant counterpoint to the sweetness of the moment. Her gin and tonic is already a little lower in its tall glass, the ice clinking softly as she sets it down.

"So," you begin, leaning back a fraction, trying to project casual interest rather than the full-blown interrogation your curiosity is screaming for. "Aside from being a spreadsheet wizard and a savior of Monday nights, what else does Irene Bae get up to?”

"Nothing too extraordinary. I like to read. And I walk a lot. Explore the city."

"Reading, huh? Anything good lately?" You try to keep your follow-up equally light. You’re intensely aware that every question is a potential landmine. Too personal, too probing, and she might just vanish back into that shell.

"I just finished a collection of short stories," she offers, her words measured. "Modern gothic. Quite dark."

"Sounds… cheerful," you remark, raising an eyebrow. "Matches the general Monday vibe, I guess." Your internal monologue is whirring: Modern gothic. Dark. Okay, that’s… interesting. Not exactly chick-lit. Adds another layer to the enigma.

She gives a tiny shrug, a graceful, minimal movement. "I find it interesting." She takes a delicate sip of her drink, her eyes watching you over the rim. Then, before you can formulate another carefully casual question, she flips it. "What about you? When you’re not cracking the whip at the office or rescuing Mondays, what’s your grand passion?"

The question, coming from her, feels like a small gift. You lean forward, genuinely pleased to share, to keep the conversational ball rolling. "Ha, 'cracking the whip.' If only. Mostly I just try to keep the ship from hitting the nearest iceberg." You grin. "Passions? Let’s see. I’m a bit of a film nerd. Old movies, foreign films, anything that isn’t a superhero sequel, basically. And I attempt to play guitar – emphasis on 'attempt.' My neighbors probably hate me."

"A film nerd?" A flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. "Any particular director or era you favor?"

"Oh, man, where to start?" You launch into a slightly-too-enthusiastic explanation of your love for classic film noir, the French New Wave, the oddball genius of Kurosawa. You talk about the satisfaction of finally tracking down a rare print, the joy of watching a masterpiece on a big screen, even if it’s just at the local art-house cinema. You’re aware you’re probably rambling a bit, but she’s listening. Or at least, she appears to be. She’s still, her gaze fixed on you, not interrupting, just… absorbing. It’s more attention than she’s ever given you in the office.

You eventually wind down, a little breathless, feeling slightly foolish for your impromptu lecture. "Sorry," you say, laughing a bit. "Probably more than you ever wanted to know about black and white cinematography."

"No, it’s… interesting," she says, and you think she actually means it. Or maybe she’s just incredibly polite. "You’re passionate about it. It’s clear."

"Yeah, I guess I am." You take another swallow of your drink. The warmth of the whiskey spreads through your chest, mingling with the unexpected warmth of this conversation. "So, you said you walk a lot. Any favorite spots in the city? Hidden gems I should know about?"

"I haven't found any particularly interesting places yet. But, uh, I went to a historic library this month and the place is really pretty. I think that's a start."

"Sounds interesting. The city’s definitely got a lot to offer if you just wander. I keep meaning to do more of that myself, but, you know, life. Work."

"It can be hard to find the time," she agrees, her gaze returning to yours. Her expression is neutral, but her eyes are observant, constantly gauging. You have the distinct feeling you’re being carefully evaluated. "Do you… enjoy living here? In this city?"

"Yeah, I do, actually," you reply honestly. "It’s not where I grew up, but I’ve been here long enough that it feels like home. There’s always something going on, good food, decent music scene. And it’s big enough that you can disappear if you want to, but small enough that you still run into people you know. What about you? Are you originally from here?"

Another brief hesitation. "No. Not originally." She offers no more than that. Another door, gently closed. You’re learning the rhythm of it: she’ll answer the direct question, but volunteer nothing extra about herself.

"Well, no need to thank me for revealing the best gin in the city," you joke, gesturing to her glass.

A tiny smile again. "This place is cool. And the gin is really good."

"Well, I know you are a reserved person, but I’m honored you made an exception for my 'kickstart the week' initiative."

"It was…" she pauses, as if searching for the right word, "...a good suggestion."

The conversation flows like that for a while longer, a gentle ebb and flow of questions and answers. You learn that she prefers tea to coffee, that she finds crowded places overwhelming, that she once had a cat but doesn’t currently. Each piece of information is tiny, almost inconsequential on its own, but you hoard them like precious gems. In return, you tell her about your disastrous attempts at cooking, a funny story about your college roommate that happened years ago, your undying loyalty to a consistently terrible local sports team. You’re careful to keep it light, to match her level of disclosure, but inside, you’re buzzing. You’re actually talking to Irene Bae, and she’s… talking back. It feels like a minor miracle.

Her drink is nearly empty, and yours isn't far behind. The initial energy of the bar has mellowed into a comfortable, late-evening hum. You catch the bartender’s eye, you lift two fingers, then tap your chest and mouth "non-alcoholic beer for me this time." He nods, already reaching for a specific bottle from the cooler. Driving Irene home safely is suddenly a very high priority.

When he brings the drinks, a fresh, fragrant G&T for her, and a dark, malty-looking non-alcoholic brew for you, Irene is watching you, that quiet, considering look in her eyes again.

"So, about the work,” you start, “are you actually, you know, enjoying your time at the company? Aside from my brilliant supervisory skills, of course."

"It’s… okay," she says, which from Irene is practically a glowing endorsement. "I know it probably doesn’t seem like it, since I’m usually… quiet."

"Hey, quiet is fine," you interject quickly. "You’re always polite, you do incredible work, and you haven’t tried to set fire to the servers yet. Honestly, that puts you in the top percentile of casuals we’ve had." You mean it. "Seriously though, as long as you’re not miserable, that’s what matters."

"I’m not miserable," she confirms. "It’s… structured. Predictable. I appreciate that."

"Good." You nod, relieved. "So, what’s the plan then? Your current contract is up in, what, another month or so? Any thoughts on what you’ll do next? Back to the exciting world of job hunting?" You try to keep it light, but there’s an underlying purpose to your question now.

She looks down into her drink, swirling the ice with a long, slender finger. The small gesture somehow seems incredibly thoughtful. "I haven’t really thought that far ahead," she admits. "Find another job, I suppose. That’s usually how it goes."

This is it. Your opening. Your heart gives a little thump. "Well," you begin, trying to sound casual, like this is just a random thought that popped into your head. "About that. There’s actually been some talk… about your role."

Her head comes up, eyes narrowed slightly in question.

"The thing is, Irene," you lean forward a fraction, "you’re kind of indispensable. And some of us, higher up the food chain, have noticed that." You take a breath. "So, I was wondering… how would you feel about making your position full-time? Permanent contract, benefits, the whole shebang."

She stares at you, her expression unreadable. Surprise, definitely. Maybe a hint of suspicion? "You… can do that?"

"Not me, personally," you clarify quickly. "This isn't me pulling strings as your dashingly handsome supervisor." You shoot her a quick grin, which she doesn’t return, her focus entirely on your words. "The decision actually came from the big boss, old Henderson himself, after seeing the quarterly summaries and the work you did on that merger data. He was… impressed. He asked me to sound you out, see if you’d be interested. I was planning on talking to you about it sometime this week, but, well, now seems as good a time as any, right?"

Irene is silent for a long moment, her gaze fixed on some distant point over your shoulder. You can almost see the gears turning in her head. Finally, she looks back at you. "I… I’d have to think about it."

"Of course," you say immediately. "No pressure at all. Seriously. Take your time. But," you can't help adding, "it would be really great to have you on board properly. As a, you know, full-fledged contract worker."

She cocks her head, a tiny, bird-like movement. "Why?"

The question is so direct, so simple, it throws you for a second. "Why?" you echo. You hesitate, searching for the right words. The real reasons are a tangled mess of professional admiration and a rapidly growing personal affection that feels way too soon, too intense to articulate. "Well, because… because you’re an excellent professional, Irene," you land on, hoping it sounds convincing. "You’re efficient, you’re meticulous, your attention to detail is incredible. You make my job easier, and you make the whole team look good."

She shakes her head slowly, a faint frown touching her lips. "What I do… it’s no big deal. Data entry, report summaries. There are plenty of people out there who can do the same thing."

You lean forward, a mock-serious expression on your face. "Actually, Irene, I don't like you just doing your job," you say, letting the pause hang for a split second before a grin breaks through. "Because what you do isn't just 'your job.' It's exceptional. And no, not 'several out there' can do it like you." You soften your expression, meeting her gaze earnestly. "Besides, everyone at the company genuinely appreciates you, and your work."

A beat of silence. Then, Irene laughs again, that soft, breathy sound that does ridiculous things to your insides. Her eyes, though, are sparkling with a teasing light you’ve never seen before. "Oh really?" she says, a playful lilt in her quiet words. "Is it everyone? Or is it… just you?"

Heat floods your face. You can feel the blush creeping up your neck. You look away, flustered, trying to come up with a clever retort, but your brain has apparently short-circuited. Shit. You’re usually better at this.

Seeing your reaction, her expression softens. "Hey," she says, her words a soft balm. "I’m just joking." She reaches out, just for a second, and her cool fingertips brush the back of your hand where it rests on the table. "Don’t look so terrified."

You manage a shaky laugh, looking back at her. Her eyes are kind. More than kind.

"And for the record," she continues, her gaze holding yours. "I appreciate that you like my work. You're very kind.”

Irene’s gaze is steady on yours, a hint of that earlier blush still dusting her cheekbones, but her expression is open, almost serene. That tiny, brave nod she gives is more articulate than a thousand words.

"Alright," you manage, letting out a shaky laugh. "Okay. That’s… that’s really good to hear, Irene. So," you venture, your smile softening, "does this mean you’re going to accept my incredibly generous, Henderson-approved proposal to become a permanent fixture of corporate excellence?"

She chuckles. It’s amazing how quickly she seems to be shedding layers of that formidable reserve, at least with you, in this moment. "I said I’d think about it," she reminds you, a playful glint back in her eyes. "No need to rush such a life-altering decision, right?"

"Right, right, of course," you concede, still grinning like an idiot. "Strategic deliberation. I respect that."

And just like that, the initial fear peak passes, settling into a comfortable, warm plateau. You talk. For hours, it seems. The second round of drinks arrives, your non-alcoholic beer surprisingly satisfying, her gin and tonic still her companion. The conversation meanders easily now, a stark contrast to the careful, step-by-step navigation of your earlier interactions. You touch on office matters: the ridiculousness of certain company policies, the upcoming (and dreaded) office move to a new floor, the latest gossip about which department head is feuding with another (which Irene, surprisingly, seems to have a few wry, understated observations about).

Then you drift to side things. You talk more about films you both like, discovering a shared appreciation for a particular cult sci-fi series from the 90s that you’re both shocked the other has even heard of. She mentions, very briefly, a passion for minimalist photography, focusing on urban decay and overlooked details, and you make a mental note to ask her more about it another time, when it feels right. You tell her about your disastrous attempt to learn coding during lockdown, which ended with you accidentally wiping your own hard drive. She doesn’t laugh uproariously, but her shoulders shake a little, and her eyes crinkle at the corners in a way that makes you smile unconsciously.

Time seems to dissolve. The bar gradually empties. You’re both leaning in slightly over the small table, the rest of the world faded into a pleasant, out-of-focus backdrop. It’s only when you catch a glimpse of the clock behind the bar, nudging past midnight, that you realize how long you’ve been here.

"Whoa," you say, genuinely surprised. "Look at the time." You glance at Irene. She does look a little tired now, the earlier animation softened by a gentle weariness around her eyes, though her expression is still content. "I should probably get you home. You must be exhausted."

She stifles a small yawn, then nods. "Probably a good idea. Mondays, even good ones, take their toll."

When the bartender brings the bill, Irene immediately reaches for her handbag. "Let me get my share," she says, her tone matter-of-fact.

You wave your hand dismissively. "Nope. Not a chance. My treat. I did invite you to defiantly kickstart the week, remember?"

"But we had four or five rounds," she protests mildly. "And you offered me a job. The least I can do is pay for my own gin."

"Consider it a pre-emptive signing bonus discussion fee," you counter, already pulling out your card. "Seriously, Irene. It’s on me. Please."

She hesitates for a moment, then a small, appreciative smile touches her lips. "Okay. Thank you. That’s… very chivalrous."

"I have my moments," you say, winking, as you settle the bill.

In the car, the city lights painting fleeting stripes across the dashboard, Irene gives you her address; a street in a quiet, older residential area not far from the office, just as she’d said.

"So," you ask, as you navigate the familiar streets, "you live alone?" It’s a casual question, but your heart beats a little faster waiting for the answer.

"Yes," she replies, looking out at the passing buildings. "For a few years now." She turns her head. "You?"

"Same here," you say. "Just me and my old movie collection. The second part probably justifies the first."

She gives a soft chuckle at that.

You pull up outside a well-maintained older apartment building, with a small, neat garden out front. It looks… peaceful. Like her.

"Well, here we are," you say, putting the car in park.

Irene turns in her seat to face you more fully. "Thank you," she says, her gaze direct and sincere. "For the invitation, for the drinks. It was… a really nice chat. I enjoyed it."

"Me too, Irene," you reply, your own sincerity matching hers. "Thanks for your company. It was a lot of fun. Definitely the best Monday I’ve had in a long time."

"Good night, then," she says softly. Her hand hovers near the door handle. For a wild second, you wonder if you should lean in, if this is the moment for a goodbye kiss, but something in her stillness, a lingering hint of that old reserve, tells you not yet. Don’t push it. Not now.

"Good night, Irene," you echo. "Get some rest."

She nods, gives you one last small smile, and then she’s out of the car, a fleeting figure disappearing into the building’s warmly lit entryway. You wait until you see the lobby door close behind her before pulling away, a wide, goofy grin plastered on your face that doesn’t fade the entire drive home.

—

From that night on, something undeniably shifts. Your bond with Irene, forged in the dim light of that quiet bar, begins to progress in subtle but significant ways. In the office, she still maintains her discreet presence, never drawing undue attention to herself. But with you, things are different. She seeks out your gaze more often across the expanse of cubicles, a small, almost imperceptible smile usually accompanying it. When you approach her desk, she looks up immediately, the guardedness you were so used to now noticeably lessened, replaced by a welcoming warmth in her dark eyes.

She talks to you more, too. Not just about work, though she’s still impeccably professional. She’ll share a wry observation about a particularly mind-numbing office memo, or ask your opinion on a new software rollout. Sometimes, she even initiates the conversation, a quiet "Got a minute?" when she has a genuine query or, increasingly, just something she wants to share. And jokes (Irene actually makes jokes). They’re subtle, dry, delivered with that understated wit you’re quickly coming to adore, but they’re there, little sparks of humor that light up your interactions.

It makes you ridiculously happy, this gradual unfolding. Every shared glance, every quiet conversation, every fleeting smile feels like a victory, a testament to the connection you’re building. You find yourself looking forward to seeing her each day with an eagerness that’s entirely new. There’s no denying it, not anymore. You’re liking Irene Bae more and more, and the thought of where this all might be heading fills you with a buoyant, thrilling anticipation.

The week has been a blur of spreadsheets that all look the same and meetings that could have been emails. Standard. You do your usual wander through the office tundra, a flimsy excuse to stretch your legs and make sure the drones haven't revolted. You offer the requisite nods, the "how’s it goings," the feigned interest in weekend plans that involve either mind-numbing DIY or equally mind-numbing children's soccer games. But really, your internal compass is pointing one way: Irene’s desk.

She’s there, a small, still point in the surrounding office chaos. Head down, focused. God, she’s beautiful. It’s not even a conscious thought anymore, just an accepted fact, like gravity or the office coffee being terrible. Today she’s wearing a cream-colored sweater, soft and slightly oversized, that makes her look even more delicate. Her dark hair is clipped back loosely, a few stray strands feathering her cheek. As you approach, she senses you, looking up. And this time, there’s no hesitation, no fractional delay before her polite mask clicks into place. This time, a small, subtle smile touches her lips almost instantly. It’s a tiny thing, barely a curve, but on Irene, it’s like a goddamn sunrise. Your chest does that stupid warm lurch it’s been doing a lot lately.

"Morning, Irene," you say, leaning against the partition of her cubicle, trying to match her quiet energy. "Or, well, almost afternoon, I guess."

"Good morning," she replies, her words soft, but the smile lingers in her eyes. That’s new. And definitely not unwelcome.

"Just checking in. How’s that… uh… creative asset compilation for the new campaign coming along? The one I dumped on you yesterday with zero notice?" You’d asked her to pull together a bunch of visual elements and a draft for some new ad copy. A bit outside her usual data-entry scope, but you had a hunch she’d be good at it.

"Almost done," she confirms, gesturing vaguely at her screen. "Just finalizing the font choices for the header. It should be ready by three."

"No rush at all, you’re a miracle worker as it is." You glance at her screen, trying to seem interested in fonts, but your attention snags on the small, almost hidden detail on her desk – a tiny, exquisitely wrapped parcel, no bigger than a matchbox, tied with a simple silver ribbon. It wasn't there yesterday. "So," you continue, keeping your tone light, "anything exciting happen since I last graced your cubicle with my overwhelming presence?"

Her gaze flickers to the small parcel, then back to you, and the subtle smile widens just a fraction. "Actually," she says, her fingers brushing the ribbon lightly, "I received what you sent."

Ah. So she got it. This week was her birthday. You’d thought about organizing something, a small surprise with a few of the nicer people on the team. But then you’d pictured Irene, the center of attention, forced smiles, awkward small talk… and you’d nixed the idea. She wasn’t the surprise party type. So, you’d sent a small, carefully chosen gift to her apartment instead (you still had her address from that night at the bar). A collection of short stories by an author she mentioned being a fan of and, apparently, she didn't have this book yet, which is a new release.

"Oh yeah?" you ask, feigning mild surprise. "Well, I hope I didn't choose something boring. Choosing gifts isn't really something I'm very talented at."

A soft chuckle escapes her. "No, it was… lovely. Thank you. You really didn't need to bother, though."

"Hey, what are supervisors for if not to occasionally bother their best employees with unsolicited tokens of appreciation?" you say, grinning. "Glad you liked it." You pause, then decide to take the plunge. "So, listen. Friday today. End of a massively busy week. Any chance I could tempt you with another round of drinks? All on me, of course.”

She looks up, and for a moment, you see that familiar flicker of hesitation, the slight tensing around her eyes. She bites her lip, her gaze dropping to the desk. "I don't know…" she begins, her words very quiet. "Don't you think… people in the office might find it a bit strange? Just you and me, going out for drinks together again?"

Her concern is valid. You’re her supervisor. And while this office isn't exactly a hotbed of malicious gossip, people notice things. But the thought of not seeing her outside these four grey walls, especially after the progress you’ve made, feels… deflating.

You shrug. "Let them think whatever they want. Honestly, Irene, who cares? It's just a couple of colleagues grabbing a drink after a long week. Besides," you add, leaning in a fraction, lowering your tone slightly, "no one here is interesting enough to be a dedicated gossip columnist. They’re too busy worrying about their own TPS reports. You don't need to worry about it."

She looks at you for a long moment. You can see the internal debate warring in her eyes. Then, slowly, a small, almost shy smile. "Okay," she says. "Okay, I’d like that."

—

Lunchtime. You’re at your desk, staring blankly at a spreadsheet that’s threatening to induce a coma, when a small shadow falls over your keyboard. You look up, surprised.

It’s Irene. She’s holding a small, clear plastic container, tied with a simple piece of kitchen twine. Inside, you can see a neat stack of perfectly round, golden-brown cookies. Homemade. No doubt about it.

"Hi," she says, a little shyly, holding out the container. "I, uh… I made these last night. For you. As a thank you. For the… for the other day. And the gift."

You’re genuinely speechless for a second. Irene Bae baked you cookies. You take the container, your fingers brushing hers. "Irene, wow. You… you really didn’t have to do this."

"I wanted to," she says, that faint blush back on her cheeks. "They’re just chocolate chip. Nothing fancy." She pauses, then adds, with a tiny, playful smirk, "Don’t get spoiled."

"Too late," you say, already prying the lid off. The smell of warm butter and melted chocolate hits you. "These look incredible. Seriously." You take one, biting into it. It’s perfect: soft and chewy in the middle, slightly crisp around the edges. "Holy shit, Irene, these are… you’re a wizard."

"They’re just cookies."

"No, these are not 'just cookies'," you insist, taking another enthusiastic bite. "These are edible drops of pure happiness. You’re wasted on data entry, you know that? You should open a bakery."

"One business is enough for now," she says, but she looks genuinely pleased by your reaction. She lingers by your desk for a moment, not quite meeting your eye, but not leaving either. "How’s… how’s your day going? You look a little tired."

It’s true. The past few days have been a relentless onslaught of urgent requests, looming deadlines, and a particularly tedious software integration project that’s been fighting you every step of the way. You probably look like you’ve been wrestling a badger.

"Yeah, it’s been a bit of a beast," you admit, rubbing your eyes. "Lots of fires to put out. Trying to get the specs finalized for the Q4 roll-out, plus Henderson is breathing down my neck about those new compliance protocols. Standard corporate fun and games." You try for a light tone. "But I’m fine. Just need about seventeen more cups of coffee."

Her expression softens with something that looks a lot like genuine concern. "Don’t try to do too much," she says. "You’ll burn yourself out."

"Words of wisdom from the cookie queen," you say, smiling at her. "I’ll try to take it easy. Especially since," you add, your grin widening, "I’m really looking forward to those drinks later."

You expect her to just nod, to give one of her polite, non-committal responses. But instead, her eyes meet yours, and there’s a surprising warmth, a definite spark in their depths. "Me too," she says, her words clear and, to your utter astonishment, tinged with what sounds like genuine anticipation.

—

The end-of-day exodus is in full swing, the usual shuffle of tired bodies and the clatter of keyboards being powered down. You catch Irene’s eye as she’s gathering her things, and that subtle smile, the one that’s becoming less of a rarity when you’re around, touches her lips. She does look tired, a faint weariness around her dark eyes, but it doesn’t diminish the quiet prettiness that always seems to cling to her. If anything, the slight vulnerability makes her even more striking.

You meet her by the elevators, a silent agreement passing between you. No need for forced office goodbyes today.

"Ready to officially declare war on the work week?" you ask as you both step out into the cool evening air. The city is already starting to glitter, streetlights blinking on against the fading daylight.

She glances up at you, noticing you're not heading towards the parkade. "No car today?"

"Nope," you say, hands in your pockets as you start walking. "Figured if we're going for drinks, actual drinks, then driving is counterproductive to the whole 'getting drunk and forgetting responsibilities' vibe. Thought we’d walk."

Irene falls into step beside you, her pace surprisingly brisk for someone who looked so weary moments ago. "Didn't you come to work by car today? But… I could have said no to the invitation. You would have walked for nothing."

You shoot her a sideways grin. "Nah. I had a pretty good feeling you’d say yes."

"Very presumptuous of you," she murmurs, but there’s no bite to it, only amusement.

The walk to the bar is easy, the conversation flowing more naturally than it ever has in the sterile confines of the office. You talk like coworkers, at first. The new coffee machine in the breakroom, which everyone agrees is a downgrade despite its fancy chrome exterior. The inexplicable disappearance of all the good pens from the supply closet.

"Seriously," you say, shaking your head as you navigate a cracked paving stone, "it’s like there’s a pen gremlin. I bought a pack of twelve on Monday. By Wednesday, they were all gone."

Irene actually chuckles at that. "It’s Henderson. I saw him pocket one of mine yesterday when he thought I wasn’t looking."

"No way!" you exclaim, genuinely shocked. "The CEO? Stealing pens? That’s… actually kind of hilarious."

"He has very specific preferences for blue ink," she says, her tone dry, and you both laugh.

It’s like this, small talk, office anecdotes. Nothing too deep, nothing too personal, but it’s comfortable. You notice the way she walks, with a quiet grace, her gaze often drifting to the small details of the cityscape around you; an interesting piece of graffiti, an old, weathered doorway, the way the light hits a particular window. She doesn’t say much about what she sees, but you get the feeling she’s absorbing it all.

The bar is the same familiar spot, a haven of dim lights and good music. You find your preferred corner table, and Irene slides into the chair you pull out for her with a small, appreciative nod.

"Same again?" you ask, already knowing her answer.

"Gin and tonic, please," she confirms.

You head to the bar, ordering her drink and another of those surprisingly decent dark ales for yourself.

When you return, she’s watching the crowd, a faint smile on her lips. You set the drinks down, the tall glass of her G&T clinking softly against your bottle. You slide into the chair opposite her, the small table creating a sense of comfortable intimacy.

"Alright," you say, picking up your bottle and raising it slightly. "First round."

She lifts her glass, her dark eyes meeting yours. "To what, exactly, are we dedicating this particular round of defiance against the universe?"

You grin. "To surviving another week of corporate warfare. To Fridays. And," you pause, your gaze softening, "to the fact that the mystery of the stolen pens was finally solved, thanks to your important intel."

"You’re welcome. Happy to assist in the fight against executive kleptomania." She clinks her glass against your bottle. "Cheers."

You both take a sip, a comfortable silence settling between you for a moment. The bar’s atmosphere wraps around you, the low murmur of other conversations, the distant clatter from the kitchen, the bluesy track oozing from the speakers. It feels… right.

"So," you begin, after a while, setting your bottle down. "That whole full-time contract thing. Still mulling it over?"

Irene takes a slow sip of her G&T, her eyes thoughtful. "I am," she admits. "It’s… a big decision. More responsibility. More… permanence."

"No pressure," you reiterate. "The offer stands. But Henderson was genuinely impressed. You’ve made a good mark."

"It’s just… data," she says, looking down into her glass. "It’s not like I’m revolutionizing the industry."

"Hey," you say, leaning forward slightly. "Don’t sell yourself short. You have a knack for seeing patterns, for making sense of chaos. That’s a rare skill. And honestly, the way you transformed that Henderson merger data from an absolute clusterfuck into something coherent? That was art, Irene. Pure, unadulterated, spreadsheet art."

She looks up, and there’s a faint blush on her cheeks, but also a flicker of something else (pride, maybe?) "You really think so?"

"I know so." You pause, then decide to just go for it. "Look, I’m not going to bullshit you. The main reason Henderson wants you on full-time is because you’re damn good at what you do. But for me?" You meet her gaze, holding it. "I just… I really like having you around the office, Irene. You make the place better."

Her eyes widen almost imperceptibly, her lips parting slightly. The blush deepens. She looks away, down at her glass, then back at you, a complex mix of emotions playing across her usually composed features. She opens her mouth as if to say something, then closes it, takes another sip of her drink.

She finally sets her glass down with a soft click, her fingers tracing the condensation. "That’s… a really nice thing to say," she says.

Your smile widens at her quiet admission, the sincerity in her dark eyes hitting you with a pleasant warmth. "Well, 'nice' is a good start," you say, your own words softer now. "I was aiming for at least 'not actively terrible,' so I’m calling this a win."

She gives a small, almost shy laugh, her gaze dropping to the G&T she’s cradling. The ice cubes shift and clink as she swirls the glass. "You set a low bar for yourself."

"Hey, gotta manage expectations," you retort, grinning. "Especially on a Friday when the main goal is to de-stress, not to impress." You take another sip of your non-alcoholic beer. It’s not bad, actually. Almost makes you feel like a responsible adult.

The conversation flows easily after that, the topics meandering from the absurdities of office life to more general things. She listens with an unreadable but attentive expression as you recount a particularly disastrous client presentation you had to salvage earlier in the year, even managing a small, sympathetic grimace when you get to the part about the projector dying mid-PowerPoint. Hours seem to melt away, marked only by the gradual lowering of the liquid in your glasses and the comfortable rhythm of your shared talk.

It’s Irene who eventually steers the conversation into more personal territory, and it’s so unexpected it almost makes you choke on your beer. She’s been quieter for a few moments, tracing the rim of her glass with a fingertip, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. Then, she looks up, her dark eyes meeting yours with a new sort of intensity.

"So," she begins, her words careful, measured, "you mentioned your friends at the office. The ones you started with."

"Yeah?" you prompt, curious where this is going.

"Is it… just friendships? Or is there anyone… more specific?" Her gaze is direct, unwavering, and you realize she’s not just making small talk. This is deliberate. She’s plucking up the courage, right here, right now.

You try to keep your expression neutral, but you can feel a faint heat rising in your own cheeks. "More specific how?"

"You know," she says, a tiny, almost imperceptible shrug. "A girlfriend? Someone you’re seeing?" Then, her eyes flick to a point just past your shoulder, a subtle shift. "Like… Seulgi? You two seem… very close."

Ah. Seulgi. You should have seen that coming. Seulgi is vibrant, outgoing, and yes, you two are close. You share a lot of inside jokes, grab lunch together sometimes, and there’s an easy camaraderie between you that probably looks like more than it is to an outside observer. Especially an observant one like Irene.

You lean back in your chair, considering how to answer. Honesty seems like the best policy here, especially with the way Irene is watching you. "Seulgi and I…" you begin, then pause, choosing your words. "Yeah, we’re close. But it’s not… like that. Not anymore, anyway."

Irene’s eyebrows lift slightly. "Anymore?"

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. Might as well just lay it out. "Look, years ago, when we both first started at Henderson Corp, fresh out of uni, barely knew which way was up… yeah, Seulgi and I had a thing. An affair, I guess you’d call it. It was intense, for a while. But it was a long time ago. We were young, stupid, figuring things out." You meet her gaze. "It burned out pretty quick. Honestly, we realized we were much better as friends. And that’s what we are now. Good friends. Nothing more, I promise."

She absorbs this, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then, "Aren’t… relationships between employees frowned upon? At the company?"

"Officially?" you shrug. "There’s no explicit rule against it, as long as it doesn't involve a direct reporting line, which ours didn’t, even back then. Henderson’s surprisingly old-school about some things, but pretty laissez-faire about others. Unofficially, the policy is basically: keep it professional at work, don’t let it affect your performance, and for God’s sake, no dramatic breakups in the middle of the quarterly budget cycle." You take a sip of your beer. "What you do on your own time, outside the office walls, is generally considered your own business. As long as you’re not an idiot about it and it doesn’t spill into work, they tend to look the other way."

Irene nods slowly, processing that. "So… it’s okay?"

"Yeah, mostly. Just gotta be smart, maintain professionalism when you're on the clock. Everything’s fine. Honestly, there are probably more office romances brewing in that place than anyone realizes." You grin. "Henderson Corp: Where Careers and Questionable Life Choices Collide."

She gives a small, hesitant smile at that. The conversation drifts a little after that, back to safer, more general topics. You order another round, she sticks to her G&T, you get another non-alcoholic ale. The bar is thinning out now, the Friday night energy mellowing into a late-evening calm. Irene seems more relaxed than you’ve ever seen her. She’s leaning back in her chair, one arm resting on the table, her earlier tension almost entirely gone. She even initiates a couple of topics, asking about a book you mentioned earlier, a small, thoughtful question about one of the characters.

It’s as you’re describing a particularly ridiculous plot twist that she starts to chuckle. Not a full laugh, but a series of soft, breathy huffs of amusement, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

"What?" you ask, grinning. "Too unbelievable?"

"No, it’s not the book," she says, shaking her head, her smile widening. "It’s you."

"Me?"

"Yes, you," she confirms, and there’s a definite warmth in her gaze now. "You’re… you’re actually quite funny." She pauses, as if surprised by her own admission. "It’s… rare. For me to find men funny."

You blink, then let out a surprised laugh yourself. "Is that a compliment, Bae Joohyun?" you tease, using her full name for the first time, enjoying the way a slight blush rises on her cheeks.

She rolls her eyes, but the smile doesn’t fade. "Don’t let it go to your head."

"Too late," you say, your grin spreading wider. "I’m officially adding 'surprisingly humorous to discerning women' to my resume." You lean forward, your elbows on the table, the atmosphere between you feeling lighter, more charged than ever. The drinks, the late hour, her unexpected praise… it’s all coalescing into something…

promising.

"So, Irene Bae, now that we’ve established this mutual… "liking"," you drawl the word out, enjoying the faint blush that returns to her cheeks, "does this improve the odds of you accepting Henderson’s most gracious offer of permanent employment?"

She picks up her G&T, takes a thoughtful sip. "Still thinking," she says, her eyes sparkling over the rim of the glass. "Wouldn't want to seem too eager, would I?"

"Heaven forbid," you agree, playing along. "Strategic ambiguity. Very professional."

The conversation continues, hours evaporate. The bar staff are starting to wipe down distant tables, the music has shifted to something even more mellow, and the crowd has thinned to a few lingering couples and solitary drinkers. Irene glances at the small, elegant watch on her slender wrist.

"Wow, it’s… getting pretty late," she says, her words carrying a hint of surprise, as if she hadn't realized how quickly the time had passed.

You nod, a reluctant sigh escaping you. The beer has settled into a comfortable warmth in your system, your limbs loose, your head pleasantly fuzzy. "Yeah, you’re right." You pause, looking at her, at the soft way the low light catches her dark hair, the way her eyes seem even deeper, more expressive in the intimate gloom. "Damn shame. I wish this night wouldn't end."

She meets your gaze, her smile soft, questioning. "Oh yeah? Why’s that?"

The alcohol has definitely loosened your tongue, stripped away a few layers of your usual caution. "Because I like being around you, Irene," you confess, the words coming out easily, honestly. "Your presence… I don’t know. It’s kind of hypnotic." You give a small, self-deprecating laugh. "And now I’m going to go home and just… keep thinking about you."

"You… think about me?" she asks.

"Yeah," you admit, feeling your own cheeks warm a little. "A lot, actually."

She’s silent for a moment, then, very slowly, her hand reaches across the small table, her cool fingertips brushing against yours. It’s a feather-light touch, barely there, but it sends a jolt straight up your arm. "What… what do you think about?"

"Everything," you say, your gaze locked on hers, feeling a bit drunk on more than just the beer now. "The way you concentrate when you’re working. The way you have that tiny little frown when you’re figuring something out. The way your hair falls across your cheek when you’re not looking." You shake your head, a small, dazed smile on your face. "Lately, Irene, you’re pretty much the only thing on my mind."

Her fingers intertwine with yours, a soft, hesitant pressure. Her dark eyes are searching yours, and you can see a storm of emotions in their depths. "Lately," she confesses, "I’ve… I’ve been thinking about you too."

"Yeah? What do you think about me, Irene Bae?"

She takes a shaky breath, her gaze dropping to your joined hands, then lifting back to your eyes, bold and vulnerable all at once. "I think about… what it would be like… if you kissed me."

The world around you just… stops. Your brain stutters, reboots. You lose focus on the bar, the music, everything but her face, her eyes, the feel of her hand in yours. She thinks about you kissing her. That’s it. That’s all the fucking permission you need.

Before you can second-guess it, before the moment can break, you’re moving. You lean across the small table, your other hand coming up to cup her cheek, your thumb stroking her soft skin. And then you kiss her.

It’s insane, the moment your lips meet. Her lips are soft, yielding, tasting faintly of gin and lime. She gasps softly into your mouth, then kisses you back, her initial hesitation melting away into a surprising, eager passion. Her tongue, tentative at first, then bolder, meets yours. It’s not a polite, end-of-the-date kiss. It’s hungry, searching, like you’ve both been starving for this without even knowing it. Your fingers tighten in her hair, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss until you’re both breathless.

When you finally break apart, gasping for air, your foreheads are resting against each other. Her eyes are closed, her lips swollen and glistening.

"Don’t let the night end here, Irene," you whisper. "Please."

She opens her eyes, her gaze dark, hazy with desire. "Okay," she breathes. "My apartment."

You’re on your feet in a second, fumbling for your wallet, the earlier weariness completely gone, replaced by a thrumming, urgent energy. Irene is already sliding out of the booth, her movements a little unsteady but graceful nonetheless. You throw some cash on the table (way more than enough to cover the bill) and then you’re out, into the cool night air.

You’re definitely tipsy, the world having a pleasant, fuzzy edge. Irene stumbles slightly as you step onto the uneven sidewalk, and you instinctively reach out, your arm going around her shoulders, pulling her close. She leans into you, her body warm against yours, her head resting against your arm. She’s giggling, a light, infectious sound that makes you laugh too, a stupid, happy, drunken sound. You walk like that, a tangled, giggling mess, your steps uneven but your direction certain.

Her apartment.

—

The elevator ride up to her floor is a blur of stolen kisses and breathless laughter. You’re pressed against the cool metal wall, her hands in your hair, your mouths searching, hungry. Every time the elevator dings at a floor, you pull apart, slightly dazed, only to crash back together the moment the doors close.

She fumbles with her keys at her apartment door, still kissing you, her body pressed flush against yours in the narrow hallway. Finally, the lock clicks. She pushes the door open, stumbling inside, pulling you with her. Her bag hits the floor with a soft thud. And then, before you can even register your surroundings, she jumps, her legs wrapping around your waist, her mouth finding yours again in a bruising, desperate kiss. You catch her instinctively, your hands splaying across her ass, lifting her, holding her tight against you as you kick the door shut.

She pulls back for a moment, her chest heaving, and a wide, triumphant smile spreads across her face when she sees yours. "You’ve got my lipstick all over you," she says, her words a delighted slur, as she reaches up to smudge a pink streak on your cheek with her thumb.

You glance around then, taking in her apartment for the first time. It’s small, neat, surprisingly minimalist but with touches of warmth: a stack of books on a low shelf, a soft throw draped over a simple armchair, a couple of framed black and white photographs on the wall. "Nice place," you manage.

Her eyes sparkle. "Did you come here to look at my apartment, or do something else?" she teases, her hips giving a suggestive little squirm against yours.

"Definitely something else," you growl, taking your "revenge" by burying your face in her neck, your lips finding the soft skin just below her ear, nibbling gently.

She yelps, a surprised, delighted sound, then dissolves into giggles, her body squirming in your arms. "Hey! That tickles!"

"Bedroom," you murmur against her skin. "Show me the way."

She points vaguely down a short hallway, still giggling, and you carry her, your mouths finding each other again, kissing deeply as you navigate the unfamiliar space. You find the door, push it open, and then you’re gently depositing her onto the bed, following her down, never breaking the kiss.

The world narrows to the feel of her beneath you, the taste of her, the soft sounds she’s making. After a moment, you pull away, reluctantly. "Clothes," you manage, your breath ragged. "Need these off."

You roll off her and stand, your fingers already working at the buttons of your shirt. Irene watches you, her eyes dark and hungry, as she sits up and reaches for the hem of her own sweater. It comes off in one smooth motion, revealing the delicate black lace of her bra, her pale skin almost luminous in the dim light filtering in from the hallway. Her petite body is, as you’ve always known, perfectly toned, every line and curve an invitation. She doesn’t hesitate, her fingers going to the clasp of her bra next.

The cotton of your shirt feels like a restriction, a barrier. Your fingers, clumsy with a mixture of alcohol and adrenaline, work at the buttons, fumbling them free one by one. It hits the floor. Shoes next, kicked off with impatient shoves of your heels, then the belt buckle clinks as you undo it, the leather sliding free. Your pants join the shirt in a heap on the floorboards. You’re standing there in just your boxers, the air of her bedroom suddenly cooler on your skin, or maybe that’s just the fever pitch of your own blood.

Then it’s her turn. Her hands go to the delicate clasp of her black lace bra. It gives way easily, and she shrugs the straps down her pale arms, letting the flimsy garment fall. Her breasts are revealed, small, yes, but perfectly shaped, round and perky, with pale pink nipples already pebble-hard in the cool air, or perhaps from anticipation. They’re exquisite. You’ve imagined them, of course, in fleeting, guilty moments, but the reality is so much fucking better. Then, she reaches for her shoes. She kicks them off one by one, the soft thud against the wooden floor loud in the charged silence. Finally, her hands go to the waistband of her pants, a simple black one that clung to her hips. It slides down her legs with a soft rustle, pooling around her ankles, leaving her standing before you in nothing but a pair of sheer black panties. They’re scandalously tiny, doing very little to hide the curve of her ass.

You feel like you can’t breathe.

You’re on her in a second, moving without conscious thought, your body acting on pure, undeniable instinct. You climb onto the bed, settling over her, your weight pressing her into the soft mattress. Your mouth finds hers again, but this kiss is different from the one at the bar. It’s rougher, needier, your tongue plunging, seeking, demanding. She meets your intensity, her own hunger flaring.

Your kisses trail down her jaw, her neck, your lips and teeth mapping the sensitive skin there. She arches into you, a soft whimper escaping her. You reach her breasts, your mouth closing over one hard nipple. She moans instantly, her fingers tangling in your hair, gripping tight. You suck, hard, your tongue laving the peak, then flicking, teasing. Her whole body shudders.

"Fuck… yes…" she gasps, her hips starting to buck beneath you. "They’re… so sensitive…"

You grin against her skin, moving to the other breast, giving it the same relentless attention. You squeeze and suck, feeling the delicate flesh swell in your mouth, the nipple hard against your tongue. The skin around it is already turning a delicious shade of pink, flushed and slightly raw from your attention. Her moans are getting louder, less inhibited, open-mouthed gasps of pure pleasure.

Her hands, which were gripping your hair, slide down your back, then lower, her fingers finding the thick, insistent ridge of your cock straining against your underwear. She squeezes, a playful, testing pressure, and a low growl rumbles in your chest. She feels you, hard and ready, and a wicked little smile dances on her lips, visible even as she throws her head back, lost in the sensations you’re creating.

Then, just as you’re about to lose yourself completely in the taste and feel of her breasts, she moves. With surprising strength, her hands are on your shoulders, pushing, guiding.

"My turn," she breathes

She pulls you, making you lie back against the pillows. You watch, dazed, as she straddles your hips, her gaze fixed on your groin. Her movements are slow, deliberate, almost torturous. Her fingers hook into the waistband of your boxers.

"Been waiting for this," she murmurs.

She pulls your underwear down, agonizingly slowly, inch by inch, her knuckles brushing against your straining erection with every downward tug. The fabric slides past your hips, down your thighs, until your cock springs free, thick, veined, and brutally hard, slick with pre-cum.

She just stares at it for a long moment, her dark eyes wide, her lips slightly parted. A genuine, almost awestruck smile spreads across her face. It’s the smile of someone who has just been presented with their favorite fucking meal.

She reaches out, her small hand surprisingly confident as it wraps around your shaft. It’s a perfect fit, her fingers cool against your heated skin. "Jesus," she breathes, her thumb stroking the thick, prominent vein that runs along the length. "It really has been a while since I’ve had sex." Her gaze lifts to yours, burning with an intensity that steals your breath. "You have no idea," she says, "how much this cock, your cock, is everything I want right now."

Before you can even process the raw honesty of her words, she leans down. Her tongue, pink and wet, flicks out, lapping delicately at the bead of pre-cum glistening on the slit of your tip. Then, she takes a mouthful of her own saliva (you see her gather it) and lets it dribble slowly onto your shaft, her fingers working quickly to spread the slickness all the way down, coating you, preparing you.

And finally, her mouth descends.

The moment her lips close around the head of your cock, you fucking groan, your hips bucking involuntarily. Her mouth is hot, wet, impossibly soft. She starts working you immediately, no hesitation, no awkwardness. Her lips create a perfect seal, her tongue swirling, lapping, teasing, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks with a practiced, almost reverent skill. This isn't the tentative exploration of a novice. This is the confident, devastating expertise of a woman who knows exactly what she’s doing.

Holy shit. Irene Bae is a fucking professional.

You can feel the muscles in her throat working, a gentle, rhythmic pulse that’s already threatening to undo you. And her eyes. Fuck, her eyes. They’re locked on yours, wide, dark, and glittering with a deadly combination of intense focus and raw, unadulterated lust. There’s a challenge in them, a silent dare. Think you can handle this? they seem to say. Think you can last?

"Fuck, Irene…" you groan, your hips giving an involuntary jerk. "That’s… holy shit…"

A low hum vibrates from her throat against your shaft, a sound of pure, animalistic satisfaction. She pulls back just enough for the head of your cock to pop free with a wet, obscene sound, her tongue flicking out to catch a stray drop of your slickness.

"You like that, baby?" she murmurs. "Like the way my mouth feels wrapped around your big, thick dick?"

"Yes… God, yes…" you pant, your hands fisting in the sheets beside you. "It’s… you’re amazing, Irene. Fuck, you’re so good at this."

Her smile is a predatory flash against your skin before she takes you in again, deeper this time. Her tongue is a relentless engine of pleasure, lapping, swirling, flicking against every sensitive nerve. She knows exactly where to press, where to tease, how to vary the pressure and speed to keep you right on that knife-edge of unbearable pleasure. It’s not just her mouth, either. Her hands are working you too, one wrapped firmly around the base of your shaft, pumping in rhythm with her sucking, the other gently cupping your balls, her fingers tracing lazy, teasing circles.

"Mmmm, you taste so fucking good," she says, her words slightly muffled but no less potent. She breaks suction for a moment, her hot breath ghosting over your hypersensitive skin. "I love the way you get so hard for me, the way your cock just throbs in my mouth." She punctuates the statement by taking just the swollen head between her lips and sucking, hard, focusing all her attention there, her tongue doing that insane swirling thing that makes your vision blur.

"Shit, Irene… don’t stop…" you gasp out, your voice rough, pleading. "Please, don’t stop…"

Her head bobs faster, a satisfied, almost guttural sound coming from her throat. "Oh, I’m not stopping, baby," she promises, her eyes blazing into yours. "I want to hear you moan for me. I want to hear you fucking beg." She sucks harder, her lips pulling, teasing. "Moan for me, supervisor. Let me hear how much you love your little casual worker sucking your dick."

The sheer audacity of her words, the way she so effortlessly flips the script, calling you out, it’s fucking electrifying. A raw, broken groan tears from your throat. "Fuck… yes… Irene… please… feels so good…"

"That’s it, baby," she purrs, her mouth still working you relentlessly. "Louder. I want to hear every filthy sound you make when I’m sucking you like this. I want to know I’m driving you absolutely fucking insane."

And you are. You’re losing it. Her mouth is a goddamn weapon, and she’s wielding it with devastating precision. She shifts her attention, her lips sliding down your shaft, her tongue laving a hot, wet path until she reaches your balls. You tense, anticipating, and then her mouth closes over one, warm and wet, and you fucking cry out.

"Oh my god… Irene… fuck…"

She sucks, gently at first, then with increasing hunger, her tongue rolling, massaging. Your balls are heavy, aching, and her mouth on them is an entirely new level of torture and bliss. She leaves them absolutely soaked, glistening with her spit when she finally moves back up your shaft.

"You like that, huh?" she breathes, her lips brushing against the underside of your cock, right where the skin is thinnest, most sensitive. "Your balls taste just as good as your cock. So salty… so fucking you."

Her tongue flicks out, targeting your frenulum with an accuracy that makes your entire body jolt. She plays with it, licking, teasing, nipping ever so gently with her teeth before sucking that sensitive ridge into her mouth. You’re bucking against her now, completely lost, your own moans a constant, ragged soundtrack to her ministrations.

"Fuck… Irene… please… I can’t… I’m so close…" you plead, your voice a shredded mess.

Her only answer is to work faster, harder. Her hand is a blur on your shaft, slick with spit and your own pre-cum, while her mouth continues its relentless assault. She takes you as deep as her little mouth can manage, her throat working, a series of soft, choked gagging sounds escaping her that are, perversely, driving you even wilder. She’s not just sucking your cock; she’s fucking devouring it, worshipping it.

"You gonna cum for me, baby?" she asks, pulling back for a split second, her eyes wide and dark, pupils blown. Saliva strings from her lips to the head of your cock. "I want it. I want your hot load all over my tongue. I want to swallow every last drop. Please, baby, give it to me. Begging you."

That’s it. Her words, the sight of her, so beautiful, so depraved, kneeling before you, mouth open, waiting for your release…it shatters your last shred of control.

"Irene!" Your shout as your orgasm rips through you. Your hips slam upwards, your back arching off the bed. Hot, thick ropes of cum shoot from your cock, hitting the back of her throat. She doesn't flinch. She takes it all, her throat working, swallowing, her eyes locked on yours, a triumphant, ecstatic glint in their depths. You keep pumping, jet after jet, emptying yourself into her waiting mouth. The sensation is blinding, overwhelming. You’re vaguely aware of your eyes rolling back in your head, your body trembling uncontrollably. It feels like you’re cumming for an eternity, each pulse a fresh wave of unbearable pleasure.

When the last viscous glob finally spurts out, you collapse back against the pillows, panting, drenched in sweat, utterly fucking spent. You’re in heaven. Or hell. Or some glorious, filthy place in between.

Irene stays there for a moment, gently sucking the last drops from your now twitching, softened cock. Then, slowly, reverently, she pulls away, her lips making a wet sound. She licks her own lips, savoring the taste, a small, incredibly satisfied smile playing on her features.

"Holy… fucking… shit, Irene." You shake your head, still trying to process the sheer intensity of what just happened. "That was… That was, without a fucking doubt, the best blowjob of my entire life."

Her smile widens, a genuine, radiant thing that makes her eyes sparkle. The exhaustion is there, but beneath it, there's a deep, purring satisfaction. She leans forward, pressing a soft, sticky kiss to the now-sensitive head of your cock.

"Good," she murmurs. "That’s what I like to hear." Then she looks up at you. "I aim to please, supervisor. Especially when the benefits are… this rewarding.”

You manage to prop yourself up on your elbows, looking down at her. She’s still kneeling between your legs, that pleased, cat-who-got-the-cream smirk playing on her lips, now glistening with your cum.

"Irene," you rasp. "Where in the ever-loving fuck did you learn to do that?”

She lets out a low, throaty chuckle, the sound vibrating deep in her chest. She reaches up, wiping a stray smudge of your load from the corner of her mouth with a delicate finger, then slowly, deliberately, licks it clean, her eyes never leaving yours. The gesture alone is enough to make your semi-flaccid cock give a hopeful twitch.

"Every woman has her secrets, supervisor," she purrs. "Maybe one day I'll tell you some of them." Then, before you can even process that delicious, infuriating coyness, she’s moving. climbing onto you with a fluid grace. Her petite, pale body straddles your chest, her knees bracketing your shoulders. She leans down, her dark hair curtaining your face. "Besides," she whispers, her lips brushing against yours, "who said anything about being done?"

Her mouth finds yours, a slow, deep kiss that tastes of you, of her, of pure, unadulterated lust. While her lips work their magic, her body begins a slow, deliberate crawl down yours. Kisses are pressed against your jaw, your throat, lingering on the pulse point there until you can feel your heart hammering in response. She moves lower, her tongue flicking out to trace the line of your collarbone, then lower still, across your pecs.

When she reaches your right nipple, she pauses. Her gaze, hot and knowing, flicks up to meet yours for a fraction of a second before her mouth closes over it. Your breath hitches. You weren't expecting that. Her tongue swirls around the already sensitive peak, rough and wet, then she starts to suck, gently at first, then with increasing pressure, pulling the nub into her mouth, her teeth grazing it ever so lightly.

"Nghh… Irene…" A surprised, helpless moan escapes you. Fuck, that feels good. Way better than it has any right to.

"Sensitive here, are we?" she murmurs against your skin. "I thought so."

She continues her assault, licking, sucking, her lips working your nipple like it’s the head of another cock. And all the while, one of her small, deceptively strong hands snakes down your torso, past your navel, her fingers tracing teasing patterns on your lower abdomen. You feel the heat of her palm as it hovers, then finally settles, over the base of your now rapidly re-hardening cock.

"Oh, look at that," she says. "Not so spent after all, are you, big boy?"

Her hand closes around you. Even through the haze of pleasure radiating from your nipple, you can feel the change. Your cock, which had been softening, content in its post-orgasmic haze, now surges back to life, thickening, lengthening, pressing urgently against her grip. She starts to stroke you, slow, deliberate movements, her fingers slick with the remnants of your earlier release and her own gathering wetness.

"The night is far from over, supervisor," she whispers, her mouth leaving your nipple to trail a line of wet, open-mouthed kisses towards the other one. "I know you can give me more. Much more." She punctuates the last word by taking your other nipple into her mouth, sucking on it with a greedy, demanding pressure that mirrors the rhythmic pull of her hand on your shaft. "And you will give it to me."

And she’s right. Fuck, she’s absolutely, undeniably right. Your cock is already granite-hard again, throbbing in her skilled grip, every nerve ending in your body screaming for more of her, more of this. The lingering exhaustion is a distant memory, burned away by this fresh, potent wave of desire she’s so effortlessly conjured. The slight ache in your balls is back, but it’s a good ache now, a heavy, needy throb that promises another explosive release if she keeps this up.

Her hand on your reawakened cock is a brand, her touch electric. The soft, rhythmic stroking, combined with the devastating assault on your nipple, is a one-two punch of pure, unadulterated sensation. Your breath hitches, your hips giving a small, involuntary buck.

"That’s it, baby," Irene purrs against your chest, her lips still teasing your other nipple, her words a hot, damp caress. "Feel that? Already getting hard for me again. You just can’t get enough, can you?"

"Fuck… no…" you manage to groan out, your eyes fluttering. "Not… not when you do that…"

"Mmmm, I know," she hums, a smug, satisfied sound. "The night is far from over, supervisor.” Your cock is already iron-hard again, throbbing with a renewed, almost painful urgency against her skilled fingers.

With a lithe movement that takes your breath away, Irene shifts, disentangling herself from your chest and sliding down your body. She straddles your hips, her petite frame settling over you, and the sight of her poised above you: dark hair tousled, lips swollen from your kisses, her small, perky breasts bare and flushed, nipples still pebble-hard; is enough to make your vision swim. She reaches down, her fingers hooking into the waistband of her sheer black panties.

"You like these, baby?" she teases. "Thought you might."

She doesn't wait for an answer. With a slow, deliberate tug, she pulls them aside, hooking the flimsy fabric around one hip, exposing her pussy to you. It’s perfect. Pink, glistening, the inner lips slightly swollen and already dewy with her arousal. The dark thatch of hair above is neatly trimmed.

"Ready to feel me again?" she whispers, her gaze locked on yours.

Before you can form a coherent word, she’s lowering herself onto you.

The way she takes your cock is a revelation. There’s no hesitation, no tentative exploration. She knows her body, she knows yours, and she sinks down with a practiced, almost arrogant ease, her hips rolling, her inner muscles clenching around you, milking you from the first fucking inch. A guttural groan rips from your throat as she takes you deeper, her tight, wet heat a scalding brand.

"Fuck, Irene… so tight…"

"Mmmm, you love how tight my little pussy is, don't you?" she moans, her head falling back, her hands gripping your shoulders for balance as she starts to bounce. "Love the way it squeezes your big, thick cock?"

"Yes… God, yes…"

Her rhythm is insane. She starts riding you with a skill that leaves you breathless, her hips a blur of motion, bouncing, grinding, rotating in ways that hit every goddamn nerve. She’s not just fucking you; she’s performing, a symphony of sensual movement designed to drive you absolutely wild. Her small breasts jiggle with every thrust, the pink nipples bouncing hypnotically. You can see the way her pussy lips stretch, glistening, around the base of your shaft as she lifts herself up, only to slam back down, taking you to the hilt.

"Look at me, baby," she pants, her eyes finding yours again. "I want you to watch me ride your cock. I want you to see how much I fucking love it."

You can’t look away if you tried. The sight of her, so beautiful, so utterly consumed by pleasure, her body moving on yours with such raw, uninhibited abandon, is seared into your brain.

"You’re… incredible…" you gasp out.

"I know," she says, a smug, breathless laugh escaping her. Then her expression shifts, darkens. "But you’re getting distracted." Her free hand snakes out, unbelievably fast, her fingers wrapping around your throat, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to demand your absolute attention. "You close your eyes on me again, supervisor, and I’ll make you regret it. Got it?"

The sudden pressure, her fingers cool against your heated skin, the sheer dominance in her gaze... Your cock gives a hard, convulsive throb inside her. "Fuck… yes… Irene…"

"Good boy." Her grip loosens slightly, but her hand stays there, a possessive brand. "Now, look at me. I want to see that pretty face of yours when I make you feel good. I want to see every fucking expression." She punctuates the command by grinding down, hard, her hips rotating in a slow, torturous circle that makes you cry out.

You reach up, your hands finding her breasts, squeezing them, needing to touch her, to feel her. They’re soft, full in your palms, the nipples like hard little pebbles against your skin. "Fuck, your tits are perfect, Irene…"

She moans, leaning forward, pressing them against your chest as she kisses you, a deep, filthy, open-mouthed kiss, her tongue tangling with yours. "Mmmm, you like them, baby?" she whispers against your lips, her hips still moving, still squeezing. "You can play with them all you want… as long as you keep fucking me with that big, thick cock of yours—God, it’s so good—It fills me up so perfectly!”

You can see it then, when she leans back slightly, her stomach tight, the unmistakable bulge of your cock pressing against her lower abdomen, a clear testament to just how deeply you’re buried inside her, how perfectly her petite frame is taking every inch of you. It’s a brutally hot visual, a stark reminder of your size against her smallness, and the sight alone nearly pushes you over the edge.

"Jesus, Irene… I can see it… You’re so fucking tight…"

"I know," she pants. "Now make me cum, supervisor. Fuck me until I can’t see straight. I want your load. Give it to me."

This isn't the Irene from the office, the quiet, mysterious woman who barely met your eye. This is someone else entirely: a wild, insatiable creature of pure, unadulterated lust. And fuck, you love this Irene. You love every goddamn demanding, filthy, beautiful inch of her.

She rides you harder now, faster, her moans turning into raw, broken cries. Her body is slick with sweat, her muscles trembling with the effort, but she doesn’t slow down. She’s chasing it, that shattering release, and she’s dragging you right along with her. Her pussy pulses around your cock, squeezing, milking, each contraction an exquisite torture.

"I’m… I’m gonna cum…" she screams, her voice cracking, her back arching as her orgasm hits her like a tidal wave.

Her body seizes, her walls clenching around your shaft in a series of violent, unbearable spasms. She’s crying out your name, her head thrown back, her entire being consumed by the pleasure. It’s beautiful, watching her shatter like this, so completely undone, so utterly yours.

But she doesn’t stop. Even as the aftershocks of her orgasm ripple through her, her hips keep moving, a desperate, frantic grinding, her pussy still milking your aching cock.

"Fuck, Irene… I’m close…" you gasp out, your own release clawing at you. "I’m gonna cum…"

The moment the words leave your mouth, she’s moving. With a surprising agility, she pulls off your cock with a wet, sucking sound, her own body still trembling. Before you can even register what’s happening, she’s scrambling off the bed, dropping to her knees in front of you, her flushed face upturned, her dark eyes blazing with a renewed, almost manic hunger.

"Give it to me, baby," she pants. "I want it all over my face. Drench me. Make me your fucking whore."

Your brain short-circuits. Her words, the sight of her kneeling there, so eager, so fucking filthy, it’s too much. You get out of bed, standing in front of her. You grab your cock, your hand slick and shaking, and start stroking, hard and fast.

"Look at me, Irene," you growl. "Open that pretty little mouth for me."

She does, her tongue flicking out in anticipation. You stroke faster, your balls tight, your vision blurring. One more stroke… two…

"FUCK!"

With a guttural roar, you explode. Thick, heavy ropes of your cum shoot from your cock, spurt after spurt, splattering across her face. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t turn away. She takes it all, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment as the hot, sticky load coats her cheeks, her forehead, her chin. A thick glob lands on her lips, and her tongue darts out, instinctively licking it away, a soft, pleased moan escaping her. You keep cumming, more than you thought possible, drenching her, covering her, marking her as yours.

When the last pulse finally subsides, you’re left panting, your body trembling, your cock still twitching in your hand. Irene stays there, kneeling, your cum dripping from her face, her hair stuck to her slick skin. She looks utterly debauched. Utterly fucking beautiful.

She opens her eyes, her dark gaze meeting yours. There’s no shame there, no disgust. Only a wild, exhilarated pleasure. She slowly brings a hand up to her cheek, her fingers tracing through the thick, creamy mess, then brings them to her lips, sucking your cum from her skin with a delighted, almost reverent expression. Receiving your load like this, being painted with it, clearly turns her on as much as it does you. It feels fucking amazing, this raw, shared depravity.

You can't resist. You lean forward, your own body still thrumming with the aftershocks of release, and dip your thumb into the thickest patch of your load still clinging to her cheek. You bring your slick finger to her lips.

"Taste good, Irene?" you murmur.

Without a word, her eyes still locked on yours, she parts her lips and takes your thumb into her mouth. Her tongue swirls around it, hot and wet, sucking sensually, cleaning every last trace of you from your skin.

You let out a long, slow sigh, your whole body going lax. "That was… Jesus, Irene. That was fucking amazing."

She releases your thumb with a soft, wet sound, a tiny, almost smug smile playing on her lips. "It was, wasn't it?" she agrees, her usual quietness now laced with a husky, satisfied confidence. "Best Friday night I’ve had in… well, a very long time." She pushes herself up, her movements fluid and graceful despite the intensity of what just happened. "I should probably… shower now."

"Yeah," you manage, watching her. "Good idea."

She disappears into the en-suite, and you hear the distant hiss of the shower starting. You lie there for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, your mind a blissful, empty buzz. Eventually, you push yourself up. You should probably leave, give her space. It’s the decent thing to do, right? Even if every fiber of your being wants to crawl back into that bed and wait for her.

By the time she pads back into the bedroom, you’re mostly dressed – pants on, shirt half-buttoned. She’s wrapped in a fluffy white towel that looks ridiculously large on her petite frame, her dark hair damp and clinging to her neck, her face scrubbed clean and glowing. She stops when she sees you, her brow furrowing slightly.

"You’re… leaving?" Her words are soft, a hint of something unreadable in them.

"Yeah," you say, trying for casual, even though your limbs feel heavy, your head still pleasantly swimming from the beer and everything else. "Figured I shouldn’t bother you. It’s late."

She walks closer, her bare feet silent on the carpet. She stops in front of you, close enough that you can smell the fresh, clean scent of soap and her skin. "You’re still a little drunk, aren’t you?" she observes, her gaze steady.

You shrug, a sheepish grin touching your lips. "Maybe a little. The beer was good. The company was… distracting."

"You can stay," she says. "It’s no problem. You shouldn't be walking around like that.”

You look at her, surprised. "You sure? I don’t want to impose."

"I’m sure," she replies. "The bed’s big enough."

And just like that, the decision is made. You reverse the process, now unbuttoning your shirt and taking off your pants. Irene takes off her towel, drys her hair, and puts on comfortable pajamas. You both slide into her bed, the sheets cool against your skin. She keeps a respectable distance at first, lying on her side facing away from you. You lie on your back, staring up into the darkness, your mind replaying the night’s events.

"That was…" you begin, "quite a night."

She shifts slightly, turning her head on the pillow to look towards you, though you can barely make out her features in the dark. "It was," she agrees, her reply just as soft. "It’s been a long time since I… since I had a night that good."

"Me too," you admit. The silence stretches for a moment, comfortable, intimate. "So, this whole 'not going out much' thing," you venture, remembering her earlier comment at the bar. "Are you, like, super strict with your routine? Or is it just a general aversion to humanity?"

"A bit of both, maybe." She pauses. "But it’s also… more than that." Her words are hesitant now. "I just… I ended up depriving myself of some things. For a long time. For my own good, I thought."

"Things like… fun? Or just human contact in general?" you ask gently, trying to understand.

"Things like… letting go," she says, her meaning still veiled. "Being… open."

You process that for a moment. "Well," you say, trying to inject some lightness, "I hope, as your newly appointed (and incredibly charming) supervisor, I can attempt to bring a little more… spice? Unpredictability? Into your carefully curated life. Supervisors can be cool too, you know. It’s not all spreadsheets and passive-aggressive emails."

She gives a weak, tired chuckle. "You’re cool," she concedes.

Silence again. This one’s heavier, but it’s not uncomfortable. It wraps around you both like the comforter you’re only half under. Her presence is warm and grounding, even with the distance she’s keeping between your bodies.

And just when your mind starts fuzzing at the edges, drifting toward sleep, you hear it.

“…hey.”

Your eyes flutter, but you don’t answer immediately.

She tries again. “Hey. You awake?”

You manage a half-conscious “Hmm?”

“I… I need to tell you something,” she says, her tone suddenly different. Strained. Fragile. “And I don’t think I’ll get another chance like this.”

You roll your head a little, but you’re already falling. You’re trying to stay up, your body fighting it, but there’s alcohol in your blood and pillows under your skull and her voice sounds like a lullaby even when it’s trembling.

“It’s kind of awful,” she says. “I mean: I think it is. Most people would think it is. I don’t even know why I’m bringing it up. I guess… it’s easier when I can’t see your face.” Her voice catches. She swallows. “And I’m drunk,” she adds bitterly. “That helps. Brave little idiot version of me that only comes out after gin and zero lighting.”

You want to say something, your brain claws for words, but you’re slipping. The room is tilting, your breath slowing, mouth too heavy to open.

“I don’t want this to blow up,” she goes on, like she’s already sure it will. “But you’re… nice. Too nice. And I think it’s going to matter eventually. So maybe it’s better you know now.”

She turns, the sheets rustling. Her breath’s close. She's watching you.

“I used to do porn,” she says into the dark. “I know it’s horrible. But, God, I liked it. Not just the attention, not just the money. I liked the sex. I was… addicted. Like, actually. Probably still am. I think I’m a… I don’t know. A nympho? That sounds dramatic. But it’s true. And I’m terrified you’re gonna look at me differently if you ever find out. Like it’ll be all you see. Like I’m… stained.”

A sharp breath.

“You probably will look at me differently. If not now, then later. And that’ll kill me. Because I think I actually like you. And you’re the first person in forever who makes me feel like I don’t have to hide.”

Her hand reaches out under the blankets, not to touch you, just to rest nearby.

“I’m still not sure if I’m ashamed because I regret it… or because I liked some of it too much. Isn’t that worse?” She exhales. “I tried to cut it all off. Cold turkey. Quit the industry. Quit everything. No sex. No relationships. No late nights. No bars. No letting anyone get close. I started hiding from everything I wanted. Because I had to. My last relationship was a disaster. Everything fell apart. I wanted to be invisible again. Safe. And I thought if I worked a boring job, wore boring clothes, kept my mouth shut, nobody would see me. Nobody would want me.” She pauses. The next words are like admitting a sin:

“And then you saw me.”

“You were kind to me. Just… kind. That’s all it took. And I started feeling again. I tried to fight it. I told myself you were just being nice. That it wasn’t anything. But every time you smiled, or made some dumb joke, or talked to me like I mattered… I couldn’t stop it.” She sounds exhausted. Hollow. “You’re the first person I’ve wanted to kiss in years. The first one I’ve wanted to touch. The first one I’ve let into my bed. And I hate that I like you. I hate that it scares me. Because I’m not… good.”

Her voice breaks, just a little.

“I’m not someone who deserves soft things. Or quiet moments. Or this stupid, beautiful night.” Another deep breath, followed by a silent bitter laugh. “And you’re asleep. Of course you’re asleep.”

She waits. Hopes, irrationally, for some murmur of understanding, some unconscious twitch of your hand to say you’re still with her. But there’s nothing. Nothing. Your chest rises, falls. Silent. Peaceful. Asleep.

Another rustle of sheets as she rolls back onto her side, facing away again.

“Maybe that’s better,” she whispers. “Maybe if you knew, you’d leave. Or worse… maybe you’d stay for the wrong reasons. I just wanted you to know. Even if you never hear it.”

She tugs the comforter up to her shoulders, folds in on herself, and presses her forehead to the pillow, eyes closed, breath warm against the sheet. And then she whispers one last thing. So quiet it almost doesn’t exist:

“Please... don’t hate me.”

—

The days that follow are not what you expected. Not at all. After that night, after the intensity, the confessions, the shared intimacy, you thought you’d climbed a new step with Irene, reached a new layer. You imagined easier smiles in the office, maybe even her initiating a coffee break, a casual lunchtime chat. You pictured the comfortable progression from Friday night drinks to something… more.

Instead, it’s like you’re back at square one. Worse, even.

Irene is a ghost again, but this time, her politeness is tinged with an almost painful discomfort. She still does her work, still impeccably, but she avoids your gaze. Your attempts at casual conversation are met with short, clipped answers. The easy banter, the shared laughter from that night at the bar; it’s all gone, replaced by a strained, awkward formality.

You try, of course you try. You invite her to your apartment to watch that terrible sci-fi series you’d bonded over. "Sorry, I have plans," she’d murmured, not looking at you. You suggest grabbing a quick drink after work, just like before. "I can’t, I’m busy." Even a casual, "Hey, fancy grabbing lunch in the park? Sun’s actually out for once," is met with a polite, "Thank you, but I brought my own."

Each refusal is a small, sharp sting. Always polite. Always with a hint of something that looks like regret, or discomfort, in her eyes. But always a refusal.

You know what this means, or at least, you think you do. She regretted that night. Of course she did. She was drunk. You were too. Maybe she was feeling lonely, vulnerable, and just got carried away by the alcohol and the moment. You probably came on too strong, misread the signals, pushed too hard, too fast. And now you’ve messed it up, scared her off, ruined whatever fragile connection you were starting to build. The thought settles in your gut like a cold, heavy stone. You fucking idiot.

Weeks bleed into each other. The distance between you and Irene solidifies, an invisible wall of her polite deflections and your own frustrated, confused silence. You stop trying so hard. What’s the point?

Then, the email from HR lands in your inbox. A reminder: Irene Bae’s casual contract is due to expire at the end of next week. Department heads need to submit any recommendations for extension or permanent placement by close of business Friday.

Your office feels colder than usual when you call her in. You keep your expression neutral, professional, as she walks in and sits in the chair opposite your desk. She doesn’t meet your eye, her gaze fixed on a point somewhere over your left shoulder.

"Irene," you begin, your own words sounding unduly formal. "Thanks for coming in. As you know, your current contract is… coming to an end." You pause, waiting for some reaction, any reaction. Nothing. She just sits there, perfectly still, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "HR needs a final decision regarding the full-time offer we discussed. This is… well, this is pretty much your last chance to decide." You try to keep the disappointment, the faint, stupid hope, out of your delivery. "So, I need to ask. What conclusion have you reached?"

She takes a slow, deliberate breath. Her gaze is still averted, focused on the framed print of some abstract cityscape hanging on your wall. When she finally speaks, her reply is short and cold.

"I… I’m going to have to decline the offer.”

You look at her. She’s still not meeting your eye, her gaze resolutely fixed on that abstract cityscape print on your wall as if it holds the answers to the universe. Her hands are clasped so tightly in her lap, her knuckles are white. You know. Of course, you fucking know. It’s not about the job, not really. It’s about that night. It’s about you.

"Irene," you begin, your carefully constructed professional composure starting to fray at the edges. You try to keep your delivery even, reasonable. "That… that doesn’t make a lot of sense, professionally speaking. This isn't just a casual offer. It’s a permanent position. Full benefits package, paid time off, a significant salary increase from your current rate. Henderson genuinely likes your work; he specifically mentioned your efficiency with the merger data. This office… it’s a good environment. People respect you here. There's clear potential for promotion down the line, further salary increases. Turning this down… frankly, it’s not a rational career move for someone with your skills."

You’re laying it on a bit thick, the corporate spiel, but you need her to see, to understand that you’re trying to offer her something good, something stable. Something she deserves.

Still, she doesn’t look at you. "I understand the terms, and I appreciate the opportunity." Her words are precise, almost robotic.

"Then what is it?" you press, a note of frustration creeping in despite your best efforts. "Because it sounds like you’re about to walk away from a genuinely great opportunity for no good reason." You lean forward, resting your elbows on your desk. "Irene… I know why you want to turn this down."

Her head snaps up at that, her dark eyes finally, belatedly, meeting yours. "No," she says, her reply sharper than usual, cutting through her quiet demeanor. "You don’t know."

"I think I do," you insist, your gaze holding hers. "It’s because of what happened between us, isn’t it? That night. After the bar."

Her expression shutters again, becoming unreadable, guarded.

"Look," you continue, softening your approach, trying to sound reassuring, "if that’s what this is about… if you’re sorry it happened, or if you felt pressured, or if you’re just uncomfortable now… it’s okay. I get it. I swear, I won’t pressure you, I won’t bother you at work. We can just… go back to how things were. Professional. I respect you, Irene. Your decision, whatever it is." You’re laying your cards on the table, trying to give her an out, trying to make this easier for her, even if it twists something in your own heart.

"It’s not because of you."

Not because of you? Then what the hell is it? "Then what?" you ask, genuinely bewildered now. "What’s the reason, Irene? Because I’m not seeing it."

She sighs, a tiny, almost inaudible sound. "It’s… complicated." She pushes her chair back slightly, her hands gripping the armrests. "I should probably just… go." She starts to get up, a clear intention to flee in her movements.

"No." The word is out before you can stop it, sharper, more commanding than you intended. You’re on your feet too, moving around your desk, stopping her before she can reach the door, positioning yourself between her and her escape route.

She freezes, her eyes wide, trapped.

"Irene, wait," you start, “okay, look. I’m sorry. For… for what I did. For that night. We were both drunk, I know that. And if you’re uncomfortable now because of it, if I made you feel… pressured, or weirded you out, then I am truly sorry. That was never my intention. I just… I thought you liked me too. I guess I misinterpreted things." God, you sound like a desperate idiot.

"I do like you," she says. "I told you that. At the bar."

"Yeah, but…" you trail off, running a hand through your hair in frustration. "I thought you were just… drunk. Saying things. I didn’t think…"

"That’s the problem," she cuts in. "Liking you. That’s the problem." She finally looks up at you. "If I stay here… in this job… in the same environment as you… things will… they’ll develop." Her gaze is pleading, desperate. "And I know how it will end."

You stare at her, completely lost. "Develop? End? I… I’m confused, Irene. Is it so bad? Liking me?"

A sad, hollow little laugh escapes her, a sound that tears at something inside you. It’s devoid of any humor, filled only with a deep, weary pain. "Oh, you have no idea. It’s not about whether liking you is bad." She looks up, her dark eyes swimming with unshed tears. "It’s that I’m afraid. I’m afraid of liking you."

"But… it’s mutual, Irene," you say, stepping closer, wanting to reach out, to comfort her, but holding back, unsure. "I like you. A lot. I… I thought that was obvious. The way I act around you, the way I talk to you…"

"I know," she whispers, a single tear finally escaping, tracing a path down her cheek. She doesn’t wipe it away. "I know you do. You… you treat me so well. Better than I deserve."

"Don’t say that."

"But it’s true!" Her words gain a desperate edge. "And that’s why I’m afraid! I’m afraid you’ll… you’ll be disappointed in me. Like any other guy would be. Eventually."

"That won’t happen, Irene," you assure her, your conviction absolute, even if you don’t fully understand the depths of her fear. "Not with me."

Her gaze searches yours, desperate for reassurance, for a guarantee you can’t possibly give, not without knowing what demons she’s fighting. "How?" she breathes. "How can you be so sure?"

"You just… you have to trust me.”

She sighs then, a long, shuddering exhalation that seems to carry the weight of years. Her shoulders slump, her head lowers. "I… I have a past," she says. "A past that I’m… I’m not proud of."

"It’s okay," you say gently. "Everyone has things in their past they’re not proud of, Irene. That doesn’t define who you are now."

She shakes her head, still not looking at you. "No, this is… this is different." She takes another shaky breath. "When I was younger… much younger… I… I was a porn star." The words come out in a rushed, choked whisper, as if saying them aloud might shatter her. "For three years."

Porn star. Irene? Your quiet, meticulous, reserved Irene? Your brain struggles to reconcile the image with the woman standing before you, so vulnerable, so afraid.

"I… I almost told you," she continues, her words tumbling out now, as if a dam has broken. "That night, at my apartment… when we were in bed. When I was drunk and feeling… brave. But you were already asleep. And I just… I gave up. Maybe, I thought, maybe it was better that way. Better for you not to know."

She finally lifts her head, her eyes raw, pleading. "My last relationship… it was four years. And it ended the moment he found out about it. He didn’t just leave. He… he leaked it. To my work, to everyone I knew. As revenge. Because he felt… betrayed, I guess." Her words are choked with remembered pain. "I had to leave. My job, my apartment, everything. I was… traumatized. Completely exposed." She shudders. "That’s why I only work as a casual worker now. I’m terrified of staying in one place too long. Terrified that eventually… someone will find out. That it will all happen again."

She looks at you then, her face pale, her eyes wide with a terrible, naked fear. "So now you know… Do you… do you think I’m disgusting now? Do you think I’m a whore?"

You listen, your own expression carefully neutral, though inside, a storm of emotions is raging: shock, yes, but overwhelmingly, a deep, aching empathy for what she must have endured. Disgusting? Whore? The words feel alien, obscene when applied to the woman in front of you.

You step closer, very slowly, and gently, calmly, you reach out and take her trembling hands in yours. Her skin is cold.

"No, Irene," you say, your gaze holding hers, willing her to believe you. "No, I don't think you're disgusting. And I sure as hell don't think you're a whore." You give her hands a gentle squeeze. "I am no one to judge you. No one. And what you went through… at your old work, with your ex… Jesus, Irene, I am so incredibly sorry. I can’t even begin to imagine the trauma of feeling exposed like that, of having your life and your privacy violated so brutally."

She stares at you, her lips parted, her dark eyes wide with a dawning, incredulous surprise. It’s as if she was braced for a blow, and instead, you offered her… understanding.

"The job offer," you continue, your tone unwavering, "it still stands, Irene. Henderson wants you because you’re brilliant. I want you here because this team, this office, is better with you in it. That hasn’t changed. Nothing has changed that."

"You’re… you’re serious?"

"Deadly serious," you affirm. "The contract is yours if you want it. No questions asked, no judgments made." You pause, then take another step closer, your grip on her hands tightening just a fraction. "And more importantly, Irene…" Your words are softer now, laced with all the unspoken emotion that’s been building between you for weeks. "I still want to keep… seeing you. Dating you. Whatever this is that we’re starting." You search her eyes. "If… if you still want to, of course. After all this."

For a long, breathless moment, she just looks at you, her expression a maelstrom of shock, relief, and a fragile, burgeoning hope. Then, slowly, wordlessly, she steps forward, closing the small distance between you. Her hands leave yours, sliding up your arms, to your shoulders, and then she’s rising on her tiptoes, her face lifting to yours.

Her lips meet yours, soft, hesitant at first, then deepening with a desperate, grateful intensity. It’s not like the hungry, alcohol-fueled kisses from before. This is something else entirely. It’s a kiss of acceptance, of relief, of a future that suddenly feels possible again. When she finally pulls back, her eyes are shining, her cheeks wet, but she’s smiling. A real smile. Radiant.

"Yes," she whispers, but the words come out clear as day. "Yes to both.”

—

Two months have passed since the night Irene told you her secret. You hadn’t pressured her for details after that. You figured she’d share more when she was ready. And maybe you’re dying to know, because there’s a whole life behind those eyes you’re only just beginning to uncover, but you’ve kept quiet. The important thing is simple: Irene’s here, now, with you. Not a passing contract worker anymore, but a full-time part of the company, of your team, of your life. She’s taken root, quietly but firmly, in your space.

And the sex? If anything, it’s only gotten wilder, like with the weight of her secret off her chest, she’s finally able to let go in ways you hadn’t seen before. The shy smiles, the slow, calculated movements…still there, sure, but now layered with something hungrier, less reserved, like she’s reclaiming something with every time you push her over the edge. You love it. Love her.

Which brings you to today. Your birthday. You didn’t tell anyone at work, not even Seulgi, who usually insists on dragging your ass out for overpriced cocktails every year. No thank you. You didn’t want a party. All you wanted was your day off, the luxury of doing absolutely nothing with Irene. You arranged to meet her at 6:00 PM at your apartment, which left your afternoon free. You went for a run in the park, as you usually do, and for some reason, the day feels brighter; maybe because it’s your birthday, or maybe because you know you’ll be seeing Irene in just a few hours. The air was cool, but the city was beautiful, glinting in that late afternoon gold.

By the time you got home, you were sticky with sweat, a faint sheen from the walk making your shirt cling to your back. You opened the door expecting the familiar sprawl of your apartment (the faintly messy pile of laundry on the chair, the open laptop on the coffee table), but instead, you stopped dead.

She was standing there, barefoot on your rug, a modest little cake perched on the kitchen counter, a couple of small, wrapped boxes beside it, the faint scent of chocolate and flour in the air.

“Irene… what the fuck…” You blink, stunned, taking it in: the simple but unmistakable gesture. She’s dressed so casually it almost undoes you: black tank top, thin and loose enough that you can see the faint outline of her nipples beneath, and tiny gray cotton shorts that barely cover the tops of her thighs. Her hair’s pulled back, but messier than usual, strands framing her face. She looks so effortlessly gorgeous it pisses you off a little, how she always does this without even trying.

“You… you didn’t have to,” you say, still standing in the doorway, key half out of your hand. “Seriously.”

She shrugs, but her lips curl up, pleased. “It was a pleasure,” she says, walking toward you, her bare feet making no sound against the floor. “You deserve it.”

You exhale, feeling something tight release in your chest. She’s already so close now, tilting her head up to kiss you. You bend down automatically, catching her mouth in yours, slow and grateful. She tastes like the chocolate she must’ve sampled from the cake.

You pull back, brushing your thumb over her cheek. “I’m just gonna take a quick shower. I’m disgusting after that walk.”

She smirks, and her hand snakes out, giving your ass a firm squeeze. “But you look hot like that.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “It’ll be quick.”

She lets you go with a small, satisfied hum, and you head to the bathroom, stripping as you go. Under the hot spray, you let your muscles relax, your mind drifting. This week’s been a nightmare: training a bunch of new hires who couldn’t give a shit about what you say, their apathy bleeding into your own work, your inbox piling up, everything a fucking mess. You rinse your hair, scrubbing shampoo out, and call out loud enough for her to hear in the other room.

“I swear to god, babe, this week’s been brutal. I’ve been babysitting these useless newbies, none of them care, none of them listen—” You towel off roughly, stepping out, water still dripping down your chest. “—and I still have to keep up with all my own shit. It’s like I’m doing two jobs.”

You walk into the bedroom, still talking as you rub the towel over your head. “I should’ve just told Henderson to shove it and let them sink.”

And then you stop mid-sentence.

She’s standing there.

Naked.

Not a single stitch of clothing, just her flawless, toned petite frame, the faintest sheen of lotion on her smooth skin, her black hair loose now, falling around her shoulders. And her nipples (your breath catches) her nipples are each dabbed with a smear of dark, glossy chocolate, the scent of cocoa rich and unmistakable from where you stand.

She tilts her head, eyes glinting with wicked amusement. “Do you really want to talk about work? And by the way, I don’t think you’ll be needing clothes right now.”

You’re frozen, towel hanging loose around your hips, your cock already stirring in response to the sight of her.

She steps closer, one slow, deliberate stride at a time, her bare feet silent against the hardwood. Her fingers ghost over the edge of your towel, teasing, tugging, and with a practiced flick, she pulls it free. Your cock springs up, hard and ready, and she smiles like she expected nothing less.

“You didn’t really think cake and presents were your only gifts, did you?” she murmurs, eyes dropping to your length appreciatively.

Before you can answer, she pushes you gently but firmly backward, making you sit on the bed. You fall back onto the mattress, legs spread, leaning on your elbows, watching her climb up, her knees on either side of your thighs.

“It’s time for your second gift,” she says.

She shifts forward, and her small, perfect breasts are suddenly right there in front of you, chocolate gleaming on her tight little nipples.

You groan, sitting up and catching one of her nipples in your mouth without hesitation. You suck hard, your tongue circling the hard peak to clean away the bittersweet smear of chocolate. She lets out a soft, sharp gasp, her fingers immediately threading through your damp hair, gripping the strands, holding your head firmly in place. You take that as an invitation.

You drag your tongue over every last trace of the chocolate, lapping at her skin, feeling the delicate flesh swell and tighten even more under your attention. The taste is insane; dark, rich chocolate melting into the salty, warm taste of her skin. Once the first nipple is clean, glistening, and pink from the friction of your tongue, you move to the other. This time you start with your teeth, grazing them ever so gently over the hardened bud.

She shivers violently, a full-body tremor, her hips giving a small, involuntary buck against the mattress. "Fuck… yes…" she pants. "Right there… don't stop."

"You like that?" you murmur against her breast, your hot breath making her shiver again. "Like it when I bite?"

"I… fuck, yes," she admits, her hands tightening their grip in your hair, almost pulling. "Bite it harder."

You do, clamping your teeth down just enough to make her gasp again, a sharp, pained-pleasured sound that makes your cock throb. Then you soothe the faint mark with your tongue, lapping at her, sucking her deep into your mouth until her moans become a steady, breathless rhythm.

"Fuck," you breathe, finally pulling back to look at her, your lips wet and dark with chocolate. "You taste so fucking good."

She smirks. "I know," she purrs. "I was hoping you'd think so." She leans forward, her clean, hard nipples brushing against your lips. "They're all yours tonight, supervisor. A birthday present. You can do whatever you want to them."

"Anything?" you ask.

"Anything," she confirms, her eyes glinting. "Suck them, bite them, cover them in your cum… Just make them feel good. Make them feel used."

That's all the permission you need. You dive back in, taking her left nipple into your mouth again, but this time your assault is rougher, needier. You suck hard, creating a powerful suction, pulling at the flesh, your tongue a relentless engine against the peak. She cries out, a raw, open-mouthed sound, her body instinctively pressing closer against yours.

"God, you're so fucking sensitive," you mutter against her skin, loving the way her body reacts to your every touch. "I love how your nipples get so hard for me, how they just stand at attention, begging for my mouth."

"They are," she gasps, her hips starting to writhe. "They've been aching for you… for weeks… every time you look at me in the office…"

You pull away from her breast just enough to trail a line of wet, open-mouthed kisses up her chest, over her collarbone, until you reach her mouth. You capture her lips in a deep, filthy kiss. Your tongue, slick with her taste and melted chocolate, plunges past her teeth, and she meets it eagerly, her own tongue wrestling with yours. You let her taste herself on you, the sweetness of the chocolate mingling with the salt of her skin.

When you finally break the kiss, you're both panting, a string of saliva connecting your mouths. "See?" you breathe. "I told you you taste good."

Irene licks her swollen lips, a dazed, utterly debauched look in her eyes. "Fuck," she whispers. "You're right." Her gaze drops from your eyes to your mouth, then back up again. "You know what else tastes good?” she asks, cupping the back of your head and guiding you down, down until your shoulders hit the mattress again. Then she moves, her thighs sliding up, one smooth motion as she positions herself right over your face, her pussy bare and slick, already dripping for you.

You barely manage a breath before she lowers herself onto you, her inner thighs framing your face, her weight pressing you down in the best possible way.

“This will be more delicious than the cake,” you say, voice muffled against her.

Irene smiles down at you lazily, like a queen about to settle onto her throne. Her hands find the headboard above your head, bracing herself, and then, finally, she lowers herself onto your mouth, her warmth enveloping you, her thighs tightening around the sides of your head.

The first contact is enough to make your cock twitch against your stomach. You slide your hands up the backs of her thighs, fingertips tracing the toned, soft muscle there, and then up further to her ass, gripping it firmly as you pull her closer, burying your face in her cunt. She’s soaked already, the slickness smearing across your lips and chin as you flatten your tongue and drag it slowly from the very base of her slit all the way up to her clit, savoring every second.

She lets out a sharp gasp, her hips twitching forward instinctively.

“Shit…” she breathes, looking down at you, her expression already beginning to shift from teasing control to raw need.

But for now, she’s still in charge. She rocks her hips forward just a little, her pussy sliding wetly over your mouth and nose, smearing you with her arousal. You keep your tongue out, letting her use your face however she wants, just occasionally giving her little flicks against her clit to remind her how eager you are.

“You love this, don’t you?” she says, her tone soft but with that dangerous little edge that always drives you crazy. Her fingers tangle in your damp hair, holding your head still as she starts to move her hips in slow, deliberate circles against your mouth. “Love being under me… letting me use you…”

You can’t answer (she’s not giving you space to) but your moan is deep and guttural, vibrating against her slick folds as you slide your tongue back up to her clit and start circling it in slow, agonizingly steady motions.

“Mmm, fuck…” she exhales, head falling back slightly, her chest rising and falling with quickening breaths.

She’s setting the pace. You know better than to rush her. Your hands stay planted firmly on her ass, kneading the flesh as she rides your face, her hips rolling smoothly, confidently. The heat of her grows with every pass of her pussy over your tongue, her slick spreading across your cheeks and chin, and every time you flick the tip of your tongue against her clit just a little harder, she gasps and rocks her hips more forcefully.

“You always… eat me so fucking good…” she mutters, her voice breaking into a breathy moan as you latch your lips around her clit and start sucking gently, your tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive bud.

Her thighs tense around your head, the muscles flexing beautifully as she grinds down harder, chasing more friction. The more you give, the more she takes, rolling her hips with more intensity, dragging her soaked slit all over your face, smearing herself on you like she owns you (and she does).

Right now, she does.

“Don’t stop,” she hisses through gritted teeth, her fingers gripping your hair tighter, anchoring herself as she starts to lose some of that controlled rhythm, her movements becoming more desperate, more erratic.

You moan into her, the sound vibrating directly against her clit, and she cries out, a sharp, needy sound that makes your cock throb with how much you want her. But this is her moment. You flatten your tongue again, letting her grind against it, letting her slide herself up and down at her own pace, her pussy getting wetter, creamier, with every second.

“Fuck… fuck, you’re making me so wet…” she gasps, looking down at you, her dark hair sticking to her temples now as her body starts to glisten with sweat.

She lifts herself slightly, just to reposition, then slams her hips down against your mouth again, harder this time, her pussy mashing against your tongue and nose. You slide one hand from her ass to her lower back, steadying her, encouraging her to keep going, to use you just like this.

You can feel the shift now. The subtle change in her moans, from teasing and playful to raw, involuntary noises she can’t hold back. Her thighs begin to shake slightly on either side of your head as she rides your face, her slick coating your lips and chin, the taste of her getting thicker, sweeter, more intoxicating.

“I’m so fucking close…” she whimpers, her voice cracking with how hard she’s working herself against your mouth.

You respond by tightening your grip on her ass, pulling her down harder, guiding her against your tongue as you focus all your energy on relentless, steady strokes against her clit. She gasps, her whole body shuddering above you, her head dropping forward so her hair hangs in her face.

“God… yes… just like that… don’t you fucking dare stop…” she growls, grinding her pussy against your face with wild, desperate circles now, her control all but gone.

The wet sounds of her pussy dragging over your lips fill the room, slick and obscene, her arousal practically dripping onto your chest now as she rides you, using your face like her own personal toy. You keep your tongue out, letting her smear herself all over you, letting her control everything, loving how small but powerful she is, how easily she can overwhelm you with just her hips and her need.

“Shit… shit…” she pants, her thighs clamping tighter around your head, her fingers gripping the headboard so hard her knuckles go white.

You feel it, the way her pussy clenches, her body going rigid above you as she slams her hips down one final time and cries out, a long, shuddering moan that echoes off the walls. Her whole body quakes as she cums, her pussy gushing over your mouth, slick and creamy, her arousal spilling down your chin and onto your chest as she grinds out every last wave of her orgasm against your face.

You don’t stop. You keep your tongue moving gently, lapping up everything she gives you, licking around her swollen clit and savoring the taste of her cum as she rides out the aftershocks.

Finally, after what feels like forever, she collapses forward, her body draping over yours, her chest heaving, her skin flushed and slick with sweat. Her thighs tremble as she slowly lifts herself off your face, and you look up at her, lips and chin gleaming with her wetness, your eyes glazed with pure, feral hunger.

She smiles weakly, her breathing still ragged. “Happy birthday…” she whispers, voice hoarse but full of smug satisfaction.

You grin, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Best fucking birthday ever.”

She laughs softly, leaning down to kiss you, tasting herself on your lips, her tongue slipping into your mouth with a slow, deliberate slide.

And then she pulls back, biting your lower lip gently, her eyes still dark with want.

“But we’re not done,” she says as her hand trails down your chest and wraps around your cock, already throbbing and slick with precum. “That was just your first gift…”

You groan, tilting your head back, already ready for whatever she has planned next as she shifts her weight and starts to slide down your body.

You laugh breathlessly, wiping the last traces of her slick from your chin with the back of your hand, still riding that high from having her grind out her orgasm on your face. “Jesus,” you exhale, your chest heaving. “That’s already the best fucking birthday I’ve had in years.”

She chuckles, low and throaty, still catching her breath. Then she leans in, presses a lazy kiss to the corner of your mouth, and whispers, “You haven’t even seen the best part yet.”

That pulls a grin out of you immediately. You squeeze her ass, your fingers digging into the soft but firm flesh, pulling her closer as you smirk. “Yeah? And what’s that?”

She pulls back just far enough to give you that look: mischievous, calculated, playful. Her lips tilt up in a smirk, then she bites the inside of her cheek and says, almost sing-song, “Wait here.”

Then she’s sliding off you, her bare feet hitting the floor with that soft, soundless grace that only she seems to have. You watch her as she pads out of the room, completely naked, that tight little body moving with unhurried confidence, her hips swaying just enough to make your already rock-hard cock give another desperate throb.

From the bedroom, you hear the faint sound of a zipper, metal teeth rasping open. A pause. Then some soft rustling. Your heart picks up, your curiosity burning, trying to piece together what the hell she’s planning. And then, her footsteps again, crossing the hall, getting closer.

She comes back into the room, eyes glinting, and tosses something at you. You catch it on instinct.

It’s a small bottle.

You turn it over in your hand, read the label.

Lube.

Your brows shoot up and you look at her, grinning in disbelief. “What the hell do you plan on doing with this?”

She climbs back onto the bed, crawling up slowly, deliberately, like a predator stalking prey, her eyes locked on yours, her knees spreading on either side of your hips until she’s hovering right above you.

“You’re the one who’s gonna do it.”

You blink, your brain still processing, the words sticking in your throat for a second. “Wait… what?”

She leans down, her lips grazing yours as she whispers, “Because it’s your birthday…” she kisses you, slow and soft, then pulls back, “…and because you’re such a great supervisor…” another kiss, deeper this time, “…you get the privilege of fucking my ass today.”

Your whole body tightens instantly, your cock jerking so hard it practically aches. You stare at her, eyes wide, like she’s just handed you the keys to some secret vault you didn’t even know existed. “Are you… are you serious?”

She sits back on her heels, all casual, like she didn’t just offer you the dirtiest birthday present imaginable. “Of course I’m serious.”

Then she reaches behind her, drags her fingers slowly down the curve of her own ass, giving one cheek a light slap, making it jiggle just enough to send your pulse into overdrive.

“It’s been a long time since I took it in the ass…” she says, almost absentmindedly, her voice that same casual, almost shy tone she uses when discussing quarterly reports, like this is just another item on her to-do list. Then she looks right at you, her eyes dark and steady, “…and I kind of love anal.”

Your jaw slackens a bit, your mind racing with images, with questions, with raw, hungry need.

She grins at your reaction, shrugging one bare shoulder. “Makes sense, right?” she adds, almost teasing. “Former porn star. Guessing I’ve done it… more times than I can count. It's part of the job.” Then her voice drops just a little more, breathier, more vulnerable. “But… it’s been years since I’ve had a real dick back there. Just… toys. Dildos.”

Your cock twitches violently at that, thick and hard, standing straight up against your stomach. You groan, dragging your palm slowly along your length, almost needing to ground yourself with the sensation. “Fuck, Irene…” you mutter, shaking your head. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

“But you like it… don’t you?”

“Like?” you laugh quietly, breathless. “This is… this is the best fucking gift.”

She smiles, pleased with herself, then crawls forward a little more, turns, and gets onto all fours right in front of you. That perfect little ass of hers tilted up, back arched so her cheeks spread just slightly, giving you the clearest possible view of her tight, pink little asshole. Your throat goes dry.

She glances back over her shoulder at you, smirking. “Well… supervisor… you gonna get started?”

Your heart is hammering out of your chest. “Damn right.”

You pop open the bottle of lube, the faint plastic crack of the cap clicking free, and squeeze out a generous amount into your palm. It’s cool and slick, coating your fingers easily as you rub them together, warming it up a little.

Without wasting any more time, you slide closer to her, one hand gripping her hip, the other bringing the lube to her ass. You let the first cold drop fall right onto her tight little hole, watching as she shivers at the sudden temperature shock.

“Ohhh… fuck,” she breathes out, her back arching deeper as her hands grip the sheets.

You smear the lube over her asshole with slow, steady circles, massaging it in, spreading it across the perfect crease of her ass, making sure it’s slick and glistening all over. Her cheeks are shining now, slippery under your fingers, and that tight little star is all slicked up, glistening and ready.

The more you work the lube in, the more she relaxes, her breaths coming deeper, slower.

“You’re loving this,” you murmur, running your thumb gently along the rim of her hole, teasing her.

She looks back at you, biting her lower lip, her eyes half-lidded with arousal. “You have no idea…”

You apply a little more pressure with your thumb, testing her, and she pushes back slightly, welcoming it, her body already opening up for you.

“Mmm… that’s it,” you say under your breath, gripping one cheek and spreading her wider, admiring the way her asshole puckers and flexes, slick and inviting.

The contrast between the shy, composed Irene everyone knows at the office, and the filthy, unashamed woman kneeling naked in front of you now, offering you her ass like it’s the most natural thing in the world… it’s fucking intoxicating. You love this about her. That duality. That quiet power.

You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to the small of her back, your hand still massaging circles around her entrance, feeling her pulse there, steady and hot. She shivers again, but it’s not from the cold now; it’s pure anticipation.

“You sure about this?” you ask.

She laughs, breathless. “Don’t make me beg…”

You grin, sliding your lubed fingers lower, brushing her slick pussy briefly, just enough to make her moan softly, before bringing your hand back up to her ass. You add a little more lube to your fingers, making sure it’s dripping, then slowly, carefully, you press the tip of your index finger against her tight, pink hole.

Her breath hitches. Her whole body tenses as you apply steady pressure. The tiny muscle fights you for a second, a stubborn little ring, before it finally gives way with a soft squelch. You slide your finger in, just to the first knuckle. She groans, a low, guttural sound that’s half pain, half pure bliss.

"Fuck…" she breathes out, her hips twitching. "Okay… okay, that’s… mmm."

You wait, letting her adjust to the feeling of being filled, your finger still and warm inside her. Then, you start to move it, a slow, gentle circling motion. Her asshole clenches around you, tight and hot.

"Easy, baby," you murmur. "Just relax for me. Let me open you up."

She exhales, a long, shuddering breath, and you feel her body soften, her tight muscle relaxing just a fraction around your finger. You push in a little deeper, hooking your finger slightly, massaging her from the inside.

"Oh, god… that feels…" she trails off. She pushes back against your hand, wanting more. You continue the slow, steady rhythm, and she lets out a soft, contented sigh. "It's… it's so nice," she whispers. "To be able to do this again."

You keep moving your finger, feeling her pulse against the tip. "Do what, baby? Take a finger up your ass?" you tease gently.

She lets out a wet little laugh. "That too. But… just this. All of it. The sex… being filthy…" Her voice drops, becoming more serious. "But feeling… safe. Feeling protected while I do it. Knowing you’re not going to… hurt me at the end. Or judge me." Her hips rock back, pressing her ass more firmly onto your hand. "God, I’m so happy you didn’t give up on me. That you insisted on staying."

You slide your finger out slowly, coat it with more lube, then add a second finger to the first. You press them both against her entrance. She gasps as you work them in together, stretching her, filling her more completely.

"I would never lose a woman like you, Irene," you say. "You're the most beautiful, intelligent, fucking amazing woman I've ever met. Past, present, all of it. You're perfect."

She shudders as your fingers begin to move inside her again, a slow scissoring motion that makes her moan, a high, keening sound this time. She looks back over her shoulder, her face flushed, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"Fuck… that’s…" she bites her lip, a shy blush creeping up her neck despite the raw vulgarity of the situation. "That’s… really nice of you to say, but… maybe we can leave the love talk for later?" she gasps out between moans. "Talking about these things while you have your fingers in my ass isn't exactly… the best time."

You bark out a laugh, the tension breaking. "You're right. My bad." You lean in and bite her ass cheek playfully. "Sorry for trying to be romantic while I finger-fuck you."

"It's okay, baby," she giggles, her whole body relaxing into your touch now. "Just… focus on the finger-fucking part for now."

"Whatever you want, boss," you say, grinning. You add a third finger, and she cries out, her ass clenching hard around you, starting a slow, relentless rhythm, pumping in and out of her tight little hole. The lube makes a wet, slapping sound with every thrust of your hand, a filthy soundtrack to her ragged moans. Her ass cheeks are spread wide, giving you a perfect, obscene view of her pink, stretched muscle gripping your fingers. You watch, fascinated, as she completely melts under your touch, her body surrendering to the pleasure.

"Fuck, Irene… look at you," you growl. You rotate your fingers inside her, feeling her stretch wider around them. She cries out, a sharp, high-pitched sound. "You're taking my whole hand like a champ. Just imagine how good this is gonna feel when it's my thick cock stretching you out instead."

"Mmmm… don't… don't stop," she pleads, her words broken by gasps as she pushes her ass back onto your violating fingers, meeting the pressure.

"Oh, I'm not stopping," you promise, your pace quickening slightly. You lean down, your lips brushing against her ear. "I think I'm gonna get addicted to this. To your perfect ass. I'm going to want to fuck it every single day." You thrust your fingers deeper, imitating a hard fuck. "How's that sound, baby? Waking up every morning with my cock already buried deep inside your ass, filling you up before you've even had your coffee."

Her response is a raw, guttural moan that vibrates through her entire body. Her hips begin to grind against your hand in wild, needy circles. "Yes… fuck… keep talking," she pants. "Tell me more… tell me what you're gonna do to my ass…"

You glance down between her thighs and your own cock gives a hard throb. A glistening, clear trail of her arousal is dripping from her soaking wet pussy, running down the inside of her thigh and pooling on the sheets. She's not even touching herself, but the thought of you fucking her ass is making her cunt gush.

"Look at that," you murmur, your free hand reaching down to trace the slick path of her juices. "You're so fucking wet for this, aren't you? So horny just thinking about my cock in your ass that your pussy is weeping for it." You dip your thumb into her slickness and bring it back up to her asshole, smearing her own cunt juice around the rim of her hole, mixing it with the lube. "Let's make it even messier."

"Please…" she whimpers, completely gone. "Please, just… fuck me… I need it…"

You pull your fingers out of her with a loud, wet sound. Her asshole, stretched and glistening, puckers greedily, empty for only a second. You can see how ready she is, how open you've made her.

You draw your hand back.

The sound of your palm connecting with her ass cheek is sharp and loud, echoing in the quiet room. A perfect, red handprint blossoms on her pale skin. She yelps, a shocked, ecstatic sound, her whole body jolting. She looks back at you over her shoulder, her eyes wide, dazed, and full of pure, unadulterated need. Her chest is heaving, her lips are parted, and her ass is red, abused, and beautifully, perfectly ready for you.

The lube glistens like syrup under the low light, a sheen coating the delicate wrinkle of her pink asshole, smeared slick between the cleft of her cheeks and dripping slowly toward the tight seal of her pussy. She keeps herself open for you, kneeling deep into the mattress, arms stretched forward, arching her back like a fucking exhibit. She’s panting, her head down, black hair spilled over her shoulder blades in wild, careless strands.

You trace the tip of your cock along the seam of her hole, barely nudging the outer ring, and she makes a noise: sharp, needy, almost angry.

“Don’t tease me,” Irene growls, hips pushing back against you, practically punching your cock with the weight of her ass. “Put it in. Now.”

You obey. You press forward slowly, resisting the urge to just bury yourself to the hilt and fuck like an animal. Her hole yields just a little, then grips you, impossibly snug, sucking you in with a hot, slick resistance that makes your whole body twitch.

“Oh fuck,” you mutter under your breath, biting down on a curse as the ring of muscle clamps around your head, slow and greedy, dragging every millimeter into her. “Jesus, you’re… tight.”

“I know,” she smirks into the pillow, biting down on her bottom lip as she breathes through the stretch. Her tone is breathless but taunting. “I haven’t been used in a while. Not properly. Not like this.”

You ease in another inch. Then another. Her asshole flutters and clamps, adjusting around your girth like it’s testing you.

“That’s it,” Irene whispers, then harder: “Keep going. All the way. Don’t you dare stop until your balls are fucking pressed against me.”

You grit your teeth, rocking your hips gently forward, both hands gripping her sides to keep steady. Inch by inch you sink into her, the resistance melting into slick pressure. She moans, a raw, throaty sound full of pain twisted with hunger. Her whole body shudders as the last inch disappears into her heat.

When your pelvis finally nestles flush against the swell of her ass, your balls brushing her dripping cunt, she exhales hard; like she’s just been filled with something holy.

“Goddamn,” you breathe, locked inside her, unmoving for a second, overwhelmed by the feel of it. “You’re gonna break me.”

“No,” she says, lifting her head just enough to look back at you. “You’re gonna break me. Keep moving, or I’ll sit on your face until you pass out.”

You pull back slow, dragging yourself out until just the thick head is left buried inside, then push back in with a slow, deliberate thrust that makes her whine low in her throat.

“That’s it,” Irene murmurs. “Nice and deep. I want to feel every inch. I want to feel it in my fucking stomach.”

You start to move, slow and steady, your cock plunging deep into the hot grip of her ass and pulling out again, over and over, building a rhythm. Her moans rise in pitch, sharp and cut with whimpers, but her ass keeps pushing back onto you, meeting every thrust with a greedy snap of her hips.

“Faster,” she snarls. “Don’t be gentle. I don’t want gentle.”

You pound into her harder, the slap of your skin against her ass echoing in the room, obscene and constant. Her back arches deeper, the curve of her spine a perfect invitation, and you drive in deeper still, your hands spreading her cheeks to watch your cock disappear again and again into that slick, stretched hole.

“Fuck yes,” she gasps. “That’s it. That’s your hole. Say it.”

Your brain is on fire, body wound tight, but you nod, fucking her faster, harder. “My hole. All mine. Fuck—so good, Irene.”

“Tell me what I am,” she spits, grinding her ass against you mid-thrust. “Tell me what you’re fucking.”

You groan, barely coherent. “My whore. My nympho slut. My fucking anal-obsessed goddess.”

“That’s right,” she laughs, low and mean, pleasure twisting her words. “I’m your filthy bitch. Keep filling me. I want you so deep I can’t walk tomorrow.”

You grip her hips and slam into her, cock buried to the base every time, her ass stretched wide around you. Her pussy is a mess now, slick and twitching, untouched and throbbing with every shockwave of your rhythm.

“Harder,” she snarls. “I want to feel your cock rearranging my guts.”

"Alright, ma'am," you growl.

You give her exactly what she's begging for. Your hips become pistons, slamming into her with a brutal, relentless force. All your strength is channeled into your cock, driving it into her ass again and again, each thrust deeper and harder than the last. The wet, slapping sound of your bodies colliding echoes in the room, obscene and glorious. You grip her hips so hard you know you'll leave bruises, using them as handles to anchor her as you pound into her without mercy.

Her moans shatter, turning into raw, animal cries of pain and ecstasy. She pushes back against you with every brutal thrust, her body a taut bow of pure sensation. You watch your cock disappear into her tight, glistening hole, the muscles of her ass clenching desperately around you. Her untouched pussy is a mess below, dripping her slick onto the bed with every jarring impact. She's so fucking hot, so insatiable.

"Tell me again what a filthy whore I am!" she snarls, voice cracking. "Tell me how much you love fucking my tight ass!"

"You're my perfect little anal slut," you pant, the words ripped from your throat as you continue your assault. "You take this cock so fucking good. Your ass was made for this. Made to be stretched, used, and filled by me."

"It was," she sobs, the words half-lost in a scream of pleasure. "It's yours! My ass is your fucking property! Now wreck it! Wreck me!"

Her body starts to tremble, fine tremors at first that grow into violent, uncontrollable shudders. Her asshole, which was already impossibly tight, clenches down on your cock like a vise, spasming, milking you with an intensity that almost makes you lose control. She's close. So fucking close.

"That's it, baby," you groan, feeling her body start to come apart around you. "You feel that? You're going to cum for me. You're going to cum all over my cock from your ass."

"I am… fuck… I'm… oh god…"

Her head whips back, a choked, guttural scream tearing from her lips as her orgasm hits her like a lightning strike. Her entire body locks up, her back arching so high her knees lift off the bed. Her asshole spasms violently around your shaft, a series of deep, rhythmic pulses that feel like she's trying to suck your cock clean out of your body. She’s coming, harder than you’ve ever seen anyone come, purely from the brutal, relentless fucking you’re giving her ass.

"FUUUUCK!" she screams as she shatters. Her body convulses around you, wave after wave of pleasure ripping through her. She's sobbing, drool trailing from the corner of her open mouth, completely lost in the overwhelming sensation. You don't stop, slamming into her through it, dragging her along the edge of that climax until she’s twitching, sobbing, her thighs soaked, everything between her legs shaking from overstimulation. Her asshole clenches over and over, like it’s trying to keep your cock inside her permanently. The sound of your name on her lips turns into a whimper, a plea.

And then she collapses.

She goes limp under you, body gone soft, her face buried into the mattress, hair plastered to her neck with sweat. You slow just enough not to hurt her more, but you're still buried in her, and she’s still trembling like something in her got snapped and rearranged.

You reach down, cup one hot, twitching cheek in your palm, fingers sinking into the softness, then you slap her ass. She jerks violently, crying out again, a fresh gush of wetness from her untouched cunt.

Irene’s panting like a dog, but she lifts her head slowly, pushing herself up on shaky elbows. Her asshole is raw and red, clenching around nothing now that you’ve pulled out, and your cock stands slick and flushed, aching to go again.

You run a hand down her back, smearing sweat, and watch her shiver under your touch, still catching her breath. She looks over her shoulder, eyes dark and dazed, lips parted.

“What now?” she asks, still high on it, a smirk tugging at the edge of her fucked-out expression.

You crawl over the mattress, slow and deliberate, the mattress dipping under your weight until you’re hovering above her. You reach out, brush her damp hair away from her cheek, and tilt her face toward you. Her eyes meet yours; you lean in and kiss her.

It’s not rushed. Not forceful. Just the soft press of your lips on hers, a quiet connection that feels startlingly out of place after how violently you’d just been inside her. But it fits. Her lips part easily, kissing you back, slow and sweet, her moan caught between you like breath being passed from one lung to another.

When you pull back, your thumb stroking gently over her cheekbone, you speak low and close.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

She blinks once, then laughs; a little stunned, a little disbelieving, the sound raspy and full of heat. She shifts onto her side, hair falling in her face, her lips tugged up into a crooked grin. “Jesus,” she murmurs. “That’s a hell of a romantic thing to say after you fucked my ass like it owed you rent.”

You laugh too, forehead pressed to hers, eyes shut for a second. “I mean it.”

“Yeah?” she whispers, her palm sliding up your chest, nails dragging faintly across skin. “You always get all poetic when I let you wreck my holes?”

“I’m discovering new talents,” you say, and kiss her again, deeper this time, longer, your tongue meeting hers slow and deliberate, savoring her like she’s the only thing that’s ever mattered. Her fingers find your hair, tangling in it, keeping you there until she finally pulls back, panting softly, her lips swollen and wet.

You straighten, letting your hand glide down her bare side, palm trailing over the curve of her hip. “Come on,” you murmur, fingers nudging at her.

She doesn’t move.

Instead, she stretches lazily, catlike, then rolls onto her back, arms above her head, bare chest rising and falling. “Make me,” she says, grinning like a brat, teeth flashing beneath the curtain of black hair stuck to her cheek. “If you want me up so bad, you better earn it.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Oh, you’re in that mood again?” you mutter, and before she can blink, you lunge, grabbing her under the thighs, flipping her off the bed in one fluid motion. She shrieks, half-laughing, half-startled as your arms lock around her, her bare ass landing square in your hands.

“Hey!” she gasps, but she’s laughing, eyes bright. “Assault!”

“You asked for it,” you growl against her throat, kissing her hard, biting the skin there just enough to make her squirm.

Still holding her up, you reposition your grip—one hand under her ass, the other around her back. Her legs wrap around your waist like it’s instinct. She clings to your shoulders, breath hitching as your cock brushes against her inner thigh, then her slick, drenched cunt.

You drag the tip along her folds, once, twice.

She gasps. “Fuck, fuck, I’m—” she starts, but your head nudges inside, the slickness between her legs so intense it practically sucks you in.

“Sensitive,” she finishes, her whole body jolting.

You groan as you push deeper, her pussy hot and swollen and soaked from everything that came before. She’s not just wet—she’s drenched, her folds clinging to your cock like velvet, the entrance spasming as you ease in inch by slow inch. Her breath stutters out of her mouth in broken moans, arms tightening around your neck, her nails biting into your skin.

“Irene—fuck—you’re soaking,” you hiss, your lips brushing her ear.

“I know,” she moans, her words thick with need. “It’s from before…I came so hard… ahh, god, don’t stop, don’t—”

You don’t.

You fuck her slowly in the air, each thrust smooth and deep, her weight light in your arms but heavy on your cock. Her pussy clenches with every movement, already overstimulated and begging for more. Her head falls back, exposing the line of her throat, mouth open in helpless pleasure as you move inside her.

Her moans get louder, warmer, wetter, her body rocking with every motion, the slap of skin against skin muted by the softness of her thighs wrapped tight around you.

“You like that?” you whisper, kissing her collarbone, trailing your tongue between the swell of her breasts. “You like getting fucked right after I ruined your ass?”

She nods frantically, face flushed, lips parted. “Y-yes, I—fuck, yes, I need this, don’t stop, I’m so close already.”

You kiss her, swallowing her cries, letting her whimper into your mouth as you keep thrusting up into her, slow and deep, filling her again and again until her cunt spasms, her whole body clinging to yours like she’s afraid to fall. Her moans melt into kisses, breathy, broken, desperate, like she’s trying to stay anchored through her own bliss.

And you just keep holding her, hips rolling, fucking her deeper… slower… not letting her come down yet.

Your arms are burning with the effort, but you don't care. The feeling of her wrapped around you, your cock buried deep inside her slick, hot cunt, is worth everything. Her body is a dead weight of pure pleasure, clinging to you, her head thrown back as you continue the slow, relentless rhythm. Each thrust is deliberate, deep, a lazy roll of your hips that slides you all the way in until your pelvis presses against her, then draws you almost all the way out before sinking back down.

She whimpers into your mouth every time you pull back, a desperate, needy sound. "Please..." she breathes against your lips, her own hips trying to buck, to rush the pace, to find the friction she so clearly craves.

"Shhh," you murmur, capturing her mouth in another long, slow kiss. "Just feel this, baby. Let me love you." You fuck her with an infuriating gentleness, your movements tender, almost reverent. It's the exact opposite of what her body is screaming for, and you both know it.

That’s the fucking point.

"You're... torturing me," she pants, her nails digging into the muscles of your shoulders. Her pussy is so wet it's practically frictionless, dripping down onto your thighs, but it clenches around your cock with a desperate, pulsing grip.

"Am I?" you whisper, your lips tracing a path down her throat to her collarbone. You continue the slow, deep strokes, ignoring her plea. "I'm just loving you, Irene. Showing you how much you mean to me. How perfect you feel." You thrust upwards, slowly, filling her completely, and hold yourself there for a moment, letting her feel every thick inch. She moans, a long, frustrated wail.

"No... please... I need it harder," she begs, voice cracking. She starts to writhe in your arms, trying to grind her hips against you, to create her own rhythm. "Fuck me... please, just fuck me properly."

You chuckle softly against her skin, a low, dark sound. "But I like this," you say, resuming the agonizingly slow pace. "I like feeling you squeeze me. I like hearing you beg." You kiss her again, a deep, possessive kiss that smothers her protests. You can feel the frantic, thrumming energy building in her, the pleasure coiling into a tight, unbearable knot of pure need.

Her body is trembling now, her skin slick with a fine sheen of sweat. "You're an asshole," she gasps, her voice a mix of fury and arousal. "You know what I want... you know what I need, and you're just... playing with me."

"I am," you agree easily, your hips still rolling in that same, maddeningly slow rhythm. "And you love it. Look at you. You're soaked. Shaking. Completely coming apart just from me being inside you."

"Then make me come!" she cries out, her control finally snapping. "For fuck's sake, stop making love to me and just FUCK ME! Fuck me hard! Use me like I'm a toy, like I'm just a fucking fleshlight you own! I need it! Please, I need you to ruin me!”

You kiss her neck gently, your lips brushing her skin in a gesture of pure affection that completely contradicts the filthy words she just screamed.

"A fleshlight?" you murmur against her ear, your voice a soft, teasing caress. "Is that all you think you are to me, Irene? Just a set of holes to use?" You slide almost all the way out of her, making her gasp and instinctively clench her pussy around the thick head of your cock, trying to keep you inside. Then you push back in, slowly, deeply, until you bottom out against her cervix. "That doesn't sound very romantic."

"I don't want romantic right now!" she cries. Her body writhes in your arms. "I want to be used! I'm just a cunt for you! A tight, wet hole for your big dick! Please, I'm begging you, just pound me! Pound my cunt until I'm stupid! Forget my name! Forget everything but how good it feels to fuck me!"

"Are you sure?" you ask, your voice still infuriatingly calm and gentle. You continue the slow, deep fucking, each stroke a deliberate act of torture. "Because I love making love to you, Irene. I love holding you like this. Feeling your heart beat against mine."

"Fuck my heart!" she sobs. "Fuck my heart and fuck my brain! Just fuck my pussy! Please! I'll do anything! I'll be your good little whore, I promise! Just stop teasing me! I can't take it anymore! I'm going to come just from this, and I'll fucking hate you for it!"

You stop moving.

For one torturous second, you are completely still inside her. She whimpers, her body frozen in anticipation. "Alright," you growl. "If you're going to beg for it like a good little whore, then I guess I have to give you what you want."

"Yes..." she breathes.

Your grip tightens, fingers digging into the meat of her ass as you slam her down onto your cock harder, rougher, the sound of her soaked cunt getting louder, wetter. The wet smack of flesh on flesh fills the room, and she yelps, then laughs through it, her eyes wild, her smile twisted with too much pleasure.

“God, yes—fuck me, use me—don’t stop—don’t you dare—”

You do exactly what she demands.

You use her.

You fuck her like she’s a doll made just to take cock, just to squeeze and stretch and be filled until her mind breaks and drips out of her pussy. You slam into her over and over, brutal rhythm, zero mercy. Her nails are digging into your shoulders, her forehead pressed to yours, moaning every breath into your mouth as her body takes the full force of your thrusts.

“Fucking hell,” you growl, gritting your teeth as her pussy tightens and pulses around your cock, “you’re taking it like a fucking slut, Irene.”

“I am,” she pants, the words shuddering out of her, “I’m your fucking slut—I’m your toy—make me fucking cum, I want it, I want it, please!”

You feel the change before you see it. The muscles inside her pussy, already clenched tight around you, suddenly begin to flutter, then seize, locking down on your shaft like a superheated vise. Her eyes, which were squeezed shut, fly open wide, not with pleasure, but with pure, unadulterated shock.

"Oh... oh my god... I'm..."

A sharp, strangled cry rips out of her as the first gush erupts from her cunt. It’s not just wetness; it's a hot, violent spray that shoots out, soaking your stomach and thighs, splashing on the floor below you. It’s a shocking, uncontrollable release, and her entire body locks up, trembling in your arms as she comes so hard she can’t breathe, can’t think.

You don't stop. You don't even slow down.

The sight, the sound, the feeling of her completely letting go like this makes you lose control. You keep slamming into her, your cock driving through the gushing fluid, making it splash and spray with every thrust. The fucking is louder now, wetter, a constant, obscene slapping sound. Another powerful torrent shoots from her, then another, seemingly endless. Her pussy is a broken faucet, gushing warm, clear fluid that runs in rivers down your legs, pooling on the floor.

"Aaahhh—fuck—it's still coming!" she screams. "I can't stop it—what's happening?! Fuck, fuck, don't you dare stop!"

Her legs, locked around your waist, are trembling so violently she can barely hold on. Her entire body jerks with every stroke, completely helpless in your grip. You fuck her through the flood, your own vision blurring, your body on fire. You watch her face, see her mind completely erased by pleasure, her eyes rolled back, her mouth wide open in a silent, unending scream.

You only slow when the last pulses drain from her, the violent gushes finally slowing to a warm, steady trickle down her thighs. Her limbs go limp, her body slumping against you, completely boneless and spent. She collapses against your chest, shivering and dazed, her entire body buzzing in the aftermath.

With a groan, you stumble back with her still in your arms and half-fall, half-sit on the edge of the bed. She’s still on your lap, your cock buried deep inside her wrecked, dripping pussy. Her arms curl weakly around your neck and she buries her face in the crook of your shoulder, her breath coming in shallow, trembling gasps.

You hold her tight, your own heart hammering against your ribs. Your hands slide slowly up and down her back, a soothing, grounding motion. You kiss her hair, her temple, the shell of her ear, whispering her name over and over.

Finally, you tilt her chin up to kiss her. Her lips are soft, wet, and slow to respond, her body still floating, completely fucked-out. She moans weakly into your mouth, a sound of pure, exhausted bliss.

When she pulls back, her eyes are barely open, her long lashes wet with tears and sweat.

"Mmm," she sighs, nuzzling her cheek against yours. Her gaze drifts down, looking at the mess. Your bodies are gleaming, the floor is soaked, and the air is thick with the clean, musky scent of her release. "Your cock is magic," she whispers. "That was… Jesus Christ. I don't even squirt. Like, ever. I think I've maybe done it once in my entire life, and it was nothing… nothing like that."

You chuckle, your forehead pressing against hers. "Well, I guess your pussy just really, really likes me."

"I guess so," she murmurs, a lazy, dazed smile spreading across her face. "Or maybe you just finally fucked me hard enough to break me.” Then her hand slips between the two of you, down to your lap. Her fingers wrap around your shaft, still rock hard, still throbbing inside her. “Are you close?”

You nod, your breath hitching. “Yeah.”

Her smile changes—still soft, but wicked underneath.

“Good.”

Then she pushes you back, palms on your chest, making you fall flat onto the bed with a surprised grunt. She rolls her hips as she pulls off your cock, the slick noise of her body separating from yours obscene, strands of wetness sticking to your shaft.

She straddles you like she owns you; knees braced on either side of your hips, sweat-slick thighs trembling but determined, ass flexing as she angles herself just right. You’re flat on your back, heart thundering in your chest, cock twitching and red and glistening with her slick, twitching against your stomach until she grips it with one hand, lines the head up with the soaked, glistening pucker of her asshole, and then sinks.

Your breath catches in your throat as her ass envelops you again, tight and hot, that familiar pressure building immediately as she sinks down with a slow, sinful twist of her hips. The tip slides in, and she moans, a low, guttural sound of pleasure and defiance, her back arching, hair sticking to her damp face. Her hole stretches around you perfectly, so perfectly it borders on painful, but she keeps going, inch by inch, until her full weight settles against your hips and you’re buried to the base.

You groan, your fingers digging into the sheets as her ass clenches around your cock like a fist. She lifts her head, licking her lips, eyes half-lidded with bliss.

“Still so fucking hard,” she murmurs. “You love my ass, don’t you?”

You nod, helpless.

“I could ride this cock all night,” she whispers, then smiles wickedly. “And I just might.”

She starts to move.

No slow buildup, no gentle grind: she fucks you, bouncing on your cock with reckless rhythm, ass clapping against your thighs, wet, loud, filthy. You groan through gritted teeth, hands finding her waist to keep yourself grounded, but it’s impossible to keep up with her. She’s wild. Even after cumming twice, even after being reduced to a trembling, soaking mess; she’s still fucking insatiable. Every drop of strength she has is poured into fucking herself on your cock like a nymphomaniac possessed.

“Oh my god,” you groan, hips thrusting up instinctively to meet her. “Irene—Irene, I’m—fuck—I’m close—”

“I know you’re close,” she gasps, riding you harder. “I can feel it. Your cock’s throbbing like it’s about to explode. Come on. Don’t hold back.”

She leans forward, bracing her hands on your chest, and slaps your face (not soft). Your head rocks to the side, the sting immediate, and your cock jerks hard inside her.

“Cum,” she hisses, breath hot against your mouth. “Fucking fill me. Cum in my ass. Do it.”

Your hands clamp onto her hips, pulling her down with every thrust, using her body like a goddamn toy, because that’s what she wants—her words, not yours. She’s a toy, a whore, a filthy little anal slut who wants nothing more than to milk the last fucking drop out of you.

“You wanna cum, don’t you?” she pants, her nails dragging down your chest. “I know you do. I can feel it. You’re right there. Do it—cum inside my ass.”

Your brain goes blank. There’s no air, no words, just pleasure, pure and blistering, like you’ve been set on fire from the inside out. Your whole body seizes, hips jerking up into her as the orgasm slams into you like a bomb.

“Fuuuck—” you groan, head thrown back, every muscle tightening.

You cum. Hot, thick spurts of seed shoot deep into her tight little ass, each pulse more intense than the last, her body milking you with every squeeze, every rhythmic clench. It pours out of you, heavy and helpless, so much it feels like your balls are emptying themselves completely into her. She moans low and deep as she feels it, still grinding, slow now, purposeful, drawing out every spurt like she’s harvesting it.

“Fuck yes,” she groans, eyes fluttering shut. “So hot inside me… I can feel it—all of it. So warm. So fucking full.”

You can't stop moaning, your voice a pathetic, broken thing in the quiet of the bedroom. Your orgasm has left you hollowed out, your body trembling and weak, but she’s still moving. Her hips continue their slow, tight circles, grinding your now hypersensitive cock against the walls of her asshole. Every tiny movement sends a jolt of raw, overstimulated friction through you that’s almost painful. Your semi-flaccid cock twitches again, spasming weakly, squeezing out another dribble of cum into the hot, slick grip of her ass. The wet, squelching sound is obscene.

“Jesus,” you whisper. Your hands are fisted in the sheets, your whole body tense. “Irene—I can’t—please, stop…”

She just laughs. It’s not her usual soft, sweet chuckle. This is a low, throaty, cruel sound that vibrates down through her body and into yours. She leans forward, bracing her hands on your chest, her sweat-slick hair falling around her face like a dark curtain. Her eyes are glittering with a wild, sadistic light.

“Stop?” she purrs, her hips not pausing their relentless, grinding motion. “Oh, baby. We’re not stopping. We’re just getting started.” She grinds down harder, a deliberate, punishing circle that makes you cry out. “Remember earlier? When I was begging you to fuck me harder, and you just kept going slow? When you were teasing me, making me wait, making me plead for it?”

You nod weakly, your eyes squeezed shut.

“Well,” she says. “Payback’s a bitch. This is my revenge. Now it’s your turn to beg. It’s your turn to lie there and take it, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how much you want me to stop. You don’t get to move. You don’t get to pull out. You just take it. Understood?”

“Irene… please… I’m empty,” you plead, your hips instinctively trying to squirm away from the relentless pressure.

Her hands shoot out, pinning your wrists to the bed on either side of your head. Her grip is surprisingly strong. “I said, don’t move,” she hisses. “And you are not empty. I know you, baby. I know your body. There’s always more. And I’m going to milk every last fucking drop out of you before I’m done.”

With your arms pinned, you’re completely at her mercy. She speeds up, just slightly. The slow, torturous grind transitions into a purposeful, steady rhythm. The wet, sloppy sounds of your cum lubricating her fucking get louder. She’s using your own release against you, turning it into a slick coating for her relentless ride.

“That’s it,” she moans, her own pleasure building again. “Feels so good, riding you when you’re this sensitive. I can feel your cock twitching inside my ass with every fucking squeeze. You love it, don’t you? Even though it hurts. You love being my toy.”

“It’s too much, babe…” you groan, your head thrashing on the pillow. Your cock, against all odds, is hardening again inside her, engorging with trapped blood, the sensitivity becoming an unbearable, burning ache.

“Too much? Oh, no. This isn’t even close to too much,” she taunts, her pace quickening even more. She starts bouncing on you, her ass slapping against your thighs, each impact sending a shockwave of sensation straight to your overstimulated nerves. “I’m not stopping until I cum again. And you’re going to be hard and buried inside my ass for that whole ride. You’re going to fill me up again while I’m screaming.”

She’s a fucking demon, a beautiful, insatiable nympho riding you into oblivion. She can feel you getting hard again, feel your body’s unwilling response. A triumphant, wicked grin spreads across her face.

“Oh, look at that,” she pants, her rhythm becoming frantic now. “Getting hard again for me. Such a good boy. You can’t help it, can you? Your cock just wants to please me. It just wants to be milked by my greedy little asshole.”

Her words are a death sentence to your self-control. Your body is already screaming, a raw nerve of overstimulation, but her filthy promises send a fresh wave of heat through you. You’re actually hardening again, impossibly, painfully, inside the slick, tight grip of her ass.

“You’re on the edge again, aren’t you?” she pants, her rhythm becoming frantic now, a brutal, merciless bouncing on your raw cock. “I can feel it. Your cock is twitching inside my ass, getting ready to shoot for me again. Good. I want it. I want your hot load coating my insides. I want to feel you pump every last drop into my greedy little hole.”

“Irene… please… I can’t…” you plead.

“Shhh. You don’t get a say in this. You don’t decide when you’re done. I do. I’m going to milk your balls dry, and you’re going to lie here and take it like the good little toy you are. I want to feel you come apart inside me. I want to feel you lose your fucking mind.”

She feels the tell-tale tremor run through you. She knows. A triumphant, wicked grin spreads across her face.

“Oh, yes… right there…” she hisses, her pace becoming even more punishing. “You’re going to give it to me now. You’re going to fill your whore’s ass up again. Fucking beg me for it. Beg me to let you cum.”

“Please,” you sob, the word ripped from a place beyond your control. “Please, Irene… let me cum… please…”

“That’s it,” she purrs. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

She lets go of your wrists, braces her hands on your shoulders, and with a final, guttural cry of her own, she sits down on you. Hard.

The sudden, overwhelming pressure is blinding. It forces the air from your lungs in a choked scream. Your body goes rigid, your back arching violently off the bed as the second orgasm rips through you with a force that feels like it’s tearing you apart. It's a complete system overload, a raw, involuntary expulsion that is pure, agonizing bliss.

Hot, thick ropes of your cum shoot deep inside her again, flooding her, filling the space that was already slick with your first release. You’re screaming, incoherent, your mind completely blanked out by the intensity.

As you flood her, a sound tears from her throat; not a taunt, but a raw, shocked scream of her own. Her whole body locks up, seizing around you. Her ass muscles spasm violently, a deep, powerful clenching that milks you even harder, drawing out every last drop of your release. The sheer force of you coming inside her, filling her so completely, has pushed her over her own edge.

“OH FUCK!” she screams, voice cracking as her own orgasm hits her suddenly. She’s coming apart on top of you, her body convulsing, her mind wiped clean. You feel her climax in the way her inner walls flutter and pulse around your still-erupting cock. She’s coming from your cum, from the feeling of being brutally, completely filled.

She rides out the violent waves, her body still moving on instinct, until the last shuddering tremor racks through both of you. Finally, with a long, shuddering sigh, she collapses, her body a dead weight on top of yours, her face buried in the crook of your neck. You’re both panting, drenched in sweat, completely and utterly broken. Her ass is still wrapped snugly around your now-softening cock, your combined releases making a warm, sticky mess between you.

For a long time, the only sound in the room is your ragged, shared breathing. You stroke her hair, your fingers trembling slightly, your body still thrumming with the aftershocks. She feels impossibly warm, impossibly real, molded against you.

You let the silence stretch, letting the intensity fade into a soft, warm quiet. You feel her press a weak, open-mouthed kiss against your throat.

“I love you, Irene,” you whisper. It's the first time you've told her that. It feels like the only true thing in the universe right now.

You feel her tense for a second, then melt against you even more. She lifts her head, her face a beautiful wreck. Her eyes are hazy, her lips swollen, her cheeks flushed. She looks at you, and the raw, unadulterated love in her gaze steals your breath all over again.

“I love you too,” she whispers back. She leans down and kisses you.

She pulls back, resting her forehead against yours. “Jesus,” she breathes, a shaky laugh escaping her. “No one’s ever… done that to me before.”

“Done what?” you murmur, your thumb stroking her cheek.

“That,” she says, her gaze soft and vulnerable. “Made me feel so… completely dominated. So used and broken. And then… made me feel so completely loved, all in the same breath. I didn't know that was possible.” She nuzzles her face into your chest. “I trust you so much. I can be… all of this… this filthy, needy thing… and I know you won't leave. I know you’ll still be here to hold me after. You are the first person to understand me completely."

You wrap your arms tighter around her. “I’m never leaving,” you say. “You can be whatever you want with me, Irene. Dominant, submissive, a fucking demon, an angel. It doesn’t matter. I’ll still be here. I’ll still love you.”

She sighs, a sound of pure, contented relief. “Good,” she murmurs, her eyes fluttering shut. “Because I think you broke my ass. You’re going to have to carry me to the shower.”

You chuckle, kissing the top of her head. “Deal.”

—

An hour later, after a long, hot shower that washed away the sweat and cum but left the buzzing, bone-deep satisfaction, you're both on the couch, tangled together in a thick blanket. The apartment is quiet and dark, lit only by the soft glow of a single lamp. You take the cake that Irene prepared and put it on the coffee table.

It's a rich, dark chocolate cake, with a glossy ganache frosting that’s a little uneven on the sides, a testament to the fact that she made it herself. A few simple, elegant chocolate shavings are scattered on top. It looks cute and real. You find a few candles in a drawer and stick them in the center.

"Alright, birthday boy," she murmurs. "Make a wish."

You look from the flickering candles to her face, her skin glowing in the warm light, her eyes soft and heavy-lidded with exhaustion and love. "Already got it," you say quietly.

You lean forward, and blow the candles out in a single, gentle puff. The wicks glow red for a moment before extinguishing, leaving thin trails of smoke curling in the air. You cut a large, messy slice and hold the fork up to her lips. She parts them, taking the bite, and her eyes flutter shut. A low, genuine moan of pure bliss rumbles in her chest.

“Holy shit,” she sighs as she chews slowly. “Okay. This is what I needed all along.”

You laugh, taking a bite yourself. "What, not the two hours of borderline-abusive anal sex?"

She nudges you with her shoulder, swallowing. “Okay, both,” she concedes, her lips quirking into a grin. “But this is a very, very close second. I can’t believe the cake actually turned out good. I had to whip it up in a rush before you got back from your walk.”

"This is honestly the best chocolate cake I've ever had," you say, meaning it. You pause, a wicked grin spreading across your face. "But... I think I still prefer the taste of it on your tits."

Her laugh is sudden and bright, a beautiful, airy sound. A faint blush colors her cheeks, and she hides her face in your shoulder for a second. "Oh my god, you're an idiot," she murmurs into your t-shirt, but she’s still shaking with laughter. “In my head it was an incredibly erotic idea.”

She leans her head against your shoulder, tucking her legs up under the blanket, and you both eat the cake in comfortable silence for a few minutes, sharing the fork.

“I really like this,” she says quietly.

“Yeah?” you ask, nudging her gently with your head. “What part?”

She sighs, a sound of deep, bone-deep contentment. “All of it. The chaos from earlier. The quiet now. You.” She pauses, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the blanket over your thigh. “Just… this. Sitting on a couch, eating cake. It feels so… normal. I haven’t felt normal in a very long time. I think I forgot what it was like.”

She looks up at you, her eyes wide and sincere. “For years, I just felt like this… lonely creature. Hiding. Just trying to get through the day without anyone really seeing me. It’s so nice to not feel like that anymore. To just be… here. With you. And for it to be this easy.”

You put the plate down and turn, wrapping your arms fully around her, pulling her into your lap. You kiss her forehead, holding her close. “This is your new normal, Irene,” you whisper into her hair. “You’re not a lonely creature. You’re my amazing, brilliant girlfriend who makes killer chocolate cake and who I get to come home to. You’re not alone anymore.”

She burrows her face into your neck, holding you tight. You feel a wetness on your skin and realize she’s crying, but it’s a quiet, happy, cleansing cry.

After a moment, she pulls back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, a watery but radiant smile on her face. She leans in, kisses you softly, deeply.

“Happy birthday,” she whispers again against your lips. “This was a really good day.”

—

It’s deep into the night by the time you make it to bed. The room’s completely dark except for the faint glow of the city filtering in through the slats in the blinds. Irene’s lying on her side, bare under the sheets, one leg tangled with yours, her fingers lazily drawing circles on your chest.

“Can I tell you something?”

You turn to face her. “Always.”

She takes a breath. “It’s… about my past. The… stuff I used to do.”

You nod, gently brushing her hair back from her face. “You don’t have to, if you’re not ready.”

“No. I want to.” Her hand presses against your sternum, anchoring herself. “I just haven’t really… said this out loud in a long time. But I think it's time to tell you the whole story.”

You wait.

“I got into porn when I was twenty-one,” she says, slowly, like each word needs to be chosen carefully. “I was drowning in student loans. I’d dropped out after two years of college because I couldn’t keep up financially, and I was so fucking angry; at myself, at my parents, at the system. I was doing retail. I was behind on rent. I was living in a place with mold on the walls, sharing a mattress with someone I didn’t even like.”

You nod, your hand finding hers under the blanket and squeezing it.

“People think porn is this glamorous, expensive thing you fall into because you’re greedy or slutty or broken. But it wasn’t like that. It was desperation. And curiosity. And yeah, maybe a little recklessness too.” She chuckles, but it’s dry. “I found an ad on the internet. It was a new adult film studio that was gaining popularity. I think it no longer exists today, but it was becoming well-known at the time. The ad didn't say much, just ‘professional shoot, high pay, women 18–30.’ And I thought… fuck it. What else am I gonna do?”

A new adult film production company

Your thumb runs along her knuckles slowly. She continues.

“I wasn’t scared, really. I was more scared of being broke forever. I’d always been… into sex. A lot. Like, way more than anyone I knew. Masturbating three times a day since I was a teenager. Hookups that made my friends call me names behind my back. But porn? It felt like a way to finally own that part of myself. Monetize it. Flip the script.”

She shifts, her cheek brushing your chest. Her voice steadies, but it’s raw.

“The first shoot was awkward as hell. I cried afterward. Not because I hated it. I didn’t. I liked it. I liked the power of it, the thrill of being watched, of giving someone a fantasy and being in control of how far I’d take it. After spending 1 week filming the scenes, I came home with two thousand dollars in a brown envelope and the weirdest feeling that I’d just started something I couldn’t undo.”

The way she talks—it’s not rehearsed. It’s not for pity. It’s like she’s finally giving herself permission to speak it out loud.

“And from there it just… grew. I filmed more. I used different names. I met people who pulled me in deeper. Some were great, honestly. Some were predators. But the money came fast. I paid off my college debt in under a year. Got a better place. Better food. Clothes. And I was fucking constantly. It was like being high.”

She pauses. Her fingers clutch yours tighter.

“I got addicted. Not to the money. Not even to the attention. To the sex. To the permission. Like I was finally allowed to be as filthy as I’d always been inside. And people were clapping for it. Commenting. Downloading. Jerking off to me. I became this thing. A brand. A body.”

You feel her exhale. Her voice cracks at the edges.

“Eventually I couldn’t tell where Irene the girl ended and Irene the performer began. I’d be doing grocery shopping and people would stare at me and I’d wonder if they recognized me. Or if I was just imagining it. I stopped dating. Who the hell wants to date a girl who’s had fifty dicks on camera? I started pulling back. Told myself I’d film one last scene. Then another. Then another… Eventually I met a guy, he was nice. And I thought maybe this was my chance to leave that world and live a normal life. I had no idea what was yet to come.”

Her voice fades for a second, and you hear her swallow.

"My relationship fell apart when he discovered everything. I had every intention of telling him the truth—I swear I didn’t mean to deceive him—but it was such a difficult thing to bring up. I was trying to find the right moment, building up the courage. By then, I had already left the adult film industry and was working a regular job, trying to move on with my life. But I waited too long, and somehow, he found out. I still don’t know how it happened. Maybe one of his friends stumbled across something and told him, or perhaps he came across one of my old videos online. It doesn’t really matter now. After that, my world unraveled. He told everyone: our friends, even people at the company where I worked. The shame and judgment were overwhelming. So, I just… vanished. I cut ties completely. Deleted all my social media accounts, changed my phone number, and moved to a new city to start over.”

You can feel her heartbeat through her chest, thudding softly against yours.

“And since then, I’ve been alone. Not just physically. I mean… alone. I didn’t touch anyone. I didn’t let anyone touch me. I thought if I deprived myself long enough, I’d stop wanting it. That I’d be better. Cleaner. Deserving of a different life.”

She lifts her head, finally. She looks at you like she’s terrified. And yet still determined.

“Then you came along. And for the first time in years, I wanted to want again. Not just for the release. But for the way you looked at me. The way you talked to me, saw me. You didn’t flinch. You weren’t scared. You didn’t treat me like I was made of broken parts.”

You move your hand to her cheek and stroke it gently.

“I was scared I’d fall back into old habits. That if I let myself be touched again, I’d become… her. That insatiable thing. The one who always needed more. But it’s different with you. I don’t feel empty after. I don’t feel used.”

She exhales, her lips trembling. “I feel… real. Like I can breathe again. Like I’m allowed to be who I am. And still be loved.” Then quieter. “You don’t think I’m sick, do you?”

Your response is immediate. Fierce.

“No. Not even close.”

Her lip trembles. “I’ve done things that would probably make you run if I told you. Stuff I can’t take back. And I still want sex. I’ll probably always crave it too much. I’m still trying to balance it. Be healthy. Not lose myself in it again. But it’s hard. It’s messy. I feel like damaged goods, sometimes.”

You cup her face in both hands, pressing your forehead to hers.

“You are not damaged. You’re not sick. You’re brave. You’re human. And you’ve survived more than most people even think about. You’re smart. You’re beautiful. And you have a right to want. To need. To feel.”

She lets out a sound like a sob, but it turns into a laugh, wet and breathless.

“Fuck,” she whispers. “No one’s ever said that to me. Not like that. I don’t think anyone’s ever seen me like this. Not even me.”

You pull her close, so close there’s no air left between you.

“You deserve to be loved, Irene. Every inch. Every version. Every mood. You deserve it.”

She stays curled against your chest, her breath soft and steady now, her body wrapped around yours like she’s trying to memorize the shape of safety.

“I was such a bitch when I started,” she says.

“You were not.”

“I kind of was.” She laughs quietly, her nose brushing against your jaw. “I didn’t talk to anyone. I barely made eye contact with you the first two weeks.”

“You were reserved,” you correct her gently. “Not rude.”

“I was terrified,” she admits. “Not of you, just… of everything. I had the feeling that I was constantly being watched. I thought I’d last maybe a month before someone recognized me. Before the whispers started.”

You nod, stroking her spine slowly with your fingertips.

“I almost quit the second week,” she confesses. “I wrote the email. Had my resignation drafted and everything. I thought it’d be easier to just run. That’s always been my thing—run when it starts to feel like people care too much.”

You tilt your head, nudging her nose with yours.

“But you didn’t.”

“No,” she says, a small smile forming at the corner of her lips. “You wouldn’t let me.”

You smirk. “That makes me sound controlling.”

She giggles, quiet and real, the kind of laugh she only gives you when it’s just the two of you in the dark like this.

“No, you were just… kind. And persistent. You kept checking in. Bringing me coffee even when I wouldn’t talk to you. Including me in conversations even when I’d pretend I was busy.” You shrug like it was nothing. Because to you, it was nothing. The bare minimum. But to her? It’s clearly more. “I don’t think I would’ve stayed if it wasn’t for you,” she says, voice dipping lower again. “You didn’t push. You didn’t ask too much. You just… let me be, while still reminding me I wasn’t invisible.”

Her fingers skim your jaw, thumb brushing lightly over the corner of your mouth. “So yeah. Thank you. For being patient. For not giving up on me before you even knew what I was hiding.”

You meet her eyes. “You don’t have to thank me for that. I didn’t know what you were hiding, but I knew you were worth knowing. That was enough.” She looks like she’s about to protest again, maybe deflect or crack a joke, but you don’t let her. “And for the record,” you add, leaning in just a little, your lips grazing hers, “you being here tonight? With me? That’s the best birthday present I could’ve asked for.”

Her eyes flutter shut for a second like she’s letting it soak in. Then she leans forward and kisses you, slow and unsure at first, but then deeper, warmer, like her body’s catching up to what her heart’s just now starting to believe. Her fingers wind into your hair, her chest pressing to yours, and her lips stay against you for long moments, whispering wordless thank-yous between every soft drag of her mouth.

—

Everything is fine. For months, everything is fucking perfect.

The revelation of Irene’s past, that raw, terrifying confession in the dark of your bedroom, didn’t break you. It bonded you. A routine settles in, easy and comfortable. She keeps the apartment, a permanent fixture now, her quiet confidence growing day by day. She starts talking to people more, a small smile here, a shared joke there. She’s still Irene, reserved, observant, but the wall of fear has been dismantled, brick by brick. She’s a common face in your life now, an essential one. Her toothbrush is in your bathroom holder. Your hoodie is her favorite thing to sleep in. You trade nights at each other’s apartments, building a small, shared world of takeout, inside jokes, and lazy Sunday mornings.

And the sex. Fuck, the sex. Knowing her history, knowing the deep well of experience she draws from, only makes it hotter. It’s not just a physical act; it’s a form of communication, a place where she can be completely, uninhibitedly herself. And you… you’re falling in love with her. It’s not a sudden realization, but a slow, creeping certainty that settles in your bones. You’re in love with every part of her—the quiet office worker, the demanding lover, the brave woman who is learning to trust again. Everything is fine.

Until today.

The office is quiet. It’s break time on a Monday. Half the staff are outside or in the break room. You’re just walking back to your desk after refilling your water bottle when you see it. A huddle. Four, maybe five guys from the junior sales and IT teams, clustered around a workstation at the far end of the open-plan space. Their backs are to you, their shoulders hunched together, their focus absolute.

You hear murmurs, low and conspiratorial. A snicker.

"…Jesus, look at her take that…"

"No way that’s really her…"

"God, I’d pay good money…"

A familiar, unpleasant prickle goes up your spine. You start walking over, your curiosity piqued. Probably just watching some stupid viral video or a sports highlight. You come up behind them, peering over the shoulder of some fresh-faced IT kid.

And then you see it. Your heart stops. Literally fucking stops. The blood in your veins turns to ice.

On the monitor, displayed for anyone to see, is a porn video. The image is sharp, clear, and utterly undeniable. It’s her. It’s Irene. Younger, yes, but unmistakably her. She’s on her knees, her mouth wrapped around some guy’s cock, her eyes looking straight into the camera with a practiced, dead-eyed expression that is so alien from the woman you know it makes you physically sick.

You freeze. For one, long, terrible second, your brain cannot compute. The two realities: Irene, your Irene - the woman who makes you laugh and brings you cookies, and this woman on the screen, a sexual commodity - violently collide, and your mind just… shorts out.

You don’t even think. You move. You shove your way through the huddle of gawking men, their surprised yelps barely registering.

"Who the fuck put this on?" you scream, your words ripping through the quiet office, echoing off the partitions.

Your eyes land on the person in the chair. It’s fucking Kyle. A newbie from the sales team, barely twenty-two, a smirking, entitled little shit you’ve disliked from day one, the kind of kid who thinks sexual harassment policies are just a suggestion.

You grab him by the collar of his preppy polo shirt before he can even react, hauling him out of the chair, slamming him back against the cubicle wall. His feet scramble for purchase.

"Was this you?" you roar, your face inches from his, your knuckles white where you’re gripping his shirt. "Did you do this?”

His smug little face has dissolved into pure, slack-jawed terror. "Whoa, man, chill out! I-It wasn’t just me!" he stammers, his eyes wide, darting between you and the screen where Irene is now taking the guy’s cock deeper down her throat.

"I’m going to ask you one more fucking time," you snarl, giving him a hard shake. "Did. you. put. this. on?"

"N-no! I mean, yes, but—but Kevin recognized her!" he squeaks, pointing a trembling finger at another terrified-looking newbie cowering nearby. "He said he’d seen one of her movies before, and we didn’t believe him, so we just… we just looked it up to see if it was true! It was just a joke!"

"'A joke'?" you repeat. "You think this is a fucking JOKE? You had no right. No fucking right!" You draw your fist back, every ounce of rage in your body screaming at you to smash it into his stupid, terrified face, to wipe that pathetic excuse off the planet.

"Hey! What the hell is going on over here?"

The commotion has drawn a crowd. Park Sooyoung from HR is there, her face a mask of stern disapproval. Seulgi from accounts is peering over a cubicle wall. And then, among the new faces trickling in from the break room, drawn by your shouting, you see her.

Irene.

She stops, a cup of tea in her hand, a look of mild curiosity on her face. Then she follows everyone’s gaze. First to you, holding Kyle pinned against the wall. Then to the huddle of now-terrified men. And finally… to the monitor.

Time slows down. You watch as her eyes land on the screen, as they widen, as she processes the grainy, moving image of her younger self. You see the exact moment of recognition. You see the color drain from her face, leaving it a sickly, ashen grey. You see her mouth fall open in a silent, horrified expression. You see her worst fear, the trauma she’s been running from for years, realized in the most brutal, public way imaginable. And it breaks your fucking heart. The rage in you evaporates, replaced by a cold, sickening horror that mirrors her own.

Her cup slips from her fingers, clattering to the floor, splashing hot tea across the grey carpet. She doesn’t seem to notice. Her eyes are still glued to the screen, her body frozen. Then, a choked, strangled sound escapes her lips. She turns, her face a mask of such absolute, bone-deep horror that it will be seared into your memory forever, and she runs.

"Irene!"

You let go of Kyle, shoving him away so hard he stumbles and falls. You push past Wendy, past the stunned onlookers, your entire being focused on getting to her. But she’s already at her desk, her movements frantic, clumsy. She snatches her handbag, her hands shaking so badly she can barely hold it.

"Irene, wait!" you call out, but she’s not listening. She’s a cornered animal, driven only by the instinct to escape. She bolts, running for the elevators, her footsteps echoing in the now-silent, watching office.

You lunge, your body moving on pure instinct, throwing yourself through the gap just as the polished steel doors of the elevator begin to slide shut. You land inside with a heavy thud, the doors closing behind you, sealing you both in the small, descending box. The world outside: the shocked faces, the murmuring, the obscene image still frozen on that monitor, is gone. It’s just you and her.

And she’s broken.

Irene doesn’t just stumble; she collapses. Her body gives out completely, her legs folding beneath her as she hits the floor in a heap. A raw, animal sound of pure agony is torn from her throat, a sound that has nothing to do with the quiet, composed woman you know. She curls into a fetal position on the cold, sterile floor, her hands clawing at her hair, her whole body shaking with violent, uncontrollable tremors.

"No… no, no, no…" she gasps, her words dissolving into ragged, hyperventilating breaths.

This isn't just crying. This is a panic attack, full-blown and terrifying. You’re on the floor with her in an instant, you gather her into your arms, pulling her trembling body against your chest, trying to shield her from a horror that’s already inside her head.

"Irene, hey, I’m here. I’ve got you," you murmur. You hug her tight, trying to use your own body to still her shaking. "Breathe, baby. Just try to breathe with me."

"I knew it," she whines, her face buried in your shirt. "Oh god, I knew this would happen… I was so stupid… so fucking stupid to think I could just… leave it behind…" Her words are punctuated by desperate, panicked gasps for air. "It’s never going to stop. It’s always going to find me. It’ll never fucking stop haunting me…"

"Shh, shh, no, that’s not true," you insist, your heart fracturing at the sheer, raw despair in her words. You gently take her face in your hands, forcing her to look away from the floor, to look at you. Her eyes are wild, unfocused, her beautiful face streaked with tears and twisted in a mask of pure terror. "Irene. Hey. Look at me." Your tone is firm but gentle, trying to cut through the noise in her head. "Look at me. I’m right here. You see me?"

Her gaze flickers, struggles to focus on yours. She gives a tiny, shuddering nod.

"Good," you say, your thumbs stroking her tear-soaked cheeks. "You are not alone in this. Do you hear me? I am not leaving you. Not now, not ever. We… we can get through this. Together. But I need you to be strong right now, Irene. I need you to just hold on for me. Can you do that?"

"I can’t…" she chokes out, a fresh wave of sobs shaking her. "I can’t go back there. I can’t face them. I can’t…"

"You don’t have to," you say immediately. "You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do." And then, the words, the most honest, urgent truth you possess, just… come out. A desperate anchor thrown into the storm of her panic. "I love you, Irene."

Her frantic, panicked breathing stutters. Her wide, terrified eyes blink, the wildness in them receding for just a second, replaced by a look of stunned, utter disbelief. She stares at you as if she’s never seen you before.

"I love you," you repeat. "And because I love you, I will fight for you. I will protect you. Those fuckers who did this? They will be punished. They will be gone from that office before the sun comes up tomorrow, I fucking swear it. I will talk to Henderson. I will talk to HR. I will talk to every single person in that office and I will explain exactly what happened; that a couple of immature, pathetic little shits violated your privacy and humiliated you, and that they don’t represent what our company stands for."

You lean closer, your forehead pressing against hers. "Remember what I said? That it’s a good office, with good people? That is still true, Irene. The people who did this… they are the exception. They are newbies who don’t fucking belong there. You do. You belong there."

Her breathing is starting to even out, her gaze still fixed on yours, clinging to your words.

"You don’t have to be silent," you continue. "You don’t have to hide. I can be your voice, if you want me to. I will scream for you until my own throat is raw. All I ask… all I need from you right now… is that you don’t run away. Not from this. And not from me."

For a long moment, she just looks at you, the tears still flowing silently down her face, but the raw panic has subsided. Then, with a shuddering cry that’s more relief than pain, she collapses forward, her arms wrapping around your neck, clinging to you as if you’re the only solid thing in a world that has just disintegrated around her.

"I love you too," she whispers, her words muffled against your shoulder, choked with sobs. "God, I love you so much."

A huge, shaky smile breaks across your face, even as your own eyes start to burn. You hug her back, hard, burying your face in her hair, breathing in her scent. "That’s great," you whisper, laughing a little through the sheer, overwhelming emotion of it all. "That’s… that’s all that matters." You pull back, looking into her eyes again. "We can do this, Irene. Together."

She looks at you, her face a mess, her body still trembling, but for the first time since this nightmare started, there’s a flicker of her old strength, her resilience, in her eyes. She nods, a small, jerky movement. "Yes," she says. "Okay. Yes. I can… I can try."

Just then, a soft chime rings through the small space, and the elevator doors slide open with a gentle whoosh, revealing the brightly lit, indifferent emptiness of the ground floor lobby.

—

The hours that followed your escape in the elevator were a blur of cold, focused fury. While Irene was safely behind the locked door of your apartment, you went to war. You didn’t just want to find out what happened; you wanted names, you wanted details, and you wanted blood. Leveraging your supervisor credentials and a couple of quiet, pointed conversations with reliable sources (people you knew weren’t part of the office’s smirking underbelly) the whole pathetic story spilled out.

It was exactly as the terrified little shit Kyle had stammered. A rookie named Kevin, a recent transfer from another branch, had recognized Irene. He’d apparently bragged to his new friend Kyle that he’d jerked off to one of her films back in college. Kyle, ever the skeptic and dickhead, had called bullshit. So, on a slow Monday afternoon, they looked her up. When they found the videos, confirming Kevin’s claim, their pathetic little minds were blown. They couldn’t just keep it to themselves. They had to prove their discovery, gathering a small, willing audience of other bored, morally bankrupt juniors to gawk at their coworker’s past, laid bare on a company monitor.

The ugliest part, the detail that made you want to find them and break their fucking hands, came from Park Sooyoung in HR, who had pulled one of the other witnesses aside. Just before you’d walked in, Kyle had allegedly joked to the group that maybe he should make Irene a "proposal" (a bit of quid pro quo). She could fuck him, and in exchange, he’d keep her secret from spreading to the rest of the company. He claimed, when confronted, that it was "just banter." You classified it as attempted blackmail and gross misconduct of the highest order.

Their expulsion was swift and brutal. You, Sooyoung, and Henderson, the big boss himself, had them in a conference room before they could even clock out. By the time they were escorted out by security, their careers at Henderson Corp were over, and the big boss promised you he’d be making a few calls. Thanks to his contacts, those two little shits were going to have a very, very difficult time finding another job in this industry, in this city, ever again.

Now, the next morning, you stand at the head of the main conference room. Your entire team is here, seated around the long, polished table. And so is Irene. She’s sitting between Wendy and another woman from her department, a silent, formidable wall of female support flanking her. She looks pale, exhausted, her eyes slightly puffy, but she’s here. She showed up. The sheer, breathtaking courage of that simple act makes you look at the people in the room with renewed determination.

You clear your throat, and the room falls silent. Everyone’s eyes are on you.

"Good morning, everyone," you begin, your tone calm, level, professional. You let your gaze travel around the room, meeting the eyes of each person there. "I’ve called this meeting because I need to address the incident that occurred in our workspace yesterday afternoon. I’m not going to go into the explicit details, because frankly, they are irrelevant. What is relevant, what is critical for every single one of us to understand, is what that incident represents."

You pause, letting the weight of your words sink in.

"Yesterday, a member of our team had her fundamental right to privacy violated in the most egregious way possible. She was exposed, without her consent, to a small group of employees in an act that constitutes severe, targeted harassment." You can feel the anger, still simmering just below the surface, but you keep it leashed, transforming it into cold, hard authority. "Let me be absolutely, unequivocally clear: this type of behavior is not just unacceptable within this company; it is antithetical to everything we stand for. This is a zero-tolerance policy issue. The individuals responsible for perpetrating this act, for creating what is legally defined as a hostile work environment, have already been terminated. Their access has been revoked, and they will not be returning."

A few people shift uncomfortably in their seats. Good. Let them be uncomfortable.

"We are all human beings here," you continue, your tone shifting slightly, becoming more personal, more human. "We come to this office every day from different walks of life. We all have experiences, we all have histories, we all have traumas and triumphs and pasts that are entirely our own. And no one—no one—in this room, or in this company, has the right to excavate another person’s history and put it on public display for their own amusement or judgment. The moment we start believing we have that right is the moment we lose our own humanity."

Your eyes find Irene’s across the room. She looks up, meeting your gaze. You give her a small, almost imperceptible smile, one meant only for her.

"I am incredibly proud, and frankly, humbled," you say as you continue to look at her, "that our coworker chose to walk back into this office today. That she chose to stay with this team, even after what happened. That choice shows an incredible amount of trust in us. In all of us." You look around the room again, at your team. "It shows that she believes this incident was an anomaly. That she believes the rest of us are better than that. And I hope, I expect, that every single one of you will spend every day proving to her that she is absolutely right to place her trust in us once more."

"We have an obligation to maintain not just a physically safe workspace, but a psychologically safe one. And what happened yesterday was a profound breach of that psychological safety. It will not happen again." You take a deep breath. "Irene, what you did today, just by being here, took more courage than most people will have to show in their entire careers. You are facing this with your head held high, and you have the full, unwavering support of this company’s leadership, and of your team." You start clapping, a slow, deliberate sound in the quiet room. "I’d like to ask for a round of applause for Irene."

For a split second, there’s silence. Then, Sarah, sitting next to Irene, starts clapping loudly. Then another person, and another, until the entire room erupts in a wave of sustained, genuine applause. It’s not polite, corporate clapping; it’s loud, it’s heartfelt. The women beside Irene grab her hands, squeezing them tight, hugging her shoulder. You see a single, fresh tear roll down Irene’s cheek, but this time, she’s smiling through it, a watery, overwhelmed, but real smile.

You let the applause continue for a long moment, a testament to her, a cleansing of the ugliness from yesterday. When it finally dies down, you clap your hands together once, a sharp, decisive sound that brings the focus back to you.

"Alright," you say, your tone shifting back to that of a no-nonsense supervisor. "Thank you for your attention. The matter is dealt with. Let’s get back to work. We have deadlines to meet, and no one is slacking off on my watch."

A few nervous chuckles ripple through the room as people start to stand, the tension finally broken. You wait as the last person files out of the conference room. You inhale and exhale slowly your shoulders slumping slightly. It’s over. The worst is over.

Then, you hear the soft scrape of a chair. It’s Irene. She didn’t leave with the others. She pushes herself to her feet and slowly walks towards you, navigating the maze of chairs.

"That was a great speech," she says.

You manage a tired grin, shoving your hands in your pockets. "Well, I have to live up to my fancy supervisor title sometimes, right? Can’t just be about chasing you for reports and stealing your pens."

Her smile widens. "Henderson steals the pens, not you."

"Right." You look at her, and she looks, even at this delicate moment, the most beautiful woman in the world. "How are you doing? For real."

She considers the question for a moment, her gaze thoughtful. "I’ll be fine," she says. "Tired. A little… wrung out. But I’ll be fine."

"Do you think you can work today?" you ask gently. "Because if you want to go home, you just say the word. I’ll handle everything here."

"No," she says, shaking her head. "I want to stay. I need to stay." She meets your eyes, and there’s a flicker of her newfound fire in them. "I’m done running."

"Okay," you nod. "Okay. But you take it easy." You pause, then a thought strikes you, a desire to anchor this new beginning with something normal, something just for you two. "Hey. You wanna… you wanna go out to dinner tonight? After work? A proper place, with tablecloths and everything. No dive bars."

"Wow, look at you," she teases. "We’re evolving. No more getting me drunk at a bar. Now it’s romantic dinners?"

"Well, now that you've said you love me—twice—I figure I don’t have to get you drunk anymore to trick you into liking me. Saves me some money."

She chuckles again, reaching out and patting your shoulder lightly. "You’re an idiot." Her expression softens, her eyes searching yours. "Hey… can I kiss you?"

You glance instinctively towards the glass door of the conference room, a conditioned reflex. "As long as it’s quick," you whisper back, your heart starting to hammer again for a much, much better reason.

She rises up on her tiptoes, her hands coming to rest on your chest, and presses her lips to yours. It starts as a quick, sweet thank you, but neither of you can hold back. It deepens, fast, her mouth opening against yours, your arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her flush against you. It’s a long, full, passionate kiss, filled with all the terror and relief and love of the last twenty-four hours. It’s a victory.

When you finally break apart, both of you breathless, she reaches up with her thumb and gently wipes the corner of your mouth. "My lipstick," she murmurs. She looks you right in the eye, her own gaze clear and steady. "I love you," she says again, not as a desperate confession in a falling elevator, but as a simple, solid statement of fact.

"I love you too, Irene," you reply.

She rests her forehead against yours for a moment, a comfortable, contended sigh escaping her. "I’m happy to be here," she says softly. "I like it here."

You smile, a teasing glint in your eye. "I hope that’s because of me, and not just because of the significant salary increase and comprehensive benefits package."

"Mmm, it’s mostly because of the salary, to be honest," she says, deadpan. "But you’re nice too, I guess."

"Alright, you," you say, reaching out to playfully nudge her. "We better get going before someone walks in and finds us. Back to pretending we’re just professional coworkers."

"Okay, boss," she says. As you both turn to leave, she gives your ass a sharp, surprising slap.

You yelp, jumping in surprise and turning to look at her with wide, laughing eyes. "Hey! That’s harassment!"

She just winks, her smile turning wicked. "Not my fault you have such a nice ass."

You shake your head, still laughing, a feeling of pure, unadulterated joy bubbling up inside you. "Well, it seems like you’re not that shy, mysterious woman from a few months ago anymore."

She steps closer, looping her arm through yours, leaning her head on your shoulder as you walk towards the door together.

"You’re right," she says, and that confidence of hers that you love so much is back. "I’m not." She looks up at you, her eyes full of love and fire and endless possibilities. "Now, I’m your woman.”

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