Note: I forgot who requested this, but here's the playgirl Yujin lol. Oh and this is an early Valentine day fic 🫶
Tags: Enemies-to-lovers, angst, fluff
(6.1k words)
Delinquents have their own way to deal with delinquents. They're not that bright, at least.
They bark loud with a posture bigger than they are, and also (hilariously) flinch when you look them in the eye for a second or two. Sure, the term "delinquent" means a young person tending to commit crime, but it means nothing when they themselves understand when to back off, when to lower their voices, and when to stop pushing because of the bigger force in front of them. Ok, bigger force sounds excessive, but you don't need to fight (maybe a few sucker punches here and there). Mainly, you just stand there with back straight, flat expression, and the will of an iron fortress, then they slowly start to fold.
Your school is full of fuckwits like that — infested with rusted lockers, cracked windows, and teachers who are too afraid to speak out. You could've picked any other school applicable with your entrance exam results, but wasting time commuting is not ideal when that wasted 30 mins can be used to finish a math exercise. The boys thought you're an easy target, especially when you join in the middle of the year, but now all you get are whispers and a respectable distance behind you.
(Something along the lines with "Don't fuck with him.", "He's weird", and "How to fuck he doesn’t trip while solving that damn chemistry book?" But hey, it sounds like a compliment if it means you don't get mogged — gotta be the bigger dog in the dog-eat-dog world, right?)
After school, you walk home alone, passing by the prestigious school that is a few blocks down from yours, with clean buildings, open fields, and students in their fancy vests and bags. And as always, you despise the fact that you belong to the former just because you are a few points short in the entrance exam.
Whatever, living with Minji is the consolation prize.
Her place is calm and comfortable in a way that it aligns well with your neat freak. Shoes lined up properly at the entrance, Dishes washed the moment after being used. Coffee smells waffling through the morning air. You like it.
She has been like this since she first found you sitting alone in the library as your upperclassman all the way to being a college student, which apparently grants her the authority to sigh at nothing and still be taken seriously. And you have been living with her long enough that she doesn't even bother knocking your door.
The bedroom is small and modest. The desk pushed against the window for maximum sunlight and vitamin D for morning studies. The lamp positioned just right to not glaring to your eyes for night. You sit there every time, proper posture, and doing mock exams until formulas and exam key notes are ingrained. It's quiet. Orderly. Easy to concentrate. Your future feels achievable here.
Well, maybe not 100%.
Because as usual, your studying comes with the screech of metal on metal. The window across from yours slides open. And here comes the menace that is worse than those delinquents.
It’s Yujin.
You don't even need to see that she's home — you just know when the smoke drifts in (which smells horrible). And the music comes afterwards — loud, bass-heavy, and absolutely disruptive. It rattles the pen on your desk, vibrates through the wood like she's mocking your effort.
And then her damn brazen voice. "Ya, four eyes."
And every damn fucking time, the sigh through your nose is heavy. Worst of all, she takes another drag and exhales deliberately in your direction.
"Sit properly, bookworm. Your back is going to hurt."
"I don’t need your words, chainsmoker."
She taps ash out the window. It falls somewhere between your building, most likely on the bushes.
"Do you ever do anything fun?" she asks. "Or is it just study, sleep, and die from stress?"
"Just be quiet already."
By now, the delinquent boys would've listened and wagged their tails already. But not Yujin — she’s beyond a menace. Instead, she turns up the volume to another notch, and makes the bass punctures through the wall. Of course, she hums along, off-key, like the whole world is her oyster.
You throw your rubber to her window. "Turn it down. It's past ten."
This girl has the audacity to gasp out loud, acting like an idiot. "Oh my gosh. Did you hear that? He knows how to read a clock!"
"An Yujin."
She perks up at that. "And remember my name too? Good job!"
"Unfortunately, we lived here for far too long."
"Aw. You hurt me."
She flicks her cigarette away and folds her arms on the sill, resting her chin on top. And, fucking hell, she smells like smoke and citrus (the worst combo of smell imaginable). Who would actually believe that this same girl with lack of basic decency is on the news — something about 1st place in Women's sprint in High School Competitions. Not once, twice, but three times, a trait she still gets from middle school. Literally kickstart the sports department at her new sparkly pretentious school (or whatever she puffed to your face). No wonder she's still miraculously attending there, because you definitely would've expelled her ass if you're the principal.
Anyway, the grown ups there are a bunch of dumbasses, wagging their tail to a disobedient pup— what are you saying? Ew. What you should say instead is:
"You look ugly when you smoke."
"Weak insult, four eyes."
"Just verbalising my observation, chainsmoker."
"Sheesh, a blizzard over there. No wonder the mutts are scared of you."
"Nah, they just know to leave me alone."
She tilts her head. "You talk quite big for a boy studying at a dead-end school."
"You're talking like an obnoxious rich brat."
"I'm not rich, you know?"
"You don’t even deny that you’re obnoxious." You flip another page to write. "Anyway, don't smoke when I open the window to study."
"I didn't know you're my teacher now."
"So childish."
"And your so boring."
"It's you're. R E. Now shut up."
You…really should've paid attention to the creaking on the stairs until you feel a hard smack to your head. Your hand flies to the back of your head, looking up to see Minji standing there with her arm crossed. She's in an oversized hoodie, loosely tied ponytail, and a calm expression that you know is anything but calm. (And damn, your heart keeps beating irrationally seeing her like this.)
“Did you just tell a girl to shut up?” she asks.
“She’s provoking me,” you say immediately. “Intentionally!”
“And?” “And that makes it justified.”
She smacks your head again. A tad lighter, but still rude.
“You don’t tell girls to shut up.”
“She’s not—” you stop yourself. “She’s Yujin.”
As if summoned, both of you can hear the wheezing across from you. "That's right, listen to Minji-unnie, four eyes! Bleh~"
"I can hear you, Yujin."
That made the mad dog straighten up. Like actually straight back, lips shut, uptight. Hell, she even takes the cigarette off her mouth and lowers the volume. Minji sticks her head out and looks at the younger girl. "It's late, by the way."
"Y-yes, unnie." "And you're blasting music and smoking?"
"It helps with my stress." Minji remains silent, but instead gives her a look that is not angry, just disappointed.
Yujin can only sigh. "…Yes. Ma'am." She flicks the cigarette away, the ember gone in the dark. "Happy?"
You stare. It happens every time the three of you hang out together since middle school. And it still shocks you…somehow.
-
Korea has been in a state of panic, all the way back then all three of you still don’t know what a cigarette is.
Ok, not like a world ending, asteroid-hitting-the-peninsula panic, or anything. Just more like bureaucratic projections of uncertainties about whether we will have a future generation. For a period, everything you see on the news are just graphs after graphs that slope down far too often. Headline? Low birth rate. And a multitude of reasons pile up — current generation's unemployment rate, shitty life expectants, the old model that things will get better if you just hang on.
Solution?
The government calls it Produce 48 — a nationwide matchmaking system backed by genetics, health records, projected longevity, compatibility algorithms, and whatever else sounds scientific enough to justify playing god. The moment you turn eighteen, you're evaluated, paired, and then assigned.
Stupid name aside, social media eats it up so hard, purely by the promise of optimal families. When it was mandated a few years ago, all the kids were already on the list, which is not totalitarian at all.
It doesn’t mean much to you at first. You’re fifteen when the news breaks. You’ve got an English exam the next day, and whether the country survives the next fifty years feels significantly less urgent than whether you’ll lose points on grammar. You focus on studying, as you always do. Although you understand it, objectively at least — for the greater good, necessary sacrifice, all those words adults and boomers love to use when they’re not the ones paying the price.
But since when do you give a shit about the country when you’re the one being dragged into a dating game you never signed up for?
Answer: no one gives a shit until it’s their turn, because the letter arrives on a Wednesday.
You know because Wednesdays are trash days, and you always check the mailbox on your way back from taking the bags down. Most of it is junk, flyers, utility notices, something for Minji that you put it back.
And then you see it.
A beige envelope. Thick paper. Red government seal stamped dead in the middle. And clearly yours with your name labelled in the corner. You open it right there, because there's no point being secretive about it. Inside is a single sheet (duh) — barcodes on the top, percentages scatter throughout the pages. Neutral languages sound very corporate while deciding your future.
…Wait. Wait wait wait, let's close your eyes and open it again. One. Two. Three.
No. Still An Yujin.
…Fuck. Not so promising anymore, crap.
You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Your hand tightens on the paper so hard it creases. Your pulse spikes loudly in your ears, trying to warn you before your brain even registered. The government must've made a mistake. Surely. Definitely. Maybe. Nah, they fucking do it wrong — statistically, practically, cosmically.
You did an audible gulp. But your next door neighbour playgirl is even louder.
"WHAT THE FUCK?!"
You flinch at the sound and look up just in time to see Yujin leaning against the fence, eyes scanning her own. Honestly, you wish you could enjoy the rare moment that Yujin is annoyed without knowing what is in that letter, because her five stages of grief says it all. Let’s go through it step-by-step.
One. Denial:
She reads it once. Then again. Then flips the paper over like there will be an announcement that says 'SIKE' (It doesn't).
Two. Bargaining:
“Genetic compatibility score… ninety-eight points… no, that’s insane. There’s no way.” She jabs a finger at the page. “This has to be adjustable. Right? Like, appeal process. Retest. I can run another physical. It will be different, I'm sure. How the hell am I compatible with that study freak?!”
Three. Anger:
"This is bullshit!" Yujin crumples the letter in a quick squeeze. "Absolutely dogshit! Who decides the whole damn program anyway? Old fucks in grey suits playing houses?"
Then, inevitably, her glare snaps to you standing in front of your house.
“And I am not going to date—let alone marry—some stiff, socially awkward, notebook-hoarding weirdo with a superiority complex.”
“But I don—” “Shut the fuck up!”
Fair.
Four. Depression. Ok, this one hits you harder than it hits Yujin.
You'd never said it out loud, but a part of you hoped (like, stupidly hoped) that if it's your turn to be matched, the girl would be Minji, who you have been paying ridiculous attention to since you hit puberty. Like come on, she makes so much sense — top grade, college student, kind, pretty, and straight up your ideal type. She never dates (well, from what you assume, but she doesn’t go out as much). But instead it's Yujin.
…fuck, it’s really Yujin, instead.
Then five. Acceptance:
You are stuck with Yujin, and she is stuck with you.
See? Five stages of grief. Lovely.
-
One thing you learned since middle school about An Yujin is that…this bitch is full of spite. To be specific, the one that looks you dead in the eye and does the things that she knows will piss you off, just to show that she can. It’s just the matter of when you will get hit with it.
The official matchmaking letter doesn't mean shit to her. Not even a little.
The first time you see the shitshow, it's a week after you two read the letter. You're walking home like always, with a backpack heavy with books and a head already deep in memorised formulas, when you spot her across the street leaning too casually against a lamppost, her school vest slung low, and fingers hooked into another girl's belt loop like it's another day.
She sees you, because of course she does, and prepares her little show. Her head tilts to the side, giving the girl a sultry smile (well, mainly to you), before leaning it and kisses the girl. Slowly. And exaggeratedly.
You don't know why you stop walking, but you do.
The (unfortunate) girl laughs, probably a different girl from last week, and Yujin wraps her arm around her waist, glancing back at you and checking whether you're still her audience or not. You are. But that's because you were stunned. Totally.
When you finally approach them, your voice comes out flat. "You're just trying to rage bait now, Yujin."
"This? I'm just living my life, no?"
"I am not that dense."
Her hum is borderline mocking. "Looks like you should mind your own business."
"We are literally contractually binded by the government."
"And I literally don't care, four eyes." She flips you off without breaking eye contact.
And this is light in comparison to when she is NOT en-route, because she's doing it next door instead as usual. Just another concoction of loud music, open window, and more laughs from Yujin and another fling of hers, but much, much more deliberate. You're halfway through an English mock exam when the said fling's giggle cuts through the wall, followed by Yujin's smug voice.
Sometimes you hear the bed creak. And sometimes you hear the damn fucking moan (either from the girl or from her).
There was one time you threw a pebble at the window frame. Of course she ignores you. At times the music cuts, and you wish that she just ignores you instead of throwing out more smug comments.
"It's late" you complain. "And you're being a bitch."
"Oooh, jelly, four eyes?"
"I'm trying to make us work."
"You try then. I didn't ask for this."
The worst part is that you do try like you do with exams — study the pamphlets, follow-up emails, looking up past experiences on Facebook for a happy relationship. Hell, you show up to the mandatory counselling sessions with an advisor recommended by the government just to tell how to quote-on-quote "gauge on the metrics"... or whatever that means.
Yujin either shows up 10 minutes before it's done, or doesn't show up at all.
And the worst part? Even worse than the shitshow that Yujin constantly gives?
Minji. Not that she does anything, it's just that she is so close yet so far.
She is always there for you as always — same kitchen, same living room, same mornings where she hands you the coffee and bread the way you want, and same evenings where she listens to your endless rants about Yujin. But this one particular night hurts you the most, with one line from Minji while scrolling through her phone. "You two look great together. I'd assume you're a couple if I just passed by."
Your spoon halts halfway to your mouth, and you can only manage to say "Oh".
And it stings more when she smiles at you, and completely ignores the constant arguing through the window. "Opposite attracts, you know? It's pretty cute."
Cute, huh.
"B-but, we argue like almost every week! You even come up to shut us up!"
"It's a recipe for a cute rom-com, tho." Minji laughs it off. "But you two are so cute together."
Your inside twists. Painfully so. Because Minji is right there. She's everything you ever wanted without trying to be. And you…and you're putting in effort for someone who treats this whole fucking mandates like a game, while the girl you yearn for is cheering you from the sidelines.
And that night you also realise something — Minji is treating you like a child, and you hate it.
So, so much.
Which only makes An Yujin's spite land harder.
-
'Ask those who walk before you' they said. You don’t even get the chance to ask. Minji tells you anyway.
It happens over dinner. Nothing special — rice, vegetables, some meat. The air smells faintly of the soy sauce and steaming rice. Very normal. Very unorthodox. Yet she just spills it out while you're chewing absentmindedly.
"You know you only have to comply for a year right?"
"Comply what?"
"Produce 48."
Your chopsticks pause mid-air. "The fuck what now?"
"Oh. They didn't tell you?" "Tell me what?"
Minji sets her chopsticks down. “After one year, you can file to switch partners, as long as they’re not already paired and both sides consent.”
"Is that allowed?" "Yeah."
"Since when?" "Uh, second revision. I thought you knew."
"No one tells me." "Wow, they are incompetent people."
You both laugh, but then something clicks: “Wait,” you say slowly. “How do you know this?”
"I did it."
You choke on your rice. "You WHAT?"
She reaches over to pat your back, laughing. “Hey. I didn’t like the guy I was matched with. So I complied for the minimum period and switched.”
Switched.
The word follows you all night.
You don’t sleep. Not because you’re anxious, but rather because that single word plants a small, stubborn light somewhere in your chest. You should feel relieved and hopeful. But instead, all you can think about is the way Minji said it so easily. Sometimes she is so composed you forget she’s older than you by only one year. Sometimes you actually forget she’s had more time, more chances, and more people to meet.
No. That’s fucking stupid, you tell yourself. But the doubt spirals.
(Why didn’t she tell you? When did she switch? Who was the previous guy she was mandated with? And who is she see—)
You confront Yujin on a Sunday afternoon.
After half a year of idling over this conscripted love nonsense, you finally barge into her house where she is lounging in her living room and scrolling on her phone. No music. No girls. No audience. Ok, good. You need quiet for this.
"We need to talk."
She doesn't look up. "Pass."
"It's important."
She sighs exaggeratedly, her thumb still moving. "Yeah, you always say that, four eyes."
"Please."
That gets her attention. "Did you jus—" "Yes."
"Wow. Must've been desperate, huh."
"An Yujin."
She turns off her phone and absentmindedly throws it to the corner of the couch. "You got five minutes before I kick you out."
You inhale. "There's an option. After a year."
"Option for what?" "Switching partner."
"Since when?" "Since the revision that I just found out, apparently."
"Ok…and…?" "I need you to stop sabotaging us and just fucking do your job properly."
She lets out a short laugh. "Fuck no."
"I'm not asking you to like me." You say quickly, tumbling your words, and your heart palpitates. "Jus— just cooperate. One year. And that's it. We wasted half a year already."
She tilts her head. “Why would I do that?”
Because you’re exhausted. Because you’re losing ground every day. Because Minji's smile hurts more than Yujin’s cruelty ever could. Instead, you say, “Because it benefits you.”
Her interest sparks. “Go on.”
“You can date whoever you want,” you say. “I won’t interfere. I won’t nag. I won’t—” you hesitate, then force it out. “—care. Just try, at least.”
You don't realise you've moved until your knees hit the ground. It fucking hurts — ground is cold, your knee probably bruised, and your pride is hitting rock bottom.
But her usual smug is gone. "Bro, four eyes, what the fuck are you do—”
You bow your head. "Please."
It feels wrong in your mouth. Begging is never your thing. Not teachers. Not bullies. But now you're kneeling in front of the biggest pain in your life. "Just one fucking year. For both of us, please."
She stares at you. "Get up. You're embarrassing me."
You don't move.
"Fuck, this dam— Fine. I'll comply."
You look up.
"One year, like you said."
Relief crashes into you so hard your vision swims. "Really?"
"Don't get it wrong. I just want to date girls without you bitching around."
"Deal."
-
The deal is…functional.
Ok, it’s not good. And not exactly friendly, either. Just like two co-workers trying to get through till the end of the shift. Yujin gets to the counseling session on time more often now. You scorned her less. In the public eyes, you two are one adequate couple. 60% will be the mark if this is an exam.
You’ve been counting weeks now, not months. So no wonder you didn’t hear murmurs around her school.
“Told you she peaked early.” “Yeah, no shit. Guess all the hype finally caught up to her.”
You catch it by accident.
It’s late afternoon, the sky already washed into that dull orange that means the day is finally done. Your feet ache from the walk home, backpack digging into your shoulders, and you’re cutting past her school like you always do when the voices drift over. You slow down, mainly out of curiosity.
“She hasn’t shown up to training in days. The Sports Coach said ‘injury’, but surely not right?”
“Falling off already? That was fast.”
That… sounds uncomfortably specific. And annoyingly familiar. Surely not. Yujin might be a menace, but she’s not reckless enough to torch her own reputation over something stupid. You both have been doing the obligations normally in front of the officials and in public. She wouldn’t—
You look over and uh….
Cast. White, ugly, and running from just below her knee down to her ankle. The crutches tucked awkwardly under her arms. Her long hair tied up sloppy, barely any makeup, and her tracksuit jacket zipped up all the way to her chin.
Ah, it is Yujin.
She’s standing just inside the gate, laughing at something on her phone. Somewhat like her brazen usual self, but the sound doesn’t match how her smile doesn’t go all the way up.
You tell yourself it’s just concerning your dealmates as you move your feet. And passing through a group of students still talking, your ears perk up to one of them snickers again. “I mean, injuries happen, but An Yujin should’ve have no—”
You turn around. “Finish that sentence.”
They blink. “Huh?”
“I said,” you repeat, deliberately louder, “Finish that sentence, you fuckwit.”
“Who are you supposed to–”
“Someone who doesn’t run their mouth over someone on a bad day.” You snap. “Now shut the fuck up and mind your own business.”
One of them scoffs. “Relax, man. We’re just saying—”
“—that you have peas for brains,” you cut in. “Now shut it.”
They grumble and roll their eyes, but keep walking away. Bunch of spineless fuckwits, these pretentious kids.
“Immediate speculation the moment someone did a hiccup is just lazy,” a calm voice says behind you and Yujin. “And cruel, too.”
You turn to see Minji standing there, arms folded, her expression polite in that way that’s only polite on the surface. She must’ve just gotten back from campus too. She offers the retreating students a gentle smile. “If you’re worried, maybe try supporting your peers instead.”
That makes them run away.
“Kids.” Minji exhales.
Both you and Minji turn back to Yujin, and her smile drops. “What are you looking at?”
“The fuck happened to you?” You point. She follows your finger to the cast and clicks her tongue.
Minji steps closer. “Yujin.”
“It’s nothing,” Yujin mutters. “Just a little trip during the run.”
“That’s not ‘a little’, you fucki–” you sigh. “That’s months!”
Yujin is clearly annoyed with the sudden attention from both of you. “It will heal, the doctor said.”
“Well what are you going to do until then?” Minji asks.
“I wait.”
That’s when you find out her parents are away right at the worst time. Something about an urgent business trip that makes her huge, modern and quiet house even more…huge and quiet. And Yujin is not used to that at all.
So you stay. Well, both of you, just in case this tall bean begins to have weird self-doubting thoughts when she can barely move without knocking something over. Her place slowly rearranges itself around Yujin’s immobility. The couch becomes her bed. Pillows pile up like makeshift barricades. A chair is dragged closer so she can hook her cast over it comfortably (after a few complaints about how the angle is still wrong. Fuck you, Yujin.) Crutches lean uselessly against the wall most days, abandoned the moment she decides it’s too much effort to move at all.
At first, it’s pretty awkward.
Minji comes over in the afternoons straight from campus. She brings over the smell of library air and instant coffee, the cardigan shrugging off her shoulders as she slips her shoes by the door. She cooks just like how she cooks for you, and narrates out of her habit.
“My professor has been getting increasingly cruel to us lately, making us redo our drafts.” Minji rants as she rinses the rice in the sink. “I swear, these old farts think we don’t sleep.”
Yujin lies on the couch and scrolls aimlessly. “Now you make me not want to go to uni.”
“You will one day, kiddo.” Minji laughs.
You sit on the floor with your back against the couch, pretending to read while listening anyway.
Everyday, Minji talks as usual. About classes. About a girl in her seminar who won’t stop asking weird philosophical questions just to hear herself talk. About how the cafeteria food is somehow worse this semester. She’s filling the space on purpose, just to keep Yujin tethered to the world outside these four walls.
Yujin pretends not to care initially, but her phone stays idle at times.
One evening, while Minji is cutting fruit into neat little bite-sized pieces, Yujin asks casually. “Unnie, did you really switch your partners?”
The knife hovers mid-air. “Uh, did he tell you?”
Yujin glances at you reading a book in the other corner of the couch, clearly tensed up, and then back to the older girl. “Uh, maybe.”
Minji glances at you as well before answering: “Mhm, after a year.”
“The guy must have been a piece of work for you of all people to switch.”
Minji laughs. “He kind of was.”
Yujin hums. “Well, who did you switch to?”
The room goes quiet. Minji clears her throat. “Someone I trusted.”
“Booooooo! Boring!”
You threw a sunflower seed shell you have been munching to her head. “Stop it, Yujin. Don’t bother her.”
Yujin groans, and then somehow has an idea, judging by how she flicks her gaze sideways right at you. “What about this four eyes?”
Your stomach drops. “What about me?”
Minji freezes. It’s subtle but unmistakable. You catch the way her shoulders tense. And how she grips the knife a bit too tight. For one horrible second, you think she might actually answer…or slice you into pieces.
You move before your brain catches up (also out of your safety), and immediately clamp over Yujin’s mouth. “Nope. Nope. Conversation over. The injury has clearly affected her brain.”
“Mmph—!” Yujin thrashes, trying to bite you.
“She’s trolling like back then, remember?” you say quickly, too loudly, to Minji. “She’s bored. This is what happens when athletes are put on bed rest.”
The older girl blinks. Once. Twice. Then she exhales, the tension leaving her shoulders. “Gosh, you two are such adorable younger siblings I somehow have.” She comments before getting up to wash the knife.
The moment she leaves, Yujin finally pulls free, scowling. “You’re such a fucking coward.”
“Shut up and eat the fruit.”
She flips you off and complies anyway.
Later, after Minji leaves the place first for her early class tomorrow, only you are there to take care of Yujin. Her house settles into a rare late-night quiet moment where every sound feels louder than the bass Yujin always puts on to annoy you. You stay close to her, adjusting her leg when she gets a bit too uncomfortable.
“You should go home, too.” she mutters.
“After you go to sleep.”
She scoffs. “She could’ve answered.”
“She didn’t want to.”
Yujin stares at the ceiling, her jaw still tight. “Still. She didn’t say no.”
You say nothing. Because you don’t know what scares you more: that Minji didn’t answer, or that Yujin noticed.
-
The timing is cruel in the way only these conscripted love experiments can be.
Three hundred and sixty-something days of teeth-grtting compliance and chaperone. Of learning how to sit next to Yujin without flinching nor snapping back while taking care of the injured girl. Of continuing to pretend that you and Yujin are still that one perfect couple to the officials and then still arguing over the smallest issues the moment none of them are the audience. And of course, counting the days when things are supposed to change…or end…or reset.
But things change the moment Minji texts you one afternoon.
Minji:
Can I tell you something later?
She has been doing that a lot lately (both offline and online). Just little messages about her uni life, the people she meets, and then him. The "crush", she calls him, with his cool cap and whatever, but you deduce it’s the lucky bastard that is paired with her. She always laughs whenever she brings it up nonchalantly like it's not supposed to mean anything, or probably because she never sees you as anything beyond her friend/little brother. Still you nod along for months. Just let her talk and ramble. Pretending it doesn't sink its claws into you every single time and inhaling a big gulp of copium hoping that she sees you as someone romantically.
Yeah, no.
Minji:
He asked me out. I'm thinking about saying yes.
Your fingers hover over the keyboard. You could've asked questions, or teased her like usual; you could congratulate her, be supportive of your long time friend/older sister, be everything you have mentally trained yourself to be.
Instead, your phone slams to the table, face-down.
You don't trust your voice, nor face, and most of all, not your reaction to Minji saying it out loud — how much she likes him, how long she actually does, and how this has been real while you feign ignorance like a little kid.
So you just leave. Bolt straight out of your door. You don't even think where you want to go, but your feet instinctively rush to Yujin's house and bang her door loudly…or is it your heart that is hammering loudly, who the fuck knows.
You let yourself in without knocking. Yujin sprawled on the couch (finally out of cast) and was still in her school uniform — white shirt, red tie, blue skirt. Her legs over the armrest, TV on but muted, phone abandoned on her stomach like she forgot it existed, and a cigarette hanging at the corner of her mouth. She looks up, startled.
“…Wow,” she says. “You look like shit.”
“Hi to you too, chainsmoker.”
She sits up when she hears your voice crack, killing the embers and trying to clear the smoke away. “Hey. What happened?”
You laugh. It comes out wrong and hysterical. "She…might say yes."
"Who?" "Minji."
"…Oh, unnie."
The word breaks you. “I’ve liked her for years,” you blurt out, the confession ripping out of you before you can stop it. “I told myself it was nothing. That it was timing. That I was just being stupid. But I—fuck, Yujin, I really tried not to—”
Your voice shatters.
“I can’t even be mad at her,” you say quietly. “She didn’t do anything wrong. She just… found someone. And I’m still here. Acting and whining like a fucking kid about my damn crush for her.”
Not really sure why you're spilling your deep secret to your sworn enemy, but that time, you're desperate to hear her laughing and scorn at you for whining like a nerd, scoffing, or telling you that karma is a bitch.
She doesn't. She listens. None of the usual banter, not at all.
When you finally stop talking, the silence is suffocating.
“Is that…why you ran here?” she asks.
You nod. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
She exhales slowly, then steps closer. Too close.
“You’re an idiot,” you never know Yujin's voice can be this soft.
"Yeah…"
The room suddenly feels even smaller.
Before you can actually react, she steps into your space and gently places her hand onto your chest. She pushes you gently towards the wall behind you and—
THUD.
You're fully aware of the barrier behind you as she plants her palm next to your face, her body boxing you in. You freeze instinctively, unsure if it is out of fear or…something you don't fucking dare to say.
"An Yujin, you just recov—"
“Just shut up and let me.”
She leans in.
They say that the first kiss meant to be sweet and careful. This one isn’t. Cigarettes are all you can taste, and you can definitely feel how experienced this playgirl is. She crashes her lips against yours unapologetically, feeling all the heat and frustration boils up, and with such hunger. She's making a point, telling you to 'look at her, and only her'.
“Yu—Yujin…” Your mind blanks, yet your hand immediately grabs her tie on instinct, gripping and pulling closer like you’re afraid she’ll disappear if you don’t.
She pulls back enough to look at you. "…are you ok? Is it too much?"
What is too much? The fact that she just boldly manhandled you like you’re no different from her side chicks? The fact that your body responds with a shiver? Or the fact that deep down, buried under all the scoffing and arguing, you’ve always known that…An Yujin is one damn fucking hot playgirl.
You’re not blind (you wear glasses). The damn smug, the grin, the attractive face, the confidence that borders on cruelty, and the way she just invades spaces and owns it. You told yourself that she was just being arrogant, bitchy, and whatever negative connotations you try to come up to justify your hatred for Yujin.
Now that she is this close, knowing exactly which switch of yours she can flip? Yeah, you can’t even answer.
And she fucking knows it.
“Thought so.”
She kisses you again, albeit slower this time. And your thoughts completely dissipated. You stop thinking about whether this means anything to her. Whether you’re just another distraction. Another side note in her long list of girls. You stop thinking about Minji. About her laugh. About the quiet way she’s already moved on. Then you stop thinking about the rules, the day until your conscripted love game is done, and whatever else. They all dissolved into the awareness of Yujin's arm snaking her way behind your back and pushing you closer to her.
And how you are hyper aware of how her tongue coils around yours greedily. With the mixture of that bitter taste of the cigs and the sweet taste of Yujin imprints onto your brain. Your hand did a quick whirl to her tie, making sure she stays right there kissing you.
When you finally loosen your grips to let her pull away, she stays close enough that you can feel her breath against your lips.
"I'll make you forget completely about unnie, starting tonight."
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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.”
"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.
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.
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.
You call it research. That's the word you've been using in your head for the past three weeks, ever since the idea first took root. Research. It sounds legitimate. Clinical. Like you're a journalist, an anthropologist, someone with a purpose beyond your own desperate need to feel something real.
You've been standing on this corner for twenty minutes, watching shapes move through the rain-slicked dark. People emerge from doorways and vanish into taxis. The city breathes around you, indifferent to your crisis of conscience. And you're starting to think that maybe this whole thing - this plan, this night, this pathetic attempt at authenticity - is exactly the kind of intellectual masturbation your workshop professors used to warn against.
You've published three short stories. Decent literary magazines. The kind with small circulations and respectful reviews. They called your prose "clean" and "technically proficient." They said you had "promise." But they all noted the same flaw, buried in the compliments like a splinter: your work lacked a certain veracity. That word. You've turned it over in your mind a thousand times, and every time it feels like an indictment. Your characters feel hollow because you're hollow. You're writing about shadows of experiences you've never had, emotions you've only observed from a comfortable distance.
You want to write about suffering. Real suffering. The kind that leaves scars on people's souls, that changes the way they move through the world. But how can you when your own life has been nothing but a series of comfortable, middle-class disappointments? Breakups that hurt but healed. Rejections that stung but didn't destroy. You're a fraud trying to write truth, and the gap between what you know and what you want to say feels unbridgeable.
So tonight, you're doing something about it. Tonight, you've decided to stop theorizing and start living. Or at least, start witnessing. You're going to be a tourist in someone else's hell, and you're going to hope that somewhere in the wreckage, you'll find the veracity you've been missing.
The address leads you to a door that looks like any other: just a plain, dark-green slab of wood with a tarnished brass number. No red light, no neon sign promising pleasure. It’s almost disappointingly discreet. You push it open into a narrow hallway that smells of damp carpet and cigarettes. At a small wooden desk sits a woman old enough to be your grandmother. She doesn’t look up from the crossword puzzle she’s working on, just keeps worrying a string of cheap plastic rosary beads with one hand while the other holds a pen.
She finally lifts her gaze, and it feels like being weighed and measured.
“Yeah? What.”
“I, uh. I’m looking for a girl.”
She clicks her pen. “They’re all girls. Specifics.”
“Twenties. Someone… smart. Who can talk.”
Her lips twitch into something that isn’t a smile. It’s more like a muscle spasm of mild amusement. She looks you over again, taking in your soaked jacket and your too-earnest face. You, the writer, trying to play a role you haven't even written yet. She seems to understand the whole pathetic story in a single glance. Without another word, she picks up a small desk phone, mutters a single word into it you can’t make out, and hangs up. She slides a small, cold, brass key across the desk. Room 7.
You walk up the stairs in silence, simply absorbing the atmosphere of the place, which is quieter than you expected. You find the door, and the key feels slick with sweat in your hand. You have to try twice to get it into the lock. For a second, you think about turning back, about just running out into the cleansing rain and forgetting this whole stupid, pretentious idea. But you don’t. You turn the key, push the door open, and step inside.
The room is dim, lit only by a small bedside lamp with a heavy shade that casts a cone of amber light. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust, to see past the haze of your own anxiety. And then you see her. She’s not waiting for you, not posed or expectant. She’s curled up on the edge of the bed, propped against the headboard, wearing a simple black slip dress that leaves her shoulders and the long, elegant lines of her legs bare. She’s reading a paperback, her focus so absolute you feel like an intruder. Her hair is as black as night, long and well-groomed, or perhaps that's just its natural appearance, framing a face that stops your breath. It’s the kind of face that’s so perfectly symmetrical it’s almost unsettling. Wide, intelligent eyes; a nose that is delicate and majestic (in the sense of belonging to a mystical royal figure), full lips that are completely relaxed as she reads. It’s her. You know that face. You spent four years trying not to stare at it in calculus.
She looks up, her eyes adjusting to the shape of you standing in the doorway, and her expression shifts from neutral concentration to a flicker of confusion, then to a sudden shock of recognition.
“Holy shit.”
Her voice is the same: low, a little husky. Particularly appealing to your ears and personal tastes. It’s the voice that answered a question about derivatives once and made the entire room feel stupid. You just stand there, mute.
“Kim Minji.”
The name comes out of you like a ghost. She closes the book, without bothering to bookmark the page, she's definitely the type who remembers the exact number.
“I gotta say,” she begins, her gaze sweeping over you, a little sarcastic, a little amused. “Of all the people I thought might walk through that door tonight… you weren't even on the list. Not in the top million.”
Her dress is short, riding high on her thighs as she uncurls her legs to sit facing you. It’s a simple garment, but on her, it looks like high fashion. It accentuates the flawless skin of her collarbones, the gentle slope of her shoulders. You finally find your own voice, though it sounds thin and foreign.
“What… what are you doing here?”
She laughs, but it's far from meaning she's happy. “What does it look like I’m doing? Isn’t it obvious?”
“Yes! I mean, yeah, obvious. But not—I didn’t mean you look obvious. Like a prostitute. You don’t. At all. It’s just the context, right? The room, the… everything. That’s the only reason it’s obvious. It’s a contextual obviousness. Not a personal one.”
She just watches the train wreck, a genuine giggle escaping her lips this time.
“Relax,” she says. She unfolds herself from the bed slowly. In three steps, she’s closed the space between you, and the air crackles with a proximity you are profoundly unequipped to handle. She takes your hand. Her skin is warm, her grip surprisingly firm. “It’s unexpected, seeing you here. But I’m not gonna judge. Not really in a position to, am I?”
She leads you to the bed and gently pushes you down to sit on the edge. The mattress gives beneath you. Before you can process it, she turns and settles herself onto your lap, facing you, her legs bracketing one of yours. Her scent is subtle, something like clean linen, maybe a hint of green tea. And there’s a subtle smell of something that must be cigarette smoke, but you don't have time for aromatic guessing right now. Then she leans in, her face close to yours.
“So. What’s on the menu for tonight?” she asks. “Let’s get the ground rules out of the way. It’s a set price for the hour. No anal. No kissing on the mouth. No creampies, so don’t even think about trying to pull the condom off. If you’re into it, I’ve got a strap-on in the drawer. You seem like the type who might like that, having a girl take charge.”
Remembering: this is Kim Minji, who sat two rows ahead of you, who you once saw read a Dostoevsky novel during a pep rally. She’s looking at you with an unreadable, seductive calm, talking about strap-ons, and for one terrifying, electric second, your body betrays your brain and you actually consider it.
She must see the conflict warring across your face, because a flicker of a real smile touches her lips. “But maybe… for a familiar face, I’d make an exception on the kissing rule.”
It’s the fabricated intimacy that snaps you out of your stupor. You find a strength you didn’t know you had, place your hands on the thin, silky fabric at her waist, and gently, respectfully, lift her off your lap, setting her down beside you on the bed. Her expression shifts instantly from seductive professional to utterly, completely confused.
“I… I appreciate the offer,” you stammer, feeling the heat in your own cheeks. “You’re… very convincing. But that’s not why I’m here.”
She just stares at you, brows knitting together. “Then why the fuck are you here?”
You take a breath. Here it is. The pitch. “I’m writing a book. A novel. It’s about a girl, like you. I mean, not like you you, but in this line of work. It’s about her perspective on the city, on people. And I… I need it to be real. I can’t just make it all up. The details, the feeling of it. It would be a lie. So I came here for research.”
Minji’s face remains blank for a long second. Then she throws her head back and laughs. Not a giggle this time, but a full, throaty, cynical laugh. It’s a laugh that says she’s heard every stupid line in the book, and this one is a new classic.
“Research,” she repeats. “Holy shit. That’s a new one. You want to buy my time to… what? Ask me about my tragic backstory so you can write it down and win a fucking award?”
“No, that’s not it. I want to pay you for your time. The same rate. We just… talk. I ask questions. You tell me what you think about things. Anything. Philosophy, the news, politics. I want an authentic perspective.”
She looks at you, her eyes narrowed, dissecting your earnest, stupid face. “So you don’t want to fuck my body, you want to fuck my head instead. You want to mine my life for ‘authenticity.’ You know what that is? It’s the same transaction, just wrapped up in a pretty, intellectual bow. People who read your book will get to feel worldly and empathetic for a few hours, dipping their toes into a life like this from the safety of their fucking IKEA armchair, and you get to be the brilliant artist who brought it to them. It’s still voyeurism. It’s just… what? Torture porn for literary majors.”
“That’s not fair,” you argue. “Art can build empathy. A good story can make someone feel something real, understand a life they’d otherwise just ignore or judge.”
“Oh, spare me the ‘power of art’ speech. Every writer thinks their intentions are pure. Every director shooting a movie about war thinks he’s an anti-war activist. At the end of the day, you’re still selling a product, and the product is someone else’s pain. My pain. You’re just another john, but you want to buy my misery instead of my pussy.”
She’s right, or at least, she’s not wrong. The ethical ground beneath you has turned to quicksand. You can only be honest.
“You have every right to say no. And you’re probably right about some of it. But I am asking. And I will pay.”
She studies you for a long time, the silence stretching out. She looks at your hands, your shoes, your face. Finally, a long, slow sigh escapes her. She seems to deflate, the fight going out of her.
“Getting paid to talk is better than getting a knee injury from some asshole who thinks he’s a porn star,” she says flatly. “Okay. Fine. I’ll be your little research project. But there are rules. Non-negotiable.”
“Okay. What are they?”
She holds up a finger. “One. You don’t ask about my past. How I got here, my family, where I’m from. All of that is a locked box. You don’t get the key.” She holds up a second finger. “Two. Your character is not me. You can use ideas, feelings, observations. You cannot use my life. You are not writing my biography.” A third finger joins the others. “Three. You are not here to save me. I don’t need a hero. Don’t get any ideas about rescuing the poor, fallen woman. It’s pathetic, and I’ll walk the second you try it.” She pauses, and her gaze becomes incredibly intense. “And last… you can’t fall in love with me.”
She lets that one hang in the air.
“I’m serious,” she adds. “Don’t. It’s a bad idea for everyone. This is a job. So if you think you can handle all that… maybe we have a deal.”
You look at the rules she’s laid out. They seem like walls, high and thick. They’re all acceptable, a fair price for what you’re asking. Except the last one. The last one feels different. It feels less like a rule and more like a premonition. But you’ve come this far. You push the doubt down.
“I accept.”
She extends a hand, cool and formal.
“Deal, writer boy.”
You take it. Her handshake is firm, sealing the strange, impossible contract.
“So when do we start?” you ask, your hand falling away from hers.
“How about now?” she says, standing up and grabbing a simple, worn coat from a hook on the door. “There’s a 24-hour diner three blocks from here. I’m starving.” She looks at you. “You pay the house for my hour, then you can buy me a cheeseburger.”
It’s an order. You nod, pulling your wallet out. You agree. She slings a small bag over her shoulder, and together, you walk out of the room, leaving the bed and the amber lamp behind.
—
The rain follows you. It has been raining for days now, and it still doesn't seem close to stopping. Minji doesn't seem bothered by the rain. You walk side-by-side under the fractured glow of the streetlights, a weird silence stretching between you. It’s her who breaks it.
“So why, though?” she asks, not looking at you, just staring ahead at the wet, black asphalt. “Of all the miserable little stories in this miserable fucking city, why this one? Why mine?”
You knew the question was coming. You just didn’t have a good answer for it. “I don’t really know. It feels… necessary. I just want to write something that matters, I guess.” You shove your hands in your pockets. “I’ve published a few things. Short stories. The reviews are always polite. They say I’m technically proficient, that the prose is clean.” You pause. “But they all say the same thing. ‘Lacks a certain veracity.’ That was the phrase one of them used. A nice way of saying my characters feel like bullshit.”
Minji is quiet for a moment, absorbing that. “So you came looking for veracity in a whorehouse.” It doesn't sound like a question. It’s a diagnosis.
The diner is an oasis in this deluge. It smells of old coffee, sizzling bacon grease, and the clean scent of bleach. You both slide into a booth with cracked red vinyl seats, the big window next to you a canvas of streaming, distorted city lights. You memorize everything. This could be an interesting setting for a story. A moment later, a girl your age approaches, wiping the table with a damp cloth. Her face is cherubic, with large, luminous eyes and a spray of light freckles across her nose that you can see even in the harsh lighting. She moves with an exhausted, end-of-shift efficiency. She gives Minji a tired but genuine smile.
“Hey, Minji. The usual?”
“Hey, Dani. Yeah, the usual,” Minji says, then gestures to you with her thumb. “This is… a customer.”
The waitress glances at you. Her friendly expression tightens just a fraction. It’s a look you’re starting to get used to: suspicion. “A customer?”
“Not the normal kind,” Minji clarifies.
Danielle looks from you to Minji and back again, her eyes narrowing. “Right. Better I don’t know what a ‘different’ customer is, I’m guessing.”
“You’re guessing right,” Minji says, picking up a menu she has no intention of reading. “It’s disgusting, really. He’s going to sit here and ask me a bunch of intimate questions and pretend he cares about the answers.”
Danielle’s gaze on you hardens. “Are you a reporter?”
“Worse,” Minji deadpans. “He’s a writer.” She rattles off her order without looking up. “Cheeseburger deluxe, extra pickles, fries, a Coke, and a slice of the apple pie.” She closes the menu and pushes it toward you. “He’ll have… I don’t know. Sad artist food.”
You just look at Danielle. “Just a coffee, please. And a slice of the pie.”
Danielle jots it down, gives you one last wary look, and walks away. “Dani’s a good kid,” Minji says quietly, watching her go. “Goes to city college for chemistry during the day, works the graveyard shift here.”
“Can we, uh, get started?”
Minji leans back against the vinyl, crossing her arms. A look of profound boredom settles onto her perfect features. “Knock yourself out, writer boy. Your meter’s running.”
You pull a small, dog-eared notebook and a pen from your jacket pocket. You feel like a caricature of yourself. You click the pen. “Okay. So. On an average night, how many clients do you see?”
“Depends,” she says, her eyes drifting to the kitchen pass-through. “Tuesday? Maybe one or two. Friday? Could be six, seven. Depends on the weather. Depends if there’s a convention in town.”
“And what’s the… financial arrangement? Do you get a percentage? Do you have a weekly quota?”
“Fifty percent to the house. No quota. It’s a freelance gig with really shitty benefits.”
Her answers are rote, mechanical. She’s giving you the FAQ page. You press on, feeling increasingly like a tax auditor. “What are the biggest dangers? Is it the clients, or…?”
“The biggest danger is boredom,” she says. “Clients are mostly just sad. Or angry. Or scared. The dangerous ones you learn to spot. The real danger is dying of boredom while some guy tells you about his wife for the fifth time.”
Danielle arrives with the drinks and your pie. A few minutes later, she returns with Minji’s order. It’s a glorious, greasy platter of food. A huge burger dripping with cheese, a mountain of golden fries. Minji’s entire demeanor changes. She picks up the burger with both hands, squishes it down, and takes a huge bite. A little bit of ketchup escapes onto her thumb, and she licks it off without a second thought.
You clear your throat and glance at your list of stupid questions.
“Do you get… regulars?”
She pops a fry into her mouth and chews thoughtfully before answering. “A few.”
“And what’s that like? Is it… easier? Knowing them?”
“It’s less paperwork,” she says, not elaborating.
You press on, feeling the gears of your own ineptitude grinding. “What’s the weirdest request you’ve ever gotten?”
She stops chewing and looks at you with an expression of profound pity. “Sorry. All my anecdotes are proprietary.”
This isn't going as you expected. You look down at your notepad, at the list of questions you spent hours compiling. What safety precautions do you take? How do you separate the work from your personal life? Have you ever felt a real connection with a client? They all seem impossibly shallow now, like trying to understand the ocean by asking it to fill out a survey. You let the pen rest on the page. You’ve run out of questions that don’t make you feel like a complete asshole.
So you just watch her instead. You watch her finish the fries, then pull the slice of apple pie closer. She eats it with a different kind of focus - slower, more deliberate, savoring each bite. You notice things. A tiny, silver-white scar that cuts through her left eyebrow, almost invisible unless the light hits it just right. The way she tucks a strand of her black hair behind her ear, a gesture that is entirely her own. You start writing again, but you don't look at her while you do it. The pen scratches quietly across the paper.
She never looks at her phone. Not once.
There’s a small, faded bruise on her inner wrist, shaped like a thumbprint.
She has a habit of tapping her front teeth with her thumbnail when she’s thinking.
You’re so lost in the cataloging of these details, these tiny fragments of a real person, that you don’t notice she’s finished her pie and is just watching you, her chin resting in her hand.
“What the hell are you writing over there? You’re filling up pages. My life isn’t that interesting, I promise you.”
You look up, startled. You feel caught, like a spy. You close the notebook and slide it to the side of the table, next to the salt shaker.
“It’s nothing. Just small notes.” This whole approach was a mistake. You came in like a scientist, all clipboards and questions, when you should have just come in like a person. You decide to try that now. “Look, I’m sorry. This isn't working.”
She raises an eyebrow, intrigued by your admission of failure. “Oh yeah? Your ‘research’ hitting a wall?”
“Yeah,” you admit. “My questions are garbage. They’re not what I actually want to know.” You lean forward, resting your arms on the table. You look at her, not as a subject, but as the girl who used to sit two rows ahead of you in calculus. “Forget the book for a second. Let’s just talk.”
She eyes you with deep suspicion, her guard instantly back up. “Talk about what? Don’t think this is your chance to sneak in questions about my ‘tragic past’.”
“No. Not about that. Just… what do you like to do? You know. When you’re not working. When you’re not here. What do you do for fun?”
She stares at you, her mouth slightly agape. She seems to be searching for the angle, the trick, the hidden question beneath the question. Finding none, she’s left adrift in the unfamiliar territory of a genuine, human inquiry. She blinks, looks out the rain-streaked window for a long moment, watching the traffic lights change through the window, turning the raindrops on the glass from red to green to amber. and then turns back to you.
“I read,” she says, simply and directly.
Of course. You remember it instantly. In the back of every class, during every lunch break, she always had a book. A thick paperback with a worn spine, held in one hand while the other doodled in the margins of a notebook.
“You always did,” you say. “Even in high school.”
“I’ve been reading since I was a kid,” she says with a small shrug. “It’s the only thing that’s never felt like a waste of time.”
“Favorite books?” you ask, leaning forward, genuinely curious now. The notebook lies forgotten on the table.
“The list changes. Every week, maybe. I’ve been on a Murakami kick lately. Kafka on the Shore, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. I know he’s problematic, the way he writes women sometimes… but god, the atmosphere. The feeling. It gets under your skin.” She takes a sip of her water. “Before that, I finished a biography on Foucault.”
You blink, surprised. “Foucault? That’s… heavy reading for a Tuesday night.”
“Says the guy who wants to write a magnum opus about suffering,” she shoots back, a playful glint in her eye. “I was interested in his ideas about power. How it’s not just some guy in a castle telling you what to do. It’s in everything. Every structure, every conversation.” She gestures with her fork between the two of you. “Like this. You, the observer, asking questions. Me, the subject, giving answers. You think you’re just gathering information, but you’re creating a narrative of power where you get to define me.”
“The Panopticon,” you say. “The prisoner who knows he might be being watched at any moment, so he polices his own behavior.”
“Exactly,” she says, pointing the fork at you. “And you’re the man in the central tower. You think you’re seeing the ‘real’ me, but you’re only seeing the version of me that knows you’re watching.”
You just stare at her. The intelligence radiating from her is more captivating than her beauty. “You’re amazing,” you confess. “I thought you were amazing in high school, too.”
The admission makes her pause. A faint blush rises on her cheeks. “I remember you,” she says softly. “You were always in the library. The quiet, smart, slightly mysterious one in the corner. Always scribbling in a notebook.”
“I always wanted to talk to you,” you say.
“So why didn’t you?”
“Are you kidding?” you laugh. “You were… you. You had that big group of friends, you were always laughing. You were confident. Intimidating. It was way too much for a kid like me.”
“God, was that what it looked like?” She giggles, a veil of sadness momentarily crossing her face. “Everything feels so complicated when you’re a teenager. If you had just come over and said hi, I probably would have been thrilled. You seemed nice.” She looks down at her hands, tracing the rim of her water glass. “The image you had of me… it was completely wrong. I wasn’t like that at all. Not on the inside.”
“For what it’s worth. You still look amazing to me.”
Her eyes snap up to meet yours. She’s flustered, and trying to hide her shyness, she forces a cynical little smile. “Even though I’m a prostitute?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It matters. Don’t be naive. It’s the first and last thing people see. It’s a brand. You know what men think when they hear it. You know what other women think. It matters.”
“Will you ever… change professions?” The question is out before you can vet it for stupidity.
“Do you think I want to be doing this?”
“I don’t know. Do you?”
“Changing jobs doesn’t change the brand. It’s not that simple.” She sighs, clearly done with this line of conversation. She pushes her empty plate away. “Anyway. I’ll look up those short stories of yours. See if you’re actually any good.”
You feel a ridiculous surge of hope. “Yeah?”
“Don’t get excited,” she warns, but she is smiling. “I’m a harsh critic.”
Just then, Danielle appears at the table, a coffee pot in hand. “Anything else for you guys?”
Minji starts gathering her things, pulling on her coat. “Nope, we’re good. I actually have to go.”
The spell is broken. The session is over. You pull out your wallet and pay the bill Danielle leaves on the table, leaving a generous tip. You realize that if this were a story, the transaction would be a harsh metaphor of the frame around this entire evening.
Minji waves a quick, casual goodbye to Danielle over her shoulder, and then you’re pushing through the diner’s glass door, back into the night. The cold hits you first, a damp slap in the face. The rain has eased into a fine, persistent drizzle that coats everything in a slick, reflective sheen. The city sounds are muffled, distant.
You fall into step beside her, the silence comfortable for a few paces. You’re not ready for the night to end, not ready for her to go back to being a name in a file at the front desk of that discreet green door.
“So, besides reading,” you start, trying to keep the thread of normalcy going, “is there anything else you like to do?”
She thinks for a moment, her breath pluming in the cold air. “Sleep,” she says.
“Right. You must be up all night for work. That’s got to be tiring.”
“You get used to it,” she says with a shrug. “Just flip the switch. The night is the day, the day is the night. I sleep all morning, all afternoon. The sun feels weird to me now.”
You look at her profile under the blurry halo of a streetlight. Now that she’s mentioned it, you can see it. Faint, dark smudges beneath her eyes, skillfully muted by makeup but there if you look. A weariness that settles deep into the lines of her face when she isn't actively smiling. It does nothing to diminish how beautiful she is; it just makes her beauty seem more fragile, poetically tainted.
“I really like sleeping, though,” she continues, “sometimes I wish I could just sleep forever. Never wake up.”
“That’s… a little morbid, Minji.”
“It’s not what you’re thinking. I just mean… it’s nice in there. In the dark. Imagine just being asleep, all the time. Living in one dream after another. A whole other reality, just for you. No rules. No gravity.”
“You’ve definitely been reading too much Murakami,” you say, nudging her with your elbow.
She laughs for real this time and gives you a light, playful punch on the arm that sends a surprising warmth through your whole body. “Shut up, you.”
And in that small, perfect moment of connection, you both hear it.
crack
The sound is disorienting, brittle, and sickeningly final. It comes from under your foot. You both freeze and look down. There on the wet, black pavement is a snail, its delicate, spiraled shell shattered into a dozen pieces, its soft body a ruined mess.
“Oh, shit,” you breathe. “Poor thing.”
“You get used to it,” Minji says coldly.
“I don’t know about that.”
She looks at you, her face serious in the dim light. “It only happened because you’re with me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I step on them,” she says, as if stating a fundamental law of physics. “Every time I walk around in the rain. Always. Without fail.”
You manage a skeptical laugh. “That’s just a coincidence, Minji.”
“No, it’s not.” She looks at you intently. “Think about it. Before tonight, have you ever, in your entire life, accidentally stepped on a snail? Not on purpose, when you were a psycho kid. Accidentally.”
You search your memory. Bugs, yes. But a snail? The specific, gruesome crack of a shell? You honestly don’t think so. “No… I guess not.”
“See?” she says, as if this proves everything. “It happens to me. All the time, during the rainy season. It’s my thing.”
“And you think it… means something?”
“It’s probably a curse.”
“It seems like a very specific, kind of pointless curse,” you argue, trying to be the rational one. “Surely you’re not the only person in the world who steps on snails.”
She snorts. “Okay, writer boy. You’ll see for yourself.” She says it as if she's challenging you. “Now that you’ve been with me, it’ll start happening to you, too. You’ll see.”
“Has anything… bad ever happened to you because of this so-called curse?”
She gestures to herself with an open palm: her coat, her job, her presence on this dark street at this hour of the night. The gesture encompasses her entire existence.
“Look at me,” she says simply.
“That’s not evidence, that’s paranoia.”
She just shakes her head, giving up on you. You’ve walked the few blocks back, and the plain, dark-green door is right in front of you. The end of the line.
“So,” you say, hating the transactional feeling that’s creeping back in. “When can I see you again?”
“Same day next week is fine,” she says. Then she adds, “But we’re doing this during the day. My treat. Meet me at that same diner. Say, three o’clock.” She sees the question on your face and clarifies. “I could be with a client right now instead of walking around with you. But there’s no business for me on a Wednesday afternoon. Maximize profits, you know?” The logic is cold, but the offer is warm. She smiles, a genuine, tired smile. “It was good to see you again, writer boy. You’re still full of surprises.”
“You too.” You think about adding something else, but you just leave it at that.
You start to turn, to walk away into the drizzle.
“Hey!”
You look back. Minji is standing in the doorway, one hand on the frame.
“Thanks for the burger.”
“You’re paying next time.”
She laughs. It's the only sound on the empty street besides the rain. “No fucking way.”
She gives you one last look, then disappears inside, the green door clicking shut behind her. You smile to yourself and continue on your way, the sound of the rain blending with the echo of her laugh.
—
The week crawls by, and Minji takes up residence in your head, rent-free. You find yourself rereading the notes from the diner, but the clinical observations feel like a cheap caricature now. What you remember is the sad, knowing look in her eyes when she talked about her high school self, the sound of her real laugh, the surprising warmth of her arm when she punched you. You can’t square the woman who debated Foucault in a greasy spoon with the transactional reality of her life. The question of how she got there becomes an obsessive, unanswerable itch in your brain, a direct violation of her first and most important rule.
When Wednesday finally arrives, you’re standing outside the diner ten minutes early. She arrives right on time, and for a second, you don’t recognize her. The night-time creature from the brothel, all silky black dress and calculated allure, is gone. In her place is a girl who could be any other student on her way to the library. She’s wearing a pair of worn, faded jeans that fit her perfectly, a soft-looking red and black flannel shirt, and a pair of scuffed work boots. Her hair is pulled back in a messy knot, and without the careful makeup, the dark circles under her eyes are more pronounced.
“Wow,” you say, the word escaping before you can stop it. “You look… different.”
She shoves her hands in her pockets and gives you a wry, tired smile. “Yeah, well. I’m not gonna walk around looking like a whore on my day off, am I?” She starts walking toward the diner’s entrance. “Bad for business. No guy wants to fuck a girl who looks like she just came from a shift. They want the illusion that they’re the only one.”
The casual cynicism is a splash of cold water, and the best thing to say is to say nothing. You just follow her inside and slide into the same booth as last time. The coffee you order is hot and bitter and does nothing to wake her up. She cradles the warm mug in her hands, her eyelids heavy.
“Where to?” you ask gently. “The city’s your oyster.”
She shrugs, staring into her cup. “I don’t know. I mostly just sleep.” Then a flicker of something animates her face, a memory surfacing. “There was this place… an arcade. I spent half my childhood in there. I heard it’s closing down at the end of the month.” She looks at you. “I’d like to see it one last time. For old time’s sake.”
“Okay,” you smile, “let's go to the arcade then.”
—
The arcade is what you'd expect from an arcade about to close its doors forever. Half the machines are dark, bearing sad, handwritten ‘Out of Order’ signs, but the ones that still work blink and beckon. As you step inside, a wave of nostalgia hits you so hard. The worn, patterned carpet, the prize counter filled with cheap plastic junk, the specific layout of the machines - you know this place.
“I used to come here,” you say. “All the time. After school.”
She looks at you, her eyes wide. “No way. Me too. You think we were ever here at the same time? Two little kids, playing games ten feet away from each other, with no idea.”
“It’s possible,” you say, and the thought of that missed connection, of the parallel lives you lived, hangs between you, both beautiful and sad.
She immediately heads for a vintage Street Fighter II cabinet.
“You’re going down, writer boy,” she says, cracking her knuckles with theatrical flair.
You laugh, grabbing the joystick on the right. “You have no idea who you’re talking to. I was a legend on this thing.”
You were not a legend on this thing. She annihilates you. Her fingers dance across the buttons. She’s all focus and instinct, her tongue stuck out in concentration, her body swaying with the on-screen action. She beats you five games in a row, her character executing flawless combos while yours flounders. Her laughter is loud and triumphant, echoing through the half-empty arcade. It’s the freest you’ve ever seen her.
You move on to a sit-down racing game, the plastic shells of the cars cracked and faded. She chooses a red Ferrari; you pick a blue Lamborghini. She spends the entire race yelling at the screen, leaning her whole body into the turns, her flannel-clad shoulder bumping against yours. She beats you by a full lap. At the air hockey table, her defense is impenetrable, her shots like cannon fire. The puck is a blur, ricocheting off the walls until it slams into your goal again and again.
After being humiliated countless times, you give up. Minji is doing a little victory dance, and given the circumstances, that's what I'd call “dancing on your grave”.
“Okay, okay, I give,” you laugh, holding your hands up in surrender. “You’re a monster. A stone-cold killer. I’m starting to think you hustled kids for their lunch money in places like this.”
She stops dancing and points a finger at you. “Don’t be a sore loser, writer boy. You were the one talking all that trash about being a ‘legend.’ I was just defending the honor of this fine establishment.”
“I was taking it easy on you!” you protest. “It’s called sportsmanship. You should try it sometime.”
“Uh-huh,” she says, leaning in conspiratorially. “Tell yourself whatever you need to, to sleep at night.” She straightens up, rolling her shoulders back. The change in her is remarkable.
“You don’t seem so sleepy anymore.”
“Humiliating you has renewed my will to live,” she says, her face completely serious before it breaks into a wide, beautiful grin. “Come on. I saw a pizza counter in the back. The loser buys.”
The pizza is terrible and perfect all at once. It’s greasy, the cheese is a little too rubbery, and the crust is a bland, chewy platform for the slick of tomato sauce. You both sit on a pair of wobbly stools at a high-top table. For a few minutes, you just eat in silence. Minji, you note again, eats with a focused, unselfconscious intensity that you find completely captivating. She finishes her first slice and dabs her mouth with a thin paper napkin before turning to you.
“So,” she begins. “This writing thing. Why’d you pick it? Or did it pick you?”
The question catches you off guard. It’s a reversal of the roles you’d established, of the dynamic she herself had critiqued so sharply. Now she was the one probing, asking the questions. You swallow a bite of pizza, buying yourself a second to think of an answer that isn’t complete bullshit.
“I don’t know,” you start, being honest. “I was always the quiet kid. In my own head all the time. I guess writing was… a way to build things. You create these little worlds, you know? And inside them, you’re in control. You’re the god of that little universe. It gives you a sense of power, of authority, when you don’t really have any in the real world.” You look down at your plate, feeling a little exposed. “And I guess… it’s a way of being seen, without actually having to show yourself. You can pour everything you are onto the page, all the ugly and weird and confusing parts, and people can see it, connect with it. But you’re still safe. You’re still hiding behind the words.”
Minji listens intently, her eyes fixed on you. She doesn’t respond right away, just considers your confession with a serious gravity. She takes a slow sip of her soda, the sounds of the arcade seeming to fade into the background.
“Everyone wants to be seen, don’t they?” she muses. “It’s like… the most basic human thing. Proof of existence.” She leans forward, her elbows on the table. “I was reading about those cave paintings in Argentina. The really old ones. There’s one cave, the Cave of Hands, where it’s just… hundreds of handprints stenciled on the walls. Men, women, even children. They’d put their hand on the rock and blow pigment around it. It’s so simple, but it’s devastating when you think about it. It’s not a story, it’s not a hunt. It’s just a signature. Thirty thousand years later, it’s still there. It’s just a person yelling into the void, ‘I was here. We were here. My hand was this big. Can you see me?’”
“And you? Do you want to be seen like that?”
She takes a long time to answer. She looks away, toward a racing game where a kid is furiously spinning the wheel, his face illuminated by the flashing screen. “I think,” she says finally, turning back to you, “I just want people to see me differently. And I feel like I can’t change how they see me. The mold is set.”
“Is it because of the…” you start, the word ‘prostitution’ dying on your lips.
“It’s not just that,” she cuts you off, anticipating your clumsy attempt at understanding. “That’s just a job. A small, shitty part of my life. It’s everything else. It’s the stuff you’re not allowed to ask about.” She sighs. “The problem is, I can’t talk about any of it without it sounding like some sob story. Without people getting that look in their eyes. Pity. And then I’m not a person anymore. I’m a victim. A project. Something to be saved.”
Her eyes lock onto yours, and they are blazing with a fierce, defiant pride. “Honestly? I’d rather you see me as your object of study than as a victim.”
“I don’t see you as either.”
She holds your gaze for a long moment, then just nods. “Okay,” she says softly. “Okay.”
After paying for the pizzas, you step back out onto the street. The sky has changed. The afternoon sun is gone, hidden behind a thick, uniform blanket of bruised-purple clouds. The air is cool and heavy with the promise of rain.
“I love days like this,” Minji says, pulling her flannel shirt tighter around herself as you start to walk. “Cold. A little gloomy. I hate the sun.”
“You hate the sun?” you ask, amused. “Who hates the sun?”
“I do,” she says, completely serious. “Sunny days are oppressive. Everything is so bright and beautiful, and everyone’s out, laughing and living their perfect, happy lives, moving forward on their paths. It’s all so… harmonious. And I just can’t seem to fit into that picture.” She kicks at a loose piece of gravel on the sidewalk. “It feels almost illegal to be sad on a sunny day. Like you’re a bug in the system. But on days like this…” She gestures up at the heavy sky. “The world feels like I do. It gets it. And I can just be. I feel happier this way.”
It’s one of the most honest and insightful things you’ve ever heard. You memorize these words to write them down later. “That’s… an interesting way to look at it,” you admit.
You walk in silence for a few more blocks, the city shifting around you, preparing for the coming storm. You approach a busy intersection, and she stops, turning to face you.
“This is me. My time’s up. Got to get home and get ready for the night shift.”
The spell of the afternoon is broken. You reach into your pocket and pull out the folded cash you’d prepared. The act of handing it to her feels clumsy and wrong, a crude gesture that erases the genuine connection you just felt. She takes it without ceremony and tucks it into the pocket of her jeans.
“I’m going to buy a very expensive, very unhealthy cigarette with this,” she says with a small and defiant smile on her lips.
“I’ll see you next week, then? For our next session?”
“It’s a deal. Bye, writer boy.”
She turns and starts to walk away, merging with the handful of other people waiting for the light to change.
“Minji!” you call out.
She stops and looks back over her shoulder, a question in her eyes.
“I prefer days like this, too,” you say. “For writing. The gloom is… comforting. That and a good cup of coffee, and I can write for hours.”
A real smile spreads across her face, reaching her eyes this time. “The writer boy has style.” She gives you a final, small wave, then turns and disappears into the crowd crossing the street.
You stand there for a moment, watching her go. “You have it too,” you whisper to the empty air.
You turn away from the intersection, a faint, involuntary smile on your face, replaying her last words. The feeling is warm, a small, bright ember in the gloom of the approaching evening. You take a single step off the curb, your mind a million miles away, and then your foot comes down.
Crack.
The sound slices through the city's hum. It’s identical. Unmistakable. You freeze, looking down at the sole of your sneaker. Impaled on the tread is the wreckage of another snail, its shell a mosaic of shattered fragments. A cold, strange feeling, like static electricity, prickles up your spine. Now that you’ve been with me, it’ll start happening to you, too. Her voice echoes in your head, a calm, certain prophecy. It’s absurd. It’s a stupid, irrational coincidence. But the proof is stuck to the bottom of your shoe. You look back across the street, a sudden, urgent need to find her, to show her, to share in the sheer weirdness of it. But the crowd has already swallowed her whole. She’s gone.
You’re alone with her curse.
—
The rest of the week is a compulsive obsession that, in the end, leads you nowhere. You try to work on your novel, but the fictional girl on your page feels thin and lifeless compared to the flesh-and-blood enigma who now occupies your thoughts. You spend hours sketching out her character in your notebook, not for the book, but for yourself. You list the contradictions: her fierce intelligence and her fatalism, her cynical armor and the glimpses of the joyful, vulnerable kid underneath, the way she can dissect a French philosopher one minute and issue a challenge on Street Fighter the next. Each new detail only makes her more complex, more unknowable, and more impossible to forget.
By the time Wednesday rolls around again, you realize while waiting that you've been living your days only for this moment, and it's a worrying realization, the same fixation on something that drove you away from your ex-girlfriend in the past. And friends. And family.
It’s raining today, a steady, determined downpour that turns the city into a watercolor painting of gray and smeared neon. You see her waiting under the diner’s awning, and you feel that familiar jolt. You brought an umbrella, a big black one, and you see she has one too, a clear one with a simple white handle. Today, she’s wearing a dark, knee-length trench coat, belted at the waist, and the same scuffed boots as last week. She looks like a character from a French New Wave film, mysterious and chic and completely at home in the melancholic weather.
“Hey,” you say, stopping in front of her.
“Hey, writer boy,” she replies. “You came prepared.”
“Looks like you did too,” you say, nodding toward her umbrella. She opens hers, and for a moment you both stand there, enclosed in your own little transparent domes. “So what’s the plan for today, consultant?”
She takes a small pack of cigarettes from her coat pocket, taps one out, and puts it between her lips. “No plan,” she says, speaking around the unlit cigarette as she digs for a lighter. “Let’s just walk. We’ll figure it out.” That sounds perfect to you. She finds the lighter, cups her hand around the flame, and the tip of the cigarette glows orange. She takes a long, slow drag, then exhales a plume of smoke that collides with the misty air and vanishes. You start walking, the rhythm of your steps and the rain on your umbrellas creating a moving pocket of sound and solitude.
“When did you start smoking?”
“Sixteen.”
“Seriously? In high school?” You try to picture it, to place this habit onto the girl you remember, the one with the books and the quiet intensity. It doesn’t fit. “I never would have guessed. You were good at hiding it.”
“You have to be, at that age,” she says with a shrug. “It was just one of the things you didn’t see.”
You walk in silence for a block, the only sounds being the rain and the soft hiss of her cigarette. The city feels washed clean, the streets dark and reflective like a river.
“So how was your week?” you ask, trying to sound casual, trying not to let on that you’ve thought of little else.
She takes another drag. “Routine. The usual.”
“What is the usual? What’s a normal night like for you?”
She gives you a sideways glance, a silent reminder of her rule about personal questions. But this feels different, less about her past and more about the simple, grinding mechanics of her present. She seems to decide it’s a permissible question.
“It’s not as exciting as you probably imagine,” she says. “I get there around seven. Sit in that little room. Read a book. Wait for the old woman to call me on the desk phone. A john shows up. We go to the room. He tells me about his shitty job, or his wife who doesn’t get him, or he doesn’t say anything at all. He gets what he paid for. He leaves. I change the sheets. I wash up. I go back to the little room. I pick up my book. I wait for the phone to ring again. Repeat three, four, maybe five times. Go home when the sun is coming up. The end.”
The description is so bleak, so devoid of drama, it’s more chilling than any horror story you could invent. It’s the sheer, soul-crushing monotony of it.
You keep walking, the rain starting to come down harder now. You pass a small city park. It’s completely deserted, the swings swaying gently in the wind, the metal slide slick with rain. A large, multi-colored plastic playground structure (a sort of miniature castle with tunnels and windows) sits in the middle of a sandpit that has turned to dark, wet mud.
Minji stops, tilting her head as she looks at it. She takes one last drag from her cigarette, then flicks the butt into a puddle where it sizzles and dies.
“Come on,” she says, a sudden, mischievous glint in her eye. “I have an idea.”
She ducks under the railing and starts walking across the wet grass toward the playground. You follow, your shoes squelching in the mud.
“What’s the idea?” you call after her.
She reaches the plastic castle and points to a small, arched opening at its base. “Temporary shelter,” she says. “And a better place to talk than the street.” She crouches down and crawls inside without a moment’s hesitation. You stand there for a second, feeling ridiculous, then you collapse your umbrella, shake off the water, and crawl in after her.
“I don’t know if we’ll both fit in there,” you say, eyeing the low, arched entrance. “That’s made for, like, eight-year-olds.”
Minji is already on her hands and knees, peering into the plastic cavern. She looks back at you over her shoulder, her face framed by the bright blue plastic. “Aren’t we all just eight-year-olds pretending to be adults, anyway?”
You can’t argue with that. You let out a sigh and crouch down to follow her in. It’s a tight squeeze. The space inside is a cramped, hollow dome of faded red plastic. It’s surprisingly cozy. The world outside is reduced to a gray, watery blur seen through the circular cut-out windows. The drumming of the rain on the roof is loud and rhythmic, an oddly comforting roar, isolating you both from the rest of the city. The air smells of wet earth and ozone.
You manage to get seated, your back pressed against the curved wall, your knees practically touching hers. “Great,” you groan, trying to shift into a position that doesn't feel like a future chiropractic emergency. “My back is going to kill me later.”
She laughs at your suffering. “You need to exercise more, writer boy. Get that ass out of the chair and move around. You can’t just sit there all day, decaying.”
“Hey,” you protest, though she’s not wrong. “It’s part of the job. Creative work requires a comfortable, stationary butt.”
“That’s nonsense,” she scoffs, pulling her knees up to her chest. “Some writers wrote standing up. Hemingway had a whole setup for it.”
“Well, I’m not Hemingway, and I prefer my ergonomic chair with the lumbar support, thank you very much.”
“Of course you do,” she grunts, but she’s smiling. You laugh too.
She runs a hand along the curved plastic wall. “There was a playground like this, near where I used to live,” she says. “I loved this thing. It felt like a spaceship.” She turns to you, the dim, red-filtered light making her eyes seem darker, deeper. “What’s your best childhood memory?”
“Wow. That’s a tough one.” You lean your head back against the wall. “I don’t know about the best, but I remember… I remember loving the weekend road trips my parents and I used to take. We didn’t go anywhere fancy. Sometimes just to a neighboring city, or a state park a few hours away. But when you’re a little kid, every new place is another universe. New smells, new kinds of trees, new people with different accents. It was magic. I especially remember this one period right after I learned to read. I was obsessed. On those car trips, I would read every single sign we passed. Out loud. Billboards, street signs, exit signs, historical markers, everything. ‘Speed Limit Fifty-Five.’ ‘Next Gas Two Miles.’ ‘Visit the World’s Largest Ball of Twine.’ It drove my parents absolutely insane.”
Minji laughs out loud, covering her mouth while trying to catch her breath. “Oh my god! I can picture that so clearly. A tiny little you, sounding everything out, just narrating the entire highway.”
“Yeah, that was me,” you say, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “So, your turn. What’s your best memory?”
Her smile cracks. Just for a second, but it’s unmistakable. “Rule number one, remember?” she says quietly. “No past.”
“Shit,” you breathe. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I forgot.”
“It’s okay,” she says. “I started it.” She takes a deep, steadying breath, as if preparing for a dive into cold water. “I’ll tell you. But just this once. Don’t get used to it.”
You just nod, waiting.
“I remember when I got my first bike,” she begins, looking through the plastic wall and into another time. “It was blue. A little rusty, secondhand. I remember learning to ride it, the training wheels coming off, the scraped knees. There was this kid, a boy who lived next door. He and I, we spent an entire summer afternoon just… riding. All over the neighborhood, for hours, until our legs felt like they were going to fall off.”
She pauses, and a faint, sad smile touches her lips. “There was this one afternoon. We rode farther than we ever had before. We crossed this really high, long bridge over a ravine. And on the other side, we used our allowance to buy popsicles from a corner store. I remember sitting on the curb in the middle of that bridge, the bikes lying in a heap next to us, just eating these dripping, sticky popsicles.”
She looks at you, trying to see if you're really paying attention to this small piece of her memory. “It was a sunny day. I know it was a Sunday. And the sun… it’s a weird thing to remember, but the light was different that day. It was this unique, golden color. It made everything look… sacred, almost. It was a glow I’d never seen before, and I’ve never seen it again since. And it’s not just nostalgia, it’s not my memory playing tricks. I remember noticing it, even back then. I remember just staring at the trees and the ravine and the sky, thinking, this is special. My friend asked me what I was looking at.”
The memory is so vivid, you feel like you’re there with her. “What did you say to him?”
“Nothing,” she whispers. “I just shrugged. I was maybe eight or nine. I didn’t have the words. And I didn’t want him to think I was weird. But I’ve regretted it ever since. I wish I’d asked him. I wish I’d said, ‘Don’t you see it? Don’t you see how different the sun is today?’” She looks down. “After that, we rode home. I remember my legs burning on the pedals all the way back. And I remember having pasta for dinner with my parents.” Minji is silent for a moment, and you think she's finished, but then she adds: “I would give anything to see a day like that again.”
“I thought you hated the sun,” you say gently.
“I do,” she says. “But it wasn’t always like that. And that day… that day was a fluke. An exception to every rule. If I ever saw another one, maybe I’d feel differently.”
“You have incredibly detailed memories of your childhood.”
She shrugs, the movement jerky, as she fumbles in her coat pocket for another cigarette. “Not really.” She finds one and puts it between her lips, but doesn’t light it. “That’s one of the only things I actually remember. That day. The rest is just… a blur. It’s weird. I have almost nothing else from before I was, like, a teenager. It’s like my brain decided to erase everything for some reason. But it kept that one day. I remember every second of it.”
“Sometimes,” you begin, trying to bring some kind of comfort or understanding, “our brains do that to protect us. Erase things. When we go through… you know. A really big trauma. It’s a defense mechanism. A way to keep functioning.”
“I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to play therapist. Using some sentimental, pop-psychology bullshit to get me to open up about my tragic past. You think if you dangle the idea of ‘trauma’ in front of me, I’ll spill everything so you can get a better chapter out of it.” She leans forward, and you can almost see the threat in her eyes, even though you know it's a self-preservation mechanism. “It’s not going to work.”
“Okay, you caught me,” you joke, raising your hands. “Wouldn’t hurt to try, right?”
She finally lights the cigarette she’s been holding, the flare of the lighter briefly illuminating her face in the dim, red light. She takes a long, slow drag, then holds it out to you.
“Here,” she says. “Shut up a little and have a drag.”
“Oh, no, I don’t smoke,” you say, waving it away automatically.
“I know,” she says, the cigarette still held between her fingers, an offering. “It’s obvious. You should try it. Just once.” She gives you a knowing look. “You won’t get addicted from one puff. I promise. In fact, you’ll probably hate it. Nobody likes their first cigarette. You have to smoke at least ten before your body learns to like the poison. That’s when the addiction starts.”
You’re about to refuse again, to give her a lecture on carcinogens that you both know is pointless. But then you look at the cigarette. At the white paper, the glowing orange tip, and the dark, wet stain on the filter from her lips. The thought of putting your mouth where hers just was, of sharing that small, illicit intimacy, overcomes all your rational thought. You reach out and take it from her, your fingers brushing against hers.
You bring it to your lips. The filter is still warm. You inhale the way you’ve seen actors do it in movies, a deep, confident breath. The smoke hits the back of your throat like a fistful of hot gravel and ash. Your body rebels instantly. A violent, barking cough erupts from your chest, wracking your entire frame. Your eyes water, and you double over, the cigarette falling from your trembling fingers.
Minji bursts out laughing, a full-throated, genuine laugh that’s startlingly loud in the enclosed space. “Jesus, writer boy,” she gasps between laughs, picking up the cigarette from the plastic floor. “Don’t try to swallow it. It’s not a dick. It’s soft. Just a little puff.”
Your throat feels raw, but you take the cigarette back from her, embarrassed. This time, you do as she says, drawing in just a tiny bit of smoke, letting it sit in your mouth for a second before blowing it out. It’s still acrid and disgusting, but it doesn’t try to kill you. You hand it back to her.
“I don’t know how you can stand that,” you rasp.
She takes a graceful drag, inhaling the smoke you found so vile as if it were the purest mountain air. “It tastes like death,” she says, exhaling slowly. “I like it.”
For a moment, there is only silence. The drumming of the rain on the roof, the faint glow of her cigarette, the shared breath in the small, dark space. You look at each other, and it’s her, again, who breaks the spell.
“I read one of your stories,” she says, changing the subject completely.
Your heart gives a nervous little kick. “Oh yeah? What did you think? Be honest.”
“It was surprisingly good,” she says, and the backhanded compliment is the most sincere praise you’ve ever received. “The one called ‘A Pause to Live.’ I found it online.” She takes another puff, gathering her thoughts. “That character, the doctor. She spends her whole life being perfect, disciplined, always planning for a future that’s supposed to be her reward. Then she gets the cancer diagnosis and realizes the future isn’t coming.” Minji looks at you. “And the way she just… breaks. Teaming up with that criminal patient, that charming, nihilistic asshole. It was good. Fun, exciting. But also really sad. I was surprised. I actually wished it was longer. You made them feel like real people.”
“That was my last one,” you say, feeling a ridiculous surge of pride. “It’s the one that got the best reviews. But… I still feel like I need to evolve. To get deeper.”
“Well,” she says, tapping a bit of ash onto the floor. “In that case, I hope I’m helping.”
“You are,” you say. “You’re helping a lot.”
“Good.” She smiles. “So how’s the book coming? The one about me.”
“It’s, uh, relatively stagnant,” you admit. “I’m still just in the gathering-information phase. But I feel like these sessions… they’re enriching me. As a writer.”
She lets out a short laugh. “They’re enriching me, too. Your weekly payments are very welcome.” You feel a flash of disappointment, thinking she was going to say something more. She must see it on your face, because she reaches out and gives your shoulder a playful shove. “Hey, I’m kidding. Mostly.” Her expression softens. “Seriously, though. This has been… nice. It’s almost like weird therapy. An escape from the routine. I get to come out here and pretend to be a person for a few hours.” She looks away, a little shyly. “It’s cool. I feel a little… seen. I thought it was going to be way worse.”
“I’m happy to hear that. I’m really happy.” The words give you a surge of courage. “Actually… I was going to ask you for your number.”
Her guard is instantly back up. “Why?”
“To talk,” you say quickly. “During the week. I’ve really enjoyed… this. Talking to you. And waiting a whole week is a long time. I thought maybe… we could text. Or whatever. If you’re comfortable with it, of course.”
“Okay… Yeah. Okay.” She holds out her hand. “Give me your phone.”
You fumble it out of your pocket and hand it to her. Her fingers are cool as they brush against yours. She types in her number, creates a new contact, then opens her messages and sends a single word to herself: Hey.
“There,” she says, handing it back. “We should probably get out of here. Before someone calls the cops on the two weirdos hiding out in the playground.”
“Yeah, probably a good idea,” you agree, already feeling the ache in your joints.
She starts to crawl toward the opening, but then she stops. She’s looking at something on the floor. You follow her gaze and see it: a small, grey smudge of cigarette ash, right next to a built-in plastic steering wheel. A tiny, insignificant mess.
“I’m a monster,” she whispers, and before you can say anything, she scrambles out of the opening and into the rain.
You follow her out, back into the real world. You both open your umbrellas. The gray, wet city feels stark and cold after the strange, colorful intimacy of the shelter. You start walking again.
“It happened, by the way,” you say, just to break the silence. “After I left you last week. I stepped on one.”
She doesn’t seem surprised. She just keeps looking straight ahead, her face set. “I told you it would.”
“It’s still not proof,” you insist. “It could be a coincidence. Even lightning can strike the same place twice.”
“You don’t even believe that anymore, writer boy. I can hear it in your voice.” She’s right. You don’t. The feeling when it happened was too specific, too weird.
“Is this… is it dangerous?” you ask, the question sounding stupid as soon as it leaves your mouth. “This whole snail thing?”
“No,” she says simply.
“How can you be so sure?”
She finally turns to look at you, her eyes meeting yours under the canopy of your umbrellas. “Because I won’t let anything happen to you.” The statement is so direct, so fiercely protective, that you're almost certain you blushed a little.
“How can you guarantee that?”
“Because I know myself,” she explains. “Before things get too deep, too complicated… I’ll disappear. Someday. And when I’m gone, the snail thing will stop. So you don’t have to worry about it.”
“Disappear? Why would you disappear?”
“It’s what I do,” she says with a shrug. “It’s my one reliable talent. When things get complicated, I leave. It’s better for everyone. A preventative measure.” She looks you dead in the eye. “I’m a walking mess. A tornado in a coat. Trust me. Nobody really wants that around for the long haul.”
“Maybe I do.”
A sad, tired smile touches her lips. It’s a smile that has seen this conversation before. “That’s sweet of you to say. But you don’t know me. Not really. You just know this version of me. The curated one.”
“And what if I want to know the real you? All of it?”
“Why?” she shoots back. “Why would you want that? I’m your object of study, remember? Your project.”
“No. You’re not. Not anymore. You’re my friend… or something. Something close to it.”
“Exactly,” she exclaims. “That’s exactly why I won’t let you get any closer. For your own good. And for mine.” She must see the alarm on your face, because she adds, “I’m not going to kill myself, so you can relax. I just mean I’ll leave. Pack a bag and go. Start over somewhere else where nobody knows the brand.”
“Why are you so sure that’s how this ends?” you plead. “It doesn’t have to.”
“Because I’ve seen it happen before. Many times. And I’ve never been strong enough to stop the people around me from getting hurt. But I’m not making that mistake again. Not this time.”
“The snail thing isn’t a curse, Minji,” you insist, trying to find some leverage to pull her back from the edge. “You’re a good person. It doesn’t make sense—”
“Bad things happen to good people,” she cuts you off. “All the time. Especially to good people. Not that I’m claiming to be one. But nobody gets a free pass.”
“You’re young,” you argue, trying a different tack. “You’ve barely lived. It doesn’t make sense for someone to be this fatalistic when—”
“Your doctor,” she interrupts again. “The one in your story. How old was she? Thirty-one? She was a good person, wasn’t she? A healer. Young. And she got cancer eating her from the inside out. It didn’t make sense for that to happen to her, either.”
“That’s just a story I made up—”
“And I bet you did your research, didn’t you?” she presses, relentless. “I bet you wrote it with authority because you read the real stories of a dozen real young women who went through the exact same thing. Women who didn’t get a charming criminal to take them on a joyride. Women who just got sick and died. It happens. Bad things happen. Who the fuck knows why?”
You have no answer. She has dismantled every one of your arguments with a cold, brutal and nihilistic precision.
“Look,” she continues, a little gentle now, “how about this? We just… enjoy this. Whatever it is. For now. For as long as it lasts. And when it’s over, it’s over. And we’ll have some good memories to show for it. It’s better than having nothing, right?”
You want to argue. You want to rage against her certainty, against her self-fulfilling prophecy. But you look at her face, at the profound, unshakeable conviction in her eyes, and you know it’s pointless. You know these are the terms. All or nothing.
You give a slow, defeated nod. “Okay.”
“Okay,” she repeats. “I have to go.” She gestures vaguely with her phone. “We’ll talk later. Text me or something.”
“I will,” you say.
She gives you a small, final smile and turns to walk away. Just before she gets too far, one last, desperate, practical question occurs to you.
“Hey!” you call out. She stops and looks back. “What if I just… what if I look down the whole time? When I’m walking. I could just watch my feet. Then I wouldn’t step on them.”
She considers your pathetic, logical solution for a moment. A sad, knowing look crosses her face.
“I’ve tried that,” she says. “But sooner or later, you have to look up. You have to look ahead to see where you’re going. And that’s when it happens. You’re so focused on the horizon that you don’t see the small, fragile things right under your feet. You just crush them and keep moving. That’s life.”
She turns and keeps walking, leaving you standing alone in the rain with the crushing weight of her words. That’s life.
—
The curse, if that’s what it is, continues. Twice that week, on your way to get groceries, you feel it. That sickening, delicate crack under your shoe. Both times you stop, a cold dread washing over you as you look down at the tiny, spiraled ruin on the pavement. It’s a coincidence. It has to be. You’re just more aware of it now, looking for it. You think about telling her, about sharing in the sheer, statistical improbability of it all. But you don’t. You don’t want to give her the satisfaction. You don’t want to add another piece of evidence to her grand, fatalistic theory of everything.
It’s a Thursday, one of those rare, bright autumn days that feels like a lie, when you see her. You’re coming out of a coffee shop, lost in thought, and you almost walk right into her. Hanni Pham. Your ex. She looks… exactly the same, to be honest. The two years since you’ve last seen her haven’t changed a thing. Which is a good thing, because from your point of view she was always the most beautiful girl you had ever met. She’s still got that cascade of dark, glossy hair, that face that always seemed to be on the verge of a smile. She’s wearing a simple, cream-colored sweater and jeans, and she radiates a kind of effortless, sunny health that feels like a foreign language to you now. You instinctively duck your head, hoping to blend into the lunchtime crowd, a pathetic, cowardly impulse. But it’s too late.
“Hey! Is that you?”
Her voice is just as you remember it: warm, clear, and full of a genuine brightness. You’re caught. You turn, forcing a smile.
“Hanni. Hey. Wow. Small world.”
“I thought that was you!” she says, closing the distance between you. Her smile is too genuine for someone who just ran into her ex-boyfriend. “How have you been? It’s been forever.”
“I’m good. Yeah, good. Just… you know. Writing.”
She looks you over, her gaze both friendly and analytical. It’s the doctor in her. “You look tired. Are you busy right now? Can I… can we talk for a minute?”
It’s a terrible idea. A landmine. This is a ghost from a life you don’t live anymore. But you look at her open, friendly face, and the word that comes out of your mouth is, “Yeah. Sure. Of course.”
You end up in a different cafe, a bright, airy place with blonde wood tables and cheerful pop music playing. It feels a world away from the greasy spoon diners and rain-slicked streets you’ve been inhabiting. You both order coffee.
“So,” you start, just to fill the silence. “How’s life? Still slogging through med school?”
She nods, wrapping her hands around her warm mug. “Still slogging. It’s… a lot. Anatomy is trying to kill me. But it’s good. I like it. What about you? I saw you published that story, ‘A Pause to Live.’ I read it. It was really, really good. I was so proud of you.”
“Thanks,” you mumble, looking down into your cup.
“Are you working on the novel now? That was always the dream, right? The big one.”
“Yeah,” you say. “I’m working on it. It’s… slow going.”
“What’s it about?” she asks, and you know her curiosity is genuine.
You hesitate. How do you even begin to explain? It’s about a prostitute I hired who quotes Foucault and thinks she’s cursed. You shake your head. “It’s still taking shape. To be honest, I’m not even sure what it’s about anymore.”
She just nods, accepting your evasion. “It was nice, seeing you,” she says finally. “I’ve been… thinking about you. Lately.”
Here it comes. The minefield.
“The way we ended things…” she continues, tracing a circle on the table with her finger. “It was so stupid.”
The breakup had been a slow, grinding dissolution. You were drowning in your work, stressed and obsessed, convinced that the only path to becoming a “real” writer was through total, monastic devotion. You pushed everyone away, especially her. Hanni, with her logical, scientific mind, could never quite understand why you had to bleed for your art. She saw it as a choice, not a compulsion. The gulf between your worlds had just grown too wide to cross.
“It was my fault,” you say, the guilt still fresh after all this time. “I was a mess. I completely neglected you, our whole relationship.”
“No. Don’t do that. It wasn’t all you. I was to blame, too. I didn’t get it. I didn’t even try to understand what you were going through.” Her eyes are full of a sincere regret. “You were working so hard, trying to build something, and I… I wasn’t supportive. I should have been.”
“You were supportive,” you argue. “You read every draft. You debated me on character motivations. You were my first reader.”
“That’s not the same as being a partner,” she insists. She takes a deep breath, and you can see her steeling herself. “I… I want to try again.”
“Hanni…”
“I know it’s a lot,” she says quickly, seeing the shock on your face. “But I miss you. I miss… us. For all the drama at the end, it was good, wasn’t it? It was calm. We were happy. I miss that feeling.” She gives you a small, vulnerable smile. “If you’re willing, of course. And… if you’re not seeing anyone.”
The question is a casual, brutal little dagger. And for some reason, the face that flashes in your mind is Minji’s. Minji in the dim light of that brothel room. Minji laughing in the arcade. Minji’s eyes in the red glow of the plastic playground castle. Are you seeing her? What the hell would you even call that?
You feel a surge of fear. Fear of hurting Hanni again. Fear of your own self-destructive patterns. Fear of trying to resurrect something that might be better left dead.
“Hanni, I… I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I don’t want to hurt you again.”
“You won’t,” she says with a confidence you don’t share. “We’re older now. We’re different people. I’m different.”
Yeah, a life with Hanni would be… easy. It would be normal. Sunny days, holding hands, meeting her parents. A world without curses and cracked shells and the lingering smell of cigarette smoke. A world without Minji. The thought leaves you feeling hollow.
“I… I need to think about it,” you finally manage to say. “It’s a lot to just spring on me in the middle of a Thursday.”
She nods. “I know. I’m sorry. Of course. Take your time.” She reaches across the table and briefly puts her hand on yours. Her skin is warm and soft. It feels like a trap. “Just… think about it, okay?”
You nod. You just nod.
Eventually, you both stand, the spell of the past broken by the simple act of pushing back your chairs. Outside the large window, the city moves on, oblivious. Hanni steps around the small table, and before you can process it, she’s hugging you. It’s a familiar embrace, one you haven’t felt in two years, and your body remembers it before your brain does. She feels small and warm in your arms, and her hair smells like peaches, just like it always did.
She pulls back, but keeps her hands on your shoulders. “I just want you to know,” she says with an emotion she isn’t trying to hide anymore. “I still love you. I never really stopped.”
It’s the one thing you didn’t want to hear, the one thing you can’t possibly respond to. Your throat closes up. All the words you’ve ever written, all the clever phrases and insightful lines, they all abandon you. You’re left mute, a pathetic statue of indecision. She sees the panic in your eyes, the total system failure, and a sad, knowing smile touches her lips. She pats your shoulder, a gesture of both affection and release.
“It’s okay,” she says, saving you. “You don’t have to say anything.”
You just stand there as she gives you one last, lingering look, then turns and walks out of the cafe, a ghost of a life you could have had disappearing back into the stream of the city. You don’t say anything. You just say goodbye to the empty space where she was standing.
The week crawls under the weight of Hanni’s confession. Her words, I still love you, echo in your head, a constant, low-frequency hum beneath the noise of your life. They represent a door, a path back to a world that is safe and warm and normal. A world that makes sense. You try to write, but your thoughts are a tangled mess. You keep thinking about her offer, weighing it against the strange, precarious arrangement you have with Minji. It’s the choice between a well-lit, paved road and a dark, unmarked trail into the woods.
And then, Wednesday arrives. Your favorite day. The sky is a uniform, melancholy gray, the clouds thick and low. It’s perfect. You meet her at your usual spot, the corner by the diner, and she’s already there. But she’s not alone.
Today, she’s wearing an oversized, thick, charcoal-gray hoodie, the hood pulled up over her head, casting her face in shadow. The sleeves are pushed up to her elbows, revealing the pale skin of her forearms. Below it, she’s wearing a simple black skirt that ends mid-thigh and a pair of torn black fishnet stockings tucked into her usual scuffed-up combat boots. And at her feet, on the end of a frayed rope leash, is a small, scruffy, cheerful-looking terrier mix.
You stop in front of her. “Okay. I have to ask.”
Minji looks up, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “What? You don’t like my outfit?”
“No, the outfit is… it’s a statement.” You gesture with your chin toward the dog, who is now sniffing your shoes now. “I mean him. Don’t tell me you have a dog.”
“He’s not mine,” she says, giving the leash a gentle tug. “He belongs to my neighbor. He’s old, can’t get around much anymore. Asked if I’d walk him. He pays me twenty bucks.” She shrugs. “Best twenty bucks I make all week. All I have to do is walk in a circle and pick up shit.”
The dog, having deemed your shoes uninteresting, looks up at you and lets out a single, sharp yip.
“He likes you,” Minji deadpans. “He has terrible taste in people.” She starts walking, and you fall into step beside her, the little dog trotting happily between you. “So. How was your week, writer boy? Write any masterpieces?”
“Not exactly. I did listen to that playlist you sent me, though.”
Her eyes light up with interest. “Oh yeah? What did you think?”
“It was… eclectic,” you say carefully. “The obscure indie stuff was cool. The weird 70s Japanese funk was interesting. But I gotta say, I didn’t peg you for a Maroon 5 fan.”
She lets out a short laugh. “Hey! Don’t knock it. Their first album is a legitimately perfect pop record. No skips. It’s pure early-2000s angst. It’s got a certain… veracity.”
“Okay, okay, point taken,” you concede with a laugh. “So, how was your week? Anything more exciting than walking this little guy?”
She’s quiet for a moment, just watching the pavement slide by. “It was a week,” she says finally. “Routine. The usual. A couple of assholes, a couple of sad sacks. One guy who cried after. Nothing new.” She kicks at a loose stone. “How about you? You seem… I don’t know. Distracted.”
Her perception is, as always, unnervingly accurate. The image of Hanni’s face, her hand on yours, flashes in your mind. You open your mouth to tell her, to unload the whole complicated, messy situation. You want her advice. You want to know what she thinks. But you know it's simply better not to. Telling her about Hanni feels like bringing a ghost into the room, a ghost from a bright, sunny world that has nothing to do with the gray, rain-slicked reality you share with Minji. It’s a betrayal of this fragile, weird thing you’re building.
“No, just tired,” you lie, shoving your hands in your pockets. “But actually,” you say, forcing a change of subject, trying to steer the conversation back to the familiar ground of your arrangement. “The notes. Your file. I’ve actually made some good progress this week.”
This gets her attention. She gives the leash a little slack, letting the terrier investigate a particularly interesting patch of weeds. “Progress?” she asks, a skeptical eyebrow raised. “Is it any good? Or is it just more notes about how I eat my cheeseburger?”
“It’s getting there,” you say, feeling a nervous energy thrumming in your chest. “It’s starting to feel like… something real.” You pause, taking a breath. “You should see it.”
“Oh, really? You’re finally going to let me see the secret file you have on me? Am I going to have to sign an NDA?”
You laugh, the sound is a little shaky. This is it. You gather up all the courage you have, a finite and flimsy resource, and you just say it. “Yeah. You can. I was thinking… maybe you could come over? To my apartment. On Friday. I’ll make dinner. You can read everything then.”
Her smile vanishes. The little dog yips, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
“My god,” she murmurs. “No. That’s… that’s crossing a line, writer boy. A big one.”
“I know! I know it is. But I want to. Please, Minji.”
“You’re making things complicated,” she says, her gaze hard, her defenses slamming into place. “This isn’t what we do. We meet here. We walk. We talk. I go home. You go home. That’s the deal.”
“I know,” you press on, emboldened by a strange, reckless certainty. “But you know you want to, too. Don’t pretend you hate this. I know you enjoy these stupid Wednesdays as much as I do. So why keep pretending? Why drag it out?”
She stares at you. You can see the conflict between her rules and a desire she won’t admit to. She falls back on the only defense she has left, the one she always uses when things get too real.
“Fine,” she says, cold and transactional. “But I’m charging you. For the extra meeting. My full nightly rate.”
It's a test. It has to be. A way to push you away, to put the comfortable, ugly barrier of commerce back between you. You feel a flash of disappointment, but you don’t back down. You look her right in the eye and call her bluff.
“Okay.”
Your simple, immediate acceptance throws her. She was expecting you to argue, to be repulsed, to retreat. Instead, you just agreed to her terms.
“Why? Why are you so… interested? Why are you pushing this so hard?”
You don’t have to think about the answer. It’s the truest thing you know. “Because I think you’re the nicest person I’ve ever met.”
“Jesus Christ,” she scoffs. “Your bar is on the fucking floor, you know that?”
But the insult has no heat. She lets out a long, slow sigh, and then, with one fluid motion, she reaches up and pulls the hood back from her head.
Her hair, a black sheet of silk, falls around her face. The weak, gray light of the afternoon catches the perfect, unsettling symmetry of her. Without the shadow of the hood, you can see the faint, purple smudges of exhaustion under her eyes, the tiny, almost invisible scar that bisects her eyebrow.
“Okay,” she says, resigned. “Fine. I’ll come over. But just this once. I’ll… I’ll skip a night of work. For you.”
“Thank you,” you breathe. “I’ll pay you, of course. Whatever you would have made. It’s only fair.”
“No,” she says, looking away, down at the little dog. “Forget it. I’m not going to charge you. I’m… I’m going because I want to go.” She looks back at you, her gaze direct and a little shy. She thrusts the dog’s leash into your hand. “But you’re walking the dog. The rest of the way. And if he takes a shit, you’re picking it up.”
“Deal,” you say. “That is a very fair trade.”
She pulls her hood back up, disappearing once more into the shadows. “Good.”
You start walking again, the little terrier trotting happily at your side, a new silence settling between you.
“You know,” you say, just to break it. “You look nice today.”
She snorts. “Come on. I look like I’m about to mug you at any moment.”
You grin. “The only thing you’re going to steal is my heart, girl.”
Minji groans, loud and performative, and you can't help but laugh. “Oh my god, that was horrible. Truly awful. Never say that again.” But she’s laughing too. She reaches out and gives your shoulder a hard, friendly pat, and you walk on together through the gray afternoon, a shared smile on both your faces.
—
You've been ready for twenty minutes, but you still find things to check. The apartment is clean (it's always clean, you're wired that way) but today you scrubbed surfaces that didn't need scrubbing. You straightened books that were already straight. The dinner is done, a simple pasta dish with garlic and olive oil, nothing fancy, but you tested the seasoning three times. You hope she likes it. You hope she doesn't think you're trying too hard. You hope she doesn't think you're not trying hard enough. You're a mess of contradictions pacing your small living room.
The intercom buzzes and your heart jumps. You press the button. "Hey. Come on up."
You wait by the door, listening to the faint sounds of footsteps in the hallway, getting closer. Then the knock. Three soft taps. You take a breath and open it.
Minji is standing there, and the sight of her stops your thoughts cold. She's wearing a simple black dress, sleeveless, fitted at the waist and falling to just above her knees. It's nothing elaborate, no embellishments or flourishes, but on her it looks like something from another world. Her hair is down, falling straight and dark around her face. Her eyes are lined with a smoky shadow making them look even deeper, more intense. Her lips are a soft, muted rose. She looks… she looks like a dream you had once and forgot until this exact moment. The perfect girl (a line you would never use in one of your stories, but here you are, considering using it in your novel).
"Hey," you manage to say.
"Hey," she says back, and there's something in her voice, a nervousness you've never heard before. She shifts her weight, one hand holding a small black purse. "I, uh. I didn't really know how to dress for this. I hope it's not too much?"
"No. It's perfect. You look amazing."
A faint blush touches her cheeks. She looks away, down the hall, anywhere but at you. "Thanks."
You step aside, holding the door open. "Come in."
She walks past you, and you catch the faint scent of her perfume; clean and subtle, like jasmine and rain (and a little bit of cigarette smoke). You close the door and watch as she takes in your apartment. It's not much. A small living room with a couch, a bookshelf crammed with paperbacks, a tiny kitchen visible through an open doorway. But it's yours.
"It's exactly your style," she says, running her fingers along the edge of the bookshelf. "Clean. Organized. A place for everything."
"Is that a compliment or an insult?" you ask, smiling.
"Compliment," she says, her lips twitching into a small smile. She looks at the framed prints on the wall, the stack of notebooks on the coffee table. "I like it. It feels… calm."
You gesture toward the kitchen. "Dinner's ready. I made pasta. Nothing fancy, but I hope you like it."
"I'm sure it's great," she says, but she's still looking around, her eyes scanning the details of your life. She turns to you, a teasing glint in her eyes, and asks: "So. How many girls have you brought here, writer boy?"
"What? No, I—"
"Come on," she presses, grinning now. "Your life can't just be books and coffee twenty-four hours a day. You must have a roster."
"No roster. My ex-girlfriend used to come here, but that was a long time ago."
The grin fades from her face. She's quiet for a moment, then asks, "What was she like?"
"What's up with that question? Come on, I don't want to talk about ex-girlfriends right now, Minji."
She holds up her hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. Fair." She looks toward the hallway. "Can I see your room?"
"Yeah. Of course."
You lead her down the short hall and open the door to your bedroom. It's small, just enough space for a bed, a desk, and a bookshelf. The desk is cluttered with papers, notebooks, a laptop. The bed is made with obsessive care.
"This is where you write," she observes.
"Yeah."
She walks over to the desk, her fingers brushing the edge of the wood. You pull out the chair for her, and she sits, looking at you with a curious, expectant expression. You reach over and open a drawer, pulling out a thick, leather-bound notebook. Your handwriting covers every page. You place it in front of her.
"That's it," you say quietly. "All the notes. About you. About the character. It's… a mix of both, I guess."
She looks down at the notebook, then back up at you. "I hope there's nothing weird in here."
"I don't know about that," you say with a small smile.
You give her space to read calmly. You lie down on your bed, staring up at the ceiling. The paint is old, cracked in places. You count the imperfections while she opens the notebook and starts to read.
Page 3:
Her hands. I keep noticing her hands. They're relatively large, but delicate, there's a strength in the way she holds things. The way she gripped that burger at the diner, like she was afraid someone would take it from her. Or the way she held the cigarette, between her index and middle finger.
Page 7:
She has this habit of tucking her hair behind her ear when she's thinking. It's unconscious. Automatic. And every time she does it, I forget what I was about to say.
The small, white scar through her left eyebrow. A disruption in the symmetry. The only flaw in a face so perfect it's almost inhuman. And somehow, it's the scar that makes her real.
Page 11:
“Bad things happen to good people all the time. Especially to good people."
She said that like it was a law of physics. Like gravity. I don't know if she believes she's good, but I do.
Page 15:
A sketch. Rough, but unmistakable. Minji's face in profile, her jawline sharp, her expression distant. Another sketch below it; her eyes, just her eyes, rendered in careful detail. The way they look when she's listening to you, focused and just a little melancholic.
Page 19:
She told me she hates the sun. That on sunny days, the world feels like it's moving forward without her, and she's just stuck, a bug in the system. But on gray days, the world feels like she does. It gets it. She can just be.
I've never heard anyone articulate loneliness so perfectly.
Page 24:
There's a way she laughs (a real laugh, not the cynical, defensive one) where her whole face changes. It's like watching a door open. And for a second, you can see the girl she was before everything went wrong. Before the walls went up. I want to make her laugh like that all the time.
Page 28:
Another sketch. Minji sitting cross-legged, reading a book. Her posture is relaxed, vulnerable. The line work is softer here, less precise, like you were trying to capture a feeling more than an image.
Page 32:
She said she wants people to see her differently. That the mold is set. But she doesn't understand - she's not a mold. She's not a type. She's a person who reads Foucault and demolishes cheeseburgers and talks about thirty-thousand-year-old handprints in caves. She's someone who steps on snails and thinks it's a curse. She's someone who made me believe in curses.
Page 36:
I think she's the saddest person I've ever met. And the smartest. And the most beautiful. And I don't know how those three things can exist in one person without tearing her apart.
Page 41:
She is a girl trying to disappear into a world that refuses to let her go.
She is a ghost pretending to be a person.
She is a person everyone mistakes for a ghost.
Page 47:
"I'd rather you see me as your object of study than as a victim."
But I don't see her as either. I see her as Minji. And I don't know how to tell her that without breaking the rules.
She's quiet for a long time. You hear her breathing, soft and uneven. She turns another page. And another. Then she speaks, and her voice is fragile as if she had forgotten how to use it for a moment:
"Can I ask you a question?"
You're still staring at the ceiling, counting cracks. "Yeah."
"I want you to be honest."
"Okay."
She's quiet for a moment, gathering the courage. "On the other days. When we're not together. Do you think about me?"
You don't answer right away. You let the silence stretch, not because you don't know the answer, but because saying it out loud feels like stepping off a cliff.
"Honestly? All the time, Minji. You don't leave my head."
Another silence. Longer. Louder. You hear the chair creak as she shifts.
"I thought so," she says softly.
You turn your head to look at her. She's still facing the desk, her back to you, but you can see the tension in her shoulders.
"I think about you, too… constantly."
She turns in the chair, and that's when you see them. The tears. Silent, steady streams running down her face, cutting through the carefully applied makeup. Two black streaks of smudged shadow trail down her cheeks like ink in water. Her eyes are red, her lips pressed together in a tight line, trying to hold it all in.
"No one's ever…" Minji stops. She wipes at her face with the back of her hand, smearing the black further. "No one's ever portrayed me like this. Like I'm… beautiful. Like I'm something worth looking at." She lets out a shaky breath. "I think you romanticized it a bit too much. But I liked it. It's nice to see myself through someone else's eyes and be a good sight. For a change."
You sit up slowly. She gets up from the chair, and for a second you think she's going to leave. That everything that happened here was too much for her. And you wouldn't judge her if she did. But she doesn't leave. She walks over to the bed and sits down next to you, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from her. Outside, the rain starts. You hear it before you see it, a soft pattering that builds into a steady drumming against the window. The room darkens, it's just you and her here, and it's lonely and it isn't at the same time.
"This is getting out of control.”
You turn your head to look at her. Her face is still streaked with black, her eyes red-rimmed and glassy. "Why?"
"Because you're going to get hurt," she says, not looking at you. "You know that, right? This doesn't end well."
"It's too late for that. I'm going to get hurt no matter what happens. But I'm an adult. I chose this."
She lets out a bitter laugh. "You didn't choose this. You don't even know what you're choosing, writer boy."
"Then tell me."
She tilts her head, her hair falling forward to hide her face. "I can't promise you anything. I won't give you false hope. That's not fair to you. I'll say what I said last time: you can choose to enjoy the moment with me. Until the day I leave. Or you can give up now. Cut your losses. Walk away."
You reach out slowly, giving her time to pull back, to reject you. But she doesn't. Your hand finds hers, your fingers threading through hers.
"I won't give up on you," you say quietly. "On this."
"You don't understand. This is an illusion. It's fleeting. It might end tomorrow. It might end in five minutes."
"I don't care."
"You should care—"
"I don't," you interrupt, your grip on her hand tightening. "I don't care if it's an illusion. I don't care if it ends tomorrow. I just… I need you."
For a moment, she just stares at you, her dark eyes searching your face for something: doubt, hesitation, a reason to pull away. But she doesn't find it. And then she kisses you.
She tastes salt from her tears and the smoke from the cigarettes she must have smoked on her way here. Her lips are full and soft, moving against yours and you freeze for a fraction of a second, and then your hands move on their own. They go to her waist, gripping the fabric of her dress, pulling her closer.
Her hands slide up your chest, around your neck. She makes a small sound in the back of her throat, something between a gasp and a sigh. You kiss her back with everything you have, pouring all the weeks of longing and confusion and desperate want into the contact.
She shifts, pulling back just long enough to swing one leg over your lap, straddling you. The dress rides up her thighs, and the weight of her on you, the heat of her body pressed against yours, is overwhelming. Your hands move from her waist to her hips, holding her there, anchoring her to you. Her forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing hard, your lips still inches apart.
"You have me," she whispers. "But I'm not yours."
The words should hurt. They should be a warning, a barrier. But right now, with her in your lap, her breath on your face, they don't matter.
"I know," you say, pulling her into a tight embrace, your arms wrapping around her back. "I know."
She buries her face in your neck, and you feel the dampness of her tears against your skin. You hold her like that, your hand stroking her hair, your other arm locked around her waist. The rain gets louder. The room gets darker. And for this one fragile, fleeting moment, she's here. She's real. She’s yours for as long as it lasts.
──── ( ⚽ ) being ryujin’s girlfriend was supposed to mean safety, familiarity, a place you could stand without being questioned, but under the haze of music and lights you find yourself caught between winter’s piercing curiosity, minji’s playful provocation, and kazuha’s unreadable calm, realizing that her world doesn’t just welcome you into its orbit—it watches you closely, pushes at your boundaries, and quietly dares you to discover how much of yourself you’re willing to lose before something finally, inevitably changes.
𝓟aring. dom!playgirls!gp kim minjeong, gp kim minji & gp nakamura kazuha sub!best friend's girlfriend!fem reader.
𝓦ord 𝓒ount. 10,7k.
𝓒ontent 𝓦arnings. abuse of power, alcohol, anal, ass eating, bitting, blackmail, blowjob, body worship, breeding, choking, clit play, cunnilingus, cum eating, cum play, creampie, degradation, dirty talk, double penetration, dubcon, drugging, face fucking, facial, fingering, gropping, hair pulling, humiliation, jerking off, multiples orgasms, nipple play, pet names, praise, riding, slapping, slut shamming, spanking, squirting, throat fucking, titsucking, toxic dynamic.
𝓐 uthor’s 𝓝ote. this is for the anon who requested this about four days ago (see the post here!) sorry for the delay, but writing about a gangbang was HELL i went crazy writing about three people at the same time, but i really enjoyed it! also, while making this post i realized i completely forgot about the unnie kink and i did it g!p by mistake 😩
𝓜asterlist.
the moment we step into the university’s backyard, the first thing that hits you is the noise. it’s loud—maybe even louder than you expected. music pulses from massive speakers positioned haphazardly, the bass rattling your ribcage with every beat. the air is thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat, and the occasional burst of lighter fluid from someone’s cigarette. laughter, shouting, the clink of glasses—everything is layered on top of one another in a chaotic symphony that makes it impossible to think clearly. you had half a hope that this party was just a low-key gathering of students celebrating their football team’s win, but this is something else entirely.
ryujin, on the other hand, seems completely at ease. she moves through the crowd with the confidence of someone who belongs here—someone who is used to this kind of noise, this kind of life. you struggle to match her pace as she weaves through clusters of half-dressed students, some yelling over the music, others dancing in the middle of the yard or sprawled out on lawn chairs and picnic tables. the contrast between you and her has never felt more pronounced. she radiates comfort and familiarity, while you feel like a foreigner in a world that doesn’t know your language.
as you follow her, your eyes struggle to adjust to the dim lighting. the party seems endlessly populated with bodies, all moving, all laughing, all oblivious to you. you catch yourself edging closer to her, hoping that proximity will ground you in this unfamiliar territory. but even as she pulls you into a small group of people, you feel like an outsider, a curiosity who doesn’t belong.
the temperature is stifling, and the combination of sweat and the humid air makes your skin prickle uncomfortably. you don’t mind the cold, and this—this is something else entirely. you try to focus your attention, but it's impossible to ignore the way ryujin’s friends are watching you. not just the one who goes by the name winter, but also minji and kazuha. they don't smile, but they don't have to. their stares are enough to make you self-conscious. you tuck your hands into your pockets and hope they’ll stop. but they don’t. instead, they lean in, just a little. and it’s enough.
you can’t shake the feeling that their interest in you is more than just casual. winter—minjeong, but you’ve heard her go by that nickname often enough now to use it yourself—has always had this way of looking at you like she’s trying to read something that isn’t there. she’s not shy in her curiosity, and tonight is no different. from the moment you arrived, her gaze has been locked on you, sharp and calculating, like she’s measuring whether you’re worth the trouble of knowing. she’s built like a dancer, all long limbs and effortless posture, and when she lifts a hand to brush a loose strand of dark hair from her face, it’s the kind of movement that makes you wonder if she does it just to catch your attention.
beside her, minji smirks—just slightly, just enough for it to be noticeable but not overtly flirtatious. she's the kind of person who thrives in groups, always laughing, always in the middle of the action. her presence is electric, even now, despite the fact that she's standing completely still. her eyes flick to yours, the amusement in them impossible to miss, and for a moment, you're not sure whether she’s looking at you like a challenge or like you're part of the joke. she's already half-swaying to the music, one arm loosely draped around kazuha’s shoulder, as if their bodies are already conspiring in this silent little game.
kazuha, though—that's the one who unsettles you the most. she doesn’t move as much as the others, doesn’t laugh with the same effortless confidence. instead, she’s quiet, leaning against the wall with a drink in hand, her expression unreadable beneath the dim light of the string bulbs overhead. but if you know anything about people, you know that the ones who seem the most composed are often the most dangerous. kazuha is elegant, all measured steps and carefully placed gestures, and when she shifts her weight just slightly, tilting her head as if she’s considering something, it feels like she’s deciding whether or not to test the waters with you.
together, they make a striking trio. winter, the bold one who would rather see the worst than live in ignorance. minji, the flirt who plays everything off with a laugh but never really forgets anything. kazuha, the quiet observer who watches everything and waits for the right moment to act. and now, they’re all watching you. not just with idle curiosity, but with something closer to intent.
you’ve spent years with ryujin, and while you’ve caught glimpses of her past—stories of her friends, the way they move through life with such ease—you’ve never been confronted with it like this. they’re not just watching you because you're her girlfriend. they're watching you because they want to see what you're made of. and for some reason, that thought makes your skin heat, even as you try to convince yourself that it shouldn’t.
ryujin’s group of friends is an inseparable force in their own right. they’re always together, their presence a defining feature of her social world. there’s haeun, loud and unapologetic, who dominates any conversation with her booming laughter and even louder opinions. then there’s yuna, a quiet observer who says little but listens everything, her sharp gaze always catching details the rest of the group might miss. and seulgi, who’s soft-spoken but effortlessly charming, her warmth drawing people in like an open door. together, they form ryujin’s inner circle, and they all seem to orbit around her like planets pulled by the same gravitational pull.
the group is tightly knit, surrounded by an atmosphere of familiarity and trust. they’re not just friends; they’re family. their banter is easy, their laughter frequent, and the way they move together feels rehearsed, like they’ve spent years refining their rhythm. but even within that circle, winter, minji, and kazuha stand apart. they’re part of the group, yes, but there’s a distinct edge to their dynamic, a sharpness that sets them apart from the others. where the rest of ryujin’s friends are content to simply exist in the orbit of her life, winter, minji, and kazuha seem to push against its boundaries, testing the limits of what that orbit can contain.
it’s hard to explain, but watching them now feels like watching something that’s always been just beneath the surface finally bubble up. they’re not just part of ryujin’s life—they’re part of your life too. and it’s not that you feel excluded; rather, it’s that their attention is too intentional, too focused. winter’s eyes follow you as if charting a course, minji’s smirk sharpens with every glance in your direction, and kazuha remains calm but unyielding, her gaze as still and steady as the surface of a lake. you can feel their energy building, a slow, deliberate pressure that makes your skin tingle.
you’d thought they might be content to play the role of ryujin’s best friends, their attention reserved for her and not spilling over into anything more. but you were wrong. they’re not just ryujin’s friends—they’re yours too, and that realization is both confusing and oddly thrilling. you can’t help but wonder if it was always like this, if their presence in ryujin’s life was always an invitation to know more about her, to see her world through a different lens. but you weren’t expecting the way they seem to look at you, as if you’re something they want to taste.
and ryujin, of course, is completely unaware. she’s standing in the middle of the group, laughing at something haeun has just said, completely at ease with the world around her. she’s not noticing the way winter’s fingers toy with the string of her jacket, or how minji’s shoulder brushes against yours just a little too long. she’s not seeing the way kazuha’s eyes flick between her and you, as if weighing something in her mind. and for some reason, that makes the situation even more surreal. you’re here, in the center of it all, caught between ryujin’s world and the unspoken tension that radiates from her three best friends. it’s a strange place to be, and you can’t help but wonder how long it will last before something changes.
ryujin excuses herself with a gentle pat on your arm, her smile warm and unguarded as she says she'll just be a minute. you watch as she weaves through the crowd, her voice barely audible over the music as she calls out to winter, minji, and kazuha. the space between you feels immediately expansive, the weight of the music and the crowd pressing in. you’re alone now, and you can feel the shift in the air. the tension that had been simmering in the background—those lingering glances, the knowing smirks—suddenly becomes the center of your attention.
the three of them drift closer, the music and laughter of the party muffled by the quiet moment that wraps around you. you try to look away, to focus on the flashing lights above or the bottles of beer abandoned on a nearby table, but it’s no use. winter is the first to speak, her voice smooth and deliberate as she leans in just enough for her words to feel like a secret.
“you know,” she says, her eyes locking onto yours, “i always wondered what it would be like to see you in her place.”
before you can respond, minji lets out a soft laugh and steps in beside her. her tone is playful but edged with something else—something close to a dare. “and here we all thought you were the one holding her hand tonight. guess that makes you the backup, huh?”
kazuha, ever silent in her own ways, just watches for a moment before stepping forward with the measured grace of someone who knows exactly how the game is played. she takes one step closer, just enough to fill the space between them, and you feel the heat of her presence like a slow burn. “she has no idea,” she says, her voice a deep murmur barely audible over the party. “but you do.”
it hits you then—how easy this is for them. how effortless it must be to move through the world like this, to claim your attention even as ryujin stands only a few feet away. they don’t ask for permission. they don’t need it. and somehow, that makes your pulse quicken.
you feel the heat from them radiating in waves, each step they take bringing them closer, pressing you into the world they control so effortlessly. winter’s voice is low, deliberate, as if she’s already decided how this will end. her presence is magnetic, the kind of boldness that makes you want to both bolt and stand your ground. she steps so close now that you can catch the faint scent of her perfume—something crisp and clean, like she’s trying to mask something more dangerous under layers of subtlety. her fingers brush against your wrist as she leans in, and you have to steady yourself.
minji is next, her laughter soft and low, the kind of sound that makes you want to laugh along even if you don’t know why. she brushes against your side with the kind of casual familiarity that should feel innocent but instead feels like a test. “what if we played a game?” she asks, her voice a lilting tease. “just between us, while ryujin’s not looking. no cheating, no rules—just you and us.”
you open your mouth to say something, to pretend you don’t know what she means, but you’re already sinking into it. ryujin is only a few feet away, laughing and smiling with her friends, completely oblivious to the shift in the air. the thought that you could be caught—should be caught—adds an electricity that you can’t ignore.
kazuha steps into the space between you and her friends, her presence slower, more deliberate. she doesn’t speak, doesn’t need to. she just watches, her dark eyes unreadable as they flick between the two of you. her silence speaks louder than any words. you know exactly what this is—the kind of game where you can’t look away, even if you want to.
and suddenly, it’s not just a party anymore.
the game has begun, and you feel every move like a brush against your skin. winter, minji, and kazuha don’t need to speak much—words are more of a formality now, while the dance between them and you is silent but deliberate. you can feel the weight of their attention pressing in, their confidence a quiet storm that you can’t seem to escape, even when your mind is screaming at you to push back. ryujin is only a few feet away, her laughter drifting faintly to your ears, but her presence feels distant now, like it's being filtered through a fog of something else entirely.
winter is the first to make her move. her hand glides up your arm, fingers grazing the edge of your sleeve like she’s testing the water. her voice is smooth and low, a whisper against your ear as she murmurs, “you don’t have to fight it. not yet.” her gaze is sharp, deliberate, like an artist studying the brushstrokes of her canvas. she doesn’t blink, doesn’t wait for a response, and it’s that confidence that unsettles you the most. you’re torn between wanting to pull away and being drawn deeper into the current she’s setting the course for.
minji follows, her laughter bubbling up like a playful melody as she steps closer. her smile is bright but laced with a challenge, her eyes sparkling with mischief. she leans against you, her shoulder brushing yours with just enough weight to feel intentional. “you’re not used to this, are you?” she teases, her voice a lilting lilt of amusement. “let me guess—the thought of you and us makes your heart race. admit it.” she’s not asking for confirmation—she already knows, and that realization makes your breath hitch. she tilts her head, her expression one of pure curiosity, like she’s waiting for you to break under the pressure of her words.
kazuha, however, moves like a shadow compared to the bright flashes of winter and minji. her presence is quieter but no less commanding. she steps into the space between them, her body coiled like a spring waiting to release. her eyes lock onto yours, and there’s something in them that makes you feel like she’s seeing directly into your thoughts. she doesn’t speak, but her silence is a language of its own. when her hand lands lightly on your shoulder, it’s like a seal on the game. you feel the air shift, the tension rising as each of them takes a position around you, their energy radiating like a heat–seeking missile.
this is not a game you can win—or even understand. it’s too fluid, too unpredictable, and far too intimate for you to simply walk away. you can feel them pulling at different threads of your resolve, each one feeding off the other’s energy. winter pushes you, her boldness a sharp contrast to the softness of minji’s teasing, while kazuha watches, her calm presence a reminder of what could happen if you give in completely. the three of them are a perfect storm, and you’re caught in the eye of it.
and yet, you don’t want to stop. even as your mind rebels, your body betrays you, responding to the way they move, the way they look at you like you’re the center of their world. you can feel your pulse quickening, your breath slowing, your thoughts dissolving into fragments that don’t make sense. winter’s hand lingers on your arm, minji’s laughter vibrates in your chest, and kazuha’s gaze holds you in place. you don’t know how long it will last—or if ryujin will ever know what happened here. but in this moment, it doesn’t matter. because the game has already started, and you’re playing to win.
when ryujin returns, it’s like the world snaps back into focus. she greets you with a soft smile, dragging in a deep breath of cigarette smoke before flicking her lighter shut with a sharp click. you try to steady your expression, to compose yourself, but the imprint of winter’s hand on your arm, minji’s whisper in your ear, and kazuha’s unreadable gaze still lingers. you feel like you’re standing in the aftermath of something that should have been impossible—something that still doesn’t have a name.
the three of them don’t pretend like nothing happened. their glances are too knowing, their presence too deliberate as they fall back into the rhythm of the party. you can’t decide if they expect you to chase them now, to say something, to do anything at all. you haven’t had time to process, to figure out what just happened. you only know this is far from over.
as the night went on and the alcohol flowed freely, you found yourself getting more and more tipsy. suddenly, you felt a group of hands grabbing you, pulling you up from the couch. before you could react, winter, minji, and kazuha had dragged you into an empty bedroom down the hall, slamming and locking the door behind them.
in the darkness of the room, you could make out their silhouettes, surrounded by the faint glow of the party still happening outside. your heart raced as you realized you were now alone with ryujin’s friends, completely at their mercy.
kazuha, the tallest among them, stepped forward. you could see her eyes glinting with a hungry, predatory look as she circled around you like a shark. “finally, we have you all to ourselves.” she said, her voice low and seductive. “ryu has been keeping you all to herself, but now it’s our turn to play with you.”
winter and minji exchanged wicked grins, their eyes roaming over your curves, undressing you with their gazes. they advanced on you, cornering you between them and the wall. you could feel the heat of their bodies, the anticipation of what was to come.
minji grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at her as she crashed her lips against yours in a rough, dominating kiss. her tongue invaded your mouth, claiming it as her own. she bit your lower lip hard enough to draw blood, the coppery taste flooding your mouth. when she broke the kiss, allowing you to gasp for air before attacking your neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks.
kazuha didn’t waste any time, her hands already under your shirt, groping and squeezing your tits. she pinched your nipples hard, rolling the sensitive buds between her fingers until they hardened into stiff peaks.
winter watched the show, rubbing her cunt through her jeans as she enjoyed seeing her friends ravish your body. she couldn’t wait to get her turn with you. she wanted to see you fall apart, to hear you scream and beg for more as they used you like a toy. “that’s it, you perfect little slut. you’re ours now.” she growled, ready to pounce.
winter grabbed your hair, yanking your head back as she crashed her lips against yours in a brutal, dominating kiss. her tongue forced its way into your mouth, claiming every inch of it as her own. she explored you ruthlessly, tasting every corner, every crevice, leaving no part of your mouth unexplored.
the three friends continued their relentless assault on your body, touching and groping every inch of you. they tore at your clothes, ripping fabric in their haste to expose your bare skin. winter’s hands roamed your curves, squeezing the soft flesh of your breasts, while kazuha groped your ass, kneading the round globes like dough.
minji pushed you down onto the bed, climbing on top of you. she straddled your waist, her core grinding against yours as she pinned your wrists above your head. she leaned down, her breasts pressing against yours as she captured your lips in another searing kiss. her tongue dominated yours, swirling and tangling, as she swallowed your whimpers and moans.
winter and kazuha took the opportunity to explore more of your body. they lavished attention on your breasts, suckling and biting at the sensitive flesh. teeth and tongues marked your skin, leaving reddened bites and dark hickeys in their wake. winter moved lower, her mouth trailing down your stomach, her tongue dipping into your navel.
minji broke the kiss, a string of saliva connecting her lips to yours. she sat back, taking in the debauched sight of your naked body splayed out beneath her and her friends. your chest heaved with each ragged breath, your nipples hard and aching, just begging to be touched. your pussy was dripping wet, your juices coating your inner thighs.
*minji looked over at her friends, a wicked grin on her face. “look at this perfect little fucktoy, all ready for us to ruin… so fucking cute.” she said, giving your nipple a sharp twist. “i can’t wait to feel this tight cunt wrapped around my fingers, my tongue, my dick…”
kazuha licked her lips, her eyes dark with lust. “me neither. i want to see her fall apart on our dicks, begging for more.” she said, giving your ass a hard smack. “let’s fuck her until she can’t even remember her own name.”
winter licked her lips, her hand moving down to rub her dripping cunt through her jeans. “sounds like a plan. but first, i want to taste her. i bet she’s fucking delicious.” she said, moving between your legs. she pushed them apart, exposing your glistening folds to their hungry gazes and mouths.
winter dove between your legs without any hesitation, burying her face in your dripping cunt. her tongue delved into your folds, lapping up your juices like a woman starved. she moaned against your flesh, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure through your core.
at the same time, minji and kazuha descended upon your heaving breasts. they took a nipple each into their mouths, sucking and biting at the hard nubs. their tongues swirled around the sensitive flesh, teasing you mercilessly as they laved your tits with attention.
the triple assault on your senses was overwhelming. you could only throw your head back, a silent scream tearing from your throat as the pleasure consumed you. your fingers tangled in their hair, holding them close as they ravaged your body with their mouths.
winter’s tongue delved deeper, pushing into your tight channel. she fucked you with her tongue, her lips sealed around your clit as she sucked hard. the obscene slurping sounds filled the room, mingling with your wanton moans and cries.
minji and kazuha’s hands roamed your body, squeezing and groping every inch of you. they pinched and pulled at your nipples, twisting them just hard enough to ride the line between pleasure and pain. their fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs, leaving reddened marks in their wake.
the pleasure built rapidly, your body tensing as your orgasm approached. winter could feel your walls fluttering around her tongue, your juices flooding her mouth. whe doubled her efforts, sucking harder, fucking you deeper with her tongue as she chased your release.
with a final, keening cry, your body convulsed, your back arching off the bed as your orgasm crashed over you. your cunt clenched and spasmed, gushing your release into winter’s waiting mouth. she swallowed every drop, moaning in delight at the taste of your essence.
as you came down from your high, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of your intense orgasm, minji and kazuha tightened their grips on your thighs. they held you in place, spreading your legs wide open, fully exposing your sensitive, dripping cunt to winter’s hungry gaze.
winter licked her lips, taking in the glorious sight of your twitching, swollen folds. without warning, she plunged two fingers deep into your tight channel, pumping them in and out at a brutal pace. the wet, obscene sounds of her fingers fucking your cunt filled the air, mingling with your whimpers and moans.
minji and kazuha continued their assault on your breasts, sucking and biting harder, leaving dark, angry hickeys on the soft flesh. their hands roamed lower, squeezing and kneading the globes of your ass, pulling your cheeks apart to expose your tight, puckered hole.
winter added a third finger, stretching you wider, filling you up so deliciously. her thumb rubbed hard circles around your clit, the rough pad stimulating the sensitive nub. she could feel your walls clenching around her invading fingers, trying to suck them deeper inside you.
*kazuha looked up at you with a wicked grin, her teeth still latched onto your nipple. “that’s it, you perfect little fucktoy. take winter’s fingers like the cock–hungry slut you are.” she growled, giving your nipple a sharp bite.
minji chuckled darkly, her hand moving down to squeeze your ass harder. “i can’t wait to feel this tight asshole wrapped around my dick. i’m going to ruin all your holes, make you forget your own name.” she promised, her voice dripping with lust and depravity.
winter’s fingers never stopped their relentless assault on your cunt, plunging in and out, curling to hit that special spot inside you with every thrust. she could feel your body tensing again, your walls starting to flutter around her invading digits. she knew you were close to another explosive orgasm.
“that’s it, cum slut. cum all over my fingers like the desperate whore you are.” winter growled, pounding into you harder, faster, determined to make you fall apart completely.
minji and kazuha redoubled their efforts on your tits, sucking and biting with wild abandon. they pinched and pulled at your nipples, twisting the sensitive buds until they were painfully hard and throbbing. their hands kneaded and squeezed your ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave bruises.
suddenly, winter plunged a fourth finger into your dripping cunt, stretching you impossibly wide. at the same time, she sucked hard on your clit, her teeth grazing the sensitive nub. that was the final push you needed. your body convulsed violently, back arching off the bed as your second orgasm ripped through you like a tidal wave.
you screamed, a high–pitched, almost animalistic sound tearing from your throat as your cunt clamped down around sinter’s fingers. your juices gushed out, flooding her hand, dripping down onto the bed. your breasts heaved, your chest flushed a deep, rosy red as minji and kazuha continued their ruthless assault, pushing you to ride out every last second of your intense climax.
as your orgasm finally started to subside, leaving you a shaking, drooling mess beneath them, winter slowly withdrew her soaked fingers from your fluttering cunt. she brought them up to her mouth, making a show of licking your juices off, savoring your taste with a wicked grin.
minji and kazuha finally released your abused nipples, leaving them throbbing and glistening with their saliva. they sat back, taking in the debauched sight of your naked, marked body, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.
winter looked at your trembling, fucked–out body splayed across the bed, a wicked gleam in her eyes. she could see the way your pussy was still twitching and dripping with each aftershock, your juices painting obscene streaks on the sheets beneath you. nut she wasn’t satisfied yet. no, this greedy bitch wanted more.
she grabbed your thighs, pushing them back towards your chest until your knees were practically touching your shoulders. this left your ass and cunt completely exposed and vulnerable to her, your holes winking and clenching in the cool air. winter licked her lips, a feral grin spreading across her face.
“one more for me, you filthy slut. just one more.” she growled, before diving back between your legs. she buried her face in your cunt, her tongue delving deep, lapping up the leftover juices like a starving animal. her hands gripped your ass cheeks, kneading and spreading them apart as she ate you out.
minji and kazuha watched with dark, lust-filled eyes as winter tongue–fucked your pussy. they could see how swollen and puffy your lips were, how red and angry the flesh looked from winter’s relentless assault. It was clear that she was determined to make you squirt again, to wring out every last drop of your pleasure and leave you a completely fucked–out mess.
winter’s tongue swirled around your clit, flicking and suckling the sensitive bud as she pushed two fingers back inside your tight channel. she pumped them slowly at first, curling them to rub that special spot inside you with every thrust. at the same time, she sealed her lips around your clit, sucking hard as she flicked the tip of her tongue rapidly over the nerve–packed flesh.
your body was so sensitive from the two orgasms already, and winter’s skilled ministrations quickly pushed you towards the edge again. you could feel the pressure building in your core, your walls starting to flutter and clench around her invading fingers. your thighs trembled, your toes curling as your pleasure mounted.
winter could feel your body tensing, your cunt gripping her fingers like a vice. she knew you were close. determined to make you squirt for her, she doubled her efforts, sucking harder on your clit as she pounded three fingers in and out of your dripping pussy.
your body seized up, back arching clean off the bed as your third orgasm slammed into you like a freight train. winter moaned against your cunt as she felt your pussy clench and spasm around her fingers, your juices gushing out in a powerful squirt. she aimed your twitching hole towards her open mouth, greedily drinking down your release as it poured out of you.
minji and kazuha watched in awe, their cocks straining against their pants at the erotic sight of you coming undone once again. winter’s face was glazed with your essence, your squirting pussy painting her cheeks, chin, and lips with your arousal. she licked and slurped, determined not to waste a single drop of your sweet nectar.
as your intense orgasm finally started to subside, your body went limp, collapsing back onto the bed. you were completely fucked out, your mind blank and your body spent. your chest heaved as you gasped for air, your skin flushed and slick with sweat. winter sat back with a triumphant grin, licking her lips and savoring the taste of your cum.
“fuck, look at you. you’re a complete mess.” kazuha said with a dark chuckle, giving your ass a hard spank. “i love seeing this perfect body marked up and ruined for us.”
minji smirked, rubbing herself through her jeans. “now that we’ve warmed you up, it’s time for the main event. get ready, slut, because we're going to fuck you senseless and paint your insides with our cum.”
ss your body recovered from the intense orgasm winter had forced upon you, minji decided it was her turn to have some fun. with a wicked grin, she crawled up the bed, her eyes fixated on your gorgeous, rounded ass. she licked her lips, eager to taste your most intimate area.
without warning, she buried her face between your ass cheeks, her tongue immediately starting to explore your tight, puckered hole. she dragged the flat of her tongue over your ass crack, tracing the curve of your ass before flicking the tip against your tight hole. your body shuddered at the new sensation, your hole clenching instinctively.
minji groaned in appreciation as she lapped at your ass, her hands squeezing and kneading the plump flesh. she spread your cheeks wider, exposing you even more to her hungry mouth. her tongue circled your puckered entrance, teasing you mercilessly before plunging inside.
she pushed her tongue deep into your asshole, fucking you with the slick muscle. her nose pressed against your ass crack as she tongue–fucked you, her hands gripping your cheeks hard enough to leave reddened marks. minji ate your ass like a woman possessed, her lust and hunger for you palpable in every lick and suck.
winter and kazuha watched the lewd display, their cocks rock hard and straining against their pants. they could see minji’s tongue plunging in and out of your tight hole, your body jiggling with the force of her licks. the sight of your ass being devoured was incredibly erotic, and they knew they wouldn’t last much longer.
kazuha licked her lips, her hand moving to palm her hard cock through her jeans. “fuck, look at her eating that perfect ass. i can’t wait to shove my dick in there and make her scream.” she said, her voice low and rough with lust.
winter nodded, rubbing herself through her pants as well. “me neither. i want to see her face when we finally split her open and fill her with our cum.” she growled, her eyes dark and hungry as she watched minji feast on your ass.
minji continued to eat you out, her tongue plunging deep and hard into your asshole. She could feel your body tensing, your ass clenching and unclenching around her invading
your body started to tremble, a mix of pleasure and anticipation coursing through you as minji’s skilled tongue worked your asshole. she could feel the pressure building, your walls starting to quiver and clench around the slick invader plundering your most intimate depths. Just as she was about to reach her peak, minji pulled back, leaving your asshole empty and aching for more. she gave it one last hard suck, her lips sealing around your puckered hole as she inhaled deeply, savoring your musky scent before releasing you with a wet pop.
minji licked her lips, a sinful grin spreading across her face as she took in your debauched state — chest heaving, face flushed, and your ass still raised and presented, glistening with her spit. she could see how swollen and puffy your asshole was from her oral attentions, clenching desperately around nothing. it was clear that your body was more than ready for what came next.
winter and kazuha had already shed their clothes, their hard, thick cocks springing free, flushed a deep red and leaking with arousal. they stroked themselves as they took in the erotic sight of you, their eyes filled with dark promise and unchecked lust. It was clear that they were going to use your holes for their pleasure, to fuck you until you were a drooling, cum–drunk mess.
the three friends looked at each other, a silent agreement passing between them. they wanted to push your limits, to see how much you could take before breaking. winter nodded at kazuha and minji, a wicked grin on her face.
“let’s put that pretty mouth to good use, shall we?” she said, her voice dripping with lust and dark promise. “i want to feel those lips wrapped around my cock, sucking me off until i paint your throat with my cum.”
minji and kazuha smirked, stroking their hard, throbbing dicks as they waited for their turns. they wanted to use your mouth just as thoroughly, to fuck your face until tears streamed down your cheeks and your jaw ached from the brutal pace.
winter stepped forward first, grabbing your hair and forcing you to your knees. she pressed the swollen head of her cock against your lips, smearing her leaking pre–cum across the soft flesh. the musky scent of her arousal filled your nostrils, making your head spin with desire.
“open up, you cock–hungry slut.” winter growled, pushing her hips forward to force her thick shaft past your lips. she groaned as your mouth stretched around her, taking her inch by inch until she hit the back of your throat.
as winter started to fuck your face, minji and kazuha circled around, their hard cocks bobbing and twitching with each movement. they stroked themselves in time with winter’s thrusts, their eyes glued to the erotic sight of your lips stretched around her girthy dick.
winter set a brutal pace, gripping your hair tightly as she slammed her hips forward again and again. she used your mouth like a fleshy cock sleeve, her heavy balls slapping against your chin with each thrust. drool leaked from the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin and onto your heaving tits as she fucked your face with wild abandon.
winter grunted and growled above you, her grip on your hair tightening as she chased her pleasure. she could feel your throat constricting around her, your muscles fluttering and massaging her sensitive cock with each brutal thrust. the wet, obscene sounds of her fucking your face filled the room, mixing with here harsh pants and groans.
just as she was about to reach her peak, winter pulled out abruptly, her cock slick with your spit. strings of drool connected your lips to his shaft, and your jaw ached from the intense face–fucking.
winter smirked down at you, taking in your disheveled state — hair mussed, face flushed, and spit dripping down your chin. she could see the way your chest heaved with each ragged breath, your tits bouncing slightly with the movement. it was clear that your body was already overwhelmed with pleasure and stimulation, but winter was far from done with you.
without warning, winter raised her hand and brought it down hard across your cheek, the sharp slap echoing in the room. your face jerked to the side from the force of it, a red handprint blooming across your skin. before you could even think to protest, winter had grabbed your hair and shoved her spit–slick cock back into your mouth, hilting herself deep in your throat.
you gagged around the thick intrusion, your throat convulsing as you struggled to accommodate her girth. drool poured from your stretched lips, pooling on your tits and dripping down your stomach. winter held you in place, your nose pressed against her pelvis as she ground her hips against your face, painting your tongue and throat with her musky essence.
as suddenly as she had shoved her cock back into your mouth, winter pulled out, allowing you a moment to gasp for air. she stroked herself rapidly, her hand flying over her spit-slick shaft. Her other hand gripped your hair tightly, holding your head in place as she loomed over you.
minji and kazuha watched with dark, lust-filled eyes, their own cocks pumping in their fists as they took in the brutal display. they could see the way winter’s thick cock stretched your lips obscenely, the way your throat bulged with each thrust. the sight of her slapping you, using your face like a fuck toy, only turned them on more.
winter’s strokes became erratic, her grip on your hair tightening as she chased her rapidly approaching orgasm. Her balls drew up tight, her shaft pulsing and throbbing in her hand. with a guttural groan, she shoved her cock back into your mouth, slamming her hips forward one last time before pulling out completely.
winter aimed her cock at your face, stroking herself furiously. her other hand gripped your hair, holding you in place as she let out a low, animalistic growl. your eyes widened as thick, hot ropes of cum erupted from the swollen head of her cock, painting your face with thick and heavy cum.
your face was instantly drenched in winter’s hot, sticky seed. thick ropes of cum splattered across your cheeks, your forehead, your chin, and your lips. some of it even landed in your hair, matting the strands together. you could feel the heavy spurts of jizz dripping down your skin, pooling in the hollow of your neck and the valley between your breasts.
as winter finished marking you with her release, minji and kazuha stepped up, their cocks rock hard and leaking with arousal. they had watched the brutal face–fucking and facial with bated breath, their dicks throbbing with the need for the same treatment.
minji stepped forward, a wicked grin spreading across her face as she took in the sight of you - face glazed with winter’s cum, chest heaving, and eyes glazed over with lust and exhaustion. She could see the way your tits glistened with the sticky essence, the red handprint still blazing across your cheek. it only spurred on her own desire, making her want to mark you as thoroughly as her friends had.
without any preamble, inji grabbed your hair, forcing you to your knees once more. She pressed the swollen, leaking head of her cock against your cum-splattered cheek, smearing the mess across your skin. the musky scent of her arousal filled your nostrils, making your head spin with need.
“open up, you cum–drunk slut.” minji growled, her voice rough with lust. “i’m going to fuck your pretty little mouth until you choke on my cock. i want to see those slutty eyes roll back in your head as i ruin your throat.”
she didn’t wait for a response, simply gripping your hair tighter and forcing her thick shaft past your lips. your jaw stretched obscenely around her girth, your mouth struggling to accommodate the sudden intrusion. minji groaned as your wet heat enveloped her, her hips jerking forward to bury herself deeper in your throat.
minji set a brutal pace, slamming her hips against your face with each thrust. she used your mouth like a cock sleeve, fucking your face with wild abandon. drool poured from your stretched lips, dripping down your chin and onto your tits, mixing with the cum already painting your skin. the wet, obscene sounds of minji’s cock plunging in and out of your mouth filled the room, mingling with her harsh pants and grunts.
just like winter, minji wasn’t gentle. she gripped your hair tightly, holding your head in place as she fucked your face with everything she had. She could feel your throat constricting around her, your muscles fluttering and massaging her sensitive flesh. it only spurred her on more, making her thrusts harder and more erratic.
winter and kazuha watched intently as Minji used your mouth, their own cocks throbbing with the need for their turn. rhey could see the way your throat bulged with each brutal thrust, the way your tits bounced and jiggled from the force of Minji's hips slamming against your face. the sight was incredibly erotic, and they knew they wouldn't last much longer before they needed to bury their own dicks in your hot, willing mouth.
minji’s balls slammed against your chin with each thrust, your skin growing slick with spit and pre–cum. she could feel her orgasm building quickly, her cock pulsing and twitching inside the tight clutch of your throat. with a harsh groan, she shoved her hips forward one last time, burying herself to the hilt in your mouth as she started to come.
thick, hot spurts of cum erupted from Minji's cock, flooding your mouth and painting your tongue white. she held your head in place, forcing you to swallow every drop of her release as it poured down your throat. you could feel it sloshing in your belly, adding to the growing puddle of jizz already coating your skin.
as minji pulled out of your mouth with a wet pop, a strand of cum and drool connecting your lips to her softening cock, kazuha wasted no time in taking her place.
kazuha wasted no time in grabbing your hair, forcing you back onto your knees as minji stepped aside. she could see the way your throat worked to swallow the load of cum she had just fed you, the way your belly was starting to swell slightly from the sheer volume of jizz pumped into your mouth and throat. it was a debauched sight that only served to inflame her own lust and desire.
kazuha pressed the leaking tip of her cock against your lips, smearing the mix of winter’s and minji’s cum across your face. the musky scent of her arousal was thick in the air, making your head spin with need. she could feel the heat radiating off your skin, the way your chest heaved with each ragged breath. it was clear that your body was overwhelmed with pleasure, but she had no intention of stopping until she had her own release.
“such a good little cum dump,” kazuha purred, her voice dripping with dark promise. “i bet you can’t wait to choke on my cock, can you? i bet you want to feel me painting your insides white, marking you as mine."
she didn’t wait for a response, simply gripping your hair tighter and forcing her thick shaft past your lips. your jaw stretched obscenely around her girth, your mouth struggling to accommodate the sudden intrusion. kazuha groaned as your wet heat enveloped her, her hips jerking forward to bury herself deeper in your throat.
kazuha set a brutal pace, slamming her hips against your face with each thrust. she used your mouth like a cock sleeve, fucking your face with wild abandon. drool poured from your stretched lips, dripping down your chin and onto your tits, mixing with the cum already painting your skin. the wet, obscene sounds of kazuha’s cock plunging in and out of your mouth filled the room, mingling with her harsh pants and grunts.
just like winter and minji before her, kazuha wasn’t gentle. she gripped your hair tightly, holding your head in place as she fucked your face with everything she had. she could feel your throat constricting around her, your muscles fluttering and massaging her sensitive flesh. it only spurred her on more, making her thrusts harder and more erratic.
kazuha’s strokes became frantic, her grip on your hair tightening as she chased her rapidly approaching orgasm. she could feel her balls drawing up tight, her shaft pulsing and throbbing in your mouth. with a loud, guttural moan, she slammed her hips forward one last time before pulling out completely.
kazuha aimed her cock at your face, stroking herself furiously. thick, hot ropes of cum erupted from her swollen tip, splattering across your cheeks and forehead. she painted your face with her release, marking you as thoroughly as her friends had. some of it even landed in your hair, matting the strands together.
as kazuha finished, she stepped back, leaving you kneeling on the floor, your face and tits glazed with three different loads of cum. your chest heaved with each ragged breath, your skin slick and shiny with the sticky essence. your jaw ached from the brutal face–fucking, and your belly was slightly distended from the sheer volume of jizz pumped into your mouth and throat.
the three friends looked down at your debauched state, their cocks still hard and leaking. they could see the way your eyes were glazed over, your mind fucked stupid from the intense experience. it was clear that you were completely overwhelmed, drowning in a sea of pleasure and exhaustion. and yet, they knew they could still push you further, could still make you take more of their cocks, more of their cum.
kazuha smirked down at your cum–soaked, exhausted form kneeling before her. she could see the way your chest heaved with each labored breath, the way your skin glistened with the sticky essence of three intense facials. despite your clear state of overload, kazuha wasn’t done with you yet. she wanted to feel your tight, wet cunt wrapped around her throbbing cock, wanted to make you scream on her dick until you were hoarse.
“get up and sit on my cock, slut.” kazuha ordered, her voice rough with lust. “i want to feel that perfect pussy squeezing me as i split you open on my fat dick. i’m going to fuck you so hard, you’ll forget your own name.”
kazuha grabbed your arms, hauling you to your feet. she pulled you towards the bed, forcing you to straddle her hips. she grabbed your hips, gripping them tightly as she positioned you above her straining erection. she rubbed the swollen head of her cock up and down your dripping slit, coating herself in your slick arousal. the sensation made her groan, her fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass.
“that’s it, you dirty girl. sit on my cock like the desperate little slut you are,” kazuha growled. “i’m going to ruin your tight cunt, make you scream so loud the neighbors will hear you.”
with that, she pulled you down, the thick head of her shaft popping past your entrance and sinking into your hot, clutching depths. kazuha threw her head back with a guttural moan as your walls stretched around her, gripping her like a vice. she could feel your slick, velvety heat enveloping her, your body welcoming her intrusion.
kazuha started to bounce you on her lap, using your hips to drive you up and down her thick shaft. each downward motion sank her deeper into your core, stretching you wider, filling you more completely. her hips surged up to meet yours, slamming her cock into you with bruising force, determined to ruin you for all other men.
“yes, fuck! your cunt feels so fucking good around my dick.” kazuha snarled, her eyes dark and wild as she watched your tits bounce and jiggle with each thrust. “i’m going to fuck this pussy so hard, you'll be feeling me for days. i’ll make sure this cunt remembers the shape of my cock, the way i split you open on my thick meat.”
the wet, obscene sounds of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room as kazuha fucked up into you, each thrust shaking the bed. her balls slapped against your ass, heavy and full, ready to paint your insides with her seed. kazuha wanted to fill you, to pump you so full of her cum that you would be dripping for hours after she was done with you.
kazuha’s hands roamed your body as she fucked up into you, squeezing and kneading every inch of exposed skin. she tweaked your nipples roughly, pinching and rolling the hardened buds between her fingers until you cried out in a mix of pleasure and pain. her other hand slid down to your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in harsh, fast circles, determined to make you come undone on her cock.
“that’s it, scream for me! let everyone know who this pussy belongs to.” kazuha demanded, her voice a low, rough growl. she could feel your walls starting to flutter and clench around her, your body tensing as your orgasm approached. kazuha wanted to feel you come apart, wanted to watch your face as you surrendered to the pleasure utterly.
she redoubled her efforts, slamming her hips up harder, driving her cock deeper into your core with each brutal thrust. at the same time, she pinched your clit hard, rolling the sensitive bud between her fingers until your vision nearly whites out from the intense sensation.
kazuha could feel her own release fast approaching, her balls drawing up tight as she chased her rapidly building climax. she wanted to come deep inside you, to pump your tight cunt full of her hot, thick seed. she wanted to mark you as hers, to claim you in the most primal way possible.
“fuck, i’m going to come! i’m going to fill this pussy up, paint your insides white with my cum!” kazuha roared, slamming her hips up one last time. she buried herself to the hilt inside you, the head of her cock kissing your cervix as she exploded.
at the same time, she felt your pussy clamp down around her like a vice, your walls rippling and squeezing her shaft as your own intense orgasm overtook you. kazuha threw her head back with a guttural moan, a string of curses falling from her lips as she pumped your clenching cunt full of her hot, sticky release.
as kazuha slammed her hips up one final time, burying her throbbing cock deep inside your spasming cunt, she didn't pull out. Instead, she gripped your hips tightly, holding you in place as she started to grind her pelvis against yours. her cock twitched and pulsed inside you, pumping thick ropes of hot cum directly into your womb as your pussy milked her for every last drop.
just as the intense waves of your shared orgasm began to subside, you felt the bed dip behind you. you turned your head to see minji positioning herself, a wicked gleam in her eye and a sadistic smirk on her face. before you could react, she pressed the slick tip of her own hard cock against your tight, puckered asshole.
minji wasted no time, pushing forward and sinking into your ass with one smooth, relentless thrust. your eyes widened and you let out a choked moan as she speared you open on her thick shaft, your back arching as your body struggled to adjust to the sudden intrusion. the sensation of having both your holes filled at the same time was overwhelming, pushing you to the brink of overload.
“fuck, her ass is so goddamn tight–” minji groaned, starting to roll her hips and fuck into you with deep, purposeful strokes. her hands gripped your ass cheeks hard, kneading the plump flesh as she used your hole like a cock sleeve.
kazuha matched her thrusts, slamming her own hips up to meet minji’s downward movements. together, they sandwiched you between them, their combined weight and the force of their thrusts shaking the bed. the wet, obscene sounds of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, mingling with your wants and the grunts of the two women using your holes so thoroughly.
“take it, you filthy slut,” kazuha snarled, her eyes dark with lust and hunger. “take our cocks like the desperate whore you are. i’m going to fuck this tight ass until you're screaming for more.”
“and i’ll pump this greedy asshole full of my hot cum.” minji added, punctuating her words with a sharp thrust of her hips. ahe could feel your walls clenching and fluttering around her invading shaft, your body instinctively trying to push her out even as you were trying to get used to her size.
minji leaned over you, her tits pressing against your back as she bit down hard on your shoulder, marking you as her own. her hips slammed against your ass with brutal force, each thrust shaking your entire body and forcing kazuha’s cock even deeper into your cunt. the dual stimulation of having your pussy stretched around kazuha’s throbbing shaft and your asshole speared open on minji’s thick meat was almost too much to bear.
“scream for us, you cock–hungry slut!” kazuha demanded, her voice a low, rough growl. ahe pinched and rolled your nipples roughly, sending jolts of pleasurable pain straight to your core. at the same time, she rubbed your clit in fast, harsh circles, pushing you closer to the edge of another mind–blowing orgasm.
winter watched with dark, lust-filled eyes as minji and kazuha used your holes with wild abandon. the sight of you sandwiched between them, your face twisted in a mix of pleasure and overload, only fueled her own desires. she wanted a piece of the action, wanted to add her own brand of brutal passion to the depraved scene.
without warning, winter grabbed your hair and yanked your head back, forcing you to look up at her. her other hand groped and squeezed your tits roughly, kneading the soft flesh and tweaking your nipples until you cried out. winter’s eyes were wild and hungry as she drank in the sight of your face, flushed and contorted with ecstasy.
”i want your mouth on my cock, slut.” winter growled, her voice dripping with dark promise. “i want to feel that pretty little mouth wrapped around my shaft while these two bitches ruin your holes. suck me off like the desperate whore you are.”
with that, she forced your head down, shoving your face into her crotch. the musky scent of her arousal filled your nostrils, making your head spin with need. winter gripped your hair tightly, holding your head in place as she rubbed her leaking cock against your lips, smearing them with her pre–cum.
at the same time, minji and kazuha redoubled their efforts, slamming into you with renewed fervor. they gripped your hips and ass tightly, using your body like a fuck toy for their pleasure. the bed creaked and groaned beneath the force of their thrusts, the headboard slamming against the wall with each brutal surge of their hips.
“fuck, look at her taking all three of us…” minji panted, her voice rough with exertion and lust. she could feel your asshole clenching and fluttering around her shaft, your body desperate for more even as it strained to take the intense double penetration.
“she’s a natural born cock sleeve,” kazuha agreed, slamming her hips up harder, driving her own shaft deeper into your spasming cunt. she could feel winter’s cock throbbing against your lips, the heat of it searing your skin even through the fabric of her pants.
winter shoved her hips forward, forcing her hard, thick shaft past your lips and into the hot, wet cavern of your mouth. your jaw stretched obscenely around her girth, your tongue instinctively wrapping around the invading flesh. winter groaned at the feeling of your mouth enveloping her, her fingers tightening in your hair.
“that’s it, you cock–hungry slut,” winter snarled, starting to roll her hips and fuck your face with deep, purposeful strokes. “take my fucking cock like the dirty whore you are. i want to feel the back of your throat as i use your mouth.”
as winter started to face–fuck you, minji and kazuha matched her rhythm, slamming their own hips against yours in brutal unison. the triple assault on your senses was overwhelming, pushing you to the brink of blacking out from the intense pleasure and lack of air.
your mind reeled as your body was used for their pleasure, your holes stretched and filled, your mouth stuffed full of hard, throbbing cock. drool poured from the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin and onto your heaving tits as winter fucked your face with wild abandon. the wet, guttural sounds of her hips slapping against your face filled the room, mingling with the obscene slap of flesh on flesh as kazuha and Minji continued to pound your cunt and ass.
your body started to shake and convulse, a scream muffled by winter’s pistoning cock as another mind–shattering orgasm ripped through you. your pussy clenched and spasmed around kazuha’s shaft, your asshole gripping minji’s in a vice–like hold as your release crashed over you like a tidal wave. the sensation of coming on three cocks at once was almost too intense to bear, pushing you to the very limits of what your body could take.
through it all, winter, minji, and kazuha didn’t let up, continuing to use your holes with brutal, animalistic fervor. they fucked you through your orgasm, their strokes never faltering as they chased their own impending releases. the room filled with the debauched sounds of your screams, the wet slap of flesh on flesh, and the grunts and moans of the three women as they raced towards their own climaxes.
winter slammed her hips forward one last time, burying her cock deep in your throat as she threw her head back with a roar. thick, hot ropes of cum erupted from her shaft, painting your throat and filling your belly with her bitter essence. At the same time, minji and kazuha hilted themselves inside you, their own cocks pulsing and throbbing as they pumped your cunt and ass full of their releasing seed.
tou could feel their shafts pulsing and twitching inside you as they emptied their heavy balls, flooding your holes with what felt like gallons of hot, sticky cum. it was an overwhelming sensation, being pumped so full of their releases that you could feel it sloshing heavily in your belly and leaking out around their shafts.
as their orgasms subsided, the three friends slowly pulled out, their softening cocks slipping from your thoroughly used holes with obscene wet sounds. you collapsed forward onto the bed, your body limp and spent, completely fucked out from the intense triple assault on your senses. your skin glistened with sweat and cum, your hair a wild mess, and your holes gaping and dripping with their combined releases.
as the three friends caught their breath and basked in the afterglow of their intense, depraved session, they looked down at your absolutely wrecked form sprawled out on the bed. your skin was slick with sweat, cum, and other fluids, your holes gaping and leaking their releases, and your hair a wild, tangled mess. they could see the way your chest heaved with each ragged breath, your body completely fucked out and overwhelmed.
winter, minji, and kazuha exchanged a look, a silent communication passing between them. they wanted to give you one last reward, one final act to seal your initiation into their group of friends. with a wicked grin, winter spoke up, her voice still rough from her recent orgasm.
“i think our little slut deserves a proper send-off, don’t you?” she said, looking at her friends with a gleam of lust in her eyes. “let’s give her a facial to remember."
minji and kazuha nodded in agreement, their own cocks already starting to stir and harden at the thought. they gathered around the bed, stroking themselves to full mast once more. Winter grabbed your hair, forcing you to sit up and kneel in the middle of the bed. the other two positioned themselves on either side of you, their hard shafts bobbing and twitching with arousal.
“open wide, you cum–hungry whore,” kazuha growled, fisting her shaft and aiming it at your face. “we’re going to paint you like a canvas, mark you as our bitch for good.”
minji did the same, gripping her own cock and rubbing the swollen head against your cheek, smearing your skin with her pre–cum. winter grabbed your hair tighter, forcing your head back and exposing your face to their combined assault.
together, the three friends started to stroke themselves furiously, their grips tight and their movements fast and rough. they wanted to come hard and fast, to give you a facial like no other. the room filled with the wet, obscene sounds of their stroking, their grunts and moans growing louder and more urgent as they approached their climax.
“fuck, i’m going to come!” winter roared, her voice echoing off the walls. at the same time, minji and kazuha let out their own cries of release, their shafts pulsing and thick, hot ropes of cum erupted from the tips, splattering across your face and hair in heavy streams. winter, minji, and kazuha stroked themselves to completion, pumping load after load of their thick, pungent seed all over you. your face and hair were quickly glazed with a thick layer of their combined releases, droplets dripping down your chin and onto your chest.
by the time they finished, you were completely drenched in their essences, your skin and hair matted with the sticky evidence of their lust. the sheer volume of cum painted on your face was a testament to their intense, depraved session and your initiation into their exclusive group of friends.
as the three friends stepped back to admire their work, your face was a canvas of their combined releases. streaks of jizz coated your cheeks, nose, forehead, and chin, dripping down to pool on your heaving tits. clumps of thick cum clung to your tangled hair, weighing down the strands and making them stick together. the sight of you, so thoroughly marked and claimed, was a powerful image of your new place among them — a place where you existed solely for their pleasure and use.
ONE-SHOT : MINJI'S EXPECTATIONS BECAUSE OF LOST TIME
MASTERLIST
POP UP THOUGHTS
SAW THIS AND THOUGHT :
After a while and a busy schedule, I was able to get some facetime with my girlfriend Minji. During this time together, she was kinda acting a little weird, being more aggressive, straight forward, and not shy.
MINJI : " finally!!! I'm able to see my boyfriend!! You know I been really pent up lately!!! Since you haven't fucked me in a while!! But how about since we here now, you can pull that dick out for me so I can easily imagine it later tonight!!"
I was kinda surprised, but I was already hard just from seeing her. So when she said that, I had my dick springing out of my jeans. As I flip the camera so Minji could see my kinda hard cock.
MINJI : "WOW!!! That's so big(gulps) and it's so thick!!! I can't believe you have shoved the thing inside my pussy and even my tight butthole!!! No wonder you break me every time you fuck me"
From the way she's talking, my dick twitched at the memories that her words filled with lust, desire, and need had. Of course Minji saw this and chuckled in a teasing tone.
MINJI : "Oh is that big ol' thing missing me!! Missing this little tight pussy, or is it missing this tight little asshole, which is so sweaty right now but I know you would love that, or is missing this juicy lips being wrapped around it as it hits the back of my throat!!!(chuckles)"
The way that Minji is talking while looking at my dick, had it slowly becoming fully erect in front of her eyes; As if she was saying some magic words.
MINJI : "(giggles) it looks like I'm not the only that got addicted to us!! Go ahead baby wrap that big thick cock of yours with your hand and stroke it while I'm on facetime!!! I wanna see both your cock and face tho!!!"
As I put my phone at a higher angle and had it pointed down at me. While I stroke my dick to Minji's face over facetime, as she was just staring back at me licking her lips.
MINJI : "yes baby stroke that dick just for me!!! Tell me are you thinking about that time I climbed on your face, and moved my hips up & down grinding my dirty pussy, because you didn't give me a chance to wash up from the outside. Just because you missed the taste of it, and my period just ended. Do you remember how I was spreading my wet pussy fluids all over your face? As you were exploring it with your tongue, you were so desperate!!!"
I couldn't even answer it because the memories she was bringing up with her words, were so over whelming I had to focus on not cumming too early. While I stayed looking at her beautiful face over FaceTime.
MINJI : "WOW!!! Look at that face, is somebody trying not to cum!?!? How about remembering those times were I wrapped that big dick of yours with my tight pussy and how you would just thrust that thing in and out with no remorse making me look like a real life sex doll, or how you forcefully spread my butthole open. With the force of your dick that you applied at my tight rim. Go ahead think about how I'll soon be bouncing on that dick again, and how you will soon be filling my mouth, pussy, and my butthole with that big long thick cock of yours!!!"
At this point I couldn't help it anymore, and I cummed so hard it shoot up in the air landing on my stomach & hand.
MINJI : "mmmhhh... look at all that thick cum!!! too bad I'm not there!!! I would have clean you all up!!! Licking every drop off your body!!! Can't wait to see you byyyyeee"
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pov; ure tryna befriend ur crush’s bandmate, but ur fans start shipping u with him instead
6th member of newjeans f!reader x seonghyeon
feat; bff! illit wonhee, bff! cortis keonho, crush! cortis seonghyeon, cortis martin, all of newjeans, mention of tws kyungmin
wc; n/a, 26 ss
prev next
*pretend white keys released wayy earlier.. i forgot ab dat 🥹
author's note; I reached the 30 pics limit ;-; but uhh how do we feel about this..! y/n and keonho are now #bffs. chapter 4 is either gna be smau only or smau x written!! let me know if u want to join the taglist
taglist; @sweetlydolls @kkyunho @meowchness
Wrote this for her birthday. Hope you guys enjoy! Let me know what you think!
Addiction is a destructive force, especially when it involves money. You were addicted to none other than Minji, the world-famous K-pop idol. The worst part is that she doesn’t even know you exist. By no means were you one of those crazy people who followed idols around or snuck into their homes.
You had spent a ridiculous amount of money to support Njz. Albums didn’t come cheap; sometimes the shipping cost as much as the album itself.
Not even in your nightmare did you imagine that your addiction to her could become so painful. It has been a year since she was last seen taking part in official activities. The last time was in front of the court before the legal case started.
It was hard to support the movement against their company, especially considering you lived in Romania, a country that knew nothing about K-pop. All your friends called you a madman for caring so much.
It didn’t matter to you what others thought. In your opinion, was your addiction actually helping you become better?
Yes.
You got a part-time job to help you buy albums. It paid enough for you to indulge in your needs while also fulfilling your wants.
Enough about your glorious life, let's get back to the humongous situation at hand.
Kim Fucking Minji was in your store, and what’s worse is the uniform she was wearing. It is the same fucking uniform as yours. At first, you thought you were imagining things and that your addiction had finally become an obsession that destroyed your perception of reality.
Luckily for you, she was real. So real that she broke a glass when wiping the table.
Your supervisor assigned you to train her, which you promptly sweet-talked your way out of, probably because you won’t be able to say a single word to her.
The supervisor trains Minji. Shockingly, Minji is quite the klutz. So far, she has messed up 3 drinks and broken two cups. It was honestly cute watching her panic so much over something so trivial when a few months ago, she was performing on the biggest stages in the world.
When she broke the second cup, you were helping her clean up when she said, “No wonder I was never allowed in the kitchen, I am a danger to everyone when I am around utensils.”
You laughed at her sudden sass.
The shift today was fun but also painful; it finally ended, and you and Minji were left to close up. While you were restocking the freezer, a voice broke the silence.
“Hey, I am Minji. I don’t think I got to introduce myself.”
I know who you are. Obviously!
Somehow, you managed to get the words out of your mouth and introduce yourself without stuttering, but the conversation ends there.
You finished most of the work and ran as soon as you finished closing. Your brain was still processing what just happened. None of your friends on Discord would have believed you even if you told them.
Like a light bulb, you realized what was happening. Minji is hiding from the camera and from all the people who see her as nothing but a doll that needs to remain perfect. It made a lot of sense. This was probably one of the few places on this planet where she wouldn’t get recognized.
That entire night, you didn’t get a wink of sleep. You were contemplating whether to come clean to her or let her enjoy the freedom in ignorance. By the time you came to a decision, the sun was already up.
You decided to let her enjoy the peace and freedom.
The rules were simple:
Don’t mention Njz.
Don’t stare at her.
Don’t make things awkward or weird.
One would think these are simple rules that can easily be followed. Which they were, except for the last one. Outside of K-pop and gaming, you didn’t have many interests. This meant that the only topics you could talk to Minji about were cafe stuff or gaming. From what you know, Minji cared little about gaming. To be thorough, you decided to keep your communication with her to a bare minimum.
But there were times when you had no option but to step in, like that one time where a customer was trying to order a particularly complex drink and Minji couldn’t keep up with her speed. When asked to repeat the order, the customer started getting aggressive, but you stepped in before it got worse.
“Thanks, but you didn’t have to step in, you know? I was just about to throw espresso on his face,” Minji said.
“As much as I would’ve loved to see that. I didn’t want to get involved in a brawl,” You replied.
No matter how hard you tried, you always had an eye on her. To the point where you memorized her routines without even trying. Like how she skips meals when she messes up, or how she gets overwhelmed during rush hour, or how she hates loud customers or sounds.
During almost every shift, you would hand Minji water or tell her to take a break when things got too complicated or loud. You even took the blame for some of her mistakes when the manager noticed.
Some nights when closing took a little longer, you would even offer to walk with her because you lived in the same direction she did, even though you didn’t. She would always try to strike up a conversation, but you would shut it down with just one-sentence answers, purely because you were scared she would be creeped out.
All of a sudden, during a long and painful shift, you get cornered by the very same girl you are trying to avoid a conversation with.
“You know who I am, don’t you?” Minji asked, her tone sharp and clear.
Surprised would be a small word for what you were feeling. So many questions went through your head.
How does she know?
What did I do to get myself caught?
How do I get out of this?
“N-no…” You managed to croak out.
“Why are you lying? I’m not going to kill you, you know?”
“Fine, I do. Trust me when I say, I had no intention of ever letting you find out or bothering you at all, nor did I join this job because I followed you here.” You ramble.
There is no reply; she is just standing there staring at you like a predator sizing its prey. The silence was suffocating.
“How did you find out?” She asked.
“Been a huge fan of yours since the day you debuted. So it wasn’t hard to recognize my bias when she appeared in front of me on a random Monday,” you answered honestly. You were scared that she would find it annoying or be repulsed by the thought of someone who knew her being here.
“How did you find out that I knew?” You questioned, trying to make it less awkward.
“It has been 2 months since I came here. Not many people offered any sort of help. A lot of them looked at me like I didn’t belong here, their eyes said what their tongues feared.”
You wanted to say something, but you knew how bad some people could be, especially to someone from a different country.
“But you. You were different. Every time I struggled to understand what a customer said, you jumped in. Always making sure that I ate during the shift by leaving some food, and the part that confirmed it was the new jeans cross bag I saw you wearing last week.” She spoke.
“Oh, God! I completely forgot about the bag being merch. I was hoping I wasn’t being too obvious, but I guess I was when you put it like that, it is like I have been screaming for you to notice,” you realized.
“You couldn’t have been more obvious even if you tried,” She stopped. “So, tell me what you want to keep your mouth shut and not tell everyone on the internet.”
“No, no, I don’t want anything. I had no intention of ever telling anyone at all. Not once did I even get the thought of telling another soul,” you replied, trying to convince her. “Look, I know the position that you are in, I know why you are here. I know what you are going through, so I have no intention of making it worse.”
Minji still isn’t confident, but she decides to give it a chance, not like she had a choice. “Fine. But, if you are ever considering doxing my location, just tell me before you do so; I can prepare myself mentally.”
“Trust me. I am not going to do anything like that. If I were, wouldn’t I have already done it?” You reply, trying to gain her trust.
“Okay. If we’re doing this, then no special treatment. I’m not Minji of NewJeans here. I’m just Minji, who keeps breaking cups. Deal?”
A few days go by, and you notice a change in Minji’s behavior toward you. She spends more time with you, but you guys barely talk; both of you just sit in silence. Whenever she has any questions, no matter how trivial, she asks you.
The most shocking change was when she randomly came up to you and asked, “I’ve been here two months, and I’ve only seen the inside of this cafe and my apartment. Please take me somewhere that isn’t work tomorrow.”
****
Both of you agreed to meet up at the train station. As usual, you wore your worn-out black jeans and a black T-shirt (colorful, I know).
You got there early, so now you were just standing there listening to music and waiting for her. Minji turned the corner, coming into your line of view. She was wearing a simple black lace; she looked perfect, just as the day you first saw her.
The moment her eyes met yours, and she waved at you, her lips curved up into her signature gummy smile, her eyes crinkled. That smile of hers is heartwarming and contagious, but also dangerous, because at that very moment, you realize that your crush on her is no longer just between an idol and a fan; it has become between a simple boy and a beautiful girl.
“So, what do you have planned for today?” Minji asked
“Not much, really, mostly just visiting some restaurants and stores that I enjoy.” You replied.
“Let’s go then, what are we waiting for?”
“The first stop today is a bookstore with a cafe inside. It's cosy and quiet; I spend a lot of time here, either working on assignments or just reading. The silence really helps calm me down.”
“Wow, interesting,” Minji replied, shocked at your choice.
“What? Are you shocked that I read?”
“Yeah, I didn’t really peg you for someone who likes to read. I thought you liked to game.”
“I like to game too,” you reply.
“At least I wasn’t wrong about that,” Minji replied
“Do you like to read?”
“Didn’t really have the time before, but now I find myself reading a lot more.”
It was refreshing to have someone to talk to while walking instead of listening to music. You and Minji talked about all kinds of things on the walk to the store. It was a 10-minute walk, but not once did it feel like either of you was forcing the conversation to fill the awkward silence.
The bookstore was like a second home to you, and you knew it like the back of your hand. “Let’s do this, you find a book that you think I would like, and I will do the same for you,” Minji suggested, to which you gladly agreed.
It took some time, but you found the book you wanted to give her. The book was called ‘If I Had Your Face’, which is about a woman navigating loneliness. She had gotten you a book called ‘Twice Shy’, which is about a male lead who helps the female lead overcome her anxiety.
“Lonliness? Really? Come on, you could have picked something with a little more meat in the story, something with suspense or comedy,” Minji complained, but she agreed when you asked to try it and return it if she didn’t like it.
You sat opposite her after ordering some coffee for both of you. Looking at her like this really made your heart clench. Someone who looked untouchable to you was sitting right here just reading. A part of you wanted to reach out and brush the stray stands of hair away from her face, but you held back.
After every page, you would take a break to admire her beauty. Neither of you spoke, just the comfortable silence of someone’s company.
“Wanna grab some lunch? We can survive on just coffee and scones for the entire day,” you suggest, breaking the silence after what felt like hours.
“Sure,” Minji replied. Packing her bag with the newly acquired book.
The next spot wasn’t a fancy restaurant but a small hole-in-the-wall restaurant that sold some amazing soup. You absolutely adored this place during the winter; it always warmed you up, and it was right next to the bookstore.
“Nice spot, I was really craving some warm soup,” Minji said as you both settled down.
Lunch was simple but filling, and you talked about your books. The conversation shifted to that one annoying coworker at the cafe, and then it went to the games you enjoyed playing.
“Hey, I’m not judging. For someone who says they are good at league, and only being in Gold is funny. I thought you would be in Emerald or higher,” Minji says, laughing after you told her your rank.
“I am good, it's just that it is seriously so hard to go rank up,” You complain.
“Sure, it is. You have more performance anxiety than I did when I had to perform in front of thousands,” Minji teased.
Having your gaming skills insulted should have stung, but it didn’t; in fact, it made you happy. Minji was finally opening up to you, seeing you more as a friend instead of just a coworker.
The teasing continued for the rest of lunch. Her laugh was music to your ears. If it meant she laughed forever, you didn’t mind being the butt of all the jokes.
After paying the bill, going back and forth about who will pay. You both head to the mall, earlier this week, Minji mentioned wanting to get some new clothes suited to the weather here, so you thought now was the best time to take her shopping.
Minji was picking out a few outfits to try on, while you just looked around the store. She tells you to pick some for yourself, which you reject, but she is quite insistent.
For the first outfit, she laughed out loud at the bright color you are wearing, “No, absolutely not, you look like a highlighter.”
The second outfit is worse than the first, but you had no choice but to put it on. The same result repeated, she was laughing so loud you were scared both of you would get kicked out.
“You hate this, don’t you?” Minji asked.
“Absolutely, with every fiber in my body.”
“Fine, you don’t have to try the other ones,” Minji whined. She then took the pile of clothes she picked for herself to try on and went into the changing room.
Everything she tried on really suited her. So, whenever she came out wearing a different outfit and asked for your opinion, all you could say was “Looks good.”
“Can you be more descriptive than just looks good!” Minji complained. It was cute how her nose scrunched when she got a little annoyed.
Then came the last outfit. It was a simple black one-piece dress with a slit. She looked perfect wearing it. The dress fit her well; it was tight in all the right places to accentuate her perfect figure.
“Well, what do you think?”
You were speechless. There was so much you wanted to say, but your brain just couldn’t process it all at once; you could feel your face heating up. How can someone look so gorgeous wearing something so simple and elegant?
“I-it’s good,” you manage to croak out.
“You know, staring silently isn’t actually a compliment,” she teased. “At least pretend to have vocabulary.”
“Sorry,” you said, looking away, trying your best to avoid eye contact with her.
“You went completely speechless,” she said with a satisfied smile. “I’ll take that as a good sign.”
By the time Minji finished buying everything she needed, it was getting late. Minji asked for a simple dinner because she was already quite full from all the food we had today, to which you agreed.
You bought a sub from a place you liked and split it with Minji. It was enough for both of you, and after eating, you walked her to the train station. The walk was slow and calm, your hand occasionally rubbing against hers. You wanted nothing more than to grab her hand and intertwine your fingers, but you didn’t want to spoil something that finally brought some peace and stability to Minji’s chaotic life.
****
A few days have passed since you showed Minji around town. Every time she showed up in something she bought that day, she would spin once beside the counter and ask if it looked familiar, and if you didn’t, she had the cutest pout on her face. Somehow, those tiny reactions became the thing you looked forward to most during your shifts.
Her pouts gave heartache. You just wanted to capture that expression and make it your wallpaper, and every time you barely managed to control yourself.
At some point, the conversations stopped being about trivial things. One night, while you were walking her home, she spoke, “You know what I miss the most? She murmured, barely loud enough for you to hear. “I miss eating ice cream after hours of practice with the members. Just us sitting together and complaining about all the stupid things we had to do.”
You kept quiet. Minji never talked about her time as an idol, and you didn’t want to push her to either. So, it was unexpected, but it made me happy that she was finally opening up.
“Now, I am here in a completely different country where I barely know anyone. I miss just being around people who shared my concerns. Something about going through hard times with them didn’t seem too bad.”
It made you realize how lonely Minji had been and how much toll the hiatus was taking on her. You wanted to hug her tightly and tell her it was all going to be all right, but you had no way of knowing if everything was going back to normal or not.
The best thing you could do for her was be there and listen. She didn’t need someone to give her false hope. She just needed someone who would listen and let her vent. You intended to do just that.
One day, while you were stocking the freezer, she mentioned that she missed Korean food, especially kimchi. It had been over 4 months since Minji moved here, and not once had she eaten food from her homeland.
The thought of her not getting to eat her comfort food stayed with you long after the shift ended. It slowly turned into a plan for what you wanted to do tomorrow during your day off.
After you woke up way past your usual time, you went straight to the supermarket. It was quite a task to find Nappa cabbage. You went to multiple stores before it clicked in your brain to try the small asian grocery store on the other side of town.
Luckily for you, that asian store had everything you needed for your long and painful mission. You were planning on making kimchi, something you had never made or even eaten. After procuring all the necessary ingredients, your first step was to go through a bunch of recipes online.
It was already past midnight when you finished making kimchi, and you were drained. Not once did you think that something that looked so simple could take so much effort. After packing it in a small container, you washed up and crashed.
The next day, when you gave it to her, her eyes lit up in the most beautiful way possible. She was so happy with the little gift that she hugged you. That single hug made all your efforts worth it. If it meant making Minji happy and getting hugs from her, then you would make all the kimchi in the world.
“Thank you! Thank you so much!! You have no idea how much I was missing Korean food.” Minji screamed in joy as she hugged the box of kimchi.
“Hope it tastes similar to what you get back home. I made it by watching recipes,” You said.
“I know it will! I’m gonna make kimchi jeon for you tomorrow,” Minji promised.
“I’m looking forward to it.”
********
Life settled into a simple rhythm of working, spending time with Minji, and sleeping. It was a normalcy that you had gotten used to, but one night that normalcy broke. Minji called you crying; she was barely able to speak, and all you heard were sobs. Without waiting, you bolted toward the door after grabbing your jacket. You rushed to her house.
A broken, sobbing Minji opened the door.
“Hey, what happened?”
“She’s gone,” Minji managed to say.
You were shocked; you had read about the situation, but you couldn’t believe that they split them up.
It was the single most heartbreaking news a fan could get. The pain of having to watch your favorite group was bad, but having your close friend taken away from you was probably worse.
“She's gone. They kicked Danielle out.” Minji explained the entire situation. She had to stop multiple times because the tears just wouldn’t stop.
All you could do was gently rub her back as she let it all out. “You didn’t just lose a member, you lost a friend, Minji. Let it all out. I can’t possibly imagine the pain you are going through.” You tried to console her.
“Those bastards won, and there is nothing we can do now. We tried everything, and now they are threatening to ruin our lives even more if we don’t agree to go back to being New Jeans as 4 members.”
For the first time that night, she looked you in the eye. Those beautiful eyes of hers were swollen and filled with tears. It hurt to see her go through this.
“The worst part is that there wasn’t a single thing that I could do to stop them. As the leader, I should have fought harder, or maybe stopped us from ever getting into this mess in the first place. Maybe what all those people said about me is true. I truly am an incompetent leader.”
You were speechless. You had no idea Minji was carrying so much guilt and pain.
“I don’t know how to fix this, but one thing is for sure: I know none of this is your fault. You were supposed to protect and support each other, not fight an entire company alone.”
Those words had a great effect on her; she was hugging you and crying even more. Her grip on your t-shirt tightened; she was scared to let go.
Minji’s sobs were all that could be heard in the room. All of a sudden, when she has finally calmed down a little. The reality sets in.
“How are we supposed to stand as 4 members on stage and pretend like nothing ever happened?” Minji’s voice cracked, sounding weak.
“Minji, right now, you don’t need to think about the future, just breathe.”
After another half an hour of you consoling Minji, she finally fell asleep clutching your t-shirt. You stayed, slowly rubbing circles on her back, and eventually fell asleep right next to her.
The next morning, you wanted nothing more than to stay by Minji’s side for the rest of the day, but you had to leave for your shift. Before you left, you made her some simple Kimchi fried rice using the ingredients from her fridge and the Kimchi that you had gifted her.
You placed the cooked rice on the counter with a note beside it that said, “ You don’t have to carry everything alone anymore. I’m here to listen. Eat and rest well, Minji. Your annoying coworker.”
After that night, something changed. The silence between you both became comfortable. It started with small things. Minji handed you drinks when you looked exhausted from the rush hour, and texted you pictures of food she tried to make, but with captions like: “This looked better in my head.”
Without realizing it, you somehow became the first person she looked for whenever she walked into work.
One afternoon, during a break. Minji sat next to you while you doomscrolled.
“Busy tomorrow?” She asked.
“Not really. Why?
“I found this place I wanted to visit.”
“What kind of place?”
“It’s a seaside town a few hours away from here. It looked so pretty in the pictures. Here.”
You looked through the pics, and it indeed was quite pretty.
“You want to go there? It’s too far,” you complain.
“It’s not like you have anything better to do.”
“Fair point.”
The next morning, you both sat beside each other on the train as it rained lightly. The ride was long enough, but it was filled with comfortable silence.
At some point, Minji nudged your hand.
“What are you listening to?”
“Nothing.”
“That means it's definitely something. Are you listening to our songs?”
“No, it’s embarrassing.”
“It’s fine, I wanna hear it too.”
You hesitated but eventually gave her one of your earbuds. The closeness made you hyperaware of everything she did, especially how her shoulders would rub against yours now and then.
The faint scent of her shampoo was enticing.
“I can’t believe you actually liked Get up.”
“What's wrong with it? It's amazing.”
“Nothing wrong. I thought not many people liked it because it was so short.”
The conversation slowly faded, but the music continued. At some point, Minji eventually fell asleep on your shoulder. You froze at first, your brain short-circuited the moment you felt her head on your shoulder.
You glanced down to see an exhausted Minji. Not the idol, not the celebrity, just a girl who needed rest.
Eventually, she woke up.
“Oh my God, it must’ve been so uncomfortable, you should have woken me up!”
“It wasn’t, and you looked like you needed some rest.”
The town was silent and serene. Neither of you really did much other than walk, try street food, and visit random stores.
At some point, you lost Minji in a small crowd. But the moment you stepped around, her eyes found yours in the crowd. The tension in her shoulders eased after she made eye contact with you.
“Don’t disappear like that,” Minji said.
“I didn’t, I was gone for all of 10 secs.”
“That’s still disappearing.”
A few days later, when you finished a particularly painful shift, Minji stops you just as you are about to leave.
“Come over for dinner.”
“...What?
“I made Kimchi Jeon.”
“You cooked?”
“Why do you sound so scared?”
“From all the pics of your cooking I saw. I am a little concerned for my life.”
Minji rolled her eyes at your comment before lightly hitting your hand.
Her apartment was much better than the last time you were here. It was comfortable and human. Books are scattered around the living room.
Minji cooked, while you sat near the counter.
“You’re staring,” Minji said without looking back.
“You almost dropped the pan twice.”
The jeon was shockingly good, given that Minji almost started a fire twice. It was also one of the best meals you've had in a while. But it wasn’t because of the food, it was her company and effort that made it special.
After dinner, both of you settled down on the couch. Minji shifted closer until your shoulders were touching.
‘... You know, this is the happiest I have been in a long time.”
Your chest tightened slightly.
A few minutes later, you glanced down and realized that she had fallen asleep against you. One of her hands held onto your sleeve like she was afraid you would leave.
The realization hit. You were so deep in love with her, you didn’t know what to do. Somewhere along the way, Minji stopped feeling like a distant, untouchable idol.
She had become someone precious to you. Someone you wanted to protect, not because she was an idol but because she was Minji.
Things didn’t work out the way either of you wanted, but eventually, reality caught up. The company wanted Minji to come back to Korea. They started discussing the future of the group.
When she told you, all you did was smile and support her.
Because what else were you supposed to do?
From the beginning, you knew there was an expiration date to this. Minji was never meant to stay hidden in a small town like this forever. She belonged on stage beneath blinding lights, not stocking shelves beside you.
So you swallowed every selfish thought you had and congratulated her.
It shocked you that she looked almost irritated when you casually offered to help her pack.
“Does it not bother you that I am going back?” Minji, her voice was quieter than usual, almost accusing.
“Bother me?” Caught off guard by her tone. “You are finally going back to where you belong. You deserve to be on stage, and I couldn’t be happier.”
She let out a short, sarcastic laugh, her eyes welled up with tears.
“Happy for me?” She reiterated. “Is that all? After everything… You are just happy for me?!”
“Yes, Minji, it’s your career. I should be happy for you! You’re an idol, I’m just a fan!”
“I told you not to treat me like an Idol,” her voice filled with pain.
“But, you are an idol, Minji. Thousands are waiting for you to go back.”
“I thought you would be different. I guess you only ever saw me as Minji the idol and not the real me.” Her voice cracked. She looked away, her jaw tight, fighting back tears. “I kept telling myself not to be stupid. That this was just temporary, that I was just being lonely. But you made me feel seen, not as an idol but as me, the real me.”
Her hand balled into a fist, grabbing her hoodie, which she stole from you.
“Now you are just telling me that you are happy for me? Acting like me leaving is nothing, like I won’t miss you or I won’t miss this!” Minji screamed.
Her eyes finally met yours, tears streaming down her face.
“I fell in love with you, you idiot!” Minji said.
“I tried so hard not to, but I just couldn’t stop. You kept showing up for me. I am so fucking pissed off because I finally found someone who I want to stay with, and that very person I want to stay with is happy to let me go.”
“W-what?” You were beyond shocked. Not once did it ever occur to you that Minji liked you romantically.
Your brain was unable to form any sentences or thoughts. But one thing you knew for sure was that you loved her since the day you saw her at the train station.
Words could never properly express how you felt about Minji, so you showed it to her. You kissed her; it was slow and passionate. It was like everything the movies described it to be.
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; having sex in front of the camera? kinky.
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠; kim minji x female reader
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; smut. dont like, dont read. dom!minji, sub!reader, camgirl bestfriend!minji, a hint of minji crushing on reader, strap and vibrator usage, reader getting caught jerking off to minjis streams, multiple orgasms, squirting, praises, overstimulation, clit play, nipple play, petnames, and teasing.
getting off to your best friend's streams was already a bad idea.
but accepting her offer after you get caught jerking off to her streams was more than the bad itself. you didnt know minji could get this cocky, so fucking annoyingly cocky that you questioned yourself why wouldnt you reject the offer and vanish off the earth.
but would you?
“aww, baby~” minji cooed you directly into your ear, loud enough for the microphone to catch what she said. “i just made you cum, and you already tired?” she had you limp on her lap after your first orgasm, your sweaty back pressed against her chest in exhaustion as she adjusted the camera steady on a tripod. the black strap she was wearing was still nestled deep inside you–you could feel it with every slight shift she made and you know damn well she did it on purpose.
“god, look how wet i made your pussy, your cum drenched my chair.” minji chuckled lazily as her fingers traced lazy circles on your hip while the other scrolled through the screen, the corner of her lips lifting up seeing donations popping up the screen. “they loved it, too..”
in2feet: fuck shes making me wetter, look at her trembling toes curling up
pro.gooner69: shes so fucking cute..
from your hips, minji’s fingers moved to dance lightly over your still-quivering stomach, her chin resting on your shoulder to take a whiff of your scent as she watched the chat explode with filthy comments–most of them demanded minji to keep going, but only a small laugh broke away from minji's lips. “give her time, you perverts. cant you see my baby's still trembling from how good i made her cum within 5 minutes?”
however, a notification from one of her loyal donors pinged on the screen caught minji's attention right away.
pvssysvcker: i will donate a large sum of money if u do the thing i like. not joking, jiji ;) anything to hear your baby's beautiful whines more.
minji laughed in disbelief. perverts would shamelessly do anything just to get off. then, reluctantly lowering her pride, she pressed a soft kiss to your cheek before speaking into the microphone. “one of my loyal donors just requested something special. are you up for it, bunny?”
her hips shifted slightly beneath you to make the strap moving inside lightly, enough to jolt you awake from unconsciousness. “f-fuck…”
“hm? what was it?”
“n-no…” you shook your head weakly, pleading to her–or the viewers for more time to brace yourself to whatever minji has prepared for you tonight. “one more minute, p-please..”
minji only giggled at the sound of your helpless whimpers reaching to her ears. it was such a shame to realize that she has to share the beautiful, sinful melody with her viewers. “one more minute, hm?” she murmurs under her breath as she reaches across to the table where a vibrator sat. “too bad. brace yourself, bunny.”
in a heartbeat, the sudden buzz from the vibrator made you jolt once again as soon as she flipped it on. “cute. are you scared, bunny?” she asked you with her sweet, alluring voice echoing through your ears and pressed it right against your swollen clit, making your walls clenched tight around the strap thats still inside you.
the chat went frenzy in an instant.
pvssysvcker: too cruel, i fucking love it.
67boob13s: fuck her hard please
mommysbottomslvt: wishing u did that to me too :<<
in2feet: this is dope but can you show me her feet????
your breathing turned instantly ragged from the buzzing sensation on your swollen clit as minji guided your shaky hand to hold the vibrator against your clit. “hold it there for me, bunny.” she whispered, her grip is gentle around your shaky hand but insistent when she noticed youre struggling to hold it properly. “dont lose your grip, okay?”
without waiting for your response, minji began moving her hips in slow, deep rolls, making your sensitive walls fluttering around the black strap. her fingers teased your stiff nipple, pinching lightly just to hear you whine more–a music to her ears.
with every slight twitch of your overstimulated body, the camera caught it completely, feeding off the lust of her viewers. tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you desperately clung to consciousness.
before your mind could catch up, your thighs snapped shut in reflex, squeezing around the buzzing vibrator in a desperate attempt to dull the sensation. however, minji wasn’t about to let that pass easily. no, not when you look like you're about to fall apart for the second time. her fingers—that previously toying with your sensitive nipple—immediately abandoned her doing and pressed hard on your left knee, forcing it back open.
“dont do that.” minji chided playfully, then she delivered a sharp grind upward of her strap with her hips as a result of price to pay for your silent defiance. god heavens, the strap hit your weak spot perfectly, dragging out a broken whine from your throat. “let them see your pretty cunt, bunny.”
pvssysvcker: shit, im fucking close
pro.gooner69: holy fuck her moans made my dick hard again
pvssysvcker: make her cum. quick.
minji smirked upon reading the thirsty comments. “theyre loving it, bunny. youre so good at taking me like a good girl…” she praised you under her breath, which makes your stomach knot the same way as it feels during your first orgasm while her lips brushing your earlobe, making you squirm slightly. “'m gonna fuck you fast.”
your voice cracked as you begged, trembling against her chest. “wait m-minji, please, slow down… i-im getting c-close!”
minji merely brushes off your desperate pleas with a tender kiss to your sweaty temple, then gestured to the camera."ask them if they’ll let you rest.”
and of course, the responses flooded in an instant with rejection and refusal to let minji stop. want it or not, you have to face it.
minji’s smirk turned devilish. silly you, how can you expect from the perverts to give you mercy that easily? in one smooth motion, she lifted both of your trembling legs up without a word, your knees pressing your chest to put on view how utterly wrecked and glistening your pussy were before standing up from her chair.
“w-wha-t? m-minji, why are y-ah!!”
minji cut you off once again by pounding the strap into you hard enough that the vibrator almost slipped from your shaky grip out of pleasure—minji would've split you in two if you ever lost your grip around the buzzing vibrator—and your helpless moans echoed through the microphone loud enough for 7k viewers to hear them clearly.
“f-fuck!” minji grunted out near your ear before bucking her hips up again, her teeth clenched just as tight as her grip on your legs. “do you enjoy getting fucked like a slut? huh? so fucking good.. 'm getting so wet by your pretty moans, bunny…”
your eyes rolled to the back of your head in pleasure–and minji's praises while your moans came out in breathy, desperate gasps from her rough thrusts. “ah! f-fuck yes! you f-uck me so good–!make me your slut, m-minji! f-faster!” you moaned, one hand keeping a tight grip around the vibrator while the other flailing weakly against her shoulder, helplessly holding on to support but minji didnt stop at all. not that she planned to stop.
instead, she held you tighter against her chest and increased her thrusts even more as your walls clenched around the strap, indicating how close you were to cumming.
“so good for me… your body feels absolutely perfect against mine..” minji leaned down to your ear and murmured sweet nothings between her relentless thrusts–to soothe you. truthfully it indeed soothes your trembling body when her sultry voice made you immediately melt even as overstimulation threatened to shatter you at any time. “cant resist making you fall apart for me.”
as though that werent enough, minji tightened her grip—regardless of her arms screaming in fatigue—around your trembling legs to keep steady against her flushed body and let her lips wander along your neck. “smell so fucking good. ‘m fucking insane for you, princess.”
your head fell on her shoulder, exposing your neck to give minji easy access to trace her lips on your burning skin. your mind is cloudy with lust that you couldn't think of none of single coherent words.
“hey,” minji gently called you out, her voice low yet sultry, enough to keep you from blacking out. “look at me, sweetheart. look at me.” she whispered soothingly, a complete contrast to her unwavering thrusts as you obediently lift your half-lidded eyes towards her face.
fuck. she's so, so annoyingly pretty right before your helpless eyes.
kim minji.
you’ve been her best friend since high school. hell, you even have a weirdly complicated bond with her ever since you’ve known that she’s working as a camgirl during her college life to make money, but you never judged her for whatever the hell she's doing–you just pretend it's nothing.
nothing means you dismissed everything she does to you as a ‘weird’ friendship love language.
silly you, how can you accept her kisses and brush it off as her weird way of showing her love language?
“damn y-you, y/n.. i fucking love you.”
your eyes rolled to the back the moment minji glided her strap deeper, your toes curled from the intense pleasure minji gave you, back arching helplessly as you were close to reaching your peak. “m-minji–! s-shit, im close!”
hearing your moans, minji’s pace didn’t waver. if anything, she got more precise, angling her brutal thrusts to hit your sweet spot repeatedly with brutal accuracy. with that, your moans pitched higher as your nails dug into her arms while the coil in your stomach tightened unbearably.
"ngh–just a little m-more…" minji cooed, her body slicked with sweat as she kissed the shell of your ear. “it’ll be over soon, baby..” shit, her voice was soft but the way she fucked you was merciless.
not complaining though—you fucking love it.
minji glanced at your fucked out face and laughed quietly before redoubling her efforts, so the strap pistoning faster now. “id cum inside you if i have a real fucking cock.” she whispered while grunting through her clenched teeth. “f-fuck it, cum for me, princess.”
“y-yes!!” you screamed in pleasure when your cum gushed out by the time her strap practically hit the perfect spot inside you as your body seized from a violent orgasm ripped through you, eyes fluttering close, your back arching off against minji’s body. at the same time, a clear squirt spews out while your walls still clenched hard around the black strap. “f-fuck–!” you whined out from how much your cum and squirt spills over the table, and the ground.
the vibrator slipped from your trembling fingers entirely, clattering to the floor with a thud. then, both of your hands shot out blindly and grabbed minji’s wrists under the back of your knees to clutch it like a lifeline as sobs wracked through you. her name became the only word you cried out between gasping breaths.
“it’s over now, baby.” minji kisses away one of your tears–hoping to comfort you before she carefully slides the strap out of you. you only whine at the feeling of your hole emptied and used like a personal sex toy. hell, it did feel like it. “youre alright, youre alright here in my arms..” she murmured while sitting down onto the chair, then guided your limp body to collapse fully into her lap. without missing a beat, you buried your face in the crook of her neck, clinging to her like a baby koala which makes a soft laugh break out from minji’s lips and she grabbed your discarded shirt hanging at the edge of the table. with it, minji wiped down the table—and dabbed at your glistening thighs—while glancing at the flooding comments.
67boob13s: HOLY SHIT THAT WAS A GOOD FUCK I LOVE WATCHING HER CUM AND SQUIRT GUSHED OUT AT ONCE
pvssysvcker: i fucking love it. thx 4 todays stream <333
pro.gooner69: I CAME HARD TO THISSSSS
mommysbottomslvt: ah.. my fingers are tired..
“that was too intense, dont you think?" minji asked cheerfully, nudging your clit lightly in a teasing manner just to see you squirm on her lap. “shes kinda a mess right now… dont you think my baby’s cute?"
mommysbottomslvt: cute..
67boob13s: so pathetic and cute on your lap ^^
pvssysvcker: so fucking cute, i will tip extra for that lol
“look, bunny, everyones loves you now.” minji murmured while shifting slowly, her movements careful so youll remain on her lap as she spreads her legs apart slightly and guides your still-shaky hand down between her thighs. with that, your palm met her soaked folds, warm and slick from how turned on she’d gotten just by hearing your moans and watching you shatter for her. a low grunt escaped her lips as she pressed your fingers firmly, then leaned down to whisper right into your ear. “feel that? ‘m fucking wet because of you, bunny…" she nuzzled the top of your head, sniffing your hair and closing her eyes to be consumed by overwhelming bliss.
fuck, everything about her is pretty attractive. your walls clenchedf around nothing upon hearing her pretty moans. your fingers—still trembling from exhaustion—moved weakly against her folds to see her reaction, and that successfully made minji’s breath hitch from the sudden sensation of your fingertips circling against her aching heat. her previously closed eyes cracked open to lock her gaze onto yours, god heavens, dark with something she didn’t want the viewers to witness.
pvssysvcker has donated $9k to jiji!
“damn you, y/n, ‘m gonna show you that tonight you belong to me and only me.”
without breaking eye contact, minji reached up and swiftly turned off the camera setup, abruptly ending the stream as the red light died. a comfortable silence fell over the room after finishing two rounds of heated sex in front of the camera, you can only just hear ragged breathing between yourself and minji now.
“mine.” minji murmured under her breath, slowly cupping your face in her palms before crashing her lips onto yours in a kiss that was equal parts hungry and love–you couldn’t deny that was attractive.
fuck, you might have realized you fallen for her, too.
