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hurtblossom · 7 months ago

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Crush ln4

Pairing : Lando Norris x Female!Reader

Summary : Quadrant has a new videographer

Warnings : Angst, quite long, bad english, Lando being clueless (as always)

(Y/N) couldn’t believe she was here—working for Quadrant, his brand. When she’d gotten the offer, she had hesitated for a moment, unsure if being this close to Lando Norris would be a good idea. She’d been a fan of his for years, following his career from his early F1 days, her admiration growing with every race and every glimpse of his playful, goofy personality online. Somewhere along the way, admiration had turned into something more—a quiet, unspoken crush she’d never dreamed of acting on.

But when the opportunity to join Quadrant as a videographer came up, she couldn’t resist. It was a chance to work with an incredible team, hone her skills, and, well, maybe get to know Lando a little better. Not that he’d notice her, she thought wryly. Lando Norris didn’t seem like the type to look twice at someone like her.

Her first day on set, she was practically buzzing with nerves. Max had introduced her to the team, and everyone had been friendly, welcoming her into the fold. But Lando? He hadn’t even glanced her way. Too busy cracking jokes with Max and Ria, his energy filling the room like a spotlight she could never step into.

Still, she stayed in the background, focusing on her work, capturing the chaos of the group with her camera. That was her job, after all—to be invisible, to let the team shine while she stayed behind the lens. She told herself it was better this way. No awkward introductions, no chance to embarrass herself. But even as she worked, she couldn’t help stealing glances at him, her heart skipping every time he laughed or flashed that signature grin.

The shoot that day was arcade basketball, and the Quadrant crew was in rare form—teasing, shouting, and turning everything into a competition. Lando was at the center of it all, of course, trash-talking Max one second and tossing a ball wildly off-target the next. (Y/N) stayed behind her camera, quietly capturing every moment, trying not to let her smile show too much.

It wasn’t until halfway through the shoot that Lando finally noticed her.

“Who’s that?” he asked loudly, pointing at her mid-throw. The basketball clattered off the rim as the rest of the group burst into laughter.

Max rolled his eyes. “She’s been here all day, mate. That’s (Y/N). She’s our new videographer.”

“New videographer?” Lando repeated, his brow furrowing. He walked over, tossing the ball to the side. “And no one told me?”

“I assumed you’d notice,” Max shot back with a grin.

Lando ignored him, stopping in front of her with an apologetic smile. “Hi. Sorry about that. I’m Lando. Welcome to Quadrant.”

She swallowed hard, clutching the camera like a lifeline. Up close, he was even more magnetic, his warm eyes and easy smile making her heart race. “Hi. I’m (Y/N),” she managed, her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach.

“You’ve been filming this whole time?” he asked, tilting his head. “Wow, I didn’t even notice. That’s impressive.”

She blushed, ducking her head. “That’s kind of the goal.”

Lando chuckled. “Fair enough. Well, glad to have you. Hope you’re ready for this lot—they’re a handful.”

“She’s already handling it better than you would,” Ria teased, earning another round of laughter.

(Y/N) smiled, relaxing slightly as the group’s banter filled the room again. But as Lando walked back to his game, she couldn’t help feeling the way her cheeks burned, her mind replaying the brief moment they’d shared.

The rest of the shoot went smoothly, but (Y/N) found it increasingly hard to concentrate with Lando in her peripheral vision. Every joke he cracked, every time he glanced her way, she felt her heart skip a beat. She knew she was being ridiculous—he was just being friendly, just doing his job. But still, she couldn’t shake the tiny flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, there was something more.

After the shoot, as the team started packing up, Lando approached her again. “Hey, (Y/N),” he said casually, hands in his pockets. “Thanks for today. You did great.”

“Thanks,” she replied, smiling up at him. “You guys made it easy. You’re all… pretty entertaining.”

He grinned. “Entertaining, huh? That’s one way to put it.”

She laughed softly, feeling a bit bolder. “Well, I’ve seen worse basketball skills, if that helps.”

Lando gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “Wow. First day and already roasting me. I like it.”

Her cheeks warmed, but she smiled back, her nerves melting under his playful energy. For a moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the room, the rest of the team fading into the background. But then Max called out, breaking the moment, and Lando gave her a quick nod before heading off, leaving her heart racing.

In the weeks that followed, (Y/N) settled into her role, quickly becoming an integral part of the team. She captured every wild moment, every inside joke, and every ridiculous stunt with precision, earning praise from everyone—including Lando. But the more time she spent around him, the harder it became to ignore her feelings.

He was just so… him. Funny, charming, effortlessly confident. She found herself drawn to him in a way she couldn’t control, her quiet admiration growing with every shared laugh and fleeting glance.

But she kept her feelings hidden, afraid of what might happen if he found out. To him, she was just the camera girl, part of the team but always on the edges. And she told herself that was enough, even as her heart ached for more.

One evening, after a long day of filming, the team had dispersed, leaving just her and Lando in the studio. She was reviewing footage on her laptop when he wandered over, leaning against the table beside her.

“Got anything good?” he asked, peering at the screen.

She smiled, tilting the laptop so he could see. “Plenty of missed shots and bad jokes. Pretty standard.”

He laughed, the sound warm and familiar. “That’s Quadrant for you.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the footage play. But then Lando turned to her, his expression softer than usual. “You’ve been doing an amazing job, you know. I don’t think we’ve said that enough.”

Her heart fluttered at his words. “Thanks, Lando. That means a lot.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary. “You’re really good at this, (Y/N). And… I’m glad you’re here.”

The sincerity in his voice took her by surprise, and she felt her cheeks warm under his gaze. She wanted to say something, to tell him how much his words meant, but the lump in her throat stopped her.

Instead, she smiled, her voice soft. “Thanks. I’m glad to be here.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment, the air between them thick with unspoken words. But just as quickly as the moment had come, it passed, and Lando leaned back, flashing her a grin. “Alright, I’ll let you get back to it. Don’t make me look too bad in the edits, yeah?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “No promises.”

As he walked away, her heart swelled with both happiness and longing. She knew she couldn’t let herself hope for more—not yet. But for now, she was content to stay behind the lens, capturing every moment, every laugh, every smile, knowing that even if he didn’t see her the way she saw him, at least she could be a part of his world.

Weeks had passed since (Y/N) had joined Quadrant, and every day felt like a mix of joy and heartbreak. Working alongside Lando was everything she’d dreamed of—he was kind, funny, and always made her feel like a part of the team. But the more time she spent with him, the more her crush deepened, and with it, the painful realization that he didn’t see her that way.

Still, she told herself it didn’t matter. Being close to him, even as just a colleague, was enough. Or at least, that’s what she kept repeating.

The team was gearing up for another shoot, and (Y/N) was already busy setting up the cameras and mics. Lando was running late, as usual, and the rest of the group was milling around, chatting and joking. When Lando finally arrived, he wasn’t alone.

“Guys, this is Magui,” he announced, stepping into the room with a confident grin. The girl beside him was striking—beautiful, with long, wavy hair and a radiant smile that seemed to light up the room. “She’s joining us for today’s video.”

(Y/N)’s heart sank the moment she saw them. Magui was clearly close to Lando; the way he stood next to her, the ease of their laughter, the little glances they exchanged—it was painfully obvious.

Max raised an eyebrow. “New guest star, huh? Fancy.”

Magui laughed, her voice warm and melodic. “I’m just here to make sure Lando doesn’t embarrass himself too much.”

“Good luck with that,” Ria quipped, earning a round of laughter.

(Y/N) forced a smile, keeping her head down as she fiddled with her equipment. Her chest felt tight, but she told herself it was nothing. Lando was free to bring whoever he wanted into the group—it wasn’t like she had any claim on him. But as she watched them banter, the way Lando’s face lit up every time Magui said something, the ache in her heart grew.

The video shoot was a nightmare for (Y/N). Not because of technical issues—everything went smoothly on that front—but because every moment felt like a knife twisting in her chest. Lando and Magui were front and center, their chemistry undeniable as they joked and competed with the rest of the team. Magui fit in effortlessly, her charisma matching Lando’s energy in a way that made it impossible to look away.

“Magui, you’ve got to beat him at this,” Max called out during one of the challenges, handing her the controller.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Magui said, her eyes sparkling. “I’ve got this.”

Lando laughed, leaning closer to her. “You think you can beat me? Good luck.”

Watching them, (Y/N) felt like an outsider. She stayed behind the camera, filming their interactions, capturing the moments that everyone else would find entertaining—but for her, it was torture. She couldn’t stop herself from wondering what it would be like if she were the one standing next to him, sharing those laughs, being the one to catch his attention.

When the shoot finally wrapped up, (Y/N) was the first to start packing up her gear. She wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible, before anyone noticed the strain on her face.

But as she was putting away the last of her equipment, Lando approached her, his usual grin in place. “Hey, (Y/N), thanks for today. You made us all look good as always.”

She forced a smile, avoiding his gaze. “Just doing my job.”

He tilted his head, studying her for a moment. “You okay? You’ve been quiet today.”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, her voice clipped. “Just tired.”

Lando frowned, clearly not convinced, but before he could press further, Magui called out to him from across the room. “Lando! Come on, we’re heading out!”

He glanced back at (Y/N), hesitating for a moment before nodding. “Alright. See you later?”

“Yeah,” she said softly, watching as he walked away, his attention already back on Magui.

As the door closed behind them, (Y/N) sank into her chair, her hands trembling slightly. She told herself it was silly to feel this way, that she was just reading too much into things. But the truth was undeniable: she had fallen for Lando, and watching him with someone else felt like her heart was breaking in slow motion.

That night, (Y/N) sat in her small apartment, staring at the footage she’d captured earlier. She watched as Lando and Magui laughed, the way he looked at her with an ease and warmth that he’d never shown (Y/N). Her chest ached as she replayed the clips, over and over, the reality of the situation sinking in.

Lando didn’t see her. Not the way she wanted him to. To him, she was just the camera girl, the one who stayed in the background, capturing the moments that made him shine. And while she was proud of her work, proud to be a part of the team, she couldn’t help but feel invisible.

The next day, the Quadrant group chat was buzzing with messages about the next video, everyone chiming in with ideas and suggestions. Lando sent a message saying he wanted to bring Magui back for another shoot, and the rest of the team seemed thrilled.

(Y/N) stared at the screen, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. She wanted to be happy for him, to support him the way she always had. But the thought of watching them together again, of filming moments that felt like they were cutting her open from the inside, was almost too much to bear.

Before she could overthink it, she typed out a quick message: “I’m feeling under the weather. Might need to sit this one out.”

Lando responded almost immediately. “That’s okay! Rest up. We’ll handle it.”

His words were kind, but they only made her feel worse. She wanted him to notice, to ask her what was wrong, to care. But he didn’t. And that, more than anything, told her what she needed to know.

As she set her phone down, tears prickled at the corners of her eyes. She’d known from the start that her crush on Lando was one-sided, but seeing it play out so clearly, so painfully, made it impossible to ignore.

For now, all she could do was step back, focus on her work, and remind herself that sometimes, even when you care deeply about someone, the best thing you can do is let them go.

~~~

(Y/N) took the next few days off, staying away from the group chat and ignoring messages from the team. She needed space—not just from Lando, but from the whole world of Quadrant that revolved around him. She threw herself into editing past footage, focusing on the technical details to distract herself from the pain still lodged in her chest.

But avoiding Lando was harder than she thought. Every video she edited, every laugh and playful insult she clipped together, reminded her of him. Of the warmth he brought into every room, of the little sparks of kindness he’d shown her when she thought, for just a moment, that he might see her as more than the girl behind the camera.

Two Weeks Later

(Y/N) was back on set, quietly filming another chaotic Quadrant shoot. Magui was there again, her presence bright and cheerful as always. She was every bit as perfect as (Y/N) had remembered—funny, confident, and effortlessly charming. And Lando? He seemed happier than ever, his energy electric whenever Magui was around.

(Y/N) did her best to stay in the background, focusing on her work and keeping her distance. But it didn’t take long for Lando to notice.

“Hey, (Y/N),” he called out during a break, jogging over to her as the others grabbed drinks. “You okay? You’ve been really quiet lately.”

She forced a smile, adjusting her camera to avoid looking at him directly. “I’m fine. Just busy.”

“Busy?” he repeated, frowning slightly. “You’ve barely said a word to anyone. Did I do something wrong?”

Her heart twisted at the concern in his voice. Of course, Lando would think it was about him, but not for the reason he’d assume. She shook her head quickly. “No, you didn’t do anything. I’ve just… had a lot on my mind.”

Lando studied her, his brows furrowing. “Are you sure? Because if there’s something bothering you, you can tell me.”

The sincerity in his tone made her throat tighten. She wanted to tell him—wanted to say everything she’d been holding back. But as she looked at him, his eyes filled with concern, she knew she couldn’t. He wasn’t hers to confide in. He never had been.

“I’m fine, Lando,” she said softly. “Really.”

He hesitated, clearly unconvinced, but before he could press further, Magui called out to him, waving him over. He glanced back at (Y/N), looking like he wanted to say more, but then turned and jogged toward Magui, his smile lighting up as he joined her.

(Y/N) watched them from behind the camera, the ache in her chest spreading like wildfire. She felt silly, pathetic even, for letting this affect her so much. But no matter how hard she tried to push it down, the pain refused to fade.

Later That Evening

The shoot had wrapped, and (Y/N) stayed behind to pack up her equipment while the others headed out for dinner. She’d made an excuse about needing to finish editing, though in truth, she just couldn’t bear to sit across from Lando and Magui, pretending everything was fine.

The studio was quiet, the only sound the hum of her laptop as she loaded the footage from the day. She tried to focus, but her mind kept drifting, the weight of everything she felt pressing down on her.

“Still here?”

The voice startled her, and she turned to see Lando standing in the doorway, his hoodie pulled up, his hair slightly messy from the day. He looked at her with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

“I thought you were going to dinner with the others,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He shrugged, stepping inside. “I was, but… I wanted to check on you first.”

She swallowed hard, looking down at her laptop. “I told you, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that,” he said, leaning against the table beside her. “But I don’t believe you.”

His words made her chest tighten, and she felt the tears she’d been holding back threatening to spill. She shook her head, trying to keep her voice steady. “It’s nothing, Lando. Really. I’m just… tired.”

“(Y/N),” he said softly, his tone gentle but insistent. “Talk to me. Please.”

She looked up at him then, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, she considered telling him everything. But the thought of his reaction—of the awkwardness, the pity, the possibility of losing what little connection they had—stopped her.

“It’s not something you need to worry about,” she said instead, her voice cracking slightly. “Just… let it go.”

He didn’t move, his eyes searching hers, and for a moment, she thought he might push further. But then he nodded, stepping back. “Okay,” he said quietly. “But if you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

She watched as he left, the door closing softly behind him. And as the silence settled over her once again, the tears finally fell, her heart breaking under the weight of everything she couldn’t say.

A Week Later

The next video shoot was another big one, with the entire team involved, including Magui. (Y/N) tried to focus on her work, but it was harder than ever, especially with Lando and Magui’s playful chemistry on full display.

During a break, (Y/N) stepped outside for some air, her chest feeling tight. She leaned against the wall, closing her eyes and trying to steady her breathing.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

Her eyes snapped open to see Lando standing a few feet away, his hands in his pockets, his expression serious.

“I haven’t—”

“You have,” he interrupted gently, stepping closer. “And I don’t know why, but it’s been driving me crazy.”

She looked away, her heart pounding. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“Stop saying that,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “You’re not fine, (Y/N). I can see it. And if it’s something I did—”

“It’s not you,” she blurted out, cutting him off.

He frowned, confused. “Then what is it?”

She hesitated, the words on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t bring herself to say them. Instead, she shook her head, forcing a weak smile. “It’s nothing, Lando. Forget it.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his frustration clear. But before he could say anything else, Max called out for him from inside, breaking the moment.

Lando sighed, glancing toward the door. “This isn’t over,” he said softly before walking away.

As she watched him go, (Y/N) felt the weight of her unspoken feelings pressing down on her once again. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep this up, but one thing was clear: something had to change—whether it was her feelings for Lando or her place in his world.

And as the door closed behind him, she realized that letting go of Lando might be the hardest thing she’d ever have to do.

~~~

The decision didn’t come easily, but (Y/N) knew it was the right one. Every day with Quadrant had become a painful reminder of what she couldn’t have, of the unspoken feelings she carried for Lando and the unshakable knowledge that he didn’t feel the same. Watching him with Magui, seeing how naturally she fit into his world, was more than (Y/N) could handle. It was time to step back, to take care of herself before the weight of it all consumed her.

Reading his words brought tears to her eyes. She’d grown to love the team, their chaotic energy, and even the endless teasing. It wasn’t their fault she’d fallen for someone who didn’t see her the way she saw him. Still, she felt a pang of guilt as she hit send on her final reply.

~~~

She didn’t tell Lando directly. She wasn’t sure how, or if he’d even care. Max said he’d inform the team, and that felt like enough. Packing up her gear and stepping away from the studio for the last time was bittersweet. She lingered in the quiet space, memories of laughter and camaraderie playing in her mind.

As she locked the door behind her, she couldn’t help but wonder what would happen when Lando found out she was gone. Would he even notice? The thought lingered as she drove home, a mixture of sadness and relief washing over her.

Two Days Later

The first message came from Ria.

Ria: “What’s this about you leaving? Are you okay? Let me know if you need to talk.”

Then Max.

Max: “Hope you’re doing alright. The studio’s not the same without you.”

She responded to each of them, assuring them she was fine, that she just needed time. But the message she was dreading never came. Lando didn’t reach out—not a text, not a call. The silence was deafening, confirming what she’d feared all along: he didn’t notice. Or worse, he didn’t care.

Weeks Passed

(Y/N) threw herself into freelance work, taking on projects that let her focus on her craft without the emotional baggage that came with Quadrant. Slowly, the ache in her chest began to fade. She stopped checking their YouTube channel obsessively, stopped scrolling through photos of Lando and Magui together. She convinced herself that she was moving on.

But one evening, as she was editing late into the night, her phone buzzed with an unexpected notification.

Lando Norris: Hey. Can we talk?

Her heart skipped a beat, her fingers frozen over her keyboard. She stared at the message, a flood of emotions rushing in. She wanted to ignore it, to pretend she hadn’t seen it, but her curiosity—and the tiny flicker of hope she couldn’t extinguish—got the better of her.

(Y/N): Sure. What’s up?

The reply came almost instantly.

Lando: Are you free to meet? I’d rather do this in person.

Her stomach churned with nerves, but she agreed, setting a time and place for the next day. She spent the night replaying every possibility in her mind, trying to prepare herself for whatever he wanted to say.

~~~

They met at a quiet café, tucked away from the usual chaos of their lives. Lando was already there when she arrived, his hat pulled low, his expression uncharacteristically serious. He stood as she approached, offering her a small, hesitant smile.

“Hey,” he said softly, gesturing to the seat across from him. “Thanks for coming.”

She nodded, sitting down and folding her hands in her lap. “What’s this about, Lando?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Max told me you left.”

Her throat tightened, but she kept her voice steady. “I needed some time.”

“Why?” he asked, leaning forward, his gaze searching hers. “Did something happen? Was it… me?”

The vulnerability in his voice caught her off guard. She hesitated, unsure how to respond. “It wasn’t you, Lando. Not entirely.”

His brows furrowed. “Then what? You were such a big part of the team, (Y/N). I… I miss having you around.”

Her heart ached at his words, but she forced herself to stay grounded. “It’s complicated.”

“Then explain it to me,” he pressed, his voice soft but insistent. “Because I feel like I missed something, and I don’t want to keep missing it.”

She met his gaze, the weight of everything she’d held back pressing down on her. Taking a deep breath, she finally spoke.

“I liked you, Lando,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “I liked you more than I should have, and it made things… hard. Watching you with Magui, being part of the team but always on the outside—it hurt. So I left, because I couldn’t keep doing that to myself.”

His eyes widened, surprise flickering across his face. For a moment, he said nothing, and she braced herself for the rejection she knew was coming.

“I had no idea,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought… I thought you just didn’t want to get close.”

She shook her head, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “I couldn’t get close, Lando. Not when you didn’t see me the way I saw you.”

He leaned back, running a hand over his face. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N). I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. And Magui… she’s just a friend. I never realized how it must have looked.”

She blinked, his words taking a moment to register. “Just a friend?”

He nodded, his expression earnest. “I didn’t… I don’t feel that way about her. I didn’t even know you felt this way about me.”

Silence hung between them, heavy with unspoken possibilities. Lando reached across the table, his hand brushing hers lightly.

“Is it too late to fix this?” he asked softly.

(Y/N) looked at him, her heart torn between hope and fear. She didn’t know the answer, but for the first time in weeks, she felt the faintest spark of possibility. And maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t too late to rewrite their story.

please comment and let me know what you thought of the story

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kyunghwannie · 2 months ago

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"Velvet Restraint"

Myoui Mina x M!Reader

➤ Word Count: 13.2K ➤Tags (18+): Domination/Submission, Possessiveness/ Jealousy, Mommy Vibes, Spanking (thighs, chest), Hair Pulling, Bondage (a little), Dirty Talk, Choking, Face-Sitting, Blindfolding (temporary), Rough Sex, Orgasm Denial, Temperature Play (a little) ,Face Fucking, Edging, Mutual Masturbation, Rimming, Anal Gape, Cum-painting, A2M

➤Teaser: She was elegance in motion—graceful, poised, untouchable. But when jealousy laced her soft voice and her touch turned commanding, Realizations dawn upon something dangerous: beneath Mina’s calm, there lived a storm... and tonight, it had only one target—you.

➤Note: Nothing major stuff. I was just extremely hormonal for my queen Minari. And this was requested with a minor plot so yeah.

The last flashes of the camera still flickered in your vision as you stepped aside, watching the TWICE girls gather around the monitor to check the final shots. Their energy was infectious—chattering, laughing, half-teasing each other as they reviewed their poses. You tucked your hands into the pockets of your slacks, wearing that small, casual smile you didn’t even realize always lingered around them.

"Y/N, come here!" Dahyun called out brightly, beckoning you with a wiggle of her fingers. "You have to see this one. I think I’m finally mastering my 'mysterious' face."

You laughed, stepping up beside her. "Mysterious? You look like you're hiding a secret from the entire planet."

Dahyun gave a mock gasp, elbowing you lightly in the side, her white blazer crinkling with the movement. "That was the point!"

Nearby, Jeongyeon snorted. "No, no, Y/N’s right. You look like you just committed a crime." She nudged your arm conspiratorially. "See? This is why we need his feedback. He's brutally honest but still makes you feel good about it."

"It's a skill," you joked, tossing a wink at Jeongyeon, who exaggerated a swoon for comedic effect.

The easy banter continued. Sana joined, slipping an arm casually through yours, resting her head dramatically against your shoulder. "Y/N always makes everyone feel pretty. It’s unfair."

You glanced down at her, grinning. "You're acting like you need me to tell you that, Sana. You practically invented 'pretty.'"

She laughed, her hair brushing your arm. In the background, a faint click of heels echoed against the polished floors, almost drowned out by the voices around you.

You barely caught the flash of dark, observant eyes—Mina, a few feet away, standing almost perfectly still beside the drinks table, her fingers lightly curled around a bottled water she hadn’t opened. She said nothing, simply watching, her posture so elegant and composed that it blended into the white-and-gold decor of the studio.

You didn’t think much of it. Mina was always a little quieter after shoots, and you figured she was just letting the others have their moment. After all, the chemistry you had with them wasn’t anything romantic; it was warmth, familiarity—the kind of easy relationship that naturally bloomed after months of working together.

Still, you peeled away slightly from Sana, giving her a gentle pat on the hand before slipping free of her arm. You didn’t want anyone, especially Mina, thinking you were being careless.

"Alright, Miss Visual," you teased Dahyun instead, turning to her next. "Let’s see this masterpiece."

She showed you her favorite shot, her cheeks puffing out in faux seriousness as you studied it. You nodded thoughtfully, pursing your lips. "Honestly?" you said, making her lean in eagerly. "You look like you're planning world domination. But like, in a very fashionable way."

Dahyun burst out laughing, slapping your arm playfully. "I’ll take it! Queen behavior only!"

Chaeyoung wandered over, grabbing your sleeve. "Oppa, you gotta tell them I looked cooler, though," she demanded with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I had that 'don't mess with me' vibe."

You glanced at her shots, pretending to squint in deep examination. "Mmm... more like 'cute but pretending to be dangerous.' Like a kitten trying to growl."

"Yah!" she protested, whacking your arm as Tzuyu giggled behind her hand.

The laughter around you was natural, easy. You gave and received it without thought, radiating that casual affection you always carried—a warmth that had become part of who you were to them.

Still, somewhere at the back of your mind, you caught it—a feeling, a prickling on your skin. A gaze. It wasn’t hostile, but it was sharp. Heavy. Watching.

You turned your head just slightly. Mina hadn't moved. She hadn't smiled, hadn’t joined the circle. She merely stood there, her posture rigid yet graceful, her gaze lingering on you with something unreadable in its depths.

You lifted a hand slightly, giving her a small smile across the space. An invitation.

She didn’t return it. Instead, she took a small, deliberate sip from her water, set it back down with a soft click, and walked towards you, slow and composed like a ripple moving through still water.

The chatter around you didn't even falter. The girls kept laughing, arguing lightheartedly about whose photos were better. No one seemed to notice how Mina's eyes never left you.

She stopped close—closer than she usually would when others were around. Her voice was low, soft enough only for you to hear, but carrying a firm weight beneath it.

"Y/N," she said, her tone wrapped in velvet but unmistakably commanding. "We should go now."

You blinked, slightly caught off guard. "Already? I thought you wanted to—"

Mina’s hand brushed your wrist lightly, the briefest contact, but it silenced whatever you were about to say. There was no anger in her expression. No open jealousy. Mina wasn't the type to make a scene.

But her eyes—those deep, endless eyes—held something else entirely. A quiet decision. A possessive glint hidden behind her usual demure calm.

You swallowed down your protest. Something about the way she was looking at you... You knew better than to argue.

"Alright," you said quietly, flashing an apologetic glance at the rest of the group. "I’m heading out with Mina. Great job today, everyone."

They barely batted an eye, waving you off with playful goodbyes and last-minute jokes about working hard for the next shoot.

But as you stepped away, Mina stayed close—closer than normal, her presence a quiet tether between you. You didn’t even realize until you passed through the exit doors just how tightly your heart was pounding.

And Mina... Mina hadn't said another word. But somehow, you could feel the storm she was carefully, elegantly holding back.

The car door clicked shut behind you with a sound that felt too loud in the suffocating silence. Mina’s fingers curled around the steering wheel, her manicured nails—usually so pristine—digging just slightly into the leather. The engine purred to life, smooth and controlled, just like her.

You stole a glance at her profile. The streetlights flickered across her face as she pulled out of the parking garage, casting shadows over the sharp line of her jaw, the unreadable set of her lips. She hadn’t looked at you once since you got in.

Fuck.

You shifted in your seat, the weight of her silence pressing down on you. "Mina—"

"Seatbelt," she murmured, her voice soft but edged with something that made your stomach tighten.

You obeyed instantly, the click of the buckle sounding like a lock snapping into place.

The drive was agonizing. Mina navigated the streets with her usual grace, but there was a tension in her shoulders, a quiet restraint in the way her fingers flexed against the wheel every time you opened your mouth—then thought better of it.

You tried again. "You know I wasn’t—"

A red light. The car rolled to a stop. Mina finally turned her head, her dark eyes meeting yours with a slow, deliberate intensity that stole the breath from your lungs.

"Do I look like I want to talk right now?"

Her voice was silk wrapped around steel.

You swallowed hard. The air between you thickened, charged with something dangerous—something that coiled low in your gut and made your fingers twitch against your thighs.

Mina held your gaze for a heartbeat longer before turning back to the road, her lips parting just enough to let out a slow, controlled exhale.

The light turned green. She didn’t speak again.

But the way her thigh brushed against the gearshift—the way her skirt rode up just slightly, revealing the barest hint of toned skin—every tiny movement felt like a taunt. A promise.

The city lights blurred past the window as Mina drove in silence, her slender fingers tightening ever so slightly on the steering wheel. You watched the neon signs reflect in her dark eyes, those beautiful pools usually so warm but now cold as polished onyx.

Was it really about the joking around with the members? You replayed the moments in your head—Dahyun's playful elbow, Sana's arm linked with yours, Chaeyoung's whiny "Oppa." Nothing out of the ordinary. Just the usual easy camaraderie you'd built with all of them over time.

But Mina... Mina wasn't looking at you. Mina wasn't speaking. And Mina never shut you out like this unless something had really gotten under her skin.

"Was it Sana?" you finally ventured, keeping your voice low. "You know she just does that with everyone. It doesn't mean—"

The car jerked slightly as Mina pressed the accelerator a little too hard in response, her lips pressing into a thin line. You sucked in a sharp breath, gripping the seat.

Okay. Wrong move. You tried again, softer this time. "Baby..."

Mina's jaw tensed. A muscle feathered under her smooth skin. Still silent. You exhaled, sinking back into the seat. "I wasn't flirting. You know I'd never—"

"You don't decide what bothers me." Her voice was quiet, lethally calm, slicing through your excuses like a knife.

Your pulse spiked. There it was—the first real crack in her porcelain composure. And fuck if it didn't send a thrill straight down your spine.

Mina turned into the driveway of your shared apartment, the tires crunching over gravel. She killed the engine. Silence swallowed the car whole.

Then, slowly, she turned to face you. Her eyes were darker than you'd ever seen them. "Get inside," she murmured, her voice dripping with quiet authority. "Now."

The elevator ride up to your apartment was the longest thirty seconds of your life. Mina stood beside you, her arms crossed, the scent of her perfume—something expensive and floral—filling the small space. You could feel the heat of her gaze burning into the side of your face, but you didn’t dare look.

Instead, you muttered under your breath, eyes flickering upward as if heaven itself might intervene. “God, if you’re listening… save me from my goddess.”

Mina’s fingers twitched. The elevator dinged.

You shuffled out behind her, still whispering your desperate prayers. “Mina noona is gonna kill me… I swear I didn’t do anything wrong. Help. Please. I’m too young to die.”

Mina unlocked the door with deliberate slowness, her back still turned to you. But you could see the way her shoulders tensed—the way her grip on the doorknob tightened just a fraction.

She stepped inside. You hesitated in the doorway, gulping.

“Maybe… maybe I should sleep at a hotel tonight?” you tried, voice cracking.

Mina didn’t answer. She just turned, slowly, her eyes locking onto yours with terrifying precision.

Then, with a voice like velvet dipped in poison, she murmured:

“Close the door, Y/N.”

Oh. Fuck.

You stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind you. The door clicked shut behind you. And as Mina’s fingers curled into the front of your shirt, dragging you forward, you realized— Prayer wasn’t going to save you tonight.

Her hands shoved against your chest the second you crossed the threshold, sending you stumbling backward into the bedroom. The backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress, and you barely had time to register the dangerous glint in Mina’s eyes before she turned on her heel and walked out. The door clicked shut with terrifying finality. "M-Mina—?"

No answer. Just the sound of her heels clicking down the hallway, fading into deliberate silence.

You sat there, pulse hammering, listening to the distant sounds of drawers opening, something metallic clinking, the rustle of fabric. Your imagination ran wild. "Oh god. Oh god. She’s getting the rope. She’s getting the cuffs. She’s definitely getting the—"

A soft thud from the other room cut off your mental spiral. Then—silence. Too much silence.

You swallowed dryly. "Noona…?"

Still nothing. The tension coiled tighter in your gut. And then— Click. The door swung open.

The air in the room thickened as Mina’s fingers trailed up the curve of her waist, unhooking the clasp of her blouse with deliberate slowness. The fabric parted, sliding down her shoulders before pooling at her feet. Your breath hitched—her skin glowed under the dim bedroom light, smooth and flawless, save for the faint blush creeping up her chest.

She didn’t speak. Just hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her skirt, letting it drop with a whisper of fabric.

Black lace clung to her hips, the delicate straps framing the sinful dip of her waist. Her breasts—small, perky, perfectly shaped—strained against the sheer cups of her lingerie, nipples pebbled beneath the satin. And her ass… god, her ass. That tight, pert curve TWICE stans lost sleep over, barely contained by the scrap of lace riding up her thighs.

Mina smirked, noticing where your eyes lingered. “Eyes up here, sweet thing.”

Your gaze snapped to hers, heat flooding your cheeks. She took a step forward, the sharp click of her heels against hardwood making your pulse stutter. “Did I say you could look?”

Your throat went dry. “N-no, Noona.”

She hummed, circling you like a predator. “Naughty boy. Getting distracted already.” Her fingers brushed over your shoulder, nails grazing just enough to tease. “Pants. Off. Now.”

You fumbled with your belt, fingers trembling under her watchful gaze. The zipper sounded obscenely loud in the quiet room, your cock already straining against your briefs.

Mina’s lips curved. “Mm. Eager, aren’t we?” She tilted her head, trailing a finger down your bare chest. “But we’re not rushing tonight.” Her voice dropped, velvet and steel. “Hands on your thighs. Don’t move them unless I say.”

You obeyed, palms flattening against your legs, fingertips digging into your own skin to keep from touching her.

Mina stepped back, sinking onto the edge of the bed with effortless grace. She crossed her legs—slow, torturous—letting the lace ride higher up her thigh.

“Now,” she purred, “show me how badly you want me.” Her eyes flicked down to where your cock leaked against your stomach. “And remember… good boys don’t cum without permission.”

Her own hand slipped between her legs, fingers tracing lazy circles over the damp lace. Mina’s smile sharpened. “Stroke.”

And like a puppet on her string, you obeyed. Your fingers wrapped around your aching cock with a shaky exhale, the first slow stroke drawing a bead of pre-cum that glistened at the tip. The air between you and Mina felt electric—charged with something far more dangerous than anger. Possession.

Mina watched, her dark eyes tracking every twitch of your hand, every uneven breath that escaped your lips. Her own fingers moved in slow, teasing circles over the lace between her thighs, the fabric already damp with her arousal.

"Slower," she murmured, her voice a velvet command. "You don't get to rush this, my sweet sugar."

You bit your lip, forcing your grip to loosen, your strokes to drag out agonizingly slow. The sensation was maddening—every nerve in your body screamed for more, but Mina's gaze pinned you in place, her dominance a tangible weight in the room.

She let out a soft sigh, her head tilting back slightly as her fingers pressed harder against herself. "Good boy," she cooed, the praise sending a jolt straight to your cock. "Just like that. Show me how well you listen."

Your cheeks burned. There was something unbearably intimate about this—being laid bare under her watchful eyes, your pleasure entirely at her mercy. It wasn't just the physical act; it was the way she owned you in this moment, her jealousy morphing into something far more intoxicating.

Mina's breath hitched as she hooked a finger under the lace, pulling it aside to reveal glistening pink. "See what you do to me?" she whispered, her voice dripping with sinful sweetness. "All because you couldn't behave."

You whimpered, your hips twitching involuntarily.

"Ah-ah." Her free hand lifted, a single finger wagging in warning. "Did I say you could move?"

You froze, your cock throbbing in your grip.

Mina smiled—a slow, dangerous thing—before dragging her fingertip up her slit, gathering wetness and bringing it to her lips. "Mmm…" Her tongue darted out, tasting herself with a hum. "You want to know how you taste on me, naughty one?"

The question punched the air from your lungs.

She didn't wait for an answer.

"Then be good," she breathed, spreading her legs wider, her fingers working in slow, obscene circles. "And maybe—just maybe—I'll let you find out."

Your strokes stuttered, your entire body trembling with restraint.

Mina's laugh was soft, triumphant.

"That's it… suffer for me."

Mina’s fingers slowed against her own slick folds, her gaze sharpening as she watched you struggle to maintain the languid pace she demanded. Your cock—thick, veined, flushed deep red with desperation—twitched in your grip, pre-cum beading at the tip only to be smeared messily down your length with each torturously slow stroke.

“Look at you,” she cooed, her voice saccharine sweet even as her thighs squeezed tighter around her own hand. “My pretty, fair-skinned boy. Even your cock behaves so prettily for me.” Her free hand lifted, gesturing idly. “Tighter. Just at the base—yes, like that.”

You whimpered, your fingers obediently tightening where she instructed, the pressure bordering on painful. Your hips jerked instinctively, but a single raised brow from Mina froze you in place. Her smile turned venomous.

“Oh? Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” Her fingers abruptly stilled against her own wetness, her voice dropping into something darker. “Like how you didn’t notice me after the shoot?”

Your breath hitched.

“You made them laugh,” she continued, her tone deceptively light as she resumed circling her clit, slower now. “You let Sana cling to you. Let Dahyun demand your praise. Let Chaeyoung call you oppa like she has any right—” Her nail dug sharply into her own thigh, her breath catching before she steadied it. “But me? You barely glanced my way.”

You swallowed hard, your strokes faltering. “Mina, I didn’t—”

“Did I say you could stop?” Her voice cracked like a whip, her other hand slamming down onto the bed beside her. “Keep. Going.”

You hurried to obey, your cock aching from the uneven rhythm. Mina leaned forward, her lace-clad breasts swaying with the movement, her eyes locked onto yours. “You don’t divide your attention, Y/N.” Her thumb pressed hard against her clit, her breath hitching. “You don’t share what’s mine.”

The possessiveness in her voice sent a brutal throb through your length.

“Faster now,” she commanded, her own hips rolling into her hand. “Show me how much you regret it. Show me you know who you belong to.”

Your hand sped up, the slick sounds of your strokes filling the room alongside Mina’s soft, controlled gasps.

She watched you with half-lidded eyes, her lips parting around a moan she refused to let out. “G-good boy,” she managed, her thighs trembling. “Just—just like that. Mine.”

Mina's chest rose and fell with slow, controlled breaths as the last tremors of her climax faded. Her fingers, glistening with her release, lifted from between her thighs—her dark eyes pinned you in place before you could so much as blink. "Come here," she murmured, her voice honey-thick with satisfaction.

You hesitated, your hand still working your cock at the uneven pace she'd demanded. Mina's lips curled. "Did I say you could stop stroking?"

Your grip tightened reflexively, your thighs tensing as you shuffled forward on your knees, your free hand bracing against the bed for balance. Mina watched your struggle with quiet amusement, her damp fingers hovering just inches from your lips.

"Open," she commanded. You obeyed, your mouth parting around a shaky exhale.

Her fingers pressed against your tongue without warning—taste exploding across your senses, sweet and musky and undeniably hers. Your groan was muffled around her skin, your cock twitching violently in your grip as she dragged her fingertips deeper, until your lips brushed her knuckles.

"Suck," she breathed, her other hand tangling in your hair without mercy. "Clean them like the good boy you should have been today."

You hollowed your cheeks, your tongue lapping greedily at her digits, the salt-sharp tang of her arousal flooding your mouth. Mina's breath hitched, her grip tightening in your hair as she watched you through heavy-lidded eyes.

"Look at you," she mused, her voice dripping with mocking praise. "So eager to please me now. Where was this energy earlier, hm?" Her fingers thrust deeper abruptly, cutting off your air for one breathtaking second before pulling back just enough to let you gasp. "Pathetic."

Your eyes watered, your strokes faltering as her fingers fucked shallowly into your mouth.

Mina's smile turned razor-sharp. "Did I say you could slow down?" Her free hand snapped out, wrapping around your wrist to guide your pace back to the punishing rhythm she'd demanded. "You don't get to stop. Not until I say."

Pre-cum dripped from your tip onto the sheets below, your thighs trembling with the effort of holding back—of obeying.

Mina leaned in, her lips brushing your ear as she murmured: "Remember this taste the next time you think of ignoring me."

Then her fingers plunged back into your mouth, her hips rolling against nothing as she watched you choke around her.

Your hand was slick with sweat and pre-cum, your strokes ragged and uneven—desperate to keep up with Mina’s impossible demands. Every muscle in your body trembled with restraint, your cock swollen and throbbing, veins straining beneath feverish skin.

Mina watched you unravel with a predator’s patience, her fingers still tangled in your hair, her own arousal glistening on her parted lips.

Then—smack!

Her palm cracked against the back of your hand, knocking it away from your cock so hard your skin stung. You gasped, hips jerking forward into empty air, your entire body tightening like a coiled spring.

"Ah-ah," Mina tutted, her voice saccharine-sweet even as her fingers wrapped around your length in a ruthless grip. "You don’t get to decide when to touch yourself."

Her thumb swiped over your leaking tip, spreading the sticky mess down your shaft before she began stroking—hard, fast, no pity in her touch. Your vision blurred.

"Look at me," she demanded, her grip tightening near the base, squeezing just shy of too much. You forced your eyes open, meeting hers through the haze of pleasure-pain.

Mina’s lips curled. "You want to cum, don’t you?" Her other hand cupped your balls, weighing them in her palm before giving a warning press. "Beg for it."

You swallowed, your voice ragged. "P-please—"

"Please what?" she purred, twisting her wrist on the upstroke, her nails grazing just beneath your swollen head. You choked. "Please let me cum, Noona—fuck!"

Mina slowed her strokes abruptly, her thumb circling your slit in slow, torturous presses. "Mm… I don’t know," she mused, tilting her head. "Do you really deserve it?"

Your hips bucked into her fist, a broken whimper tearing from your throat. She laughed—soft, cruel—and leaned in, her breath hot against your ear. "Fine."

Her hand snapped tight around your shaft, stroking brutally, her pace relentless.

"Cum."

You shattered. Rope after rope of thick, pearly release painted her fingers, your hips jerking erratically as she milked you through the aftershocks, her grip unyielding even as your legs gave out beneath you.

Mina pulled back just enough to examine her glistening hand, her tongue darting out to taste the mess you’d made. "Good boy," she murmured, her voice softening—just a fraction.

Then she smeared the remnants across your lips, pressing in with her thumb until you tasted yourself. "Next time," she whispered, "you won’t make me wait."

Mina’s fingers trailed down your sweat-slicked chest, her touch featherlight yet commanding as she nudged you backward onto the mattress. The silk sheets clung to your overheated skin, still trembling from the brutal release she’d wrung out of you.

Her lips brushed your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Good boys don’t move,” she murmured, her voice laced with dark promise. “And you are going to be good for me now, aren’t you?”

You barely had time to nod before the cool glide of smooth fabric whispered against your eyelids—black silk, thick enough to plunge you into immediate darkness. Mina tied the blindfold snugly behind your head, her fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary before withdrawing.

Click.

A drawer slid open. The faint clink of glass, the rustle of something being uncapped. Then—silence. No warning.

Just the sudden, searing heat of slick fingers tracing down your chest—oil? Wax?—before something damp and freezing pressed against your nipple. “Hah—?!” Your back arched off the bed, the shock of cold stealing your breath.

Mina’s laugh was low, wicked. “That’s right,” she purred, dragging the ice cube in slow circles around your pebbled skin. “Every time you move, I add another.”

Your fists clenched in the sheets, your cock already twitching back to life despite the overstimulation. “Shh,” Mina soothed, her free hand trailing down your stomach—only to pinch your other nipple hard. “Be still. Let me play.”

The contrast was maddening. One nipple numb from cold, the other burning from her sharp nails, your hips straining not to buck as Mina’s teeth grazed your inner thigh.

“You’re doing so well,” she whispered, her breath hot against your straining cock before—another ice cube, this time dragged slowly up your length.

You choked on air. Mina’s tongue chased the melting trail, her lips scorching against the chilled skin. “Mmm… see how sweet you taste when you suffer for me?”

Then—without warning—her mouth closed around you, heat enveloping your throbbing cock as the last of the ice dripped onto the sheets.

The blindfold turned the world into a fever dream of sensation—Mina’s lips scorching where the ice had been, her teeth dragging just shy of too much, her nails digging crescent moons into your thighs. Every breath she took against your skin sent a tremble through you, every hum of approval vibrated straight down your cock.

Then—nothing. Her warmth vanished. You jerked instinctively.

SMACK!

Her palm came down hard on your inner thigh.

“Did I fucking say you could move?” Her voice was a whip-crack of dominance, no longer velvet—just raw, unfiltered command. The bed dipped as she straddled you, her lace-clad cunt pressing against your stomach, already dripping. “You think this is fun for me?” Her fingers twisted in your hair, wrenching your head back against the pillows. “Having to remind you who you belong to?”

Your breath came in shallow gasps. Mina leaned down, her lips brushing yours—so close, but not close enough to kiss. “Say it,” she snarled. “Say you’re mine.”

“Y-yours—”

“Louder.”

“I’m yours, Noona—fuck!”

Her hand wrapped around your throat, not tight enough to cut off air—just enough to own. “Damn right you are.” She ground down against your stomach, her wetness smearing across your skin. “And next time you even think about making me wait—her hips rolled, her clit dragging against you with a filthy grind, “—I won’t be this nice.”

The threat sent a shockwave straight to your cock, your hips bucking up on instinct. Mina’s laugh was dark. “Oh? You like that idea?” Her grip tightened. “You want me to ruin you for everyone else?”

You couldn’t even speak—just nodded desperately. She released your throat only to slap your cheek lightly, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Too bad.”

Her hand wrapped around your cock again, stroking with brutal efficiency. “You’ll take what I give you—” Squeeze at the base. “When I let you—” Twist of her wrist. “And you’ll thank me—” Her lips crashed onto yours, swallowing your groan as your back arched off the bed. “—for being so fucking patient with you.”

Mina’s fingers were relentless—stroking, squeezing, rewiring every nerve in your body until pleasure blurred into pain and back again. The blindfold made it worse, every touch amplified, every tease magnified. You couldn’t see her smirk, couldn’t anticipate the cruel twists of her wrist, the way she’d slow to featherlight touches just as you teetered on the edge. “Ngh—Mina, please—”

“Please what?” Her thumb swiped over your leaking tip, spreading the slickness down your shaft before her grip tightened near the base, cutting off your climax with ruthless precision. “You don’t get to beg yet.”

Your hips jerked, desperate for friction, but she pressed her free hand flat against your stomach, pinning you down. “Stay. Still.”

Her voice dripped with faux sweetness, but her touch was pure punishment. She dragged her nails up your inner thigh, just hard enough to sting, before wrapping her fingers around your cock again—tighter this time, her pace agonizingly slow.

“You’re so pretty like this,” she murmured, her breath hot against your ear. “All flushed and trembling. Fighting so hard to be good for me.” Her lips brushed your jaw. “But you’re not there yet, are you?”

You shook your head, your sweat-slicked skin sticking to the sheets beneath you.

Mina hummed, her thumb circling the swollen head of your cock, smearing pre-cum in slow, torturous circles. “I could keep you here forever,” she mused. “Right on the edge. Desperate. Mine.” Her fingers twisted on the upstroke. “Would you like that, sweet thing?”

You choked back a sob. She laughed—soft, melodic—and squeezed. “Too bad.” Her hand vanished entirely, leaving you aching, your cock twitching against empty air.

“Remember this,” she whispered, her nails trailing lightly up your chest as she shifted off the bed. “Next time you even think about ignoring me.”

The door creaked open again, pulling you from your trembling haze. Your cock twitched against your stomach, still painfully hard, still aching from her merciless edging. The silk blindfold clung to your damp skin, shutting out the world—until fingers hooked beneath the fabric, yanking it away in one sharp motion.

Light flooded your vision—blinding, disorienting. Mina loomed over you, her lips curled in a smirk, a bottle of lube dangling from her fingers.“Miss me?” she purred. You opened your mouth to answer, but she pressed a finger to your lips, silencing you.

“Ah-ah.” Her free hand grabbed your wrists, pulling them above your head before wrapping the blindfold around them in a tight knot. The silk dug into your skin, just shy of too much, anchoring you to the headboard. “No talking. Just taking.”

She uncapped the lube with a soft click, pouring a generous amount onto her fingers. The cool liquid dripped onto your chest, making you shiver as she dragged her slick fingers down your torso—slow, teasing, maddening.

“You’re going to watch,” she murmured, her other hand trailing down to her own soaked lace. “Watch what you could have had if you hadn’t made me wait.”

Her fingers slipped beneath the fabric, her breath hitching as she stroked herself in slow, deliberate circles. “See how wet you made me?” she gasped, lifting her fingers to your lips, glistening with her arousal. “Lick.”

You obeyed, your tongue lapping at her essence, the taste flooding your senses. Mina moaned, her hips rocking into her own touch. “Good boy,” she breathed. “Now watch as I fuck myself thinking of you—but not letting you have me.”

Her fingers moved faster, her thighs trembling, her eyes locked onto yours as she denied you everything—except the sight of her unraveling.

Mina’s fingers worked between her thighs with slow, deliberate strokes—her lace pushed aside, her glistening pink folds on full display as she circled her clit in tight, teasing motions. Her breath hitched, her hips rolling into her own touch, but her eyes never left yours.

“Look at you,” she cooed, her voice dripping with saccharine praise even as her fingers plunged deeper, fucking into herself with obscene wet sounds. “So good for me. So obedient.”

Your cock throbbed against your stomach, pre-cum beading at the tip, but you didn’t dare move. Not with your wrists bound above your head, not with Mina’s dark gaze pinning you in place.

She smirked, dragging her free hand up your chest, her nails scraping lightly over your nipples. “You want to touch me, don’t you?”

You swallowed hard, your voice rough with desperation. “Y-yes, Noona—”

“Too bad.” Her fingers curled inside herself, her back arching as she moaned. “You had your chance earlier. Now you just get to watch.”

Her pace quickened, her thighs trembling, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. “F-fuck,” she whimpered, her walls fluttering around her fingers. “You see what you do to me? How wet I get just from owning you?”

You groaned, your hips twitching helplessly. “Mina, please—”

“Please what?” she taunted, slowing her movements to a torturous crawl. “Please let you fuck me? Please let you claim what’s already yours?” She leaned down, her lips brushing yours in a ghost of a kiss. “You should’ve taken me the second we got home.”

Her words sent a jolt straight to your cock, your restraint fraying. Mina pulled back, her fingers still working between her thighs, her voice a whisper. “But you didn’t.”

She pressed her slick fingers to your lips, forcing you to taste her. “So now you suffer.”

Mina’s legs trembled as she slowed the sinful drag of her fingers, her arousal glistening in the dim light. She exhaled sharply, her dark eyes studying you with a mix of dominance and something dangerously close to mercy.

“Tell me,” she murmured, her thumb brushing your lower lip, still wet from her taste. “What would you do for me right now?”

Your voice cracked. “Anything.”

A slow, wicked smile curled her lips. “Good answer.”

With deliberate precision, she reached behind your head, her fingers tugging at the silk binding your wrists. The fabric loosened, slipped free—your arms fell stiffly to your sides, blood rushing back into your fingertips. But before you could even think of moving, Mina’s palm flattened against your chest, pushing you back down.

“Ah-ah.” Her fingernails dug warningly into your skin. “You don’t move until I say.”

You nodded feverishly.

Mina shifted forward, her knees framing your shoulders as she hovered above your face. The scent of her—musky, sweet, undeniably hers—flooded your senses. Her fingers tangled in your hair, yanking your head up just enough to meet her heated gaze.

“Open.”

You obeyed instantly, your tongue darting out in anticipation.

Mina’s breath hitched. “Not yet.” Her grip tightened. “You don’t lick until I tell you to. You don’t suck unless I demand it.” Her free hand trailed down her stomach, fingers spreading her glistening folds right above your mouth. “You breathe me in. You take what I give you.”

A whimper escaped you—whether from desperation or worship, you weren’t sure. Mina’s smirk deepened. “Now.”

You dove in. The first lick was tentative—testing, reverent—but Mina’s hips jerked forward impatiently. “Harder.”You groaned against her, your tongue dragging up her slit in one firm stroke before circling her swollen clit.

“Y-yes—like that,” she gasped, her thighs squeezing around your head as you laved at her with slow, deliberate pressure. “But slower—make me feel it—”

You obeyed, dragging your tongue in torturous, wet strokes, reveling in the way her grip on your hair turned punishing.

Mina’s back arched, a broken moan tumbling from her lips. “F-fuck—right there—!” Your fingers dug into her thighs, holding her steady as you worshipped her the only way she’d allow.

The dichotomy was intoxicating—Mina’s stage persona, all elegant restraint and poised artistry, now reduced to trembling thighs and wrecked gasps above your tongue. Her public image was one of whispered elegance, the untouchable swan of TWICE… but this Mina? This Mina was fire and filth.

“Deeper,” she demanded, her fingers tightening in your hair as she ground down against your mouth. You groaned against her, your tongue plunging past her folds, fucking into her with slow, deliberate strokes. The taste of her—salt and sin—flooded your senses, her slick coating your lips, your chin.

Mina’s breath hitched, her hips rolling in time with your movements. “Y-yes—just like that—” Her voice wavered, the polished cadence of her idol tone cracking into something raw, hungry. “God, your tongue—fuck—”

The contrast made your cock throb against the sheets.

Her public smiles were measured, delicate. Now? Her lips parted around panting moans, her head thrown back as she rode your face with shameless need. “Slower,” she gasped, her thighs shaking. “Make it last—ngh—!”

You obeyed, dragging your tongue in torturous circles around her clit, savoring every twitch, every stifled cry. Her back arched, her nails scraping against your scalp as she teetered on the edge— Then yanked your head back with a snarl.

“I didn’t say you could make me cum,” she panted, her chest heaving, her eyes burning with possessive fury. “You already made me wait tonight. Now it’s your turn.”

Her thumb swiped over your slick-stained lips, smearing her essence across your mouth before pressing in—hard.

“Lick.”

You sucked her taste from her skin, your groan vibrating against her fingertips. Mina shuddered, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Good boy… now beg for the rest.”

Mina hovered above you, her thighs still framing your face, her arousal glistening under the dim glow of the bedside lamp. The air between you crackled—half-tension, half-desire—as she studied you with those dark, unreadable eyes. The same eyes that could command stadiums of fans with a single glance now pinned you in place, your pulse hammering under her scrutiny.

You parted your lips to speak, but she pressed a finger to them, silencing you before the words could form. "Ah-ah." Her voice was velvet wrapped around steel. "You don’t get to just ask. You beg." A shiver ran down your spine.

The Mina the world saw was all grace—gentle smiles, elegant gestures, the quiet charisma of TWICE's unshakable ice princess. But this Mina? The one who had you tied up moments ago, the one whose fingers had been knotted in your hair as she rode your tongue? This Mina owned you.

You swallowed hard, your voice dipping into something hushed, reverent. "Noona... please."

Her eyebrow arched. "Please what?"

Your gaze flickered downward—just for a second—but she caught it. A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. "Oh?" She tilted her head, her thumb brushing your lower lip. "You want more than I’m giving you?"

You nodded, your cheeks burning. Mina exhaled sharply through her nose, her fingers trailing down her own body, skimming over the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips. "Then ask properly," she murmured. "Or I walk away right now."

The threat sent a jolt through you. "W-wait—!" You reached for her, but she caught your wrist effortlessly, her grip tightening in warning."I—I want..." You hesitated, your throat dry.

Mina's eyes narrowed, impatient. You took a shaky breath. "I want to taste all of you." Her fingers stilled against your wrist.

"Everywhere," you continued, bolder now, your voice rough with want. "Not just your pussy. You." Your gaze flickered lower again, lingering on the curve of her ass—the same one that drove ONCEs wild on stage, the same one that had you biting your lip every time she turned away in those skin-tight stage outfits. "Let me worship you there, too."

Mina’s lips parted slightly.

"I promise," you added quickly, your fingers curling into the sheets, "I won’t even look at anyone else the way I look at you. Not Dahyun, not Sana—no one."

The room fell silent.

Mina studied you for a long moment before exhaling slowly. "Tch." She released your wrist, her nails dragging lightly over your palm as she pulled away. "You’re lucky I’m feeling generous tonight."

Then, with deliberate slowness, she turned—presenting the sinful curve of her back, the smooth expanse of her waist, the perfect swell of her—

Your breath caught. Mina glanced over her shoulder, her voice dropping into a whisper. "Well? Go on. Prove it."

Your hands trembled as they settled on the sinful curve of Mina’s ass—soft yet firm, the kind of perfection that made ONCEs lose their minds in fancams. But they only got to look.

You got to touch.

A reverent groan escaped you as your fingers kneaded into her flesh, savoring the way it yielded under your grip. Mina exhaled sharply, her back arching slightly, but she didn’t pull away.

“Mmm… that’s it,” she murmured, her voice dripping with approval. “Like you’re handling something precious.”

You swallowed hard, your thumbs brushing the crease where her cheeks met her thighs, teasing but not quite venturing further. Not yet.

Mina glanced over her shoulder, her dark eyes glinting with amusement. “Scared?”

“N-no,” you lied, your pulse hammering.

She smirked. “Liar.” Leaning forward slightly, she presented herself more fully, the roundness of her ass practically begging for your mouth. “Prove it.”

Your breath hitched. Then—you dove in. Your lips pressed against the swell of her right cheek first, kissing slow, open-mouthed trails down to the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Mina’s breath stuttered, her fingers tightening in the sheets as you nipped lightly, leaving faint marks in your wake. “F-fuck—”

You grinned against her skin before dragging your tongue up the other side, worshipping every inch with deliberate slowness. The salt-sweet taste of her arousal still lingered, mixing with the faint musk of her skin, and you savored it—like she was your last meal.

Mina shuddered. “Y/N—”

You hummed in response, your hands spreading her cheeks apart, exposing her most forbidden hole. She tensed. You paused, your breath hot against her. “Noona…?”

A beat of silence. Then—“Do it.”

Your tongue swiped up in one firm stroke, laving over her tight rim before circling it slowly. Mina jolted, a broken gasp tearing from her lips. “Hah—!”

You did it again, this time pressing in, just enough to make her thighs tremble. “S-shit—” Her fingers twisted in your hair, yanking you closer. “More.”

You obeyed, your tongue fucking into her with slow, filthy strokes, your hands gripping her hips to keep her in place. Mina’s moans were unfiltered, her usual composure shattered as she ground back against your mouth. “Y-yes—right there—!”

You worshipped her like religion—because to you, she was. And when her legs finally gave out, her body collapsing onto the bed with a shuddering gasp, you followed—your lips still pressed to her skin, your devotion unshaken.

Mina turned onto her back, her chest heaving, her eyes dark with something between lust and awe. “You—” She swallowed hard. “You’re dangerous.”

You grinned, licking your lips. “Only for you, Noona.”

Mina's body was a temple—immaculate, revered, flawless. Every inch of her skin carried the faint scent of lavender and something uniquely her, a testament to her meticulous hygiene. And now, as she lay trembling beneath your worship, you were determined to defile her in the most reverent way possible.

Your fingers traced the curve of her ass, spreading her cheeks wider, exposing her tight, pink hole to the cool air of the room. Mina shuddered, her breath hitching as your thumb brushed over the sensitive rim, just teasing.

"Y/N—" Her voice was a warning, but the way her hips pressed back betrayed her desperation.

You smirked against her skin before leaning in, your tongue dragging a slow, wet stripe from her perineum all the way up to the base of her spine. Mina gasped, her fingers twisting in the sheets. "F-fuck—!"

You did it again, this time circling her rim with the very tip of your tongue, savoring the way her muscles fluttered under your touch. The taste was clean, faintly sweet—perfect.

Reaching for the bottle of sweet lube on the nightstand, you poured a generous amount onto your fingers, warming it between your palms before slicking it over her asshole. Mina whimpered at the sensation, the coolness of the lube contrasting with the heat of your breath.

"Relax," you murmured, pressing a kiss to the small of her back. "Let me take care of you."

Your tongue pressed flat against her hole, laving over it in broad, wet strokes before focusing on the tight ring of muscle. Mina's back arched off the bed, a broken moan tearing from her lips as you pushed inside, just enough to make her gasp.

"Oh god—!"

You groaned against her, the vibrations sending another shudder through her body. Your hands gripped her hips, holding her in place as you ate her out like a man starved—flicking, sucking, devouring every inch of her.

The sweet lube mixed with her natural flavor, creating an intoxicating blend that had your cock throbbing against the mattress. But you ignored it, focusing solely on her, on the way her thighs trembled, on the way her breath came in ragged gasps.

Mina's fingers twisted in your hair, yanking you closer. "D-deeper—please—!"

You obeyed, your tongue fucking into her with slow, deliberate strokes, your nose pressed against her ass cheek. The lewd squelch of the lube, the sharp slap of skin against skin as she ground back onto your face—it was filthy.

And it was heaven.

Mina's moans grew louder, more desperate, her body writhing under your touch. "Y/N—I can't—!"

You pulled back just enough to whisper against her skin, your voice rough with want.

"Yes, you can."

Then you sealed your lips around her rim and sucked.

Mina’s fingers knotted in your hair like a vice, her breath ragged as she forced your face deeper between her cheeks with a sharp, commanding tug.

"Mmmph—!?" Your moan vibrated against her rim, muffled by the sinful press of her ass against your lips, your nose buried in the crease of her thigh.

"That’s it," she panted, her voice dripping with dominance, her hips rolling back to grind against your tongue. "Take it. Take all of me."

The sweet lube made her skin slick under your palms as you gripped her waist, your fingers digging into the soft give of her flesh. Every desperate noise she made—every choked gasp, every shuddering whimper—only drove you deeper, your tongue spearing into her tight hole with relentless strokes.

Mina’s thighs trembled around your head, her back arching as she used your mouth, her control slipping back into place like a crown.

"You love this, don’t you?" she taunted, her voice a sultry rasp. "Being my good little pet, eating my ass like it’s your last meal?"

You groaned in response, the sound swallowed by her skin as she ground down harder.

"Answer me," she demanded, yanking your head back just enough to let you gasp for air.

"Y-yes, Noona—fuck, yes—"

"Good boy," she purred, before shoving your face back into her with a brutal snap of her hips. "Now clean me up."

Your tongue swirled around her rim, lapping up every trace of lube, every drop of her, your nose pressed so deep into her ass you could barely breathe.

And Mina?

She reveled in it—her moans filthy, her grip unrelenting, her dominance absolute.

"Mmm… just like that," she sighed, her voice syrupy with satisfaction. "Worship me right."

You obeyed. Because what else could you do?

Mina’s thighs quivered around your head, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps as your tongue worked her rim with precision—broad, flat strokes alternating with pointed flicks that made her toes curl into the sheets. The sweet lube had long since mixed with her own slickness, creating a sinful glaze over her skin that you lapped up greedily.

“F-fuck—right there—” Her fingers twisted in your hair, her hips canting back desperately, chasing the pleasure coiling tight in her gut. “Don’t you dare stop—”

You hummed against her, the vibrations wringing a broken moan from her lips.

You could feel it—the way her muscles fluttered around your tongue, the way her breath hitched with every drag of your lips. She was close.

Too close. And so—you pulled back.

Your tongue retreated with a final, teasing lick, your lips leaving her rim with an obscene pop. Mina froze. Silence. Then— “Y/N.”

Her voice was dangerous. You pressed a kiss to the small of her back, your hands smoothing over the curve of her ass in mock apology. “Yes, Noona?”

She turned—slowly—her eyes blazing with fury and need. “You little shit,” she hissed, her chest heaving.

You grinned up at her, your chin glistening with her taste. “You did say I had to worship you right.” You leaned in, nipping at her inner thigh. “I’m just… taking my time.”

Mina’s nails dug into your shoulders, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Finish what you started.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Or what?”

Her smile was lethal. “Or I’ll edge you for hours.”

… Well. Shit.

You ducked back between her thighs with a whimper. Mina’s laugh was triumphant.

The threat of Mina’s revenge coiled like a live wire in the air—hours of her merciless hands denying you release, her taunting voice reducing you to a whimpering mess. The memory alone sent a jolt of fear (or was it anticipation?) straight to your aching cock.

No. You knew better than to test her.

With a ragged exhale, you dove back between her thighs, your tongue laving over her neglected rim in one long, apologetic stroke. Mina’s breath hitched, her fingers tightening in your hair—warningly—but you didn’t hesitate this time.

You ate like a man starving.

Your lips sealed around her tight hole, sucking gently before fucking into her with firm, rhythmic strokes of your tongue. Mina’s hips jerked, a broken moan tumbling from her lips as you redoubled your efforts— "Ngh—fuck—!"

Her thighs trembled around your head, her heels digging into your back as you ruined her. The sweet lube mixed with the salt of her skin, the musky essence of her arousal, creating a flavor so hers you could’ve gotten drunk on it.

"Y-Y/N—I’m—" Her voice cracked, her body bowing off the bed as pleasure snapped tight in her core.

You doubled down—sucking, licking, devouring—until her grip on your hair turned punishing, until her moans dissolved into mindless whimpers, until—

"Cumming—!"

Mina’s back arched violently, her thighs clamping around your head as her orgasm ripped through her—silent at first, then shattering into a gasped cry you felt vibrate through her entire body. You rode it out, gentling your tongue to soft, coaxing strokes until she slumped bonelessly into the mattress, her chest heaving.

Silence. Then— A slow, dangerous chuckle. "Good boy," Mina purred, her fingers trailing lazily through your hair. "Now… let’s talk about your punishment for teasing me."

You scrambled back onto your knees, hands clasped in exaggerated supplication, eyes wide with theatrical remorse.

"Noona, please—I swear I’ll never edge you again! I’ll worship you like the goddess you are! I’ll—"

Mina’s fingertip pressed against your lips, silencing you mid-plea. Her other hand trailed down your chest, nails scraping lightly over your abs before wrapping around your throbbing cock in a grip that made your breath stutter.

"Cute," she murmured, her thumb swiping over your leaking tip, smearing pre-cum down your shaft. "But lies don’t suit you."

Her lips—those lips, the ones that drove ONCEs wild with every pout, every smirk—parted around a slow, taunting exhale, her breath ghosting over your wet skin. "M-Mina—"

"Ah-ah." Her tongue darted out, flicking the underside of your cockhead with infuriating lightness. "You don’t get to beg now."

Every nerve in your body screamed as she dragged her mouth lower, her lips brushing your balls before pulling away with a tch.

"So desperate," she mused, her fingers tightening just shy of painful. "All this mess… just for me?" You nodded frantically. Mina’s smirk was sin itself.

Her lips sealed around your tip, her tongue swirling in slow, torturous circles as she sucked just the barest inch of you into her mouth.

"Hhhngh—!" Your hips jerked instinctively, but her free hand slammed down on your thigh, pinning you in place.

"Mmhn~?" Her hum vibrated straight down your spine, her eyes fluttering shut as she savored the taste of you—taunting, toying, giving you nothing but the barest hint of heat.

And when you whimpered? She pulled off with a filthy pop, her lips glistening. "Oops."

Mina’s lips were maddening—soft, slick, and just tight enough to make your cock twitch in her grip, but never enough to give you what you craved. Every time you teetered on the edge, her mouth would retreat with a cruel pop, her tongue flicking over your slit just to watch you squirm.

"N-Noona—" Your voice cracked, your fingers twisting in the sheets. "Please—fuck—"

"Please what?" She dragged her tongue up your shaft, her breath hot against your throbbing skin. "You want me to finish you?" Her teeth grazed your tip, just shy of pain. "After how you teased me?"

You groaned, your hips bucking involuntarily—but Mina’s hand pressed down on your stomach, holding you in place. "Uh-uh." Her smirk was wicked. "You stay."

She took you deep, her lips sealing around your cock in one smooth glide, her tongue pressing just right against the underside. Your back arched off the bed, a strangled cry tearing from your throat as her head bobbed slowly, methodically, her fingers tightening around your base to deny you. "M-Mina—I can’t—"

She hummed, the vibrations shooting straight to your core, her pace agonizingly measured. You snapped.

One hand fisted in her hair, yanking her down until your cock hit the back of her throat—

GLRK~!

Mina’s eyes watered, her nose pressed flush against your stomach, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, her fingers dug into your thighs, her throat fluttering around you as you fucked into her mouth with ragged, desperate thrusts.

"F-fuck—sorry—" You panted, your grip loosening slightly—But Mina’s nails dug in, her gaze locking onto yours.

Don’t you dare stop.

So you didn’t. The wet schlck~ schlck~ of her lips, the choked gulp~ as she swallowed around you, the slap of skin against skin—it was filthy.

And it was heaven.

Mina’s moans vibrated through you, her lashes fluttering as she took every inch, her own pleasure written plainly in the way her thighs squeezed together.

You were so close—Then—She pulled off, her lips swollen, her chin glistening. "Not yet," she whispered, her thumb swiping over your leaking tip. "We’re not done."

The switch flipped in an instant—desperation overriding restraint, hunger eclipsing worship. Your fingers tangled deeper into Mina’s silken hair, guiding her back onto your cock with a guttural groan. “Take it,” you rasped, your hips rolling up to meet her lips. “All of it.”

Mina’s eyes flared—surprise, then challenge—before her lashes fluttered shut, her throat relaxing in surrender.

GLRK~!

The sound was filthy, her nose pressed flush against your pelvis as you bottomed out inside her mouth. Her lips stretched obscenely around your girth, spit pooling at the corners as you held her there, savoring the way her throat fluttered against your tip.

“F-fuck—” Your grip tightened, your thighs trembling as you dragged her back, then shoved in again—harder.

GULP~! SCHLORP~!

Mina’s fingers clawed at your thighs, her nails leaving half-moon indents, but she didn’t fight—just let you use her, her tongue lapping at your underside with every retreat.

“Look at you,” you panted, your voice rough with awe. “TWICE’s perfect princess—choking on my cock.” Her moan vibrated through you, her eyelids fluttering as drool dripped down her chin.

You fucked into her mouth with shallow, brutal thrusts, the wet slap of skin echoing in the room. Her throat clenched around you, her gag reflex overridden by sheer obedience, her tears smearing her mascara into dark streaks.

“Mina—” Your hips stuttered, your release coiling tight. “I’m gonna—fuck—”

She dug her nails in—hard. The slap of flesh, the gagged moans, the drip of spit onto her chest—it was too much.

You came with a snarl, your cock pulsing down her throat as she swallowed every drop, her lips sealed tight around you until you whimpered from oversensitivity.

Finally, she pulled off with a pop, her breath ragged, her lips ruined. “Good boy,” she croaked, her voice wrecked. And just like that—she was back in control.

The second you released her hair, Mina pounced—her knee slamming between your thighs, her palm flattening against your chest to pin you to the mattress. Her lips were swollen, her smudged mascara giving her a feral edge, but her eyes...

Her eyes burned with pure, unadulterated hunger. "You dared," she hissed, her nails scraping down your sternum. "You fucked my face like some animal."

Your breath hitched—part fear, part arousal—as she leaned in, her teeth grazing your jaw. "And now?" Her hand slipped between your legs, her fingers squeezing the base of your still-hard cock. "You’re going to repent."

Before you could utter a word, she spun, straddling your waist in one fluid motion—her back pressed to your chest, her ass grinding against your stomach. Her fingers hooked into the waistband of her lace panties, yanking them down just enough to expose her drenched folds.

"You’ll take me like this," she commanded, her voice trembling with need. "No hands. No control. Just your cock buried inside me while I ride you like the brat you are."

Her hips lifted slightly, her free hand guiding your tip to her soaking entrance. "And Y/N?" She glanced over her shoulder, her smile dangerous. "You don’t get to come until I say so."

Then she sank down—

SCHLICK~

—taking every inch in one brutal slide, her walls clenching around you like a vise.

"F-FUCK—!" Your head slammed back into the pillows, your hips jerking up instinctively—

SMACK~!

Her palm cracked against your thigh. "Did I say you could move?"

You whined, your nails digging into the sheets. Mina laughed—a breathless, delighted sound—before rolling her hips in slow, agonizing circles, her inner walls milking you with every drag.

"Mmm... better," she purred, her ass pressing flush against your stomach. "Now watch—" Her fingers trailed down her own body, pinching her nipple through the lace of her bralette. "—as I ruin us both."

Mina’s back arched like a bowstring as she rolled her hips, her tight, dripping cunt stretching obscenely around your girth. The angle was brutal—her walls hugged every ridge, every vein, her inner muscles fluttering as she adjusted to the sheer size of you.

“Hah—!” Her breath hitched, her fingers digging into your thighs for balance as she lifted herself up—only to drop back down with a wet schlrrp~!

Your cock throbbed, your vision whiting out for a second at the sensation of her clenching around you. “F-fuck—Mina—”

“Quiet,” she panted, her voice trembling with exertion. “You don’t get to talk while I’m riding you.”

Her hips began to move in slow, grinding circles, the swollen head of your cock dragging against her sweet spot with every rotation.

Squelch~ Sqwelsh~

The lewd squelch of her arousal filled the room, her thighs trembling as she worked herself open on your length. Her lace bralette clung to her sweat-slicked skin, the fabric stretched taut over her bouncing tits as she chased her own pleasure.

You ached to touch her—to grip her waist, to help her move—but her earlier command burned in your mind.

Mina’s breath came in sharp, broken gasps as she bounced faster, her ass slapping against your thighs with every descent.

CLAP!—CLAP!—CLAP!

“Y-you feel that?” she moaned, her fingers twisting in the sheets. “How tight I am around you? How badly I’m milking your cock?”

You nodded frantically, your teeth sinking into your lower lip to stifle a groan.

Mina laughed—a breathless, wicked sound—before slamming down harder, her walls rippling around you in a way that made your toes curl.

“Good,” she purred. “Now remember it—because this is all you’re getting tonight.”

And with that, she leaned forward, her pace turning ruthless—her cunt squeezing you like a vice, her moans music to your ears.

You were so close—But her rule stood.

Mina’s thighs quaked as she rode you with desperate, uneven strokes—her earlier dominance fraying at the edges as her orgasm crested, her body burning with the need to break.

“Y-Y/N—!” Her voice was a wreck, her nails scoring your skin as she ground down, her swollen clit rubbing against your pelvis with every roll of her hips.

You ached to thrust up, to chase your own release—but you held still, your muscles trembling with restraint. “Please—” The word tore from her lips, raw and unfiltered, as her walls clenched around you in erratic pulses. “I—I can’t—!”

That was all the permission you needed.

Your hands—finally free—dug into her waist, yanking her down as you snapped your hips up, burying yourself to the hilt.

SCHLAP!—GLORP~!

Mina screamed, her back arching as her orgasm shattered through her—her cunt flooding around your cock, her thighs clamping around your sides as she shook apart.

“F-fuck—Mina—!” Your voice was strangled, your release coiling tight—

“Inside,” she gasped, her fingers fisting in your hair. “Fill me—now—!”

You obeyed. You pumped into her one last time—your cock pulsing as you emptied yourself deep into her clenching heat, ropes of cum spilling into her with every throb.

SPURT~ SPURT~

Mina whimpered, her body twitching as she milked you dry, her walls fluttering around your oversensitive length.

For a moment, there was only silence—the sound of ragged breathing, the drip of sweat onto the sheets, the stickiness between your bodies.

Then— Mina collapsed against your chest, her lips brushing your collarbone in a tired kiss. “...Good boy,” she murmured, her voice hoarse but satisfied

Mina’s fingers traced idle patterns on your sweat-slicked chest, her nails occasionally digging in just enough to remind you—she wasn’t done with you yet.

The room was thick with the scent of sex, the air still humming from the intensity of her climax, but her dark eyes held a chilling edge as they locked onto yours.

“So,” she began, her voice deceptively soft, “tell me again why you spent thirty minutes helping Sana with her dance steps yesterday?”

Your breath hitched. Oh. Oh fuck.

You’d thought she hadn’t noticed—or at least, hadn’t cared. But the way her thigh tensed against yours, the way her fingers twitched near your throat—

You’d fucked up.

“I—it was just practice,” you stammered, your pulse racing under her touch. “She asked for feedback, and I—”

“Feedback?” Mina’s laugh was icy, her knee pressing deliberately between your thighs. “Is that what we’re calling the way you stared at her ass in those shorts?”

Your mouth went dry. “N-no, Noona, I swear I wasn’t—”

“Liar.” Her hand slid down your stomach, her fingers wrapping around your half-hard cock with terrifying ease. “You think I didn’t see you? My sweet, obedient pet, drooling over another woman?”

Her grip tightened, her thumb swiping over your tip just hard enough to make you jolt. “M-Mina—”

“Quiet.” She leaned in, her lips brushing your ear. “You’re going to prove to me who you belong to. Every night. Until I believe you.”

Her teeth grazed your lobe—punishment and promise in one. “Starting now.”

The bottle of lube thumped against your chest, still cool from the air conditioning. Mina didn’t say a word—just arched a single, imperious brow before turning onto her hands and knees, presenting herself to you with a slow, deliberate sway of her hips.

You knew that ass. Worshipped that ass. The same one that had ONCEs screaming in fan calls, the same one that looked sinful in every stage outfit—tight, round, perfect. And now? Now it was yours, her cheeks spread just enough to reveal that tight, pink pucker, already glistening from the remnants of your earlier… attention.

Your cock twitched, still sensitive from your last orgasm, but you didn’t dare hesitate.

“N-Noona,” you stammered, fumbling with the cap of the lube. “You’re sure—?”

A smack echoed through the room—her palm cracking against her own ass cheek, leaving a faint red handprint in its wake. “Did I stutter?”

Message received.

You poured a generous amount onto your fingers, warming it between them before pressing gently against her hole. Mina hissed, her back arching, but she didn’t pull away—just pushed back, forcing your fingertip inside with a lewd pop~.

Tch—!

Her muscles clenched around you, burning hot and tight, and you had to bite back a groan.

“Fuck,” you breathed, working your finger in slow circles, feeling her flutter around you. “Noona, you’re—hnngh—so tight—”

“More,” she demanded, her voice strained. “Don’t coddle me.”

You obeyed, adding a second finger, scissoring her open with careful strokes. The squelch of lube, the way her body fought then yielded—it was maddening.

Mina’s breath came in sharp gasps, her fingers twisting in the sheets as you curled your fingers, searching—“Ah!” Her hips jerked, a shudder running through her. “T-there—!”

You grinned, hitting that spot again, ruthlessly, until her thighs trembled and her moans turned broken. “N-Noona,” you panted, crooking your fingers one last time before pulling them free with a wet sound. “You ready?”

Mina glanced over her shoulder, her eyes dark, her lips swollen from biting them. “Hurry up,” she ordered. “Before I change my mind.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Lining yourself up, you pressed into her with a groan, her ass stretching around your cock in agonizing increments.

POP~ SCHLURK~

Mina choked, her nails scoring the sheets as you bottomed out, her walls clenching like a vice.

“F-fuck—!” you gasped, your vision whiting out for a second. “N-Noona, you’re—hnngh—killing me—”

“Good,” she panted, her voice shaking. “Now move.”

The moment your hips drew back, the schlorp~ of her overstretched rim clinging to your cock was obscenely loud—a wet, sticky protest as her body fought to keep you buried inside. Mina’s breath hitched, her fingers twisting into the sheets until her knuckles bleached white.

“Ngh—!”

You paused, your own thighs trembling from the effort of restraint. “Noona—?”

Her answer was a sharp snap of her hips backward, forcing you even deeper with a brutal glrk~ as her inner walls convulsed around your girth.

“Did I say stop?”

The challenge in her voice sent a jolt down your spine.

You obeyed.

Your next thrust was punishing, your pelvis meeting her ass with a smack~ that echoed off the walls. Mina’s back arched, her elbows buckling as her forehead pressed into the mattress, but she didn’t retreat—just took it, her body yielding to yours in a way that bordered on sacrilege.

PLAP! PLAP! PLAP!

The rhythm was filthy, each snap of your hips punctuated by the squelch~ of lube and the ragged hitch of her breath. Her hole, once impossibly tight, now gaped around you with every withdrawal, her rim flushed a deep pink from the abuse.

“Look,” you growled, your fingers digging into the supple flesh of her ass, spreading her wider. “Look how open you are for me.”

Mina whined, the sound muffled by the sheets, but she didn’t protest—just pushed back harder, her body demanding more.

You gave it to her.

Your pace turned feral, your cock spearing into her with reckless abandon, the slap of skin drowning out her choked moans. Her insides were scorching, her muscles fluttering in erratic spasms as you ruined her, your tip brushing that spot with every thrust.

“F-fuck—!” Her voice was a wreck, her thighs quaking as she neared her edge. “Y/N—I’m—!”

You dug your thumbs into her cheeks, spreading her apart as you pulled out slowly, watching in awe as her gaped hole clung to your shaft, her rim pulsing around nothing before you slammed back in.

SCHLAP!—GLORP~!

Mina screamed, her body bowing as her orgasm ripped through her—her ass clenching viciously around you, her walls milking your cock in desperate pulses.

But you held back, your own release coiling tight but denied—just as she’d wanted.

“N-Noona,” you panted, your voice raw. “You—fuck—you okay?”

Mina’s response was a weak laugh, her body collapsing onto the mattress.

“Again,” she whispered.

Mina’s fingers clawed at the sheets, her breath coming in ragged gasps as you pounded into her with reckless abandon. Every snap of your hips sent her body lurching forward, only for her to push back against you with a desperate grind, her ass clenching around your cock like a vice.

“H-harder—” Her voice was a broken whimper, her thighs trembling as she arched her back, demanding more.

You obeyed.

Your hands dug into the soft flesh of her hips, your fingers bruising as you yanked her back onto your cock with a brutal thrust.

SMACK!—GLORP~!

Mina screamed, her nails scoring the mattress as her body jolted from the impact. Her rim, already stretched and flushed, gaped around your girth with every withdrawal, her hole pulsing as if begging for you to ruin her further.

“F-fuck—Noona—” Your voice was hoarse, your own thighs burning from the effort of keeping up with her relentless pace. “You’re—hnngh—killing me—”

“Good,” she hissed, her head turning just enough to glare at you over her shoulder. “You deserve it.”

Then—

Her hand shot back, her fingers digging into your thigh as she forced you to slow.

“But I decide how you take me,” she breathed, her voice dripping with dominance. “Understood?”

You nodded frantically, your cock throbbing inside her as she rolled her hips in slow, agonizing circles, her walls milking you with precision.

Squelch~ Sqwelsh~

The lewd sound of her dripping arousal mixed with the slick slide of your cock stretching her wide filled the room, her moans turning filthy as she tortured you both.

“M-Mina—”

“No,” she snapped, her fingers tightening around your thigh. “You don’t get to beg.”

Then—

She dropped forward onto her elbows, her ass rising higher, her gaped hole clenching around you as she glanced back with dark eyes.

“Fuck me like you mean it.”

And God help you—

You did.

Your hands gripped her waist, your hips snapping forward with brutal force, your cock spearing into her with punishing strokes.

THWAP! THWAP! THWAP!

Mina’s screams were music, her body quaking as you ruined her, her gaped hole fluttering around your length with every thrust.

Mina’s body was a masterpiece of ruin—her ass jiggling with every brutal smack of your hips, her rim stretched obscenely around your cock, glistening with lube and the faint sheen of sweat. The clench of her muscles was vicious, her inner walls rippling in sinful waves as she controlled the pace with nothing but the roll of her hips and the squeeze of her thighs.

"Slower," she hissed, her voice a whip-crack of command, her fingers digging into the sheets as she arched her back, forcing you to still.

You groaned, your cock twitching inside her as she tensed around you, her hole fluttering like a heartbeat.

"N-Noona—"

"Look," she breathed, her hand sliding back to spread herself wider, her thumb pressing against her own stretched rim. "Look what you do to me."

Fuck.

Her asshole was puffy, reddened from the relentless pounding, the tight ring of muscle gaping slightly as you pulled back, her insides glistening with lube and the faint drip of her own arousal. The sight alone was maddening—her ruin, her surrender, all under her command.

"You like this?" she taunted, her voice thick with power, her hips grinding in a slow, cruel circle. "Being used like this? Filling me up until I decide you can cum?"

Your whimper was answer enough.

Mina laughed—a dark, delighted sound—before slamming herself back onto you with a drawn moan.

SCHLAP!—GLORP~!

The wet squelch of her stretched hole taking every inch of you was filthy, her body yielding and resisting in equal measure as she rode you with punishing precision.

"Mine," she growled, her nails scoring your thigh as she pushed you deeper, her grip on your cock unrelenting. "Every fucking thrust—mine."

And God—

You obeyed.

Your hands gripped her waist, your hips snapping up to meet her brutal pace, your cock spearing into her clenching heat with desperate strokes.

PLAP! PLAP! PLAP!

Mina’s moans were broken, her body quivering as she chased her own pleasure, her control slipping with every jolt of your cock against her walls.

Mina's breath came in sharp, fractured gasps—each ragged inhale hitching as your cock stretched her ass wider, deeper, carving a place inside her that no one else had ever touched. Her thighs trembled violently, sweat-slicked and trembling, as her body fought the pleasure, then surrendered to it with a choked whimper.

"Y-Y/N—!"

Her fingers clawed at the sheets, her spine arching as her orgasm loomed, an avalanche of sensation crashing through her with every brutal thrust.

"N-No—wait—!"

But you didn't stop.

Couldn't stop.

Your hands dug into her hips, forcing her back onto your cock with punishing precision, the slap of skin drowning out her broken pleas.

THWAP! THWAP! THWAP!

Mina's body locked—her ass clenching around you like a vise, her muscles fluttering in erratic spasms as her climax tore through her without mercy.

"F-FUCK—!"

Her scream was raw, unfiltered, her back arching off the bed as her body betrayed her—her thighs soaking the sheets beneath her, her cunt pulsing around nothing as she squirted in ragged, uncontrollable bursts.

SPLOOSH~! SPLATTER~!

The sound was filthy, her release gushing in sticky waves, her hole milking your cock with desperate greed even as she shook apart beneath you.

And still—

You fucked her through it.

Each jerk of your hips dragged another scream from her throat, her orgasm rippling endlessly as her body surrendered to the relentless invasion.

"S-stop—I c-can't—!" Her voice was a wreck, her thighs quivering as she collapsed forward, her face pressed into the mattress.

But her ass—God, her ass—

It held you like a claim, her rim fluttering around your shaft as if begging you to stay.

So you did.

Your pace slowed, but never stopped, your cock grinding into her with lethal precision until her moans dissolved into whimpers, her body limp beneath yours.

Only then—

Did you finally still.

Mina breathed—a shaky, shattered exhale—before her fingers twitched weakly against the sheets.

"...Bastard," she whispered, her voice hoarse but satisfied.

Mina's thighs were still trembling from her explosive climax when she suddenly rolled onto her back, her dark eyes glazed yet commanding. Her fingers—still slick with sweat and lube—wrapped around the base of your cock in a vice-like grip, yanking you from her ruined ass with a wet schlorp~ that made you whimper.

"You've been good," she murmured, her voice hoarse but dripping with authority. "So I'll let you finish... my way."

Before you could process her words, her other hand fisted in your hair, dragging you down until your throbbing cock hovered just above her parted lips. Her breath—hot and uneven—fanned over your sensitive tip, her tongue darting out to flick at the precum beading there.

"N-Noona—"

"Quiet," she ordered, her nails digging into your scalp. "You don't get to speak when I'm about to taste your filth."

Then—

She opened wider, her lips sealing around your cockhead in one smooth motion, her tongue lapping at the underside with lethal precision.

GLRK~

You jolted, your hips bucking instinctively, but her grip on your hair tightened, forcing you still as she took you deeper, her throat fluttering around your length.

"M-Mpfh~!" Her nose wrinkled slightly at the taste—musky, bitter, hers—but she didn't pull away. Instead, her free hand cupped your balls, squeezing just enough to make you gasp.

"Cum," she demanded, her voice vibrating around your cock. "Half in my mouth... half on my face."

Fuck.

You obeyed.

With a guttural groan, you pumped into her mouth, your release surging in thick, pulsing ropes as she swallowed the first few spurts with greedy gulps.

GULP~ GULP~

But then—

Just as commanded—

You pulled back, your cock slapping against her cheek as the remaining load splattered across her face in glorious streaks—her forehead, her nose, her swollen lips.

SPLAT~ SPLURT~

Mina's eyes fluttered shut, her tongue darting out to catch a stray drop as it dripped down her chin.

"Messy boy," she chided, her voice thick with your cum. "But... good."

Then—

With a wicked smirk—

She licked her lips clean.

You collapsed onto the mattress, your body wrecked, your soul hollowed out by Mina’s relentless dominance. Your arms splayed out like a sinner begging for absolution, your chest rising and falling in ragged, uneven gasps.

"Dear God," you whispered into the ceiling, your voice hoarse. "If you get me through tonight without Mina murdering me, I swear I’ll never even glance at another woman. Not Sana’s hips, not Tzuyu’s legs, not even Jeongyeon’s stupidly attractive tomboy swagger—nothing. Just… please."

A soft click of the tongue cut through your prayer.

"Talking to God instead of me?"

Mina’s voice was lighter now—sweet, almost playful—but the threat still lingered beneath. You turned your head just enough to see her standing at the foot of the bed, a damp towel in hand, her face now meticulously cleaned of your earlier… offering.

She looked angelic.

Which was terrifying.

"N-Noona, I was just—"

"Hush." She climbed onto the bed, her movements graceful as ever, before dropping the towel onto your chest with a pat. "Clean yourself up. You’re sticky."

You obeyed immediately, wiping away the remnants of sweat, lube, and other things with trembling hands. Mina watched you, her dark eyes unreadable, until finally—

She sighed, her shoulders slumping as she crawled forward and collapsed onto your chest, her cheek pressing against your rapidly beating heart.

"...Idiot."

The word was soft, fond, her fingers tracing idle circles on your stomach.

You blinked.

"N-Noona…?"

"You do know I don’t actually think you’d cheat on me, right?" She tilted her head up, her nose scrunching in that adorable way that made your chest ache. "I just like reminding you who you belong to."

Your breath hitched.

"O-Oh."

"But," she continued, her voice dropping to a dangerous purr, "if you ever stare at Sana’s ass like that again, I will lock you in this bedroom and ride you until you forget your own name."

A beat.

"...Can I get that in writing?"

Mina pinched your side—hard—before burying her face in your neck with a grumbling laugh.

"Go to sleep, you pervert."

You let out an exasperated sigh, fingers threading through Mina’s hair as she nuzzled against your chest. The scent of her shampoo—something floral and expensive—mixed with the musk of sweat and sex still clinging to both of you.

“Noona,” you started, voice tinged with playful indignation, “I literally just adjusted Tzuyu’s dress strap today because it was slipping. And I held Sana’s jacket for three seconds while she fixed her in-ear. That’s it.”

Mina’s fingers, which had been tracing lazy patterns on your stomach, dug in slightly—just enough to make you jolt.

“Exactly,” she murmured, her voice a low, honeyed threat. “Your hands should be busy—just not with them.”

You groaned, tilting your head back against the pillow. “I was working—”

“And now,” she interrupted, propping herself up on one elbow to glare down at you, “you’re mine.”

Her free hand trailed down your chest, her nails scraping lightly over your skin before her fingers wrapped around your half-hard cock with terrifying ease.

You jolted, your hips twitching instinctively.

“N-Noona—!”

“After shoots,” she continued, her grip tightening just so, “your first priority is me. Not Jihyo’s mic check. Not Dahyun’s missing shoe. Not even God if He showed up asking for a fitting.”

Her thumb swiped over your tip, smearing the bead of precum that had already gathered there.

“Understood?”

Your breath hitched, your body burning under her touch despite the exhaustion weighing your limbs down.

“Y-Yes, Noona,” you stammered, your voice raw.

Mina hummed, her lips curving into a satisfied smirk before she released you, patting your thigh like you were a well-trained pet.

“Good.”

Then—

She collapsed back onto your chest, her fingers lacing with yours as she snuggled closer.

“Now sleep,” she ordered, her voice soft but final. “You’ll need your energy for tomorrow.”

And God help you—

You shivered, pulling her closer as your eyes fluttered shut.

Worth it.

Your fingers stilled in Mina’s hair, curiosity prickling at the back of your sleep-deprived mind. "Noona… what’s the plan for tomorrow?" you mumbled against her forehead, lips brushing her skin.

Mina’s lashes fluttered open, revealing those dark, dangerous eyes that always saw too much. A smirk curled at the corner of her swollen lips.

"‘Talk That Talk’ jacket shoot," she purred, her nails digging possessively into your hip. "Fishnet stockings. Corsets. Thigh-highs."

Your throat went dry.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

You’d seen the wardrobe previews. The stylists had outdone themselves this time—sinful lace, skimpy cutouts, outfits designed to make ONCEs lose their minds. And now you had to stand there, professional, while Mina—

"You’ll be good, won’t you?" Her voice was sweet, but her fingers traced your jawline with the threat of a guillotine. "No staring at Chaeyoung’s corset. No fixing Momo’s garter belt too slowly."

You swallowed hard.

"I—I’m working, Noona—"

"Exactly," she interrupted, her knee pressing between your thighs with lethal precision. "And if I catch you looking anywhere but my face during close-ups?"

Her free hand slid down your stomach, her fingers brushing over the sensitive skin just below your navel.

"I’ll ruin you in the dressing room," she whispered, her breath hot against your ear. "And this time? No one will hear you beg."

A shiver tore down your spine.

"Y-Yes, Noona," you choked out.

Mina hummed, satisfied, before nestling back into your chest.

"Good boy."

And as you lied there, staring at the ceiling, one thought circled your mind like a vulture—

You were so, so fucked tomorrow.

You knew better than to let Mina’s threat linger. With a slow, deliberate movement, you tilted her chin up, capturing her lips in a soft, lingering kiss. Her breath hitched—just slightly—before she melted against you, her fingers loosening their death grip on your hip.

"Mmhn~..." she murmured against your mouth, her lashes fluttering. "Cheap tactics."

You didn’t stop.

Your lips trailed down her jaw, nipping at the sensitive spot beneath her ear—the one that always made her shiver.

"Not cheap," you corrected, your voice a rough whisper. "Strategic."

Mina huffed, but her body arched into your touch, her earlier dominance wavering under the persistent press of your mouth.

"You think this’ll save you tomorrow?" she breathed, her nails scraping down your chest.

You grinned, kissing her again—deeper this time, your tongue swiping at her lower lip until she moaned into your mouth.

"Worth a shot," you mumbled, your hands squeezing her waist.

Mina sighed, her body sinking into yours with resigned pleasure.

"...Fine," she grumbled, her voice laced with fond irritation. "But if you breathe too long near Sana’s corset, I’m tying you to my dressing room chair."

You chuckled, pressing one last kiss to her forehead.

"Noted."

And as she snuggled closer, her breaths evening out against your skin, you smiled into the dark.

Victory.

#twice #twice mina smut #twice mina #mina smut #myoui mina #twice x male reader #twice x reader #nayeon #chaeyoung #jeongyeon #jihyo #momo #sana #dahyun #mina #tzuyu #twice smut #girl group smut #gg smut

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jjjjisun · 3 months ago

Text

Not For Sale

Sullyoon X Male OC | 9316 words

TW: Incest

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"Kids, we are out the door in five- get a move on!"

The Seols were hours away from their long-awaited and much-needed vacation, and Mrs. Seol was nervous that she couldn't hear the rolling of her son or daughter's suitcases on the floor upstairs yet. 'It's probably Sullyoon making sure she has every one of her fifteen thousand bathing suits,' thought Mrs. Seol as she checked her watch and went through her carry-on in the kitchen.

She could hear at least one of her children descending the stairs a moment or two later. It was Jae by the sound of it- at around 6'2" and 200 lbs. The solid young man's steps were unmistakable. He didn't need to pack nearly as much, just a bathing suit and warm-weather clothes.

"Rio De Janeiro, here we come!" Jae exclaimed as he rounded the corner to join his mother in the kitchen. His mother thought to herself what a handsome boy he had become, and he looked it in his sweater and jeans, though he'd need to change into something warmer when they arrived.

Jae's aunt had been suckered into one of those time-share sales pitches and ended up with a few weeks in a beautiful Rio beachfront home that they couldn't use. So when they offered a week to Jae's family, the four quickly agreed to take the vacation together. Rio de Janeiro was supposed to be beautiful in February, as opposed to the cold winter winds of the Midwest.

When Jae's dad joined his wife and son in the kitchen, it was time to yell up to Sullyoon once again, from whom came:

"I'm coming!" from Sullyoon in an annoyed tone upstairs.

Sullyoon stopped briefly and grabbed the sexy pair of black-laced panties she thought she might get to show to one of the vacationing boys she hoped to find there. Her brother would inevitably be staying out late banging some dim-witted college girls as she knew him to do; why couldn't she have a little fun?

High school boys can be so frustrating. Sullyoon had thought about giving her cherry to a boy she'd liked a few times, but they'd all disappointed her somehow. Whether bragging to their friends or treating her poorly to look cool, every one of them wasn't worth it. But it was no wonder they pursued her- Sullyoon was a stunner. She had deep brown eyes. She’s been an idol trainee for years now. Sullyoon's thick black hair looked good straightened as she usually wore it or tossed up in a ponytail as it was when she headed downstairs. Her family finally saw her rounding the corner to the kitchen, wearing tight black yoga pants and an equally tight LG Twins t-shirt over her 32C breasts.

"You don't even like LG Twins!" exclaimed Jae as his sister came into view. His eyes widened when he saw how little her outfit left to the imagination.

"Oh, shut up, Oppa!" She got so frustrated with him sometimes. He was always picking on her, and though she sometimes liked it (it was like flirting practice for boys at school or the training facility), he often got on her nerves, like he was now.

Jae couldn't help himself most of the time; she was an easy target. Plus, it enabled him to distance himself in his relationship with his sister. He often felt bad how turned on when Sullyoon's trainee friends came to visit or sleep over. As a senior in college, he wasn't supposed to find their teen bodies and their scantily clad nighttime appearances so arousing. They were close to his sister's age, and she was a battle unto herself.

Sullyoon rarely covered up when at home. Jae had more than once walked in on her naked and brushing her hair in the hall bath, causing her to jump and her tits to jiggle as she shrieked and he mumbled an apology. He was guiltily familiar with the particular shade of pink of his little sister's nipple that showed when her loose-fitting tank top had drooped during a lazy day on the couch. And seeing the sexy brunette's petite frame tanning on their deck with her bikini untied... it was sometimes too much.

So Sullyoon and her brother typically kept each other at a distance, which helped to calm some of the storms that can arise between two stubborn teens living together at home. Sullyoon's mother talked to her once or twice about being more discreet around her brother. However, it still seemed like every other morning that he was seeing her cute pussy lips peeking out at him as she bent over to put makeup on in the mirror and he swung open the un-closed bathroom door.

Once or twice, Jae had slipped into the unwitting fantasy of closing that bathroom door behind him and teaching Sullyoon a lesson or two about being naked around him, but his senses got the better of him. More than twice, he'd found visions of her swimming around in his head as he released a little pent-up steam in bed at night, but those he shook as soon as he realized their presence.

And so, Jae did as he usually did when Sullyoon's tight ass had him wound up: he pushed the thought from his head, figuring that any 18-year-old with yoga pants hugging her cheeks the way Sullyoon's did would have his cock hardening the way it now was. His hardness made another appearance on the plane when Sullyoon's t-shirt rode up as she slept against the window, looking adorable. He gazed at her flat white tummy before pulling the shirt down undetected. Brat or not, he didn't want the young guy in the next row checking out his little sister any more than he already was.

The family completed their travels about six hours after leaving the kitchen together and were tired. That long trip, cooped up in an airline seat or the back of the uncomfortable resort bus, left all four family members longing for a nap before they arrived in the early afternoon. Sullyoon was the first to go for it after they'd ooo-ed and ahhhh-ed over the beauty of their temporary home. She pulled her t-shirt over her head as she sauntered down the hallway, revealing a comfortable cotton bra that Jae's eyes couldn't miss before she closed the door behind her and laid down on the soft bed.

Jae went to his bedroom and dozed off to the image of his sister's backside burned into his eyelids: her wiry arms prying the skin-tight cotton tee off her body and the flexing of her beautiful back as she lifted her arms over her head... it simply wouldn't leave him until he was fast asleep. Even then it was Sullyoon's body that pervaded his dreams as he napped, his little sister causing his cock to stand at attention for the better part of an hour or two before:

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*

Jae rubbed his eyes and let out a yawning mumble. "Yeah, I'll be there in a minute!"

"Come on, sleepyhead," squealed his sister.

Jae got out of bed and went to the door. His sister didn't seem like she would let up until he showed her he was out of bed. When he came to the door and cracked it open so light streamed onto his face, his little sister stood there at the threshold with her hip cocked, looking hot as ever. She was all prepped and ready to go, hair pulled back with sunglasses atop it, a yellow spaghetti-strap top holding up her beautiful rack, and jean shorts so short he could see the pockets peeking from below the tattered hem. She had been working on her skin leading up to the vacation, making every inch of exposed skin a magnet for her brother's eyes.

'What the hell, man!' Jae thought as he rubbed sleep from his eyes, 'We've only been here an hour or two, and you're already gawkin' your sis!' Jae had suspected Sullyoon was going to be showing off a bit when they got on vacation; she was starting to develop that curiousness that high-school girls as pretty as her did when boys were checking her out everywhere she went. He didn't expect to be one of those guys himself, but it was happening regardless. Thoughts wandering, he readied himself, and by the time he emerged, his family was already walking out the door.

"Where are we headed anyway?" Jae called after his mom as he closed the front door behind him.

"Well," she replied, "since we always wait to go into town 'til the last day, and your father and I explored the grounds while you two were wasting time napping, we figured we'd see what downtown has to offer."

Jae and his sister beamed at her suggestion; they both figured they'd be more likely to find a cute boy or girl there than at the resort. But Jae found one sooner than that; on the bus to the town's main street, a desirable-looking brunette caught Jae's eye and seemed to be sitting alone. Jae got up from his seat and approached her; he'd only just sat down next to Sullyoon, and he figured she wouldn't mind. He cracked a joke and politely asked to join her, and before long, the two of them were smiling and chatting like old friends.

Sullyoon did mind, however. Jae's new seat had left her feeling awkwardly alone. Her parents in the row in front of them were flirting in that weird way they sometimes did, making Sullyoon want to gag. Instead, she turned her head and decided to get a better look at the girl Jae had found.

'That's just like him,' she thought with a twinge of anger. But it wasn't anger that struck her as she eyed up the new flavor of the week; it was jealousy that caused her to start comparing the brunette's attributes to hers. 'My tits are better than hers,' she thought begrudgingly, her hands made their way to her breasts, feeling them to be sure. 'And she's not in shape at all,' she kept spinning. By the time they arrived downtown, she had analyzed every part of the girl without realizing it and was sure she was prettier. But then, like her brother, she had to scold herself for getting so worked up over her brother's new friend. Sullyoon thought maybe she just needed something to eat to cure her crankiness.

But her wrath didn't stop there, or at the dirty look she gave the new girl as she stood giggling with her brother as they stepped off the bus. Jae's parents were prepared to give him a minute as they checked out downtown, and then maybe let him go off alone, but Sullyoon had no such plans.

"Daaaaddd, I want to try on some clothes. Can you ask Oppa to come with me?"

"Honey, he's busy. I'm not going to interrupt him while he's talking to his new friend," her father replied. "Just come with your mother and me to this art gallery, and then we'll go wherever you want.

"No way, I know how long I could end up looking at some silly painting with you two! I'll just go alone."

"Oh no you don't, Sullyoon," he retorted immediately, but she was already headed away from him and pretended not to hear. Her father then called after her: "You can't go anywhere around here alone!" But it was no use; she was cranky, and he knew she wouldn't listen to him when she acted like that. So Mr. Seol, with a sorrowful look on his face, interrupted his son's conversation with the pretty girl and explained he'd need to run after his sister and be her bodyguard until she came around. Jae huffed and hawed, but in a few seconds, he'd agreed to meet Emily, whose name he'd just learned, and took off after his sister later that night.

"Sullyoon, wait up!" He said, as he was about 30 feet behind her. She was about to turn the corner, so he hustled and caught up.

"What's gotten into you, Sullyoon? Why didn't you answer me? I know you heard me," Jae asked as he grabbed her arm, and she finally stopped her long strides.

"Well, excuse me; I didn't think it could be you calling me. You were so busy with that skanky-looking girl you met on the bus; I didn't think you'd have found the time to come after me."

Sullyoon nearly winced as she said the words. She realized as they came out that they were a bit harsh, and she shouldn't be acting so jealous; it was only her brother, after all. She looked up at him, her eyes fixed on her feet. After that outburst, Jae didn't see a scowl as he'd expected but a hesitant smile. He knew the look well; it was always his favorite way of avoiding a fight with her. So he put on a big smile, and Sullyoon giggled as always when she realized she was being crabby.

"Let's get you something to eat," Jae said as he took her hand, and they turned back in the direction Sullyoon had been heading. "But don't think I'm going to sit around while you try on ten thousand hats like we did in Mexico."

Sullyoon laughed as she remembered it, happy that her brother had joined her and left the bimbo who'd been stealing all his attention. She didn't like to admit it, but even though she and her brother had the occasional explosive fight, there was nothing like a good laugh with him; it cheered her up immediately.

Before long, the two siblings casually rambled the streets of the admittedly dingy town, though the delicious pastry Sullyoon was snacking on was a wonder. As she felt the sugary sweetness touch her lips for the first time, she began to feel better; or maybe her brother's arm around her did it. She could see why girls liked him. He was handsome and intelligent, and he was so good at making her feel the way she did now: happy. At a sleepover one night, one of her friends had suggested that Jae looked like Won Bin, and though she'd said she didn't see it, she had probably watched every movie he'd been in twice since. Once again, she felt grateful she'd pried him away from the other girl.

So they went on, walking and talking with Jae poking fun at Sullyoon for the pockets of her jean-shorts showing and Sullyoon clinging to her brother's arm like a child. At one point, with his arm wrapped around her, Jae felt the hem of her shirt rise, and his hand fell upon bare skin. He knew he should have moved it, but when Sullyoon said nothing, he decided against it. Besides, it was an innocent touch, like the way his fingers moved all by themselves and pried at the waist of her shorts daringly. He must have just been feeling a bit turned on by the girl his sister had successfully twat-blocked him from.

They stopped in a few interesting-looking stores; Sullyoon tried on a hat at one of them to get a rise out of her brother, and the shopkeeper threw them out when they bumped into a display as he grabbed it from her head. At one point, Sullyoon convinced her brother to come into a store with all kinds of clothing displayed outside. He sighed and ducked under a low-hanging wind-chime as he followed his sister into the store. She pranced a bit, looking at this and that before going to the changing room to try something on.

Jae had his back turned when Sullyoon came out.

"What do you think?" She said as Jae turned to face her. She stood posing in the same jean shorts but an entirely different top. It looked to be knitted, probably by the woman standing at the entrance to the store, and it wasn't quite opaque. It didn't cover half of her upper body, stopping halfway up her abdomen. He could see tiny gaps in the woven fabric throughout, with Sullyoon's chest peeking at him. When he noticed the darker pink circles atop her perky breasts, he looked away.

"Sullyoon, I think I can see too much through that!" He exclaimed.

"Oh, settle down, you dog, I'll wear something underneath it, I just want your opinion."

"It looks real nice, Sullyoon," Jae assured, looking at her sideways.

His eyes stopped momentarily, and Sullyoon looked down to see what he saw. One of her nipples had found its way through the fabric and was poking through clearly. She shrugged her shoulders and said:

"Ooops, maybe you're right," she said, twitching a bit as she tucked the nub beneath the fabric and closed the door to the changing room. She felt a bit naughty revealing herself like that to her brother, but it wasn't that different from what he got at home- this time was just a bit more... apparent, she supposed.

"Alright already," she called to him, having redressed herself and emerged from the changing room. You can look now, Oppa." She gave him a snooty look and walked to the door to pay for her new shirt. Jae noticed immediately that she had folded her yellow top halfway up and under, and his wide eyes gave him away.

"Jeez, what are you, my dad?" She probed him, "It's hot out here and unless you want to see me sweating, I'm going to fold up my damn shirt."

"Wow, okay," he said, backing off. I was just worried the midriff monster had gotten to you in the changing room."

"Ugh," she breathed, leaving the store with her cute new purchase. She couldn't wait to try it on later.

They kept on roaming about until Jae finally said, "We should probably think about heading back. It's got to be two hours since we left Mom and Dad."

Sullyoon didn't look pleased, but she agreed, and they returned and met their parents. However, as they returned, something caught Sullyoon's eye. Down a side street, beyond a dark stretch of road, there was a sign that said simply "ANTIQUES," and it was probably a hundred feet from anything resembling a store. 'What an odd place for an antique store,' she thought inwardly, 'and that is the first sign I've seen in a while written in English,' her brain hinted. She felt oddly drawn toward it.

"Oppa, come on, check this out," she said, grabbing his hand and pulling him off their intended path.

"What is it now, Seol Yoona?" Jae called her by her full name.

"Look at this place! Why do you think it's so far from everything else?" she said with childlike wonder. It was cute, and Jae decided against raining on her parade, instead following her lead, even if the alley did give him the creeps.

They passed a few doors to what were probably garages on the other side and an abandoned old barber shop before they were standing beneath the buzzing, neon sign. The window panes were cloudy, and the inside was only dimly lit, but he had to admit- it was intriguing. Jae was content to just look through the storefront, but Sullyoon would have none of it, and once again, he was treated with a view of her denim-hugged behind as she pranced into the store.

"Greetings, children..." Jae practically jumped as the old woman sitting behind a very old-looking desk spoke to them. Her face was only lit by a small desk lamp, but it didn't look pretty. It looked exactly as he might have expected, like the croaking voice from her old, dry lips.

"What can I help you with, my dear?" asked the old woman in the direction of his sister.

The place may have creeped Jae out, but Sullyoon, as was her nature, seemed entirely unfazed.

"Oh, nothing," she beamed. We're just bored, and we saw your shop from way down the street."

"Ahh yes," croaked the old lady. Many years ago, this was the busiest street in town, but not anymore. Perhaps I can find something to cure your boredom, young girl. Why don't you and your boyfriend follow me?"

Jae was about to protest, but Sullyoon gave him a look suggesting he should just let that one slide. So they followed the old woman back into the shop, into a small alcove created by three enormous armoires, each with hundreds of tiny drawers. A small, square window above them cast dim light on a table directly in the center of the alcove; dust particles lingered listlessly in the air.

Sullyoon turned to her brother with an excited grin; perhaps Sullyoon had finally led him somewhere that didn't involve pastel colors or pretty beads this time. The two siblings waited anxiously as the old woman fumbled through a few drawers near the middle of one armoire.

The old woman drew three glass vials out of the drawers she'd chosen. Each held a liquid of slightly different color, with a thick, syrupy appearance.

"Bored, you say?" she asked. "Try one of these, and I promise all your boredom will melt away! Place three drops of this green elixir in a cup of tea before bed, and you'll find your dreams utterly at your control. " As she described it, she held the vial to the light, and the two Seol children found their eyes glued to it. "A touch of this red one to your tongue, and you'll find any food tastes one thousand times better, if only for a few moments.

Once again, she held it to the light, and their eyes fixed on the pearlescent appearance of the liquid. Sullyoon was positively speechless, but the reasonable side of Jae finally found himself wondering how much the old coot would charge for what was probably sugar-water as she set the second vial beside the first.

The old lady hesitated, looking down at the last vial in her hands. It was much smaller than the first two, with a pretty crystal stopper and a jet black liquid inside.

"What does that one do?" Sullyoon questioned her impatiently.

The old lady didn't answer, looking up at the two young ones before her and then back at the vial in her withered palm. "My dear, who did you say you two were again? I can be very forgetful. "

When Sullyoon didn't speak up, Jae quickly said, "We're brother and sister, and we're here with our parents, staying at a resort near the coast."

"How nice," replied the old woman, closing her bony fingers over the vial. Then perhaps I have just the thing for you." She quickly rustled through the drawer nearest her and pulled from it a vessel just like the other two sitting on the table. She put the smaller vial back in its original drawer, except she inserted a key into the tiny lock above its numbered plate and turned it to seal the drawer shut.

"But wait!" cried Sullyoon. "You didn't tell us what that one did!"

"Sorry, my dear, but this one's not for sale."

Sullyoon didn't look pleased with her answer, but when the old woman denied her access to it again as she described the third potion, Sullyoon seemed to drop it. This blue liquid could let them hold their breath underwater for up to ten minutes- one use only. Jae was starting to feel claustrophobic in the tiny antiques shop, and he needed to hurry them along.

"How much for all three?" he queried.

"Because you two have brightened an old woman's day, how about... fifty real. That's twenty-five dollars if you have it."

Jae was surprised and eagerly paid the old lady after following her to the front of the store with his little sister in toe. As they made their way to the desk, Jae saw the old lady hang the key on a tiny nail that had been tapped into the side of one chest of drawers. He hoped his sister didn't get any ideas, but when he reached behind him to grab his wallet and didn't see his sister there as well, he was almost certain she had.

"Excuse me, ma'am, I may have dropped my cell phone back there. Do you mind if I go back and grab it?" He asked politely, handing her some folded bills from his wallet. The old lady permitted him with the wave of a hand to mumble something about kids and their cell phones before rustling through her money box to make change. Jae ducked around to the back of the store in a flash, but not fast enough to catch Sullyoon before she'd already gotten up to no good.

The key was missing from its hanging spot. It was hanging from the keyhole in the drawer he'd hoped it wasn't. Sullyoon was turned away from him, holding up the flask to the light like the elderly woman had done before.

"Sullyoon," he whispered, coming to her side to scold her.

He saw his sister jump, and before he knew it, the tiny vial had slipped from her hands and crashed down upon the wooden tabletop. As soon as it landed, the liquid disappeared in a puff of fragrant smoke. It smelled... wonderful. Was that hazelnut, his favorite flavor? Or was it lavender, like the body wash he so often smelled on Sullyoon fresh out of the shower?

Sullyoon took in the scent, too, distracted from the enormous mistake she'd just made. The smoke snaked into her nostrils and filled her with the scent of.... Mmmm... the pine trees she'd smelled on the mountaintop in Colorado last year when the family had gone skiing, but there was also the scent of old leather, like that of the boxing gloves and bag she loved watching her brother use to work out.

"Okay, my dears, I've wrapped your purchases up as best I could. I hope you enjo......" As the old woman turned the corner and saw the two siblings standing over the broken flask, she knew exactly what had happened. She cursed herself for leaving the key in its usual spot. She should have known that the curious brunette wouldn't leave it alone.

"Out with you! OUT!" she cried. “You don't know what you've done. I TOLD YOU IT WASN'T FOR SALE."

Jae grabbed his sister's hand and pulled her past the old woman with a stammering apology. In a few seconds, he'd whisked his little sister through the store and out the front, her thick black hair trailing behind her as they went. They had to leave their potions behind. He doubted they'd have worked anyway. The old woman called after them as Jae and Sullyoon galloped down the street.

"FOOLS, CARELESS LITTLE FOOLS THE BOTH OF YOU!" she squawked, coughing after the effort.

She may have said something else, but neither of the two could distinguish it as they emerged from the alley. Jae thought he heard her say, " Get far away from each other," halfway through her sentence, but that couldn't have been it. Sullyoon bent at the waist to catch her breath, and Jae put a hand on her lower back. They both laughed and laughed; it had indeed turned out to be an interesting morning.

"I can't believe you just did that, Sullyoon," he shot at her, still giggling. “What if that old witch had put a hex on you?" he joked.

"Didn't I say we should go down that street!" she beamed proudly. "But we have to go back for our potions!"

"Come on, Sullyoon, you don't believe any of that nonsense, do you?"

Sullyoon bumped him with her hip and reluctantly sided with him as they headed back toward the center of town. But even as she agreed with her brother, his hand upon her waist felt slightly different; perhaps it was just the fact that she'd rolled up her shirt, and his strong palm was now completely upon her bare flesh.

No, that wasn't it. As she walked along, her head began to feel light, her body almost weightless. She stopped walking and put a hand to her head. Even before he spoke, she could sense him there, her big brother questioning, "Sullyoon, is everything okay?"

"Yeah, Oppa, I'm fine, just a little winded from our escape."

"Looks like someone needs to work out a little more," he mocked, then surprised her by spanking her butt daringly. She wasn't sure why she didn't lash out at him; she usually would have.

The place where he'd touched her on her butt cheek felt sensitive, ticklish almost as she started walking again. She nuzzled closer to her brother, not knowing that the potion was working despite her.

But whatever it was, it hadn't hit Jae yet, as he was bigger and more complex to dose. However, he couldn't help but enjoy the feeling of his arm wrapped around his little sister's taut abdomen. He had, at times, admired how strong she kept her core. He'd seen it so many times when she came home from the gym, always looking incredible in her sports bra and tiny workout shorts.

But after probably ten more steps, he began to feel it too, whether he knew it or not. His fingers depressed into Sullyoon's soft side on their own, stretching as if to gather more flesh. When she stopped to catch her breath and his hand slid from her, Jae suddenly wished he could put it back. He watched her as she leaned against the wall and looked away from him.

Sullyoon was feeling a bit frightened by it, by the sudden feelings she could only describe as horniness. But it wasn't for just anyone; it was for the attractive young man now touching her cheek to calm her down. He could tell by her breathing that she was wound up about something, but he could not have seen the kiss coming as he turned her face to his.

It was a hungry kiss, and Sullyoon stole a few seconds before Jae pulled away.

"Sullyoon! What do you think you're doing?" He asked, the potion still fighting to control him.

But Sullyoon didn't answer him. She looked at him lustfully, similar to how he'd seen her look when she was inspecting the potion that was now working its way through their bodies. And she stayed there against the wall, turning so both her shoulder blades made contact with the cool brick wall. She arched her lithe body so her hips met her brother's; he was standing entirely too close.

And then, as if on their own, Jae's hands found the exposed sides of Sullyoon's abdomen as it thrust toward him. He leaned into her, his front lining up with Sullyoon's as his hands got bolder. At first, they squeezed at her flexed abs, marveling at their remarkable firmness. But within seconds, they had jumped to her breasts, those fabulous globes he'd been denying himself looks at for years. When they landed there, his lips were magnetized to Sullyoon's, and they locked again in a feverish kiss, this time with both of them on board.

With their lips mashed and their tongues entwined, the two siblings felt each other in ways no sibling is supposed to, which was terrific. Sullyoon's tits, covered only by the tiny spaghetti strap shirt, felt glorious in her brother's hands. He massaged them and pinched at her nipples through the cotton. Sullyoon moaned into her brother's mouth.

"Oh God, Sullyoon," Jae said, pulling away from their kiss a few inches. What are we doing?"

Again, Sullyoon didn't speak; she just stared into his eyes as he kept his hands motionless atop her breasts. Sullyoon's gave Jae's cock, hardened since their first kiss, one more push with her hips and Jae flinched with a hopeless look on his face. Wordlessly, the pretty little brunette descended slowly to her knees, and though it was her first time, she gracefully opened her brother's pants and reached inside.

It was all happening too fast. Jae had not but a few seconds to interrupt his sister's actions, and when he felt her tiny hand wrap around his shaft, the decision was made for him. He could only watch... watch as Sullyoon worked his dick through his pants and out into the open. He could only watch as she admired it, pointing directly at her mouth and within seconds -- engulfed it.

Sullyoon choked a little bit as she took her brother's hard length into her mouth. It was warm and so thick that she had to open wide to fit it. After sucking gently at the first few inches of him, she took Jae's tip to her pursed lips and kissed it, following the peck with the lapping of her tongue. Her saliva coated him, and when she was satisfied with his shiny helmet, she looked up at him and locked his gaze. Slowly, she pressed his tip through her lips and into her mouth. She kept going though, and before long she had taken half of his cock into her mouth, eyes still holding his.

She pressed a bit further and felt him make contact with the back of her throat. Sullyoon gagged and withdrew, and once she had slipped him from her mouth again, she smiled proudly at how her brother was enjoying the treatment. So she continued it, sucking and bobbing her head toward the base of his cock. Jae looked around; his sister was blowing him in the middle of a side street, and he could hear people moving about in the town square nearby.

Somewhere a street performer strummed a guitar, but the sound was far overpowered by that of his sister slurping at his penis in her mouth. This continued briefly, but Jae wished it would never end. His worries of being discovered melted away with each following plunge of his little sister's mouth around his cock.

Sullyoon could have stayed like that until he released a big load into her mouth, feeling as if she'd enjoy the taste of him on her tongue. But it was not to be, for Jae pulled her to her feet and was kissing her once more before she even had time to catch her breath. The elixir finally coursed through him from head to toe, and Jae had but one mission. He took the bottom of Sullyoon's folded shirt in his fingers and pried it over her head.

Her breasts jiggled free, defying gravity as she held her arms over her head with her beautiful pink nipples standing at attention. He put a hand against one and another to the button at the waist of her tiny jean shorts. In less than a second, he had them unbuckled, and his free hand was pushing both shorts and panties down his sister's long, fit legs. They bunched at the bottom, and Jae could see that Sullyoon had been wearing yellow cotton panties to match her top, now bunched beneath them on the cobblestones.

It didn't take much for Sullyoon to push her brother's pants down the rest of the way, and then they both stood there in the street, brother and sister, naked as the day they were born and about to fuck.

Jae looked around, not out of the fear they'd be discovered but in search for somewhere to fuck his sister correctly. An abandoned food cart with an old piece of canvas thrown over it provided the perfect spot. So strong as he was, Jae lifted the naked little brunette, and she wrapped her legs around him. They kissed in their standing position, with Jae's cock pressed firmly against his sister's dripping pussy while they did. Slowly, he moved her over to the spot, not wanting to disrupt her eager playfulness as she nibbled on his lips and tongue.

Her soft cheeks touched the canvas, and Jae set her weight down upon the cart hastily, eager for what would come next.

They both paused.

Jae's rod pointed directly toward the place they both wanted it: inside Sullyoon's inviting little pussy, and soon. With one last ounce of resistance shown upon each sibling's face, Jae looked down to see what he was about to do, the incest he was about to commit with his little sister. He gazed up at Sullyoon; her beautiful body was sprawled out in front of him with her pink pussy waiting for him to push passed her puffy lips and take it. Two bystanders down the road walked by and saw them. One looked twice at what was going on down the street and quickly gossiped to a woman walking alongside. Jae felt a pang of guilt along with the heat of his sister's opening when his tip touched against it.

"Oppa... be gentle, I'm a virgin."

That did it. If there was any hope of stopping before, his sister's sweet words, both revealing her secret and inviting him to wash it away, had him entering her without another word.

His head split her tiny lips.

"Ohhh Oppa....unhhhhhhh," gasped Sullyoon.

He continued pushing into her ever so slowly, encountering resistance.

"Sullyoon, take my hand. This might hurt a little," her brother warned her. She wrapped her fingers around his, and Jae's other hand supported his little sister's back. He knew they may have onlookers, but taking his sister's virginity seemed much more important to him then. He urged forward, feeling her hymen give. Jae saw the teen wince in pain as the incestuous penetration took place. She squirmed underneath him, wiggling about his impaling cock.

Further he went; another person had slowed to see what was going on by the abandoned cart, though it is evident once Sullyoon let out an adorable squeal. Her brother had only just breached her hymen, and she felt complete. Sullyoon couldn't see the onlooker, but it wouldn't have made any difference to her; she was fixed on being manhandled by her big brother and had no plans to turn back. Jae might have done something differently if the potion hadn't tossed his inhibitions to the wind.

"Are you okay, Sullyoon? Do you want me to take it out?" Jae asked, his voice laden with compassion. Sullyoon settled down a bit.

"No!" she quickly replied, feeling him withdraw a fraction of an inch. He stopped immediately, "I only need a second....mmmmmmn..... owwwww... It's just huge, Oppa..."

Halfway buried in his sister's pussy, Jae was afforded a second to gather his thoughts. Something had changed between them, and he was almost sure the old woman had not been brewing sugar-water in her dank old store. But the earlier feelings of guilt weren't there anymore, and despite that he knew he shouldn't currently be immersed in his little sister's quim, it didn't change the fact that he loved the feeling and wanted more. He had only entered her by an inch, and she already felt unfathomably tight.

"Okay, Oppa, go slow," Sullyoon begged. Her brother smiled at the pet name she sometimes used and snapped back to the reality that was his sister asking him to start fucking her again.

They both looked down at Jae's shaft, half buried in Sullyoon's pussy and ready to go all the way. He began to push more of it into her, so slowly that Jae could feel his patience being tested. What he wanted to do was to feel Sullyoon's legs wrapped around him as he drove into her with satisfying and forceful thrusts, but it would have to wait. Sullyoon's face still showed that her body was adapting to Jae's size, and though he could see her enjoying it, he didn't want to ruin the moment. Instead, he leaned in and kissed her, distracting her as he sank the rest of his cock slowly into her.

The anxious eighteen-year-old felt her worries subside as her brother penetrated her, relieved that the pain of losing her cherry had not been too great.

Jae was planted there, kissing his little sister with their hips connected below. Sullyoon couldn't control her breathing from the unfamiliar feeling of being filled so profoundly; her entire abdomen had expanded along the length of his cock within. She was unfathomably wet, wetter than any girl Jae had been with before. His hand cupped her face as her eyes widened due to the intense feeling of her brother's entirely invading member.

"Mmmmnnnhhh," she moaned into his open lips.

His tongue teased her big, red lips; he could taste the strawberry chapstick she always wore on them. Jae savored the kiss as he slowly withdrew his cock and Sullyoon moaned again. Thankfully, her lithe little body had prepared her teenage tunnel for her brother's cock with her wetness, for it hurt her far less than she'd imagined. She was eager for her brother to sink into her again when he said:

"Are you sure you're okay, Sullyoon? I don't want to hurt you."

She nibbled at his lower lip and then pecked a few quick kisses on him with pursed lips; Jae loved how she played with him.

"I'm sure Oppa, you can fuck me now I think," she replied, pulling away from his face and wearing a naughty, come-hither grin.

Jae would never have admitted it until the potion came along, but his gorgeous sister frequently visited his dreams, sometimes in the very position she now lay. He couldn't have even dreamed, however, of taking Sullyoon's virginity, a thought which made the next thrust into her all the sweeter.

Suddenly filling her in one deliberate thrust, Sullyoon truly experienced the feeling of being fucked by her brother. As his shaft slid between the squeezing walls of her pussy, she could feel a tingle run all through her body and cause her mind to flood with light-headed bliss temporarily. When he bottomed out in her, and his head had reached further into her than she thought possible, her vision blurred.

"Ohhmygodd Oppa, keep going...mnhhh.... do it again," she encouraged him.

Withdrawing, he instinctively palmed the hipbones of his eighteen-year-old sister's tiny waist. As he'd wished, he could feel his sister's soft soles waiting for him to pull out before urging him back in. They watched, entranced, as the shaft revealed more and more until her clinging pink lips released her brother's tip. It looked glistening wet.

Sullyoon drew a breath to ready herself, and Jae dove back into her at a needier pace. Now that he had been inside his little sister Sullyoon once, no twice... he had to be snugly inserted again. He wanted to bury deep into her and hear her squeal with delight as he tickled her more than he ever had during the wrestling matches they still got into that day.

And when he did, she rewarded him with that and more:

"Ohhh, Ohhfuck --" she winced, "OhhhhmyGoddd!" He had reached somewhere that made his little sister writhe upon his deeply penetrated rod. "Keep fucking me like that Oppa," she spoke on as he hesitated, buried inside her. "I can't believe my brother is taking my cherry, and it feels... mnhh... this good."

Jae pulled out of the little brunette and sank into her again, and again, and again- it was precisely what Sullyoon wanted. Before long, he had worked them both into a tangle of pawing and touching and attempted to urge Jae deeper into her if possible.

The sun only struck the wall across the street about a quarter of the way down, and they may have been in shadow, but a small group had stopped walking momentarily to be sure they were seeing what they thought they saw. Sullyoon didn't hear them until a younger woman in the group giggled aloud, but as she saw them and then looked back at her brother, she pleaded in the cutest way she could muster:

"Don't stop," he thrust into her again, "please" she whispered as her brother's thudded against her mound and her tits shook, "don't you stop." Her puppy dog eyes shone brightly.

He didn't. Jae felt as Sullyoon did: that the forbidden nature of their lovemaking was only made more exciting because they were doing it on the street, where anyone could see them. For all they knew, their parents could walk past that street by chance and see Sullyoon and Jae locked in a loving embrace.

"What if our dad came walking around that corner... ooooouhhh....huh, Oppa?" He slid in and out as she goaded him, "what if he saw his little virgin, his naughty little girl.....uhhhhh.....fucking her big brother?"

Jae felt his cock swell with excitement, he'd never heard Sullyoon talk like this, he thought. Maybe he'd heard her say the word 'dick' on the phone with a girlfriend once or twice, but to listen to her talking dirty like that made him fear he might cum right there in her tight pussy.

"He might see me cum inside you then... ughh.... Sullyoon, you're so tight, baby. I don't know how long I can hold on."

"Ummmm...it's...ouhhh... It's okay, Oppa....I'm on birth control..." She sounded unconvincing and looked away from him as if to avoid eye contact. He wasn't positive, but he was pretty sure she was smiling.

"Sullyoon, you're lying, aren't you? " he asked. She put her finger to her lip and nibbled at it naughtily.

"No, I'm not.... Uhhhhh..... don't worry, you can put all your big brother cum in me Oppa...." She was looking at him through sultry, dazzling eyes.

"Sullyoon, I can't..." he couldn't help but slide his cock into her one more and continue, "you're only eighteen...and you want to be an idol...we aren't using protection."

The potion may have helped them get there, but it was Jae's innocent little sister who, now having felt her brother's big cock inside her, wanted nothing but to feel him fill her with his forbidden cum. She knew she was ripe to find herself knocked up by her brother, but the thought only excited her. In her mind's eye she saw her brother fucking her from behind as she stood standing against the wall, waiting until he shot up into her carelessly. So in reality, as her brother withdrew from her once more, she moved a foot to his pelvis to stop him from skewering her again and to let her get up.

Jae watched in awe as his little sister sat up, her abs flexing beautifully, and hopped down from the cart. She walked to the nearby wall and stood with her legs spread apart slightly so he knew exactly where to put his feet. Just like the image in her head, Jae immediately put his hands on her body, caressing her sides before taking her hanging breasts in his hands. They were incredibly soft, their weight hanging down into his greedy palms.

But nothing felt as good as that of his cock head making contact with Sullyoon's taut, young opening once more. Jae positioned his tip correctly and pushed into his beautiful, teenage sister, hearing her gasp. As he slid upward into her, the feeling satisfied her dreams more than she could have possibly imagined. It was somehow different, standing in front of her brother, completely naked and completely at his mercy.

He'd been worried just before that, and Sullyoon wanted to put him at ease:

"Your bad little sis wants you to fill her up with your sticky cu, Oppa," Sullyoon said pressing her cute butt back toward her brother to urge his cock into her and then out again as she provoked him, "Don't you wanna cum inside me big brother?.....mnnnnghhhhh."

Jae met her hips with his own, a quiet clapping of their flesh emitting from his hastened tempo. He couldn't see them, but the feeling of her glorious tits in his hands, the scent of her thick, dark hair from behind, and the smoothness of her skin had him mesmerized. He could only fuck her harder as he marveled in the beauty of her, in the freckles that kissed her shoulders and the bead of sweat rolling down the flexed arch in her back.

"Fuck me Oppa.... Fuck me just like that....ohhgod..."

What was the feeling that had suddenly rushed upon her? All at once, she felt short of breath and light headed. Jae could feel her relying on him to hold her up as he thrust into her. Her insides clamped down upon him, and he knew what was happening. Sullyoon was confused and yet deeply enjoying the feeling of her brother fucking her from behind.

"What is.....oohohooo Oppa... I can't breathe..... ughhh I feel like I'm gonna.... ooohhh."

Jae pushed her hair across her neck as he cleared a space to kiss her tender skin. He laid one on her, warm and loving, and another, moving closer to her ear. Sullyoon was trying to quiet her cries as her brother manhandled her and impaled her from behind with his enormous member.

As she felt his kisses and finally his teeth nibbling at her ear, her body exploded with sensation. It coursed through her veins and flushed from her all but the feeling of her brother's rod. Her pussy clamped down even harder, impossibly tight upon him, and try as he might he couldn't contain himself any longer. With only one more withdrawal from his squirming and panting sister, her taut channel had him releasing a first, deep jet of sperm as soon as he had pushed inside her.

"Ohhhhhwwwuuuu..." She howled adorably.

Jae hugged her body tight and tried to keep kissing her. He pumped rope after rope of cum into her fertile womb, so much that she could feel its plentiful warmth inside of her. Jae's whole body buzzed. He lost himself in a wonderful trance caused by the triumph of breeding his amazing little sister.

Sullyoon kept quivering long after the last powerful pump of sperm had left her brother's cock. He dared slide an inch or so out and into her, once so that she shivered and again so she whined at the utter sensitivity of her inner walls. He kept doing it, though it was excruciatingly pleasurable to them both, feeling their combined fluids trickling out around his penetrating staff.

"OhmygodSTOP! I can't take it!" Sullyoon screamed, looking back at him incredulously. She had not yet come all the way down from her heart-wrenching orgasm and couldn't handle any more. He still felt so enormous inside of her that she wondered if she'd ever recover. Yet she managed to survive even that of her brother's last heedless penetration into her before he finally came to rest.

She let loose the same smile she'd revealed after her fake-mad tantrum earlier that day, except this one meant a lot more.

"We're bad, Oppa," she said, feeling his cock starting to soften inside of her. "I can't believe you came in your own sister's pussy!" Suddenly, she sounded condemnatory.

"Sullyoon, I thought you said..." but she cut him off:

"Shhh, Oppa, I'll give you a pass if you do it again before we go back and find Mom and Dad."

His eyes shot to hers; she had finally slid him out of her (though she had to stand on her tiptoes to do it) and was turned to face him. Sullyoon reached down and took his shaft in her dainty hands; it stopped softening immediately. Jae looked down to see her glistening body, with her round breasts and the most perfect frame he'd ever laid eyes or hands on. He knew then that he'd never say no again.

Sullyoon kissed her brother so passionately and deeply, standing there in his arms, that he knew their tryst hadn't been all the elixir's doing. Her prying lips and fumbling hands told him how badly she'd wanted him. Jae returned the sentiment, satisfying his little sis with his hands over her bare skin. The few tender moments allowed both Jae and Sullyoon to recover, and before long, he could tell that his little eighteen-year-old wanted him again.

Jae picked her up by the hips and within moments was fucking her recklessly against the wall. The brick was rough on her naked back, but she'd cared only for the feeling of being fucked again by her brother. The cum from their lovemaking minutes earlier only eased the rhythmic immersion of Jae's cock into his beautiful little sister.

He humped her against the wall until he could hold her no longer, and then she sat him atop the crate and rode him until they both came again. She thought he might not have it in him, but as she felt another surprising amount of her brother's sperm pumping into her and increasing their risk, she knew she'd been wrong.

After God knows how long, the two siblings had somehow gathered themselves enough to try and find their parents. Jae had to smooth back some of Sullyoon's tussled hair, and once, Sullyoon had to check to be sure her dad wouldn't see a trail of her brother's gleaming spunk coming from the place he'd left it and showing outside her miniature jean shorts. When they finally met back up with their parents, they heard:

"Kids! We've been looking all over for you; we were starting to get worried," said their mom, hugging as they reunited.

"No reason to worry, we were doing great alone," Jae replied

"Oh yeah?" asked his mom. "What did you two get up to today?"

"Only naughty stuff," Sullyoon said, sounding sarcastic. The look she flashed him, undetected by their oblivious parents, said she knew exactly what she'd meant.

"Ha-ha," finished her brother. She meant that we might have gotten shooed away from a hat store for horse-playing, but we found plenty of things to fill our day.

Sullyoon's eyes lit a little, and she giggled: "Yeah, mom and dad, Oppa helped fill up my day. He's really good at it!"

"I'm glad to hear it, you two," said their dad. For a second there, Jae, I thought you were going to have your hands full with Sullyoon in the mood she was in."

They both chortled a bit, but their parents figured they were finally getting along; they didn't know how full their son's hands indeed had been.

"Yeah, I was in a great mood today for some reason," Sullyoon went on as her brother's gaze begged her not to say anything bolder. "Hopefully, Oppa can help me have a day like this every day this week!"

Jae's imagination ran wild for a few seconds as he thought of all the ways he wanted to explore the perfect little teenager's body. The potion had long since worn off by then. Its effects had genuinely gone by the second time they made love, but it left behind something far more significant. Having broken through the taboo of fucking their sibling, the potion had allowed Jae and Sullyoon to take what they'd been denied all along. Neither of the loving siblings could wait to be alone again so they could once again fuck each other senseless.

As Sullyoon strode along and walked next to her dad, bouncing and glancing over her shoulder occasionally at her brother, Jae was entranced. The entire return to the hotel, Jae planned out how he'd somehow maneuver her to a private place so he could wait the absolute minimum amount of time before being buried inside his little sister once more. Sullyoon was waiting anxiously for the same thing.

They were undoubtedly in for a hell of a week.

#nmixx smut #sullyoon smut #gg smut #kpop smut #male reader smut #nmixx #sullyoon #smut #kpop #nmixx sullyoon #girl group smut

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pathologicalreid · 8 months ago

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burn notice | s.r.

in which your workplace is targeted by a group of extremists, and Spencer tries everything to keep you safe

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: fighting, threats, arson/explosion, politics, mass casualty event, sole survivor, greek mythology my beloved, public transit word count: 2.34k a/n: i genuinely think my laptop is going to start smoking if i leave it on for much longer.

You pull your knees to your chest, sitting on the floor next to Spencer’s desk while he speaks with Hotch about the case. JJ waves at you solemnly before she heads out of the bullpen, leaving you as the last person. Setting your chin on your knee, you close your eyes and wonder how things got so messed up so quickly.

Someone was threatening your work, the threats weren’t directed at you personally, but with the way Spencer was acting, it might as well have been. The BAU had been called in by D.C. Metro yesterday, and that was when Spencer started acting overprotective.

The letters were demanding all of the money from a political action campaign, something you couldn’t give away. The money wasn’t yours to give. “Are you alright?” Spencer asks, having made his way down to his desk.

Accepting his hand up, you sigh, resting your cheek against his chest when he pulls you in for a hug. “Just a long day,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around his waist and finally letting yourself relax.

He chuckles lightly at your colossal understatement of the day’s events, gently rubbing your back before he goes to pick his messenger bag up, slinging it over his shoulder before taking your hand, “What do you say we order something out for dinner?”

You hum in response, “I think it’s pretty obvious that neither of us is in the mood to cook.” You don’t even need to bring up the fact that it’s eight p.m., you could be heading home at five and you still wouldn’t have it in you to cook a meal. You slip your hand in his while you’re heading to the elevator, waving briefly at Hotch as he locks up his office.

Spencer lets you sit on the metro, standing until it’s time to switch lines and he finds a seat while you’re headed to Farragut North. You rest your head on his shoulder, wondering if the food you ordered on the phone was going to beat you to the apartment.

You’re half asleep by the time you get to Van Ness, and Spencer practically drags you behind him as you exit the station and walk back to the apartment. As you expect, your food is waiting for you on the welcome mat, complete with the handwritten note from your favorite delivery driver, “God, this smells good.” You say, holding the warm take-out containers in your arms while Spencer opens the front door.

Setting everything on the kitchen counter, you retreat briefly to the bedroom to change your clothes, pulling on an old t-shirt before returning to the kitchen, taking your container, and sitting on the couch. “Are you going to work tomorrow?”

With food in your mouth, you nod at Spencer, watching him sit down on the other end of the couch. Swallowing, you shrug, “It’s election season, Spence. This is one of my busiest times of the year.”

“But there’s a group of people threatening to blow up the building that you work in,” Spencer reminds you, mixing up his food with his fork.

This isn’t the first time you’ve had this conversation today. “At the end of the day, it’s up to my boss to decide whether or not we get to take the day off or if we have to go into the office, and he said that anyone who doesn’t come in tomorrow gets fired.”

Spencer’s gaze narrows, “I quite honestly don’t care. I’d rather we go to having a single income than have you die in a domestic terrorism incident” He points his fork at you, “And for what it’s worth, your boss is an asshole.”

You huff in recognition, now that was something you were well aware of. This job was supposed to be your way in. A stepping stone on your way to being a liaison in the White House, but the world had started to slow down from the moment you entered the world of politics. Every ounce of excitement that you had felt when you first moved to D.C. was fleeting.

Work sapped joy from your life, and everyone around you knew it.

Fiddling with your chopsticks, you dig around in your takeout container for a carrot, “Do you think we could talk about something other than work?”

“I can’t stop thinking about how tonight might be my last night with you,” Spencer says morbidly, aggressively stabbing at his container. It was Spencer’s greatest blessing and his eternal damnation, being able to think so quickly and operate in a way that left his peers miles behind.

He saw the solution so plainly in front of him, standing in his pool of water with a fruit tree creating a foreboding shadow above him, but every time he reached out with the answer, you retreated. “DHS didn’t think it was a credible threat,” you murmur, setting your food down on the coffee table so you can attempt to have a real conversation with him about this.

Spencer huffs in response, the hair blowing strands of his hair around his face, “DHS isn’t emotionally involved in this case.”

You tilt your head to the side, “Do you think maybe you’re too close to this? What did Hotch say?”

“Fuck off,” he snaps. It was an instinctive reaction to your pushing, but that didn’t make the sting any less painful.

Crossing your arms in front of your stomach, you shrink back into your side of the couch, “Is that what you told Hotch, too?” You watch his reaction, the way he presses his lips together in acute shame for what he said to you, but he won’t take it back, and he won’t apologize for it. Not right now, at least.

He’s just afraid, you try to remind yourself. Spencer’s terrified of something happening to you and he has some sort of deep-seated inability to process fear, so when he gets scared, he gets mean. Right now, he was taking his fear out on you, and if something was going to happen to you tomorrow, you didn’t want him to spend his time lashing out.

You turn on the TV, flipping to a program that the both of you like before going back to your dinner, manifesting that the tense silence between the two of you turns peaceful before it’s too late.

“Hey, what are you thinking about?” Nadine asks you, nudging your side gently with her elbow until you snap out of your fugue. “Are you heading home for dinner?”

Checking the time on your watch, you nod absentmindedly, “Probably,” your voice is rough from lack of use, spending so much of your day just staring at election models. You have the privilege of being the only employee who lives close enough to be able to go home for meals—you’d packed a lunch, but you have to stop at home for dinner.

In an unsurprising turn of events, your team was staying late at work tonight. You’d already texted Spencer to let him know, but you doubt that he even looked at your message. “Hey, at least no crazy person came and blew up the office,” she continues, noticing your melancholia.

You laugh without humor, a dry empty sound in response to your co-worker tempting fate. “Yeah, at least there’s that,” you respond, noting the strange air that remains in the suite, people are still thinking about the threat, even if they’re too scared to say it aloud.

Walking back to the office after making a sandwich at home, you pull your phone out of your purse and try to haphazardly type out an on my way text to Nadine, but when you send it, it doesn’t go through. Shaking it off, you drop your phone back in your purse and keep walking, sirens passing on the street as something goes on in the city. You think about texting Spencer again but decide against it—it’s better to give him his space.

A passing pedestrian knocks into you, getting you to lift your head to frown at him, but he just keeps running forward, not even bothering to throw a sorry over his shoulder.

“Is that building on fire?” Someone asks, and your heart sinks into your stomach at the question, picking up your own pace as tufts of smoke billow into the sky, suspiciously close to where your office is.

There’s a mob forming behind the police line, people who were in the middle of their commutes home when they found something to gawk at. Even people who choose to keep walking are rubbernecking, making double steps to look at the building for a split second longer. “Isn’t that the councilman’s office?”

“No,” you breathe, watching the flames as they only grow. The crowd clutches their pearls as people ask about people jumping from the building, your friends who would rather jump and possibly survive than burn to death. People run past you to get closer while you can’t do anything except watch in horror.

It’s not until one of the windows shatters that you move again, the location of the window right next to where you and Nadine had been standing earlier. You push through the crowd, trying to reach the police barricade as people ask Metro PD for answers.

You try to duck under the police tape before someone pushes you back, “No!” You cry, “No, no, no! Please let me through! I work here,” you try to explain through gasping breaths, “This is my job! These are my friends!” You shout over the ruckus, the smell of the fire filling your senses.

“Ma’am, ma’am,” one of the officers talks down to you, “We’re under strict orders from the FBI that no one is allowed to get through.” His voice doesn’t have an ounce of sympathy in it, and it pushes you closer to the ledge.

You point at him accusingly, “Fuck your orders! Let me talk to the FBI!” Desperation oozes from you in every direction as the crowd steps away from the crazy woman shouting about the FBI. “I know them all,” you plead, “just let me talk to them!”

The officer holds his hands out, “Ma’am, I don’t want to have to remove you from the scene.”

But you’ve already moved on from him, noticing a familiar cascade of dark hair on the other side of the barricade, “Oh my god, Emily!” Your voice is comparable to a shriek as you try to get her attention, “Emily, please!”

Relief floods your chest as her head snaps in the direction of your shouting, a confused look quickly morphing into shock as she recognizes you. “Let her through,” She calls to the officers, looking at you as if she’s seen a ghost. “What’s going on?”

You run to her first, adrenaline thrumming through every part of your body as you point to the two officers who made an enemy of you, “Those two won’t fucking listen to me!”

“We thought you were in the building,” Emily says, her tone is eerie, almost haunted.

Gasping for air, you wave your hand around at the building, babbling something about dinner and the walk while she continues to monitor your surroundings.

She places her hands on your shoulders to stop you from bouncing around, “Y/N, Spencer thinks you were inside the building.”

It’s like she’s knocked the hair out of your lungs, you shake your head, “I wasn’t. I was at home. I left for…” your voice trails off at the realization that at this very moment, Spencer thinks you’re dead. At the very least he thinks you’re trapped inside of that building when you very likely could’ve been at the apartment that you share while the fire was set.

“Reid!” Emily calls into her radio, rolling her eyes in frustration, “He took his earbud out.”

You tug at her arm, “Where is he?” Your voice broke, grief flooding your eyes as she communicated with the team.

She nods her head to the left, “He’s on the north side of the building.”

Not even waiting for her to finish her sentence, you took off in a full sprint, ignoring other people looking at you like you’re insane because the only thing you can think of is getting to Spencer. “Spencer!” You shout, your voice ragged from running, throat swelling with emotion as you scream for him.

JJ sees you first, “Reid!”

And you see him. It looks like Derek’s holding him back, stopping him from running into the building when you call out again, “Spence!”

He turns just in time to catch you, nearly toppling onto the ground as you launch yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him while he holds you so tightly that your feet lift off of the ground.

“Yeah, Emily,” Derek says into his radio, “We’ve got her.”

Your hands tremble with an assortment of emotions as you grip the straps of his Kevlar vest, depending on him to keep you standing, “I’m okay,” you babble, “I wasn’t in there.”

“I’m sorry,” Spencer responds, burying his face in your neck, you hold him impossibly tight as his tears hit your skin, eliciting a sob from the back of your throat.

You gasp, “I know. It’s okay. I’m okay,” you repeat like a mantra, a collection of words that needs to be tattooed on his brain. “We’re okay,” you tell him, smiling faintly as he walks backward to an ambulance, neither of you faltering in your grip of the other.

It seems like every cell that made up his body is shaking as he holds you, “I’m so sorry,” he apologizes again. This time it’s deeper. He’s apologizing for his behavior, sure, but he’s apologizing for this event.

A cry bubbles in your throat. Everything was gone. Your friends were gone. The last two years of your life burnt to ashes.

And when you lose your footing and you otherwise would’ve fallen to the ground, Spencer keeps you up, his grip holding you together—keeping you close.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid x fem!reader #written by margot #margotober #angstober

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azzibueckers5 · 1 month ago

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i want you to need me (need to want something more)

part 2: in which paige is so up. like so fucking up.

(ao3 link) (part 1) (wc: ~ 8k) (read iwkpa before this series)

cw: sexual content

AN: i hope this fixes the heartache adequately? if not don't let me know I'll cry <3 ummm I wrote the majority of the smut having been up for like 36 hours straight and then edited it after three glasses of wine? so uh good luck— ill go through and edit again in a couple days lmfao but im warningggg you i got really lazy towards the end like. i’m sorry <3333333 also pls suspend your disbelief about the wings theoretically making the playoffs in 2026 cause... whewwwww not looking likely. also this is literally twice as plotless as the last chapter of iwkpa... and three times as nonesensical and ridiculous so just like. keep that in mind. also it wasn't supposed to be this smutty man idk it got away from me. happy day!

+1 october 2026, dallas, texas

paige’s phone finally rings with the familiar ringtone she’s been waiting on for what feels like hours, just as she’s ushering her straggling teammates out of her apartment. she’d hosted a watch party after practice for the final game of the liberty–mystics semifinals, and though she loves her teammates, she’s been subtly (and then entirely unsubtly) trying to kick them out since the final buzzer in dc’s overtime loss.

nai and lyss had tried valiantly to cheer her up, but not being able to be there for azzi and having to watch her expression crumple through the television screen had been entirely awful and she’d just wanted to sit on the alone couch in silence until her girlfriend called.

the silver lining of their loss meant that azzi might be able to make it to her semi game tomorrow night, but she puts that thought on the backburner when she answers the facetime, jumping straight into sympathetic girlfriend mode.

azzi’s already talking on the other side of the line, hammering on angrily about “the fucking shit ass refs” and how it was a “rigged ass fucking game,” and paige fights to keep her smile at just seeing azzi’s face on her screen a secret. post-loss azzi is a force to be reckoned with and she won’t jeopardize putting herself as the target by showing positive emotion.

it seems azzi has skipped being sad about it entirely and jumped straight into being pissed, which is precisely paige’s post game specialty, and she lets her ramble, chiming in here and there with indignant comments on how bad the refs were and agreements with how poor their screens had been.

azzi had, surprise surprise, played spectacularly, and had unofficially locked in rookie of the year with a 27 point effort, but paige knows the competitive nature of her girlfriend is cut from the same cloth as her own, and her main goal is to try and keep azzi’s anger directed away from her very few mistakes and make sure she doesn’t veer into self-deprecation.

she’s mostly successful, and by the time azzi leaves the facilities, she’s calmed down enough to let the loss sink in a bit more. when she finally climbs onto the bus that will take them back to the hotel, she seems to relax even further, and lets out a quiet “i miss you.”

paige’s face softens immediately. “miss you too, az. so bad.”

“booked a flight already for tomorrow morning, but i might not get in early enough to see you before the game.” she says it apologetically, like she’s sorry she can’t charter a flight there herself, and paige smiles a little bit at how in sync they are, how much she can tell they both just want a hug.

seeing each other four times over a four month span wasn’t exactly conducive to a honeymoon phase, and though they were putting up a valiant effort anyways, she craved azzi’s physical presence more than anything. paige doesn’t think she’d ever been on facetime this much, and that’s including the month before she’d quarantined with the fudds and had been stuck inside all day, on the phone with azzi every millisecond.

it still isn’t enough, though, and her heart rate speeds up at just the thought of having azzi within arms reach in only a day’s time.

“s’okay, i’ll play better even just knowing you’re in the stands,” she says, and means it. azzi has always been the best motivator.

“you better. one of us has got to wi-”

“shhhh,” she cuts azzi off, “don’t jinx me.”

“yeah, yeah.” she pauses for a second, just looking at paige through the screen, and then there’s commotion on the other end and she gets distracted for a bit, clearly trying to negotiate seating arrangements. when she turns back, she sighs, “listen, baby, i’m gonna hang up so no one kills me for being on the phone on the bus, but i’ll text you when i get to the hotel.”

paige pouts. “how about you call me when you get to the hotel.”

azzi’s face is soft and knowing when she says “you’re gonna be asleep by the time i get there.”

“nuh-uh,” she claims, fighting a yawn. “gonna wait right here, awake, on the couch till you call.”

azzi just laughs. “if you say so. i’ll see you tomorrow, baby. love you.”

paige hangs up with an i love you too and a smile, and is only a little guilty when she thinks about how excited she is that azzi is coming to dallas tomorrow, instead of having to wait longer for their teams to arrange it.

she wedges herself further into her couch cushions, and puts on a random show, determined to stay true to her word and wait up for azzi’s call.

she must fall asleep like that, though, nestled into the couch, because she wakes what feels like hours later to the gentle sensation of hands in her hair and the murmur of her name.

she blinks, disoriented and disbelieving, to the sight of azzi standing above her, looking soft and delightful and angelic.

paige stares.

“hi,” the vision before her says, bashful, and paige’s brain suddenly registers that she’s not dreaming and that azzi is in fact, standing in front of her.

in her living room. in dallas.

she shoots up from her position on the couch to sit up and pull azzi down into a hug, and the brunette sinks into her, pressing her face into paige’s neck like she’s needed the contact just as badly.

“az, wh- what’re you doing here?”

her words are slurred into azzi’s shoulder, voice thick with sleep and confusion, and she can feel azzi’s laugh at her bewilderment against her chest, because azzi here. in paige’s arms.

what.

“changed my flight, couldn’t wait until tomorrow,” she says, and paige’s heart swells. she doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to hearing azzi say things like that and knowing that she means for them to come across exactly as paige’s heart interprets them. “needed a consolatory cuddle.”

paige just hums and burrows closer, relishing in her presence. “what time s’it.”

“little past three. told you you’d fall asleep.”

paige slides her hands up underneath azzi’s sweatshirt just to feel more of her skin and ignores the opportunity to argue with her about how she’d only fallen asleep because azzi took too long to call, and instead leans back to press a gentle kiss to her mouth. “missed you.”

“mmhm.” azzi knocks their foreheads together in agreement, kisses her again, short and sweet, and then climbs off paige’s lap, ignoring her grumbling protests.

she holds her hand out, waiting, and says “c’mon. more of that after but in your bed.”

and well. paige would be crazy to refuse.

she latches sleepily onto azzi’s back as they stumble down the hallway, and paige knows azzi has missed her because she doesn’t complain when she stays tucked up against her side throughout their entire nighttime routine– even while they brush their teeth at the same time, knocking elbows– and making the process of getting ready for bed highly inefficient.

they shed their day clothes simultaneously, and paige bats a t-shirt out of azzi’s hands when she goes to put one on, pressing her now naked front up against azzi’s bare back and running her hands down from her ribs to her hips, grunting in protest at the idea of azzi covering any skin. azzi glares, entirely non-threateningly, over her shoulder.

“s’too late for that. sleep only. save it for tomorrow.”

“yes, ma’am.” she presses a kiss to her shoulder, “just like to feel you.”

azzi melts immediately– score– and when they climb into bed, paige instantly pulls azzi into her arms, relishing in the skin on skin contact and burrowing them under the covers.

she curls closer, trying to crawl inside azzi’s skin, and presses a contented sigh into her shoulder as their legs tangle. “goodnight, rookie of the year azzi fudd.”

her responding giggle is soft and just for paige, and she wants to bottle up the sound and keep it for a day when she’s desperately missing this. “night, p. love you.”

they drift off in seconds, and paige sleeps better than she has in weeks.

…

when she wakes, a second time, it’s to little rays of sunlight slipping through the cracks in her blinds and the vision of azzi sleeping peacefully next to her, head pillowed on paige’s bicep and face relaxed.

her heart clenches in her chest at the view and she takes a second to imprint the sight to memory, eyes tracing the slope of azzi’s nose and the birthmark on her jawline and the dark smudge of her lashes. it feels peaceful in a way that waking up first in their dorms in storrs and watching azzi sleep had never been.

aside from the fact that she’s only gotten to wake up next to her a measly four times since july, she also relishes in the security of an azzi that was entirely hers in her arms.

she’d spent years stirring to the same sight, but never for the reasons paige had so desperately dreamed of, and it was surreal, in a way, to know that she could gently shake azzi awake and kiss her as much as she pleased.

she’d done just that their first night together, in this very bed. paige had jerked awake before dawn with wet eyes and the crippling fear that she’d dreamed up the entirety of the prior day's events, and even the sight of azzi sleeping steadily beside her hadn’t been enough to stop the racing of her heart. she’d coaxed azzi awake, gently, just to kiss her, to cement it as real, and azzi had caught on immediately to her insecurity, whispering reassurances and apologies into paige’s skin until they’d both drifted off again, appeased.

paige loves her so much.

she’d almost forgotten, in the year they’d started referring to as the between, how well they could read each other's thoughts, and she’d missed the intimacy and comfort of just being so wholly understood by someone else.

they’d slotted right back together as if they’d never been separated, except this time with awesome things like blatant flirting and sex and transparent feelings, and after spending so many years pining after azzi and thinking hopelessly that she’d never have her in the way that she truly wanted, whenever she’s reminded that she does have her, she gets a little bit breathless.

her attention is pulled from her nauseatingly sappy thoughts when azzi begins to stir, blinking awake slowly, and paige watches, enraptured, trying to catalogue every flutter of her eyelashes, every shift of her brow. she opens her eyes briefly, and glances at the way paige is unashamedly observing her, before closing them again and nestling closer, smile growing on her face.

paige curls the arm azzi’s been using as a pillow tighter around her side, wanting her even closer, and is delightfully reminded by the bare skin of azzi’s lower back that they opted out of clothes the night before. beautiful. past paige was so thoughtful.

“s’rude to stare, y’know,” azzi mumbles into the skin of her shoulder, eyes still shut.

paige debates if she wants to be sentimental or annoying in response. being strictly sentimental might have quicker morning sex odds, but why choose one path when you can have both?

“can’t help it, you’re too beautiful.” her voice comes out raspy in the way she knows azzi loves, and she fights to keep her smirk internal when the brunette’s cheeks flush. incredible. she’s so in there.

azzi pokes her gently in the stomach, yawns (extremely cutely), and says “corny this morning.”

“s’not corny if it’s true.”

“that just made it doubly as corny.”

“whatever. missed you while we were sleeping.” paige’s grin is wide and pleased, and azzi fights a smile, nose scrunching. paige wants to bite her nose. mornings apparently give her cuteness aggression.

“how’s that possible when you told me on facetime last week that you dream about me every night.”

paige brushes a thumb over the smooth skin of azzi’s cheekbone, soft and fond. “s’not the same as the real-life thing.”

azzi rolls her eyes, disbelieving. “alright prince charming.”

paige flicks her forehead affectionately, and they lapse into a comfortable silence for a minute.

and then azzi makes a point to be a pest and drags her frigid toes up paige’s calf, nudging at the back of her knees, and it’s extremely annoying, and entirely unsexy.

in an completely unrelated turn of events, heat pools like lava in paige’s core, and her abs clench on instinct.

azzi laughs, disbelieving and gleeful, and pushes up on her arm a little bit to look down at paige. “there is no way that turned you on.”

paige has been more or less half turned on since the second azzi got here last night.

“bruh,” paige turns her face away from azzi in defiance and grunts, “it didn’t.”

“really,” the brunette’s fingers tease down paige’s stomach, and she grins, taunting, when goosebumps erupt across paige’s abdomen. “so you’re saying if i move my hand down-” she drags knuckles lower and ghosts a touch over the apex of her thighs “-here, i won't find you wet?”

her voice comes out low and intentional, and paige doesn’t know how the mood switched so fast but she’s absolutely not complaining one bit.

it’s too early to come up with a quick response, so instead paige just surges up to kiss her, tongue slipping in almost immediately, and she shifts azzi fully on top of her when she returns the kiss with the same fervor.

it’s languid and heated all in one, and paige lets herself bask in the feeling of having azzi on top of her for the first time in weeks, dragging her hands across her back and down to grip her ass, swallowing her moan at the contact.

“g’morning,” azzi says when they break apart to breathe, smile radiant and achingly beautiful, and paige can feel her own answering grin splitting across her face.

“excellent, fantastic morning.”

azzi giggles– paige wants to wake up to that sound for the rest of her life– before dragging her mouth down to paige’s neck and trailing kisses down her throat to her collarbone, careful not to leave any marks. this cautiousness must fly out the window when she gets to paige’s tit, however, because she immediately sucks a bruise into the soft skin of her flesh, before continuing on a warpath down across paige’s abdomen.

she starts at her navel, biting a mark into the muscle of her stomach and pausing to admire, before repeating the process twice more, moving down. by the time she gets to paige’s pelvis, she’s downright dripping, hips twitching against azzi’s arms and begging for contact.

“azzi, baby, you’re killin’ me,” she slurs, when the younger girl sucks a particularly deep bruise into the meat of her inner thigh, so close to where paige needs her.

“i’ll get there, be patient,” she says, voice unfairly clear in comparison to paige, eyes dark and teasing. paige has never been particularly patient to begin with, and if she expects her to start now, she’s sorely mistaken.

“need it now, please,” she keens. it seems she’s not above begging this morning, and she’d be embarrassed if it weren’t for how hot the brunettes gaze is, how affected she looks from between paige’s legs.

“need what?” she simpers, the bitch, breath blowing across paige’s cunt in a way that must be intentional.

paige nearly cries at the ghost of sensation, arching her back in search of more, and whines out “your mouth, please azzi, need it,” hands coming down to tangle in her hair.

it seems azzi is feeling accommodating this morning, because she smiles, bites at the mark she’s just left high on paige’s quad, and then dives in, flattening her tongue immediately and lapping at paige’s dripping center like she’s starving for it.

and jesus christ, paige is so super not gonna last if she keeps this up. because paige is worked up from the teasing, and from azzi’s general presence, and from the fact that she just slept naked next to her after almost a month of not seeing her. and also the fact that azzi has decided to fucking devour her, hands pressing into paige’s thighs to keep her steady, tongue dragging down to her hole and circling before tracing back up to suck at her clit.

she repeats that motion several times, before moving down to focus at paige’s cunt, thrusting her tongue inside and letting her nose brush the bundle of nerves above, and.

and usually, under normal circumstances, paige takes a minimum of ten minutes to come. usually, also, however, paige is not being given the most attentive head of her life, and isn’t coming off a month of being touch starved.

thus, it only takes a few minutes before she’s slurring out “fuck, azzi m’gonna come fuck,” hips trying to grind up into the younger girls tongue.

azzi nods, the movement nudging paige’s clit, and breathes out “want you to, please.”

she sounds almost as desperate for it as paige is, like she needs her to come this instant, and this thought combined with another purposeful lick at paige's entrance has her coming with a cry, the world falling away beneath her.

her vision goes white, hips twitching as her orgasm crashes down onto her, and her legs tighten around azzi’s head.

but azzi keeps going, flicking her tongue around to trace at paige’s entrance as she spasms, and she whines when paige tugs her off, like she’s actually upset.

jesus fuck.

if paige hadn’t come literally seconds prior, the sound alone would’ve pushed her off the ledge.

her whole body is buzzing, limbs lax against the sheets, and she grins lazily down at azzi when her body begins to resume normal functioning.

“be honest, are you cheating on me?”

“baby, what,” azzi laughs, full and surprised, as she crawls up paige’s stomach and returns to prime kissing range.

this means that paige has to kiss her for a second, slow and intimate, and she gets distracted by the taste of herself on azzi’s lips and how hot it is to have her in her lap again, nerves still buzzing with her release.

and then they part for a second, and paige remembers her question. she elaborates,“how did you get better at that. gonna make a girl suspicious.” she pairs this thought with an exaggerated pout for good measure.

“you’re ridiculous,” azzi says, smiling, trying to lean back down and slot their lips back together, but paige holds her still, stubborn.

“you didn’t deny it.”

“oh my god. there’s only you, p.”

“swear?”

“swear,” she says firmly, indulgently, and pairs it with another lingering kiss.

and then azzi shifts on top of her, but she’s too distracted by her mouth to notice the new placement of azzi’s legs until she grinds down, and paige’s brain shuts off when she realizes that azzi has maneuvered their hips so that their cores are aligned, clits grinding together whenever she rocks down.

it should be too much sensation– and it is, she’s just come– but she chases the feeling anyways with a strangled cry, feeling her entire body shudder when she realizes what azzi’s goal is.

she wrenches their mouths apart when azzi grinds down again and her head drops back against the pillows. “azzi, fuck,” she moans, and her hips move away from the feeling on instinct, still reeling from her first orgasm.

“s’it too much?” azzi breathes, and. isn’t that a great question.

because it is– she’s so sensitive that the pressure of azzi’s hips on her own hurts a little bit– but she doesn’t really want azzi to stop, despite that, so she just chokes out a groan and holds the brunette’s hips above hers for a second, giving herself time to breathe.

azzi’s kneeling, a little awkwardly, above, and it would be an uncomfortable position to hold steady if it weren’t for the strong muscle of her thighs, flexing a little bit as she hovers, looking like a fucking godess-sex-demon-angel-creature. or something.

she’s looking down with half-lidded, knowing eyes, and she keeps eye contact as she drags two fingers through the slick at her own core and then grazes paige’s, hips twitching, before mixing their wetness together on her fingers.

paige watches, in a trance, and her blood gets so hot at the vision that she has to look away for a second to contain herself.

“fuck, azzi.”

she doesn’t think she’s said anything but those two words for the past ten minutes.

“you wanna taste?” she asks, and before paige answers, she’s moving her fingers up to paige’s mouth and asking for entrance and jesus fucking christ.

paige’s body might ascend to a higher plane

she opens, immediately, and the taste of them mixing together on the pads of azzi’s fingers has her moaning, desperately and without restraint, hips moving up to find azzi’s again despite the sensitivity. she licks at azzi’s two fingers, sucking them further into her mouth and watching the azzi’s expression, her eyes stay transfixed on paige’s mouth. distantly, she appreciates how turned on and wild the other girl looks too, her composure slipping with every movement of paige’s tongue, every meeting of their hips.

“we taste good together?” she asks, voice low, before removing her finger from paige’s mouth to allow her to answer.

paige can only nod vigorously, though, not sure that she’s capable of words right now considering azzi is trying to kill her.

the brunette grins wickedly. “wanna taste it.”

she repeats the process from before, dragging her fingers– still damp from paige’s tongue– through her own slick, before sliding them briefly into paige’s entrance. the intentional stroke leaves paige gasping, but she doesn’t get a chance to catch her breath because instead of bringing her fingers to her own mouth, azzi returns to paige’s, pressing them down on her tongue and ensuring their mixed wetness coats her mouth before she’s dipping down to kiss her, hungry and desperate.

holy fucking shit.

the action has paige already close to the edge of another orgasm like it’s nothing, hips grinding together and mouths moving messily. she doesn’t know where azzi learned this, doesn’t even want to know, but she just counts her lucky fucking stars that she gets to experience the hottest thing in the universe.

in an ideal world, paige would wait for azzi to work herself up in tandem with her, would be able to stave off her own orgasm until they could come together. this simply is not possible, however, with how keyed up she already is from getting eaten out, and how hot it is to have azzi moving above her, just as desperate, and the vision of her, fucked out expression and curls bouncing as she grinds their cores together with reckless abandon.

she grips azzi’s hips to assist her, adding more force to her thrusts, and azzi must be able to tell that she’s close from the noises she’s making– paige has long since stopped paying attention to the string of needy whines coming out of her mouth, too pleasure drunk to care– because she asks, voice desperate, “you gonna come for me again, paige?”

paige keens an affirmative “yeah, gonna come, fuck,” and azzi makes an approving noise in the back of her throat, reaching down to tug at one of paige’s nipples.

the new sensation, combined with a particularly delicious grind of their hips and the view of azzi’s concentrated, pleasure-ridden expression has paige arching off the bed and coming with a scream, azzi’s name tearing from her throat.

blood rushes to her ears, muscles spasming, and she tugs azzi off immediately, pulling her up to straddle her abs as paige’s body tries to catch up to the earthquake that just tore through her.

she’s sure she takes a minute to come down, and when she blinks her eyes open, she’s met with the sight of azzi hovering over her, looking like she’s desperately trying not to grind too hard into paige’s stomach, biting her lip, and the view almost makes her come again on the spot.

she looks angelic— in a demonic, sinner sort of way? if that’s possible?— curls framing her face, lips bitten raw, a flush spreading down from her cheekbones to her chest.

“you back with us?” she asks, self satisfied and teasing. which is like. fair, because she’s just absolutely ruined paige, twice, but also. paige needs to even the playing field a little bit. can’t have her getting too big a head.

there’s a reason paige usually gets her off first– more than just for her own enjoyment of seeing azzi fall apart. because if she doesn’t fuck an orgasm out of the younger, coax out the needy side, she gets an ego like this. paige is determined to fix that.

she raises an eyebrow and tightens her hold on azzi’s hips in response, before pulling her down so her cunt grinds hard, on the taught skin of paige’s abdomen.

immediately, she keens, head thrown back, and her hands fly up to her chest to play with her own nipples, fingers tracing the skin of her areola and squeezing. she’s dripping, slick pooling on paige’s stomach, and the feeling of it makes paige dizzy with the desire to get her off.

she keeps her hands rocking azzi down into her stomach and back up, watching the arousal echo across her face and down the rest of her body, and when azzi moans particularly loudly at the feeling of her clit pressing down, paige smirks. “you wanna come, baby?”

azzi keens. “yeah. please.”

paige just hums, and stops the movement entirely, holding her still and relishing in the broken whine that she releases when paige prevents her from grinding down again to get friction.

she curls her hands behind azzi’s thighs and tugs, almost moaning at the feeling of the strength of her quads and the drag of azzi’s wetness up her navel and in between the valley of her breasts. she looks confused for all of two seconds before realization crashes over her face, and she keens, even before paige tugs her over her mouth.

she pulls azzi fully over her, gazing at her fluttering cunt, the soft pink just begging for her mouth, and when azzi whines again, waiting, paige listens, settling her over her mouth and immediately getting to work.

she drags her tongue through her soaked folds, and she feels like a dying man in a desert who’s just found an oasis, moaning at the taste of azzi on her tongue and relishing in the answering moans she can hear above her.

she sucks at her clit for a few seconds, and smirks into her when azzi’s thighs twitch, before switching to her entrance, tracing slowly and then thrusting in, slick dripping down her chin.

“please, paige– i need it please– love your mouth so much–” azzi sounds absolutely wrecked above her, and paige thinks that if she could pick the way she dies this would be her choice in a heartbeat: azzi, needy and pliant above her, blissed out expression on her face and moans of paige’s name tumbling from her lips, the muscle of her thighs caging paige in and the taste of her, sharp and sweet, flooding her senses.

she knows she’s close, can feel it in the tremor of her legs and the grind of her hips and the clench of her walls around her tongue, and when azzi breathes out “so close, please,” and throws her head back, paige drags one of the hands that’s been holding azzi’s thigh to her entrance, curling two fingers immediately into her cunt to press down on her g-spot and sucking at her clit, hard.

and azzi positively sobs above her, clamping her legs down firmly and cutting off paige’s ability to breathe as she comes, wetness flooding out of her. paige keeps at it, licking her through it, watching as she keeps her head tipped back, fingers still clutching her breast. she looks positively sinful.

azzi slumps backwards when the last of her orgasm washes away, and paige reaches up to maneuver them into her desired post-sex cuddle position– fronts pressed together and legs tangled.

it’s a little sweaty, and there’s slick all over paige stomach and thighs, and more on azzi, but they curl into each other anyways, contentment settling deep in their bones.

“missed that,” she says, pressing a messy kiss to azzi’s forehead, “solid elven out of ten.”

she mumbles “fourteen,” in response and bats at paige’s shoulder lazily, somehow pressing even closer, and paige laughs softly at how needy azzi always gets after sex, wanting to be practically inside paige’s skin. she’s never once minded, knows with certainty she never will.

she wonders if there will ever be a time when she gets used to the sex– both how good it is, always, and just how unreal it feels to have azzi like that, under her or above her but always wholly paige’s.

she doubts it.

she thinks that if she had to pick a moment to hold on to forever it would be this one, them tangled together, skin on skin, just basking in the warmth of each other, and the intimacy of it makes her feel light headed in the best way possible.

they doze for a bit, sun casting shadows through the blinds over azzi’s back and making her look holy in the morning light.

azzi starts drawing lines, softly, over her stomach at one point, and paige glances down at where her fingers are tracing the marks she’d left on paige’s abdomen and then back to azzi’s self satisfied face. “possessive, hmm?’

“yeah,” she breathes, and then presses down on the biggest one. “mine.”

and. well. paige is wet again.

she rolls her eyes a little bit at azzi’s conviction, like she has the need to scare everyone else off, which is absurd. “been yours since we were, like, sixteen.”

“yeah.” azzi smiles and nips paige’s shoulder. “been yours too, y’know. even if i didn’t know the depth of it.” she laughs a little before continuing, “used to get so fucking jealous when you would flirt with girls in front of me, but i convinced myself it was cause they didn’t deserve you.”

“yeah?” paige grins, wide and happy, something settling in her stomach at the idea that azzi had been just as possessive as her in college even if she didn’t know why.

azzi nods in paige’s shoulder. “mmhm. i was so stupid. teenage paige was much smarter, should’ve just listened to her.”

“maybe, maybe not. she was a little overeager,” paige says, wistfully. her sixteen year old self had thought they’d be locked in by the time they were twenty, probably would’ve, like, proposed by twenty-two. she’d definitely be a little disbelieving at how long it took them to get here, but she’d think it was all worth it if paige gave her the details. especially if she emphasized how pretty azzi sounds sitting on paige’s face.

azzi breathes out a laugh, seemingly agreeing. “true. it’s probably a little soon to be married with like, seven kids which is i’m guessing what we’d be according to her life plans.”

she says it so casually, like the thought of marrying paige, having kids with her, isn’t some ridiculous idea but instead a given. as if it was obviously part of their future one way or another. paige’s heart flutters sickeningly in her chest.

her grin is a little soft on her face when she asks “yeah? gonna let me put a ring on you?” and it’s supposed to be teasing but she just sounds entirely soft and hopeful. whatever.

“yeah,” azzi smiles radiantly right back. “if the ring’s big enough, probably,” she adds airly.

paige laughs, bright and disbelieving. “liar. you wanna marry me so bad.” she basks in the thoughts of their future, giddy. “an’ imma put at least seven kids in you, mama. prolly more.”

azzi hums happily in agreement. “i’m maxing you out at ten.”

“so we can run five on fives?”

“exactly.”

they sit in contented silence for a minute, and paige lets herself revel in the future that azzi is laying in front of them as the other girl curls closer, hiding her face from the blonde.

“speaking of like- putting a baby in me,” azzi starts, and paige’s ears perk up. this promises to be a delightful sentence.

she fiddles with paige’s fingers and stays buried in her shoulder, shy. “could we maybe- if you like- if you like wanted- maybewecouldgetastrap.”

the last part comes out jumbled together, and it takes a second for paige to process. and then.

her brain whites out.

wow her life was awesome. like so, so awesome.

despite the fact she just came, twice mind you, heat pools immediately in her core, and she feels a little lightheaded from the idea. her imagination is having one of its best days in a while. oscar worthy film productions are being written.

they are so having sex again before they get up.

a slow, obscene grin drifts across her face. “azzi fudd, you’re filthy.”

“whatever. your hips just twitched.” she burrows further into paige’s neck.

“i’m ordering one as soon as we get out of bed,” paige agrees, and then, just to be annoying, “gonna get a neon green one for the wings.”

“absolutely not,” comes azzi’s indignant response, though paige can feel the smile against her skin.

she gasps in mock offense and rolls them over so she can look down at azzi’s wonderful, flushed face beneath her. she pouts. “you sayin’ you won’t love our children if they turn out a little green? i can’t help what i am.”

it says something about how sickeningly in love she is, probably, that they’re discussing sex toys and she’s focussed on the thought of how endearing it would be to have imaginary little green alien kids of theirs running around. whatever.

azzi rolls her eyes, affection seeping out of her pores. “i’m saying that if you come anywhere near me with a chartreuse dick i’m calling the police.”

paige is sure her grin is enormous. “yeah, baby? what’re you gonna tell ‘em– that your incredibly hot girlfriend wants to fu-”

azzi cuts her off with a kiss. “shut the fuck up.”

they absolutely have sex again before they get up.

…

paige has to be at the practice facilities at one, so they eventually drag themselves out of bed around eleven, the blonde grumbling the entire time about leaving the warmth of her comforter.

they bicker in the shower over where they should go on vacation during the offseason (they settle on azzi’s idea, hawaii, because paige relents immediately when she mentions the word bikini), argue about how many vegetables azzi puts in paige’s omelet while they’re cooking (“you need nutrients, paige, they’ll make your muscles stronger.” “you seemed to think my muscles were plenty impressive earlier, given the bite marks on my abs.” “just shut the fuck up and eat your eggs.”), and fight over who has to sit on the rickety bar stool while they eat (they compromise with azzi on paige’s lap on the good stool, and only feel half as ridiculous as they should.)

it's the best morning paige has had in quite some time.

and then azzi drops her at the facilities, driving paige's car, with a lingering kiss over the console and a “love you, baby, gonna kill it,” before promising to go grocery shopping and stock up on even more vegetables to torment paige with, and she could cry at the domesticity.

she doesn’t, but. it's a near thing.

she walks into their shoot around with the most lovesick smile on her face, feeling like she’s floating on air.

the aces won’t know what hit ‘em.

…

the game is physical in the way only the knockout game of a playoff series can be– elbows jabbing with a little more force than usual and boxing out more aggressively than strictly necessary. paige is expecting this, is prepared for this, and even knocks in her own unusually rough shoulder bump when an aces player throws too much weight behind a screen.

it’s a close but winnable game by the time the fourth quarter rolls around, and paige can taste the championship finals. she’s proud of her efforts, 21 points overall and 12 from the three. (she always shoots threes a little better when azzi is near, like her impeccable form rubs off on paige).

the wings start really trailing away after a three from maddy puts them up by 9 with four minutes remaining, and las vegas goes from physical to downright reckless, trying to do anything to get a block, a steal, some points.

young gets the ball to start the aces next play, and paige narrows in to guard her, aware that there’s a screen incoming. it still catches her off guard, however, when a player– she can’t even tell who it happens so fast– collides with her back and gets tangled with paige’s already moving body, somehow catching on her jersey and sending them both tumbling, hard, to the ground.

paige lands smack on her back, head thumping against the floor, and she takes a second to evaluate the damage. her head is throbbing, dull ache already spreading through her skull, but her limbs seem to be relatively fine, and her jersey is rucked up high on her chest somehow from how the aces player– whose identity is still a mystery to paige and who is lying in a heap a foot away. she covers her face with her hands in an attempt to block out the noise of the crowd and decipher if this feels like a minor annoyance type of injury or a big fuck up.

nothing seems broken, which is good.

a little deliriously, she wonders if maybe this clip will go viral, what with her abs being out and her head tipped back in pain. is that weird to be thinking about? she doesn’t really care.

when she establishes that she’s pretty sure she doesn’t have a concussion, she widens the fingers over her eyes and peeks up at the circle of teammates around her.

she’s expecting to see some concerned looks, considering she just fell pretty hard and might have hit her head, which is why she’s bewildered by their smirks of amusement, and only a few concerned comments.

“you okay there, lil’ paigey?” says nai, who’s squatting to her left, positively gleeful, and instead of gesturing at her head, like a good, concerned teammate, pokes paige in the stomach, laughing.

“bruh, what the fuck,” she grits out, and covers her eyes fully with her hands again. maybe if she acts more injured, dijonai will stop being so annoying.

but even maddy, usually a little more motherly in that regard, looks at paige a little funny when she asks sympathetically, “how bad does your head hurt?”

before she can respond, jj piles on immediately with shit eating grin on her face, saying “her head or her stomach,” and paige finally sits up enough to glance down in confusion.

distantly, she hears nai say “we should ask azzi,” but she’s too busy looking at the unmistakable trail of marks starting from her navel and sensually trailing down past her waistband from where azzi had been focussed this morning.

and ohmygod.

paige now understands why everyone is trying not to laugh at her.

she jerks her head back up in panic, frantically shoving her jersey back down across her stomach, and generally contemplates how bad it would be to try and hang herself from the basketball hoop.

jesus fuck she is going to kill herself.

the hickies were, like, so extremely visible. to everyone. for at least fifteen seconds.

to like. the entire arena probably. and the millions of people watching on tv–

“i don’t- um. it’s not,” she stutters, hands trying to shove her jersey back into the waistband of her shorts while still sitting, eyes wide and cheeks burning.

this might be the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to her. probably.

azzi is going to murder her.

the medical staff crowd in just as arike whistles out a low “she claimed yo ass reallll nice huh, paigey. gotchu all marked up.” fucking bitch.

and paige has no response, couldn’t even give one if she wanted to anyways because their trainer is helping her onto her feet, and grilling her about her fall.

she actually thinks she might collapse from the humiliation.

her ears and cheeks are probably redder than a tomato.

as the medical staff usher her over the bench to get her evaluated, she glances involuntarily over to where her family and friends are sitting courtside. nika and kk are on either side of azzi absolutely cracking up, and surely saying something exceedingly inappropriate, while azzi stands in the middle, hands over her face.

awesome awesome awesome.

it's not like they’d been trying to hide their relationship– it’d be kind of hard to come up with excuses as to why they’d been spotted flying to random cities just to get less than 24 hours together and posting random funny anecdotes from their time together on social media– but this is a level of out there that was sort of undeniable if you were paying attention. it was quite clear that someone had given paige those marks– she supposed a cupping excuse wasn’t going to cut it– and it wouldn’t be hard to put the pieces together on who that had been, especially given the fact that azzi had been spotted in the dallas airport the night before. the plausible deniability of the nature of their relationship had sort of just crumbled into nothing.

cool cool cool cool cool.

like azzi can feel her eyes from across the court, she lifts her hands for a second and makes eye contact with paige. her cheeks are crimson, concern and embarrassment warring across her face and eyes wide like she can’t believe that's just happened, and yet.

she looks like the prettiest girl in the arena, prettiest girl in the world.

and paige can’t help the lopsided, guilty grin that spreads across her face. she’s sure this will be clipped a million times, but she doesn’t even care because the embarrassment is sort of fading away.

because everyone with half a brain cell now knows that paige definitely belongs to azzi fudd. and that’s the best thing she’s ever accomplished– certainly not something to be ashamed of– and. whatever. let people talk.

paige can see azzi roll her eyes from all the way in her spot on the sidelines, and her smile only grows, pleased and unabashed, and then turns to give the poor trainer her full attention.

the short rest of the game involves paige enduring a litany of comments from the bench while trying to convince the training staff and coach to let her back in, insisting that she’s not concussed. she’s unsuccessful, but the wings pull off the win anyways, and then she gets to bask in the glory of a trip to the league championship, which is fucking awesome.

she breezes through the post game handshakes and celebration with her head held high, humoring the comments about making sure she ices her head and her stomach, and simply sits with the euphoria of winning the series.

when her friends and family are finally allowed onto the court, she’s still sweating, confetti sticking to her jersey and grin wide across her face as she catches drew when he leaps into her arms.

“you and azzi are nasty,” he says, instead of congratulating her. of course. brotherly love in all its wonderful glory.

“bruh shut up,” she says, shoving him off with a hand to his forehead. “fuck outta here.”

he just cackles maniacally, and runs off, surely going to find dijonai, his favorite.

and then azzi herself is in front of paige, smiling small and proud, a little sheepish.

paige’s grin turns impossibly fond, a little cocky. “hey there, baby.”

“hi,” she says, eyes furtively looking around to see who’s paying attention to them. she must either not realize that the answer to that is everyone or decide she doesn’t care, because she brings a hand up to paige’s cheek and asks earnestly, “you okay? it's not a concussion, right?”

paige smiles at the concern- it's ridiculous how a simple gesture like that can make her cheeks flush– and shakes her head. “nah, we chillin’. you can still kiss it better though.”

azzi just groans, and pulls the older girl in for a hug. “bro. imma kill myself. or you. haven’t decided which yet.”

“nooooo,” she drags out, wrapping her arms tighter around azzi’s back and pulling her closer. “don’t do that, i like you possessive. gotta make sure everyone knows i won jus’ for you.”

azzi huffs, sending goosebumps skittering across the skin of paige’s shoulder, and pokes paige’s side. “makin’ it real hard to want to congratulate you.”

paige grins into her shoulder. “you gonna let me kiss you as a prize since everybody knows i’m yours now?”

“no,” azzi whines, emphatically, and then hums like she’s reconsidering, smile pressed into her skin, and paige knows she doesn’t really care that everyone will be in their business now either, can feel the humiliation in azzi falling away. “beat the liberty for me and i’ll think about it.”

as motivators go, it’s a fairly good one.

(the wings do not win the championship, and it’s a heartbreaking, well fought loss, but azzi kisses her anyways– wet cheeks and cameras around them be damned– and as consolation prizes go, it’s pretty up there. paige promises sweetly that they’ll win it the following year against the mystics and gets an elbow in the stomach as retaliation.)

(a clip of that interaction goes almost as viral as the tv clip of paige’s fall in the semis: her, getting dragged to the floor by her jersey and immediately covering her face in pain, the hickies ridiculously visible to the camera, and carrying an undeniable insinuation. the broadcast must desperately want to change the stream to a less graphic display because they immediately switch it to the camera view of paige’s family and friends, who begin to realize what’s on paige’s abdomen and who immediately turn to azzi in amused disbelief. the announcers stumble through a comical explanation of the people in frame, and one laughs when the other says and that is azzi fudd, probable rookie of the year for the mystics and paige bueckers’ uh. close friend.)(it's not the worst thing that’s ever been part of paige’s digital footprint, even if her mother disagrees.)

AN: badda bing badda boom. such concludes this journey fr fr fr this time. this was ridiculous I'm. deeply sorry if you wanted plot. if you give me a comment/ask/anything I will personally kiss you on the mouth I'm so serious they make me so happy and motivate me so much. ily for reading <333333 ok bye

#paige bueckers x azzi fudd #paige x azzi #pazzi smut #pazzi fics #once again i give up on tagging #if this is terrible don't tell me #thank you and goodnight i guess?#xoxo gossip girl

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sheepispink · 1 month ago

Text

currently thinking abt reader and ghost healing eachother..

Ghost saw you tear up for the first time back when you were just another rookie in his eyes. It was expected—the reaction to the battlefield—and he just sighed, knowing that you’d end up dropping out sooner or later. After all, that mindset never made it far in this job.

But you didnt, no, you moved up the ranks, until he became a lieutenant and you were a soldier assigned as backup for his troops. He recognised the familiarity of the way your eyes would dart, how they’d lock onto the target and yet not fail to save another. Still, he forgot about you again fairly quickly, letting you dissipate into the back of his mind because, at the end of it all, you were just some soldier who had a bit of a head on your shoulders. People get toughened up all the time— there was no real difference to any other soldiers he met.

Then you finally became a sergeant, and you were friends with Gaz, Soap followed, until you were even having plenty of interesting conversations with Price. Even Ghost knew you better, heard you talk, even your tiny complaints which you quickly laughed off.

This time he remembered you when he turned the corner that night, walking around base as a cold breeze seeped into the cracks of his clothing, making small goosebumps rise on his arms. You had just come back from a mission, one where even Price had sung your praises to the whole team and Gaz gave a detailed retelling of what you had done for them. How fast you thought, how many lives you saved: your talents, strengths and skills. Ghost had respect for you before, but now you were practically his team.

So, he recognised you instantly when he heard the soft sniffle on the bench, your eyes watering as you sat there. You looked conflicted, even after you had generals shaking your hand today. At first he had narrowed his eyes, left wondering why you would even be crying.

Everyone knew it did nothing: just a bodily response from those with weak minds and weak bodies.

But he knew you weren’t weak, you were so, so far from that. If he was to ever accuse you of being weak, he’d probably be attacked and fired for the sheer stupidity of it. Still, it didnt make sense, if you were crying, were you not weak in some way?

He only realises he’s been stood there staring at you when you lift your face, meeting his eyes before hurriedly sniffling it down and wiping your face frantically. Like you were scared of how he’d percieve it.

“It’s not—“ You begin, but he just stares, watching as you rub your palms against your eyelids until they're red and raw, how you sniffle so hard and yet stilll struggle to keep the tears from threatening to breach. Even your shoulders are so tense, hands in fists like you’re teetering on the edge.

You knew crying made you weak; the fear in your eyes was evidence of that since you clearly thought he’d tell you off in some way, maybe even insist you were being dramatic. Though, even with your efforts, you couldn't stop them from swelling, from remaining there even whilst you attempted to mutter something about hayfever. Silly, it was not even March yet.

“You’re not weak.” He says bluntly, though his voice breaks just slightly as if he was the one with the water in his eyes, cracking his resolve. Your eyes are wide, looking at him in awe as he calls out your fear, his eyes filled with certainty.

Ghost knew you were strong, he knew you were the best damn soldier any officer like him could ever ask for. Though, even you, the soldier who had swelled hope in many rookies' hearts and shook hands with the best of the best, couldn’t escape the pain— the tears that swelled.

Crying isn't all as useless as he had been forced to believe, not a sign of the cowardice in a person's heart and definitely not a sign of weakness. If even you couldn't keep it in, that meant it needed to happen, the body wanted it— like a necessary function to survive. It was like letting things go, and allowing the body the relief to forget the horrors for a while.

“What..?” You mutter, hands frozen on your face as you try and dab away the wetness keeping your eyelids pitifully glossy.

“..Dont stop it.” He says, coming to sit down beside your shivering form on the bench, your eyes following his every movement. “Just.. let yourself have it. Ok?”

No, crying didn't make the situation much better, and it certainly didn't change whatever caused it all that much. What it really did was give your body a well deserved break, a full trust to let any perceptions come crumbling down just to build them back stronger the next time. Just like a person needed to eat, to sleep, to sweat, to breathe— they needed to cry.

For the first time in his life, Ghost didnt feel disappointment when he saw the tears well again, no, rather relief. You had made him realise it was okay, and he’d make sure you knew it too.

——

daily reminder that crying is never a sign of weakness no matter who you are, or your background of your story or even how insignificant you think ur problem is. I literally cried yesterday because i was sleepy

love u all, stay safe <3

Masterlist

support me with kofi!

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x y/n #simon ghost riley x you

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dior-luxury · 2 months ago

Note

how would bllk react to reader making them lunch for their practice?? would love to see it <3

Making Them Lunch For Practice

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . fluff - she/her .

- [𝐜𝐡.] bllk 11 . isagi . rin . nagi . bachira . reo . barou . yukimiya . otoya . karasu . niko . aryu . chigiri . gagamaru . raichi . hiori . nanase .

- [𝐩:𝐬] long writing . cute headcanons . boyfriend blue lock >>>>

Note: These stories came out much cuter than I had expected 😭Also I LOVE the idea of giving the boys food before/after practice. And they honestly deserve it so much too!!

Isagi Yoichi

The morning sunlight poured through the kitchen window in soft golden rays as you packed up the final touches of Isagi’s lunch. The bento box was filled with all his favorites—grilled teriyaki chicken with sesame seeds, a neat pile of tamagoyaki, sticky white rice shaped into little soccer balls with nori patterns, and even a tiny corner for strawberries you’d carved into roses. You’d woken up extra early to get it all just right.

The moment he shuffled into the kitchen, hair still messy from sleep, your heart gave that little flutter it always did when he looked at you like you were his whole world.

"Good morning, Yoichi!" you chirped, hiding the bento behind your back.

He blinked blearily, then smiled when he saw you. “Morning, babe. You’re up early... whatcha hiding?” His tone was playful, suspicious.

You pulled the bento out like a magician revealing their final trick. "Ta-da! Lunch for my star striker."

His eyes widened, then softened into the kind of expression that made you melt—a warm, slightly crooked smile, the kind he wore only when he was overflowing with affection.

“No way,” he whispered, stepping closer. “You made that… for me?”

You nodded. “You’ve been working so hard lately. I wanted to make sure you had something homemade today. Fuel for the future World Cup hero.”

He looked at the bento, then at you. Then again at the bento. “This looks… insane. It’s so perfect I almost don’t wanna eat it. Almost.”

You handed it to him, and he cradled it like it was something precious. He leaned in, kissed your forehead, then your cheek. “You’re the best, you know that? I’m gonna score today with this energy. For you.”

Later that afternoon, when the team took a break, Isagi sat down, popped open the lid, and was immediately the target of jealous stares.

“No way—Isagi, that’s homemade?” Bachira peered over his shoulder like a curious raccoon. “Can I marry them too?”

Isagi shielded the lunch protectively, cheeks red but proud. “Back off. This is power-up food. You don’t mess with power-up food.”

As he ate, he took slow, thoughtful bites, tasting every little effort you'd poured into it. In that quiet moment, surrounded by teammates yelling and the distant thud of soccer balls, he felt grounded, loved. Reinvigorated. Every bite reminded him what he was fighting for.

That night, he sent you a selfie with a thumbs up and grass in his hair.

“Scored twice today. Guess who I was thinking about every time I aimed?”

Rin Itoshi

Rin wasn’t the kind of boyfriend who asked for much. He was quiet, intense, and fully immersed in his obsession with becoming the best striker in the world. But you saw the cracks in the armor—the subtle signs of stress, the dark circles under his eyes, the way his jaw clenched after practice when he thought no one was watching.

So, today, you decided to do something for him.

You made his bento with a quiet kind of love. Rin liked clean, balanced flavors—nothing too heavy. So you cooked salmon with lemon and herbs, roasted vegetables on the side, and soba noodles with a light sesame dressing. You added two little onigiri with umeboshi, shaped into tiny hearts. He would roll his eyes at that… but not really. Deep down, he’d like it.

You made your way to the training facility just as the sun started to climb. The field was already buzzing with movement. You found Rin stretching on the sidelines, alone, headphones in, brows drawn tight. Even in the chaos, he always seemed a little apart—untouchable.

You approached slowly and tapped his shoulder.

He turned, pulling out an earbud, and his expression shifted instantly from stern focus to a more relaxed surprise. “What are you doing here?”

You smiled, holding up the lunch bag. “Thought I’d drop something off before practice.”

His eyes flicked to the bag, then back to you. “You made that?”

You nodded. “Didn’t want you running on vending machine sandwiches again.”

He reached out for the lunch, fingers brushing yours just slightly longer than necessary. His voice was low. “Thanks. You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” you said. “But I wanted to.”

For a second, Rin didn’t say anything. He just looked at you, the corners of his eyes softening. He wasn't good with words, but this was one of those moments where the silence between you both said everything.

At break time, when he sat down alone near the bench and opened the bento, he actually paused.

Heart-shaped onigiri.

He gave the tiniest huff of a laugh, barely audible. Anyone else would’ve thought he was annoyed. But he wasn’t. It made his chest feel warm in a way that almost hurt.

He ate in peace, thinking about you. Thinking about how much steadier he felt today. How the food reminded him of something he didn’t often let himself dwell on: comfort, and care, and a sense of home. You were becoming all of that to him.

Later, when he got back to his apartment, you were already there, curled up on the couch.

He placed the empty bento box beside you and sat wordlessly next to you, his arm sliding around your waist.

After a while, he said quietly, “You made me feel... full today. Not just the food.”

You rested your head against his shoulder. “Good. That was the point.”

And in the rare warmth of his post-practice peace, Rin didn’t need to say he loved you. It was in the way he leaned into your touch, relaxed for once, just breathing you in.

Nagi Seishiro

Practice was brutal today. The sun loomed high, scorching the field, and sweat clung to every player's skin like a second layer. Nagi was sprawled lazily across the grass during break, one arm slung over his eyes to block out the light.

Everything felt like such a hassle — running drills, playing scrimmages, even standing up felt like climbing a mountain.

Until he heard the soft crunch of shoes against the grass nearby.

Peeking from under his arm, he saw you, standing there awkwardly, a shy smile on your face and a small, neatly packed bento box cradled in your hands. You knelt down next to him, the scent of something warm and savory immediately teasing his senses.

“Sei… I made you lunch for practice,” you murmured, holding it out toward him.

For a second, he just stared. His silver hair clung slightly to his forehead, and his golden eyes widened — not dramatically, but enough that you caught the rare flicker of surprise there.

"You made this... for me?" he said, voice low and lazy as always, but laced with something different — a softness that made your heart flip.

He sat up slowly, as if in a daze, and accepted the box from your hands. His fingers brushed yours — clumsy, warm, and lingering longer than necessary.

He opened the lid and blinked.

Inside, it wasn’t anything fancy: rice shaped into little onigiri, some grilled chicken, rolled omelet slices, and even a few heart-shaped carrot pieces tucked carefully at the side.

"...Such a hassle," he muttered under his breath — but there was no bite to it. None at all.

In fact, he looked at the lunch as if it was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen.

Nagi leaned back against the grass, pulling you with him so you sat between his legs. He rested his chin lazily on your shoulder, poking at the food with his chopsticks.

"You're... really nice to me," he mumbled, a bit drowsily, "Too nice."

He fed himself a bite, and his eyes closed immediately as he savored it. A low, pleased hum rumbled from his throat, like a cat curling into sunlight.

“Mm… tastes better ‘cause it’s from you.”

He tilted his head against yours, letting his heavy body lean almost completely on you, as if he trusted you to hold him up.

Nagi didn't need grand words. His affection lived in small things — the way he fed you a bite next, murmuring "open," or the way he let you steal his water bottle later, pretending not to notice how his cheeks turned the faintest shade of pink.

That lunch break, you weren't just his s/o.

You were his comfort, his peace, his favorite kind of "not a hassle."

And he made sure you knew it, even if it was only through the lazy way his hand never left yours for the rest of the day.

Bachira Meguru

The training grounds buzzed with energy — players laughing, balls thudding against nets, coaches barking instructions. Bachira was, as always, a chaotic blur, weaving between players during scrimmage with that wild, fearless grin that made him seem half-dream, half-nightmare to anyone trying to block him.

When the break whistle finally sounded, he jogged toward the benches, sweat sticking his messy hair to his forehead. He looked around immediately, almost instinctively searching for you.

When he spotted you standing there — lunch bag dangling from your fingers, eyes bright and excited — his face lit up instantly.

"Y/N!!!" he called, waving his arms dramatically over his head as he sprinted toward you, practically knocking over a cone on the way. A few of his teammates chuckled at his antics.

You barely had time to brace yourself before Bachira threw his arms around you, spinning you in a little circle before setting you down, laughing.

"You brought me something??" he asked, eyes gleaming with pure childlike wonder.

"Yeah," you said, a little breathless from his enthusiasm. You held out the bag. "I thought you might need some fuel!"

Bachira gasped as if you'd handed him a treasure chest.

"You’re the best! The BEST best!!" he sang, bouncing on his toes as he grabbed the bag. He dropped to the grass immediately, cross-legged, unpacking it with all the care of a kid opening presents on Christmas morning.

Inside was a box packed with fun, colorful foods — little sandwiches with funny faces drawn on them with seaweed, mini skewers of fruit, tiny octopus-shaped sausages. A lunch full of surprises, just like him.

"Woaaah!! Look!! They’re smiling!!!" he giggled, showing off one of the sandwich faces to his teammate as if it were a trophy. "Y/N made it!!!"

He grabbed a sandwich, took a huge bite, and immediately threw his head back with a loud, delighted groan.

"SO GOOD!!! IT'S Y/N-FLAVORED!!!" he shouted.

You nearly choked on your own spit. "That's not — that’s not how you say it—!"

But Bachira just laughed and patted the grass next to him until you sat down too.

As he ate, he kept sneaking glances at you, eyes soft and glittering, lips curled into the most genuine, easy smile. Every few bites, he'd lean against your shoulder, humming happily.

After he finished nearly the whole box in record time, he turned to you, sandwich crumbs still stuck to his cheek.

"You know," he said, voice softer now, "when you do stuff like this... it makes my monster real happy."

You blinked. "Your monster?"

He nodded seriously, tapping his chest. "The part of me that wants to play, that wants to keep moving forward — it gets even louder when you're around. 'Cause you're my favorite person. You're the one who sees me."

You didn't even have time to respond before he tackled you into a messy hug, knocking you both into the grass, laughing.

The afternoon sun burned golden above you. And in that moment, in Bachira’s arms, hearing his laughter rumble through your back, you realized something:

You hadn’t just given him food.

You’d given him joy. You'd become part of the very thing that made him run so fearlessly across the field.

Reo Mikage

At first, Reo hadn’t even noticed you arriving. He was too busy — barking plays at teammates, that sharp glint in his eye, moving with a natural grace that made it clear: Reo Mikage didn’t just play soccer, he commanded it.

But when his gaze swept across the field mid-break and landed on you — standing there in casual clothes, holding a sleek, pastel-colored lunch box in your hands — everything else faded into static.

He immediately jogged over, ignoring the coach's call for a quick team huddle, towel slung over his neck, sweat shining on his forehead. His violet hair was messy, sticking to his skin in a way that made him look both devastatingly handsome and ridiculously approachable at the same time.

"You... came?" he said, breathless, a tiny, rare note of uncertainty in his voice.

"I made you lunch," you said simply, lifting the box.

Reo stared at it, blinking once. Twice.

"You made it yourself?"

You nodded, a little shy. "Yeah. Thought it might help you out."

He exhaled a low, almost disbelieving laugh — like he couldn’t believe someone would choose to do something so earnest for him.

“God, you’re incredible,” he murmured under his breath, before taking the box from your hands like it was made of glass.

He led you to a bench in the shade, wiping his hands with his towel before peeling open the lid. His eyes widened — you had packed everything meticulously: truffle rice balls (you remembered he liked a little luxury), grilled teriyaki chicken, pickled vegetables, and a few tiny sweets tucked into the corner for afters.

"You… remembered all my favorites," he said, voice thick with something heavier than gratitude. "You’re gonna spoil me."

He picked up a bite with his chopsticks, chewing thoughtfully. As the flavors melted on his tongue, his head tilted back slightly, and he let out the softest, most genuine sound you’d ever heard from him — a sound of complete bliss.

Then he turned that dazzling, megawatt grin on you.

"You’re dangerous," he said, resting his elbow on his knee and leaning toward you with lazy, flirtatious ease. "If you keep doing stuff like this, I’ll have to marry you."

He was joking — kind of. But you caught the way his cheeks flushed slightly pink under the midday sun.

Before you could answer, Reo leaned in, kissed your forehead, and whispered:

“Thank you, princess. I’ll make it up to you after practice.”

Later that night, he sent you dozens of texts planning your next date, determined to outdo your thoughtfulness with something that would leave you speechless instead.

Because Mikage Reo didn’t just receive love. He matched it, multiplied it, and sent it back tenfold.

Barou Shoei

Barou was the picture of intensity on the field — a storm wrapped in a man’s body, every move sharp and decisive. His presence was so overwhelming, sometimes people flinched just trying to meet his gaze.

You stood at the edge of the practice grounds, lunch bag clutched to your chest, heart hammering. How would he react? Would he even accept it?

When break was called, Barou stalked toward the sidelines, towel over his shoulder, glaring at the ground as if daring it to challenge him. He barely noticed you at first — until he caught your familiar scent carried on the breeze.

He stopped dead in his tracks, lifting his head.

You stepped forward nervously. "Shouei... I made you lunch."

The entire world seemed to go silent.

He stared. His red eyes locked onto yours — intense, unblinking — and for one terrifying moment, you thought you’d made a mistake.

Then, wordlessly, he closed the distance between you.

His hand — big, calloused, and impossibly gentle — took the lunch bag from yours.

He opened it without a word, revealing a sturdy bento box filled with hearty food: thick-cut beef with rice, roasted vegetables, a miso soup flask on the side, and a small, clumsy hand-written note tucked between the layers.

"Eat up, King. You deserve it."

Barou’s brows twitched. He picked up the note, holding it like it was made of precious metal.

He cleared his throat, glancing around to make sure no one was paying too much attention, before sitting heavily on the bench nearby. You hesitated, but he shot you a glare — not a mean one, but the kind that said: Don’t even think about leaving.

He dug into the food without fanfare, biting into the beef first.

A beat of silence.

Then a low, pleased rumble vibrated from deep in his chest, almost like a growl.

"This is... good," he muttered gruffly, eyes lowered like he didn’t want you to see the way they softened.

You smiled, cheeks burning.

Barou ate quickly, efficiently, every so often glancing at you like he still couldn’t believe you had taken the time to do this for him. When he finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, stood up, and loomed over you.

"You got guts, bringin’ somethin’ like this to me," he said, tone rough. But you could hear the pride underneath. "Good guts."

Then, awkwardly — very awkwardly — he ruffled your hair, so clumsily it almost knocked you backward.

"You’re mine," he said bluntly. "You got that?"

And before you could answer, Barou stalked off toward practice again, chest puffed out, moving like he had just scored a hat-trick — because deep down, he knew: no victory on the field could ever compare to winning your heart.

Yukimiya Kenyu

The sharp click of cleats on pavement echoed across the training center as Yukimiya wiped the sweat from his brow. Everything he did, he did with precision — from the clean dribble of his feet to the way he tied his hair up neatly after a scrimmage.

He moved with that serious, almost elegant grace that always made you want to watch him a little longer than you should.

And today, he was extra focused — his practices had been getting longer and harder, and you knew better than anyone that he pushed himself beyond exhaustion sometimes. That’s why you stood near the benches, holding a slim, stylish bento box — something you knew he would appreciate.

When Yukimiya spotted you, his steps faltered. His sharp, almost guarded eyes softened in an instant.

He approached, towel slung around his neck, posture still straight even as exhaustion weighed on him. His voice was low, a little surprised:

"You came all this way?"

You smiled and held out the bento.

"I made you something. Thought you could use a little break... and a little love."

The tips of Yukimiya’s ears turned pink — a detail so small, so fleeting, you might’ve missed it if you weren’t watching closely.

He accepted the box with a kind of reverence, like it was something priceless. Sitting down gracefully on the bench, he opened it carefully.

Inside, you had packed it beautifully: fresh salads with vinaigrette on the side, grilled fish, brown rice, slices of colorful fruit arranged like a painting. It looked healthy, but still indulgent — exactly what you knew he'd prefer.

Yukimiya set his chopsticks down for a moment, simply staring at it.

"You're... incredible," he said quietly, almost like he was speaking to himself. "Even the presentation is beautiful."

You sat beside him, a little shy.

Without a word, he picked up a piece of melon and held it up toward you.

"Say ah," he murmured, his lips curving in a soft, rare smile.

You blinked, heat rushing to your face, but you obeyed — and he laughed under his breath, his shoulders relaxing in a way that rarely happened during the tense, grueling days of training.

As he ate, he never once took his eyes off you — as if he was reminding himself that you were real, that this moment was real.

Between bites, he said softly:

"You're the only one who sees me like this... not as a player, not as a product... just me."

And when practice ended later, Yukimiya didn’t rush to leave. Instead, he pulled you gently into a hug, resting his forehead against yours, whispering:

"Stay close to me... okay?"

Because to him, you weren't just a break from reality. You were the only part of it he wanted to keep forever.

Otoya Eita

Otoya had been flirting shamelessly with his teammates during practice again — smirking, teasing, tossing careless winks like candy. It was part of his charm: that smooth, effortless charisma that could melt through defenses faster than any soccer tactic.

But the moment he caught sight of you standing near the fence, a small lunch bag in your hand, that playful mask slipped.

For just a heartbeat, his smile softened into something real.

He jogged over, running a hand through his tousled hair, his black earrings glinting under the sun.

"Yo, babe~" he drawled, flashing you that signature lazy grin. "Did you come just to watch me show off?"

You rolled your eyes, heart fluttering anyway.

"No, Eita," you said, holding up the bag. "I made you lunch."

That caught him off guard. His eyebrows shot up, a genuine, boyish surprise lighting up his whole face.

"For me?"

You nodded, pushing it into his hands. "Yeah. Thought you might need a little extra energy."

He stared at the bag, as if unsure he deserved it.

Otoya quickly masked the flicker of emotion with a smirk, but you saw it — the way his fingers clutched the handles tighter, how his gaze lingered on you with a rare intensity.

He pulled you into a quick, sneaky hug, murmuring into your hair:

"You're way too good to me, you know that?"

Otoya dragged you to sit with him on the grass, unwrapping the lunch like a kid unwrapping a birthday gift.

Inside, you had packed a bunch of fun, easy-to-eat foods: sandwiches cut into triangles, juicy karaage chicken bites, spicy mayo dip, and a few cookies you'd decorated sloppily with little hearts.

He laughed — this big, beautiful, real laugh — when he saw the cookies.

"You made these for me?" he said, mock-offended. "What if I get cavities, huh? Gonna pay my dental bills?"

But he popped one into his mouth without hesitation, chewing happily.

You sat next to him, basking in the late afternoon sun, the noise of practice fading into background static.

After a few bites, he leaned in close, bumping his forehead against yours.

"You're dangerous, babe," he whispered, lips brushing your ear. "Make me start thinking about things that aren't soccer."

His voice dropped lower, only for you to hear:

"Like how good you'd look sitting in my kitchen, making me breakfast in the morning."

You laughed, pushing him away playfully, cheeks burning — and he laughed too, catching your hand mid-air and bringing it to his lips for a quick, teasing kiss.

But behind all the flirting, you knew something real was blooming there — something a little scary, a little thrilling.

Because Otoya Eita was used to running.

And somehow, you were the one person he was sprinting toward.

Karasu Tabito

Training had been relentless today. Karasu’s shirt clung to him, black hair messy and sticking to his forehead, dark eyes sharp as ever as he lazily dribbled the ball between his feet even during breaks.

He was sharp, cocky — the kind of guy whose whole aura screamed "I don’t need anyone." And yet, the second he caught sight of you waiting by the benches, arms behind your back and a little nervous bounce to your step, something in him faltered.

He kicked the ball aside with casual precision and started walking toward you, every step slow, deliberate — the smirk playing at his lips giving nothing away.

"Yo," he said, voice low, almost teasing. "Came to see me break ankles, sweetheart?"

You rolled your eyes and held up a sleek black lunch box, matching his aesthetic a little too perfectly.

"I brought you lunch. Thought you could use it... since you're out here pretending you're invincible or whatever."

For a split second — and it was so fast you almost missed it — Karasu's cocky front slipped. His eyes widened, blinking once. Then he chuckled under his breath, that deep, rough sound you loved so much.

"You're dangerous," he muttered, more to himself than to you.

He sat down right there on the grass, patting the spot beside him without a word. When you sat, he immediately pulled the box open.

Inside, you'd packed some high-protein onigiri, grilled chicken, pickled sides, and a few extra things you knew he liked — even tucked in a mini dessert. Nothing too flashy, but thoughtful. Personal.

Karasu stared at the food, silent.

Then he said, quietly:

"You know me too well."

He ate slowly at first, savoring it — and every once in a while, he'd glance sideways at you, like he couldn't believe you were real.

"You didn't have to do this," he murmured between bites. "I mean... I can take care of myself."

You shrugged, trying to play it off. "Maybe I want to take care of you sometimes."

That shut him up fast.

For once, Karasu didn't have a smartass comment ready. He just stared at you, mouth slightly open, chopsticks frozen mid-air.

Finally, he set them down, turned fully toward you, and leaned in — not smirking, not teasing — just... looking at you with this rare, intense sincerity.

"You’re lucky I’m crazy about you," he said, voice low, rough around the edges. "Otherwise, I'd never let anyone see me this soft."

And when practice resumed, Karasu played sharper, faster — like he had something more precious to protect now. Because he did. He had you.

Niko Ikki

Niko wasn't flashy. Where others shouted, flexed, and demanded attention, he operated like a ghost on the field — quiet, tactical, always watching.

Which made him pretty good at noticing things others missed. Like you, standing by the fence, nervously adjusting the strap of the small cooler bag you brought.

His green eyes caught yours almost instantly. He hesitated, brushing the hair from his face awkwardly, then jogged over, wiping his hands on his shorts.

"Y/N?" he asked, voice soft, a little breathless.

You held up the bag, heart hammering. "I... made you lunch. For after practice. If you want it."

Niko froze. Like, actually froze.

You could see the gears turning in his head, short-circuiting. Was this some dream? A prank? Did he accidentally hit his head during drills?

"You made this... for me?"

You nodded.

Slowly — so slowly, it was almost shy — Niko reached out and took the bag from your hands. His fingers brushed yours, and his ears immediately turned a vivid pink.

He led you over to the edge of the field, sitting on the grass cross-legged, handling the bag like it was fragile.

Opening it carefully, he found a simple, cozy meal: Tamago (egg) sandwiches, some homemade rice crackers, a few veggie sticks, and a neatly wrapped banana muffin for dessert. Nothing extravagant — but every part of it screamed "I know you."

Niko stared at the food. Then at you. Then back at the food.

You watched him, worried.

"Is it okay? I didn't know what you usually eat for practice days, so I kinda guessed—"

"It's perfect," he interrupted, voice so soft it almost got swallowed by the breeze.

He took a small, careful bite of the sandwich, chewing slowly.

And then — The tiniest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Barely there. Fleeting. But real.

"This... feels like a dream," he muttered, half to himself. "No one's ever done something like this for me before."

You blinked. "Really?"

He shook his head, still smiling that barely-there smile that made your chest ache a little.

"...You're special," he said simply. "You always make me feel like I'm worth noticing."

And as the other players called him back to drills, Niko stood slowly, setting the box aside for later, but not before gently — awkwardly — patting your head in thanks.

He jogged back onto the field with a little more spring in his step. Like somehow, your lunch had fueled more than just his body. It had fueled his heart.

Aryu Jyubei

Even in the middle of grueling practice, Aryu was… well, Aryu. Perfect posture. Every movement clean, elegant, as if he were modeling instead of sprinting drills.

You stood off to the side, nervously holding a gorgeous, ribbon-wrapped bento box you had painstakingly designed to look good — because you knew, with Aryu, it was always about beauty.

When he finally caught sight of you, his silver hair catching the sunlight like a halo, his entire demeanor shifted.

He slowed down, almost like he was gliding across the field rather than walking.

When he reached you, he smiled — dazzling, flawless — brushing imaginary dust off his jersey before he spoke.

"My lovely," he said smoothly, voice like honey. "Is this a gift for me?"

You nodded, a little breathless, and held out the lunchbox.

"I made you lunch. I tried to make it... you know... aesthetically pleasing, too."

Aryu's lavender eyes widened ever so slightly — a flicker of real surprise. He took the box from your hands with exaggerated care, like it was an ancient artifact, holding it delicately between long fingers.

"You tailored it... for my beauty standards," he said softly, his voice dropping a few octaves. "You're too perfect."

He moved to a shaded bench and beckoned you to join him with a graceful tilt of his head. Sitting with one leg elegantly crossed over the other, he opened the box slowly.

Inside? You had arranged everything meticulously: — Color-coordinated vegetables, — Heart-shaped tamagoyaki, — Rice balls with edible flower petals pressed into them, — Grilled salmon cut into neat, symmetrical strips.

It looked like something out of a high-end magazine shoot.

Aryu's lips parted slightly in amazement.

"This..." he whispered. "This is art."

You sat down beside him, heart hammering.

He took a bite, still poised and elegant — and then he actually closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the taste. When he opened them again, his gaze locked onto you with something deeper than gratitude — something raw, real.

"You nourish my soul," he said seriously, resting a hand lightly over his heart. "You nourish my beauty."

Then — and you swear your heart actually stopped — Aryu reached out and gently, so gently, tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"Perfect," he murmured under his breath, almost like he was talking to himself.

From that day on, he posted about your lunches online (with your permission) — captioning them with things like, "True beauty is made with love. #Blessed #LunchGoals."

And every time he practiced, he pushed himself a little harder — because how could he not? The most beautiful thing in his life was already cheering for him.

Chigiri Hyoma

Chigiri Hyoma was a storm bottled inside a porcelain frame. Fast, sharp, and achingly beautiful — like something that wasn’t meant for this world.

You stood near the track where he was finishing his sprints, heart pounding, clutching the small thermos and bento box you'd packed just for him.

His long crimson hair streamed behind him like a banner as he raced past — so fast it took your breath away.

And then — As if sensing your gaze — Chigiri skidded to a graceful stop, turning his head slightly, strands of hair framing his delicate, sharp-edged face.

When he saw you, something subtle shifted in his expression — a softening that few ever got to witness.

He jogged over, light on his feet, wiping sweat off his brow.

"Hey," he said, voice low and a little surprised. "You’re here?"

You nodded, shy but determined, holding out the food.

"I made you lunch. For after practice."

Chigiri blinked. His gaze flickered from your face to the lunch, and back to your face again.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

You saw it — the walls he kept so carefully built up wobbling ever so slightly.

"You made this for me?" he asked, voice dropping even softer, like he was almost afraid to say it too loud and scare the moment away.

"Yeah," you said, smiling. "I figured you'd need something good after training so hard."

Slowly — hesitantly — Chigiri reached out and took the bento box from you. His fingers brushed yours, and you felt how slightly his hand was trembling.

He led you over to a quiet corner where he could open it away from the others. Sitting on the grass, he peeled open the lid — and his eyes widened slightly.

You had packed light but hearty food — udon noodles with fresh vegetables, marinated tofu, slices of sweet rolled omelet, and fresh strawberries, knowing he loved them. It wasn’t extravagant, but it was everything he needed.

He looked at it. Then at you.

"...You know me better than anyone," he said quietly.

He took a bite, chewing slowly — and for the first time in a long time, you saw it: The way his entire body relaxed, the way his shoulders dropped from their usual tense coil.

When he finished eating, Chigiri set the box aside and leaned back on his hands, face tilted toward the sky, crimson hair catching the breeze.

Then, in a voice so soft you almost missed it, he said:

"You're my favorite reason to run."

And when he looked at you, eyes shining like rubies, you knew: He wasn’t just running for himself anymore.

He was running toward you.

Gagamaru Gin

Practice was brutal today — the kind where even the air feels heavy, and the turf sticks stubbornly to the soles of your shoes. Gagamaru had thrown himself at every shot, dove at impossible angles, muscles aching in ways he didn't even realize possible. The coach finally blew the whistle for a break, and the players scattered to catch their breath.

Gagamaru wiped the sweat from his forehead with the hem of his shirt and wandered toward the benches, his mind already halfway gone to food — anything, at this point. Maybe the vending machines still had something halfway edible.

But then he saw you.

Standing awkwardly near the sidelines, clutching a lunchbox like it was some kind of sacred artifact, you waved the moment he noticed you. His eyes lit up instantly — not in a loud, dramatic way, but in that quiet, stunned Gagamaru way, like a puppy realizing its favorite person was in the room.

He jogged over to you, hair bouncing slightly with each step, a rare grin spreading across his flushed face.

"You… made me lunch?" he asked, voice rough from shouting during drills, but so, so soft when speaking to you.

You nodded shyly, handing it over. It wasn't anything crazy — just simple food you knew he liked: grilled onigiri, karaage, some tamagoyaki, and fresh fruits tucked in the corners like tiny bursts of color. You had even slipped a tiny handwritten note between the compartments ("Eat well, dummy! ❤️").

Gagamaru took the box in both hands like he was afraid he'd crush it if he wasn't careful. He dropped onto the bench right there and ripped off the lid with boyish excitement, inhaling the scent.

"Whoa... it smells so good," he mumbled, practically bouncing on his seat. Without hesitation, he popped a rice ball into his mouth, his eyes going wide mid-bite.

"Thish ish... amazhing," he said, voice muffled through a full mouth.

You laughed, sitting beside him. He offered you a bite like it was instinct — holding out a piece of chicken with his chopsticks toward your mouth, utterly earnest.

"Eat with me," he said, grinning in that slightly dopey, infinitely sweet way only Gagamaru could.

And for the rest of the break, the two of you sat side by side, sharing bites, his knee bumping against yours every so often. He kept sneaking glances at you, a quiet, contented look on his face that said more than words ever could: Thank you. Thank you for thinking of me. Thank you for caring.

He even insisted on carrying the empty box himself after, carefully tucking it into his duffel like it was treasure.

Before jogging back to practice, he paused, turned, and with a sudden rush of boldness pressed a quick, clumsy kiss against your temple.

"I’ll score one for you today," he promised, eyes bright with the kind of simple, fierce devotion only Gagamaru knew how to give.

Raichi Jingo

The locker room still smelled like sweat and metal, even with half the windows cracked open. Raichi Jingo slammed his locker shut, his foot tapping out a restless rhythm against the tile floor.

Today’s drills had been intense — too many scrimmages, too many chances for him to lose his temper at some idiot who didn't pass when they should’ve. He was on edge, frustration bubbling under his skin, needing an outlet.

So when he stepped outside and saw you waiting by the field gates — holding a lunch bag, looking nervous but hopeful — it almost didn't register at first. He blinked, a scowl still half-formed on his face, until it clicked.

You. Lunch. For him.

He stomped over, face flushing a deep red not from the heat, but from the unfamiliar cocktail of emotions tangling in his chest.

"W-what the hell are you doing here?!" he barked instinctively — too loud, too harsh. But then he caught the slight falter in your smile and cursed himself mentally.

You lifted the bag toward him. "I, um… thought you might want something homemade before the next scrimmage?"

He stood there for a second, hands balled into fists at his sides, glaring at the ground like it had personally offended him. Then, wordlessly, he grabbed the bag from you — not roughly, but like he didn’t trust himself to be gentler.

He turned his back for a second, breathing out hard, before plopping down right on the grass. He cracked open the bag and froze.

Inside was his favorite: katsudon, hot and fragrant, with the egg perfectly runny and the pork golden-crispy. You had even packed a side of miso soup in a thermos, and a small pudding cup (with a stupid little smiley face sticker on the lid).

Raichi swallowed hard. His throat felt too tight for some reason.

"You're... really trying to kill me, huh," he muttered, not looking at you. But when you laughed — that soft, genuine laugh — he peeked up, ears red, and finally cracked a small, crooked smile.

He ate like he was starving, shoving spoonfuls into his mouth, muttering how "this was the only good thing that happened today" under his breath. Every now and then he’d glance sideways at you, trying to be subtle but failing miserably, cheeks tinted pink.

After finishing, he set the empty container down carefully. He didn't say thank you — not in words — but he shifted closer to you, bumped his shoulder into yours roughly, like a kid asking for attention.

"Tch. Next time... bring two portions," he grumbled. "You barely get any if you just sit there watching me, dumbass."

It wasn’t the smoothest thanks. It wasn’t even close. But from the way Raichi sat a little closer after that, from the way he picked at the grass nervously while sneaking glances at you — it was clear:

He was grateful. So, so much more grateful than he could ever put into words.

And when he got up to head back to practice, he ruffled your hair — quick, rough, affectionate — before stomping off, barking at his teammates like usual. But his voice had a little more warmth to it now. And every now and then, he’d shoot a cocky, almost-boyish grin back at you from across the field.

Hiori Yo

The sun barely peeked through the heavy gray clouds overhead. It felt like the whole world was weighed down, sluggish and quiet — matching the mood inside Hiori Yo’s chest.

Practice today was grueling, but it wasn’t just the drills that exhausted him. It was the constant gnawing voice in the back of his mind, whispering that he wasn’t good enough, wasn’t moving fast enough, wasn’t shining the way he should. He hated that voice. He hated that it still had power over him sometimes.

As he trudged off the field toward the benches, his head low, he saw a small figure waiting for him. You. Standing there, shifting your weight nervously from foot to foot, holding a lunch bag decorated with little blue stars — the color you knew he liked.

At first, Hiori thought he was hallucinating out of exhaustion. But when you lifted the bag shyly and waved at him, he stopped dead in his tracks.

"You... came here for me?" he asked quietly, disbelief plain in his voice.

You nodded, smiling a little, though your hands trembled just enough for him to notice. "I thought… maybe you could use a break. A good one."

For a long moment, Hiori just stared, his usually guarded expression slipping away. And then — like a dam breaking — the softest smile curled onto his lips. A real one. The kind that was rare, precious, like sunlight after a long rain.

He walked over, taking the bag almost reverently from your hands.

Sitting beside you on the bench, he opened it carefully — and when he saw the neat little arrangement inside, his throat tightened. You had packed everything he loved without being over-the-top: a homemade sandwich with fresh, crisp veggies and chicken, his favorite kind of potato salad, and even a tiny matcha-flavored sweet tucked in the corner.

You even remembered to include a tiny packet of hand wipes — because you knew how meticulous he was about not feeling "sticky" when he ate.

"You…" he started, then stopped. His voice cracked embarrassingly.

Instead, he set the lunch down, leaned toward you, and pressed his forehead gently against your shoulder.

"Thank you," he whispered, so soft you almost missed it under the breeze.

He ate slowly, savoring every bite, and he kept glancing at you — like he couldn’t believe you were real, sitting there next to him, just for him. When he finished, he carefully tucked everything back into the bag, his movements almost tender.

Then, without warning, he turned to you fully, his ocean-blue eyes clear and steady.

"When I’m on the field today," he said, voice steady, "I’ll remember this feeling. I’ll remember that someone believes in me."

And he said it like a promise — not just to you, but to himself.

Before heading back to practice, he surprised you by reaching out and taking your hand — fingers sliding between yours, gentle but sure — and giving it a small, grateful squeeze.

Nanase Nijiro

The energy on the field was electric today — shouts, laughter, the slap of cleats against the turf. Nanase Nijiro was everywhere, darting around like a bright bolt of energy, even as sweat soaked through his practice jersey.

Still, there was a tiredness under his smile. The kind you only saw if you knew him well — the kind where he pushed himself harder than he should, afraid of falling behind.

As the whistle blew for a break, he wiped his forehead with his sleeve, heart hammering in his chest. He was about to make a beeline for his water bottle when he saw you standing just beyond the field.

The moment his eyes landed on you, his whole face lit up.

"(Y/N)!!" he shouted, waving both arms above his head like an overexcited kid. He sprinted toward you, practically skidding to a stop in front of you, his grin so wide it almost hurt to look at.

"What’re you doing here?!" he beamed. Then he noticed the lunch bag in your hands.

His eyes widened comically. "Wait. Is that... is that for me??"

You laughed, handing it to him. "Yeah. Thought you might be hungry."

"Hungry?? I'm starving!" he groaned dramatically, clutching the bag to his chest like it was a lifeline.

Without any hesitation — like it was the most natural thing in the world — he plopped down cross-legged right there on the grass, pulling you down beside him with a happy tug on your wrist.

He opened the bag with the kind of reverence most people reserved for opening presents on Christmas morning. Inside was a bento box you had carefully arranged: fluffy rice topped with sesame seeds, grilled fish, sautéed vegetables, and a few carefully cut fruit slices in the shape of little hearts. You had even tucked in a tiny note that said, "For my favorite striker!" with a doodle of a tiny soccer ball.

Nanase stared at it for a second, then looked up at you, his green eyes wide and glassy.

"You made this? Like, actually??" he said, voice cracking slightly.

When you nodded, he clutched the bento to his chest again dramatically. "This is... the greatest day of my life," he announced solemnly, making you burst into laughter.

He dug in with the enthusiasm of someone who hadn't eaten in days — humming happily at every bite, practically bouncing in place. Every now and then he would pause, shove a piece of fruit toward your mouth, insisting you eat too.

"This is insane," he said between bites. "You're insane. You're amazing. I'm gonna score a hat trick today, I swear on this lunch."

After he finished (and licked the lid of the bento clean, because Nanase was nothing if not shameless when it came to food you made), he turned to you, practically vibrating with energy.

"Stay and watch, okay?" he pleaded, cheeks flushing. "I’m gonna play my heart out. For you."

He looked so earnest, so absolutely bright, you couldn't help but promise you would.

And when he ran back onto the field, he turned around once — just once — to shoot you a grin so dazzling it could’ve powered the floodlights on its own.

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