#how to look stylish in summer

[kingkaisen]

REUNION! — Satoru Gojo.

♡ — SUMMARY; you & gojo are childhood friends who haven’t seen each other in years. while he went on to become a sorcerer, you went down a dark path. but he’ll certainly have no problem on his mission to stop you, right?

♡ — CONTENT; 18+ ONLY // MDNI — SPOILERS IN THE WARNINGS: fem! reader, friends to strangers to lovers, angst, smut, grinding, blindfolded sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, violent death, drinking, reader is a curse user.

♡ — A/N; sorry for the long word count! no im not!

♡ — WC; 7k

“Y/N, Y/N, make me a promise, okay?” The white-haired kid ran up to you, high green grass tickling his knees as he did so, his childish grin as bright as the summer sun shining above.

At such a young age, still a boy and not yet a sorcerer, you were still taller than he was despite him being one year older, something he reminded you of quite often.

“Y/N!” He shouted again, “I said we need-we need to make a promise.”

“Okay, okay, stop shouting, ‘Toru,” you pushed yourself to your feet, abandoning your previous spot among the grass where you admired the colorful flowers growing. You knew one thing for certain — flower crowns were going to be made for you and Satoru this afternoon.

And he’d wear his until his clan members yanked it off of his invaluable head.

“Okay, hold out your hand,” Satoru huffed, out of breath, but still grinning. He held a closed fist behind his back, and you looked at him distrustfully. The last time he did something similar to this, he planted a bug on your skin.

“Nuh-uh! What’s behind your back?” You frowned.

“You gotta trust me, c’mon, pleaseee?”

After a moment of hesitation, you extended your arm and held out your hand.

Satoru wasted no time placing something on your palm. Something small. Circular. Cold.

When he pulled his hand away, a ring glistened back at you, and you stared at it with wide, curious eyes.

“What’s this for?”

“It means you’re my wife now. That’s how marriage works, okay? We promise to get married ‘cause I gave you a ring, and now I’m your huz-band.”

Suddenly, Satoru whipped around as fast as he could, running away as he giggled, leaving you alone and dumbfounded in your front yard.

But you didn’t bother chasing after him. The aroma of your mother’s delicious soup seeped through the front door and into the yard, traveling under your nose, and you knew that Satoru would return for dinner. He always did.

—

YEARS LATER

—

SATORU GOJO recognized this room. The old-fashioned furniture — which, years ago, was considered stylish — hadn’t been changed in decades. The couch that he once sat on was covered in a thick layer of dust. The TV set across from it was an outdated little thing, and as he touched the black box, he remembered when you and he would sit in front of it and watch reruns of your favorite cartoons. He smiled softly at the bittersweet memory.

But, that smile quickly turned into a concerned frown when he heard footsteps coming from the nearby kitchen. You appeared, stepping through the archway.

“She’s really here,” Satoru thought.

After all, he felt your presence, but he wasn’t certain if it was because you were nearby, or if it was from being inside of your abandoned childhood home.

“Y/N . . .” Satoru called out.

He didn’t know why he called your name. Maybe it was to confirm that it was actually you. After all, he could barely see your face due to the surrounding darkness thanks to the lack of power. All he had to go off of was the information his Six Eyes presented him, and the moonlight shining through the big living room window that illuminated half of your body.

But he couldn’t blame the lack of light for why it was so difficult to recognize you.

He hadn’t seen you in years. Years.

The last time he looked into your eyes, they were glistening with tears from falling and scraping your knee during a game of tag.

“You look well. You look . . . strong,” you said.

The sound of your voice was startling. He had forgotten what it sounded like after so many years, but then again, his memory of it would have been inaccurate, because you no longer sounded like a child, of course.

“What’s going on? What are you doing here? Where the hell have you been?”

Satoru had more questions. Hundreds. Thousands.

“I came here because I needed a place to hide. Figured my parent’s old house would do the trick. Looks like I was wrong,” you put your hands into your pockets. “What are you doing here? How’d you find me?”

“There was . . .” he couldn’t think. After spending so much time imagining his reunion with you, his dear old friend, he never imagined that it would be so strange. So odd. “There was a mission. Someone spotted the curse user who killed four humans this morning fleeing into this neighborhood. I’m guessing that was you.”

You didn’t respond immediately. You only looked the tall man up and down.

“If they sent the inheritor of the Six Eyes out for a little mission like this, you didn’t turn out to be as strong as everyone predicted, huh? And it was six, right?”

“I volunteered for this mission because I recognized the neighborhood. They were going to send my students, but-”

“But you knew I’d be here. You hoped I’d be here.” You interrupted him, smiling as you spoke, as if you were both having a lighthearted conversation, chitchatting like good ol’ pals. “You have students? So you became a teacher? That’s interesting.”

“And you became a damn curse user.” Satoru spoke through gritted teeth, briefly snatching his blindfolded eyes away from you and looking out the window, taking in the moonlit sight of the overgrown grass in the front yard. “I’m going to ask you one last time, Y/N. What happened, and where have you been? Why’d you just disappear?”

You took a few steps in his direction. He debated backing away from you, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to be close to you, even if it was dangerous.

“I disappeared?” You raised your eyebrows. “I might’ve left, but you were the one who disappeared first.”

“How did I-”

“You stopped coming around, ‘Toru.”

Satoru’s heart skipped a beat. The rest of the world might’ve called him Satoru, or Gojo, or the World’s Strongest Sorcerer, but to you, he was simply ‘Toru.

“We hung out every day together, played outside, and ate dinner in that room right there,” you nodded towards the kitchen, “but you had forgotten all about me by the time we were eleven or twelve. I get it, you were the rich kid from a prestigious clan. Had to learn how to control your power and fight. I get it. But you still left first.”

“Why did you kill four people today, Y/N?”

You were both only a few inches apart, close enough to feel each other’s warmth in such a cold room. When your head turned away from him, your body soon to follow, Satoru interrupted your movements by grabbing ahold of your chin. He forced your eyes back in his direction — back up at his face.

“Answer me.” Gojo’s words carried the weight of anger and sadness in them, and that misery created a lump in his throat that he couldn’t swallow. “Why’d you do it?”

“Didn’t have a choice.”

“Don’t be vague. Tell me what happened.”

“What does it matter?”

“It matters because unless you explain yourself, you’ll-”

“Don’t pretend to care about me now.” You smiled softly, staring at his blindfold, leaving him to wonder if you could somehow see through it — if your stare was powerful enough to glare through his cloth and into his shielded eyes. “We don’t know each other anymore. We’re strangers. If I was strong enough, I’d kill you and not feel a thing afterward. Could you do the same?”

“I might not have a choice,” Satoru mumbled. “Unless you surrender, I won’t have a choice.”

His thumb stroked the skin of your cheek, and although the touch was foreign — strange, even — you didn’t shudder.

“You won’t do it.”

“Oh yeah?” His hand fell away from your face as he spoke, taking the warmth his touch brought with him. “What makes you so confident? I’ve had to kill an old friend before. I’m just hoping I won’t have to do that today.”

“The reason why you’re going to let me go right now is because you feel guilty. You left an old friend behind because your clan told you it was the right thing to do. You didn’t know better. That isn’t your fault. But you still feel guilty, because my parents died and I went down a pretty dark path, and even though I wrote you a shitty letter telling you to never look for me, I couldn’t have stopped you if you really wanted to find me. But you didn’t. And now you’re thinking to yourself that, maybe, if you ignored my letter and searched for me anyway, I wouldn’t have become a curse user, right? Blaming yourself for everything is a burden you’ll have to carry for the rest of your life, and if you have to carry the weight of my death on your shoulders too, you won’t be able to handle it. You might end up going down the same dark path as I did. Or as the friend you killed in the past did,” your soft smile never faltered. “So, you’re gonna let me go, tell whoever you work for that I got away, and we’ll never have to see each other again.”

You started to turn away, much like you had done earlier, but this time, it wasn’t Satoru’s touch that halted your footsteps, but the sound of his voice.

“No,” he mumbled.

“No?” You raised your brows.

“I don’t know how the rest of this night’s gonna go. We might try to kill each other, I might let you go, you might surrender, I don’t know. But right now, I don’t wanna . . .” He paused, searching his overworked mind for the right words to say. “I wanna talk to you. Can we?”

During your childhood, your little talks amounted to the both of you sitting side-by-side on your porch, making flower crowns, discussing which animals were the coolest or the lamest. Now, Satoru unfolded an old, blue blanket he found in a hallway closet and tossed it across the wooden floor. He sat down. It was muscle memory — sitting on the floor in front of the couch rather than on it, as his subconscious mind still remembered the days when your parents occupied the tiny sofa, leaving you and him with no other choice but to flop down on the ground in front of them if you wanted to watch television too — not that either one of you minded.

The floor creaked underneath your booted feet. Satoru looked to his right and took in the sight of you approaching with a special bottle of aged wine.

“Hope you don’t mind drinking out of a bottle. The glasses are all dusty, and I’m not putting my lips on those,” you said, gently plopping down beside him.

There you both were, sitting on the blanketed floor in front of your couch and across from the lifeless television, but with the gorgeous moon and stars bright and visible through the big window; the night sky itself was a show of twinkling beauty.

“I’m surprised you agreed to this. You’re pretty hardheaded.” Satoru watched you remove the thin foil wrapped around the top of the wine, insert a corkscrew, and twist it with great expertise. One certainly didn’t need a master’s degree to open wine, but he couldn’t help but wonder if you often sought the solution to your woes at the bottom of an alcoholic beverage until it ran dry.

“Yeah, I’m pretty stubborn, but I’m not a devil, and I’m not angry with you or anything, so why not?” Pressing the bottle to your lips, you took a sip, letting the earthy flavors slip down your tongue and throat. Gently, you gulped. “At the end of the day, I wanna talk. I’m curious about you too.”

“Right, well, I have a hard time believing that, considering you just said you’d kill me and not feel a thing, huh?”

“That’s just life. Nothing personal.” Your hand held the neck of the bottle as you passed it to Satoru. He thought about you both passing a juice box back and forth in a similar way to this, once upon a time.

“So, did you actually have something you wanted to talk about, or are you just stalling before your comrades get here?” Your distrustful eyes stared at the side of his pale, moonlit face as you spoke. “Nevermind. Dumb question. You wouldn’t need backup. You’re the strongest, so I’ve heard.”

“Earlier, I asked you why you killed those people, and you said you didn’t have a choice. Care to elaborate?” Satoru spoke as if you had said nothing only moments before, and it was crystal clear that his mind was elsewhere, and there, it would stay, until he found the answer to why his old best friend became a curse user. A murderer.

“Not really,” your mouth stretched as a yawn escaped you.

“Care to try?”

“There’s nothing to tell. You were born to be who you are now, a damn hero or whatever, and I was born to do . . . this.”

“Do you honestly believe something as stupid as that?” Satoru took a sip of the wine. His face scrunched up as if the beverage was both poison and yet, an antidote to his problems. “Own up to what you’ve done. Don’t blame it on your birth or the way you were raised. I knew your parents. They were good people-”

“They were good people, and that’s what got them killed,” you interrupted. The air was as thick with tension as it was with dust. You sighed. You took the wine bottle back from him, taking a sip before you spoke — softer, this time. “Listen, if we’re just going to sit here and talk about my sins, then I’m gonna leave.”

“The last time I saw you, you were crying because you accidentally squashed a ladybug, can you blame me for wondering what happened to you? What turned you into a curse user? And you still haven’t told me where you’ve been before now.”

“I’ve been right here.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh yeah? And how would you know?”

“I know because I did look for you even though you told me not to.” Satoru’s voice was shaky but his tone was undoubtedly sincere. It was impossible to deny that his words were honest. “I looked everywhere. As soon as I got your letter, I destroyed it, and ever since, I’ve followed every trail and clue that I thought would lead me to you. Every time I traveled to a different country for a mission, I wondered if you were there. I spent the rest of my childhood, my teenage years, and my early twenties looking for you, until I realized the only reason it was so difficult was because you didn’t want to be found.”

The floor became your new point of focus. You stared holes into creaky wooden boards, processing Satoru’s words. “Why didn’t you say that earlier? I had no idea.”

“Would it have made a difference?” Satoru hooked his finger underneath his blindfold and pulled at it casually for a moment, playing with it. Neither one of you touched the wine bottle. “So, after covering your tracks all this time, why didn’t you cover them now? You wanted to get caught, right? Why?”

“I don’t know,” you mumbled.

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Oh my god, you’re annoying.” You released a light breath of air in both humor and frustration. “After all these years, you’re still annoying as hell.”

“Damn right I am,” Satoru smiled as he looked over at you, and, surprisingly, not only did you glance over at him, but you smiled too — which made his heart skip a beat — and it wasn’t one of your false grins from earlier, but a genuine, heartwarming smile.

Satoru couldn’t help but stare at the beautiful expression on your lips.

“Hey, can you take off your blindfold?”

Your question made his eyes dart from your mouth to your curious gaze.

“Hm? Why?”

“I wanna see your entire face. Just for a minute,” you said.

A faint memory of little ‘Toru slumping around and complaining about his severe headaches crossed your mind. Your mother would make him rest on the couch right behind you both, close his eyes, and she’d place a wet towel across his forehead. You figured that was what the blindfold was for.

Satoru hooked his finger around his blindfold — the top of it this time — and pulled the black cloth down his face. He was going to let it dangle around his neck with the intention of placing it back over his eyes momentarily, but suddenly, your fingers were curling around it. You pulled it across his neck and head, taking it off of him.

He watched you with amused, yet curious bright blue eyes. You tugged the cloth around your own eyes, adjusting the blindfold until it sat perfectly on your face.

“I can’t see a thing, what the hell,” you said, glancing around though your vision amounted to nothing except darkness.

During such an ordinary moment, Satoru discovered something about himself.

Though he admired your irresistible voice, captivating smile, and pretty lips, there was something — something — so incredibly intoxicating about seeing you wear his blindfold. More intoxicating than the wine.

God, he could barely handle it.

He shifted his position. It might have looked like he was simply uncomfortable sitting on the hard floor despite the blanket serving as a bit of cushion, but in all actuality, he was trying to prevent his cock from hardening against the fabric of his pants.

But he couldn’t do a damn thing about the light shade of pink that dusted across his cheeks.

He half-heartedly hoped you’d keep the blindfold on so you wouldn’t notice, but you soon took it off, handing it back.

When you tossed the little black thing to him, your eyes locked with his. Yours widened a bit. Distant moonlight reflected off of your eyes as you did so. Shocked, you seemed.

Satoru felt like an exposed nerve. Had you suddenly realized what was happening? Had his blushing face revealed his secrets; that he wanted to both kiss you as hard as he could and fuck you, right here, as you wore his blindfold?

Suddenly, you started to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Satoru asked.

“Nothing, nothing, it’s just the alcohol, I’m sorry.” You shook your head. It was a lame excuse, considering you hadn’t had enough wine to feel tipsy. “It’s just that, uh, in the kindest way possible, you turned out to be way more handsome than I expected.”

“Excuse me?” Satoru raised his brows, amusingly pretending to be more offended than he actually was.

“I’m sorry, but as a kid . . . you were kinda funny-looking. You had . . . like . . .” Putting your hands up nearest your head, you spread them apart, emphasizing that, in your opinion, little ‘Toru had a really big head.

“Okay, so you thought I was the ugliest person to ever exist, good to know,” Satoru playfully shoved your hands down.

“Oh my god, I didn’t say that. You’re so dramatic,” you laughed, and he joined in on your joyous little chuckle.

After a few moments, the sound of laughter drifted off into a comfortable silence. Your eyes met your lap, but Satoru couldn’t bring himself to glance away from you as he questioned, “You have anyone in your life that you care for? Any loved ones?”

“Nope. Just me,” you mumbled.

“Sounds lonely.”

“What about you, then?”

“I care about my students. One of them I’ve looked after since he was a kid. I have a couple of friends, but aside from that, I think it’s safe to say that I’m lonely too. Pathetic, right?”

“Pathetic, but unsurprising,” you shrugged. “Now I get why we’re both talking to each other right now. Who else do we have?”

After all, being a god and being a devil — being an Honored One and being a Disgraced One — were both lonely businesses.

Suddenly, you got up off of the raggedy blanket, nearly knocking over the wine as you rushed into the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” Satoru asked, his eyes following your urgent movements.

“I’ll be right back.”

Momentarily, you returned. You cradled two small white bags in your arms, and upon recognizing what it happened to be, Satoru both scoffed and laughed.

“Snacks? You brought snacks?”

“Well, yeah, I planned to hide out here for a while,” you tossed Satoru a bag of Goldfish crackers. “There you go. Bon appetite or whatever.”

The old floor croaked as you sat back down on the blanket. Gentle squeaks of your bag being opened filled the air, but Satoru hadn’t yet opened his.

“You can have that bag, ‘Toru. Don’t be shy. These things are hard to find.”

“No, here,” Satoru reached out, bag in hand. “If you’re gonna be on the run for a while, I’m not gonna make things harder on you by eating what little food you packed.”

“What?” You froze, nearly dropping the Goldfish crackers within your grasp. “You’re letting me go?”

“There’s no other option. You don’t wanna turn yourself in, I can’t make myself kill you, so . . .” Satoru sighed. Though he too had what most would consider childish taste buds, he had no desire to eat any Goldfish crackers. He did, however, reach for the much-needed wine bottle. “I’m gonna regret this tomorrow. Maybe the higher-ups will fire me and I can finally go on a decent vacation. I’m thinking the Bahamas, what do you think? I could use a little sun-”

“Hey,” you interrupted. “You know just as well as I do that if you wanted to overpower me without killing me and turn me over to the higher-ups, I couldn’t stop you. One twist of the ankle, and I’m all yours. Don’t tell me you can’t even bring yourself to hurt me a little.”

Satoru pressed the wine against his lips, swallowed a tiny sip, then spoke.

“I don’t necessarily want to see you locked away either, assuming they won’t go ahead and kill you for what you’ve done lately. They’ve executed for less,” Satoru's face grew long, those powerful eyes of his filled with sadness. “You should leave.”

“Thank you, Toru.”

A beat of silence passed. Neither one of you moved from your spots. Instead, you swallowed half a handful of goldfish.

“Maybe you didn’t hear me,” Satoru blinked. “I said you should leave . . . I mean now.”

“I’m not ready to leave right this second,” you grabbed Satoru’s hand, flipped it over, and poured a few pieces of Goldfish crackers into his palm. “I’ve missed you, ya know? Who knows if I’ll ever see you again?”

“So, when you said you’d kill me and not feel anything, that was a lie, right?”

“You keep bringing that up. Did I hurt your feelings?”

“Of course you did. Don’t let my ego fool you,” Satoru smiled. “I’m a little sensitive.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, it was a lie. I can’t kill someone and not feel a thing, and you wouldn’t be an exception.”

“Tell me why you killed four people,” Satoru faced you, but, yet again, your eyes weren’t on him. “Why did you say you didn’t have a choice?”

“Stop asking me about that.” You tossed a few more of the tiny crackers into your mouth before folding the bag shut.

“Sorry,” Satoru said.

“You’re not gonna keep prying?”

“Not if it’ll make you leave quicker.” Satoru couldn’t stand it — your pretty eyes on anything and everything except him. He gently cupped your chin, turned your head in his direction, and said, “I like getting to know you all over again, even if it isn’t pretty. I can’t believe I’m gonna lose you in a few minutes.”

“It doesn’t have to be in a few minutes. I could stay longer,” you spoke softly. There was something about looking into his eyes that made your insides crumble. You found yourself rather grateful that he hadn’t yet put his blindfold back on.

Satoru ran his thumb over your lips. Those gifted eyes of his might have the power to deliver extraordinary information to him, but right now, all they did was convey his greatest desires to you as they repeatedly darted down to your soft lips.

“I could stay . . . maybe a few hours. When do you have to report back?” You whispered.

“In a few hours.”

Satoru leaned in, pressing soft kisses along your neck. He had planned on being gentle, but when the softest moan fell from between your pretty lips, he couldn’t help but suck on the skin. Nibble at it. Do any and every little thing that would make your sweet noises even louder as his large hands gripped your hair.

The sorcerer had a dream; he wanted to worship every inch of you. He wanted to taste your perfect skin, memorize the way it felt against his lips, but you were both pressed for time.

Damn it all.

His grip on your hair tightened as he trailed his lips across your collarbones, but he came to an abrupt stop when your shirt prevented him from going any lower.

“Take this off,” he demanded.

Though the command was for you, he hooked his fingers around your top and pulled it off, leaving you in nothing except your bra — Satoru’s cock started to harden in his pants again. He was rather certain he could and, perhaps, would, cum from the sight of you, topless, underneath the moonlight pouring through the window.

You expected to feel his lips on you again. It was quite a surprise when, instead, he practically lifted you and placed your back on the soft blanket. He moved in between your legs, his body hovering over yours until his clothed cock was pressed against you.

“‘Toru,” You spoke, breathless, as the sight of his gorgeous face above yours rendered you nearly speechless. “What are we doing?”

“Saying goodbye,” He said.

“It’s dusty in here. Aren’t you worried about your allergies?”

“I don’t have any allergies,” Satoru gave a humored smile, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“You’re driving me crazy,” Satoru shook his head, but his grin never faded, nor would it.

Well, for the next five seconds, at least, because he started to grind, and gentle moans poured from him as soon as he rubbed his dick against your clothed pussy.

“Faster, go faster,” you gripped his white strands of hair.

His only response came in the form of a groan escaping his throat. He couldn’t speak just yet. He could only increase his speed. Never did he think he would start to come undone from simply grinding against you, but it was you.

Satoru moved his hands down to your thighs, his large hands gripping them and holding them apart in an attempt to grind himself harder against your clit. He didn’t mean to be so rough, to risk leaving bruises on your delicate skin, but he couldn’t fucking help it.

“You’re gonna make me cum right in my pants. They’re brand new,” Satoru whispered in your ear. You felt his breath against the shell of it, then suddenly, his teeth gave it a small nibble, followed by a slow lick with his warm tongue. “I think I’d rather cum inside of you. ‘s that crazy?”

This time, it was your turn to offer moaning as a form of response.

“What’s the matter?” He cooed. “Can’t answer me, baby?”

He released one of your thighs. That hand raised you up just a little, enough for Satoru to unhook your bra, drag the straps along your arms, and toss it across the living room.

His hand made its way to one of your nipples. He rubbed it with his thumb.

“‘Toru, please,” you whined.

“Please what? I can’t read minds.” He smirked yet again. Oh, was he enjoying this. “You had the audacity to become a curse user, but you can’t find the nerve to tell me what you want right now?”

Satoru adjusted himself, moving lower and lower until his mouth hovered over your other nipple. He wanted so desperately to toy with you longer, but you were tantalizing. His tongue was flicking at your nipple without a second thought. He latched his mouth around it, sucking, sucking, and sucking.

His hand had a mind of its own, unbuttoning your pants and running his fingers across your underwear, dancing over your covered clit until the fabric of your panties was soaked.

How, just how was he supposed to let you go after this?

“You’re such a damn tease,” you could feel the tips of his fingers gently apply pressure to your clit. “That’s . . . all I gotta say.”

“Oh?” He was quick to snatch his hand away from your clit, and his mouth away from your nipple. Though he would have preferred to simply die than do either. “You’re saying you don’t want me to fuck you then, right?”

“Careful,” your moonlit eyes met his. “If you do, you might get too attached, and you won’t be able to let me go.”

There it was. That stubborn, bratty behavior he was madly addicted to.

“Then let’s make a deal,” Satoru leaned up, taking off his zip-up jacket. He then started to unbuckle his pants. “If I cum first, we go our separate ways. If you cum first, I’m thinking . . . I’ll go with you.”

“Wait, are you serious? You’d really go with me?” You propped yourself up, your elbows digging into the blanket underneath your back. “You’d throw away your entire career and ruin your reputation for a curse user you’ve been reunited with for an hour?”

“It’s only been an hour, huh?” Satoru paused, looking into your eyes as he shrugged off your shoes, pants, and your underwear. “An hour means nothing when I’ve loved you my entire life.”

His blue eyes darted across your face. They were gathering information. Searching for even the slightest twitch or sparkle in your gaze to understand how you processed his confession.

But there was no need. Your words were a brutal reflection of your feelings.

“Those are pretty words, but I don’t believe you.”

Satoru sighed, but he smiled. After all, he knew you, and he had expected those words, albeit a bit heartbreaking, to fall from your lips.

“Then I’ll just shut up and show you.” Satoru reached for his blindfold that had gotten mixed up in the pile of your discarded clothes.

The sound of angelic moans and wooden floorboards creaking underneath you and Satoru’s thrusting weight was much too loud, considering you were supposed to be hiding out. But it couldn’t be helped — his big cock stuffed your insides with every bump of his hips, and you couldn’t see a damn thing.

The white-haired man tugged his blindfold over your eyes right before he entered you, which was a wildly stupid move on his part, being that seeing you wearing it earlier is what led to him wanting to fuck you in the first place. Therefore, putting it on you when he was trying to use all his unimaginable strength to hold back his brewing orgasm wasn’t the wisest decision.

Not that your idiotic deal mattered.

He wasn’t foolish enough to truly rest such an important fate on his ability to not cum as soon as he sunk his cock into your awaiting pussy; his mind was already made. Nothing would stop him from going with you. Nothing.

“Damn it,” Satoru’s eyelids fluttered closed. “I can’t stand you. You’re gonna make me cum already.”

God, you were utterly perfect. His hard dick was soaked in your sweet juices, and with every pump, your tight hole seemed to not want to let him go, as if it was on a mission to milk him for all he was worth. His balls felt heavy, though his legs felt as if they were going weak. He was close, so close to shooting his pearly white load deep inside of you.

But you were the one starting to become undone.

You started to squirm around, back arching off of the ground, nails digging into the flesh of Satoru’s muscular back. That damned Honored One knew what he was doing when he put his blindfold on you. Having no sight forced you to focus your other senses on the way his cock stimulated your sweet spot, weighty balls slapped against your ass, and delicious moans gushed into your ear.

“I-I can’t, ‘Toru, I . . .”

“What are you blabbering about now, sweetheart?” Satoru moved his head a little ways lower. His tongue ran from your jaw, across your cheek, and stopped right beneath the blindfold. There, he kissed you.

His question was answered in the form of a toe-curling orgasm suddenly possessing your body. Shouts of his name spewed from your lips like a prayer, and that? That was all it took for his own orgasm to overtake him as well.

“Look at you, cumming all over me,” he hooked his hands underneath your trembling knees, shoving your legs back. “I’m right there too. Hold still. I want you to feel every last drop of it.”

The end of his sentence started to trail off into a whisper as he started to cum. And he could only moan and cum. Cum and moan.

“Fuck- oh, fuck,” He shoved every inch of his dick inside of you, rhythmically rocking his hips again, fucking his seed into you deeply. “That’s it. Take it. You’re so perfect . . . perfect for me.”

The last droplets of his cum were still filling your insides when Satoru’s phone started to ring. It was an obnoxious disruption that made you whine with great annoyance, and Satoru sighed. But, after all, he was still on a mission.

He didn’t yet fully pull out, but he leaned up, took the blindfold off of you, and patted around in the mess of your bundled clothing for his cell phone.

“Who is it?” You asked tiredly.

The phone screen illuminated his frowning face much like the moonlight did yours.

“A bunch of fools,” he mumbled.

Satoru answered the call — he had no choice.

“What?” he pressed the phone against his ear, grimacing at the sound of a higher-up’s voice.

You couldn’t make out what the caller was saying, but Satoru’s disinterested facial expressions told the story of a sorcerer getting scolded like a child.

“Yeah . . . I know . . .” Satoru ran his hand over your nude upper body, toying absentmindedly with one of your tits. His thumb graced your nipple, and trying not to moan was a challenge you lost.

“Shhh,” he frowned down at you, pulling the phone away from his ear momentarily.

He adjusted his position. That, in turn, made him drive his cock deeper into your slick walls, which ejected a sharp, loud moan from you. Satoru Gojo was a smirking asshole, and that asshole shoved two of his fingers in your mouth, silencing you, all before bucking his hips again.

“No, I haven’t found her yet, but don’t worry, she’s-” he thrusted again, “close.”

Suddenly, Satoru’s face changed from a cocky grin to one of disappointment. His grip on his cell phone tightened.

“You want me to come back? Right now? But what about the-” The caller interrupted Satoru, who pulled both his fingers out of your mouth, and his cock out of your pussy.

Whoever was speaking to the sorcerer wasn’t yet done talking, but that didn’t stop Satoru from rolling his eyes and promptly ending the phone call.

“What’s going on?” You sat up, reaching for your bra.

“This entire thing is just one big shit show.” Satoru grabbed his pants as he continued, “I have to give a mid-mission report to those stupid old fools because they don’t trust me.”

“Well, in their defense, you did just kinda fuck me, and you’re planning on letting me go,” you smiled.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. We weren’t finished.” Satoru scrunched up your top, pulling it down over your head and across your chest for you. “So much for our reunion, but at least I got to fuck a curse user. Still, though. I had big plans.”

“Such as?”

“Oh, you know,” he suddenly rested his hand on your pussy, giving it a gentle pat. “Eating you out. Guess I’ll just have to hurry back.”

“You’re coming back? That dumb deal wasn’t a joke?” You shook your head, putting your feet through your underwear. “No. I can’t let you throw your life away. You’re crazy.”

As Satoru finished dressing, he spoke, “You came before all of it. You were there before I could even spell the word jujutsu. I regretted not putting you first my entire life for years now, and I won’t make that mistake again. I promise, so, shut up.”

He stood up. Leaning down, he pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead, noting the look of distrust in your eyes.

“I know you don’t believe me, but I’ll be right back, alright?” He planted another kiss on your soft cheek. “Wait here.”

And, with that, Satoru was gone, leaving you alone on the blanket in the dusty living room of your deceased parents.

There, in the darkness, your only source of light being what the moon had to offer, you pulled both the bottle of wine and your Goldfish crackers closer to you. Despite your lack of belief that the World’s Strongest Sorcerer would return, you waited.

—

TWO HOURS LATER

—

The higher-ups talked endlessly, and by the time they wrapped up their impromptu meeting, Satoru had decided that he would soon murder every single one of them.

Only towards the end of the meeting did they inform him that he was no longer assigned to the mission of capturing or killing you, but other sorcerers were dispatched to your exact location.

Other sorcerers who didn’t plan on capturing you at all.

Other sorcerers who had been sent to your hideout 45 minutes prior.

He returned to your parent’s abandoned home as quickly as he could, standing in the patchy grass of the front yard, but it was much too late. The cursed energy that radiated from the destroyed property made him go weak at the knees. And, oh, was it destroyed.

The front door was ripped from its hinges. The living room window was shattered, surrounding walls crumbled to ruins, and he could see where the blanket you had both made love on just hours prior used to be. The couch you both leaned your backs against while chatting with wine and snacks was now split in half. Foam covered the blood-soaked floor.

He could see all of that from the front yard.

Going into your parent’s house made the sight significantly worse.

You locked eyes with him.

Relief flooded his senses, his lips nearly upturning into a smile.

That was, until he trailed his eyes down and saw that nothing remained of you except your upper body.

Below your chest was a horrifying mess of human destruction — blood, guts, and pieces of bone and flesh from body parts he could no longer identify.

Satoru’s entire body trembled violently. How . . . just how the hell could a sorcerer kill someone so brutally?

He’d figure out who did this to you. He’d kill them too. He’d make it fucking hurt. He’d-

His eyes caught sight of the familiar white bag in your grasp. Splotches of blood coated the smiling orange goldfish on the front of the snack bag. You were holding it against your chest, and unfortunately, your childhood friend knew you all too well, and you weren’t looking to swallow one last handful of Goldfish crackers moments before your death.

Satoru crouched down beside what could not even be considered half of your body.

When teardrops splattered on the scarred skin of your arm, only then did he realize he had been crying.

He had to yank your lifeless hand away from the bag as gently as he could. There was nothing on it when he turned it over in his palms, but when he opened the top and peered inside, there was a folded piece of paper.

He didn’t want to read it.

He wanted you to be here.

Brimming hot, angry tears blurred his vision, but he pulled the letter out of the bag, unfolded it with shaky hands he couldn’t wait to wrap around someone’s neck, and he read your final words.

Dear Toru,

Sorcerers are surrounding the house. It’s only a matter of time before they come inside and find me, so I apologize for my messy handwriting. I’m trying to write fast.

I could fight back, and maybe, just maybe, I’d win and I could find you and we could run away together, but you mentioned that you had students and friends who were also sorcerers, and for all I know, they could be the ones who are here right now. I won’t kill anyone who might be important to you.

I can hear someone outside arguing for me to be arrested rather than killed. He sounds young…a naive teenage boy, maybe. I appreciate him.

Satoru, you asked me why I killed four people today. Well, I did it to avenge my parents. After all these years, I found the group of bastards who murdered them. Now you know. I didn’t want you to spend the rest of your life wondering.

I’m sorry about this. I really am. We found each other again, and we have to say goodbye already. It sucks. It isn’t fair.

Please, don’t try to avenge me. Don’t ruin your life for me. I’m not worth it.

I can hear them coming to the front door, so I should wrap this up. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t afraid to die. I’m scared. I’m alone.

I love you, ‘Toru.

Sincerely, your “wife” (remember that?) & childhood friend

Satoru folded the letter and tucked it into his pocket, or, at least, he thought he did. He no longer felt in control of his own movements. He wasn’t certain if he was moving at all. Or blinking. Or breathing.

But he was.

He moved your head onto his lap, trying to gently scrape away the flakes of dried blood on your face. Satoru couldn’t speak — grief had snatched his voice away — but even if uttering a few words was a possibility, he wasn’t certain he could make the promise of respecting your dying wish to not seek vengeance.

All he could do was lean forward and plant a kiss on your forehead. Then, he ran his fingertips across your eyelids, closing your lifeless eyes, which the moonlight still shined upon.

🏷️: @sad-darksoul @priv-rose @yihona-san06 @keriaonmarz @luvvmae @underworldsheiress @notgoodforlife @levisfavoriteteashop @insomniacbehaivour @preciousamethyst @kxmorrx @iwanttohitmyself @ellaumbrella1 @shoyosdoll @lil-apple-pie @prettypixigrl @sonarspace @averysmolbear @starstoru @starlightanyaaa @dolphin1135 @ioveartfilm @filhadaanarquia @blackdxggr @jaegergirl @gunslxtz

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[jupiterpilgrim]

Hidden Tracks

Park Choa x male reader

word count: 20K

commissioned fic

The city air is thick with humidity, the last remnants of summer clinging stubbornly to the streets as you jog up the steps of the recording studio. It’s your first day working on the album—the first solo project of your career, a clean break from your old group, and the kind of freedom you’ve wanted for years. But freedom comes with pressure. Every decision is yours. Every song, every note, every little thing will be under scrutiny.

And then, there’s her.

Park Choa. A legend, at least to you. You grew up listening to her, admiring the effortless way she played with melodies, the honeyed warmth of her voice. Even now, After all these years out of the industry, she’s still got that same magic, that same effortless charm. It was a surprise—a good surprise—when she agreed to participate in the project. After all: who wouldn’t want to work with someone like her?

Unfortunately, you’re late. Not horribly, just enough to feel guilty about it. A couple of messages had come through in the group chat—nothing mean, just a casual “Where you at?” from the producer and a thumbs-up emoji from Choa herself. Still, first impressions matter, and you really want to make a good one on her.

The hallway leading to the studio is lined with framed records, gold and platinum plaques from some of the biggest names in the industry. You try not to think about how, in a few months, one of these could be yours—if everything goes well.

You push open the door, stepping inside, and the first thing that hits you is the warmth. Not just the temperature, but the atmosphere. It’s cozy, a little dim, the kind of place where music doesn’t just get made—it breathes. The producer, an older guy with graying hair and an easygoing demeanor, glances up from his seat at the massive console. A couple of engineers are fiddling with the settings, and in the middle of it all, sitting on a worn leather couch with a guitar on her lap, is her.

Choa.

Up close, she’s even smaller than you expected. Petite, with delicate features and that unmistakable aura that some idols—or ex-idols—just have, like they belong in front of a camera, in a spotlight, in the center of everything. She’s dressed casually, ripped jeans and a slightly oversized sweater, but she makes it look effortless. Her hair is dark, barely grazing her shoulders. It's a bit messy, like she just ran her fingers through it, but it somehow manages to look stylish, and when she looks up at you, there’s a brief pause, a quick once-over, before she smiles.

“You’re finally here,” she says, her voice smooth, carrying just the faintest hint of amusement.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Got caught up in traffic.” It’s a lame excuse, but at least it’s not a lie.

She waves it off like it’s nothing. “No worries. We just got started setting up.” She nods toward the empty spot next to her. “Come sit. Let’s talk.”

You move across the room, the couch sinking slightly under your weight as you drop down next to her. She smells good—clean, a little sweet, like vanilla. Up close, she’s all soft curves and smooth skin, the kind of woman who doesn’t need to try to be attractive. It just happens.

The producer claps his hands together, drawing attention back to the session. “Alright, since you two haven’t worked together in person before, let’s just go over the basics. We’ve got a solid tracklist sketched out—about half the songs are yours, half are collabs, and a couple will be just Choa. Sound good?”

You nod, glancing at her. She’s watching you, expression relaxed, but there’s something else there—like she’s sizing you up. You wonder what she’s heard about you.

“Fine by me,” you say.

“Good,” the producer continues. “We’ll start with the first duet track, see how your voices blend. Get a feel for each other’s styles.”

Choa plucks at the strings of her guitar absently. “Have you heard the demo?”

“Yeah, a few times. Your voice sounds incredible on it.”

Her lips twitch, just slightly, at the compliment. “Thanks. You’re not bad yourself.”

You clear your throat. “So, how do you want to do this? Warm up first?”

She nods. “Yeah. We can run through the harmonies, see where we need to tweak things.”

She shifts on the couch, turning toward you, and suddenly you’re hyper-aware of how close you are. The studio isn’t that big, and the couch is even smaller, so when she moves, her knee brushes against yours, warm through the denim. She doesn’t pull away.

The first few runs are technical, focused. She leads, you follow, adjusting where needed, blending where necessary. But then something shifts. The harmonies start to click. Her voice melts into yours, or maybe it’s the other way around, and suddenly it doesn’t feel like just a warm-up anymore. It feels like something else—like a connection forming, something tangible in the air between you.

She notices it too. You can see it in the way her eyes flicker up to yours in the middle of a note, in the way she leans in just slightly when your voices meet. It’s not just good. It’s effortless.

The producer grins. "Damn. That’s nice.”

You exhale, grinning a little. “Yeah. Feels right.”

Choa tilts her head, watching you again. “You’re a natural at this. You must have worked hard to get here.”

There’s no arrogance in her voice, just curiosity.

You nod. “Yeah. I had to. My old group… things didn’t really work out.”

“Creative differences?”

“Something like that.”

She hums thoughtfully, fingers still idly strumming her guitar. “Well, their loss.”

It’s such a simple thing to say, but coming from her, it hits differently. Like it means something. Like she sees something in you.

The studio hums with a low, steady energy as you and Choa work through the song. It’s just the two of you now—well, the producer and engineers are still around, but they’ve settled into their usual rhythm, fine-tuning levels, tweaking instrumentals, mostly letting you two figure out your chemistry. And it’s there. Undeniably there.

Your voices complement each other in a way that doesn’t feel forced, doesn’t feel like some industry suit shoved you into a room and told you to make a hit. It just clicks.

After a while, Choa stretches, rolling out her shoulders with a quiet groan. “Alright, I need a break. My throat’s getting a little dry.”

You watch as she gets up, heading over to the mini fridge in the corner. She crouches down, giving you an unintentionally nice view of her curves, before grabbing a couple of water bottles. When she straightens up, she tosses one your way. You catch it, cracking it open with a nod of thanks.

She flops back onto the couch next to you, unscrewing her cap, taking a slow sip before speaking again. “So, I gotta ask.”

You glance at her. “Yeah?”

“Why me?”

You blink. “Huh?”

“This collab. Your first solo album. You could’ve worked with anyone, but you picked me.” She leans back against the couch, tilting her head slightly. “I’m not even an idol anymore. There are plenty of younger, more popular people you could’ve asked.”

You frown slightly, sitting back as well. “What does that have to do with anything?”

She raises a brow. “Come on. Don’t act like you don’t get it. The industry’s obsessed with fresh faces, hot new talent. I’m not some viral rookie with millions of followers. Hell, I barely do music anymore.”

“That doesn’t matter to me,” you say, and the words come out more sincere than you expect. “You’re talented. Always have been,” you continue. “I grew up listening to you. Your voice, your style—there’s something about it that just sticks with people. With me.” You shake your head slightly. “I didn’t want to work with just anyone. I wanted to work with someone I actually respect. Someone whose music I believe in. And to me, that’s you.”

She doesn’t smile, not really, but you see it anyway. In the way her shoulders relax just a bit, in the way her fingers toy idly with the cap of her water bottle. The way her gaze lingers on you now—longer than before, softer in a way that makes your pulse pick up just a little.

“You’re full of shit,” she says, but there’s no bite to it.

You grin. “I mean it.”

Another pause. She tilts her head, studying you in a way that makes your skin prickle with awareness.

“You’re an interesting guy,” she says finally.

You let out a small laugh, trying to shake off the sudden nervous energy in your chest. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She hums, taking another sip of her water. “Guess we’ll see if you’re still this charming after a few weeks of working together.”

“Are you doubting me already?”

She smirks. “Just keeping my expectations realistic.”

There’s something playful in her tone, but beneath it, you can tell—she’s pleased. Maybe even a little flattered. It’s subtle, but it’s there.

You look down at the water bottle in your hands, twisting the plastic slightly. “Well, guess I’ll just have to prove myself, then.”

Choa chuckles, shaking her head. “Alright, alright. Enough compliments. Let’s get back to work before the producer starts wondering if we’re actually doing anything in here.”

You nod, clearing your throat, forcing yourself to focus. But as she moves closer again, picking up her guitar, you can still feel the weight of her gaze on you. And now, for some reason, it’s making you a little nervous.

—

The weeks pass In a blur of late nights, endless takes, and an easy rhythm that settles between you and Choa like it was always meant to be there. At first, it was just work—figuring each other out musically, learning how to blend your voices, adjusting to her style while she adapted to yours. But somewhere along the way, something shifted.

She complements you, and you complement her. It’s natural. Effortless.

The studio doesn’t feel like a workplace anymore; it feels like a second home. A place where things just click, where the tension of proving yourself fades, replaced by something more instinctual. She gets you in a way that most people don’t—not just as a singer, but as an artist. She never holds back when something isn’t working, calls you out bluntly when you’re overthinking a note or hesitating on a line, but she’s just as quick to push you forward when you get stuck. And it’s not one-sided.

“You’re overcomplicating that run,” you tell her one evening when she’s spent the last ten minutes nitpicking a verse.

She gives you a look, narrowing her eyes. “Excuse me?”

“You’re thinking too hard. Just sing it how you feel it.”

She huffs but tries again—and when it comes out smoother, more raw, she glances at you out of the corner of her eye, like she doesn’t want to admit you were right.

This is how it’s been. Comfortable. Easy.

So when, after another long day in the studio, Choa suddenly turns to you as you’re packing up and says, “Wanna grab dinner?”—it catches you off guard.

You pause, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Now?”

She shrugs. “Why not? It’s late, we’re both hungry, and I know a good place.”

It’s not like you had other plans. Probably just heading home, eating something mediocre, maybe passing out in front of the TV. This is better.

“Yeah, alright,” you say.

She doesn’t look surprised that you agreed, just nods, pulling her jacket over her shoulders before leading the way out.

—

The restaurant is small, tucked away on a quiet street, the kind of place you wouldn’t have found on your own. It’s got warm lighting, intimate booths, a quiet murmur of conversation. Not fancy, but not some hole-in-the-wall either. Just… comfortable.

Choa greets the staff like she’s been here a hundred times, and you get the feeling this is one of her regular spots.

“You come here a lot?” you ask once you’re seated.

She nods, picking up the menu. “Used to, at least. Not as much these days.”

You glance around. “Doesn’t seem like a place idols would get mobbed.”

“Exactly.” She smirks. “Back when I was still in AOA, I’d come here to get away from all that. No one ever bothered me.”

There’s something in her tone—not quite regret, but something close to nostalgia. You get it. Even though you left your group on your own terms, you still miss certain things. The camaraderie, the feeling of knowing exactly where you belong.

The conversation stays easy as you order, mostly sticking to music—expectations for the album, what the next few months will look like, the inevitable media buzz when people realize how well you work together. But as the night goes on, as the food arrives and the first glass of wine is poured, something starts to shift.

The way she leans In a little more when she talks. The way her fingers toy absently with the stem of her glass, tracing idle patterns. The way her eyes linger on you just a fraction longer than necessary.

And then, after another sip of wine, she tilts her head slightly, watching you with a small, amused smile. “You’re different than I expected.”

You raise a brow. “That a good thing or a bad thing?”

She chuckles. “Good, I think.”

“You think?”

She shrugs, swirling the wine in her glass. “When we first started, I wasn’t sure what to expect. You’re younger, you came from a group—it’s easy to assume you’d be… I don’t know. More arrogant, maybe.”

You smirk. “You thought I’d be full of myself?”

“A little.” She lifts a shoulder. “A lot of guys your age are.”

“Fair. But I try not to be an asshole.”

She laughs, and the sound is warm, genuine. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

Another sip of wine. Another flicker of something in her gaze, something that makes your stomach tighten just slightly.

“So, what about me?” she asks after a moment.

You blink. “What about you?”

“What did you expect?”

You glance at her, and for the first time tonight, you feel slightly off balance. Because she’s looking at you differently now—like she’s testing something, pushing the conversation into new territory.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “I guess I thought you’d be more… serious?”

She smirks. “Do I not seem serious to you?”

“You do. But you’re also…” You hesitate, searching for the right words. “You don’t take yourself too seriously. You’re fun. I like that.”

She hums, tilting her head. “So you like me?”

It’s a simple question, but the way she says it—the slight tilt of her lips, the teasing lilt in her voice—makes your pulse skip.

“I mean—yeah,” you say, keeping your tone casual. “You’re easy to be around. Not a lot of people in this industry are.”

Her smirk lingers. She swirls her wine again, watching the way the liquid clings to the glass before taking another slow sip.

“That’s good,” she murmurs.

You shift slightly, suddenly aware of how close you are in the booth, the way her knee brushes against yours beneath the table.

“You know,” she says after a moment, voice lighter now, playful, “the fans are gonna lose their minds when they see us together on tour.”

You huff a laugh, grateful for the change in subject—even if you can still feel the warmth of her gaze. “Yeah. I can already see the headlines.”

She grins. “Should we mess with them?”

You raise a brow. “Mess with them how?”

She leans in slightly, just enough that you catch the faint scent of her perfume. “Hmm, maybe give them something to talk about.”

Your throat goes dry.

She’s joking. Probably. But the way she says it, the way she looks at you, makes your brain short-circuit for a second.

“You’d enjoy that, huh?” you say, keeping your voice steady.

She smiles against the rim of her glass. “Maybe.”

And just like that, you realize something.

This isn’t just dinner. This isn’t just two coworkers unwinding after a long day.

Choa is flirting with you.

And judging by the way your heartbeat picks up, by the sudden heat creeping up your spine, you don’t mind it one bit.

The wine keeps flowing, and Choa keeps flirting.

At first, it’s subtle—little things, the way her eyes linger on your mouth when you talk, the way her fingers toy with the rim of her glass, slow and deliberate. But as the night stretches on, the words start getting bolder, the distance between you shrinking inch by inch.

“You’ve got a nice voice,” she says, resting her chin in her palm, elbow propped on the table.

You chuckle. “I’d hope so. Kind of my job.”

She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean. It’s not just good, it’s… mmm, how do I put this?” She taps a finger against her lips, pretending to think. “It’s the kind of voice that makes people feel things.”

You tilt your head. “People?”

She smirks. “I meant me, obviously.”

And fuck, she says it so casually, like it’s nothing, like she’s not staring right at you with those dark, knowing eyes, watching the way your throat bobs when you swallow.

The air between you is getting heavy, weighted with something unspoken but understood. It doesn’t help that the wine is making everything feel just a little too warm, your pulse just a little too fast.

And then she leans back, a slow, satisfied look spreading across her face. “You know, I heard a rumor about you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.” She takes another sip, watching you over the rim of her glass. “Something interesting.”

Her tone tells you everything.

You already know what she’s talking about.

There was a day, when you were still part of a k-pop group, early on in the recording process, when you showed up to the studio wearing a pair of pants that were… well, too damn tight. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time—until you noticed the way a few staff members were whispering, glancing at you, their expressions torn between amusement and something else. It didn’t take long before a few pictures surfaced online. Nothing scandalous, but enough to start the whispers. Enough for people to start talking.

And apparently, Choa had heard.

“Interesting, huh?” You take a slow sip of your own drink, matching her energy. “Should I be curious about what exactly you’ve heard?”

She tilts her head, considering. “I don’t know. Do you think the rumor’s true?”

You set your glass down with a quiet clink. “Maybe.”

That word lingers between you, crackling like static.

Choa lets out a soft hum, like she’s pleased with that answer. She doesn’t push further—not yet—but the way she looks at you now, the slight curve of her lips, the heat in her eyes? You can tell she’s thinking about it.

And that thought alone is enough to make your skin feel tight, your heartbeat a little erratic.

Eventually, the conversation shifts, but the tension never fully leaves. It simmers beneath the surface, humming with potential, making every glance, every subtle touch of her knee against yours under the table, feel like a spark.

Then, as the night starts winding down, she exhales, stretching slightly. “It’s late.”

“Yeah,” you say, watching her.

She studies you for a moment, then, as if making a decision, says, “Let's go to my place.”

Your breath catches.

It’s not phrased as a question. Not tentative. Just a statement, casual but firm, like she already knows you’ll say yes. And fuck, she’s right.

You nod. “Okay.”

—

Her apartment is warm, comfortable. Not overly fancy, not the sterile, perfectly curated aesthetic that some celebrities go for. It feels lived-in—cozy, personal, like a place someone actually enjoys being.

Choa steps inside first, toeing off her shoes, taking off the jacket, stretching slightly. “Make yourself comfortable,” she says, then glances back at you. “Take off your shoes.”

You do as she says, stepping further inside, taking off your own shoes, your pulse still running a little too fast. The heat from the restaurant hasn’t faded, and now, in this smaller, more intimate space, it feels even stronger.

She walks toward the couch, sinking into it like she’s done this a thousand times, and pats the spot next to her. “Sit.”

It’s not a command, not really. But it feels like one.

You sit.

For a moment, everything is quiet. The city hums faintly beyond the windows, but in here, it’s just the two of you. The only sound is your breathing, hers and yours, slightly uneven.

Then she shifts. Just enough that her knee brushes yours again.

You inhale sharply.

She notices.

Her lips twitch. “You okay?”

You exhale through your nose, trying to keep your voice steady. “Yeah.”

A slow nod. Then she leans in, not touching you, but close enough that you can feel the heat of her body. “You sure?”

It’s a tease, a test, and god, you’re barely holding on.

Your fingers twitch against your thigh, every nerve in your body screaming at you to close the space between you.

But she’s playing with you. And you’re letting her.

“Choa,” you say, voice lower now, rougher.

She smiles. It’s lazy, knowing. “Hm?”

You swallow. “You’re messing with me.”

She tilts her head. “Am I?”

Your jaw clenches. “Yeah.”

She hums again, considering. Then, finally, she shifts closer. Just a little. Enough that you can feel her breath against your jaw.

“So what are you gonna do about it?”

You nearly lose it right then and there.

Your hand moves on instinct, fingers grazing her thigh, gripping lightly. Not enough to push—just enough to let her know that if she keeps this up, you won’t be able to hold back.

She doesn’t pull away.

If anything, she leans in more.

Her lips are inches from yours, her gaze locked onto you, dark and unreadable. You can hear your own heartbeat in your ears, feel the tension winding tighter, tighter—

Then, finally, she whispers, “I think you should kiss me.”

The moment your lips crash into Choa’s, she melts against you, but there’s no hesitation—she knows exactly what she wants, and she’s not shy about taking it. She moves fast, climbing onto your lap like it’s where she belongs, straddling your thighs, rolling her hips the second she settles against you. The heat of her body, the teasing friction, the way she breathes into your mouth as she grinds—it all hits you at once, hard and fast, sending a rush of blood straight to your cock.

She feels it immediately.

Choa pauses, just for a second, her breath catching as she shifts, pressing her hips down more firmly. A slow, knowing smirk curls her lips. "Oh," she murmurs, voice dropping to something low and teasing. She rolls her hips again, deliberately dragging herself over the thick length straining against your pants. “I feel that.”

Your hands tighten around her waist. “Keep moving like that, and you’re gonna feel a whole lot more.”

Her smirk deepens. “Good.”

She does it again, rolling her hips in slow, torturous circles, pressing down harder this time. The friction is perfect, her warmth seeping through the layers between you, and fuck, you can already feel how wet she is, how easily she glides over you.

You grab her—hands on her ass, fingers digging in—and lift her clean off your lap. She gasps, legs wrapping instinctively around your waist, but she doesn’t protest. If anything, she likes it, her fingers curling against your shoulders as you stand, carrying her like she weighs nothing.

“You’re so fucking small,” you mutter, gripping her tighter.

“And you’re so fucking big,” she breathes back, shifting against you, pressing herself closer.

You don’t waste any time getting her to the bedroom.

Her back barely hits the bed before you’re both reaching for clothes, stripping down piece by piece, discarding them onto the floor without care. Her sweater, her jeans, the lacy little bra. Then, finally, those tiny panties, slipping down her thighs as she watches you, lips slightly parted, breath already coming faster.

And then it’s your turn.

You shove down your pants, your boxers, and the second your cock is free—thick, hard, aching—Choa lets out a sharp inhale.

For the first time, she actually pauses.

Her dark eyes widen just slightly as she stares, her tongue flicking over her bottom lip. “Fuck,” she breathes, sitting up on her knees.

You stroke it once, lazily, smirking down at her. “That’s what you do to me.”

She exhales shakily, then, with absolutely no hesitation, slides off the bed onto her knees.

The sight of her there—small, perfect, looking up at you with those pretty lips slightly parted—sends a fresh jolt of heat through your body.

Her fingers wrap around the base first, her touch firm, exploratory, like she’s testing the weight of it in her hand. “Mmm,” she hums, satisfied, then drags her thumb over the tip, smearing a bead of precum before flicking her gaze back up to you. “Gotta make it nice and wet for you, huh?”

And then she leans in, dragging her tongue up the entire length, slow and teasing, before finally wrapping those soft lips around you.

And the moment she takes you in, it’s like the world narrows down to just the two of you. Her mouth is perfect—wet, warm, and so tight you can feel every inch of her as she starts to move. She doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t tease, just takes you in like she’s been waiting for this, like she’s been thinking about it as much as you have. And fuck, the way she looks up at you, her eyes dark and focused, her lips stretched around your thickness, it’s enough to make your knees buckle.

She starts slow at first, her tongue dragging along the underside of your cock, teasing the sensitive spot just below the head. Her hands grip your thighs for balance, her nails digging in just enough to make you hiss. You can feel her breath, hot and uneven, against your skin as she works you, her mouth moving with a rhythm that’s both deliberate and hungry. She’s good at this—really good—and it’s not just the technique, it’s the way she seems to enjoy it, the way she hums around you like she’s savoring the taste.

But then she takes you deeper, and you can feel her struggle. Your cock is thick, too much for her small mouth, and she gags a little as she tries to take more of you. She pulls back, her lips slick with spit, and you can see the faintest hint of tears in her eyes, but she doesn’t stop. If anything, she seems determined, like she’s not going to let your size intimidate her. She adjusts, tilting her head to take you at a better angle, and then she’s back on you, her mouth working harder, faster.

You can’t help but groan, your hands tangling in her hair as she bobs her head, her lips sliding up and down your shaft. She’s not just sucking you now—she’s devouring you, her tongue swirling around the head every time she pulls back, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks hard. The wet sounds are obscene, filling the room, and you can’t stop watching her, can’t stop thinking about how surreal this is. Choa, the woman you’ve idolized for years, is on her knees for you, her mouth stuffed with your cock, and she’s not holding back.

“Fuck, Choa,” you mutter, your voice rough, your grip tightening in her hair. She hums in response, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure through you, and you can’t help but push her head down, guiding her to take more of you. She doesn’t fight it, just relaxes her throat and lets you slide deeper, her nose pressing against your stomach as she takes you as far as she can. She gags again, but this time she doesn’t pull back—she stays there, her throat working around you, her eyes watering as she looks up at you like she’s daring you to take control.

And you do. You can’t help it. The sight of her like this, the feel of her mouth around you, it’s too much. You start to move, your hips thrusting gently at first, then harder, fucking her mouth with slow, deep strokes. She lets you, her hands gripping your thighs tighter, her nails digging in as she takes every inch you give her. Her throat is so tight, so warm, and the way she looks at you, like she’s enjoying this as much as you are, it drives you wild.

Her small mouth struggles to take all of you, but she doesn’t seem to care—if anything, she’s determined to prove she can handle it. Her tongue swirls around the head, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks hard, and you can feel the tension building in your gut, your cock throbbing in her mouth. But just when you think you might lose it, she pulls back, your cock slipping from her lips with a wet pop.

She looks up at you, her lips swollen and glistening, her chin slick with spit. She’s breathing hard, her chest rising and falling, but there’s a glint in her eyes that tells you she’s not done. Not even close. She stands up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, and then she’s climbing onto the bed, her movements slow and deliberate. She gets on all fours, her ass in the air, and fuck, the sight of her like that is enough to make your cock twitch. She glances over her shoulder, a sly smile playing on her lips.

“It’s ready for you,” she says, her voice low and teasing. “But not there.” She reaches back, spreading her cheeks slightly, and your breath catches. “I want you to fuck my ass.”

“Wait, what?”

She laughs, a soft, breathy sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “You heard me. I’ve been thinking about it since I first saw you. That big, thick cock of yours… I want to feel it in my ass.”

You stare at her, your mind racing. This isn’t what you expected—not even close. But the way she’s looking at you, the way she’s presenting herself, it’s impossible to say no. And fuck, you don’t want to. You step closer, your hands resting on her hips, and she lets out a soft sigh, her body relaxing under your touch.

“You sure?” you ask, your voice rough.

She nods, her hair falling over her face as she looks back at you. “I’m sure. But…” She pauses, a smirk tugging at her lips. “You’re gonna have to get me ready first.”

You drop to your knees behind her, your hands spreading her cheeks, and the sight of her pussy and asshole, glistening and waiting for you, is enough to make your mouth water. You lean in, your tongue dragging along her slit, and she lets out a sharp gasp, her hips pushing back against your face.

“Fuck,” she mutters, her voice trembling. “Your tongue… it’s so long.”

You grin against her, your tongue flicking over her clit before diving back in, lapping at her pussy like you’re starving. She’s already wet, her juices coating your tongue, and the taste of her is intoxicating. you can feel her trembling, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps as you work her over, your tongue moving in slow, deliberate circles.

But you’re not done. You pull back slightly, your tongue trailing lower, and she lets out a soft whimper when you press it against her asshole. She’s tight, so fucking tight, but you don’t stop. You lick her slowly, teasingly, your tongue circling her rim before pushing inside. She moans, her hips rocking back against your face, and you can feel her body relaxing, opening up for you.

“Oh my god,” she breathes, her voice shaking. “Your tongue… it’s so fucking good.”

You hum against her, the vibration making her shudder, and you keep going, your tongue working her asshole until it’s wet and loose, ready for you. She’s moaning now, her hands gripping the sheets, her body trembling with every flick of your tongue. You can feel her clenching around you, her pussy dripping.

You pull back, your lips brushing against her ass as you look up at her. “You ready?” you ask.

She nods, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps. “Yeah,” she says. “Fuck me.”

You stand up, your hands gripping her hips, and you can feel the tension in the air, the anticipation building between you. She’s ready—and so are you.

Your breath Is ragged as you grip the base of your cock, watching the way Choa spreads herself open for you, her ass so tight, so fucking inviting, you almost can’t believe she’s offering it up like this. She glances back at you over her shoulder, smirking despite the flush painting her cheeks. “You ever done this before?” she asks, her voice thick with heat, teasing but curious.

You swallow hard, running your free hand over the curve of her ass, feeling the way her skin is soft but firm beneath your palm. “No,” you admit, gripping yourself tighter.

That seems to excite her. Her smirk widens just a little, and she rolls her hips, pressing back against you. “Good,” she murmurs, almost like she’s pleased to be your first.

You spit into your palm and slick it over yourself, watching how the head of your cock shines as you press it against her tight entrance. You can feel the resistance immediately—her body clenching instinctively, hot and unyielding. You grip her hip with your other hand, steadying yourself, pressing forward just a little.

Choa hisses, fingers gripping the sheets. “Shit, you’re big.”

That makes something primal in you twitch. “You sure you can handle this?”

She laughs breathlessly. “Guess we’ll find out.”

Slowly, carefully, you push forward, feeling the tight heat of her stretch around you, inch by inch. She’s tense at first, her breath catching, but she doesn’t stop you—if anything, she pushes back, forcing herself to take more of you.

“Fuck,” she groans, dropping her head onto the mattress. “God, you’re really—” Her words cut off into a sharp inhale as you sink another inch inside.

You grip her hips tighter, watching, transfixed, as your cock disappears into her inch by inch. “You’re so tight,” you growl, barely able to breathe.

“Yeah?” Her voice is strained, but there’s amusement beneath it. “That a problem?”

“Hell no.”

You give her another inch, groaning as you feel her body adjusting, the way she clenches and trembles around you. The sensation is overwhelming, almost too much, the tightest thing you’ve ever felt.

“Relax,” you murmur, rubbing slow circles into her hips, trying not to lose yourself completely.

She exhales shakily. “I’m trying.”

And then, finally, you bottom out.

Choa shudders beneath you, her breath hitching as she goes still, adjusting to the feeling of being completely filled. You can feel every twitch, every flutter of her body trying to accommodate you.

“Jesus,” you whisper, your hands tightening on her waist.

She lets out a weak laugh. “Now that,” she breathes, shifting slightly, “is a fucking stretch.”

You groan, rolling your hips just a little, testing. Her answering whimper sends a jolt of pleasure through you, your whole body tensing.

“You okay?” you ask, even though the way she clenches around you is making it impossible to think straight.

She nods, biting her lip. “Give me a second.”

You do. You stay still, hands gripping her hips, feeling her breathing slow, her body adjusting to you.

And then, finally, she pushes back.

“Okay,” she whispers, tilting her head slightly. “Move.”

And fuck, you do.

At first, it’s slow—tentative thrusts, shallow, letting her body adjust to the stretch, to the way you fill her completely. But she takes it, every inch, breathing through it, and soon, you can feel her start to relax, to loosen.

The change Is gradual but undeniable. Where she was tense before, now she’s opening up for you, her body accommodating you, molding around you.

Then, she shifts, pressing back against you with more force. “Harder,” she breathes, and that’s all it takes.

Something snaps in you, and you grip her hips tighter, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in, harder this time.

Choa gasps, her back arching, but she doesn’t stop you. She meets your thrusts, her breath coming faster, more ragged.

And then you really start to move.

You fuck her deep, your hips snapping against her ass, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the room. It’s raw, primal, completely consuming. You can barely think, barely breathe, lost in the way she takes you, in the way she feels around you—tight, hot, perfect.

“Holy shit,” you groan, gripping her tighter.

She moans in response, her fingers twisting in the sheets, her whole body shuddering beneath you. “Yes,” she gasps. “Fuck, don’t stop—”

You weren’t planning to.

You move faster, your thrusts growing harder, rougher, dragging her body back against yours with each deep stroke. She’s a mess beneath you, moaning, panting, pushing back to meet every single thrust like she needs this just as badly as you do.

You can’t even believe this is happening. This was supposed to be just music—just an artistic collaboration. And now you’re here, buried balls deep in Choa’s ass, fucking her so hard you can hear the bed creaking beneath you.

You reach forward, fisting a handful of her hair, tugging her head back slightly. “You like that?” you murmur, your voice low and rough against her ear.

Her answering moan is wrecked. “Yes,” she breathes, her body trembling.

You smirk, thrusting harder, making her gasp. “Never would’ve guessed you were into this,” you mutter.

She laughs breathlessly, even as you fuck her so deep she’s struggling to form words. “Never… would’ve guessed you’d be this good at it,” she manages.

That makes something dark and hungry coil in your stomach, and you tighten your grip on her hips, pounding into her harder, deeper, chasing that unbearable pleasure building between you.

You’re already addicted to the way she feels, the way her body clings to you like she never wants to let go. Every time you pull out, she tightens up like she’s trying to keep you inside, and every time you slam back in, she lets out this little broken gasp that’s driving you insane.

And fuck, she’s wet. You can feel the slick heat of her coating your cock, hear the obscene, messy sounds filling the room, mixing with the slap of skin on skin, the headboard knocking lightly against the wall with every deep stroke.

You tighten your grip on her hips, rolling your hips with a slow, deliberate grind that has her toes curling against the sheets. She’s taking it so fucking well, and you can tell she loves it—loves the stretch, loves the way you fill her, loves the way you own her in this moment.

Then, between gasping moans, she admits it:

“I’m an fucking anal whore,” she breathes, voice high and trembling. “God, I love it so much. I fucking need it.”

Your brain practically short-circuits. Your hands tighten on her waist, your cock twitching inside her at those words, that filthy little confession.

“You need it, huh?” You thrust deeper, pressing in to the hilt, grinding against her, making sure she feels you. “This tight little ass addicted to getting fucked?”

“Yes,” she moans, pressing her forehead into the mattress, panting. “Yes—fuck, your cock is the biggest I’ve ever felt, baby, I swear.”

Something about the way she says it, the way she moans baby like she means it, makes you snap.

“You’re really asking for it,” you growl, lifting a hand. “A slut like you deserves to get her ass slapped, doesn’t she?”

“Yes,” she gasps, glancing over her shoulder at you, her eyes glassy with pleasure. “Do it. Slap my ass. Please, baby.”

You bring your palm down with a sharp crack, the sound echoing through the room, and the way she moans at the impact nearly makes you lose your mind.

“Mmm—fuck, yes!” she cries out, pushing her ass up, offering it to you, wiggling her hips like she’s begging for more.

You groan, feeling her clench tight around you. “Shit, you really like that, don’t you?”

“Yes! More—please, baby, more—”

Goddamn. This woman is gonna fucking ruin you.

You spank her again, watching the way her skin reddens under your hand, the way she shudders beneath you. She’s moaning so much now, so fucking loud, her voice breaking, her body trembling.

She’s completely lost in it, completely yours.

“Harder,” she begs, voice breathless, desperate. “Fuck me harder, baby, I’m so close—”

You grip her hips, dig your fingers into her soft skin, and oblige.

Your thrusts become brutal, relentless, fucking into her with deep, powerful strokes that have her screaming. You’re gone, completely lost in the feel of her, in the sound of her moans, in the way she’s gasping your name like it’s the only thing she knows.

“You’re so fucking tight,” you growl, leaning over her, pressing your chest against her back, letting her feel your weight. “You love this, don’t you? Love getting your ass fucked like a dirty little slut?”

“Yes!” she sobs, her nails clawing at the sheets, her body shaking. “I love it, baby, please—don’t stop, don’t stop—”

You’re not stopping. Not until you’ve fucked her through it, not until you’ve made her cum on your cock.

“You gonna cum for me, baby?” you murmur, gripping her waist tighter, grinding deep before pulling back and slamming forward again.

She sobs out something that’s barely a word, barely a sound, just a high, broken moan that tells you everything.

“Fuck,” she gasps. “I’m so—so fucking close, baby, don’t stop, don’t stop—”

The idea of making a woman cum just from taking your cock in her ass? It’s got you rock fucking hard, making you thrust into her harder, deeper, determined to push her over the edge with nothing but your cock filling her up.

“You gonna cum on my dick?” you growl, slamming into her, watching the way her back arches, the way her whole body shudders.

“Yes, yes—fuck—” Her voice is wrecked, barely holding together, and you can feel it happening, the way she tenses, the way she gasps, freezes—

Her whole body locks up, trembling, her mouth open in a silent, choked-off cry before she shatters. She’s cumming, her body wracked with wave after wave of it, her walls clenching around you in tight, pulsing spasms that make your cock throb inside her.

Her voice is high, almost shocked, like she can’t believe how hard she’s coming, how fucking deep you are, like you’re reaching places inside her no one else ever has.

And then you drive into her one last time, deep, pushing as far as you can go—

And she screams.

Loud. Raw. A desperate, uncontrollable sound that makes your whole body ache with the need to cum, makes your stomach tighten, your balls throb, makes you want to fucking ruin her.

She collapses forward, chest heaving, body twitching in aftershocks, her legs weak, her breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. You stay inside her, still hard, still aching, but you give her a moment, running your hands down her sides, pressing soft kisses against the back of her neck.

“Fuck,” she breathes, her voice shaking. “That was—holy shit—”

You smirk against her skin, feeling that hot rush of pride swell in your chest. “First time cumming like that?”

She nods weakly, still catching her breath. “Yeah,” she whispers, almost in awe. “Normally I—I have to, you know, touch myself too. But fuck, baby—you—you made me cum just from that—”

Damn right you did.

You smirk, pressing another kiss to her shoulder. “Guess I’m just that good.”

She huffs a small, breathless laugh, her body still trembling slightly from the aftermath. “Cocky bastard,” she mutters—but there’s something in her voice, something warm, something satisfied.

And then—before you can react, before you can process, she moves.

One second she’s lying there, breathless and wrecked, and the next she’s pushing up, flipping you onto your back, her small body straddling yours, hands pressing against your chest to pin you down.

“Your turn,” she purrs, and fuck, the way she looks at you—sweaty, flushed, her hair tousled, her lips parted, her smirk—it makes your cock twitch in her hand, already positioning it at her entrance.

You barely have time to breathe before she moves, rolling her hips, slow and deliberate, making you groan as she grinds against you, taking every inch, every thick, aching inch of your cock inside her.

“Jesus, Choa,” you hiss, gripping her hips, your fingers pressing into her warm, sweat-slick skin.

She smirks, placing her hands over yours, sliding them up her stomach, over the taut, toned muscle of her abs.

“You like that?” she murmurs, tilting her head slightly. “Like how tight I keep this body just for you?”

Your fingers trace the soft sheen of sweat on her stomach, feeling the flex of her muscles beneath your palm. “Yeah,” you admit, voice rough, full of heat. “Fuck, baby, you feel so fucking good—”

She hums, pleased, rolling her hips again, dragging her nails lightly over your chest as she rides you.

And fuck, the way she moves—

It’s mesmerizing.

The way her small, fit body moves atop yours, the way she lifts herself only to drop back down, taking you to the base, grinding her hips to make sure she feels every inch. She’s so fucking tight, so hot around you, and the sight of her like this—flushed, sweaty, her small frame working you like she’s made for this—has you gritting your teeth, trying not to fucking explode inside her right then and there.

“You like watching me, baby?” she teases, rolling her hips in slow, deliberate circles that have you twitching inside her.

You groan, gripping her waist tighter, your fingers digging into her soft flesh. “Yeah,” you pant, unable to look away. “Fuck, yeah.”

She moans, throwing her head back, her hands sliding up her own stomach, over her perfect tits, her fingers brushing her hard, sensitive nipples.

“God, you feel so good,” she breathes, moving faster now, her hips snapping down onto you, taking you deep, making you groan, making your abs tighten.

Choa has you right where she wants you—flat on your back, sprawled across the bed, her toned, petite body perched on top of you, squeezing you so tight it’s fucking heaven. Her thighs flex as she rides you, every movement controlled, deliberate, her muscles working in perfect rhythm as she grinds down, making sure you feel every single inch of her.

“Fuck,” you groan, your hands finding her waist, gripping her hips, trying to ground yourself in something—but she’s already ahead of you, already setting a pace that has you reeling, already taking charge like she owns you.

She smirks down at you, her hair messy and wild, sticking to her sweaty skin. “What’s wrong, baby?” she purrs, rolling her hips in slow, taunting circles, dragging you through her tight, wet heat with devastating precision. “Too much for you?”

“Shit—” Your fingers dig into her waist, but she doesn’t let you control a damn thing. She lifts herself up, her thighs flexing, her muscles tightening as she takes you, and you see it now—how fucking fit she is, how much strength she has, how easily she moves on top of you like she could do this all night.

And fuck, maybe she will.

“Yeah, that’s right,” she murmurs, watching your face as she drops down onto you again, taking you so deep you swear you see stars. “You like that? Like watching me fuck myself on your cock?”

Your breath hitches, your stomach tightening. “Jesus, Choa—”

“Answer me,” she demands, rolling her hips, gripping your chest for leverage, her nails digging in just enough to make you hiss.

“Yeah—fuck, yeah, I love it,” you pant, barely able to breathe, barely able to think with the way she’s working you.

She grins, pleased, and then she really starts to show off.

She plants her feet on the bed, her thighs flexing as she lifts herself up completely, keeping just the head of your cock inside her. And then, with perfect control, she slams back down, her ass meeting your thighs with a wet slap that makes you groan.

“Fuuuuuck,” you choke out, your vision going white for a second.

She smirks, does it again, and you damn near lose your mind.

She’s fucking athletic—her movements sharp, precise, powerful. She’s using every ounce of strength in her small frame to milk you, to ride you with the kind of stamina only someone who really knows what they’re doing could have.

“You’re so fucking big,” she breathes, her hands pressing into your chest, keeping you pinned. “God, I can feel you stretching me—fuck, I think I’m getting addicted to this.”

Your cock twitches inside her at those words, and she moans, grinding down, rolling her hips, making you feel every inch of her.

“Shit,” you groan, your fingers tightening on her waist. “You’re fucking insane—”

She grins, tossing her hair back, rolling her hips in slow, deliberate circles, owning you, using your cock exactly how she wants. “Oh, baby,” she purrs, her voice dripping with satisfaction, “you haven’t seen anything yet.”

She shifts, leaning back slightly, her hands sliding down your stomach, using her own core strength to control her balance as she rides you with a speed and intensity that has your head spinning.

“Holy shit—”

She laughs breathlessly, sweat dripping down her chest, her toned stomach tightening with every bounce. “God, you feel so fucking good,” she moans, biting her lip, tossing her hair back. “I can’t believe I haven’t had this before—fuck, baby, how have you been hiding this cock from me?”

You can barely breathe, barely fucking function, not when she’s like this, not when she’s dominating you so effortlessly, so perfectly. You can feel the power in her thighs, the control in her movements, the way she’s making you unravel without breaking a sweat.

“Choa,” you rasp, barely holding on. “Fucking hell—”

“Mmm,” she hums, rolling her hips, watching you come undone beneath her. “You’re so cute when you’re struggling, baby.”

You groan, your body shaking, your hands sliding up to her abs, feeling the heat of her sweat-slick skin, the definition beneath your fingers. “Fuck, you’re strong—”

“Of course I am,” she breathes, leaning down, pressing her lips against yours, swallowing your gasps as she fucks you. “I work hard for this body, baby. Gotta stay tight. Gotta stay fit. And now…” She smirks against your lips, rolling her hips, making you groan. “Now you get to enjoy it.”

She pulls back, her eyes gleaming, her smirk full of pure, smug satisfaction. “Tell me how good I feel,” she commands, rolling her hips with a slow, deep grind that makes you see stars.

“You feel fucking perfect,” you choke out, barely coherent.

She moans, throwing her head back, her pace quickening again, her thighs working hard as she slams herself down on you, taking you to the hilt over and over again.

“You’re so fucking deep,” she gasps, her voice high, desperate. “So fucking thick—I can feel you in my stomach—”

Your hands fly to her waist, gripping her as tightly as you can without bruising her, your cock throbbing inside her at her words.

“Fuck, Choa—”

“Mmm, I love hearing you moan like that, baby,” she teases, leaning down, licking the sweat from your collarbone, her tongue hot against your skin. “You love this, don’t you? Love having me ride you like this?”

“Yes,” you groan, barely holding on. “Fucking yes—”

She smirks against your skin, then sits up again, planting her hands on your chest, her nails digging into your skin as she starts riding you hard with wild, unrestrained energy, her perfect little body working you like she was made for this. Her thighs are flexing, her toned stomach tightening, sweat glistening on her skin as she moves with expert control. And fuck, the way she moves—rolling her hips, grinding deep before slamming down again, her breathy moans growing louder, needier, rawer—has your whole body on edge.

“You feel so fucking good,” she gasps, her hands trailing up her own body, her fingers squeezing her perky tits as she bounces on your cock. “God, I knew it would be like this.”

Your brain barely registers what she just said, too lost in the feeling of her tight, wet heat gripping you so fucking perfectly. “Knew?” you manage, your voice ragged. “What do you mean, baby?”

She grins, biting her lip, her eyes dark with lust as she slams herself down onto you again, making you groan. “You think I joined your album for the music?” she teases, tilting her head, her hair falling over her face. “Baby, I had my eye on you from the first day I saw you in the studio.”

Your whole body twitches at that, your stomach tightening, something dark and hungry stirring inside you. “Really?”

Choa moans, tossing her hair back, her hands squeezing her own breasts, rolling her hips in slow, deep circles that have your cock throbbing inside her. “I knew I wanted you the second you walked into that room,” she breathes. “You looked so fucking good—so confident, so talented. And all I could think about was finding a way to get you alone, to see if you were as good in bed as you are in the studio.”

“Jesus fuck,” you growl, your fingers digging into her waist, gripping her tight as she works you over, as she owns you with those words.

She giggles, leaning forward, her lips ghosting over your jaw, her breath hot against your ear. “And now look at you,” she murmurs, grinding down hard, making you shudder. “Flat on your back, letting me use you just the way I wanted to since day one.”

“Fuck, Choa—”

“You like it?” she purrs, her tongue flicking out to tease your earlobe before she sits back up, her hands sliding down her stomach, her fingers tracing the slick heat between her legs before she cups her own tits again, squeezing them, moaning at the sensation. “You like watching me take you like this, baby?”

“Yeah,” you groan, your whole body on fire. “Fuck, I love it. You’re so fucking sexy, Choa—”

She moans, pleased, rolling her hips again, dragging you deep, making sure you feel every inch of her. “Mmm, I love hearing you say that,” she purrs, her nails raking lightly over your chest. “Love knowing how much you want me.”

Your stomach tightens, a sharp wave of pleasure surging through you, your balls drawing up. “Fuck—”

She feels it instantly. The way your cock twitches inside her, the way your grip tightens on her hips.

“Oh,” she breathes, slowing her pace just slightly, smirking down at you. “You’re close, aren’t you, baby?”

You nod, your breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. “Fuck, yeah—”

She grins, and then, without warning—

She stops.

You whine at the sudden loss of movement, your whole body on the brink, teetering on the edge of release, but she just smirks, lifting herself off of you, making your cock throb in desperation.

“Not yet,” she purrs, her voice dripping with something dark and teasing.

“Fuck, Choa—”

She reaches down, wrapping her fingers around your slick, throbbing cock, giving it a slow, teasing stroke, her touch just light enough to make you twitch. And then—

She adjusts, shifting her body, tilting her hips, and presses the head of your cock against her ass.

Your whole body goes tight at the realization, your breath catching as she smirks down at you.

“I want you to cum in my ass,” she whispers, her voice sultry and commanding. “Think you can handle that, baby?”

Choa sinks down onto you again, taking your cock back into her tight, sinful heat, and fuck, you swear she gets even tighter every time. Her round ass presses against your thighs as she settles fully, rolling her hips with slow, controlled precision, her breath coming in short, teasing pants as she watches your reaction.

“Mmm,” she hums, running her hands down her own body, over her toned stomach, down to where you’re joined. “Still feels so fucking good.”

You groan, gripping her waist, feeling the flex of her muscles beneath your fingertips as she moves. “Shit, Choa—”

She smirks, lifting herself up again, just enough to tease the head of your cock against her stretched entrance before dropping back down, taking you to the hilt in one smooth motion.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your hips jerking involuntarily at the overwhelming sensation.

She moans, pleased, her nails raking lightly down your chest as she starts to move faster, bouncing on your cock with practiced ease, each movement precise, deliberate, devastating.

“You like this?” she purrs, rolling her hips, grinding down hard before slamming herself back down again. “Like watching me take you like this?”

“Yeah,” you groan, barely able to form words, barely able to think with the way she’s squeezing you, milking you.

She giggles breathlessly, tossing her hair back, sweat glistening on her skin as she picks up the pace, bouncing harder, faster, determined to wreck you. “Mmm, I can tell,” she teases, glancing down at where your cock is stretching her open, watching the way you disappear into her over and over again. “You’re throbbing so much inside me, baby. Getting so close, aren’t you?”

“Fuck—” Your fingers dig into her waist, desperate for something to ground you, desperate to keep yourself from completely unraveling right then and there.

She moans, tilting her head, biting her lip. “Good,” she purrs, rolling her hips in deep, slow circles before slamming down again. “Because I am too.”

Your breath catches. "Shit—”

“I’m gonna cum,” she gasps, her pace turning frantic, desperate, her breath coming in quick, ragged moans as she rides you faster, harder, her whole body shaking with the force of it. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum—”

Your whole body tightens, your stomach tensing, your cock throbbing inside her as her moans get louder, higher, rawer. “Choa—”

“Cum for me,” she begs, her voice high and desperate. “Cum for me, baby, please—I need it—”

You groan, barely able to hold on, barely able to do anything but feel as she bounces on you, taking every inch, her body shaking as she gets closer, closer—

“Fuck, baby, your cock is so big—so thick—”

Your head spins, your balls tightening, your orgasm slamming into you like a freight train. “I’m gonna cum—”

“Me too—” she gasps, her hands gripping your chest, her whole body tensing. “Cum with me, baby—please, cum inside me—”

And fuck, you do.

Your whole body locks up, your vision going white as you explode inside her, thick ropes of hot cum flooding her, filling her so deep she screams, her back arching, her eyes rolling back as her own orgasm crashes over her.

“Oh my fucking god—”

Her walls pulse around you, milking you for everything, squeezing you so tight it’s almost unbearable. You groan, your hips jerking up into her as more thick, hot spurts shoot deep inside her, so much that it overflows, spilling out around your cock, dripping down between her thighs.

“Fuck,” she whimpers, collapsing forward, her forehead resting against your shoulder, her whole body trembling as she feels you pulse inside her, releasing the last few weak spurts, filling her up completely.

For a long moment, neither of you move. The only sound in the room is your harsh breathing, the faint hum of the city beyond the windows.

Then, finally, she exhales, pressing a slow, satisfied kiss against your neck.

“Mmm,” she hums, nuzzling into you. “You really know how to make a girl feel good, baby.”

“Fuck, I don’t even know what to say, Choa,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around her. “You’re… amazing.”

“You don’t have to say anything, baby,” she says, voice relaxed, breathing slowly against your body. “Let’s just stay like this for a while… while I feel your cum leaking out of me."

—

The thing about secrets? They never stay just in the dark.

At first, it’s just the sex. Weekly meetings that start behind closed doors, your bodies tangled in sheets, your mouths locked together in desperate, greedy kisses. The hunger between you is impossible to ignore, the chemistry too raw, too real. But somewhere along the way, between the heat of her skin and the sound of her breathless moans, between the nights spent in her bed and the mornings where she lingers just a little longer before letting you go, something changes.

It stops being just about fucking.

It spills out of the bedroom, slipping into the studio, into the music itself.

It starts small. A lyric here, a melody there. Subtle. Something in the way she sings a line, the way your harmonies blend together just a little too smoothly, like you were made to complement each other. Then, one day, you write a song—about her. Not obvious, not explicit, but anyone who really listens will hear it. The want, the secrecy, the way her body feels against yours, the way you can’t get her out of your head.

Choa notices immediately.

“You wrote this?” she asks, sitting beside you in the studio, listening to the raw demo play through the speakers.

You glance at her, shrugging casually. “Yeah.”

She hums, tapping her fingers against her knee. “It’s about me, isn’t it?”

You smirk. “What do you think?”

She shoots you a dry look, but there’s a hint of amusement in her eyes. “You’re not subtle.”

“Neither are you,” you counter.

Because you’ve noticed it too.

The way her songs have started changing. The lyrics she’s been writing, the little additions to the album—nothing obvious, nothing that could incriminate either of you, but the clues are there. The new songs don’t just fit the album’s original concept anymore. They’re something else entirely now.

They’re about you and her.

The producers were hesitant at first—changing the tracklist, altering the theme—but once they heard the demos, they didn’t argue. Something was working. The songs were better this way. Realer.

So the album is evolving, taking on a new shape, and no one knows the truth except the two of you.

And that’s when the idea hits you.

It’s reckless. Bold. Something that could backfire spectacularly if you fuck it up.

But it could work.

One night, after a long studio session, when it’s just the two of you left in the dimly lit recording booth, you bring it up.

“I want to record something,” you say, leaning against the console, watching her from across the room.

She stretches her arms over her head, her cropped hoodie riding up just enough to tease a glimpse of smooth skin. “We’ve been recording all day.”

“Not like this.”

She raises a brow. “Then like what?”

You pause for a second, then, keeping your voice casual, say, “I want to record us.”

Her head tilts. “Us?”

You take a step closer, lowering your voice. “Our sounds. While we fuck.”

That makes her pause.

Her expression is unreadable at first, lips slightly parted, dark eyes watching you carefully.

“Are you serious?” she asks after a beat.

“Yeah.”

Choa exhales, running a hand through her hair. “You do realize how risky that is, right?”

“Of course.” You keep your gaze steady. “But I know what I’m doing. I can mix it into the music—make it blend, camouflage it. Just enough that it’s there, but not obvious.”

She bites her lip, considering.

“Think about it,” you say, voice dropping lower. “A song about a secret relationship, with our actual sounds woven into it. A message no one but us will understand.”

Her breath shudders slightly, and you know she’s thinking about it now. About how dangerous it is. About how fucking hot it is.

There’s silence for a few seconds. Then—

“Alright,” she murmurs. “Let’s do it.”

—

The studio is dimly lit, only a few soft LED strips casting a moody glow over the equipment. The microphones are set up, levels adjusted, everything primed for what you’re about to do.

Choa stands in front of you, her petite frame outlined in the low light, her breathing already a little uneven.

“This is insane,” she mutters, but there’s a flicker of excitement in her eyes.

You step closer, hands settling on her hips. “Yeah,” you agree, smirking. “But that’s what makes it fun.”

And then you kiss her. It starts slow—teasing, deliberate—but it doesn’t stay that way for long. The second your hands tighten, the second your tongue sweeps against hers, Choa melts. She presses into you, small hands gripping at your shoulders, her body already moving against yours. Your fingers slide under the hem of her hoodie, skimming over her skin, and she lets out the softest sound against your lips.

Perfect.

The mics are on. Recording. Capturing every breath, every gasp.

You guide her back, pressing her up against the mixing console. She’s so damn small compared to you, so easy to maneuver, her frame fitting against yours like she was made to be there. When your fingers slip past the waistband of her shorts, dipping lower, she exhales sharply, head tilting back.

“Fuck,” she whispers, her voice a little breathless.

The mics pick it up.

You grin against her skin. “That’s what I want.”

She shivers as your fingers tease lower, her breath hitching when you press against her. Her hips move instinctively, a soft moan slipping out, and fuck, you know how good this is gonna sound in the mix.

It escalates quickly after that.

Clothes come off, hit the floor, forgotten. The heat between you builds, fast and urgent, but not careless—you’re aware of the mics, aware of what you need to capture. Every movement, every breath, every sound—

Choa’s nails dig into your shoulders as she gasps, her back arching off the console. “God, this is so fucking risky—”

“That’s what makes it hot,” you murmur against her throat.

And it is.

Because later, when the track is mixed and mastered, when the producers listen back, all they’ll hear is a smooth, sensual instrumental, layered vocals, a subtle echo of breathy sounds beneath the beat.

But you and Choa?

You’ll hear everything.

And no one else will ever know.

—

With the album finalized and the buzz growing, it was time to shoot the music video for the lead single. The song—smoldering, intimate, dripping with the tension of a secret relationship—demanded visuals that matched its energy. The label wanted something polished, something sexy without being too obvious. You and Choa had other ideas.

The concept meetings were long, filled with back-and-forth discussions about aesthetic, mood, narrative. Some of the early suggestions were generic—a standard “lovers in the city” storyline, slow-motion gazes, dramatic lighting. It was fine, but fine wasn’t enough. You wanted something real, something that matched the slow-burn heat of the track.

After a few brainstorming sessions, the final concept came together:

- The MV would be shot in a blend of film-like vignettes and raw, grainy handheld footage, capturing the feeling of stolen moments—glimpses into a relationship that exists behind closed doors.

- Some shots would be in a dimly lit motel room, curtains drawn, the atmosphere heavy with a hazy, golden glow. Choa would be lounging on the bed, fingers absently tracing lyrics in a notebook, while you, sitting on the floor with your guitar, glance at her in quiet admiration.

- There’d be scenes in a recording studio, mimicking the real-life intimacy of late-night sessions. Close-ups of lingering touches, stolen glances in the booth, the unspoken tension of two people pretending nothing’s happening when the air between them says otherwise.

- Street shots, filmed guerrilla-style—walking down an empty alleyway, brushing past each other but never fully touching, the tension simmering just beneath the surface.

- And then, the final sequence: a long take of you and Choa facing each other in the dark, lit only by flickering neon. She’d reach for you, hesitate, and then you’d pull her in. It wouldn’t be a full-on kiss—just the breath of one, lips barely touching, before the screen cut to black.

It was subtle. Implied. But everyone would feel it.

The shoot itself was intense.

Being in front of the camera together, knowing what had been happening off camera—it made every scene feel too real. The tension wasn’t faked, the chemistry wasn’t forced. When the director called “cut,” Choa would look at you with that knowing smirk, as if she could read your thoughts. And she probably could.

By the time the final edit was finished, you knew it was going to cause chaos.

And you were absolutely fine with that.

—

Once the previews of the MV dropped, everything went exactly as expected.

The internet exploded.

Fans dissected every frame, analyzing body language, theorizing about hidden messages in the lyrics. Some of them picked up on the way your hands lingered on Choa’s waist a little too naturally, how her eyes flickered to your lips during one of the longer shots. Some speculated that the entire video was autobiographical—based on real experiences rather than just the fictionalized romance of the song.

You and Choa never addressed it directly.

You let the mystery build.

Meanwhile, the label scheduled a quick promotional tour—press events, live performances, fan meets, a handful of TV and radio interviews. It was part of the rollout, but to you and Choa, it was another challenge: maintaining the façade of just collaborators while the world picked apart every interaction.

The first few Interviews were easy—basic questions about the songwriting process, how the collaboration came about. You both kept it professional, talking about mutual respect, artistic chemistry, how well your voices blended. But as expected, the real questions came soon enough.

You were sitting side by side at one of the bigger televised interviews, microphones clipped to your shirts, the host smiling knowingly as he leaned in.

“So, I have to ask,” he said, flipping through his notes. “One thing fans keep pointing out is your, uh, undeniable chemistry. How did you two manage to bring that into the music so naturally?”

Choa let out a small laugh, tilting her head slightly. “I think it’s just that we work well together. It’s easy when you have someone who gets what you’re trying to do.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I think from the start, we had the same vision for the album. So the chemistry you hear—it’s real, but it’s more about how we complement each other artistically.”

The Interviewer didn’t look convinced. “So you’re saying it’s all professional?”

Choa smirked slightly, shifting in her seat. “I’m saying the music speaks for itself.”

It was the perfect non-answer, leaving room for speculation without confirming anything.

The real moment, though, came a few interviews later.

A different host, a different show. You and Choa were more relaxed this time, the back-and-forth between you easier, more natural. And then—

“Now, I have to bring this up,” the interviewer said, grinning. “The age difference. You’re 20, and Choa, you’re 34. That’s a big gap, at least in industry terms. Did that affect your creative process?”

You and Choa glanced at each other.

The pause was barely noticeable, but the moment your eyes met, something passed between you—an unspoken understanding, a flicker of amusement.

Then, Choa tilted her head slightly, considering. “Honestly?” she said. “I think it helped.”

The interviewer raised his brows. “Helped how?”

You jumped in. “I mean, obviously, we have different experiences, different perspectives, but I think that’s why it worked so well. Choa’s got this incredible depth to her artistry because she’s been doing this longer—she knows how to tell a story in a song in a way that just hits.”

Choa smirked at you. “And you bring that reckless, young energy that makes everything fresh.”

You huffed a laugh. “Basically, yeah.”

The interviewer nodded, intrigued. “So no weird mentor-student vibes?”

Choa rolled her eyes. “God, no. He’s his own artist. I wouldn’t work with him if he wasn’t.”

The interviewer grinned. “Sounds like you two push each other.”

You smirked. “You could say that.”

But the truth?

The age difference wasn’t a barrier. If anything, it made things more interesting.

And as the tour continued, as the performances got hotter, the interviews got bolder, and the lines between work and whatever was really going on between you and Choa blurred even further, one thing was becoming increasingly clear—

This wasn’t just an album rollout.

This was something else entirely.

The press tour rolls on, and with every interview, every talk show, every single moment you and Choa spend in front of the cameras, the tension gets thicker.

It’s Inevitable.

Every night on this tour, every hotel you’ve checked into, every time she came to your room in the middle of the night. The moment the door locks behind you, her hands are on you, her mouth is on yours, and you’re stripping each other down like you can’t wait to feel skin on skin again. The sex is raw, desperate, like you’re making up for every hour you have to spend pretending none of this is happening.

And then, the next morning, you step out in front of the press, looking too well-rested, too at ease with each other, sitting too close on every talk show couch, finding excuses to touch—a casual hand on a thigh, a knee brushing against a knee, a playful tug on a sleeve. It’s subtle enough to be deniable, but not subtle enough to go unnoticed.

One of the first big ones is a late-night talk show, the kind where the host is a little too comfortable getting into personal business.

You and Choa sit side by side on the couch, the studio lights bright, the audience hanging on every word. The host leans in, smirking like he already knows he’s about to start something.

“So,” he says, flipping through his cue cards dramatically, “you two have been spending a lot of time together, huh?”

You and Choa exchange a glance.

She smirks. “I mean, yeah. It’s a collaboration. That’s how albums work.”

The audience chuckles, and you shake your head with an amused huff. “What, were we supposed to record it separately over Zoom or something?”

The host laughs. “Alright, alright. But be honest—there’s gotta be some moments where you get sick of each other.”

Another glance between you.

Choa leans into the mic, voice smooth. “Not really.”

The host raises an eyebrow. “Really? Not even a little?”

You shift slightly, your knee bumping against hers. “I think we get along too well, actually.”

Choa nods, her smirk deepening. “Yeah, it’s a problem.”

The host grins, picking up on the tone. “Oh yeah? And how exactly is that a problem?”

There’s a beat of silence—just long enough for the audience to get it, for a few scattered whistles to break out. You can feel Choa looking at you, her body warm next to yours.

You smirk. “Let’s just say… we have a very productive working relationship.”

The audience loses it.

Choa laughs, tilting her head, shooting you a look like she’s debating whether she should kick you under the table or encourage this.

The host raises his hands. “Look, I’m not trying to start anything, but—”

“Sure you’re not,” Choa deadpans.

He grins. “I just think it’s interesting that the album turned out so good. Like, there’s something extra in there, y’know?”

You chuckle, leaning back slightly, drumming your fingers against your thigh. “Passion.”

Choa nods, still smirking. “Exactly. We care about the music.”

Neither of you say anything explicit. You don’t have to.

But the host just sits back, shaking his head. “Man, you two are dangerous.”

The audience cheers again, and you and Choa just sit there, smug as hell, loving every second of it.

A few days later, another show, another set of questions.

This time, the age gap comes up again.

“So, Choa, you’re 34. And you,”—the interviewer turns to you—“are 20. Does that affect the way you guys work together?”

You already know the internet is going to eat up whatever you say next, so you pause, glancing at Choa first.

She quirks an eyebrow, waiting for you to answer.

You grin. “If anything, I think it helps.”

The interviewer leans in. “How so?”

You shrug. “I mean, she’s got experience.”

Choa stares at you for a second. You know what you meant. She knows what you meant. But fuck, the way the audience reacts—

Loud whoops, scattered applause, laughter—

Choa sighs dramatically, pinching the bridge of her nose. “He means musically.”

You smirk. “Of course. What else would I mean?”

She shakes her head, muttering, “Unbelievable.”

The interviewer, barely holding back a grin, says, “So, you like working with someone older?”

You nod. “Yeah. She knows what she’s doing.”

Another wave of cheers, this time mixed with laughter.

Choa leans forward, pointing at you. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

You just grin wider. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

And that’s how another round of fan theories is born.

Every single clip from these interviews goes viral.

- "The way they LOOKED at each other when the host asked if they ever get tired of each other… we lost, guys. They’re definitely fucking.”

- "The age gap question was a TRAP and he walked right into it and somehow made it worse. I love him.”

- "‘She’s got experience’—HE KNEW WHAT HE WAS DOING.”

- "This is a controlled burn. They WANT us to go crazy.”

- "At this point, just announce the wedding, idk.”

And as the tour keeps going, as more interviews stack up, as you and Choa keep teasing the hell out of the press without ever confirming anything, the tension only builds.

Because every night, after playing it cool in front of the cameras, you’re back in another hotel room with her.

And there? There’s no need to hold back.

—

The tour is finally over.

It’s been a whirlwind—city after city, stage after stage, interview after interview. The music is a success, the controversy even more so. You and Choa had played the game too well, pushing just enough buttons to make people talk, to keep the rumors alive. The way you touched each other during performances, the loaded glances in interviews, the teasing, the non-answers. It was deliberate. And it worked.

Now, it’s time to celebrate.

You and Choa end up in a small, dimly lit bar, tucked away from the usual industry spots, just the two of you in a booth with a bottle of something strong between you. The music is low, the atmosphere warm, and the alcohol flows easily.

She’s sitting across from you, swirling the liquor in her glass, a lazy smirk playing on her lips. The dress she’s wearing is dangerous—black, sleek, hugging every curve, cut just high enough on her thighs that your eyes keep drifting lower.

“You know,” you murmur, leaning in slightly, “the last few months have been fucking incredible with you.”

She raises a brow, lips quirking. “Yeah?”

You nod, tilting your glass toward her. “Yeah.”

She hums, taking a slow sip before setting the glass down. “I feel the same way.” She tilts her head slightly, eyes dark and lidded. “You’re an amazing boy.”

Your grip on your drink tightens slightly. “Boy, huh?”

Her smirk deepens. “Mmm. Well, you are younger than me.”

You scoff. “You never seem to mind when we’re in bed.”

That gets you a soft laugh, her fingers tapping lightly against the table. “Touché.”

The drinking continues, and so does the flirting. Her foot brushes against yours under the table, lingering. Her gaze flickers down to your mouth when you speak. Your hand finds her knee at one point, testing, pressing lightly against her thigh—and when she doesn’t pull away, when she shifts slightly, pressing back, you know exactly where this night is going.

By the time you leave the bar, both of you are warm from the alcohol, the tension practically humming between you.

You take her back to your hotel room.

The moment the door closes behind you, you let your eyes rake over her properly, your gaze dragging over the curve of her body, the way the dress clings to her like a second skin.

“Fuck, you look so fucking hot in that,” you murmur, voice rougher now, heat pooling low in your stomach.

Choa exhales slowly, clearly pleased. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She steps closer, just enough that her fingers brush against your chest. Then she leans in, voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “You wanna see what’s underneath?”

Your jaw tightens. "Yes."

And just like that, she starts stripping.

Slowly. Deliberately.

She keeps her eyes on you as she slides one strap of her dress down her shoulder, then the other, letting the fabric slip down her arms, down her torso, pooling at her feet. The lingerie underneath is delicate—lace, barely there, her body taut and perfect beneath it.

Your cock twitches in your pants, already hard, already aching, and she notices.

She smirks. “That didn’t take long.”

You exhale sharply, tugging at your own shirt, yanking it off before shoving down your pants, leaving you in just your underwear.

Her eyes drop to the obvious bulge straining against the fabric, and she bites her lip.

But you don’t let her comment.

Because the second her panties hit the floor, the second her bra slips from her shoulders, you step forward, grip her waist, and drop to your knees in front of her.

You press a slow, heated kiss to her stomach, just below her ribs.

Then another.

Then lower.

Your hands slide up her thighs, fingertips pressing into soft skin as your lips trail down—toward her heat, toward the place that’s already warm, already waiting for you.

And when you glance up at her, when you see the way she’s looking down at you—lips parted, chest rising and falling a little faster—

You know she wants this just as badly as you do.

The second your tongue touches her, Choa shudders.

You can feel it in the way her thighs twitch, in the way her breath stutters in her throat, the soft gasp that slips past her lips as she fists a hand in your hair. She’s already warm, already wet, already so fucking ready for you.

You start slow, dragging your tongue up her slit, tasting her, savoring the slick heat of her. Your hands grip her ass, squeezing, pulling her closer as you press deeper, licking into her with long, slow strokes.

“Fuck,” she breathes, her hips shifting instinctively toward your mouth. “God—your tongue is so fucking long.”

You smirk against her, flicking your tongue over her clit in teasing little circles, feeling the way her body reacts—the way her thighs clench, the way she tries to hold still but can’t, already too sensitive, too worked up.

“You love this,” you murmur against her, voice muffled by the heat of her.

She exhales sharply, her fingers tightening in your hair. “Obviously,” she says, breathless. “Don’t stop.”

Like you ever would.

You press your tongue flat against her, dragging slow, deliberate patterns over her clit, alternating between sucking lightly and teasing her with gentle flicks. Every time you change the pressure, she reacts—her breath hitching, her grip on you tightening, her thighs trembling around your head.

You love this.

Love the way she tastes, love the way she sounds, love the way her body melts under your tongue.

But then she whimpers—high and desperate—and fuck, that does something to you.

You need to take this further.

You grip her ass tighter, your fingers digging into soft flesh as you lift her.

“Oh my God—”

She barely has time to process it before she’s off the ground, her legs wrapping around your shoulders on instinct. “Are you serious—”

You are.

You’ve got Choa hoisted up, her petite frame nothing in your grip, legs dangling over your shoulders as you bury your face in her pussy. She’s light as fuck, and you’re flexing hard, showing off, holding her like she’s weightless. Her scent’s all over you, hot and slick, and you’re devouring her—tongue lashing wild against her clit, lips smacking messy and loud.

“Holy—fuck—”

She clutches your head, her fingers tight in your hair, her thighs squeezing around you as you devour her.

And fuck—she’s so wet, so hot, so perfect against your mouth.

Her thighs tremble against your ears, slick and hot, muscles flexing each time your tongue flicks against that perfect spot. She’s weightless in your grasp, hoisted up like she belongs nowhere else but in your arms, your hands gripping her ass to keep her steady. Choa’s head falls back, hair spilling, her lips parted on a breathless moan that turns into something closer to a whimper when you suck harder, pulling her clit into your mouth and swirling your tongue around it.

“F-fuck—oh my god—” Her nails scrape at your shoulders, uselessly trying to hold onto something, anything, but there’s nothing she can do except take it. Her legs twitch around your head, heels digging into your back, but she’s not trying to get away—hell no, she’s pushing herself closer, rocking her hips forward like she wants to drown you in the mess she’s making.

“You’re so fucking strong,” she chokes out, voice ragged, barely holding together. Her hands claw up to her tits, grabbing them hard, fingers sinking into the soft flesh like she’s gonna lose it if she doesn’t hold on. “Shit—nobody’s ever—fuck—done this to me!”

Her words hit you like a shot of adrenaline, and you growl into her, the sound buzzing against her swollen clit. She yelps, sharp and desperate, as you flick your tongue faster—sloppy, ruthless—then clamp your lips around that sensitive little bud and suck. Hard. Deep. Like you’re trying to rip the climax straight out of her soul.

Her moans turn Into screams, high and jagged, her tiny body locking up in your hands. You feel it—her thighs clamping around your skull, trembling so bad you know she’s teetering right on the edge. Your fingers dig into her ass, bruising the soft curves, yanking her tighter against your face. She’s got nowhere to go—pinned, helpless, and she fucking loves it.

“You’re gonna—oh fuck, baby—!”

That baby cracks something feral in you. You snarl into her dripping heat, tongue plunging deep inside her, twisting just right, then dragging back to her clit. You suck again—merciless, starving—like you’re gonna eat her alive.

She breaks.

Her whole body seizes, thighs crushing your head so tight her screams get muffled in your ears. Her back bows, nails rake bloody trails down your shoulders, and she’s cumming—hips bucking wild, uncontrollable, like she’s possessed. She’s loud as hell, a raw, shattered mess of sound, too far gone to give a shit who hears.

You don’t let up. You won’t. You keep sucking, keep lapping at her, dragging that orgasm out ‘til she’s drowning in it. She’s thrashing now, gasping, legs quaking, hands shoving at your head—but it’s weak, sloppy, like her body’s too wrecked to fight.

“Too much—fuck, I can’t—!”

Bullshit. She can. You know she can take it, knows she’s never been pushed this far, never had someone wring her dry ‘til she’s just a shuddering, pleasure-soaked shell. Still, you ease off—just a little—slowing your tongue to lazy, heavy strokes, letting her crash back down in shaky, panting sobs.

When you finally pull your face away, your lips and chin are drenched, glistening with her. She’s a goddamn wreck—skin flushed red, chest heaving, mouth slack with these soft, broken whimpers as she stares at the ceiling, dazed, like her brain’s still catching up.

You shift your grip, lowering her slow to the bed. Her legs are useless, jelly, twitching with little aftershocks as she sprawls out. You press one last kiss to her inner thigh—slow, deliberate—and she jolts, a hoarse little cry slipping out.

“You okay?” you ask.

She lets out a soft, breathy laugh, tilting her head to look at you through half-lidded eyes. “Okay?” she echoes. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this okay.”

You chuckle, brushing your lips over her stomach, trailing upwards, slow and lazy. “Told you I’d take care of you.”

Choa hums, reaching up to card her fingers through your hair. “You did,” she murmurs, her voice softer now, warmer. “And I think I might be obsessed.”

You smirk against her skin, then press a lingering kiss between her breasts before finally settling between her legs, taking your time, letting the moment stretch, letting the anticipation coil tight between you. Choa is sprawled out on the bed, her hair a mess against the pillow, her skin flushed and glowing. She’s still catching her breath from what you just did to her, but there’s hunger in her eyes, a need that hasn’t been satisfied yet. And you plan to satisfy it.

Your hands trail up the length of her body, slow and deliberate, tracing over her soft, smooth skin. You start at her thighs, feeling the heat still radiating from her, then move up, over the curve of her hips, the dip of her waist, until you reach her stomach.

Your fingers spread wide over her toned abs, pressing lightly, feeling the firmness beneath your palm. “Fuck, you’re hot,” you murmur, more to yourself than anything, your thumb sweeping slow circles just above her navel.

Choa bites her lip, watching you with half-lidded eyes. “Yeah?” she breathes, arching slightly into your touch.

You grin, leaning down to brush your lips against her skin, your breath hot against her stomach. “Yeah,” you say, voice thick with heat. “This body drives me crazy.”

Her breath hitches, her fingers twitching against the sheets, and then she smirks—lazy, teasing, but her voice is nothing but warmth when she whispers, “It’s all yours.”

Something about the way she says it, so simple, so fucking confident, makes your blood burn hotter. Your cock twitches, already achingly hard, already pressing against her inner thigh. You shift slightly, angling your hips just right, and let the thick head of your cock slide against her entrance—just enough to tease, to coat yourself in the wetness that’s already dripping down her thighs.

Choa’s breath stutters. She twitches beneath you, her hands gripping the sheets, her thighs pressing tighter around your hips. “Fuck,” she breathes, her voice trembling. “Don’t tease me—”

But you do tease.

You roll your hips, dragging the length of your cock against her, sliding up and down, letting her feel every inch but not giving her what she really wants. You watch her face closely—the way her lips part, the way her brows knit together in frustration, the way her body reacts to the way you touch her.

“Tell me,” you murmur, pressing the tip against her, just barely pushing inside before pulling back again. “Tell me how bad you want it.”

Choa groans, her head falling back against the pillow, her fingers digging into the sheets. “So bad,” she gasps, rocking her hips up, trying to get more friction. “Baby, please—”

You chuckle, enjoying the sight of her like this—needy, desperate, fucking begging for it.

“Not sure I believe you,” you taunt, teasing her entrance again, watching the way her whole body tenses at the sensation. “You gotta beg a little more, sweetheart.”

“Fuck, you’re evil,” she whines, her thighs trembling around your waist. “Please, I need you—need you to fill me up, stretch me out—”

That makes your cock throb.

Her hands fly to your shoulders, nails pressing into your skin as she pulls you down, her lips brushing against your ear, her voice barely breathless, desperate, wrecked.

“Baby, please,” she moans. “I need your cock so bad, I—fuck, I can’t wait anymore, just fuck me—”

Gripping her waist, you tilt her hips up slightly, line yourself up, and in one slow, smooth thrust, you push inside.

Her mouth drops open.

“Oh my god—”

Her walls stretch around you, tight, so fucking tight it makes your vision blur for a second. You groan, low and rough, your fingers digging into her hips as you bottom out, feeling the way she clenches around you, pulsing, squeezing you like she’s never taken something this deep before.

Choa gasps, eyes wide, lips parted as she stares up at you in shock.

“Shit,” she breathes, her hands flying to your arms, gripping tight. “You’re so fucking big—”

And then she looks down.

She sees it.

Right there, in the middle of her stomach, a faint bulge pressing against her lower abdomen every time you move.

Her breath catches. “Oh my god, baby, I can see you inside me—”

Something about the way she moans those words makes you lose your goddamn mind.

“You like that?” you grunt, rolling your hips, watching the way that bulge moves, the way it presses against her skin with every deep thrust. “Fuck, Choa, you’re so fucking tight—”

She whimpers, nails raking down your back, her legs wrapping around you tighter. “Yes, I love it, I love feeling you this deep—baby, fuck—”

Your rhythm picks up, faster, harder, your hips snapping against her as you fuck her into the mattress. Each stroke is deep, each thrust dragging against every sensitive spot inside her, making her writhe, making her cry out, making her completely lose herself under you.

The alcohol makes everything sharper, more intense. Every touch, every sound, every sensation is amplified, and neither of you can hold back. She’s moaning uncontrollably, her voice breathy and wrecked, and you’re growling against her neck, whispering filthy things in her ear, telling her how fucking good she feels, how perfect she is around you.

And then—

“Look at yourself,” you murmur, grabbing her hand, pressing it against her lower stomach. “Feel it.”

Her breath hitches. She spreads her fingers over the bulge, gasping as she presses down lightly, feeling exactly where you’re filling her.

“Holy fuck,” she whimpers, her body shuddering. “You’re so deep, I—I can feel you in my stomach—”

That sends a shockwave of pleasure through you, makes your thrusts grow erratic, desperate. Your hips snap harder, your pace ruthless, and she takes it, moaning, gasping, begging for more.

“Don’t stop,” she pants, legs locking around you, her heels digging into your lower back. “Please, don’t stop—”

“Not stopping,” you growl, voice strained. “Never stopping.”

She’s trembling beneath you, her body arching, her nails digging into your skin like she’s trying to anchor herself.

You’re fucking her deep, every thrust sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through both of you, the heat between your bodies unbearable. Choa’s legs still locked around your waist, her nails raking over your back, leaving streaks of red in their wake. She’s moaning, breathless and wrecked, but still—still—she finds the strength to demand more.

“Harder, baby,” she gasps, her voice breaking around the words. “Don’t hold back—fuck, make me cum.”

And fuck, how are you supposed to deny her when she sounds like that?

You grip her hips, pulling her down onto you as you thrust harder, your pace going from deep and steady to ruthless. The headboard slams against the wall with every snap of your hips, the mattress creaking under the force of it, but neither of you care. The only thing that matters is the way she feels around you—so fucking tight, so perfect, like she was made to take you.

“Shit,” you growl, leaning down, your mouth hot against her ear. “You love getting fucked like this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she whimpers, her breath hitching. “Fuck, baby, I’m so close—”

That’s all you need to hear. You’re done playing. No more slow rolls, no more teasing drags. Your hands clamp around her narrow waist, fingers digging in so hard you know you’re leaving marks—red, angry imprints she’ll feel tomorrow. You pound into her, relentless, your cock slamming against every tender spot inside her, stretching her open, owning her. Each thrust shakes her whole frame, her petite body jolting under you like she’s made for this, made to break.

“Oh my fucking god—!” Choa’s scream rips out, high and wild, her back bowing off the bed. Her nails claw into your forearms, scraping bloody trails down your skin, sharp enough to sting, deep enough to mark you back. “Yes—fuck, yes—just like that, don’t you fucking stop—!”

Her desperation lights you up, a guttural growl tearing from your throat. You don’t stop—you can’t. You go harder, faster, hips snapping with brutal precision, the wet smack of skin on skin filling the air, loud and filthy. Your fingers slide down, finding where you’re joined, her pussy soaked and pulsing around you. You press your thumb to her clit—swollen, slick, begging for it—and start rubbing, quick and rough, tight circles that make her sob.

She’s unraveling, fast. Her thighs quake, her breath catches in sharp, frantic gasps. “Baby—” she chokes out, voice breaking, body trembling like it’s about to snap. “I’m—oh fuck, I’m so fucking close—!”

“You gonna cum for me again?” Your voice is a low, ragged snarl, barely holding it together yourself. You can feel it—the heat coiling tight in your gut, your cock throbbing inside her, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge. But this isn’t about you yet. It’s about her. About wrecking her.

“Yes—fuck, yes—!” Her words dissolve into a whine, high and needy, her eyes squeezing shut as her head thrashes against the pillow, hair sticking to her sweat-drenched face.

You don’t let up. You keep that punishing rhythm, fucking her straight through the buildup, your thumb pressing harder against her clit, grinding it now, ruthless, fast, until her whole body locks up.

She shatters.

Choa’s scream is raw, guttural—a sound that tears from her chest as her body arches off the bed, spine curving so hard you think she might break. Her walls clamp down around you, tight and pulsing, milking your cock in waves so intense it nearly pulls you over with her. You feel it all—her heat, her slickness, the way her pussy grips you like a vice, like she’s trying to drag you deeper even as she falls apart. Her legs shake violently, toes curling, heels digging into the mattress as she rides it out, hips jerking against you in frantic, uneven thrusts.

Her nails rake down your back now, leaving fire in their wake, and her breath comes in short, broken sobs—half pleasure, half overwhelm. “Baby—!” she gasps again, voice wrecked, barely audible over the blood roaring in your ears.

You don’t stop moving. You grind into her, slow and deep, dragging out every shudder, every twitch, watching her lose herself completely. Her abs flex tighter, the bulge of your cock still visible, shifting under her skin with every roll of your hips. Her chest heaves, perky tits bouncing with each ragged breath, nipples hard and dark against her flushed skin. Sweat beads on her collarbone, catching the dim light, and her lips part, swollen and red from biting them raw.

She’s a fucking mess—beautiful, ruined, trembling through the aftershocks. Her thighs quiver uncontrollably, muscles jumping under her skin as she collapses back against the bed, spent, boneless. Her hands fall limp to her sides, fingers twitching like she’s still reaching for something, anything, to ground her.

You slow down, just enough to let her breathe, but you’re still buried balls-deep, still rock-hard, aching inside her. The heat of her, the way she’s clenching around you even now—it’s torture, the best kind. Your hands slide up her sides, thumbs brushing the underside of her tits, feeling the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she tries to pull air back into her lungs.

Her eyes flutter open, dark and glassy, pupils blown wide with pleasure. She looks up at you, dazed, lips curling into a slow, crooked smirk that’s equal parts exhausted and cocky. “Still hard for me, huh?” Her voice is hoarse, scratched raw from screaming, but there’s a spark in it, a challenge.

You let out a sharp breath, almost a laugh, your grip tightening on her hips. You drag her against you—slow, deliberate—letting her feel every inch of you still throbbing inside her, the slick friction making her whimper despite herself. “Yeah,” you mutter, voice rough as gravel, thick with need. “Still hard. Still not fucking done with you.”

Her smirk falters, eyes widening just a fraction as you shift your weight, pinning her harder against the bed. You pull back, almost all the way out, the tip of your cock barely inside her, and she whines—a soft, broken sound that tells you she’s not ready for it to end either. Then you slam back in, deep and sudden, and her head snaps back, a fresh cry tearing from her throat.

You lean down, mouth crashing against hers, swallowing her gasps as your tongue dives in, tasting the salt of her sweat, the heat of her desperation. Her hands find your shoulders again, nails biting into your skin, pulling you closer even as her body trembles beneath you.

Choa moans sweetly, pressing a lazy kiss to your jaw before pushing lightly against your chest. “Stand up.”

You blink, still dazed, still lost in the feel of her. “What?”

She smirks, licking her lips, and there’s something dangerous in her eyes as she moves to sit up. “I said, stand up, baby.”

Your pulse spikes.

You do as she says, straightening, your breath uneven, your cock still slick and throbbing. Choa slides off the bed, moving slowly, deliberately, until she’s kneeling in front of you, her hands trailing up your thighs.

She looks up at you through dark lashes, her lips still swollen, still glistening. “Let me clean you up,” she murmurs.

You barely have time to react before she leans in, her tongue flicking out, warm and wet as it drags up the length of your cock. Your jaw clenches, your hands fisting at your sides, struggling to keep it together as she takes her time, licking you clean, savoring the taste of herself on your skin.

“Mmm,” she hums, her tongue circling the head, teasing, tasting, before she finally wraps her lips around you, sinking down—

Your breath shudders out of you. It’s supposed to be clean-up, just her licking you clean, tasting herself on your skin, but fuck—Choa doesn’t do just anything. She’s got her mouth stretched around you, sucking slow, deep, like she’s savoring it, letting her tongue flick over the sensitive spots she already knows drive you crazy.

“Fuck,” you groan, your hands twitching at your sides, resisting the urge to just grab her hair and guide her exactly how you want. But she’s taking her time, teasing you, her tongue swirling around the head before sliding down the length, making a mess of you, her spit mixing with the slickness already there.

You’re getting wet, and it’s only making you harder.

Choa hums around you, her throat vibrating, and fuck—she’s enjoying this, really enjoying this. Her hands stay light on your thighs, steadying herself as she bobs her head, taking you deeper each time.

And then—

She goes for it.

One smooth, practiced motion, and she takes you down.

Your cock sinks into her throat, inch by inch, until her lips are flush against your base, her nose pressing against your lower stomach. The heat, the tightness, the way her throat constricts around you—it’s perfect, fucking perfect, and you let out a ragged growl, your fingers twitching with the need to move.

She holds herself there, breathing through her nose, her throat working around you, adjusting. Then she pulls back, just enough to take a breath, spit connecting her lips to your cock, before she does it again.

Deep. Deeper.

“Shit, Choa—”

You can’t not react to that. Your hand moves on instinct, tangling in her hair, holding her there just a second longer, letting her throat squeeze around you before guiding her back. She gasps through her nose but takes it, eyes fluttering shut, her jaw slack, her throat stretched around your size.

The control slips before you realize it’s happening.

You move her.

At first, it’s just your grip in her hair, guiding her down, pulling her back, letting her take the rhythm you want. But then—fuck, it’s too much, too good, the way her lips stretch around you, the obscene wet sounds she’s making, the way drool is already dripping down her chin. You start moving faster, your hips joining the motion, pushing deeper, fucking into her mouth in slow, deliberate thrusts.

And she lets you.

She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull back—if anything, she welcomes it, her hands gripping your thighs, steadying herself, letting you take control.

Her throat is so fucking tight, so wet, spit pooling at the corners of her mouth, her lipstick smeared, her mascara smudging just slightly from the effort.

“You’re taking it so well,” you groan, tightening your grip, guiding her down again, deeper this time. “Fuck, Choa—”

Her moan vibrates around you, wrecked and eager.

Then something snaps.

You don’t think. You don’t hold back, fingers twisting hard into the strands, yanking her head still as you fuck her face. No hesitation, no gentleness—just raw, greedy thrusts, shoving your cock deep into her throat, chasing that tight, slick heat that’s driving you insane. Her gag reflex kicks in, a wet choke vibrating around you, but she doesn’t pull away—she leans into it, letting you use her, letting you ruin her.

Her eyes flick up, glassy and wild, pupils blown wide, tears prickling at the corners—not from pain, but from the sheer fucking intensity of it. She’s a mess—spit spills from her lips, glistening trails dripping down her chin, pooling on the floor between her knees. Her cheeks hollow out with every thrust, her throat squeezing you so tight it’s almost too much, and it’s perfect.

“Fuck, you look so good like this,” you rasp, voice scraping out of you, thick with lust. You can’t stop staring—her flushed skin, sweat beading on her forehead, the way her jaw works to take you, the obscene bulge of your cock sliding down her throat. Her mascara’s smudging, black streaks smearing under her eyes, and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

She blinks up at you, dazed but burning, that spark in her gaze cutting through the haze. She’s not just taking it—she’s loving it, reveling in the way you’re unraveling her, the way you’re losing yourself in her mouth. Her nails dig into your thighs, sharp little crescents biting into your skin, leaving red welts you’ll feel later. Her whole body shudders with each thrust, her tits bouncing slightly, nipples incredibly hard.

“You love this, don’t you?” you growl, slowing just a fraction, dragging your cock back across her tongue, letting her taste every inch of you. The heat of her mouth is unreal—wet, sloppy, coating you in her spit—and you feel her hum, a low, needy sound that vibrates straight through you. Her hands grip tighter, nails scraping now, dragging slow, deliberate lines down your thighs like she’s marking you back.

Then—fuck—she nods. With your cock still buried in her throat, her head bobs just enough to answer, lips stretched wide, spit bubbling at the corners. That little move—her saying yes without pulling off—snaps the last thread of your control. Your breath shudders out, ragged and loud, chest heaving as you thrust one more time, slow and deep, letting her throat clench around you, soaking you in her slick mess.

You pull back, abrupt and rough, your cock slipping free with a wet pop. A thick strand of spit stretches between her lips and the tip, glistening in the dim light, snapping when she gasps for air. Her chest heaves, breaths coming in short, wrecked bursts, her mouth red and swollen, lips shiny with spit and pre-cum. She’s trembling, knees shifting on the floor, thighs pressed together like she’s aching down there too.

Her tongue darts out, slow and deliberate, licking the mess from her lips—swiping across the bottom one first, then the top, savoring it. Her eyes lock on yours, dark and heavy, and she smirks, a crooked, satisfied little curve that says she knows exactly what she’s done to you. “Mmm,” she hums, voice hoarse, scratched raw from your cock. “Now that’s a thorough cleaning.”

You groan, wiping the back of your hand over your mouth, trying to breathe, trying to think.

But then she shifts on her knees, tilting her head, her smirk deepening.

“You still haven’t cum yet, baby,” she purrs, running a teasing hand over her own stomach, down to her thighs. “Guess I’ll just have to let you fuck my ass instead.”

Your entire body tenses.

Your cock throbs.

The hunger in her eyes, the teasing curve of her lips, the way she says it—like it’s nothing, like she’s been waiting for this, like she wants it as much as you do—

“Fuck,” you breathe. “I was missing your ass.”

Choa just giggles, licking her lips again, dragging her nails down your thighs before moving to bed, shifting onto all fours, tilting her hips up, arching her back—presenting herself like an invitation you’d be a goddamn fool to refuse.

She glances over her shoulder, eyes dark, sultry, teasing.

“Come on, babe boy,” she murmurs, wiggling her hips just slightly. “What are you waiting for?”

Your jaw clenches. Your breath catches. And then—you move.

You position yourself behind her, hands gripping her hips, your cock already throbbing at the sight of her—Choa, on all fours, back arched just right, ass raised, offering herself up like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And by now, it is natural. You’ve fucked her like this so many times during the tour—stolen moments in hotel rooms, backstage dressing areas, nights where she was too impatient to wait until after a show.

And yet—fuck—it never gets old.

She wiggles her hips slightly, teasing you, and you can’t resist reaching out, grabbing a handful of her ass, squeezing it tight before giving it a little shake.

Choa giggles, glancing over her shoulder, her hair falling into her face. “You’re obsessed,” she teases, voice warm, playful.

You smirk, running your hands over the soft, round curves. “Damn right I am. Look at this ass—so fucking juicy.”

She hums, pleased, shifting her weight slightly. “I know.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmmhmm. I see you staring when I wear tight shit,” she says, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “You’re not exactly subtle, baby.”

You huff a laugh, kneading her ass with both hands, spreading her just slightly. “Can you blame me?”

“Not at all,” she purrs, pressing back against your touch. “You can look all you want, baby. It’s yours.”

And fuck, if that doesn’t send a bolt of heat straight down your spine.

Before you do anything else, you have to taste her.

You lean in, slow, deliberate, letting her feel your breath first—hot and heavy against her bare cheek. She shifts, a tiny twitch, and you drag your long tongue over the curve of her ass, slowly, teasing, tasting the salt of her skin. It’s smooth, soft, warm under your lips, and you take your time, tracing the shape of her before dipping lower. Her breath hitches, a sharp little sound that cuts through the air, and you smirk against her, pressing your lips harder, kissing the sensitive spot just above where she really wants you.

“Oh—fuck,” she whispers, voice thin and shaky, her back arching hard, pushing her ass higher like she’s begging for it.

You don’t give it to her right away. You tease instead, flicking your tongue just around her tight little entrance, circling slow, letting the heat build. She’s so fucking responsive—every twitch, every tremble ripples through her, her thighs quivering like she’s already on the edge. You can hear the sheets rustle as her hands claw into them, knuckles white, her breath coming faster now, ragged and uneven.

Then you go in. Your tongue presses flat against her, wet and slick, lapping at the tight ring of muscle with slow, deliberate strokes. She jolts, a choked moan spilling from her lips, and you growl into her, circling faster, teasing the edges before pushing the tip of your tongue just inside. She’s so goddamn tight, clenching instinctively, but you keep working her—long, deep licks, then quick flicks, tasting her, opening her up.

“Baby—!” Her voice cracks, high and desperate, her whole body shuddering under you. “Oh my fucking god—!”

The way she says it—half plea, half curse—lights you up. You hum against her, low and rough, the vibration sinking into her, and she whines, her hips rocking back, chasing more. Her ass presses harder against your face, cheeks soft and warm around you, and you can feel her relax, giving in, letting you take her apart. Your tongue dives deeper now, long and thick, pushing past that tight resistance, fucking into her slow and steady. She’s dripping—sweat, spit, her own arousal slicking down her thighs—and you love it, love how messy she’s getting, how raw this is.

You pull back just a fraction, enough to see her—ass glistening, pink and puckered, trembling under your touch. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” you mutter, voice gravelly, thick with want. Then you spit—a fat, warm glob landing right on her hole, dripping slow between her cheeks, mixing with the mess you’ve already made. It’s filthy, obscene, and her whole body jerks when it hits, a sharp gasp tearing from her throat.

“Shit—!” she cries, her hands fisting the sheets tighter, dragging them into wrinkled clumps. Her legs shake harder now, knees sliding wider on the bed, opening herself up even more. You dive back in, tongue lashing over her again, spreading the slickness, working it into her. She’s loosening up, bit by bit, her tight little hole softening under your mouth, and you can feel it—the way she’s starting to crave what’s coming next.

Your hands grip her cheeks, spreading her wide, thumbs digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave red marks. She whimpers, a broken little sound, and you press your face deeper, nose brushing her skin, tongue fucking into her with wet, sloppy thrusts. The taste of her—raw, sweaty, mixed with your spit—floods your senses, and you groan into her, the sound muffled by her heat.

“Please—” she gasps, barely coherent, her voice wrecked and needy. “Baby, fuck, I can’t—!”

You know what she wants. She’s not saying it yet, but her body’s screaming—hips grinding back, thighs trembling, ass clenching around your tongue like she’s already imagining your cock. You pull back again, slow, letting a thick string of spit trail from your lips to her hole, watching it glisten in the low light. Her back’s arched so hard her spine’s a perfect curve, sweat pooling in the dip above her ass, and her breathing’s a mess—short, shallow pants like she’s drowning in it.

“You ready for me?” you rasp, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, your chin slick and shiny with her. Your cock’s throbbing, hard as steel, pre-cum beading at the tip, and you stroke yourself once, slow and firm, just to take the edge off.

She nods, frantic, head turning so you catch the side of her face—lips parted, cheeks flushed red, eyes half-lidded and glassy. “Yes—fuck, please,” she breathes, voice hoarse, desperate.

You smirk, leaning back in to give her one last swipe—a long, slow lick from her hole up the curve of her ass, savoring her shudder. She’s prepped, wet, open, and fucking begging for it. You’re not done tasting her—but now, it’s time to claim her.

You stroke yourself again, once, twice, spreading her with one hand as you line up, pressing the head of your cock against her entrance.

“You sure, baby?” you murmur, teasing her just a little, dragging the tip up and down.

“Yes,” she says immediately, her voice breathless, impatient. “Give it to me.”

And fuck, you do.

You press forward, slow at first, letting her stretch around you inch by inch, feeling every tight, perfect inch sink into her.

“Jesus,” you groan, gripping her waist, steadying yourself. “Still so fucking tight—”

“Mmmm—” Choa’s fingers dig into the sheets, her breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. “F-fuck, baby—”

You push in deeper, your cock throbbing at the way she clenches around you, the heat of her body pulling you in. “You’d think after all the times I’ve fucked this ass, it’d be looser,” you rasp, dragging a hand up her back, gripping the nape of her neck. “But you’re still so fucking tight, baby.”

“Because it’s yours,” she gasps, rocking her hips back, trying to take more of you. “Made for you—only want you, baby—”

Fuck.

She knows exactly what to say.

You groan, gripping her tighter, then start to move. Slow, deliberate thrusts, pulling out almost completely before sinking back in, letting her feel every thick inch stretch her open.

“Oh my god—” she chokes out, her body trembling. “Baby, you’re so fucking big—”

“Yeah?” you grunt, squeezing her ass with both hands, watching the way your cock disappears into her. “You still addicted to it?”

“Yes,” she whimpers, pressing back against you, desperate for more. “So addicted—I need it, baby, need you to fill me up—”

That makes your cock twitch.

You start moving faster, picking up the pace, gripping her hips as you drive into her, each thrust deeper, harder.

“Fuck, baby—” she gasps, her voice high, shaky. “Harder—please, baby, I can take it—”

And you give it to her.

Your rhythm turns ruthless, your hips snapping against her, the wet sounds of skin meeting skin filling the room. You grip her waist, holding her steady, watching the way she takes every inch of you like she was made for this.

“Holy shit, baby—” she moans, her body rocking forward with every deep thrust. “You feel so fucking good—”

“Yeah?” you growl, tightening your grip. “You love getting your ass fucked like this?”

“Yes—yes, baby—fuck, I love it, love it so much—”

Your hand moves to her lower back, pressing down just slightly, forcing her into a deeper arch. “You’re so fucking filthy,” you groan, watching the way your cock stretches her open, the way she clenches around you every time you push in. “Taking me so well, baby—”

“All yours, baby,” she gasps. “Fuck me—harder—please, I want to feel it tomorrow—”

And fuck, that does it.

Your grip tightens on her waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips, anchoring her in place as you drive into her, deeper, harder. The way her body responds—the way she trembles, the way she clenches around you, the way she gasps like she can barely take it but still needs more—only fuels you.

“F-fuck, baby—” Choa’s voice is a wrecked, breathy mess, her face buried in the sheets, her back arching beautifully beneath you. “So deep—so fucking deep—”

“Yeah?” you murmur, voice low and rough, leaning over her, pressing a hand flat between her shoulder blades to keep her locked down. Her back arches under the pressure, ass tilting higher, begging for more. “You love this shit, don’t you? Love having your tight little ass wrecked by my big fucking cock?”

“Yes,” she moans, voice high and needy, cracking around the edges like she’s already losing it. “Fuck, I love it—love being so fucking full of you—” Her words spill out fast, desperate, her breath hitching every time you shift inside her. She’s an anal whore through and through, a size queen who lives for this—lives for the stretch, the burn, the way you split her open.

That’s it. Your restraint’s gone, shredded to nothing. You grab her hips with both hands, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, and yank her back onto you, slamming your cock into her ass so deep the bedframe groans under the force. The sound of skin slapping skin echoes—sharp, wet, filthy—mixing with her breathy whimpers that turn into full-on moans, loud and uncontrollable. The headboard bangs against the wall, a steady thud-thud-thud that matches your rhythm, and you don’t give a fuck if the neighbors hear.

“Oh—oh my fucking god—” she gasps, her fingers clawing at the sheets, twisting them into knots as she tries to hold on. “Baby—fuck—it’s so good, so fucking good—” Her voice is a mess, breaking apart, barely holding together as you pound into her. She’s gone, lost in the stretch, in the way you’re railing her ass like it’s yours to ruin.

You smirk, loving how she can’t even string a sentence together, how she’s just a whining, moaning puddle under you. Her thighs tremble, knees sliding wider on the mattress, opening herself up more, letting you hit even deeper. You can feel her clenching around you, tight and hot, her body begging for it, screaming for you to push her over the edge.

And then—fuck—she loses it completely. “Make me cum!” she screams, voice raw, splitting open with need. “Baby, fucking make me cum—I need it so bad—please—”

That snaps you.

You growl, low and feral, grabbing both her wrists and wrenching them behind her back, pinning them in one hand. Her shoulders lift, chest hovering off the bed, and you’ve got her locked—helpless, totally under your control. You slam into her ass, deep and brutal, burying yourself to the hilt with every thrust. The angle’s perfect, your cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside her, stretching her so wide she’s shaking.

“Oh—fuck—” she sobs, head tipping back, hair sticking to her sweaty face, mouth gaping as she gasps for air. “Yes—yes, baby—oh my god—yes—” Her moans break into jagged whimpers, her whole body quaking every time you bottom out. You can see her ass ripple with each thrust, cheeks bouncing, skin turning pink from the impact. Sweat drips down her spine, pooling in the small of her back, and her thighs are slick, trembling so hard she’s barely holding herself up.

“You wanted it?” you snarl, voice rough, strained from how fucking good she feels—tight, hot, gripping you like she never wants to let go. “You fucking demanded it?”

“Yes—baby—yes—” Her words are a chant, frantic, spilling out between sobs and gasps.

“Then fucking take it.”

You go harder, ruthless, hips snapping with punishing force, your grip on her wrists tightening until you feel her bones shift under your fingers. She’s completely at your mercy, body jerking with every thrust, ass swallowing your cock like it’s made for this. She’s an anal slut, drooling for the size, for the way you’re tearing her apart, and you can hear it in her voice—raw, wrecked, loving it.

“Oh my god—oh my god—oh my fucking god—” she chants, her voice climbing higher, breaking apart as her body starts to shake harder. “I—baby—I’m gonna—oh fuck—”

That’s all you need. You fuck her straight through it, driving deep, relentless, feeling her ass clench tighter, her whole body seizing up. She’s cumming—hard—her scream ripping through the room, loud and jagged, her back arching so far her spine looks ready to snap. Her toes curl, heels digging into the bed, and her walls clamp down around you, pulsing, milking your cock as her orgasm tears through her.

“Fuck, baby—” she sobs, voice shattering, “I’m cumming—I’m fucking cumming—”

You don’t stop. You keep pounding, rolling your hips hard, dragging it out, making her ride every wave until she’s a trembling, whimpering mess. Her thighs give out, knees slipping, but you hold her up by her wrists, keeping her impaled on you. She’s gone—eyes squeezed shut, mouth slack, drool leaking onto the sheets as she gasps and shakes, her ass still twitching around you.

“Shit—shit—oh my god, baby—” Her voice is hoarse, barely there, breaking into soft, pathetic little cries as the aftershocks hit. You slow just a fraction, keeping your cock buried deep, letting her feel it—letting her feel how you’re still hard, still throbbing inside her wrecked ass.

You’re close now, teetering on the edge, her tight heat pushing you there. “Fuck, Choa—” you growl, letting go of her wrists. Her arms flop down, useless, and she collapses forward, chest heaving, ass still up, still stuffed with you.

You stay there, buried in her, catching your breath as your cock twitches inside her ass. She’s panting, skin flushed dark, muscles jumping with little tremors. You pull out slow, watching the way her hole gapes for a second before clenching shut.

“Holy fuck,” she breathes, voice shot to hell, dazed and slurry. She shifts, wincing slightly, then laughs—a soft, breathless sound, pure satisfaction. “That was—shit, my throat hurts from screaming so much…”

But you’re not done with her. It’s like a goddamn animal’s taken over, this clawing, desperate hunger gnawing at your gut, screaming for more of Choa’s tight little body. She’s already a wreck—sweat plastering her hair to her forehead, thighs slick and shiny from everything you’ve done to her, trembling like she’s barely holding it together. But fuck, she’s still so hot, those wide, hazy eyes locked on you, lips parted, chest heaving, but still with breath for more. You grab her wrist, yanking her up from the bed with a growl that’s all need, no patience. “Come here,” you rasp, voice thick and rough, dragging her into you like she’s yours to command. She stumbles, legs shaky, but she’s grinning—breathless, giddy, totally into it.

Before she can catch her breath, you scoop her up, hoisting her into the air like she’s nothing. She squeals, a sharp, startled “Holy shit—” cutting through the room, but her legs snap around your waist on instinct, locking tight. Her hands clutch your shoulders, nails biting into your skin, and she’s laughing, panting, “You love showing off, huh? Fucking hell, I love it when you’re like this.” Her hips roll forward, teasing, brushing her soaked pussy against you, and it’s like a jolt of electricity straight to your cock—still hard, still throbbing, ready to ruin her all over again. She’s light as fuck in your arms, petite and perfect, and you can feel the heat radiating off her, smell the mix of sweat and sex clinging to her skin.

You don’t waste a second. Gripping her thighs—fingers sinking into the soft, slick flesh—you line her up and sink her down onto your cock, slow at first, letting her feel every goddamn inch as her pussy swallows you whole. She’s dripping wet, a hot, slick mess that takes you so easy it’s obscene, and you groan deep in your chest, the sound vibrating through you both. Choa throws her head back, moaning loud and shameless, the noise bouncing off the walls—“Fuck, fuck—yes—” Her voice is wrecked, high and needy, breaking apart as you fill her up. Her nails dig harder into your shoulders, leaving red crescent marks, and her breath stutters, hot and fast against your neck as you start moving. You’re fucking her right there in the air, holding her up like it’s nothing, bouncing her on your cock with every thrust, and she’s completely at your mercy—clinging to you, gasping, moaning your name like it’s her lifeline.

“You like this?” you rasp, voice gravelly, rolling your hips up harder, slamming into her deep enough to make her cry out—a sharp, jagged “Yes—fuck, yes—” that’s half-scream, half-sob. She’s nodding like crazy, fingers twisting into your hair, yanking at the roots as her body arches into you, tits pressing against your chest. Her pussy’s burning up around you, clenching tight, slickness dripping down your thighs, soaking you both. Every bounce makes her tits jiggle, makes her ass slap against your hips, and you can feel her losing it—walls fluttering, breath hitching, so fucking close to falling apart again. She’s a mess of sounds now—whimpers, moans, little gasps that spill out every time you drive into her, and it’s driving you wild, pushing you closer to the edge.

“I’m so close,” you groan, your grip on her thighs tightening, fingers bruising her soft skin as you pound into her harder, your whole body screaming for release. You’re drenched in sweat, muscles burning from holding her up, but it’s worth it—worth the way she’s trembling, the way her pussy’s gripping you like a vice. Choa catches your words, feels the tension in you, and she knows exactly how to break you. Her lips brush your ear, hot and shaky, voice dripping with lust as she whispers, “Cum inside me, baby. I want it all. Give it to me.” Her walls squeeze you tight, a deliberate little clench that makes your vision blur, and fuck—that’s it. That’s the match to the gasoline.

Your control snaps like a cheap fucking string. You growl, low and primal, and start slamming into her with everything you’ve got—no holding back, no mercy, just pure, desperate need, fucking her into oblivion, hips snapping so hard the sound of skin on skin is deafening—wet, sloppy, obscene. Her moans turn into screams— “Yes, yes, yes—fuck—just like that!”—sharp and broken, her nails raking down your back, leaving fire in their wake. “Don’t stop, don’t stop—fill me up, baby, I wanna feel it all!” she cries, her voice raw, begging, and it’s like a drug, sending you spiraling. You grip her tighter, hands sliding to her ass, spreading her cheeks as you drive deeper, harder, faster—every thrust shaking her whole body, making her tits bounce, her hair swing wild.

She’s meeting you now, rolling her hips down onto you, desperate and greedy, taking everything you’re giving her. Her thighs quake around your waist, her breath’s a mess of gasps and sobs, and you can feel it—her pussy’s pulsing, her whole body’s trembling, she’s right there with you. “Gonna cum,” you rasp, voice shredded, your body coiling tight, every muscle locked and ready to blow. “Do it,” she begs, her voice a wrecked whisper, “Cum inside me. Give me everything.” Her words hit like a punch, and that’s the breaking point—your whole world narrows to her, to the heat, to the need.

You bury yourself deep—one last, brutal thrust—and explode. A guttural groan rips from your chest as you cum, hard and unrelenting, thick ropes of it pumping into her, filling her pussy to the brim. It’s intense, overwhelming—pulse after pulse, wave after fucking wave. You’re shaking, hips jerking with every spurt, and Choa gasps, her walls milking you, squeezing every drop as she shudders in your arms. “Oh my god—fuck—” she whimpers, her head dropping onto your shoulder, her body going limp as she feels you flood her.

But it doesn’t stop. Your cock keeps twitching, another hot load spilling deep inside her, and she moans again, softer, wrecked— “So much, fuck, you’re still going—” Her fingers dig into your shoulders, clinging to you as you keep cumming, stuffing her so full it’s leaking out around you, dripping down her thighs, smearing between you both. You grunt, shoving her back against the wall, pinning her there as you roll your hips slow, working every last bit into her. “I’m gonna make sure you’re fucking full,” you growl, panting against her neck, still riding the high, still lost in the primal rush of claiming her.

When it finally fades, when you’re finally spent, you ease up, pulling back just enough to look at her. She’s a goddamn sight—pinned against the wall, chest heaving, skin flushed red, sweat dripping down her collarbone, hair a tangled mess. Your cum’s leaking out of her, thick and white, trickling down her inner thighs, pooling on the floor, and it’s the hottest fucking thing you’ve ever seen—proof of how hard you just wrecked her. You slide out slow, watching her pussy clench one last time, trying to keep you in, and more spills out, a sticky mess that makes her shiver.

You set her down gentle, back on the bed, and she collapses, boneless, legs splayed wide, still trembling from the aftershocks. She’s panting hard, blinking up at you with those dazed, satisfied eyes, a slow, lazy grin spreading across her swollen lips. “Holy shit,” she breathes, voice hoarse and slurry, “Best tour ending ever.” Her hand flops to her stomach, then lower, brushing the mess between her legs, and she giggles—soft, fucked-out, totally blissed.

“Shit,” she murmurs before spreading her legs slightly, her fingers dipping lower, then pulling back. A thin string of cum stretches between them, glistening under the dim bedroom light. “Look at this. You really did fill me up.”

Your cock twitches at the sight. You’re still sensitive, still recovering, but fuck, the way she’s playing with herself, teasing, showing you exactly how much you’ve given her—it’s enough to stir that deep, primal hunger all over again.

You reach out, catching her wrist before she can smear it away. “Let me see,” you say, voice rough, still laced with the aftershocks of pleasure.

Choa hums, letting you take control, her eyes dark and hazy as she watches you. Slowly, you slide two fingers through the mess between her legs, pressing inside just enough to feel how warm and soaked she is. She gasps, her body twitching at the sudden intrusion, still sensitive from everything you’ve done to her.

“Fuck,” she breathes, biting her lip. “Still so full…”

You smirk, dragging your fingers back out, coated in thick, pearly white. Holding them up between you, you watch her reaction, teasing her, seeing just how far she’ll go.

Choa’s eyes flick from your fingers to your face, then back again. And then, with deliberate slowness, she leans forward, lips parting.

She takes them into her mouth.

The sight alone is enough to make your stomach clench, your body screaming to go again despite the exhaustion settling into your muscles. She moans softly, swirling her tongue around your fingers, her lips hollowing as she sucks, tasting every drop of what you’ve given her.

“Goddamn,” you mutter, mesmerized by how fucking sensual she is, how naturally she takes it, how much she seems to enjoy it.

She pulls back with a soft pop, licking her lips, her eyes heavy with satisfaction. “Mmm,” she hums, tilting her head. “Tastes like you.”

Your jaw tightens. Fuck. You reach down again, pressing your fingers against her entrance, gathering more, watching the way she shudders at the overstimulation. She’s so sensitive, so raw, but she doesn’t stop you.

You bring them up again, and this time, she grabs your wrist, guiding them into her mouth herself. She takes her time, tongue flicking between your fingers, sucking slowly, teasing. Her eyes never leave yours.

“Jesus,” you mutter, your body tensing, already feeling that deep, slow burn of arousal creeping back in.

Choa grins, finally releasing your fingers with one last, deliberate suck. “Like watching me clean up after you?” she teases.

You shake your head with a chuckle, running your thumb over her swollen lips. “You’re gonna kill me,” you murmur.

She laughs, stretching her sore limbs, her body still trembling slightly from how hard you wrecked her. “You can handle it.”

You exhale, letting the moment settle, letting the intensity fade into something quieter, something softer. You collapse onto the bed beside her, muscles aching but satisfied. She shifts closer, draping herself against your chest, her fingers idly tracing patterns over your skin.

For a while, neither of you speak. Just slow breaths, the distant hum of the city outside, the warmth of tangled limbs and shared exhaustion.

But as time goes by, you notice something changing. You can feel it—like there’s something on her mind she’s not saying. You glance down at her, raising an eyebrow.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

She hesitates, biting her lip, and you know right away that whatever it is, it’s serious.

Finally, she sighs. “I was just thinking… about us.”

"Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She traces a slow circle on your chest, eyes still focused on where your skin meets hers. “You know this whole… secret thing? It’s kinda exhausting.”

You let out a low hum. “You’re telling me.”

She pulls back just enough to look at you, her expression thoughtful, almost hesitant. “What if… we didn’t hide it anymore?”

You blink, surprised. “You serious?”

She shrugs, like she’s trying to play it off, but there’s a tightness in her jaw that tells you she’s worried about your reaction. “I mean… it’s not like people haven’t already guessed. We basically fueled half the rumors ourselves.”

You chuckle. “Yeah. We’re pretty bad at being subtle.”

Her lips quirk into a smile. “You’re the worst. Always touching me during interviews. Looking at me like you’re gonna rip my clothes off the second the cameras are off.”

“Can you blame me?” You grin. “You’re the one who kept putting her hand on my thigh every time someone asked about our chemistry.” She snorts. “You loved it.”

“Damn right I did.” You squeeze her hip lightly, pulling her closer. “But for real… you wanna go public?”

She hesitates again, but then nods. “Yeah. I’m tired of pretending. And honestly? I like being with you. More than I thought I would.”

That makes your chest tighten in the best way possible. You tilt her chin up, making her look at you, and the softness in her eyes just about floors you.

“I like being with you too,” you admit, voice low. “A lot.”

She smiles, and it’s that genuine, unguarded kind of smile that she only shows when it’s just the two of you. “You know it’s gonna be fucking insane if we do this, right? The fans, the media… they’re gonna lose their minds.”

You shrug, smirking. “Let ’em. They were gonna find out eventually. Might as well give ’em something real to scream about.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“Nah. Just really fucking into you.”

Choa leans up and kisses you, slow and sweet, her hands framing your face. When she pulls back, she’s still smiling, but there’s a hint of nerves there too.

“You’re not scared?” she asks softly.

“Terrified,” you admit with a grin. “But I’d rather deal with that than keep pretending I’m not yours.”

Her cheeks flush at that, and she huffs out a breath. “God, you’re gonna get me in so much trouble.”

You just smirk, pulling her on top of you and wrapping your arms around her waist. “Trouble’s kinda our thing, don’t you think?”

She laughs, leaning down to kiss you again, deeper this time, and you can feel her relaxing against you. Whatever’s coming next—whatever chaos this is gonna cause—you’ll deal with it together.

[nanamiskentos]

HOLY GROUND — geto suguru

prologue. → suguru geto is effortlessly stylish, and impossibly charming, and it's no wonder that everyone loves him. and you're absolutely crushing on him. and without fail, he takes you out each afternoon, after school, to a sweet cheesecake shop, saying that it'll be nice to grab a quick treat. but as a friend...right?

pairing. geto suguru x reader

warnings+. nothing, just sugary sweet fluff! reader has some self doubt and is a bit nervous, has a bit of a crush on ol' geto.

word count. 3.03k! song inspiration. holy ground — taylor swift

a/n. this post by @shokosmokes got me thinkin...mind u i love a good angst story but its nice to just have something sweet. like cheesecake 🍰 anyway this is short but i had fun writing this short lil piece <3 lmao this is the first time i think i've written a story without someone dying or losing a limb. not beta read, we die like warriors.

mp3. tonight i'm gonna dance, for all that we've been through. but i don't wanna dance, if i'm not dancing with you.

you sat across from geto at a small table by the window, marvelling at how the warm sunlight spilled in and caught the edges of his profile, lighting his features up with the last rays of summer's sweetness. you can hear the usual bustle of life on the streets of tokyo, with cars roaring down narrow streets and voices floating on the air. but here, it's just you and him.

there's a single strand of his hair that's perpetually falling out of his knot, falling against his face in a way that makes your chest tighten. the light has caught the feathery edges of his raven hair, turning the black into deep shades of brown and caramel that you want to capture within your fingers.

"you're quiet today," geto says, and he's leaning back in his chair, legs stretched wide beneath the table as he always tends to do.

you're glad you both took the time to change out of your uniform, at the dorms. the loose charcoal top drapes well against his lean, sculpted frame. his faded black jeans and scuffed docs complete the look, as though he stepped out of a glossy streetwear magazine and into your hands. there's two silver bracelets stacked on his wrists, gleaming faintly and you watch as the faint dusting of dark hair on his arms look translucent in the afternoon light.

great, you've been staring. again. heat rushes to your face, and you quickly look down at the cracked screen of your phone, hoping he didn't notice how you were practically unthreading each stitch that held him together.

"just tired," you say. though the truth has nothing to do with exhaustion, and everything to do with him.

geto tilts his head, watching you, "long day?"

you trace your finger along that shattered screen as you flip your phone open, "something like that. you know how they train us at the end of the day."

his eyes narrow for a split second, like he's the one solving a puzzle right now, but he shakes his head, "let's just go and order now. 'm starving."

this bakery is known for its whimsical creations, and you stare at the menu above the counter, wondering how many crumpled bills you can scrounge up for this outing. geto's leaning against the glass case, shoving his hands in wide pockets as his bracelets clink softly at the movement.

his eyes skim over the vibrant slices of cheesecake on display, but you know he's not really looking at the desserts. he's just giving you time.

"what do you think?"

"i don’t know," you say, dragging out the words as you squint at the labels. "how am i supposed to pick between strawberry matcha swirl and honey lavender? they all sound so - " you pause, schooling your face as the woman behind the till gives you a side-eye, "complicated."

geto chuckles, a low, warm sound that feels like sunlight breaking through clouds. "why don’t you go for something fun? you always play it safe."

his words make you pause. maybe he’s right. maybe you do tend to pick the familiar, the predictable. but not today. today, you want something different — something bold. you glance at the menu again, and your eyes land on a slice that looks like a kaleidoscope of colour: tropical mango-passionfruit cheesecake with swirls of raspberry and a delicate coconut crust. it’s so bright and summery, it feels almost impossible not to smile just imagining yourself biting into it.

"that one," you say, pointing to it.

geto raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment, his lips curving into a faint smile. "and for me…" he looks over the options for barely a second before he says, "just plain vanilla."

"tch! vanilla?" you repeat "you’re so boring."

"hey, it's a classic."

you roll your eyes, but you are so endlessly fond of him that you're smiling.

a few moments later, you’re back at your table with your slices, and the tropical cheesecake looks as perfect as it did in the case. the vibrant layers of mango, passionfruit, and raspberry practically glow in the sunlight streaming through the window.

ignoring geto's snarky comment to breathe first before inhaling it, you take your first bite, the fork sinking into the creamy texture, and for a moment, you’re hopeful.

but then...ugh. the sweetness hits you all at once, overwhelming your senses. it’s not bad, but it’s...too much. too bright. too cloying. you hesitate, unsure how to admit the mistake of your overzealous choice.

geto notices immediately, because of course he does. he leans forward, resting his arms on the table, his bracelets catching the light again, "what's wrong?"

"nothing," you say quickly, but your face must give you away because he narrows his pretty eyes in suspicion.

"you don’t like it." it's not a question, he’s grinning now.

"it’s fine," you insist, though your tone lacks conviction, and you shovel another wide piece into your mouth.

geto doesn’t say anything. instead, he picks up his fork and, before you can protest, scoops a bite from your slice. you watch as his pink lips part, and he tastes it before pulling a face, "that's sweet enough to even knock out satoru."

"hey!" you protest, though you can’t help but laugh along with him, thinking of your white-haired friend bouncing off the walls. "it’s not that bad."

"you don’t have to eat it," geto says, sliding his plate toward you and nudging your slice away. "here. take mine."

"but you don’t even like sweet things."

geto shrugs, picking up your plate and taking another bite of your overly sweet cheesecake like it’s nothing, and you watch as a mild spasm twitches across his features, "it’s fine. it's no good if you sit here and suffer through something you don't like."

you try to pretend like your chest doesn't tighten at the gesture. he doesn’t even look at you when he says it, focusing instead on his plate.

you take a bite of his vanilla cheesecake, and it’s perfect — not too sweet, just creamy and subtle enough to make you sigh in relief, "where would i be without you?" you hope that the teasing in your voice is enough to smooth over the cracks in your beating heart.

geto glances up at you then, his violet eyes meeting yours, and there’s something unguarded in his expression, something raw and warm and so achingly tender it makes your pulse skip, "i could say the same for you," he says quietly, almost as if the words weren’t meant to be heard, and far too quietly for something as trivial as an afternoon date in a café.

there's a warmth pooling in your cheeks, making your face hurt. and your thoughts loop back to the same quiet ache that you've carried for a few months now, like a sealed and perfumed love letter carried in your pocket.

every time he takes you out after class, you tell yourself, this is it. this is when i'll say it. haven't you rehearsed the words in your head, simple and clear each time?

i like you. i actually really like you a lot, suguru geto.

and every time, like clockwork, the words dissolve on your tongue, swallowed by the noise of your own uncertainty. it is hardly the case that geto isn't kind nor attentive. it's not that he's distant or cold, entirely the opposite.

if anything, he always seems...present.

but then you think about how he walks through the school hallways with that same quiet storm of charisma and charm, how his laughter draws people to him like moths to a flame, boys and girls alike.

in contrast, gojo satoru is far too much for many. there are many who choose to take a step back from him, away from the whirlwind and electrifying storm that is the six-eyes user.

but everyone wants a piece of geto's world, to be his friend or a confident, or something.

and you, what are you? just another friend he takes out after school? someone he doesn't mind spending time with when the day winds down?

your heart is once again acquainted with a knot of longing and fear that’s become far too familiar. geto doesn’t look like someone who would hesitate. he looks like someone who would know exactly what to say, exactly what to do, without second-guessing himself.

and yet, every time you’re with him, you catch these small moments of quiet — when his gaze lingers just a fraction too long, or when he says your name like it’s heavier than it should be. those moments make you wonder. what if…?

and as if he's reading your thoughts, geto shifts forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table now, and that single loose strand of hair moves with him, falling further into his face.

"something’s on your mind," he says, his pretty eyes searching yours. there’s a teasing edge to his tone, but it’s tempered with genuine curiosity, "you can tell me, you know."

you can’t help but wonder — how are you supposed to tell him that he’s the one taking up all the space in your mind? that his voice is the soundtrack to your thoughts, his smile the thing you find yourself chasing in every quiet moment?

instead, you give a small shrug, "maybe i’m just distracted."

"by what?" he presses, leaning just slightly closer, the teasing note in his voice softening into something warmer, a sincere question.

you hesitate, and you want to tell him the truth, but it feels too big, too fragile to let out into the open and so you blunder around, "maybe it’s the cheesecake," you say instead, your voice light, though the thrum of your pulse is anything but, "vanilla really is a classic."

smooth. utahime is going to be so disappointed in you. you know that she's tired of hearing about your crush by now, twirling the ribbon in her hair as she groans each time you tell her that you think you're going to pack your bags and move countries away from geto.

but now geto laughs softly, and the sound wraps around you like warmth, like home, "guess i picked the right place, then."

"you always do." your fingers brush against the cool porcelain of your plate, though you barely notice. your heart is often a traitor to your rational peace of mind, and your attention is all on him, on the way his smile lingers, softer now, the edges of his usually confident expression unraveling into something more tentative.

for a moment, geto's quiet, his gaze falling to his hands. his fingers toy with one of the silver rings on his right hand, twisting it in slow circles. It’s a small, nervous gesture, and it catches you off guard — suguru geto is never nervous.

the silence stretches in the late afternoon light, but then geto shifts in his seat, leaning forward slightly, his hands fiddling with the silver rings stacked on his fingers. the movement catches your attention, and when you glance up, you notice something different about him. the easy confidence that seems to follow him like a second shadow is nowhere to be seen. instead, his jaw is tight, his shoulders tense, and there’s a flicker of something nervous in the way his fingers twist the largest ring around and around.

he's looking at you, meeting your gaze, and you’re startled by the uncharacteristic seriousness in his eyes.

"hey," he says, his voice quieter than usual, a touch rough around the edges.

"yeah?"

geto exhales slowly, his lips pressing into a line before he speaks again.

"okay, look. i -” he pauses, running a hand through his hair, dislodging the tie holding his hair together, so choppy, dark locks fall around his shoulders. you school your face well enough so you don't look like you've been punched in the gut by cupid.

"i like you," he says finally, his words tumbling out in a rush, like they’ve been bottled up for too long, "i’ve liked you for a while now. and - and i’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you without, like… messing everything up."

your breath catches, the words landing like a firework in the quiet space between you. geto likes you? he likes you?

geto keeps going, as if he’s afraid to lose his nerve.

"i asked gojo for advice — stupid, i know, don't make that face — and he told me to just… keep taking you out and hope you’d get the hint. said that you'd realise eventually," and one of the strongest jujutsu sorcerers you know groans, covering his face briefly with one hand, as if he's embarrassed.

"which was a terrible plan because i'm awful at hints, and apparently, so is he, considering he’s never had a girlfriend in his life."

you blink, the shock giving way to a surprised laugh, the sound spilling out before you can stop it.

"wait — gojo? he's the one who gave you advice? he doesn’t even know the first thing about relationships! do you remember the time that he went on one date, and got dumped the next day for trying to buy dinner out of the vending machine."

"i know!" geto says, dragging a hand down his face in exasperation, but there’s a small, embarrassed smile tugging at his lips now, "i know it was a bad idea. i just wanted to tell you, straight up. but I didn’t know what else to do, okay? i didn’t want to screw this up."

you fall silent at that, your laughter fading as the weight of his words sinks in. he's looking at you now, his expression open and raw in a way that makes your chest ache.

"i just — i want to do this right," he says softly, his voice steady but tinged with vulnerability. "i want to be your boyfriend. properly. i want to take you out, and to be able to call you mine, and — i don’t know — do all the cheesy stuff couples do."

his hand brushes the back of his neck, his eyes dropping to the table for a moment before flicking back to yours, "but if that’s weird, or if you don’t feel the same, it’s okay. you don’t have to say yes. promise i won't cry in front of you."

Your heart is pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it, a wild, dizzying rhythm that drowns out everything else. You stare at him, your mind struggling to catch up with what he’s just said, with the fact that he likes you. geto—cool, effortlessly charming geto—wants to be your boyfriend.

"wait," you manage finally, your voice shaky with disbelief. "you… like me? like, you really like me?"

geto laughs softly, though there’s still a nervous edge to it. "yeah, i really do. it's probably stupidly obvious by now, isn’t it? i mean, everyone said it was so obvious, and shoko said you already knew."

you shake your head, bewildered. "no! i mean, yes — but no! i just thought you only saw me as a friend. i never thought — "

you stop yourself, realising you’re rambling, and take a deep breath. then, before you can overthink it or possibly faint, you say, "yes."

geto's thin brows furrow slightly. "yes?"

"yeah," you repeat, a smile breaking across your face. "i'd really like that. i do want to go out with you, suguru."

relief washes over his features, followed by a grin so genuine and bright it leaves you breathless. for a moment, he just stares at you, his eyes warm and full of something you can’t quite name, something that makes you feel like the centre of the universe.

"oh my god, thank god, you don't even know, i was actually going to have a heart attack..." he mutters, almost to himself, before he blinks, like he's forgetting something. then, with an almost comical jolt of realisation, he clears his throat.

"right," he says, the word drawn out, as if he’s trying to ground himself. "i need to pay for the tab."

you laugh nervously, still reeling from everything that’s just happened, and shake your head quickly, thinking back to the meagre bills in your pocket. "oh, it’s okay! i can pay for my own -"

but geto's head snaps up at that, and he fixes you with a look so incredulous, so utterly affronted, that it startles you into silence.

"no way," he says, his voice firm but laced with humour and he leans forward slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a glimmer of warmth that sends your heart racing all over again, "i’m your boyfriend now. you really think I’m going to let you pay?"

it's unfamiliar and thrilling all at once. your cheeks burn, and you can’t stop the laugh that escapes you, a mix of delight and disbelief.

"unbelievable," you say, shaking your head, but there’s no real protest in your voice.

geto grins, the expression crooked and self-assured in a way that’s so unmistakably him, and it takes your breath away. then, without breaking eye contact, he reaches across the table, his hand brushing against yours before his fingers gently curl around them.

it's such a simple gesture, but it feels monumental, like the air around you shifts in response. his hand is warm, slightly calloused at the fingertips, and the way his thumb grazes over your knuckles sends a quiet thrill through you.

you glance down at your joined hands, unable to stop the soft, surprised smile that spreads across your face. when you look back up, geto is watching you, his expression open and unguarded, as if he’s memorising every detail of this moment.

"so," he says quietly, his voice softer now, "is this the part where you say you’re going to let me spoil you a little?"

you laugh again, your thumb brushing over the back of his hand in return. "i guess i don’t really have a choice now, do i?"

his smile widens, and there’s a faint pink tint to his cheeks that makes your heart ache with how much you like him.

"nope," he says, his tone teasing but earnest. "you really don’t."

and as you sit there, your hand in geto's, surrounded by the golden light and the lingering sweetness of cheesecake, you think that maybe — just maybe — this is what happiness feels like.

[hsnlv]

unexpectedly yours. | p.sh

req!: I would love a fic about Sunghoon falling in love with the most unexpected person ever…. (the rest is here!)

pairing: sunghoon x fem!reader

synopsis: sunghoon always thought he’d fall for someone quiet and delicate, but meeting you—wild curls, sun-kissed skin, and unmatched chaos—changes everything. as he falls deeper, he learns love isn’t what he expected; it’s better.

wc: 1.09k

a/n: this one, to me, IS VERY ADORBSSSS (especially towards the end🤭). and im sorry if what the request-er (?)wanted is not delivered as perfectly :( but i still love this and i hope you do too!! feedbacks and comments are highly appreciated (through inbox or comments idm!)💗 happy reading lovelies!!🎀 here’s my masterlist!

park sunghoon wasn’t the type to attend parties. but here he was, leaning against a kitchen counter, sipping a drink he didn’t like, wondering for the millionth time why he had let jake drag him here.

“you’re too cool for your own good,” jake had teased earlier. “seriously, hoon. maybe you’ll meet someone who makes you loosen up a little.”

sunghoon wasn’t in the mood to “loosen up.” parties weren’t his thing, and meeting people definitely wasn’t on his to-do list.

but then, he saw you.

you were hard to miss.

standing in the middle of the living room, you were laughing so hard your shoulders shook, a carefree sound that rose above the music. your skin glowed under the warm party lights—a rich, sun-kissed tone that made you look like summer incarnate.

your outfit wasn’t what anyone would call stylish, with your mismatched patterns and wild curly hair that seemed to have a mind of its own. but somehow, you looked radiant. untamed. completely, unapologetically yourself.

his gaze lingered longer than it should have. your body wasn’t what most people called “perfect”—soft in places he wasn’t used to seeing celebrated, your curves wrapped in confidence. you weren’t quiet or shy or delicate, the way he always thought his “type” would be.

and yet, you were magnetic.

he was so caught up in the way you threw your head back to laugh again, your curls bouncing wildly, that he didn’t notice jake sidling up beside him.

“she’s something, huh?” jake asked, smirking.

sunghoon blinked. “who?”

“don’t play dumb. the girl you’ve been staring at for, like, five minutes.”

“i wasn’t staring,” sunghoon said, looking away too quickly to be convincing.

“uh-huh. you should go talk to her.”

“she’s not my type.”

jake rolled his eyes. “your type is boring. she’s fun. go.”

sunghoon didn’t know why he listened. but before he could second-guess himself, his feet were already moving toward you.

you turned as he approached, your eyes wide and curious, and smiled like you were greeting an old friend.

hi,” she said, her voice light and playful. “you’re…” she tilted her head, studying him. “jake’s friend, right?”

“yeah. i’m sunghoon.”

she smiled, bright and unfiltered. “nice to meet you, sunghoon. i’m (y/n).”

he hesitated, then blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “you… like dancing?”

y/n squinted at him, as if trying to gauge if he was serious. “no, i hate it. that’s why i’ve been embarrassing myself for the past hour.”

sunghoon blinked, caught off guard by her sarcasm.

“you don’t talk much, do you?” she teased, leaning against the wall, her curly hair brushing her shoulders.

“i talk,” he said defensively.

“yeah? then say something interesting.”

he frowned, and she laughed again, clearly amused by his discomfort.

and just like that, she’d effortlessly disarmed him.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

weeks later

it didn’t take long for you to become a constant in sunghoon’s life.

you were a whirlwind of chaos and confidence, with your mismatched outfits, endless jokes, and unpredictable energy. where he was quiet, you were loud. where he was composed, you were messy.

and yet, he couldn’t imagine a day without you.

you made fun of his obsession with monochromatic outfits, teased him for being “too cool,” and somehow, you always knew how to make him laugh—even when he didn’t want to.

“so, what do you think?” you asked one day, holding up a floral skirt and a neon sweater.

sunghoon frowned. “i think i need a pair of sunglasses just to look at it.”

you gasped dramatically, clutching the clothes to your chest. “you wound me, park sunghoon.”

he smirked, throwing a pillow at you.

but beneath your teasing and chaotic energy, you had a way of grounding him.

it hit him hardest one night at a party, when someone made a rude comment about your body. before you could react, sunghoon was in front of you, his icy glare fixed on the guy.

“say that again,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

the guy stammered, trying to backtrack, but sunghoon didn’t let him off easy.

as soon as the guy walked away, you touched his arm gently. “hoon, you didn’t have to do that.”

he turned to you, his gaze softening instantly. “yes, i did.”

later that night, as you sat beside him on your couch, he turned to you. “don’t ever let anyone make you feel less than perfect.”

your eyes softened, and for once, you didn’t have a teasing reply.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

it was late, and the two of you were lying on the living room floor, staring at the ceiling.

“hoon?”

“hm?”

“you’re staring at me again.”

he blinked, realizing he’d been caught.

“you just… you’re hard to look away from,” he said softly.

you snorted. “was that supposed to be smooth?”

he rolled his eyes. “i’m being serious.”

“oh, okay. carry on.”

he sighed, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you properly. “you’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.”

“yeah, we’ve established that. i’m chaotic and messy and all kinds of amazing.”

“you are,” he said, his voice quieter now. “you make me feel things i didn’t think i could feel. like… like it’s okay to be a little messy. like it’s okay to not have everything figured out.”

your eyes widened slightly, and he looked away, suddenly shy.

“you make me laugh, even when i don’t want to. you make me want to try things i’d never do otherwise. and you’re…” he trailed off, running a hand through his hair.

“hoon,” you interrupted, sitting up. “i’m dumb. please just say it.”

he let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “you’re impossible.”

“and yet, here you are. confessing your undying love for me.”

he smiled, soft and fond. “yeah, i guess i am.”

you grinned, leaning closer. “so say it properly.”

sunghoon reached out, tucking a curl behind your ear. his fingers lingered against your cheek, and his voice dropped to a whisper.

“i’m in love with you,” he said, the words carrying more weight than you expected. “every chaotic, mismatched, unpredictable part of you. i don’t want to imagine my life without you in it.”

you blinked, your heart skipping a beat.

“see?” you finally said, your voice wobbly but teasing. “was that so hard?”

he laughed softly, pulling you into his arms. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

“i know,” you murmured against his chest, your smile wide.

and for the first time, park sunghoon felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be.

© all rights reserved | hsnlv 2024

[bloomzone]

HOW TO GLOW UP IN SUMMER !

Glowing up in the summer can be a fun and exciting journey to enhance your beauty, confidence, and overall well-being.

By: ★﹕stᥲrgιrᥣ﹒

strategies for girls to glow up during the summer:

1.Skin care routine: Start by establishing a consistent skincare routine that works for your skin type. Focus on cleansing, exfoliating, moisturizing, and using sunscreen to protect your skin from the sun's harmful rays. Consider adding serums, face masks, and eye creams to target specific skin concerns.

2.Stay hydrated: Hydration is key to achieving a healthy glow. Drink plenty of water throughout the day to keep your skin hydrated and radiant. You can also incorporate hydrating foods like fruits, vegetables, and herbal teas into your diet to nourish your skin from the inside out.

3.Healthy diet: Fuel your body with nutritious foods that support your skin health and overall well-being. Incorporate fruits, vegetables, lean proteins, and whole grains into your meals to provide your body with essential nutrients and antioxidants.

4.Exercise regularly: Stay active during the summer by engaging in physical activities that you enjoy. Whether it's going for a run, practicing yoga, dancing, or swimming, regular exercise can improve your mood, boost your energy levels, and enhance your overall glow.5.

5.Sun protection: Protect your skin from sun damage by wearing sunscreen with a high SPF, seeking shade during peak hours, and wearing protective clothing like hats and sunglasses. Sun protection is essential for maintaining healthy and youthful-looking skin.

6.Hair care: Take care of your hair by using hydrating shampoos and conditioners, minimizing heat styling, and getting regular trims to prevent split ends. Consider trying out hair masks to keep your hair looking healthy and vibrant.

7.Self-care: Prioritize self-care activities that help you relax, unwind, and de-stress. Whether it's practicing meditation, taking long baths, getting a massage, or pampering yourself with skincare products, self-care can enhance your inner glow and confidence.

8.Dress for confidence: Wear clothes that make you feel confident, comfortable, and stylish. Experiment with different styles, colors, and accessories to express your personality and enhance your self-confidence.u don't need to buy from expansive brand

9.Positive mindset: Cultivate a positive mindset by practicing gratitude, affirmations, and self-love. Embrace your uniqueness, celebrate your strengths, and focus on the things that make you happy and fulfilled.

[pboogerswbb]

SO IT GOES - chapter 16

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: TREY, minor injury, language, drinking, violence, ptsd, angst, not proofread Wordcount: 7K A/C: and if i tell you i debated between this song and cruel summer by taylor swift for this chapter lmao. anyway... my apologies in advance i love y'all

Before London

Smoothing over my dark brown sheath dress I watch the elevator ascend each floor. 10, 11, 13, 14 - finally 15 and with a ding the doors open. My heels clack on the marble, echoing around the floor as I walk assertively along the hallway, holding my black leather purse on my shoulder. Finally I come to the right door. 

Linda Halford Managing Media Director Dallas Wings

Allowing myself one deep breath, I exhale to compose myself before knocking on the door. Linda had called me last night, interrupting the carefully planned moment I had prepared myself to finally read. One thing I knew for sure was that impromptu meetings with the boss rarely meant anything good.

Maybe she had seen the countless fan edits of me and Paige, the comments under posts and the clips filmed by other people - the lingering gazes and gentle touches we thought we were keeping hidden. It turns out not being able to show care and tenderness to those you love takes a lot of brain power. I wasn’t strong enough, my body pulled to her like a magnet. It wasn’t on purpose when I stood next to her and leaned my shoulder against hers. And I knew it wasn’t on purpose when Paige walked by me and her hand lingered on my lower back, brushed against my fingers. But all of this the fans had noticed. We had become their favourite subject of study. It felt as if millions of eyes were on us constantly. And I guess technically they were.

“Izara, hello, always so stylish,” Linda gives me a rare smile, letting me into her office. I had never been in there before and from what I’d heard, not many others had either. 

“Hey Linda,” I smile. It didn’t bother me anymore that she used my name. I had gotten used to it. Linda did what she wanted, she had no interest in pleasing you and in a city that was overly warm and nice all the time I appreciated it.

“Please, have a seat,” she says seriously. I follow her to the desk, carefully sitting down on the black leather and pulling out my calendar, assuming optimistically that this would be some sort of posting schedule discussion. “No, no, you won’t be needing your calendar.”

“Oh, right,” I mumble, gulping as I put it down with my bag on the ground. 

For a moment Linda merely looks at me with an impression I can not read for the life of me.

“Gosh, how will I get all my employees to dress like you,” she smiles - her attempt at a joke.

“I would rather not see Trey in a dress like this,” I joke to lighten the mood and to my surprise the older woman laughs.

“You’re correct, very much so,” she grins, opening a folder. My folder full of evaluations and content I had produced. “So, you’ve been here for a little over three months. How are you enjoying Dallas in july?”

“It’s very warm,” I immediately respond, already feeling the stickiness on my back grow. “People are very nice.”

“It’s tiring sometimes, isn’t it? The niceness.”

I’m surprised by her frankness. “Definitely.”

“But you’ve liked working here?”

“Yes,” I reply without hesitation. And it was true. My old office job paid more, was more steady, the hours were better. But being on the road with the team, getting to be a part of a community had become much more important to me. I preferred it this way. “I love it.”

Linda smiles slightly. “It shows. I called you in because you have absolutely exceeded our expectations.”

“I have?” I ask, shocked. Was Linda praising me?

She nods proudly, scrolling through the media statistics on her computer. “Absolutely. And I will admit, I have a soft spot on you.”

I correct my posture, surprised by what I’m hearing. I didn’t think Linda would have a soft spot on anyone. In my head she didn’t even have a soft spot on her husband.

“My colleagues did not want to hire you when we were looking for a content producer. You were too young and inexperienced, but I saw something in you,” she explains, looking into my eyes. “Guts. You had a comfortable, well paying job and you wanted more. That takes courage. I appreciate that. You flipped your whole life around to come here.”

That was probably the first time anyone’s ever told me I have guts. I was always being told I was too careful, that I should take more chances, yet when I told my family I was moving to Dallas they told me I was being stupid, careless. It felt good to get that validation from someone. Izara Chopra has guts, everyone. Who would’ve thought. 

“So, what are your plans for the future? Where do you see yourself in five years?” Linda asks, leaning forward in her power suit. Quite honestly this might have been the first time in ten years where I didn’t have a five year plan which both terrified and exhilarated me.

“Let me be frank, I don’t really know,” I admit. “I love it in Dallas, I would definitely love to stay in America, perhaps even get to work in a few more places around here. On the west coast, maybe?”

Linda nods, a surprising friendliness on her face. “I see. Well, the media teams are really connected, I would be sad to see you go but I’m sure after a couple years I could get you a position for the Sparks or the Valkyries.”

My eyes widen as I listen. In a couple years? Does that mean…?

“Maybe go elsewhere for a season, see what you like, return here and we find a higher-ranking position for you. Now maybe I shouldn’t say this but I could see you taking over my position Izara,” Linda continues casually.

“S-so you’d like me back for the next season?” I ask surprised.

Linda chuckles, nodding as if it were obvious. “Oh of course! I think after next season we could be talking about a permanent move to the states? If that’s something you’d like?”

I feel dumbfounded, unable to speak, blinking at the older woman stupidly. Get a grip and say something, my gosh. 

“Yes! I would very much like that,” I gasp. Linda smiles and offers me her hand. I reach over and shake it, both our handshakes as firm as each other’s.

“That’s what I like to hear. I’ll make sure you’re part of the team next season myself.”

-

It’s like the crowd is closing in as I thread the ball between my legs. It’s okay though, because we’re leading by 12 points and Olivia Miles has that look on her face that says I’m getting under her skin. Good. 

The tension between us had quickly become a media narrative. Angel Reece and Caitlin Clark all over again. Except I shut that racist shit down real quick. I respected Liv, I did. And I know she respected me. But there was a lot unsaid between us - I felt jealous of her solid start to the season and how quickly she had adapted to the league, she on the other hand was growing resentful over the way my name had become a serious contender for ROTY. It put pressure on her, which was making her lose her composure. It was making every block personal, every foul call, every made three felt like salt in an open wound. And then the game would be over and we’d have to rewatch the clips and answer questions about our ”rivalry” over and over, just building on that underlying frustration even more.

Arike was teaching me that it was okay to get mad and frustrated. That losing my composure wasn’t always a bad thing. But it went against the UConn way, and it felt impossible to let that go. Except today, too much irritation had built inside me turning into a level of drive I hadn’t felt in a while.

Feeling cocky over our lead, I dribble the ball to the arc and merely shoot over Miles. The swat of her hand taps my wrist, alerting the shot. The ball hits the rim. Expectantly I turn to the ref who merely begins jogging the other way.

”Bro what the fuck?” I yell mostly to myself. Arike taps me on the shoulder as she jogs past me - an attempt to ground me and to let it go. But all game this one particular ref had looked the other way, allowed the players - particularly Miles, to hold onto my jersey, flicking her hand all over my face, slapping at my arms from every direction. Not a single whistle. It felt like UConn all over again. Except I didn’t have my patience, and it was starting to get on my nerves.

Groaning and throwing my head back like a petulant child, I run after Miles, guarding her to the best of my ability. Just seeing her face was enough to piss me off. I needed to get a stop. I needed to get this ball from her.

Finding an opportunity, I get the steal. I begin my race to the basket with Olivia at my feet, breathing down my neck. Speeding up, I curve to the right hoping to find someone to pass quickly when Miles bumps into me. Hard.

I don’t know what happens, feeling my body hit the floor followed by my head slamming against the hardwood. My ears ring when Olivia’s body crashes on top of mine, her elbow digging into my ribs. The pain explodes into anger. And it’s enough to make me snap.

Pushing Miles off of me, she quickly gets pulled up by her teammates. I rise just as fast, and in a haze of emotion and pain I charge at Olivia, my chest heaving as I shove her shoulder. It’s as if in slow motion when she turns to me and tries to shove back but her teammates get to her first, holding her back. 

“What the fuck’s your problem?” Liv yells, only making me angrier. The refs run to us, my team suddenly surrounding me and holding me back as I try to shake free. 

“Paige, yo,” Satou tries grounding me but it’s no use. And I hear the shrill of the whistle. And I already know it without even looking up.

“The first technical foul of her career to Paige Bueckers. Certainly won’t be the last as composed and poised of a player as she is.”

“Fucking shit,” I groan again, seeing Chris in the sidelines shaking his head and looking up disapprovingly. Someone’s holding Arike back too, who’s cussing at Miles from behind my back. I taste something metallic in my mouth. I finally notice the throbbing pain in my nose, I wipe it to notice blood that’s been dripping down my nose, to my jaw and neck.

“Bueckers,” Chris yells, waving me over. I’m trembling with anger, mixed with pain and aching all over my body and the stickiness of the sweat dripping all over me. I jog over, not even looking at him. “Get that taken care of,” he mumbles as I walk past, but doesn’t pat me on the shoulder like he usually does. It hurts. Geno being done with you happened on the daily, he was in a constant mode of always disappointed. But Chris? It was rare. And I had let him down. If it just wasn’t for those damn whistles.

I sit down at the end of the bench, watching the girls try to calm down Arike on the court. I probably would’ve found her anger amusing if I wasn’t so pissed off myself. Leaning my head back, I grab the tissues being handed to me, holding them to my nose. Fucking shit. I got a tech. Holy fuck. I got a tech. Me.

A hand reaches to give me a bottle of water from behind me, placing a towel on my shoulder. I’m near to snapping when I recognise the familiar, low but soft voice.

“Hey.”

Turning my head I see Izzie, handing me fresh tissues while collecting the bloody ones for the medical team.

“You a watergirl now?” I ask in a dry voice, though it was becoming harder and harder to maintain my anger, her soothing presence immediately calming me. Iz chuckles.

“Is it broken?” She asks. I immediately shake my head.

“We haven’t checked yet,” a lady from the medical team points out, but I just shake my head.

“It’s fine, can I go back in?”

“We’ll have to check fi-”

“It’s fine. I’ma go back in,” I mumble and stand up - or I’m about to when Izzie sits me back down sternly by my shoulder. Of course I’m stronger than her, but saying no to her was hard. Impossible, even.

“Let them check,” she leans down and whispers into my ear, sending shivers down my spine. Defiantly, I lower the tissue and allow them to check. “Good girl.”

It was all worth letting her win just to hear that.

-

“Go interview her,” Trey pokes my side, pointing at Gabby Williams talking to the press post-game. “Why not?”

I’m more concerned about Paige and her nose, that was indeed not broken but her temper was running high today nevertheless. I kept glancing over my shoulder to make sure she wasn’t getting involved in anything bad or making stupid decisions. 

“Zari,” Trey whispers, shoving me playfully. “Let’s go.”

“What do I ask?” I mumble as the man technically shoves me in her direction.

“I dunno but Linda wanted us to start getting clips of other players too.”

I sigh, searching for any type of angle in my head when we get to the woman. I line up behind the other press nervously, waiting patiently for my turn when Gabby merely turns to me with a coy smile, skipping all the men in front of her waiting to ask questions.

“Hi Gabby, Izara from the Dallas Wings media team,” I introduce myself, Trey filming behind me.

“Hey, I remember seeing you before. You wore those boots last time we played you!” She grins, gazing down at me. “I was gonna come compliment you but I couldn’t find you.”

Oh yeah, the time Paige dragged me into a storage room and fucked me.

I chuckle a little, feeling heat spread to my cheeks at her comment. “Oh, thank you. I just wanted to ask you a question regarding Paige - We all saw the moment between Olivia and Paige in the third, what was your perspective on that exchange?”

“Wow, professional,” she chuckles, looking at the ground before meeting my gaze again. Her eyes are surprisingly intense as Gabby thinks of her answer. “Um, I mean those two have been motivating each other to be better and I don’t think it’s a bad thing. Off the court they’re great friends but sometimes things just get heated in basketball.”

I nod at her answer, never moving my eyes away from her. I always knew she was beautiful but there was something truly breathtaking about her in person. 

“Paige is known for her composure and poise on the court, did it surprise you to see that shift today?” I ask. Gabby just grins and shrugs.

“Not really, I knew it would be coming and one of them would snap at some point. She does have great poise but it’s good to see her letting go of that a little bit. I hope she’s not beating herself up for it,” she answers.

I chuckle a little, thinking of my next question. “What do you think Coach Auriemma is thinking right now?”

Gabby laughs heartily at this. “Honestly, probably just shaking his head and sending Paige some carefully chosen words.”

“Thank you so much,” I smile at the woman.

“I like your accent,” she smiles with a sparkle in her eye, looking me up and down subtly but not subtly enough where I don’t notice, before jogging off. She was flirting with me? She definitely was. Great. Like I needed the day to be more eventful.

Feeling slightly flustered I look around for my girlfriend, hoping she didn’t see. With her temper today, she didn’t need the added stress. As flattering as the flirting was, I was completely Paige’s. Even after the incident.

We hadn’t talked about it, matter of fact I made sure not to bring it up. I was becoming more and more convinced that she didn’t even remember saying those three words. It was a spur of the moment thing. It didn’t mean anything, she didn’t mean what she said. I knew that much. But just in case it wasn’t a one time thing, neither of us had touched the strap ever since those words. Actually we hadn’t really had sex at all ever since. I knew it was just an accident in the heat of the moment. It had to be. Because I didn’t know what I’d do if it wasn’t.

-

“Why don’t we just stay home bro?” I whine, sitting in our cab and staring out the window in my jean shorts and black sports bra, a white button-down thrown carelessly on to cover my arms.

“Because you need to blow off some steam Paige,” Izara scoffs, her nails tapping against the screen of her phone as she edits a TikTok video for the team. “And do not call me bro.”

“But I just wanna stay in,” I continue whining, pulling my pants down just enough for my boxers to peek out, hoping it would drive the woman beside me crazy. But she doesn’t even lift up her gaze. “You haven’t given me attention all day!”

Izzie rolls her eyes, waving me off by her hand. “I’ll give you attention when I’m done with this.”

“Ugh,” I groan dramatically, crossing my arms over my chest. It wasn’t even true. She had been taking care of me for an hour after the game, cooing at my poor achy nose, kissing on it, getting me ice and tissues. But it wasn’t the kind of attention I wanted. I needed her. She wasn’t wrong - I needed to blow off steam. Just not with alcohol. I needed her sitting on my face

It doesn’t help that it’s so hot and humid I want to die, my skin already sticky even though I showered an hour ago. What’s making it worse is she looks gorgeous in a white, skin hugging dress against her golden, glowing skin, natural waves falling down her back. Worst of all it had been over a week since we had sex and it wasn’t like us at all. But I knew I had been acting off, ever since the incident. I had been more distant, scared those words might slip out again, just as naturally as they did when I was buried inside her.

I don’t think she even heard the words, it was overwhelming - the sensations, the groaning, the skin slapping against one another. She probably didn’t hear a word. I’m sure if she had we would’ve had a discussion about it. Izzie loved to talk everything through. And I loved that about her. So I was 98% certain she didn’t hear me.

Still, the fear that she might’ve heard lingered, looming over me like a storm cloud. If she had heard she clearly didn’t want to talk about it or those three words. The idea of that filled me with dread. Because it would mean she didn’t feel the same. That I had become a fool in love who’s with a girl that won’t love me back. Because I did. Love her.

“Okay,” Izzie sighs, putting her phone down and finally meeting my gaze. “Done. Hi baby.”

“Hey,” I murmur back, reaching for her hands.

“How’s your nose?” She asks gently, her thumb stroking my palm.

“Achy,” I pout and blink at Izara. “I think it needs kissies.”

The girl rolls her eyes but with a smile, leans in and places a soft kiss on the bridge of my nose. “Better?” She whispers, fluttering her lashes at me.

“Mm, not yet mama,” I murmur, pulling her back in by the back of her head, guiding the girl to my lips this time. It doesn’t take long for the kiss to turn heated as our mouths clash. My free hand falls down her side to her bare thigh, fingertips digging the skin. Izzie sighs, breathing heavy into my mouth as we pull up to the club, the car stopping.

“I miss you,” I whisper. And she knows exactly what I mean.

“I miss you too,” Iz whimpers, pulling back to look around. “Let’s take care of that when we get home, okay? Just keep it in your pants till then.”

I nod, but it’s hard. Not just because I want her, but because I need her to want me the way I want her. Exhaling heavily, I lean back and dig out my card to pay the driver. Tonight would be torture, having to pretend to be just friends, ignoring the ache between my thighs.

-

The alcohol flowing through my blood is bringing heat to my cheeks, making my cheeks even redder. The club feels sticky, humid and hot. I hold the dirty shirley against my sweaty neck, the condensation dripping down between my breasts. The bottle girls giggle in my ear as they bring in bottles of champagne and buckets of ice to our reserved table, dressed in skintight clothes and micro shorts. I barely notice though, my blue eyes locked on Izara.

She’s sparkling, laughing animatedly as she speaks to Lala on the opposite side of the large table. It was my idea to sit apart from each other, but my God was it hard to remember why right now.

“Yoo, big P!” Trey grins as he scooches to sit next to me, dapping me up. I smile out of politeness, glancing at the man. Big P? Seriously?

“Hey Trey,” I mumble, sipping on the cold drink. “It’s so damn hot,” I complain, fanning myself.

“Tell me ‘bout it,” he agrees, manspreading as wide as I was underneath the table. The smell of his cologne hits my nostrils, already giving me a headache. “The refs today… Man. Unbelievable.”

I chuckle to myself. This might have been the most words he’d ever said to me. Maybe it had always had more to do with me avoiding him than Trey avoiding me. Either way I had a sudden feeling he was after something.

“Yeah, at least the nose isn’t broken so,” I reply, my perfect view of Izzie momentarily disrupted as a bottle girl walks by me with a tray full of shots. The dark haired girl notices the small glasses lining the table, clapping excitedly. I can’t help but laugh, watching her face brightening up the entire club. No one else existed - only her.

“Shots y’all!” She said in a surprisingly American way, reaching over the table to hand one to everyone.

“To Trey,” she smiles, sliding one to the man. “And to Paige.” I meet her green eyes, my heart fluttering at the joyous smile spread across her lips. Our fingers linger as I grab the shot, licking my lips as she leans over the table to get closer to me.

“Thanks,” I mumble softly, causing Izara’s cheeks to redden even more than they already had.

“You’re welcome,” she grins flirtatiously before grabbing one herself.

“Cheers to, uh,” she starts, clearly unsure what she was going to say. But it didn’t freak her out as it usually did, no she was happy to mumble up her words, to mess up a little. “To basketball..?”

Everyone bursts into laughter, Izzie included. I watch as she throws her head back, face twisting as the alcohol makes its way down her throat. Everyone follows, but not me. I can only watch her, toying with the shot glass between my fingertips.

“Goddamn,” Trey mutters beside me. “She sure is fine, huh? You ever notice?” I don’t need to even look at him to know who he’s talking about. Izzie. My Izzie. The Izzie I loved.

Grinding my teeth together a sudden burst of anger sizzles in my veins, trying to take over. 

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” I murmur angrily, downing the shot to numb my nerves.

Trey keeps watching Izzie in adoration. I wanna strangle him. Instead, I opt for picking at my cuticles. Deep breaths Paige. The taste in my mouth turns metallic as I draw blood from my cheeks that I’m chewing on to calm down.

“High-maintenance for sure but for that face,” he grins, shaking his head as if in disbelief, “that body. She’s a knockout. Worth it.”

Arike, who had been listening to the conversation, grabs my arm before I get the chance to kill him and pulls me with her.

“More drinks Paige,” she doesn’t ask, but commands, making me follow after her. I inhale the cologne free air by the bar, feeling my temper easing up with each exhale.

-

“I would kill for some nic right now,” I groan mostly to myself, thinking back to the nights of being 16 and sneaking out of the house to drink cheap beer and smoke cigarettes at Parliament hill, watching over the entire view of London. Okay, I only did that once, but it was still a fond memory. Cigarettes were my vice, a single glass of wine enough to get me craving one - though I had much more alcohol in me than a glass of wine right now.

I could feel it in the ease I felt, not overthinking my behaviour, not calculating the things I said, the way I looked. But I also felt it in the way my body wanted to be close to Paige. I craved to feel her. I couldn’t wait for later, my core already aching for my girlfriend. But then a sudden dread washes over me. What if she says those words again? Or worse? What if she means them?

“I have a vape on me,” Trey, who had made his way to the seat next to me offers, nodding towards the smoking area. 

I look around the table to look for the familiar blonde, only to find her engaged in discussion with Lou and Satou. She was so weird about Trey, convinced that my friend had something more than honourable intentions. I knew she was just jealous, though.

“Okay, sure,” I smile to the man, following after him. You would think that the slight drop in temperature would’ve been a nice change but the humidity was making up for it, causing sweat droplets to form down my thighs.

“It’s so hot,” I scoff, pushing my natural waves off my sticky face. “I feel like my makeup’s melting off my face.”

“I think you look beautiful,” Trey chuckles, finding a more quiet, desolate spot on the rooftop. “Don’t need all that stuff on your face.”

I want to groan, to roll my eyes. I hated when men gave backhanded compliments like that. “Thanks Trey,” I mumble, finishing my vodka soda. The man pulls out a vape out of his pocket, handing it to my first.

“Ladies first,” he grins, his warm fingertips brushing against mine as I grab it from his hands. I notice the goosebumps forming up his arms, causing the hair to rise. Must be the breeze.

“What a gentleman,” I joke, exhaling the sweet smelling smoke. 

“Always,” Trey says, his voice more serious. “Speaking of being a gentleman, actually…”

I furrow my brows, taking a few more puffs before handing the vape back to Trey. He looks uncharacteristically nervous, downing his drink with shaky hands, looking down at the ground.

“You okay?” I ask, placing a caring hand on his forearm. The man calms down, raising his brown eyes to mine.

“Yeah, just… I mean everyone’s expecting it right?” He says. Expecting what?

Trey reads my confused expression, chuckling awkwardly. “I mean just, I dunno Izzie-”

Izzie? He never called me Izzie? He wasn’t allowed to.

“I’ve been thinking for a long time how to do this,” he mumbles nervously. “Part of me just wanted to dive in and take a chance and do something reckless-”

What the hell is he talking about? Feeling uneasy, I shift on my feet just slightly.

“So I waited for a sign. And you’ve been giving me plenty but I just needed to be a gentleman, and I have been,” he takes a deep breath and entangles his fingers with mine before I can react. “But I’m tired of waiting, Iz,” he exhales shakily.

“It’s been months and I think it’s time we take this to the next level, whatchu say baby?”

Baby? Hold on, what is going on?

“You’re the most beautiful woman I have ever met,” his large hand presses against my jaw, holding it in place. I feel frozen, still utterly, entirely, confused. “I’ve been dying to taste these lips.”

With that, the man begins to lean in. He’s trying to kiss me. Trey is trying to kiss me.

In shock, I pull my hand away and push him off by his shoulder. At the same time, with Arike and Lou at her heels, Paige charges at the man, pushing him harder. I blink stupidly, my drunken brain attempting to follow what is going on. My stomach churns, bubbles forming in my gut, the taste of vodka lingering on my tongue.

Paige is furious, Arike standing between the two. Trey’s eyes are wide, clearly confused. Oh dear God what is Paige doing? She’s causing a scene. She’s making it clear to everyone it wasn’t already clear to. Suddenly I sober up enough to panic, reaching for the blonde.

“Don’t fucking touch her. Did she ask you to touch her? Ion fucking think so,” Paige is shouting at the man over Arike. Fucking shit.

“Paige,” I murmur, pulling on her arm. She doesn’t notice. “Paige!” I yell over her voice. Finally, her blue, livid eyes turn to me. A sudden wave of fear washes over, reminiscent of Jasper. For a second I think they look the same. But Paige’s face quickly softens as she turns to me. 

“I think it’s best we head home buddy,” Arike taps the man on the shoulder, walking him away from us. The people around us have their heads turned, curious about the cause of the screaming fit. I can’t touch her. I shouldn’t. But before I think it further Paige is hugging me, pulling me into her. The others leave us alone on the rooftop.

”I’ma kill him,” Paige murmurs into my ear. ”I fucking knew it. I’m gonna kill him.”

”Paige, calm down please,” I tell the girl, feeling the heaving of her chest against me. The blonde pulls back, her nostrils flared with anger. I need to find a distraction. Now.

”C’mon baby, let’s go dance,” I say, slurring my words. The blonde shakes her head, holding me possessively. 

”C’mon be a good girl,” I coo, pulling her with me by the belt hoops on her shorts. The words work their magic, my girlfriend following behind me. We drunkenly stumble to the dancefloor, finding familiar faces - Lou, Arike and Lala and other members of the Wings staff except Trey nowhere to be found.

”Yoooo, guys c’mere!” Arike yells over the thumping music, waving us over. Finally, a smile on Paige’s face she follows me, pushing through groups of people.

”Thanks man,” Paige says to Arike, leaning in to hug her. Lala grabs my arm to get my attention.

”Everything okay?” She asks maternally, glancing at the blonde behind me.

”Yeah, everything’s okay,” I smile back just wanting to forget about everything. ”I just wanna dance.”

”Ah my baby!” Lala grins, wrapping me into a tight hug and beginning to dance with me, her arms on my waist. I giggle out loud, throwing my head back. 

”Oh keep doin’ that,” Arike chuckles, watching me and Lala dancing, our bodies moving to the beat together. Peaking over my shoulder I find Paige too staring, with that lopsided grin on her face.

”Aight enough,” Paige chuckles and grabs me by my hips harshly, pulling me to her. I could tell the day’s events had made her possessive.

I can give a fuck 'bout no hater long as my bitches love me

The group gasps at the song blasting around the club. I giggle and face Paige. Her hands find their rightful place at my waist, both of us too gone to care about our surroundings, and the entire group too drunk to remind us.

Yeah, fuck with me and get bodied, And all she eat is dick, She's on a strict diet, that's my baby

Paige and I rap the lyrics to each other, wide smiles stretched across our faces as my hands reach around her shoulders. With my inhibitions lowered, I nuzzle my nose into her sticky neck, lips brushing against the salty skin.

With no makeup she a ten, And she the best with that head

Paige’s hand grabs my hair harshly, pulling me face to face with her. No one around us seems to be surprised by the way we were on each other. I guess it had always been obvious to everyone.

She said, "I never wanna make you mad, I just wanna make you proud", I said, "Baby, just make me cum, Then don't make a sound"

I word the lyrics to my girlfriend, my normally catlike eyes round and needy. A sudden overwhelming hunger for her was coming over. It burned my skin, made my throat dry. I needed to taste her on my lips, now. 

Paige feels it too. Her lips hover over mine, low blue eyes locked onto my face. Her hand drags along my dress, from my waist to my hips, all the way down to my ass sending sparks along the way. I whimper into her open mouth, Paige’s hand kneading the skin of my ass. I move my hips with hers, grinding. I feel her everywhere, overwhelmingly so.

She wake up, eat this dick, Call that breakfast in bed, 69, 96

Paige’s lips hover over mine, her hand on my ass pulling me impossibly closer. I’m fully flush against her, the smell of alcohol everywhere and the flashing lights painting us in a rainbow of colours.

I feel her heartbeat, I chest to chest with this bitch

She mouths the words against my lips, and I swear I haven’t ever wanted anyone more. Completely unaware of my surroundings, of everything that wasn’t Paige, I’m about to kiss her when she spins me around by my hips, pulling my back into her front.

Now turn around, face down, I'm arrestin' this bitch

Paige’s hand presses me down just slightly, other hand gripping my hips and pulling me into her. It’s overwhelming, the way she’s grinding her hips into me. I know exactly what she’s thinking about - something involving me and a strap, bent over in front of her.

“Goddamn ma,” Paige hisses as I grind my ass against her. Pulling me up by my hair, I rise and feel the blonde begin to kiss my ear as if no one else exists but us. Her lips glide against my neck and I can’t take it anymore. Turning back around, pull her into a kiss by her chain, our lips colliding passionately. It lights a fire between my thighs, her lips tasting like grenadine and vodka. This is all I could ever want. Maybe that’s what love was always about.

It all happens in a flash. A stranger stumbles pass, makes a comment I don’t hear over the music pounding into my ear. I feel a harsh hand groping my hip, an unwelcome presence pressing into my back. Before I even realise what’s happening, Paige is pushing me aside and throwing a punch at a man I had never seen before in my life. 

“Paige! Bro!” Arike and Lou grab the blonde, but the man is already holding his jaw in pain.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” The man screams. “Fucking dyke.”

The group freezes, everyone looking at each other. Before we know it, Paige charges at the man again, now barely being held back by Arike who’s screaming at the man as well. 

“Stop!” I scream, grabbing the blonde’s arm but she shakes me off a little too hard in a drunken haze, making me stumble backwards.

“Paige,” Lala says sternly, grabbing hold of me. I suddenly felt much more sober, my need quickly bursting into anger, frustration and fear. I wasn’t good around angry people. I could feel my limbs turning to jello, my legs trembling. 

“I’m going home,” I simply say, turning to leave the club. Whether Paige follows me or not, I don’t care as I push through the groups of people, leaving the fight behind me. Tears burn my eyes, my hands shaking as I step into the Dallas evening, begging for any relief the evening breeze might give me. It doesn’t.

-

“Paige!” Lala grabs my arm hard, her acrylics scratching my skin. “Zari left!”

Hearing her name pulls me out of my rage. It’s still there, but subsided by the realisation of how I had behaved in front of Izzie of all people. 

“Fucking shit,” I groan, rubbing my face. “I’m so drunk.”

Lou pats my shoulder. “Let’s get you some water.”

“No,” I shake my head. “I gotta go find Iz.”

Without a word of goodbye I leave, begging to God she isn't gone. I curse at the elevator moving way too slowly, forcing me to come face to face with myself in the mirror. My face is red and sweaty, a red spill on my white button up. I pull it off, leaving me in a sports bra and jean shorts.

She’s standing there with her arms crossed, waiting for a cab to arrive. Her bloodshot eyes watch the cars driving by, the slight breeze making her waves dance. 

“Ma,” I approach her carefully. Getting closer I can tell that she’s shaking. “Hey, Iz,” I comfort, reaching to warm her up only to feel the heat on her skin. She’s not cold - she’s scared.

“Don’t,” she pushes my hand away, lower lip trembling. My heart breaks. 

The cab pulls up, the driver standing up to open the door for Izara.

“Lemme ride with you,” I plead, ignoring the funny ache in my chest. 

“No,” Izzie says sternly, sliding into her seat. I grab hold of the door, chasing the girl’s gaze.

“Please Iz. I fucked up. I dunno what’s wrong with me. Just please. I’ll be quiet the whole ride home okay?”

The dark haired girl rubs her bloodshot eyes, shrugging.

“Whatever.”

-

We ride in silence, save for the low hum of 80s music from the front seat. Suddenly, Izzie sniffles beside me. Turning my head, I notice she’s crying. I did that. I made her scared, I fucking made her cry. I loved her and I made her cry.

My eyes burn as I watch her staring out the window, facing away from me. A tear rolls down my cheek. When did everything become so hard? So complicated? Sometimes I thought to myself Izzie was just making it all more difficult than it needed to be. All these secrets and lies were eating us apart. I wanted her to be mine, I wanted to kiss her and not worry about who might be filming, I wanted to take her to events with me and not worry about what everyone might say. I just wanted her. I was sick of being a secret, of keeping us hidden away. Why was the only way I could have her to hide us from the rest of the world? It didn’t seem fair.

We pull up to the apartment building, and I pay in silence. Waiting for her to climb out after me, I stand still wiping the tears from my eyes. Her face is puffy and red from the crying. She’s still refusing to meet my gaze.

“Iz,” I whisper into the night. “Look at me, please.”

“I don’t want to,” she says, her voice shakier than I’d ever heard.

I sigh as we stand on the sidewalk in front of the doors of the building. She’s staring into the ground, shifting her weight on her feet.

“I’m so fucking sorry okay, I am,” I cry out, reaching for her. She flinches. “Izzie, please. I would never, ever hurt you. Please.”

Izara brings her hands to her face, hiding as she cries into her palms. I wanna grab her, to hold her, but even as drunk as I was I knew she needed her space right now. There was however a nagging feeling deep in my abdomen, telling me this wasn’t just about tonight.

“Izzie, just talk to me. You know I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“I know,” Iz explodes, finally lowering her hands. Her face is wet with tears, making her skin glisten in the night. “I don’t know what to do.”

I can’t keep it in. Not anymore.

“Yeah, cause this ain’t just about the fight,” I point out. I knew she had heard me. No way she hadn’t. She knew exactly that I had told her I loved her.

“Paige, stop,” she pleads, rubbing the bridge of her nose. Tears spill from my eyes as I realise I was right. I had to phase it. I couldn’t keep it in.

“I love you. Okay? That’s it. I said it. I love you Iz. And maybe to you that’s the worst thing in the world,” I cry out. “But I love you dammit.”

Izzie freezes, her eyes finally meeting my gaze. Terror, confusion, pain.

“No,” she shakes her head. “Not now Paige.”

And I can only watch as she walks in, my heart breaking into a million pieces as I let her go.

-

taglist: @wbbgetsmewetter@thaatdigitaldiary@bueckersfive@lupinqs@sierrale8ne@d3arapril@lovegalor333@avvwritesstufff@rosemariiaa@bueckers22@taylynbueckers44@unadulteratedcyclepaper@rizzlerbuckets@wosolipa@bridgetloveswomen@paiges-1vur@slut4uconnwbb@xxloveralways14@bueckersbitch@janaelalfysblunt@omg-imtumbling@angryflowerwitch@ohbueckers @ohmybueckers @potatobears-world @st4yyyy @wnbawag @maryjanewatsons @naeswrrldd @she-is-my-unrequited-love34 @gayflygirl @saverdelrey @xoxosierralane @katemartinsfuturewife

[backstageinfatuationvn]

I remember seeing a lil animatic(?) on Twitter on how you worked on Kier’s design for 6 years. I can’t find it anymore tho 😭 but what was your thought process when designing him? I luv luv luvvvv his design smmmm 🥹❤️ you n your co-creator are doing an amazing job 🫶

The animatic is still on my personal twitter account! And thank you!! SUPER LENGTHY POST BUT HERE WE GO!

Originally Kier had black hair and a similar haircut to Kethan (old art from 2024)

The first one was actually him dressed as the phantom of the Opera since he is one of the main inspos (old inspo meme I did)

Kier was originally created 6 years ago actually, back then I also made many versions of him. But the most important one was Gacha (yes I was a gacha kid 💔)

I sadly don't have his gacha photos anymore since it was from a very ancient phone but if memory serves me right, he would've looked like this. Yes I installed the app again HAHAHA

He didn't originally have midnight blue eyes. That was added when I started bringing him back to my works before Backstage Infatuation.

Personality wise, he is originally a yandere! Nothing changed from there in terms of that but interestingly enough... Back then in my gacha days, I originally shipped him with another male OC. A BL gacha series was planned where it centered around Kier's obsession with the male OC but was later discontinued for reasons I cannot remember. It was a long, long, looong time ago.

I focused on other stuff so he started catching dust until I picked him up around early 2024. That's when I started planning for his comeback after remembering past memories on a random tuesday night before sleeping LMAO

I drew two pieces before his redesign (the first two images), this was when I was into the yandere vn games.

Just wanna shout out these two games because these inspired me to make my own!! YOU and HIM and TKATB really inspired me to make Backstage Infatuation (there was also Dramatical Murder). I also have a love for Idol culture and Kpop, so I based Backstage Infatuation on my interests.

It is no secret that Backstage Infatuation is a passion project of mine, most of the characters in the game are old ocs being brought back to life and new ocs being finally used. Kier was one of those OCs that were brought back to life and needed a new makeover.

Fast forward to November 2024, I started redoing Kier and originally came up with his overall face and hair.

Interestingly enough, I actually came up with his idol fit first after seeing an outfit on Pinterest!

This is the original concept of his first idol outfit draft, felt it was too plain but really liked the black and white theme.

Second try and I came up with this! Even added silver feathers to symbolize LUXE's angel theme.

I added midnight blue (with stars) accents and it really made them look ethereal and elegant, at least for me. Which fits the group's original concept!

For his casual outfit, I wanted to go with something stylish and cool at the same time. I went with techwear influence and came up with the outfit now used in the game! Originally he didn't have black leather pants, but denim... It didn't look good in my opinion. 😭

Old and New design comparison

I kinda stole Nightwing's color palette for his clothes and changed a few stuff (mostly the blue)— Sorry I just really like Nightwing 😭 HAHAHA.

Few tweaks there and there, I became satisfied with his design!

I also made different outfits for him, a easter egg outfit I plan to add, his summer outfit and spring time outfit. I do love dressing up my son and exploring different fashions for him. ❤️

I do enjoy designing clothes and outfits. (Already reached the 10 image limit so here's a poorly made collage)

Sorry if this took a long time 😭 I had to find my old gallery saves for some of the pictures but this was such a fun ask to answer! It's nice to have a memory refresh ❤️

I hope this answered everything and so SORRY IF IT'S LENGTHY 😭😭 - Ive (Creator)

[unluckilyimnot]

S/o with (a lot of) tattoos

afab!reader and age-up characters ! I don't see them dating someone their age covered with tattoo lmao

Note: i think like, around 10 here bc I have over 20 tattoos but it's OK if you have a few, it works for everyone <3

m.list | rules

Sakura

He's scared you get dirty look on the street but he's relief when he notices you don't care at all

He finds it really cool but was shy to tell you at first or even ask question

If you got some on the chest/belly he's scared to look at it at first, he doesn't want to look like a pervert

You tell him he is just to mess around with him

He'll love tracing the pattern of your arms, even if his favorite is one on your belly

Doesn't get ask how he pulled you, it just make sense

He's flustered if someone looks at you for too long and starts talking to you bc of it, ‘cause yeah you look good but do they have to get so close?

He likes deep, black ones ! But his favorite is probably a small snoopy or something like that

Suo

Looks at you all the time, he doesn't even listen when you're around

He loves seeing you sleeveless

If you have an acubi/baddie style it's even better bc in summer it shows it all and he's here for that

You call him out from time to time but he always hits you with something like ‘you shouldn't look that good then’

Can't really stand it of someone starts at you though, even if it happens a lot

He gets protective/possessive real quick

It's a nightmare when he comes with you, you don't want to be tattooed by man just in case

You seem out of place with his very demure allure but it does match well in the end

You two stand out enough to balance each other and neither of you seem “bland”

Kiss the one in your chest and hands

If you have any type of flowers, it's his favorite I don't make the rules

Bonus point if there's color (like red one)

Nirei

He has a list in order of what you did when

Also has a top of them all

He doesn't have a preference, he goes with the flow and find you pretty doesn't matter what type of tattoos you have

Love small ones better, around your arms or maybe your back

You look more intimidating than he does now but it's nothing to mention really, he still protects you if needed <3

He talks about you all. the. time, he just thinks you're so cool

He answers for you when you get questions about your tattoos, you have to tell him kindly that you can handle yourself

But sometimes he remembers better than you

Kiryuu

HE LOVES IT

He wants to hear all about it, where did you go, did it hurt, which one was the most painful and why

Ask you to come with him for his first one

You know his top5 by now

He loves to come with you at your appointments

He'd be down for any colored one !! Had blue and pink and yellow he loves it

You're a stylish couple for sure

So he doesn't mind the intrusive stares, he's over it and take it as a compliment

If you have piercing as well, he would marry you

He'd love to see a colored/stylish Korean style on you

He'd looove matching tattoos, he'd think about it for so long

Kaji

Listens to you talking about it, he doesn't have much questions and I don't think he'll want some but he gladly hear about it

He loves the bigger ones, when you mention how many hours you've spent on it he's flabbergasted

You're so tough in his eyes just for that

Loves to touch your new tattoos during the healing time, feeling the pattern is the best sensory stim

He's curious and come with you once, it was the only time, it's too long for him and he doesn't like the sound

He's mad if you don't tell him you'll get a new one before hand and he discovers it at the same time as everyone

Hiragi

Tells you you don't have space anymore, only half joking

He's stressed when you get a new one and is cautious about taking care of it during the healing time as if you don't have 10+ already

He doesn't want to come inside with you, but he takes you there and he's there waiting for you by the end of the appointment

He hates when you touch it while it's healing and REFUSES to touch it even if you insist

But he finds it really cool, he loves your style and the harmony

If you have some on the back, he'll definitely let you know it's his favorite

He knows you can handle yourself, but that doesn't mean he's not stressed about it

Umemiya

He think you're so cool, he might have fall for you because of your style as well

Even if he gets beat up all the time, he think you're courageous for getting tattoos because it seems to hurt a lot

If you're the meaningful tattoos type, he wants to know everything behind it

If it start some deep conversation, he'd be down for it

It's yet another way to know a person he never thought of but he loves it

Trace your tattoos as well, he can still feel the line on your skin with some of them so he tend to focus there

If you come back with a lower back tattoo, don't expect him to get over it

[starconstruction]

Designated Ride

Yena x Male Reader (smut)

smut tags: pussy licking, blowjob, public sex, bathroom sex, throatpie, riding.

word count: 3312

Plans rarely make it out of the group chat between you four.

So it was a miracle you guys were here right now, in the glorious shining sun shining radiantly amongst your group. The skies were clean and crisp, shining a nice blue as all clouds decided to go on holiday which is certainly unusual here.

Its a shame that you were alone again.

Turns out being for lack of a better words (or more realistically Yuri's words) a "pathetic bitch loser" means you ended up here alone while they sat in a 2 and a half hour queue for a 30 second ride they swear is "worth it".

You don't necessarily believe them, but if they desire to do so there is no point in shooting down their excitement.

Besides its not all bad.

You get to waltz around the park entirely uninterrupted joyfully and do some rides that they stuck their noses up at.

Different tastes and all, it just so happens to be that you are the odd and obviously right one out.

You walked through the hundreds of people that walked in the way opposite. The full package deal so to speak; annoying children whining at their parents, teenagers randomly mantling each other's backs, the elderly who definitely didn't want to be here. You weaseled through them all just about, only pushing into like... 15 people.

You got to the ride that Minju called the worst, a simple blue water-slide. Sure it was made for children, probably those who haven't formed as much as an independent thought. But there's nothing wrong with enjoying the more simplistic pleasures in life. Climbing up the rickety staircase that almost certainly did not pass health standards, peering towards the ride those three went on. In their defense it certainly looked impressive, making everything its vicinity look miniature in comparison, considering how much they scream at the littlest things it did seem like an odd choice.

You let the minutes pass you by, waiting for the queue of children to slowly funnel down the slide. In your sightseeing you saw a blob of pink hair that looked almost familiar, she was looking down and you couldn't see much more than that.

"Sir how many?" The employee asked, holding the chain in his hand.

"One." You said quickly, getting nothing more than a curt nod before being allowed through. Mantling the orange raft and laying back. It only took a few seconds for everyone else to get into position before you were hurling down the slide, fingers grabbing onto the supports far tighter than the speed demanded. It only took a few seconds before you were at the bottom again, hitting a stylish jump (at least in your opinion) out onto the soft ground.

You would never fathom why Minju hated that ride with every fiber of her being.

"Hey!" A voice squealed to your left, a voice you'd recognize anywhere, Yena. Confirming your earlier suspicions.

You took a glance at her, wearing a cyan shirt with fabric far too thick for this weather. She almost certainly agreed, jumper wrapped around her waist, just not done particularly well by the arms dangling against her bare thighs. She gave you a quick smile and waved you over towards her.

"Oh hey Yena, you work here now?" You walked closer.

"Yep! Got the summer gig I wanted! I've loved this place since I was a kid." That was true, she didn't shut up about it, not that you minded. You've never seen joy quite as contagious as she talked about this place, probably why you ultimately came here in the first place.

"Sweet, does that not mean you have like... a ride to attend to?" Yena flashed a face of feigned offense, pulling her phone out from her pocket.

"Already trying to get rid of me?" She pouted. "But no, I haven't been assigned anything in particular right now. I guess I just get to walk around?"

"Fair enough, well I guess I can keep you company..." You rolled your eyes.

"How generous, anyways... Why have you came here alone? Do you not have friends?" She asked, stepping a bit too close as she intruded on your personal space carelessly.

"I'm not, they just wanted to sit in a queue for 2 and a half fucking hours." You grumbled.

Yena smirked, you knew what that look meant. It just surprised you it came so quickly, she moved you two slightly out of earshot.

"So what I'm hearing is we have some time to kill right?" The scent of her perfume intertwined itself with the scent of summer sweat and new clothes.

"I guess we do, would you happen to have anything in mind?" You murmured, playing innocent.

"I say we break this job in, you remember the last time right?" Oh god you did.

It was her first job, a number of years back. At the gas station not too far from the two of yours houses. She messaged you to keep her company in the middle of the night, expecting her to just want you to listen to her yap for a few hours.

That was certainly not what happened, Yena had black hair back then. You remembered it so vividly, probably because she backed you into the staff toilet and made you grab a handful of it. Pushing your far too erect cock into her ever divine mouth, there were very few words shared. Just the sweet gags of Yena taking your cock in as delightfully as possible, you didn't last long that night. Giving her the load she desperately craved, swallowing it all in one gulp.

You two made a bit of a habit after that, every night shift ended up with some form of messing around. Its honestly a miracle she didn't get fired from the job.

"Yeah, but this is a lot busier than that dingy ass gas station." She giggled.

"Yeah, but I'm staff silly! They so graciously offered me a hotel room since my commute is far too long. We just need to discretely make it that way" She pointed south, "If anyone asks I'm showing you where to go, got it?" You nodded.

Yena lead the charge, moving at a moderate pace. Evidently already enjoying herself in her head; legs not separating quite far as they normally do, her hand finding any opportunity to discretely brush against your thighs when nobody is looking.

The walk is also far too long for your own sanity, giving you chances to imagine all the things you could do to her in a personal hotel room. All depending on how much time she gives you. Maybe you could reunite your cock with her blissful mouth or possibly you could ram her against the wall, or the bed, or the floor, she'd look good in any. You knew first hand of course.

"Quick right here." You followed, the hotel coming into view, it was in the shape of a scrap fish. You chuckled at its sight. Yena was less impressed than you, possibly numb to the sheer absurdity of it.

You two had finally made it to the ocean blue door, Yena scanning her keycard in a rush. Her hastiness resulted in you basically being shoved into the metallic wall of the elevator. "Ow Yena, relax a bit."

She hit the buttons, taking you to the top floor. "I'm impatient, okay?? Is that what you want to hear, we don't have long." Truthfully neither of you knew how much time the two of you had, but she's right.

The elevator opened with a satisfying ding! Yena skipping straight ahead to the door in front of her, 832. It'd probably help to remember that just in case.

She slammed the door behind you, giving you no time to prepare before her hands were on you, fingers grabbing onto the fabric of your shirt hungrily. Tugging you forward, roughly catching your lips in a needy kiss. The agonizing walk must have only furthered her desperation, her tongue sliding into your mouth as you struggled to keep up.

You grabbed at Yena's clothed ass, fondling the firm flesh that you've enjoyed many times before. With your hands, your fingers and even your tongue. Another idea perhaps, but you turn your focus onto kissing Yena passionately. Her tongue resigning its control in exchange of you blissfully tongue fucking her mouth.

It only took a few moments for the two of you to run out of breath, Yena gasping for oxygen which you capitalized on. Lifting her up in your arms to which she yelped "Oh!".

You dropped her gently against the bed, Yena shuddered as she made contact. Looking up at your towering frame. "Fuck its been far too long Y/N" She gasped.

Oh god you agreed.

You definitely planned to make up for lost time, climbing over her. Getting rid of that bothersome shirt that dared to cover Yena's chest, giving it sloppy kisses on her exposed abs. The salty taste of her sweat gathering on your tongue, unashamedly licking on every crevice of her chest from her underboob that exposed itself under her maroon bra to her belly button.

She mewled out her words, "Mmh your tongue always feels good, but it'd feel better somewhere else..."

You smirked, continuing your tongue's long strokes against her chest "Yeah? Where would that be Yena?" You knew her so well and one of the things she loved the most was being fucking teased.

"Hm, just a bit lower than where you are now." She was purposefully vague.

"Oh? Here?" You asked, kissing just above the waist of her shorts.

"Psh– You know what I mean..!"

You pushed your hand between her legs, doing no more than just that. Watching her whine.

"Do I? For someone who was so desperate to rush you are oh. so. slow. in telling me what you want."

Yena finally relented, accepting the loss this time because she knows it'll only lead to greater victories. "Fine, I need you to eat me out, is that what you want to hear?"

You reveled in her confession, hands ripping off her shirt leaving her nearly bare. Saved for her underwear and shoes, you didn't fucking care for the rest of it, she wasn't wearing matching underwear, panties a shade of blue made only darker in the middle by her dripping arousal.

"Of course Yena." Your fingers rubbed the damp fabric, getting the desired affirmations you wanted in the form of a broken whimper.

You tugged her underwear down, revealing her wet pussy, wet could be understatement of the century. For she was drenched with little touch at all. The shoes acting as a barrier you did not care enough to overcome. Binding Yena's feet together -not that she had any intention or want to move- "Fuck you are so wet–"

You got closer, climbing onto the bed. The lack of being able to properly spread her legs made things a bit more difficult in terms of position, hands perching comfortably on her right thigh, blowing hot air on her entrance. She shivered, "F-fuck, come on... Stop teasing me already!"

Your breath hitched, only complying because you were equally as desperate. From the first lick you were quick, careless, demanding. sliding your tongue all over her folds, gathering Yena's ever plentiful juices. Her sweet taste being all you needed to keep going but the way her thighs twitched and shook were all the more reason to continue.

"Oh fuck! It's been so long!" Yena gasped at the first contact, you kept licking, twirling your tongue around her pussy, covering her in your spit.

"Far too long." You replied, you could discuss meeting later another day. For now you craved more.

Your lone finger pushed inside, then out, then inside, then out. Slower than your tongue, the two different speeds making Yena lose her mind. "Fuck– that, fuck–" far too stunned to speak, not that you could blame her.

You looked up at her as you licked, her hands didn't remain idle, far from it. Pinching her pink nipples firmly, her bra neatly fallen into the impromptu pile that formed somehow.

Her eyes were closed, scrunched. Mouth wide open just enough to let the sinful gasps and pleads come out, her face was flushed a deep red like she had been burnt by pleasure.

You could sense she was getting close, but it wouldn't be your tongue to finish the job. So you pulled away.

"Ah!– Why'd you stop?!" She groaned at the sudden edging, instinctively freezing her hands movement.

You moved suddenly, Yena suddenly being met with a clothed cock pitching a tent right in front of her eyes. She knew what you wanted, looking up with those fucking eyes that made you weak, giving a small kitten kiss to the straining fabric.

"You want me to suck this dick? So hard and you haven't even been touched..." Hypocrisy certainly was lost on Yena.

"Of fucking course, take every inch for me." Was all you needed to say and Yena gave her hands a new objective, pulling down the two obstructions in one fell swoop. Leaving you to be the one to finish the job.

Yena was still laying there, tongue out. Like she wanted you to claim the ultimate prize or at least the second ultimate prize. Such things are entirely trivial and semantic, you readjusted her. Tangled feet now placed at the pillow as she was given her the perfect access to your cock, to which she took happily. Hand gripping the base firmly.

"Such a good cock, you always were my favorite." You ignored any possible implication because your brain went numb at the sight of her slapping your cock against her tongue.

"Always tasting so good." She sampled it like a divine meal, giving it a barrage of kisses, making out with your tip. Beginning to take you inside her mouth, that made you weak in the knees, just barely avoiding falling backwards onto the bed.

"Fuck, Yena I've missed this..." You gasped, she responded with taking half way. Bobbing her head up and down as a frantic swirl of pink hair, "Like that." Her hands pumped what she couldn't fit inside her silky mouth.

She hungrily swallowed every inch that she could muster, cheeks hollowing out, mouth somehow even tighter than before. Yena relinquished her hand, moving them to your thighs. You knew the look she just gave you, its the please fuck my mouth look.

You grabbed the back of her head, grabbing onto enough of her hair to move her. Yena closed her eyes as you pulled her down to your base, taking you straight to the hilt. Gagging all over your length as she crammed it into her mouth, nose pushing against your crotch in satisfaction.

"Fucking hell Yena, always so good at this..." You pulled her up and down on your cock, letting your tip slam against the back of her vibrating throat as she deepthroated your cock sinfully.

She couldn't really respond, but made her presence known with as many mewls and guttural sounds she could. You bobbed her head quickly, using her mouth as a sleeve for the both of yours pleasure.

The sight of Yena choking herself on your cock was filthy; obscene, the only words that came to mind at this point. The sheer lust in your head drowning out any coherency you once had.

Yena drooled all down her chin, certainly not fit for work in how she looks currently. "Shit...."

ring

ring

Nemonemo nemonemo sign

Well thats certainly not your ringtone.

"Shit." You said more firmly now, getting Yena off your cock.

"Damn buzzkills, hold on." She brought the phone to her ear. "Yep, i'll be over in just a second. On the other side of the park. K thanks, bye."

"I take it we are being interrupted?" You sighed, solemnly missing the feeling of Yena's mouth on yours.

"Yep, guess our luck ran out... You can jerk off if you want? Or something? I don't know to be honest." Yena quickly got to work, reclipping her bra around her breasts, tugging her panties upwards, grabbing her perfume from her bag and quickly making herself as presentable as possible. The event's that transpired here chalkable as just being slightly unkempt.

"Nah, I'll go on some more rides while I wait for the others. Fucking stupid job." You groaned as you put your trousers back on.

"Fuck I wanted to cum! I still do... I'll text you if i get a free minute!" She promised, the two of you discreetly getting out of there.

-

The opportunity presented itself a few hours later, just an hour before closing.

They wanted to go on another ride.

Yena texted you that she was free for the next 10 minutes.

The hotel was a luxury you didn't have time to reach.

This would have to do.

You were sat on the toilet seat, down to your shoes, cock pointing towards Yena's entrance. She sank down, taking every inch of you inside.

"Fuck... This is my favourite ride of them all." You ignored her cheesy comment, she was squeezing the life out of your shaft, bouncing up and down vigorously, slamming against your crotch as she rode the stolen high from earlier.

"Bounce on my cock for me Yena!" You moaned against her ear, hoping that there wasn't people this close to the stool. She was snug around you, your praise making her squeeze even tighter.

"Ah!" That was far too loud.

"Quiet... Don't want people to hear how well you are taking this cock do you?"

Yena nodded and kept bouncing up and down, she was fast, rolling her hips as she rode. "Fuck your throbbing..." You kneaded her ass in between thrusts, groping the soft flesh with pure desperation, want, need.

"We don't have very long, cum for me Yena." You cooed. Yena gasped in your ear, you couldn't expect her to do all the work, swapping positions as you pushed her against the stool door. Thrusting into her needy cunt with all the strength you had left, holding your hand against her mouth, muffling her sweet moans that nobody else deserved to hear.

Her legs trembled in the air, her face was beet red and sweaty, she was getting closer for you.

You could feel her get somehow even more tighter than before, she was getting close. Desperate to hit that high, the clock was ticking. Yena seizes in your embrace, gushing her girlcum all over your shaft, some dripping on the floor, her explosive orgasm nearly making you blow your load right inside her.

You had to act quick, pulling out of her warmth and descending her onto the filthy floor, pushing your cock into her warm mouth, fucking her hole with reckless abandon as there was no time to waste. She gagged up saliva as the new position made you go down her throat.

Your orgasm crept up inside of you, shooting the biggest load you've had ever down her throat, rope after rope filled Yena's throat as she took it all.

You were honestly impressed with how she endured all of that, pulling your cock out of her warm mouth as you fell backwards, "Shit... I'm gonna be late! That took 15 minutes... Help me quickly!" She gasped, you helped her dress herself, spray the perfume for the second time and hope she didn't get in too much trouble.

"If I don't get fired maybe you should come to this park alone... Perhaps you could spend the night."

"Sure thing, they are going to be out of queue soon so I've also gotta run, nice to see you again." You laughed.

"See ya! Hope I was up to customer satisfaction guarantee!" She blew you a kiss and left the stool, you secretly sneaking out a few minutes later when the coast was clear.

[ariays]

What makes Minho a unique teen romance male lead:

1. He’s the “Mean but Not Malicious” Type

A lot of teen series have the classic bad boy male lead who’s brooding, mysterious, and sometimes outright toxic (cough Nate Jacobs from Euphoria or Chuck Bass from Gossip Girl). But Minho? He’s different.

Yes, he starts off snarky and arrogant, but he’s never cruel. His “mean” moments are more about sass, self-confidence, and playful teasing rather than being manipulative or emotionally unavailable. He’s that guy who thinks he’s all that—but is actually really soft underneath it all.

2. He’s a Himbo, But a Smart One

Minho gives off major himbo energy—he’s rich, ridiculously good-looking, and very aware of it. But unlike a lot of stereotypical “dumb jocks” in teen dramas (think Reggie from Riverdale), Minho actually has depth. He has goals, he cares about his friends, and despite his superficial exterior, he’s pretty emotionally perceptive—especially when it comes to Kitty.

3. His Character Growth Feels Earned

Some male leads in teen series tend to change too quickly once they develop feelings for the female lead. (Looking at you, Hardin from After). But Minho’s growth is gradual and believable. He doesn’t just flip a switch from “annoying rich boy” to “perfect boyfriend material.” Instead, his feelings for Kitty creep up on him, and you can see the shift in how he interacts with her.

He still teases her, but it becomes more affectionate. He still acts cocky, but you start noticing those small, vulnerable moments—like the Chuseok kitchen scene—where he actually lets his guard down.

4. He’s Unapologetically Dramatic

Minho is extra in a way that most teen drama male leads aren’t. He’s not just confident—he’s theatrical. From his grand entrances to his over-the-top reactions, he brings a comedic flair that makes him entertaining without making him a joke.

A lot of teen drama male leads tend to be serious, broody, or deeply angsty. Minho, on the other hand, brings comedic energy while still being emotionally compelling.

5. He’s Stylish & Unapologetically Metrosexual

Unlike the usual rugged, broody, or athletic male leads in teen series (think Nate from Euphoria or Conrad from The Summer I Turned Pretty), Minho embraces fashion, skincare, and self-care in a way that isn’t played off as a joke.

A lot of male leads in Western teen dramas either: ✔ Stick to basic, "masculine" fashion (hoodies, leather jackets, plain tees) ✔ Look effortlessly disheveled (the whole ‘hot but doesn’t care’ aesthetic) ✔ Avoid anything remotely “feminine” to maintain their "tough" image

Minho, on the other hand, is deliberately put together. He’s well-groomed, he cares about his appearance, and he fully owns it. From his tailored fits to his expensive skincare routine, he has a level of self-awareness and confidence that makes him unique. Instead of needing to be macho, he leans into a softer masculinity, which is refreshing.

6. He’s Not the Broody, Emotionally-Closed-Off Male Lead

Most classic teen romance male leads fall into one of these categories:

The dark, brooding, emotionally unavailable love interest (Conrad from TSITP, Hardin from After)

The soft, nerdy best friend who secretly loves the female lead (Ben from Never Have I Ever)

The overprotective, jock-type boyfriend (Noah from The Kissing Booth)

Minho doesn’t fit into any of these boxes. Yes, he starts off as a bit of a snarky, rich-boy, but he’s not emotionally closed-off. He expresses himself, he reacts dramatically, and he’s not afraid to show his feelings, whether it’s through humor, frustration, or genuine care.

His emotional openness, combined with his flair for the dramatic, makes him feel more alive compared to brooding, silent male leads who struggle to express affection.

7. He Exudes Non-Traditional Masculinity

Most male leads in teen dramas stick to a traditionally masculine aesthetic—either super muscular (Noah from The Kissing Booth) or effortlessly scruffy and rebellious (JJ from Outer Banks). Even the ones who are more “soft boy” (like Josh from To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before) tend to be written in a way that contrasts them against a tougher male lead.

Minho, however, balances both masculine and non-masculine traits in a way that makes him unique: ✔ He’s confident, but not aggressively dominant. ✔ He’s fashionable and expressive, but not reduced to a stereotype. ✔ He’s attractive, but not in the rugged bad boy way—his appeal comes from his charisma, playfulness, and charm.

His character doesn’t need to be hyper-masculine to be desirable, which is a refreshing departure from traditional male leads. He’s proof that a guy can be well-dressed, expressive, and a little flamboyant while still being a compelling love interest.

8. He’s Secure in Himself (Without Trying to Prove Anything)

Minho never tries to “prove” his masculinity. A lot of teen male leads are obsessed with dominance—whether it’s through fighting, being emotionally unavailable, or acting like they don’t care about anything.

But Minho? He doesn’t need to do that. He’s secure in himself. He knows he’s attractive. He knows he’s stylish. And he owns it. He can be extra, dramatic, and funny, but it doesn’t make him any less confident or appealing.

This is what makes him stand out from the usual teen romance male lead—he doesn’t fall into outdated ideas of what it means to be a man. He’s just him, and that’s enough.

[shinestarhwaa]

DEEP DIVE || CHOI SAN

Genre: Smut, Fluff

Pairing: San x Fem reader

Word Count: 1.7K

Tags/Warnings: Famous!AU, Established relationship, idol!San, actress!yn, dirty language, unprotected sex, spanking, breeding kink, riding, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, praise, aftercare, dom!san, sub!yn

Taglist: @anyamaris @a-soft-hornytiny @whatudowhennooneseesyou @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @woosanbby @dreamlesswonder86 @changbinslovelylegs @jonghostie @lovjensoo @mjyungi @bratty-tingz @sugarnspice630 @stardragongalaxy @bro-atz @wisejudgedragonhairdo @mingisg00dgirl @vesvosmozhno @therealcuppicake @unholywriters @enbymingi @jjoongstar

ENJOY!

It's been a while since you've had some time with your boyfriend San. He's been abroad for tour and several events for weeks and you were spending your time filming your new movie Uproar across Europe.

When San facetimed you last week to tell you he'd be seeing you during Fashion Week you were over the moon. Italy was one of your favourite countries in the world so spending time with him there was a true gift.

Over the next few days the news got spread around gossip town that both San - global K-pop star and you - global moviestar would attend the event. It hadn't been long since the public found out about you two being together. Some paparazzi found the two of you snuggling in a park late at night during one of your dates and spread it around.

You felt some relief when it happened, though. You finally didn't have to sneak around as much anymore, now everyone knew. You were more nervous than San was about it. "But what about your career?" You had said to him, but he assured you that you were worth everything. He would give up anything for you. Luckily the hate wasn't that bad to deal with.

It's D-Day and your team is getting you ready, fitting you in a gorgeous Dolce & Gabbana gown, specially created for you. The dress was black and fitted you like a glove, classy and stylish. You got some heels and golden jewelry to match with it.

Your hair got styled down and it was glowing in the warm lights. Your social media team took some pictures before sending you off to the event. You were not sure what San would be wearing tonight. His debut this summer was all over the internet; him wearing the beautifully designed corset piece. You had send him voice messages of you freaking out over how hot he was that night and how badly you wanted him.

You could not help but think about how tonight would end, knowing you're sharing a hotel room together. It's been weeks since you've had the chance to be intimate with San and you knew he's bursting. And truthfully, so are you.

Seeing San enter the room, you feel your heart beat faster. You've been waiting on him, carefully watching the door so you wouldn't miss him. When he finally does enter, the room lit up, but it seems like everyone disappears. He looks so handsome tonight, you fell in love all over again.

He's wearing a black shirt - unbuttoned for a large part, exposing his large, toned chest. He wears the shiny pants gracefully, but your eyes keep on shifting back to his chest, where a cross-necklace lays in the valley of his hard pecs.

You try so hard not to drool all over yourself when he notices you and comes your way. You're in an secluded area right now, where no paparazzi can see you, so you don't hesitate before kissing him on the lips and embracing him in your arms.

"My dear, I've missed you so much. It feels incredible to see you again, feel you again," he whispers in your ear. "I know, I've missed you so much, Sanie."

The rest of the night felt like a warm bundle of joy. The lovely conversations with San and the designers won't be forgotten easily, but the thing you were mostly busy with was pretending you weren't incredibly horny.

When you finally step into your hotelroom you push San against the wall instantly. He laughs and lays his hands on your hips. "Oh?"

"Baby I have no time to seduce you and all that, I've been so incredibly horny tonight and I need you to take care of it right now."

"Okay, okay, you've made yourself clear," he grins, a naughty smirk playing on his lips. He slides down the wall and comes to eyelevel with your hips. You feel San's fingers glide across the back of your ankles to your calves, lifting up your dress along the way. His touch gives you goosebumps and shivers in a way you never experienced before.

"You're wearing the tiniest panties I've ever seen honey, they don't leave much to the imagination," San says as he pressed kisses along your thigh. You squirm underneath his touch, imagination running wild.

San pulls the fabric down and the panties pool around your ankles. You feel his hot breath fan over your exposed cunt. You nearly whimper just at the mere feel of the tip of San's tongue sliding through your folds, just slightly.

"S-San," you breathe out. His strong hands roam across the back of your thighs and your ass, groping it as he slides his tongue over your pussy again. San loves to taste you, he made that clear a thousand times already, but he seemed ten times more hungry than ever before.

"God, you're wet. I love this fucking pussy, my beautiful pussy, just for me," he rambled inbetween licks and strokes of his tongue. He landed on your clit after a few more strokes, putting pressure on the bundle of nerves, making you cry out.

"O-Oh! San!"

"You might wanna keep it down a notch for the neighbours," he grins, his last words before totally devouring you. The way he devours your pussy, savouring every single drop of your wetness, earning the softest and whiniest moans from you.

You held onto his broad shoulders and let your hands roam through his hair, pulling it slightly when he teased your clit. It doesn't take long before your body starts to shake and tremble, coming on his tongue.

San didn't take it as a cue to stop, but continues to eat your pussy like a starved man. Your moans grow louder when you feel his tongue slip inside you. You grow so desperate you start to hump him, ride your cunt on his face. You felt his nose bump into your clit a few times and you just can not bring yourself to stop.

Just as you're about to reach a second climax, San pulls away and manhandles you to bend over the kingbed. You breathe loudly and whine, complaining about he should've let you cum again. Your protests are rejected by a loud and harsh spank on your ass to shut you up.

He spanks you repeatedly, pushing your face into the mattress. You whine and whimper, feeling San's hard smacks on your skin. You know he isn't punishing you for anything, he is spanking you for your pleasure because you love when he's a little rough with you.

You squirm underneath his touch everytime, until he stops. You can hear noises behind you, noises of San taking off his clothes and you cry when he suddenly slips inside. San sighs as he sinks into your warm hole.

"Fuck, angel, you're so warm and tight for me," he groans.

San hovers over you, covering your entire body with his own as he thrusts into you. His movements are sharp and rough, fucking you deep. His left hand grips your left hip, while his right hand is still pushing your face down. It is slightly hard to breathe but it exhilarates you, knowing he has full control over you right now.

Your boyfriend pulls out and orders you to lay on your back, and you follow his instructions. You notice he is still wearing the jewelry from earlier, and you see how good he looks with it. He hovers above you again, lifting your legs and placing them on his broad, muscular shoulders. You loved seeing the contrast of your skin on his. His gorgeous, tan skin, shiny with sweat.

San slides his fat, hard cock into your awaiting pussy again, moaning out your name. You shiver when he bottoms out and his hands roam over the back of your thighs.

"You look so pretty when I stuff your cunt full with my cock."

He picks up his pace and thrusts deep into you, earning the most beautiful moans from you. "Such a pretty mess on my big cock, perfect for taking it. You take it so well, don't you baby?"

"Y-Yes, San, yes I do!"

"You are getting so tight baby, are you gonna come? Gonna come on my big cock like the good girl you are?" He smirks.

"San, please, please!" You plead. San rams his cock into you repeatedly, fucking you the hardest he can, the deepest he can to please you. The pleasure soon becomes so overwhelming you're sure you're seeing stars.

"That's it darling, come for me, come on my cock," he grunts. It only takes one more thrust for you to fall apart, a wave of pleasure washing over your body. Your body tingles, your toes curl and you moan loudly as he fucks you through your orgasm.

"That's it baby, good girl, you're so good, taking my cock like that. I can come now too, hm? You're gonna let me come in your delicious pussy? Fuck it full with my cum?"

You claw at the back of his neck and his shoulders as he nearly folds you, trapping you completely under his strong body.

"Y-Yes San, give it to me, give it to me, please, breed my pussy," you whine, still in a haze from your orgasm. San's moans grow gradually louder, until he bursts, spilling his hot seed into you, groaning loudly with each thrust.

He rides out his orgasm and pulls out, gently placing your legs down on the bed. The both of you pant hard, trying to slow your breathing. San gently kisses the top of your head and your soft lips with a smile.

"God, you're so amazing," he grins against your lips. He lays down next to you and strokes your back, holding you in his arms. "No, you are the amazing one. You truly make me feel like nobody else can."

It's silent for a while, but it's nice, basking in your afterglow. Feeling his skin on yours and hearing his heartbeat as you lay on his chest. You feel so safe and sound, everytime you are with him. It's hard to think straight sometimes, but you loved the feeling he gives you.

"Did you ask me to breed you?" San asks, reminiscing what you just did. He laughs as you blush and get embarrassed, hiding your face in the nape of his neck. "Shut up, San," you groan. "Nah," he says, "if that's what the lady wants, that's what the lady gets." "I like the sound of that," you laugh. Before he can say anything else, you hold him back with a kiss.

[agirlwithglam]

The Glamorous Library: 2nd room

-> Introduction

-> room 1: self improvement / studying

-> room 3: confidence + self love / manifestation + LOA / socialising

INDEX: ˗ˏˋ꒰🎀꒱ girly things ˗ˏˋ꒰💅꒱ fashion & beauty ˗ˏˋ꒰ 💌 ꒱ minis + moodboards:

˗ˏˋ꒰🎀꒱ girly things

Teenage guide to a HOT GIRL SUMMER

Elegance & grace (how to be elegant)

forgiveness to others

unique compliments to give people

how to have the ULTIMATE SELF CARE NIGHT!

how to survive the cold weather & be super cozy

delulu vs unhealthy obsession w/ a crush

2025 is for...

my 2025 mantras!

sleepover essentials for teens!

hobbies masterlist

BRATZ: the bold, stylish & unstoppable!

happy february girlies!

a guide to lorelai gilmore

🎀 GLAM MAGAZINE; january issue | barbie edition!

🎀 GLAM MAGAZINE | february issue

🎀 GLAM MAGAZINE | march + april issue

˗ˏˋ꒰💅꒱ Fashion & beauty

simple ways to look more attractive without makeup!

barbie's signatures

hygiene tips

full guide to winter fashion & outfits

˗ˏˋ꒰ 💌 ꒱ minis + moodboards:

minis:

true love (with myself)

always improve.

how to become the best version of you

life is so big and unserious

Be grateful!

grateful, gorgeous, glowing

Create a life worth living

pretty girl affirmations/ paragraph

you're a fun person to be around.

seeking validation & witholding from real love

she cares for herself

quotes:

Gina linetti quotes

elle woods quotes

Yoda quote

Lavender haze, Taylor Swift quote

I forgot that you existed, Taylor Swift quote

Thewizardliz quote

Moodboard:

Moodboard #1 - academic weapon

Moodboard #2 - orange/ vanilla girl academia

Moodboard #3 - spring/ morning inspired

Moodboard #4 - spring inspired

Moodboard #5 - pink academia

Moodboard #6 - barbie inspired!!

Moodboard #7 - Elle woods inspired

Moodboard #8 - academia & Elle woods inspired + QUOTE

Moodboard #9 - Blair Waldorf inspired + QUOTE abt how ur just better

Moodboard #10 - healthy lifestyle pink inspired + QUOTE for if you’re going thru a hard time

Moodboard #11 - queen energy inspired + QUOTE on being a queen

Moodboard #12 - pink outfit inspired

moodboard #13 - pink productivity inspired

moodboard #14 - motivation + quote

thewizardliz moodboard

reading moodboad

pink & black aesthetic

new york moodboard!

pink bombshell moodboard/ wallpaper

[cheriladycl01]

Hiiii could you write about Carlos Sainz that he has a secret relationship with an Arab Muslim girl (she doesn't wear hijab) 24 years old, Y/N and Carlos' little sister her friend because they go to the same university from Madrid and Carlos always bothered her, he was always around Y/N whenever she was talking with a boy Carlos made them run away and that's how they became a couple but secretly it was due to Y/N's religion and Carlos likes to annoy her by teasing her face to face or sharing a message by pinching her side because she is ticklish and she also annoys him.

Thanks youu 💖

Romeo to my Juliet - Carlos x Reader

Plot: After studying at the University of Madrid, and making friends with Blanca Sainz you were constantly around her older brother Carlos who was … obviously obsessed with you!

A/N: Ive done research before writing this on Muslim culture and struggles, however I am not a person of colour, and do not want to cause any offence when writing this! Also the wording of this request did confuse me a little bit so I’m hoping I’ve got everything that you’ve wanted in here!

Carlos and you were two people you wouldn’t pin together. You were quiet and reserved whilst he was loud and expressive. You were shy, whilst he was confident. But it was those differences that actually made you the perfect pair.

Being in a secret relationship with the Carlos Sainz wasn’t easy, and neither is the story that came with it.

It started when you first applied to university. You got into the University of Madrid and your parents couldn’t be more happy as your father had work in Spain taken from the Middle East, so it wasn’t a difficult family move.

You were a very stylish girl despite being shy and with your outfits it wasn’t hard to catch the eyes on campus. And that was how you met Blanca Sainz.

It was a colder day in Madrid, around November and you were in one of your favourite winter time outfits that’s kept you warm and cozy, still not completely used to the cold winters Europe have compared to the Middle East.

You had this Burberry scarf on, a gift from you father and a gust of win caught you, immediately your hands grabbed for your skirt leaving your scarf to fly off from around your neck.

“Oh my gosh” you gasp as you tried to reach out for it but it just flew off into the distance. You started to run after it, until you saw it hit a girl and practically strangle her.

“I’m so so so sorry! The wind … and it just … and oh my gosh I’m so sorry, it hit you!” You gasp at the girl who looks over you before laughing.

“It’s … a scarf I’m fine” she giggled.

That day you guys got coffee on campus before getting to know each other and you’d been fast friends since.

It wasn’t until the end of your second year in university, your mum and dad had moved back home to the Middle East. And you didn’t know what to do about summer break.

Blanca actually invited you to her family trip to Mallorca and to stay with her in her family home.

You felt bad, so you suggest the first few weeks are spent in your family home in Dubai. And she definitely didn’t want to turn that down.

So of course you guys spent the summer, tanning, in your pool playing games with your mum and dad when they were free and going to get ice cream.

“Your house is insane, what the hell does your mum and dad do!” She asked looking around the 6 bedroom Villa your family owned.

“I don’t actually know, but he’s a business owner of some sort” you giggle, always too bored to listen to your father explain his career.

“There’s an aquarium in your kitchen island …” she points at it, mouth open wide.

“Yeah, excessive i know but my dad adores his fish”

“And your house it on the beach! AND there’s a pool? I don’t even know if I want to see the garage!” She exclaims.

“Mmmmmm yeah my dads also a car collector. He actually left some in Spain in the house there” you offer.

“Your like so humble though! I - WHAT?” She asks in shock and you just laugh her off.

You guys definitely enjoyed your time in Dubai and your parents loved her, she was invited back for the Christmas holidays too.

Then when you got to Spain you met the rest of her family.

“Mum dad, this is my friend Y/N” Blanca offers as you enter the home which was a beautiful Spanish Villa.

“Ah Y/N we’ve heard so much about you from Blanca when she calls” her mother smiles. Ana comes running down the stairs immediately pulling her sister into a hug.

“Ah you must be Y/N? Yes, you are gorgeous! Where are you from!” She grins pulling you into an unexpected hug.

“I’m from Dubai!” You smile and that night guy guys all get to know one another through board games.

It got to just after sunset when you realised that it was time to pray for Maghrib. You calmly excused yourself from the family. Blanca at this point knew when you had to pray and was always very respectful and actually intrigued at the way it all worked. She would be with you on campus in the pray room, or in a random corner of a cafe you guys were studying in and offer you her coat to kneel on if you didn’t have one.

She was the sweetest and most understanding friend you’d ever had.

However, this was the time you met her older brother Carlos. You were just finishing up, in Blancas bedroom when someone came into the room.

“Sorry Blanca, I didn’t mean to be long if I was!” You smile turning round only to see a confused man behind you.

“Erm sorry can I help you?” You ask and he still stands there with his big brown chocolate eyes just staring at you.

“A-sorry you must be, Y/N right? Blanca’s friend that she brought home?” He questions and you nod standing up, reaching out to shake his hand.

He looks down at it smirking before lifting it up and placing a gentle kiss on the edge making you gasp and go wide eyed.

“Well, welcome to the Sainz household. Are you excited about Mallorca?” He smiles and you nod, of course you were, you’d be waiting all summer for it.

And it was an unforgettable summer.

Carlos was ALWAYS around. He was like this little lost puppy and the only time you don’t think he was around was when you showered or slept. He bothered you the whole summer, interrupting you and Blanca when you were trying to tan, or would splash you in the pool when you were lounging on a lilo. He was a menace, but there was a certain type of endearment to it.

He was also insanely protective over you. Whenever you all would go out to bars or restaurants or clubs, you got a lot of male attention, which to Carlos wasn’t surprising.

You were the most beautiful person he thinks he’s ever seen, and he wants you all for himself.

“Hey Bonita, why don’t you come downtown with me, and I’ll show you a good time?” A random guy from the island had said to you in a club.

“I’m fine thank you, I’m here with friends” you smile pointing behind you to the table where Carlos Blanca and Ana are sat.

“I’m sure they won’t mind, come on. ¡Vive un poco!” He exclaims looking over you.

“She said she was fine, and I would mind” Carlos said in a gruff voice coming to stand behind you and hand on your shoulder.

The guy swiftly left, seeing who it was. You’d gotten used to the fact that Carlos would be noticed in public, you tried to stay out of it as much as possible. Whenever a fan came over you’d practically glue yourself to Blanca’s side.

But all the guys that came talking to you Carlos had them running away for one reason or another. Whether it was just him, being Carlos Sainz, or the look he gave them or what he whispered to them when you couldn’t here. They always left.

That was how Carlos and you ended up together. You were a modern day Romeo and Juliet. You knew your parents wouldn’t approve of the Spanish race car driver, just based on all the tabloid articles about him.

“We should leave” he said in a huff, he was always like this and a lot of the times that you left was because of Carlos’ changed mood.

“But we didn’t get here long ago!” You offer and he huffs again, getting more frustrated.

“Just, let’s just go home!” He says again, not touching you but giving you a look as if to say, I will drag you out of here.

“We need to get Blanca and Ana, we can’t leave them!” You say as you start to look around the club for the two girls, hoping they would protest to Carlos wanting to get you to leave.

“They’ll be fine, let’s just go. They are pretty preoccupied anyway” he nods towards them with their boyfriends and how they are dancing.

Next thing you know Carlos was dragging you home, poking at your side saying how you broke your good girl demeanour just to leave the club with him.

“I was in a club, I can’t be that good of a girl” you tease him back and he looks over at you with a sparkle in his eyes. Maybe it wasn’t even there and it was just from the street lights, but he looked so happy and content in this moment that you couldn’t help but stare.

After this summer, you and Carlos hide your relationship from everyone, you hated hiding it from Blanca the most as he would often come find you in Madrid after race weekends to keep you company.

And don’t even start about him at family venues. Despite Carlos wanting to keep the relationship as secret as you did because of the media, and your parents, he wasn’t very good at keeping his gestures subtle.

“Carlos, I haven’t seen you for a while. And whose this, a girlfriend?” One of his aunts comes over seeing you together chatting at a family reunion his mother had hosted after his race win.

He pinched your side teasingly as if to say that you guys must look good together. And as you look up at his face you can see that.

“No this is Y/N Blanca’s friend from university” he offers keeping up with the secret. And your look down smiling to yourself. It was fun in a way keeping up a little white lie that you were with Carlos.

“Shame, she’s a dime and you two would look great together” she winks before fluttering off elsewhere in the house.

“See someone else who thinks we look great together” Carlos says leaning down to meet your eye level making you blush.

“Carlos leave Y/N alone, you tease the poor girl enough you’ll give her a heart attack one day. Come on sweetie” his mother guides you away, you turn round to catch Carlos’ eye before poking your tongue out in a childish manner.

He shakes his head with a slight chuckles as he watches his mum pull you away to a different crowd of people and introduces you.

When you and Carlos would admit your relationship was unknown, but you knew you’d never been happier than you were with Carlos Sainz Jr.

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[theblackfemininesociety]

Hey Besties 💐 We have so much fun coming up with fashion look books and guides for you, please check out our Spring look book (here) and our Fall/Winter look book (here) if you haven't already.

We thought we would spice your spring wardrobes up again by telling you which spring trends will keep you looking polished, elevated and classy this spring-summer! ✨

🌷Capri Me Please: how to properly style capris.

When done right, capris elevate your outfit to be very stylish and elegant. Especially for our tall besties! Matched with a kitten heel or a sandal, we urge you to try out capris. Not just the legging material but also a looser fabric. This is a good piece to wear for an everyday errands look, brunch meetups and even a day date.

🌷Babydoll / Sweetheart Dresses: the options are endless.

Nothing screams spring like a beautiful form fitting to loose dress, try to grab a sweetheart neckline dress. Pair it with some strappy sandals and a light cardigan for those cooler evenings. Accessorize with a delicate necklace and a wide-brimmed hat to complete the look. Choose soft pastel colors or floral prints that reflect the season's vibrancy. Don't forget a cute crossbody or satchel bag to hold your essentials while you stroll through blooming gardens or enjoy a picnic in the park.

🌷The Bermuda Short: think baggy jeans or trousers with a spring twist.

Another style that if done correctly, it will EAT. For my thrifting besties, you are going to love this trend, go find the cutest baggy jeans, cut them and get the waistband tailored. For my trouser loving besties, you can get a nice cotton/linen pair of shorts. The options are endless, can be worn with sandal heels or even sneakers. Tip: if you get stuck, loose bottom = tight top/vest.

🌷 Cinched Button-up Vests: the top of the season!

V neck to high necks! We are loving the cinched vest look, which can be styles with various of the other trends you see now! This versatile top it the new it girl spring elevated piece that you must have in your wardrobes!

🌷Satin Skirts: the essential piece to transition from day to night.

Silk is a piece that will always elevate your outfit. We told you in the fall this was a staple but the girls are transitioning it into their spring wardrobes as well! Silk is so light weight it can be dressed up or down for any spring outings you have coming up for a touch of elegance.

Follow us on social media 💋

INSTAGRAM • YOUTUBE • DISCORD

[blank-house]

may we beg humbly for the fashion inspiration boards for the kf cast................or some examples or like. descriptions pls i want to draw them in 2 dozen character-apropriate and stylish fits PLEAASE IM ON MY KNEES

Aha unfortunately I shan’t be sharing those— only because the inspo boards I’ve made is not something we own so I’m not comfortable spreading it around.

That being said— mm

Jamie’s aesthetic is centered around academia/smart clothing. It’s usually button ups/sweaters/cardigans and khakis or dark bottoms; depending on the weather.

Elio’s is always athleisure wear. Or a simple T and shorts. As cute as his design is, I always pictured him as the kind of guy who throws on whatever he grabs first in his closet.

Percy has that East Asian casual style. Stuff you might find at Uniqlo or pfftt whatever Kpop idols could be wearing. I also think he adjusts based on the season— wearing brighter things during summer and spring and toning it down for fall and winter.

Cameron’s that y2k and sorta punk style but also… “I’m an artist” vibe. I don’t know how to explain it really but whenever I see patterned clothing or stylish cropped tops I tend to think it would fit Cam well.

Deja’s is whatever is currently in fashion/what I think accentuates her figure. It’s simultaneously the easiest and hardest to look at outfits for her because I know she would love this chic top but it’s just a little bit overboard for school so I have to tone it down with jeans or a more causal jacket. Business casual I think works as a reference, with a slight more emphasis on casual since she’s still so young.

And Reynah is easy with cottage core/spring vibes. If it works for a picnic and it’s cute then that’s Reynah!